by Tariq Ali
From where did this religious passion come? It was a response to the fires that had been lit to destroy what he had long regarded as indestructible. The early victories of the Prophet and the resulting triumphs had created a civilisation so proud and conscious of its superiority that, like the ancients of Greece and Rome, it became infected with the idea that this superiority made it invulnerable. A fatal error.
But the Trusted One had been right to draw attention to the treachery that had led to the invitation despatched by Ibn Thumna, the Amir of Siracusa, to the Franks. Events that had taken place a hundred years ago were still fresh in the imagination of most Believers. How many times had Idrisi heard the story of the evil and promiscuous Amir, Ibn Thumna, who had killed the pious and noble Ibn Maklati, the Amir of Catania, for reasons of sheer greed. He wanted more land. The murder was avenged by Ibn al-Hawwas, who inflicted a crushing defeat on the Siracusan Amir. It was then and simply to save his own skin that Ibn Thumna had invited the infidels to cross the water. He was killed in battle alongside them, so gained nothing in the end. He was probably roasting in the fires of hell at this very moment. It suited Idrisi to think of somewhere hotter than Siqilliya.
He looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, even though the shepherds had predicted rain last night. Sweat poured down his face and neck and he yearned for a moist sea breeze as they galloped on. He would not rest till the men pleaded on behalf of their horses. Coming to a grove of trees, the trunks and boughs twisted by the wind and wounded by lightning and the leaves parched and withered, he relented. As he strolled among the trees he could hear the men talk of the Trusted One. When he joined them they fell silent, but he asked if they had attended the mehfil at the village. They nodded without volunteering any information.
‘Would all of you join the army of which the Trusted One spoke?’
Again they nodded.
‘You are prepared to die, but for what?’
‘So that the prayers can be said in the name of the Caliph once again.’
‘Is that all?’
Another voice replied. ‘Many of our people work as slaves for the Church. When we defeat the infidels we can free all our people.’
Then the youngest of them, who had not spoken, said, ‘We are poor people and you are a great scholar. How can we tell you anything you don’t already know. But you can teach us a great deal. Do you think we can win?’
Idrisi thought before replying. ‘I don’t know. There is a tendency amongst our people to boast loudly of our capacities. We became too selfish and vainglorious. If extravagant language could defeat the enemy, we would never lose a single battle. And then there is this island, which has a magical effect on all who come here, regardless of their faith. Geography and local conditions isolate us from other lands and, Nazarene or Believer, we begin to adjust to the conditions here. The geography of this island shapes our character and in fifty years or more—Believer or Jew or Nazarene—you will not be able to tell the difference between us. We become Siqilliyani facing the same problems.’
The men did not know what to make of this, and smiled but remained silent. Ready to move on again, they covered their heads and mounted their horses.
A gentle wind arose and clouds had already darkened the sky as they reached Siracusa.
Idrisi was greeted by the palace steward, who informed him that the Amir was expected back later that night. A bath had been prepared for him and the Lady Balkis would join him for the evening meal.
‘Are the Lady Mayya and Elinore here?’
‘They returned to Palermo a few days ago.’
He had been hoping to find his daughter on her own and take her back with him. Why had Mayya gone back so soon? Balkis would have the answers.
He went to the hammam where a warm aromatic bath had been prepared for him. Camomile, wild thyme, marjoram and yes, mountain-mint. Was that a bundle of black nightshade he saw floating in the water? It was. He lifted it out of the bath and handed it to the attendant.
‘Who chose the herbs?’
‘The Lady Balkis.’
He made a mental note to tell his sister-in-law that nightshade should only be used to cure insomnia. As he slipped into the bath he felt the soothing powers of the herbs extracting the tiredness out of him. He lay back and enjoyed an infusion that was poured on his head, after which the attendant massaged it for what appeared to be a very long time. He insisted on a cold bath to get rid of the slight drowsiness and soon emerged feeling completely refreshed.
A different bedchamber had been prepared for him, but since the view of the sea was even better, he did not complain. It was raining and the sea was rough. He could see the boats along the quay bobbing up and down like a row of horses before a race. An attendant knocked on the door to tell him that the meal was about to be served. He followed her to a set of rooms where he found Balkis awaiting him, dressed in a gaudy red tunic, her golden curls tied in a knot. The colour did not suit her.
‘Welcome back, Muhammad ibn Muhammad. I am only sorry my husband is not here to greet you. As you can see, the weather is really bad and I think he will not arrive till tomorrow. The messenger who brought the news said that the Amir insisted you not leave for Palermo without seeing him.’
Idrisi bowed politely. ‘I’m touched by your hospitality. If the storm carries on like this I doubt I will be able to leave in the morning. I will wait till the Amir returns. I, too, have things I wish to discuss with him.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of your daughter’s death. Were you close to her?’
‘No and that makes me feel guilty. But let us not talk about sad things this evening. I was looking forward to seeing Mayya and Elinore. Why did you let them depart?’
‘It was Elinore who insisted.’
For a while they ate in silence.
‘Balkis, I have been wondering. You and Mayya don’t look like sisters. Did you have different mothers?’
Balkis smiled and said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, ‘No. Different fathers.’
‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.’
‘Should I tell you the whole story?’
‘Please do.’
While he was listening, a serving woman cleared the table, and another placed little bowls of herb infusions in front of them. So enraptured by Balkis was Idrisi that he sipped his without noticing the shahdanaj al-barr* and honey. Its effects were not immediate, but even as he listened he felt a light-headedness emboldening him in the way he looked at her.
Abruptly he asked, ‘Why did you decide to wear this unbearable red dress? The colour does not suit your complexion. Was it deliberate?’
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Take it off and ...’
Her laughter interrupted him. He was relieved it was not a stupid or a malicious laugh, but delicate and careful without being precious. There was no movement of the hand to conceal her lips, a gesture he disliked in women.
He returned to her story. ‘Did Mayya know?’
‘She knew for a long time but only told me the entire truth a few weeks ago. Ibn Muhammad, would you ever kill a woman who betrayed you?’
The reply was instantaneous. ‘No.’
‘And now it’s your turn for a story. Mayya told me about the strange island of Julian, but she was not sure if it was real or imagined.’
Another bowl of the potent brew was placed before him. He accepted it eagerly. Then shut his eyes in silent appreciation. He told the story of Julian’s island, not sparing her a single detail. He recounted the night of passion and the different ruses the high priestess had used to excite and revive him after they had made love the first time. Idrisi was so engrossed in his story that he did not notice her blushes. He had succeeded in physically exciting her without a single touch. She rose from the table and suggested they retire for the night.
When he returned to his room, Idrisi opened the shutters to watch the storm. No stars were visible in the pitch black sky, only flashes of lightn
ing and hard rain. He undressed and fell on the bed. A little later an apparition—or so he thought—floated into the room, dressed in white. It was ... no it couldn’t be ... yes it was ... he was sure ... it must be the high priestess from Julian’s island.
‘Is it you?’ he whispered in Greek.
‘Yes.’
Idrisi fell on his knees before the keeper of Aphrodite’s flame and slowly worked his way upwards till she, like him, was naked.
‘The storm outside, it frightens me.’
She went to the window and closed the shutters.
He took her by the hand and led her to his bed. ‘It is the storm inside that frightens me.’
What followed was a night of pure passion. Balkis had heard his story well and she mimicked each and every incident that he had described. Idrisi barely opened his eyes. He felt he was being washed in waves of bliss as he explored the mounds and crevices of her body.
She wanted to whisper in his ear: ‘I’m Balkis, I’m not your stupid high priestess. It’s my body you’re pleasuring. Mine. And I want your child.’ But her part of the bargain could not be broken. She had promised her sister that she would not reveal her identity. If Idrisi recognised her, she had another carefully prepared story. After they had made love for the third time her exhausted lover fell into a deep sleep. As he turned over to make himself comfortable, he broke wind noisily, like a thunder-clap. It was the only time that night she was reminded of her husband.
She left the chamber. Safe in her own rooms, Balkis could smell him on her and her body tingled with delight. I hope it didn’t work tonight, she thought. Anyway, how could one tell? We will have to do it again just to make sure. Thank Allah she had not refused to learn Greek when she was a child. What if he decides to leave before nightfall? I will stop him. I will send a secret message from the priestess. I will do anything I have to in order to keep him here for just one more night. Just one more. And if necessary I will accompany him to Palermo to see Mayya. She’ll kill me, I know, but I refuse to let him go. She shared Rujari with Allah knows how many other women. Why couldn’t she share Muhammad with only me, a sister who loves her? What if Mayya and I are both pregnant? With this thought in mind she finally fell asleep.
And Idrisi? Perhaps it was the herbs. Perhaps the passion. Perhaps both. He had not slept as comfortably as this for a long time. He did not wake till he heard the muezzin early next morning.
He shivered slightly as he remembered the erotic dream of last night, Ishq khumari. Bacchic love. Then he smelt her perfume and her body on his. Had it been real after all? He sniffed his arms like a dog. Then he went on all fours and sniffed the sheets. Delicious scents invaded his nostrils. He lay back perplexed, but happy. There was no mistake. A woman had been here last night. They had made love. It was no dream, but how could it be the high priestess exactly as she had been all those years ago? Was that possible? And then he remembered the herbal infusion he had drunk. It was not dissimilar to what he and his men were given on Julian’s island all those years ago.
The more he thought, the more agitated he became. Only one person could have wanted to test him. Mayya. But who played the part of the high priestess? The moment he posed the question he knew the answer. Balkis. The vulgar red dress was designed to distract him from what she would wear later on that evening. Ibn Hazm had argued that it was permitted to look at a woman once, but not the second time. He had looked at Balkis the whole evening and she had drugged him as well. And the reason now became obvious. It was he who had suggested to Mayya that in a storm many seeds begin to fly.
Three courses of action were open to him. The storm had died and the sea appeared calm again: he could leave for Palermo without saying a word. He could confront her, demand an explanation, and then leave. Or he could spend another night here. The thought of seeing her again—but this time as herself—began to excite him. His breakfast had been laid on the terrace and as he sat down he saw her on the neighbouring terrace, looking in the direction of the sea.
‘Allah be praised, the sea is calm this morning, sister Balkis.’
She was startled, but only for a moment. She had been waiting over an hour for him to come out.
‘Did you sleep well, Ibn Muhammad?’
‘Better than I have done for many years. I can’t imagine why.’
Her tranquillity shaken, she turned away from him. He stepped over the wall separating them.
‘This is the Amir’s terrace,’ she said nervously. ‘He has been delayed in Palermo and asks you to join him as soon as you can.’
‘In that case I should leave immediately.’
‘No,’ she replied, her voice stifled with passion.
He took her by the arm and gently guided her into the room. He extended his arms and felt both her breasts. She flinched.
‘Strange, these friends seem familiar.’
‘You knew?’
‘Not last night, but this morning when my head was clear.’
She fell into his arms as a devouring passion gripped them. Blind to all else, they made love in the Amir’s large bed below a canopy embroidered with gold thread. After the storm had passed, he looked at her closely. ‘Balkis, my dear, I think the seed will flower now. And for that reason it was appropriate that you chose your husband’s bed. Have I your permission to return to Palermo?’
‘No!’ she shouted and slapped his face. ‘No. No. No. No.’
‘But I must go. Your husband and my wife await me.’
‘It’s not just your seed, it’s you I want.’
‘But you barely know me.’
‘I do now.’
‘First, you must answer me truthfully and avoid any further deception. And keep looking straight into my eyes. If your gaze falters I shall know you’re trying to avoid the truth.’
‘I will not deceive you. Ask your question.’
‘I thought I detected the hand of Mayya behind this delicious plot, especially the opening scene last night. She knows everything?’
‘It was my idea to extract your seed. She was not happy, but later when I insisted that this was what I wanted, she laid down a condition. If it had to happen, she would prepare everything. She did, Muhammad.’
‘Including the shahdanaj al-barr?’
‘Especially that ... the rest I learned from you when you described in such wonderful detail the love rites of Aphrodite’s high priestess. It’s as if you were describing a landscape or the flowers, herbs and trees that grow here. Now I understand why they say you are a many-sided scholar and if you will permit me I would ...’
Idrisi interrupted her: ‘I will not deny that my eyes found themselves following you more than is permitted. And I confess that images of you entered my head during the long ride to Abu Khalid’s village. And if you were not married to such an honourable and decent soul, it would not matter, but you are, and for that reason alone we must not repeat this. Ever.’
‘He’s such a decent and honourable soul that you dragged me into his bed and kept me there till your passion flowed. Now you talk as if nothing had happened. If you really want us never to repeat this then we won’t, but I don’t believe you. I’ve held you in my arms and I know you felt exactly the same as me. The situation is difficult, but solutions can always be found.’
‘And what about your sister?’
‘We’ll agree to share you. She can have you for the first two days and me for the next three.’
‘I thought there were seven days in a week.’
‘After I’ve had my way, you’ll have earned two days’ rest.’
He began to laugh. ‘You are impossible.’
Her eyes filled with longing. ‘Why. It’s quite normal, except that Mayya and I are half-sisters.’
‘Balkis, you are married to someone else.’
‘He will divorce me if I ask him. We can discuss this on the journey to Palermo.’
‘You’re coming with me? This is foolish.’
‘Why? My sister and husband are already ther
e. I will stay in the palace, not with you. There are no children to keep me here.’
‘Balkis, listen carefully. You can travel with me, if you insist, but the ship is a public place and decorum must be preserved. If our weakness triumphs the whole of Palermo will know that the Amir is a cuckold even before you reach the palace.’
‘Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi, my Sultan of love, I will do as you say. Balkis will be the most modest and demure passenger your vessel ever carried.’
‘I had a presentiment that it would end like this.’
‘Surely you mean begin like this.’
A few hours later they were on the sea for Palermo. The veiled lady was sitting in a cabin sipping tea while the scholar-lover was pretending to make notes.
‘I know they can see us, but surely we can talk.’
‘Of course we can talk.’
‘Then tell me about Abu Nuwas.’
‘Balkis!’
‘What? Just talk about him. If you don’t I’ll walk up to you in full view of the men and kiss your lips.’
‘You promised ...’
‘Yes, but only if you behave normally as well, agree to speak with me and answer my questions. Surely we’re not going to make this journey in total silence. It’s not often that a humble woman like me has the chance to travel with a great scholar. So perhaps we could start with the poetry of Abu Nuwas.’
Despite himself, Idrisi was amused and impressed by her.
‘Abu Nuwas was born in Basra, a hundred years after the death of our Prophet. He moved from there to Kufa to study, Basra and Kufa being the cities where even well-educated scholars enhance their learning. Kufa was famous at that time for its grammarians and Abu Nuwas arrived to perfect his knowledge of our language. Later he moved to Baghdad, but this was largely for employment and pleasure.
‘He was a poet much favoured by the Caliph and became the subject of story-tellers in the bazaar. According to one story, Shahrazad is late one evening and enters the Caliph’s bedchamber to find him sprawled on his front with Abu Nuwas riding him like a horse. Shahrazad feigns horror. Abu Nuwas withdraws and stands up naked. She slaps his face. He replies: “We’re just proud and penetrating men, Princess.” She threatens to inform the qadi unless the Caliph releases her from her side of the bargain. He agrees, but pleads with her not to stop telling her stories. From that day onwards he pays her ten gold dirhams for each of her stories, which get better.’