A Sultan in Palermo

by Tariq Ali

  And with these words Philip and the Chief Eunuch departed, leaving the rest of the company in a state of mute shock. Idrisi felt the qadi’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Could you not intercede with the Sultan on his behalf?’

  He nodded silently. As he left the room Ibn Fityan joined him and the two men walked in silence through the inner courtyard and out into the street. When he finally reached his house he was greeted by the soft sound of the flute. He paused before the door as Ibn Fityan asked his worried question: ‘Amir Philip refused to leave the island?’

  Idrisi’s sad eyes turned towards his servant and the eunuch knew that it was too late to save Philip. The door opened. Thawdor had sighted them and the music had ceased.

  ‘Bring your son to me, Thawdor,’ instructed Idrisi.

  The man did as he was asked. The boy fell on his knees and attempted to kiss Idrisi’s feet, but he stepped aside, took the boy by the arm and raised him to his feet. ‘Never do that again, Simeon ibn Thawdor. You are not a slave. Have you recovered from the journey?’

  ‘Yes, master,’ the boy replied with downcast eyes.

  ‘I have spoken with your father. You will come with me to the palace where I have arranged for you to be taught how to read and write.’

  The boy looked up and smiled. ‘I am grateful, sir, but I am equally happy to go to the madresseh. I do not wish to trouble you any more.’

  ‘Why should you trouble me?’

  ‘The palace is for the children of the Sultan and I am not fit to learn with them.’

  The men burst out laughing, before Ibn Fityan reassured him, ‘Do not worry about that, young man. You will learn with children who are not so different from you. The palace contains the children of all those who work for the Sultan. That’s where I was taught Arab grammar and Greek. What would you like to learn?’

  ‘Music,’ replied the boy without hesitation.

  His father was incredulous. ‘Music?’

  ‘Yes, father. Music,’ the boy replied.

  Idrisi intervened. ‘Listen to me, boy. I have heard you play the flute and I have no doubt that Allah has blessed you with the gift. You play well and you should also learn to play the lute, which will test your skills. There is a great master in Palermo, whose father, also a great musician, was known to my family. I will speak with him and he will teach you the art, but he will do so twice a week. For the remaining days you must learn grammar and logic. Believe me, it might even help with your music.’

  The boy was overjoyed. ‘Is the name of the master Abu Salim?’

  Idrisi was surprised. The boy was more knowledgeable than he had imagined. ‘It is the same. Have you heard him play the lute?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Once I was walking past the tavern, the one close to where the boats are tied, and I heard music which sounded as if it came from heaven. I sat outside and listened for nearly two hours. I asked a man who came out swaying from one side to the other who the musician was. He hit me on the head and said there was only one man who could bring the lute to life like that and it was Abu Salim. Never forget that name, the man said, because you might never hear him again. I never did, even though I often walk past that place, hoping he will be there.’

  Thawdor and his son were dismissed with an affectionate touch on the head for the boy. ‘I will keep an eye on you from afar. Ibn Fityan will keep me informed about your progress.’

  After they had left, Idrisi signalled to Ibn Fityan that he should sit down. ‘Tell me, who in the palace amongst the Nazarenes is closest to the Sultan?’

  ‘None of them are close in the way Philip was or you are, master. But it is the pale monk, Antonio of Canterbury, who has the Sultan’s ear. Because he is not from here, the Sultan believes his advice is disinterested. He does not ask for lands or money. He lives simply. They tell me that it was he who advised the Sultan to burn Amir Philip.’

  Idrisi had seen Antonio moving around the palace, but had not properly registered his presence. Nor had the Sultan mentioned him, not even once. The Sultan was fearful. That could be the only explanation.

  Ibn Fityan coughed discreetly. ‘There is talk in the palace, master, of which you should be informed.’

  ‘Speak, man. Speak.’

  ‘There is a plan to kill Antonio.’

  ‘Whose foolish idea is this? Philip will be enraged. It will not help him. Is the Chief Eunuch aware of this?’

  ‘He is, but could not convince the others. They intend to kill him tonight or tomorrow and ...’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The plan is to blame Antonio’s murder on the Greek monks who despise him even more than we do. The story that the eunuchs will circulate is that Antonio was caught in a delicate situation with a young monk and when his real lover realised this, he killed them both.’

  ‘Is there any truth in this story?’

  ‘None whatsoever, Amir al-kitab.’

  ‘So there will be two murders.’

  ‘If Allah wills.’

  ‘Allah has not willed this any more than he has willed Philip’s death. These are decisions taken by men on this earth and in Palermo. And both are wrong.’

  ‘It is too late, master. There is nothing we can do. If you were to warn the Sultan, you would betray my confidence and that of the Chief Eunuch. We would all die together.’

  Idrisi could see the logic of this only too well. He would have a bath and reflect on the crisis about to grip the island.

  It was while he was soaking in the hammam that he realised the importance of what Philip had said earlier that afternoon. The best way to maintain the presence of Believers in Siqilliya was to support the Hauteville family who had seized the island through a combination of warrior-skills and luck—and the eternal fact: the followers of the Prophet were divided. This last was the real cause of defeat in Palermo and Jerusalem. Which city would fall next? Ishbilia or Gharnata? The sun would grow dark and the oceans boil before Believers would ever unite against an enemy of the faith and then it would be too late.

  The attendants had begun to dry him when Ibn Fityan entered the outer chamber of the baths. ‘A message from the palace has just arrived.’

  ‘The Sultan?’

  ‘No. It is from the young Princess Elinore. She truly is the Sultan’s favourite and had he married the Lady Mayya, she might have become a Sultana. Allah’s will. Allah’s will. She and her mother will visit their relations on the Sabbath and wish you to join them in Siracusa. The messenger also whispered something else in my ear, master.’

  Idrisi dismissed the attendants.

  ‘Antonio left suddenly today. He boarded a ship for Marseilles. Nobody knows why. The Devil must have warned him.’

  ‘Or his God. I am relieved by this news. Has the murder of the Greek monk been halted?’

  ‘Of course, master. The assassins aren’t foolish. What would be the point of breaking a branch while the tree survives?’

  The news lightened his mood. Idrisi smiled inwardly. Perhaps with Antonio’s departure, the decision about Philip might at least be delayed. He would write a letter to the Sultan pleading with him to rethink. It might be more effective than a meeting.

  ‘Pack my clothes. I will leave for Siracusa early tomorrow. I have work of my own.’

  ‘Will you travel by boat or horse and carriage?’

  ‘Boat. If I leave early in the morning with the tide, we should be there by early evening. The moon is nearly full. It will be a pleasant journey.’

  ‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’

  ‘I need you to stay here and follow events in the palace. When the date for Philip’s trial is agreed, inform me immediately. A single attendant will suffice for this journey.’

  ‘Should we inform the Amir of Siracusa? You will be staying in the palace?’

  ‘I would rather not stay with him. If we decide not to inform him, will he discover my presence?’

  ‘I think he will and, given his temperament, will regard it as an unfriendly act. He might even think the Sultan h
as despatched you to look for a new Amir. The fragility of the situation should not be underestimated.’

  Idrisi eyed his steward appreciatively. Ibn Fityan had been in his service for nearly twenty years, a gift from the Sultan. It was difficult to guess how old he was, but he was probably somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age. His hair had only just begun to turn grey and his dark-complexioned skin was smooth as satin. At first, Idrisi had assumed that he had been placed in his household to keep the Sultan informed of his favourite scholar’s activities. But he had been wrong. The man was part of the Chief Eunuch’s network and this was a group whose loyalty was to the faith into which they had been converted.

  The Prophet had forbidden the castration of Believers, no matter what the circumstances. It was the Byzantine Court in Constantinople that had authorised a loosely regulated trade in castrated boys, supplied to the Pope and his Church for a variety of purposes, but mainly to serve in the choir. For the rest, they were sold in the open market in Palermo, the largest centre of trade between East and West, as well as Baghdad and Qurtuba. The Sultans and Amirs had special need of them. They were the trusted guards of the harem and, as such, acquired key positions in the palaces because of their unlimited access to their rulers. Often they worked closely with those who, like them, had been bought at a young age, but unlike them, had not been nipped in the bud. Philip al-Mahdia was one such person. And there soon developed between him and the circle of eunuchs a natural affinity, which meant that he always possessed alternative means of knowledge. He was not exclusively dependent on the information available to the Diwan. So close was he to the eunuchs that his enemies at Court spread the rumour that he was one himself.

  Unlike others who had started life as young slaves in the palace, Ibn Fityan was not fair-skinned. Sold in Palermo at the age of two, his origins were a mystery even to himself. Despite the fact that he was not castrated, the eunuchs had adopted him. He had been circumcised and brought up as a Believer. He never talked about his wife or children. All attempts to extract information on this subject were politely, but firmly, repelled and had it not been for the indiscretion of the Chief Eunuch, Idrisi might never have known that Ibn Fityan’s son had died in the recent war to re-take Mahdia.

  Idrisi was no longer surprised by the intuitive political skills displayed by his retainer. His natural intelligence appeared limitless, and his experience and knowledge of the Diwan and the palace enabled him to be one step ahead of most of the courtiers. ‘Tell me,’ Idrisi asked him, ‘how you will inform the Amir that I am on my way. To take him by surprise is surely inadvisable. That too might be misinterpreted.’

  ‘It is not a problem, master. Tonight I will instruct the Keeper of the Watchtower in Palermo to send a message along the coast to Siracusa. You are aware, of course, that for secret messages we use a code that is known to only the most trusted of our people. The Amir will be informed of your arrival as he takes his breakfast tomorrow morning. That will give him enough time to prepare your reception.’

  ‘Do you have a friend in that palace as well?’

  ‘More than one.’

  ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

  Ibn Fityan sighed. ‘The Amir is a devout ruler, but many in the city see him as someone who has sold himself to the Franks in order to stay in power. He knows that this is how he is perceived and it angers and upsets him.’

  ‘In that case,’ muttered Idrisi, ‘we share a great deal in common.’

  ‘With respect, master, that is not the case. You are a scholar. He is a ruler.’

  ‘True, but we both serve Rujari. He with his sword and I with my pen.’

  ‘The men who matter know full well that your heart is with us and when the time comes, so will the multitude. We are not sure of the Amir. He does not speak much. He has only one wife and no concubines, thus restricting our ability to find out what he is really thinking. Your visit will offer the first real opportunity. The question that we need answered is this: after Rujari’s death, if we need to fight a war against the Nazarenes, will the Amir of Siracusa fight with or against us?’

  Idrisi burst out laughing to conceal his anxiety. ‘Why should he trust me?’

  ‘That is a risk you will have to take. Was the master aware that the only wife of the Amir is the younger sister of the Lady Mayya?’

  As Idrisi gasped in disbelief, he noticed the tiniest trace of a smile appear on Ibn Fityan’s face as the man bowed and left the room.

  FIVE

  The Amir of Siracusa organises a dinner at which there is open talk of rebellion.

  JUST AS THE SHIP, taking advantage of an unexpected breeze, neared the bay of Siracusa, the light of the full moon fell on the darkness of the sea in the shape of a golden meadow. However many times he had seen this and in however many different waters, it was always breathtaking. As he watched, he saw the fishermen’s candle-lit boats moving out to sea for a night’s work.

  As a child he had loved being woken at dawn to accompany the household servants to the fishing village closest to their home. The journey on horseback woke him up properly; half-excited and half-frightened by the thought of seeing a jaguar crossing their path, but he never did. The real delight was observing the fish being brought off the boats by the fishermen. Then the cook would ask him, ‘Which one should we buy?’ and he would point to the largest, which made the cook laugh. ‘The big ones have too many bones. Let’s take four of these ...’

  Since they had left Palermo, the most important person on board had ignored all attempts to flatter and please him. His manservant had tended to his needs and kept the other travellers, mainly traders, at a distance. This was the disadvantage of being known as an intimate of the Sultan. Throughout the journey he had avoided looking at the familiar coastline that he had mapped more than once. Instead his gaze remained directed at the sea, which had, thank Allah, remained calm as he reflected on the past and the future.

  After having lived for countless years in the desert wildernesses of Arabia, he thought, my forebears were astonished by the unlooked-for prospects that greeted them in urban civilisations. They could not stay still and happily swallowed the best that the new civilisations had to offer them. The darkness of the desert was no longer visible, but they surprised the world with their learning and the opulence of their courts and bazaars. But the contrast between what they had once been and what they had become meant they could not build a lasting structure on these new foundations. Thus the waves of rebellion that arose from the deserts and the mountains ranges of the maghreb, rebels with long beards belonging to sects that preached the virtues of purity and abstinence, men who came on horseback with raised swords, screaming ‘Allah Akbar’ destroyed the cities that had been so carefully built by the first wave of Believers. The puritans burnt books of learning, outlawed philosophical discourse, punished scholars and poets, thus beginning the process that would allow the enemy to enter through the pores of our weaknesses and destroy everything. They did all this for noble motives. They genuinely believed they were acting on behalf of Allah and his Prophet. Naturally, they did not see themselves as a monstrous aberration: that was how they regarded the heretics and softheaded Sultans they slaughtered together with the soldiers who defended them.

  Idrisi was thinking of al-Andalus, fragmented, under permanent siege and possibly on the edge of extinction. Siqilliya was different. Here it was not yet over and like many of his co-religionists, he believed that the Hauteville clan, for reasons of self-preservation, might aid the restoration of the old order. The first serious doubt had been raised by the Sultan’s decision to sacrifice Philip.

  ‘Most respected sir, we have reached Siracusa.’ The commander of the vessel was ready to lead him to the waiting boat sent by the Amir to row him to shore. Idrisi turned around and saw the row of lit torches on the shore. From the ship they appeared to be pallbearers, but he knew their presence signified that a person of importance had been sent to greet him.

  As he disembarked,
he was astounded to see the Amir waiting for him. The two men embraced. The Amir was dressed in a yellow silk tunic embroidered with gold thread, his trimmed hair and short beard dyed a darkish henna red went well with the tunic. He had a dour look. His eyes were dark, but deep-set, emphasising the corpse-like pallor of his countenance. The splendour of his garments could not conceal features that were not flawless and, even though he was some years younger than Idrisi, he had a stoop and walked with a slight limp. Nonetheless, the Amir had the air of a holy man, serious and penitent.

  ‘Allah be praised for bringing you here safely, Ibn Muhammad. Welcome to Siracusa. I believe the last time you visited us was on your way to Noto, but I was in Palermo at the time. Our families are, of course, acquainted with each other. It is an honour to meet you in person.’

  News of his arrival had spread through the town. As the two mounted men followed the winding street to the large square, a throng of onlookers made a path for them. The bystanders accompanied them with rapid steps to the palace gate and began to chant ‘Wa Salaam, Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi, Wa Salaam Amir al Siracusa,’ ‘Allah Akbar’. A few young men bravely shouted ‘Death to the infidels’, before being silenced by their elders and hurried away from the square.

  A lavish banquet had been prepared in his honour to which all the local notables had been invited. The Amir had left Idrisi to recover from his journey in the hammam. After a warm and a cold bath, followed by an invigorating massage carried out by two palace giants, Idrisi felt refreshed but still disliked the thought of a formal banquet. There was, of course, the novelty. He did not really know the city and he remembered Ibn Fityan’s injunction. He would listen closely to what was said, but why should anything be said at a public meal? When would Mayya and Elinore arrive? Would they come here or go first to the family village, an hour away and not easily accessible? A knock on the door announced the palace steward who had arrived to escort him to the courtyard where the guests were assembled.