They continued at ground level, on the southern and largest of the three terraces, in a city burgeoning with thousands of new arrivals. Higher wages attracted migrating artisans and laborers from North Africa and the East. They came for construction jobs, a thriving market and commercial district, an official center for artisans, and State controlled workshops: armories for making arrows, chain-mail, spears, and leather tack for the cavalry.
Large numbers of people had taken advantage of an added incentive. The Caliph's program of subsidized housing acted as another magnet attracting ambitious newcomers staking their claims in the nascent city whose dazzling array of domestic and imported products had created one of the world's first consumer societies.
They passed the Caliphate's gold mint, the first in Europe since the Roman empire. It had been relocated from Córdoba, three years earlier. Solomon remembered the two shiny dinars resting atop the dead man's closed eyelids as he chewed on crusty bread. A few blocks later, as he finished his last bite, they began their ascent.
Solomon trained his sight on al-Zahra's remarkable middle terrace where a small army of craftsmen and laborers engaged their energies in transforming a once barren hillside. From this perspective, he could see the scaffolding on the magnificent Great Hall, under construction for the reception of foreign dignitaries. Nearby gardens would house colorful aviaries. Already completed were the homes of lesser government officials, orchards of fruit trees, flower and vegetable gardens, ponds, fountains and water sculptures, an impressive aviary filled with tropical bird species, and a well-stocked zoo.
Madinat al-Zahra remained a work in progress more than a decade after the initial start of construction. Even in its unfinished state, this product of the ruler's visionary imagination--his religious and political desires-- indulged and overwhelmed the senses.
Solomon remembered hearing from a reliable source, namely his uncle Isaac, that during the beginning of construction ten thousand men, with two thousand mules and four hundred Arabian camels, were required to haul marble and jasper and other costly resources into the city. These materials, including more than four thousand columns, about four times as many as used in the Great Mosque, were brought to al-Zahra from Carthage and other ancient cities. Paved streets spared the populace the indignity of sucking in the swirling dust stirred up by dromedaries.
Solomon and his driver tried to focus.
Their route led up through a tree-lined avenue skirting fragrant rose gardens where gurgling fountains served as centerpieces to provide the musical sounds of water splashing. Fountains of all types were highly esteemed and functioned as a key architectural element in al-Zahra, a green oasis fed by a series of long, underground pipes and massive aqueducts carrying life-giving waters from the mountains located ten miles north of the city.
They rode on past stucco covered homes whose rare exotic plants and trellises, ripe with overhanging grapes and tangerines, created a riot of color. A peacock wandered aimlessly while birds warbled and sang in the trees overhead.
They continued the ascent.
Though Al-Zahra was meant to complement and not conflict with Córdoba, Solomon felt the upstart city's opulence trumped good aesthetics, an extravagance not quite satisfying to the soul. Most visitors experienced the opposite intended response, a sense of amazement and admiration for al-Zahra's magnificence and wealth. The strength of his personal sentiment kept Solomon firmly planted in his beloved Córdoba.
At least, for now.
The ride from Umar's apartment to his opulent villa on the upper terrace of al-Zahra gave Solomon an opportunity to reflect upon his mission. He removed the ring from his pocket and examined it closely. If this belonged to Umar, the man must've worn two rings on a single finger, he surmised. Back at the apartment he'd inspected the dead man's fingers after discovering the ring. He didn't find a telltale trace of light skin where the band blocked out sunlight. Maybe he hadn't worn it for long.
Perhaps the ring was planted on purpose, he now thought. A ploy, like the dagger, to throw authorities off the trail of the real murderer. A further study of the ring offered a small clue. Unlike the dagger, the outer surface of the gold band remained smooth with no Celtic symbols incised into the metal.
Does this mean something? he wondered.
Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself. There might be no connection between the dagger and the ring. Either could've been purchased in the bustling markets of Córdoba. Maybe a maid servant lost her ring while cleaning the apartment after one of Umar's notorious wild parties. Or, maybe it was a token in exchange for a night of pleasure. Who knew how long the gold band had been sitting at the base of that atrocious amphora.
He slipped the ring back into his pocket.
Something else bothered him, and it had nothing to do with physical evidence. Perhaps Umar, unable to integrate his dark side, to live with it instead of within its obsessive grip, had taken his own life. Solomon had dismissed the idea earlier, but it had involuntarily returned for consideration. This possibility still seemed unlikely because Umar's braggadocio didn't suggest the type of man who'd consider suicide. He suspected the Caliph's nephew was a victim of foul play or perhaps a crime of passion.
This unnecessary destruction of life challenged him to stop clinging to his fading youthful idealism. What a strange madness, he thought to himself. Even in this culture of tolerance, where Muslims, Christians, and Jews live in relative harmony, the eternal rebirth of evil in the human soul continues to manifest itself. How sad to witness a kingdom under siege from the dark side of life, especially a land where a meeting of minds and a melding of communal pursuits had led to cooperation between different peoples. Compromises made by all in the interests of the common good.
Was cousin Hasdai correct? Would he ever stop being right? Were the absence of pogroms and persecutions reason enough to accept a degree of partial inequality? Were there degrees of evil? Was evil itself relative? Solomon possessed no answers just a growing list of questions, perhaps unanswerable. No wonder he'd felt an initial reluctance to take on this assignment despite the rewards it offered.
What if the Galician woman is the murderess, he asked himself. If this were true, it meant that Hasdai had every right to enlist his services to find her and bring her to justice. Somehow, they needed to make their shattered world whole again.
He remembered Hasdai's heartfelt plea: "Andalusia is the light of Europe . . .we cannot allow it to be extinguished." A sudden stop jolted him from his reflections.
Solomon braced himself, physically and emotionally.
He'd arrived at the extravagant villa of Umar abd-Rahman.
Chapter 7
Two eunuchs stood guard outside the domed domicile. Solomon looked them over. Bodies and minds scarred, they lived a breed apart. But most still appeared masculine. He had found eunuchs capable intellectually and they made strong, commanding bodyguards. These two human geldings, powerful physical presences outfitted in military regalia, stood hairless in a posture of rigid attention.
Almost four thousand eunuchs resided in al-Zahra, a small but significant minority. Most worked as palace guards, provided security for harem women and children, or labored as civil servants staffing the vast Caliphate political bureaucracy. Many of these eunuchs came manufactured from the slave market in Verdun, France, a conduit for captive European unfortunates sent down to the Iberian Peninsula.
Solomon had once found the word “manufactured” quite odd when used in a human context, but it had become part of everyday vernacular in Andalusia. Since eunuchs were bought and sold in marketplaces, he finally came to realize that the reference wasn’t so far-fetched. Some eunuchs were slaves carried off in childhood or orphaned in wars. Since they no longer retained family connections, the Caliph became a father figure to many of them. Others were boys with family ties whose poor, struggling parents believed they insured a better life for their offspring by allowing the practice. The great numbers of eunuchs holding high administrative post
s or working as bodyguards for the most distinguished families in the kingdom reinforced parent’s belief in the efficacy of the system. Although the practice made merchants in the business wealthy men, including many Jews, most sensitive Andalusis referred to it as the “hideous trade.”
Solomon stepped down off the cart and approached the two guards.
After he had explained the nature of his business, the tallest of the eunuchs led him down a long walkway towards a front entrance built in a style favored by Umayyads, a horseshoe shaped archway. He observed luxuriant green foliage along the footpath. It provided a vivid contrast to the villa’s white-stucco exterior.
They entered the premises. Like most Muslim villas, the reception area opened up inside into a light and airy interior with an expansive sense of space. Arched portals led deeper into the seraglio’s guarded apartments where, the investigator knew, the concubines and children of Umar lived lavish and well-cloistered lives. The tall eunuch disappeared through an archway on the far side of the room, leaving Solomon free to gaze at regal splendor.
He studied the walls while he waited, walls painted a soothing aquamarine and flashing brilliant gold lettering, an elegant calligraphy rendered in stylish Arabic script. He read words arranged from right to left, written in the same direction as his native Hebrew. No mistaking the patron of this masterpiece; the sentiment paid homage to Umar abd-Rahman.
The distinct script, and the accuracy of its alignment, revealed the graceful hand of the compositor. Solomon’s own refined, legible handwriting, a skill highly sought after in the translator’s field, gave Solomon a deep appreciation of this calligrapher’s immense talent and extraordinary expertise. The aspiring poet stood lost in a moment of aesthetic arrest, his mind and senses elevated to a blissful gratefulness for the writing’s sheer rhythmic beauty.
No wonder Andalusi’s call the practice of calligraphy “The Golden Profession,” he mused. Although Solomon loved the art of calligraphy, he considered himself a second rate talent. He’d once aspired to the profession, but his skills were no match for his desire. Hasdai suggested he study Latin instead. Since he didn’t possess his cousin’s pedigree, born into a wealthy family in Jaen and first son of a successful father who encouraged his every aspiration, Solomon took the advice and applied himself to mastering a language other than Hebrew and Arabic. All the while he wondered why his mother had married beneath her station, leaving him the poorer cousin. After mastering the lingua franca of the Roman Empire, he took a job as a translator, a practical livelihood to support himself while he pursued his poetic avocation.
Solomon appreciated Hasdai’s support. Nobody thought less of him because he loved to read and write poetry. Quite the contrary. Like the moon orbiting the earth, the intellectual life of Andalusia revolved around the central hub of poetry. Ancient Bedouin warrior poets had set a high standard for integrating fierce courage with imaginative sensitivity. In his most honest moments, Solomon realized he’d been gifted with only half of the equation.
The polyglot poet in his soul found a professional niche translating Greek scientific and philosophical works from Arabic into Latin. A tri-lingual education wasn’t unusual among his generation of translators. In their milieu, translation wasn’t considered a mechanical or even
uncreative process. The goal was to create a new scientific vocabulary suitable for Andalusia secular disciplines.
Writing poetry had to remain a deep yearning for the time being. Only now Solomon believed that he might be close to realizing his dream of writing verse full time. His eyes focused on the stylized curves of the letters. Such bliss. Only a handful of men in Andalusia wrote script at this level of proficiency.
He soon became lost in a mild euphoria.
It wasn‘t meant to last.
When Solomon finally reoriented himself, he discovered two pair of eyes staring in his direction. Tradition dictated that Umar’s wife be questioned in the presence of another woman. Over the years he’d learned that much about Muslim society, along with a few other rules of etiquette.
Time to put on his investigator’s hat.
Both women dressed in simple white, linen tunics and the lack of decorative silk robes with accompanying jewelry suggested to him that they were already given over to mourning. The absence of tears evoked his curiosity just as they had with Hasan. None of the family appeared visibly upset by Umar’s demise, and he was already inclined to dismiss Hasan’s theatrics as an intended deception.
Another clean-shaven eunuch, his face a mask displaying no emotion, stood guard on the far side of the room where the arched portal framed the entrance to the villa’s living quarters. The sound of children’s laughter floated in the background, coming from rooms he knew he’d never be allowed to enter let alone view.
Solomon’s eunuch escort politely dismissed himself and returned to his post outside. The investigator turned his attention to the women. Both were veiled, a custom not widely practiced in the cities and towns of Andalusia, this being the prerogative of men. Primarily dark-skinned Berbers, but also upper class women who usually refrained from employing them except on special occasions. Other segments of society hadn’t yet adopted the veil as an accessory to their ward-robes.
One of the veiled women stepped forward. Solomon felt certain she was Umar’s one and only wife. He knew her name to be Nuzha. The second woman, undoubtedly a prized concubine, remained quietly in the background. Nuzha offered no greeting. Perhaps she failed to recognize him from past social gatherings.
“We’re preparing to leave so that we may claim my husband’s body.”
Only vague outlines of the woman’s nose, mouth, and chin appeared behind the thin layer of gauze. Her eyes, without the usual kohl accentuation, burned with an intensity Solomon found unnerving. Neither woman seemed to be wearing perfume, another sign that they had begun a period of mourning.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he began sympathetically. “I need to ask you some questions about your husband.”
“I bore Umar a son, a successor,” she said abruptly. “That’s all he wanted from me.”
Solomon experienced a brief shock. This isn’t going to be easy, he told himself. He decided it might be best to use an approach as straight-forward as the widow’s opening salvo.
“You know about the other women?”
“I’m not a fool.”
“Jealousy is a powerful motive.”
Nuzha laughed in his face. Even through the veil her spray of spittle found its way to his cheek. Nothing veiled about this woman’s personality, he thought. He found this disconcerting. She’d always appeared gracious when he’d encountered her in the past.
“The time Umar spent with other women was Allah’s blessing to me,” she told him with a smirk. “I disliked my husband.”
“Hated him?”
“Hatred is also a powerful motive, but I didn’t hate him. ”
“Did you fear him?”
“Everybody feared Umar.”
“The other concubines in the harem,” he continued. “How did they feel about Umar?”
Instead of returning his gaze and looking him in the eye, Nuzha’s eyes moved slowly down along his right arm, past the wrist. He followed their path until they came to rest on Hasdai’s signet ring. She’d seen it before at some social gathering and quickly realized that it belonged to the Foreign Minister.
Now she understood why they’d sent a Jew to interview her.
Maybe they suspected that Umar was murdered by a Jewess? It wasn’t an impossibility. It was well known that Umar didn’t discriminate against women because of their religion or ethnicity. He selected his women solely on the basis of physical attraction.
How did the harem feel about Umar? Was that the question he’d asked her?
“You’re wasting your time,” Nuzha answered. “We all felt the same.”
Umar’s concubine stepped forward. She’d been standing discreetly in the background listening to the interchange of questions an
d answers, so quiet Solomon had almost forgotten her.
“She speaks the truth.”
“So any one of you might have murdered Umar?”
“To what end?” asked the newcomer.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine,” Solomon replied. “Once I know that, I’ll know the identity of Umar’s killer.”
The two women exchanged glances before the second woman answered.
“It doesn’t matter to us now that he’s gone.”
“Now, if you don’t mine,” Nuzha said. “We have a body to claim.”
Solomon was beginning to realize he’d have a difficult time finding a rational witness to shed light on Umar’s murder. Feeling frustrated, he thanked the women and excused himself. As he began to leave the reception area another question occurred to him.
He spun around quickly and directed his question to Umar’s wife.“
Will your son inherit his father’s wealth?”
“That depends upon the wishes of the Caliph.”
Was she telling him the truth or what she thought he wanted to hear? He put a check mark by his mental note to research Muslim law on the subject of inheritance.
“Will that be all? I must attend to my son. I’m not sure what to tell him,” Nuza confided. About his father, I mean.“
Solomon had a hard time believing that this woman could ever be at a loss for words.
“Yes, that’s all for now,” he replied. “I’m sorry for this inconvenience.”
He left the villa without uttering another word.
Solomon found blue sky and sunshine giving way to high clouds. A cool breeze played upon his cheeks. He thanked the eunuch guards and found a familiar looking couple dozing at the cart. He decided to leave the old muleskinner and his Balearic counterpart to their reveries, opting for a short walk to give himself time for a little cold-blooded thinking.
The Galician Woman Page 5