Solomon simply didn't understand why sects practicing the same religion had such a difficult time finding common ground. If the Jews, Muslims, and Christians of Córdoba could co-exist somewhat peacefully surely different Muslim branches were capable of overcoming the destructive effects of factionalism to create peace among themselves.
The Foreign Minister asked a question that still bothered him.
"Are you sure it wasn't the woman or her brother?"
"I know that would make life easier for us all. I also know the Caliph's jailers have methods of making prisoners confess to crimes they never committed. I hope it doesn't come to that."
"Believe me, Solomon. The Galicians will receive fair treatment at their respective detention centers. You have my word."
"There is another suspect, but I don't feel comfortable revealing the identify of an individual of whom I'm not yet certain," Solomon volunteered. "At any rate, I won't need help with that one. Oh, and one last thing. I need to interview an expert on Muslim inheritance laws. I'm thinking perhaps a professor of law at the University of Córdoba."
"Anything else I can do to help?"
"I'm not sure yet. . ."
Solomon waited outside the main entrance to Córdoba's Great Mosque. He arrived early, giving him an opportunity to study the architectural marvel. His eyes were drawn to an elaborately decorated wooden door surrounded by intricate tile mosaics. The door was one of nine, all similar in appearance, all leading into the interior of the Mosque. Arches in a variety of styles, sizes, and designs, had been used as both structural and decorative elements in the façade. He recognized scooped out poly-lobed arches, familiar horseshoe arches, and interlacing arches. Solomon found the attention to detail interesting without being overwhelming.
He turned his gaze to the minaret, source of so many calls to prayer. Rahman III was in the process of replacing the two centuries old minaret with a new one containing two staircases built for the separate ascent and descent of the turret. On its summit, the architect proposed placing three decorative apples, two of gold and one of silver, with lilies of six petals. The new minaret would be four-faced, with arched windows resting upon columns made of jasper.
Residents of the city had been apprised of the plan.
The site of this Great Mosque had a history. It had sustained a Roman temple dedicated to the god Janus and a Catholic Christian church dedicated by the Visigoths to Saint Vincent. After the Islamic conquest, the building was divided between Muslims and Christians. On this site Rahman I chose to raise his Great Mosque. He generously offered to buy the church and the plot. He could've taken it by force. Under terms of the transfer, Christians were permitted to rebuild a ruined church formerly dedicated to St. Faustus, St. Januarius, and St. Marcellus, three deeply revered Catholic martyrs.
Solomon directed his attention elsewhere.
Perfume sellers had set up booths on the perimeter of the square. Vendors offering more malodorous goods were consigned to an area further away so their wares wouldn't deter the devout and diminish attendance at prayer services. The square at the Mosque's main entrance had taken on an elevated importance because the Supervisor of Markets plied his trade in the square and important funeral rites were conducted here.
The investigator wouldn't be allowed inside. Entering the Great Mosque was a privilege rarely accorded non-Muslims. Non-believers were left to imagine the splendors inside. Occasionally visiting dignitaries were allowed a glimpse into the hallowed space, but that was a rare event.
Still, Hasdai had worked his magic.
The Caliph had interceded with the Imam on behalf of the younger cousin. The meeting arranged by Hasdai and the Caliph was timed so it wouldn't be interrupted by the noon call to prayer. Solomon waited patiently and soon the door to the main entrance opened.
A bearded holy man dressed in the traditional Abayah, a high-collared white coat, stepped outside into the early morning shadows along the Mosque's western wall. His head was covered with a short rounded skullcap, also white, called a tagiya. The Imam's face glowed like polished alabaster. Illuminated from within, his eyes seemed to be infused with the light of wisdom and understanding. Solomon experienced a sense of peace and well-being in his presence.
"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," Solomon apologized.
"It is not an inconvenience to serve my people, the Caliphate, and most of all, Allah."
He sounds like a Muslim version of cousin Hasdai, Solomon thought as he endured the uncomfortable twinge of a guilty conscience while owning up to his own selfish nature.
"I wish I could allow you inside our Mosque so you could experience the majesty a divine and infinite intelligence can inspire."
"I understand that won't be possible," sympathized the investigator.
"How may I be of help to you, my son?"
Solomon felt ill at ease for the first time in the Imam's presence. He didn't know how to address the religious leader. Should he call this man Your Grace or Your Eminence? He decided to dispense with titles altogether and simply state his business.
"I need your help," Solomon told him. "I'm encountering difficulties in my investigation into the murder of Umar abd-Rahman."
"There's something you should understand," the Imam informed him. "Umar was a troubled man. He had not yet embraced the Prophet Muhammad. He had turned his back on Allah. I'm not sure how I can be of service to you given these circumstances?"
"Please, I need for you to speak with the family. Talk to his wife Nuzha, and his brother Hasan. Enlist their cooperation," continued the investigator. "Ask them to be more forthcoming when I interview them again."
The Imam reflected for a moment.
"I would be happy to do so, young man. I'll meet with them on Friday after worship. Not at the same time of course. The women pray separately. However, they both come to this Mosque to pray. If I could invite you inside, you might understand why they choose to make the journey from al-Zahra."
"I appreciate your assistance, Sir."
"They told me I would be meeting with Solomon Levy."
"I am he."
"Aren't you the man who recovered the lost manuscript?" the spry old man asked as he stroked his wispy white beard.
"How do you know about that?"
"The Caliph keeps few secrets from me," replied the Iman. "He believes I can be trusted in all matters."
"I'm sure you can. "
"The Caliphate is in your debt, my son."
This meeting had been going well, Solomon thought. He was amazed at the mention of the manuscript and even more surprised by the positive response of the Iman.
"You approve of my rescuing a botanical encyclopedia?"
"Of course I do. Religion and science can co-exist in peace. The Prophet Muhammad instructs us to 'seek knowledge from cradle to grave.'" The Imam's liberality took Solomon by surprise. "Andalusis should be grateful to you since we are all a manifestation of the magnificent and generous nature of our boundless creator, Allah."
The more Solomon thought about this the more it made sense. He understood the Quran to be neither myopic nor exclusive. It made provisions for approved religious minorities called dhimmis, protected peoples also known as "People of the Book," Jews and Christians with a revealed scripture recognized by Mohammad himself as divinely inspired.
Three books--the Torah, the Bible, and the Quran--and their emphasis on man's spiritual nature had elevated the desert tribes, inspiring them to rise above degradation and brutality. The essence of all three books was love God with your entire heart and being and love your neighbor as yourself. We all have trouble with that last part Solomon realized upon reflection. He included himself among the challenged.
Though the Imam spoke using superlatives the investigator found himself liking him nonetheless. He wasn't physically imposing and his was a face of cross-hatched wrinkles, but the brown eyes were perpetually smiling. He exuded character and Solomon wondered if he were a bit of a spiritual anomaly.
A
small crowd began to gather around the charismatic Imam, but a hand waving gesture quickly dispersed them.
"You do the famous King Solomon proud," the Imam said, complementing the investigator.
"I often wish I possessed a fraction of his wisdom."
"The Quran explicitly states "No compulsion is there in religion," but we have many willing converts. Both Christians and Jews. Have you ever considered Islam?"
Solomon was well aware of the curve of conversion and how the Ibero-Roman population had steadily, over more than two centuries, converted to Islam for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was relief from taxation and economic constraints. Others accepted Islam simply because they believed it offered a superior, healthier way of life. The new Iberian converts and their descendants, along with the Muwallads, now outnumbered their Arab and Berber brethren in Andalusia.
Solomon, however, didn't embrace any particular creed.
"Jews and Christians are "People of the Book", but I'm also interested in the Book of Nature," he told the Imam.
"Are you a nonbeliever?"
"I'm not sure what I am." he confessed. "I have faith, but I also possess doubts. A bit confusing. I wonder how I'll ever know if I'm making spiritual progress?"
The Imam remained silent for a moment and then a wide, benevolent smile spread across his serene face: "If you're happy, Solomon Levy. If you're happy and doing harm to no one, then you're making spiritual progress."
"I really must be going, Sir."
"May Allah guide your steps,." came the Imam's blessing.
It may be too late, Solomon thought to himself.
Chapter 30
Solomon entered through the unlocked, wooden gate. She'll never change. Why would anybody want her to change? He had missed Layla. He didn't realize how much until the journey north. Maybe it was time he accepted her generous offers. He took a deep breath as he walked across the shaded, green courtyard. He found red geraniums flowering. New blooms in the terra cotta pots. The front door was still painted a bright indigo.
Solomon rapped four times in succession. She had remembered their secret code last time, but he had been gone so long. The door swung open and he anticipated a warm greeting, expecting her to welcome his visit like she had in the past.
Layla looked taken aback.
"Surprised?" Solomon asked with a grin on his face.
"I wasn't expecting anyone."
"Aren't you going to invite me inside?"
"I'm sorry," Layla demurred. "I can't."
"What."
Solomon sensed a change in the courtesan, and he quickly understood an important element in their relationship had also changed while he was away. He had no idea what the cause might be. Had he done something to antagonize or embarrass her? Had he refused her advances one too many times?
"Layla, what's going on here?"
"I'm sorry, darling," she said, gazing up into his eyes. "I've met somebody special."
"I thought I was special."
Layla took his hand and pressed it gently.
"You are, Solomon," she reassured him. "You always will be."
He pleaded with his eyes.
"Wait for me in the courtyard," she said. "I'll return shortly."
Solomon waited quietly. He sat on a bench in the courtyard garden surrounded by potted plants and listened to the plashing of water in the corner fountain all the while suspecting his own
indecisiveness had created this turn of events. In the distance, he heard the noontime call to prayer invoking a time for meditation.
Layla returned a short time later and sat down next to him.
She didn't move in closer.
"I need help," he told her while trying to rise above his personal disappointment. "You've always been my confidant, and I've always relied on your judgment."
"I don't quite understand."
"I'm interviewing each of my suspects one more time, but they all have plausible motives. I need to ferret out the truth. You're the most emotionally intelligent person I know, Layla. What should I be looking for?"
It took some time before she offered her advice. Feeling vulnerable, Solomon wondered if she had decided not to help him. He was about to stand and leave when she began.
"Study their eyes. They'll reveal more than anything they might tell you. Watch how their bodies respond to your questions. Do they appear at ease or on edge? Remember, a good liar can trick your mind. Trust your heart to know if they're telling you the truth. Finally," she began, "Consider your own motives. If your own heart is confused it can trick you into making an error in judgement."
Solomon felt relieved. Layla had offered her best advice and proven herself a trusted ally. So what if she had met somebody new. She deserved to be happy. Now they could be friends with no ulterior motives, none on his part and none on hers.
"You'll always be my friend, Solomon," she told him.
"I swear you can read my mind."
Enjoying the warmth of an early summer morning, Solomon crossed the quadrangle of his alma mater, the University of Córdoba. Although Hasdai had been born into a wealthy family in Jaen, fifty-five miles to the east, he too had attended school in the Capital, only this was half a dozen years before his younger cousin had sought to further his education.
Solomon continued on his way. The weather on this day was nothing like far away, misty Galicia. Thank God for that. The dry heat welcomed him back home. While he strolled across the campus, he looked back affectionately on his student years and his language studies and dating young women. Nothing serious had developed from these liaisons and he now found himself between relationships.
Layla had become one in a series of missteps.
The investigator passed the current crop of undergraduates and marveled at their youth. Had it been that long? Some things hadn't changed. The international complexion of the student body being one of them. They arrived in Córdoba from every corner of the world. Both the students and the faculty.
Solomon found the building and the office he was seeking.
He knocked on a windowless door and it soon opened.
Invited to enter, he seated himself inside a tiny, book-lined cloister across from an enormous man dressed in flowing white robes. The law professor's hefty frame dominated the cramped space. His shaved head and curly black beard were typical of a Muslim Andalusi male. After the usual formalities had been dispensed with, Solomon commenced the arranged meeting with an honest admission of ignorance.
"I understand nothing about the Islamic laws of inheritance," he began. "Perhaps you can enlighten me."
"Islamic law is a vast subject," stated the erudite professor as his squinty eyes opened wide. "Maybe we should confine ourselves to your interest in Umar abd Rahman and the application of Muslim inheritance laws in this specific instance."
Solomon began to realize the man was more intelligent than he looked.
The professor placed his beefy hands on the desk and folded them.
"Let's begin with the basic facts. Umar had one legal wife even though by law he is. . .was allowed four. He kept half a dozen concubines. The law allows as many concubines as a man can afford to care for and Umar certainly possessed great wealth. A rather odd household, but it's been said the Caliph's nephew. . ." the professor paused, tilting his head to one side as he searched for words to communicate his thoughts.
"Liked to sleep around," Solomon offered, completing the other man's thoughts.
"Thank you. Yes, liked to sleep around," repeated the professor. "Now we can establish that Umar has many children, but only one designated heir. There's also his widow and a full brother. I believe both his parents are deceased."
"This is also what I've been told," the investigator confirmed.
"There are assorted uncles and aunts as well as a paternal half-brother and sister, now residing in Egypt, along with a gaggle of nephews and nieces."
"It sounds so complicated," Solomon ventured to point out. "And this is just o
ne small family. Most Muslim families are larger from what I observe in Córdoba."
"And complicated it might well be, except. . .the son blocks all but his mother from receiving a share. And, the shares are all prescribed by Muslim law. There is no. . ." there came a slight pause before the professor lifted his index finger to indicate he had found the correct nomenclature ". . .dickering. There is no dickering. The Law is specific when it comes to the fractions or percentages of the shares. That applies all the way down the line. No pun intended. You know, the lineage. . .those lining up to claim a share."
The professor opened a drawer, withdrew a piece of cotton fiber paper, and laid it flat on the desktop. He picked up a reed pen and dipped the sharpened tip into a reservoir of ink and then he began to scribble something as beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.
"Are you reporting the details of our meeting to the Caliph?"
The professor ceased writing and looked up with a smile.
"No need to worry Solomon ben Levy." laughed the rotund professor. "I'm writing out the exact shares due to each heir. You may then take this information with you to aid you in your inquiries. In this particular case, the division is simple. The widow receives twelve and one half percent while the son inherits the bulk of the estate, eighty-seven and one half percent to be exact. It works out to one-eighth and seven-eighths in fractions."
The loquacious professor finished writing down the details of the inheritance and passed over the information.
"It's clear Umar's intention was for his son to inherit the lion's share of his estate. That young boy will need some protection. Predators abound, even in Córdoba and al-Zahra. How old did you say he was?"
"I didn't." Solomon responded. "I believe the boy is ten years old."
The investigator's focus changed for a moment. Again, the idea of suicide came into his mind. Maybe for all his bravado, Umar secretly loathed himself but felt incapable of reversing his downward spiral into life's dark side. Maybe he wanted to protect his son from this depravity and dissolution, Insure a brighter future for the one person in the world he loved most. Solomon quickly dismissed the idea as naive on his part. Remembering the angle of the dagger served to reinforce his skepticism.
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