by Tariq Ali
‘Is that true?’
‘Could I invent such a place?’
‘And why did the Hauteville clan and its retainers come here?’
‘They were warriors who fought for whoever paid them and like others in their position, they realised that the Amirs who needed them must be weak. And so they thought why fight for this man when we are stronger than him? We could rule in his place. They must have been blessed by Allah. Look what they found on this island. A great deal of wealth and cultivated land in plenty. Rich harvests of wheat and fresh fruits of every description. The papyrus from which we made paper they had never seen before. Nor had they imagined a city so rich and large as Palermo. Two hundred thousand people lived there when the Franks arrived. They came as conquerors and, at first, they were cruel. But once we decided it was impossible to resist them, they lived with us in peace and realised they needed us to teach them all we knew. And they liked our women.’
Elinore smiled.
‘Do you know something, Abu? The story the Sultan told us each year was not so different. He talked of his father and uncle and the deeds of their family as well, but apart from that, it’s the same story. Is that not strange?’
‘It is rare for conqueror and the conquered to share the same story. The reason is obvious. The majority of those who live here follow our Prophet and to remove them all without anyone to replace them would make this island poor and forlorn. Roger and his father understood this well. Will their sons and grandsons?’
For a while they spoke of stars and ships and she wanted to know what he knew of Carthage, and of the Phoenicians who had built it. And was it true they had sailed to Ifriqiya simply by trusting the stars? He told her all that he knew and from the way her eyes attended he could see how she was absorbing the knowledge. Each knew it was not enough. They would return again to these matters and to the closeness they felt for each other.
After a silence she asked him about Walid. At first he did not reply. She pressed him again. ‘I know you love him dearly. My mother has told me that, but she could never explain why he ran away or what happened to him.’
‘He is alive and well. He works for a Jewish silver merchant in Venice. I will go and see him soon and bring him back, if I can. Sometimes children become gloomy and indolent if they are permanently in the shadow of their fathers. A period of separation can help. I was no different myself at that age.’
‘Do you think that all these years in my mother’s shadow have made me lazy and miserable?’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘No, my child. The stars have smiled on you and your mother. Also you are a woman. Men have different needs.’
Before Elinore could challenge this, her mother entered the library. ‘Who won the chess?’
‘We both did,’ replied her daughter. ‘As you can see neither of us has yet made a move. The table has not been touched.’
Then Mayya turned to him. ‘Muhammad, last night we discussed something and your response made me angry.’
He frowned, indicating that the conversation she proposed was best held in private.
‘Elinore and I have no secrets. It’s best that way. It prevents us from eavesdropping on each other’s conversations.’
‘Very well,’ he said in a resigned voice.
‘I spoke to Balkis and Aziz a few minutes ago. He will marry us today if you agree.’
‘But the Sultan ...’ Idrisi saw her expression and froze.
‘I am not married to Rujari. I was his concubine, as you reminded me on many occasions. This is your daughter, not his, but if you wait till his death I will not marry you. You married your wife because you were a coward and you will not marry me today for the same reason.’
Idrisi rose and moved towards her, but she extended her arms to keep him away.
‘Listen to me, Mayya, and listen carefully. This kingdom is on the verge of an explosion. Philip is going to be tried for treason and burnt. The Bishops would regard our marriage as an open provocation. Have you forgotten your conversion to their faith? I know it meant nothing to you and you were simply pleasing Rujari, but the monks do not take these matters lightly.’
Mayya was in no mood to listen to anything. ‘The situation you describe will get worse after Rujari dies. Muhammad, we would have been crushed by sorrow had we not held on to each other all these years. I am not suggesting we endanger Elinore or ourselves. We will have to wait before we can live together, but the marriage must take place today. It can remain a secret for as long as you like, but it must happen. If you refuse I will never see you again. I will take Elinore and vanish.’
Elinore remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
‘I know you would not do that because cruelty is absent in you, but if the marriage is to remain secret then I see no problem. Did you agree a time with the Amir?’
‘After the evening prayer.’
‘You realise that before I can marry you I will insist that you convert back to our faith.’
‘It has already been done and in the presence of my sister and her husband. Anything else you require from me, husband?’
‘Yes. Total obedience. Remember the sura in al-Quran, which ...’
‘Silence, Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi. What I cannot bear is the thought of separation again.’
‘Is there any reason for you to return to Palermo?’
‘None, but where should I go?’
‘You could stay here till we decide where you wish to live. Your sister provides a perfect excuse. And Rujari is far too preoccupied to notice your absence.’
‘But all our clothes and everything else is in Palermo,’ said Elinore.
‘The clothes can be sent for, but what is the everything else that you speak of?’ asked her father.
‘Abu, it’s Palermo I will miss. We cannot live in Siracusa. This is a city you visit.’
‘Child, it’s better you stay here for the next few months. The mood in Palermo will be ugly after Philip is burnt to death. We may not be able to control the multitude and they may attack the palace. Send for everything you need. When things have calmed down, you can return.’
Later that evening, the Amir summoned them to his private chamber, dismissed the retainers and performed a simple marriage ceremony.
A modest meal had been prepared so that there was not a hint of a celebration. Mayya and Balkis reminisced about their parents and their brothers, who had left the family home and moved away from the island to al-Andalus. Elinore and her father were happy to listen to the sisters so obviously enjoying themselves, but the Amir retired early, pleading a long journey the next day. After the table had been cleared they repaired to the moonlit terrace for mint tea, together with the sweet mixture of dates and hardened milk for which Siracusa was renowned. They could hear the sound of waves breaking gently against the rocks below.
‘Elinore,’ said her aunt, ‘is this not the most beautiful sight? I will show you an even better view of the sea from my chamber and convince you to stay here for a few months. Come with me, child.’ Elinore took her aunt’s hand and the two women walked away.
‘Why is your sister childless? Is it ...’
‘It is the Amir,’ sighed Mayya. ‘It is his bird that refuses to sing. Balkis is his second wife. He allowed the first one to depart when she did not have a child. It is clear the problem lies with him and nor does he pretend otherwise. He is a very kind man.’
‘Ibn Quzman would not recognise that there is a problem.’
Mayya laughed loudly. ‘Balkis is not unhappy. He is a kind and sensitive man and often, she says, the sight of her unrobed produces a pitched tent underneath his tunic. All that is lacking is the seed.’
‘She is still young, so there is time, but she should consider a walk in a storm when the angels are in flight from earth to heaven. I’m sure the Amir would greet it as a gift from Allah and Balkis would be happy. She would not be cuckolding him in the usual way.’
‘Really? Your knowledge never ceases to surprise me. So, she should a
ccost a stranger and extract his seed. Interesting. I will pass on your advice. Though I always thought that conjugal treachery leaves a bitter aftertaste.’
Idrisi smiled. ‘Only in cases where the couple is young and passion still strong. For older and more mature men, it is different.’
‘All this talk is raising my temperature. It may be time to pitch your own tent once again and follow me. I will test your maturity with great pleasure. Or is it time for the prayer?’
‘To know and sleep is better than to pray and be ignorant.’
SEVEN
Idrisi is overpowered by memories of an enchanted island. A first meeting with the Trusted One, who preaches open rebellion against Palermo.
IT WAS NOT YET midsummer, the hour was still early, but he could tell that the day would be blazing hot and unpleasant. He sighed loudly, wishing he had not agreed to ride with his son-in-law to his estate. It was not a short journey and there would be no shade. The earth that, only a few months ago, was verdant and carpeted with wild flowers would be parched and barren, intensifying the rays of the sun. The thought of what lay ahead exhausted him. Perhaps it was not too late to change his mind. But when, a few minutes later, Abu Khalid’s presence was announced and the young man entered the chamber, Idrisi’s uncertainties vanished. The pleasure on the young man’s face was visible. He could not control his excitement.
Abu Khalid had organised a covered cart for the older man, but Idrisi knew it would double the length of the journey and so he insisted on riding. ‘My health is not delicate. I feel as robust as an ox.’
Abu Khalid and Idrisi rode side by side out of the city, each carrying skin flasks filled with water and followed by three retainers armed with weapons. It was as he had expected, the air dry, still and lifeless. The half-naked boughs of the stunted trees with their parched, withered leaves were all that remained of the spring. The sun glistened on the rocks.
After an hour on horseback it was difficult to tell whether the horse or the rider was sweating more. They stopped to drink some water and wet the cloths on their heads. When the journey resumed, Idrisi could not concentrate on the path or its abrupt elevations. Once he thought he saw a lake in the distance and was about to suggest that they stop and bathe when he realised his eyes were playing tricks, as they often did at sea. The glow shed by the small hills was deceptive and it was at that moment that a memory he kept firmly locked in the cellar, but that had been revived by the sight of Balkis, took hold of him. An image of an ancient Greek temple he had once seen on a mysterious island appeared.
He had just started work on his book and, with the eagerness of a novice, he would instruct the sailors to stop at each and every island. His curiosity was boundless. He would make detailed notes on the plants and the rocks and the shape of the coast. They had been at sea for some weeks when the island was first sighted. At first they thought it was uninhabited and the excitement of discovery cheered his spirits. It was when the sailors went in search of fresh water that they discovered the small lake and then saw the old Greek temple that decorated the shore. A sailor was despatched to inform the scholar.
The first thing that Idrisi noticed was that the temple was not a ruin. He wanted to study the building on his own and uninterrupted. The men were despatched to replenish their supplies of water and search for goats, usually in plentiful supply on uninhabited islands. He took the quills, ink and paper from his attendant and instructed him to return to the ship and find the old map of the region in the trunk that lay underneath the bed in the cabin.
He had seen many ruined temples in Djirdjent and Siracusa and had imagined what they must have been like when filled with worshippers, but this was different. In scale it was not as large as most of the wrecked temples he had seen in Siqilliya and the coastal cities of the great sea, but its structure was exactly the same. The pillars at the entrance led to a chamber and here he saw for the first time a giant statue of Aphrodite. To his astonishment it was not made of white marble. A light brown stone had been used. The sculptor had left little to the imagination. This Aphrodite had large red nipples and the same colour stone had been used to depict her mound. Could these be precious stones? If so, the men would insist on stealing them. He would not permit it, but it was best to avoid conflict. He would try and keep them distracted. And then he noticed that surrounding the goddess of love on each side were three graces. Just below the feet of the statue the sculptor had placed a high priestess. All were clothed in tunics and their throats, like white jewels, gleamed in the darkness. They appeared small in comparison to Aphrodite, but were in fact life size. He shivered as if an impetuous current had suddenly passed through him.
Everything appeared as if it was regularly washed, but there was still no trace of any person. Perhaps this was a secret temple where descendants of those who once worshipped the old gods gathered at special times of the year to preserve their traditions. The thought excited the scholar. If this were the case why had they chosen Aphrodite? Could this be the island where Homer’s hero had found the enchantress Circe? And could that be the reason for this temple?
As he turned away and prepared to leave the temple, he heard what sounded like a gentle clearing of a throat behind him. He froze. It must be his imagination. He turned around and walked back to the statue. This time he looked closely at the smaller statues. There could be no mistake. He could actually hear the high priestess breathing. He went close and felt her face. Tears poured down her cheeks. He was dumbfounded and ecstatic. His hands felt the rest of her body. She was human.
‘Who are you?’ he whispered in the Siqilliyan Greek he had learnt at court.
‘I am Eleni, the high priestess of this temple, and these are my priestesses.’
He was surrounded by seven women.
‘Do you live here? Is this island inhabited?’
‘Yes,’ replied Eleni. ‘Our families live behind the rocks where they are not visible from the sea. You are the first visitor for two years. The seafarers who came before you were not interested in the island. They just wanted some water, which as you can see is plentiful. Then they left. Will you leave soon?’
He nodded. ‘But who are you?’
‘We belong to families who started worshipping our old gods during the time of the Great Emperor. After he died the Nazarenes began to capture and kill us, so some families boarded a ship and sailed away from Byzantium, which the Nazarenes call Constantinople.’
Idrisi was bewitched. ‘Which Great Emperor?’
‘Julian. We named this island after him. This is Julian’s island and Aphrodite is our goddess.’
He told them who he was and from where he came. They had heard of Palermo and knew the Arabs ruled there. As far as they were concerned the Nazarenes were the worst but the followers of Moses and Muhammad were no better. He was not in the mood for a philosophical debate on the virtues of one Allah against the stone gods of the ancients.
They told him of the rites they performed each spring, of the food they grew on the island, of how their numbers continued to decline. The men tended to leave and that is why they wished to entertain him and his men to a feast that night. They made no secret of their desires or intentions.
When the men returned, he told them of everything except the precious stones mounted on Aphrodite’s breasts. But they were eager to participate in a feast and none showed an interest in even entering the temple. This surprised him and in other circumstances he would have questioned and reprimanded them on their lack of curiosity.
After they had bathed in the freshwater lake and dried themselves in the sun and were lying unclothed enjoying the sea breeze, they were interrupted. The priestesses, who had been watching from the temple, emerged in the sunlight. The men were thunderstruck, just as he had been. They watched the women as a trapped animal sees a hunter. They felt in the presence of a fate they were powerless to avert and they covered their nakedness with their shirts and hurriedly put on their clothes. Once they were dressed, the women beckoned
and, like men in a trance, they followed. They were in such a state, and this included Idrisi, that they did not notice the maze of winding paths through which they were led to the village. Here they were greeted by other women and of every age. Afterwards they were not sure whether a single male villager had been present. First, they were given love-pipes to smoke and then jugs of red wine were placed on the table underneath the tree. When the freshly roasted goat’s meat, marinated in lemon juice and covered with thyme, was served, they ate like men who had been starved for months. They had, but not for the lack of food. It was the women serving them that they wanted. The food was simply a substitute.
It was not the wine but the dried leaves in the love-pipes that intoxicated them. They were ready to be led anywhere. They were. Idrisi remembered being taken by the high priestess. Later, they would boast that it was a night of uncontrolled passion, but when they woke next morning they were all lying on the shore. The only memory of the occasion was the earthenware love-pipe. None of the men were prepared to go back and search for the village where they had been treated so well. Idrisi sent them back to the ship and asked them to wait a few hours. They were frightened and believed they had been possessed by demons. It had been a test of their faith and they had failed. Allah and God would punish them. They pleaded with him not to go alone, but none offered to accompany him.
Idrisi thought he had found the track leading to the lake and the temple, but it was as if they had been led from the very beginning. There was no trace of the path. After several attempts he gave up, but all the time he was there he felt he was being watched. It was a challenge. He would have liked to stay and record the events, but the men were anxious to move on and, reluctantly, he agreed. The memory of the high priestess never left him. Balkis, the Amir’s wife, had reminded him of her. He had made detailed notes on the location of Julian’s island. It was a twenty-four-hour journey from ... He mapped it from every direction, but he never could re-discover the island. When he described the incident to the Sultan he found Rujari at his most sceptical. Who could blame him? And as the years passed, Idrisi himself wondered whether any of this had really happened.