by Tariq Ali
‘How?’ inquired Mayya, her curiosity aroused.
‘Shame has disappeared in that village. The people look into your eyes when they speak. Pride and insolence have replaced respect for their betters. One peasant had the effrontery to ask if I had read Aristotle. The only way to make them respect us is to grind them hard and make sure their yoke is heavy. If what they have done spreads we are all finished. It is the Trusted One who has taught them how to ensure they never lose the land again.
‘What I am about to tell you is based on my own assumptions. I have no proof and legality is on the other side. I had not visited that estate before, but was aware of what had happened after the Nazarenes wiped out the family of Ibn Hamza. When I visited the peasants a few weeks ago, the Trusted One had long departed, but he had left behind the happiest village community I have ever seen.’
‘How does that threaten you?’ asked Balkis.
‘When I asked who owned the land, now the Bishop was dead and gone, they replied cheerfully that the land had been gifted to them by Hamza ibn Muhammad many years before the arrival of the Nazarenes. I saw the register with my own eyes. It was impeccable. I find it incredible that Hamza, who often came to my palace, could have gifted away his hereditary lands. In fact I don’t believe a word of it. It was the Trusted One’s idea and he convinced them all and provided them with a single narrative.’
‘Did you question the monk in private?’ asked Idrisi.
‘Of course I did. He repeated the same rubbish. His family benefited from the Trusted One’s land distribution. He confessed to me he had never met a man like the Trusted One and wanted to convert to our faith, but the Trusted One had told him he was more helpful to the village as a monk. If he wanted to he could pray in the mosque, but when outsiders came he had to be a monk.’
Idrisi could not conceal his admiration. ‘He is inspired by Allah and the Great Satan at the same time. Where is he?’
‘Far from my estates, I hope. Here in Palermo you cannot imagine the effect this is having on the peasants. Many of them visit the village and return full of ideas.’
‘Did the Trusted One leave behind a plan if we are all defeated?’
‘Strange you should ask that, Ibn Muhammad. It did not occur to me, but one of the peasants, a well-read boy, volunteered the information. If our people are defeated, they will all swear that the Bishop had converted the entire village five years before he died. They have a church register to prove it and the monk and the handful of Nazarene families will attest to the truth of this assertion.’
‘This is incredible,’ said Elinore. ‘It makes me want to visit this place.’
‘Whenever you want,’ replied her uncle. ‘Perhaps after the child is born you should all come and spend some time in Siracusa. Elinore could come with us tonight?’
Nobody replied to the invitation and poor Aziz, slightly embarrassed, turned to his wife.
‘My sister, who you dislike so much, is praying you produce a girl. That way her son will inherit my estates.’
‘In that case,’ replied Balkis, ‘it will be a pleasure to disappoint her. And if we are leaving tonight I should go and make sure everything is packed.’
‘We’ll help,’ said Mayya and all three women headed towards the guest chambers.
‘The Sultan could die any day, Ibn Muhammad. He asked after you today.’
‘The sooner he goes the better. There will be a settling of accounts. I used to have many fond memories of him, but the treatment of Philip has changed everything. It made me angry with myself for being such a poor judge of people. Let us speak of more pleasant subjects.’
‘Let me raise an indelicate one.’
Idrisi smiled in anticipation.
‘I thank you for letting Balkis return. It was important for me, but you know this already.’
‘I do and if it embarrasses you we need discuss the subject no longer. I hope it is a boy for your sake. Have you considered taking another wife?’
‘There is no reason to do so. I have a serving woman in the palace who satisfies all my needs. With her there is no pretence. If Balkis gives me a boy I am content. And you?’
‘I will be content even if Balkis gives you a girl.’
FIFTEEN
The death of Rujari. Idrisi is a father again and twice. Dreaming of Siracusa.
ON A COLD FEBRUARY day in the year 1154 of the Christian calendar, the Sultan died in his palace in Palermo and Balkis gave birth to a son in Siracusa, though Idrisi and Mayya did not receive the message till the Amir of Siracusa arrived to attend the Sultan’s funeral, for the lighthouses had been too busy conveying the news of the Sultan’s death and the date fixed for the funeral to bother with other news. Receiving the information, notables of every variety and from all parts of the island began the journey to Palermo.
Idrisi walked to the palace and was received by William, attired in the costume of a Sultan with the royal cloak draped around his shoulders. He was a large, black-bearded man of frightening appearance. Having embraced Idrisi, he pleaded with him to become the Amir of Amirs and return to the palace. Idrisi thanked the ruler warmly, but declined the offer to replace Philip. He pleaded scholarly duties, explaining the need to complete the Formulary this year so as to help physicians save more lives. The new Sultan appeared to accept this and proceeded to inform him that the Barons were intent on disregarding Rujari’s testament. ‘They want to bury my father in the Cathedral in Palermo.’
‘He built a church especially in Cefalu to be his burial place. He loved the town and the church.’
‘And someone else too, Master Idrisi, as we both know.’
‘Nonetheless, it was his last request to me.’
‘And to me. And to my mother. But the Church and the Barons insist on Palermo. Philip was the only person on this island who could have buried him in Cefalu. So let them bury him in Palermo. There is another reason why he can’t be buried in Cefalu: Bishop Boso backed the wrong Pope and now Rome won’t consecrate his church. How can a King be buried in an unconsecrated church? I’ve promised Boso that once he makes friends with Rome he can have my father’s body as well and we can have two funerals for your friend. Did you ever meet his concubine in Cefalu? Come on, tell me. What was she like? Is it true she was with child and ...’
William, swaying slightly, began to laugh. It was an unpleasant laugh and Idrisi, who had once attempted to teach this boy geography, astronomy and medicine, gave his former pupil a stern look. It was obvious he had been smoking too many pipes of shahdanj al-barr.
‘Sultan William,’ Idrisi began, but he could not continue. William had fallen off the chair and was seemingly asleep on the floor. His attendants lifted him from the ground. He recovered and dismissed the attendants, although Idrisi was only too well aware that they were being watched from secret spy-holes.
‘Master Idrisi, we shall see you at my father’s funeral.’
‘Have I the Sultan’s permission to use the library? There are manuals of medicine which are not available elsewhere on this island.’
‘Of course, and you did not need my permission. You organised that library before I was born. Use it as much as you wish. One question for you, Master Idrisi, and I wish you to be completely honest as you were with my father.’
‘I will try.’
‘How would you assess my late father as a ruler? Just in a few words, I mean.’
‘I would say that Sultan Rujari of Siqilliya was for most of his reign a wise and considerate ruler, who protected all his subjects regardless of creed. He governed his people with equity and impartiality, impressing all by the beauty of his actions, the depth of his insights and the sweetness of his character. I wrote some of this in the dedication of my book. We could add that he killed fewer people than his own father and uncle. When he was ruler and people reminded him of the massacre of Believers in this city, just before it surrendered to the Franks, he expressed remorse and regret. He was a skilled administrator and a statesman who could o
utflank the Pope and the Emperor. Above all, he defended the interest of his kingdom before all else and did not allow it to be weakened by adventures in the Holy Land. He was always friendly to scholars and helped me considerably to improve the quality of my own work. It was in his last days, racked by a disease that made it difficult for him to breathe and affected his heart, that he weakened in mind, body and spirit. He allowed the Barons and the Bishops to convince him that a blood sacrifice was necessary to strengthen his family’s claim to this island. And in his last months he committed a crime by burning one of the most talented leaders of this kingdom, Philip al-Mahdia. Thus began the decline.’
‘I cannot repeat all of that, but I thank you. Men like you are rare in this kingdom. I wish you would stay by my side.’
‘There are others more skilled in the art of administration than I and they will serve you better. My advice is very simple: beware the Barons. Your grandmother had to flee the mainland to Palermo when your father was very young. She felt safer here because of my people. They were a counterbalance to the Barons. So be careful of them. They tend to strike when a king is young. And never see them in private without a hand on your sword and armed retainers at your side. May Allah protect you, Ibn Rujari.’
‘Just one other matter. It is of no great significance, indeed it is only curiosity. During Philip’s trial when a lot of lies were being told, there were two loud farts from the benches occupied by your people. I tried to join their choir, but failed. Was it the work of the Amir of Catania or Siracusa?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘It was a very good effort. If you find out, kindly congratulate the Amir on my behalf. I have decided to build a new palace in the style of your Sultans and with the largest harem in the world. Larger than Baghdad and Qurtuba and I will fill it as well. If you ever need a woman ...’
He began to laugh again.
Idrisi found talk of this nature wearisome. Without replying, he bowed and left the audience chamber. As he walked slowly through the palace, he knew he did not wish to return here again. The eunuchs gave him nervous smiles of recognition. None of them appeared to be greatly affected by Rujari’s death. Philip had belonged to them and, in this very palace, the older eunuchs had watched him grow and prosper.
Idrisi entered the library. Perhaps William would prove his detractors wrong and better his father, but even as the thought passed through his mind he knew it was without substance. William might be stronger than they gave him credit for, but he was not an administrator or a statesman. He was too strongly addicted to pleasure. He would become too dependent on advisers who would kill each other to be near him.
Idrisi did not stay long in the library. He picked up the two books he needed to consult and decided to take them home, looking forward to getting back to his new son, now six weeks old and sturdy in voice and appetite.
As he climbed the path to his house he heard the strains of Ibn Thawdor’s flute and saw his daughter sitting on a wall next to the boy and watching him with entranced eyes. He smiled inwardly and did not disturb them. He was pleased she had found a friend in the musician. Elinore had been more upset by Rujari’s death than he had realised and had asked to accompany Idrisi to the funeral. Nor was he sure what she really felt about her new brother. He must remember to ask Mayya. The arrival of little Afdal had removed the last traces of the tension between them and he would often hear her singing lullabies he had never heard before. She had actually laughed one morning as she wondering if Balkis would have a boy and whether it would be identical to her own.
The Amir of Siracusa arrived a day before the funeral. He had come alone and was staying at the palace. Given the unsettled conditions on the island, it was useful for it to be known that he was a guest of the Sultan. The joyful look on his face was enough to convey the good news: Balkis, too, had given birth to a son and both were well. He handed Idrisi a small parcel, which was handed to a retainer and despatched to his room.
‘Any news of the Trusted One?’
‘He has been seen in a number of villages. He is very close to your family and they tell me he is on your son-in-law’s estates at the moment. Our people are ready to fight. Catania, Noto and Siracusa will not be taken without a struggle.’
‘I do not think that William has any intention of waging war on us.’
‘One year ago, did his father have any intention of burning Philip outside his own palace?’
‘All I am saying is that a premature rebellion could lead to defeat. Timing is always crucial.’
‘Then we are in agreement.’
When Elinore entered the room to greet her uncle, Idrisi noticed her flushed cheeks and shining eyes. The flute-player is affecting this child, he thought, and it pleased him. Mayya arrived with Afdal in her arms and the Amir made all the right noises, but did his mind’s eye compare the two infants? At the end of his visit, the proud possessor of a new son invited them all to visit him in Siracusa.
‘It will be spring soon and the best time to visit us. Balkis is desperate to see you.’
‘We will try,’ said Mayya, ‘but it’s such a long journey and the mere thought tires me.’
Idrisi retreated to his library to find the parcel from Balkis. He undid the string and unwrapped the cloth. Inside lay a carefully folded tunic made of pure silk, the colour of burnt milk. On top of it was a letter. Elinore knocked on the door and entered without waiting for his reply. ‘I need to ask you something, Abi.’
‘Let me guess. You want to learn the flute.’
She coloured slightly. ‘I would like to marry him.’
‘Has he expressed interest?’
‘No, because he is in awe of you and thinks he is too low-born for you to even consider such a match.’
‘Have you spoken to your mother?’
‘Yes and she is not happy.’
‘Why?’
‘She thinks he is low-born.’
‘Are you sure you know him well enough to marry him?’
‘Yes. You once told me that affairs of the heart are determined by instinct, not reason. My instinct tells me that I will be happy with him.’
‘That is all that matters to me, child. I have no objection. I like the boy myself, but how will he earn a living? Musicians are not paid regularly.’
‘He doesn’t only play the flute. He makes them and can teach children to play. He wants us to move to Djirdjent where his mother’s family will help him.’
‘I will help him if he wants to stay here and your uncle in Siracusa is a generous soul if he wishes to move there. And you? Where would you like to live.’
‘I’m not sure. There is a part of me which would like to leave this island for ever and move to Salerno.’
‘Why?’
‘Instinct. Something bad is going to happen here. Can’t you feel it in the air?’
‘Elinore, you are baptised and so is Simeon ibn Thawdor. You need not fear the Barons. No harm will come to you. But I am more worried about your two brothers. Will they survive? For how long? When some of my friends left Palermo and went to settle in al-Andalus, I mocked them for their foolishness. I was so sure I had made the right decision.’
He shrugged his shoulders in despair.
Elinore kissed him on his head. ‘Even though we have not yet discussed Pythagoras and his numbers which you promised me, I love you.’
‘The numbers were important for the merchants and sailors. But much more interesting was the way of life that he advocated. Perhaps you should go and live in Cariati, much closer to us than Salerno. The Pythagoreans fled here to Kroton, as they called it then, and their brotherhood flourished. Some of them came to Siracusa as well. The symbol of their brotherhood was the ox on the tongue. Each new recruit was pledged to secrecy and silence. In order to achieve their aims of creating a society in which each and every person had a moral responsibility, they had to be careful. And did you know they also believed that the only way to purify the soul from the infections of the body was thr
ough music? That is why Pythagoras and his followers were the first to explore the links between music and mathematics. And you will find books that can teach you even more than I know. He is not a philosopher I have studied closely. Is that your mother I hear shouting for you? Tell her I approve of Ibn Thawdor and she should not worry about your dowry.’
As she ran out of the room, Idrisi began to pace up and down, pausing to look at the map on the large table. It was his own map and he was thinking it was time to emigrate, but to which destination? Then he saw his unfinished manuscript and he knew that it had to be completed before he went anywhere. The philosophy of medicine he was advancing was based on providing simple and easily accessible cures for the diseases that afflicted the rich and the poor. He had read something in a book by Aflatun* that had displeased him and he had meant to tell Elinore. He found the book where he had marked the following passage:
‘When a carpenter is ill,’ said Sokrates, ‘he asks the doctor for a quick remedy—an emetic, purge, cautery or the knife—that is all. If he is told to diet and wrap up his head and keep warm, he replies that he has no time to be ill, that there is no good going on living just to nurse his disease if he can’t get on with his work. So he says goodbye to the doctor and returns to work, and either gets over it and lives and carries on with his livelihood, or else dies and is put out of his misery that way.’
‘I understand,’ said Glaukon ‘and of course that is the proper use of medicine for a man in his walk of life.’
He smiled as he recalled how this had enraged him. The ‘proper use of medicine’ had meant the spread of infectious diseases that did not distinguish between carpenters and those who owned large estates and hundreds of slaves.
In the book he was preparing, Idrisi had written that a healthy diet was the best preventive medicine, but also that there should be no treatments that the poor could not afford. These should be available to all in special hospitals. Other considerations he had put aside for the moment, although, in private, he agreed with Hippokrates’ injunction: in order to cure a man it was necessary to understand his origins and the causes of his evolution. This was a conviction forbidden to the People of the Book who were to believe that Jehovah, God, Allah created man—possibly a simplification of knowledge that had not helped the study of medicine. The Ancients, too, had their myths, but these contained the kernel of a truth. Prometheus, who gave man fire to save him from extinction, was clearly aware that man possessed the brain to make use of the fire and the makers of the myths themselves interpreted Prometheus as the symbol of human intelligence.