A Sultan in Palermo

by Tariq Ali

  ‘Let us proceed to the next charge. I was too lenient to prisoners in Ifriqiya. I plead guilty. I treated them as I would treat any human being. The fighting was over. We had won an important victory. The Zirid dynasty crumbled to dust before my eyes. Had I been soft-hearted in the course of the battle you would have had cause to bring me before you. But on behalf of this Sultan, I took al-Mahdia, the city of my youth. I will not hide from you the inner pain I felt. That I was instrumental in taking this city gave me no pleasure, but my loyalty to Siqilliya was never in doubt. The Bedouin whom I paid to fight on our side wanted to loot the city indiscriminately and take their pleasure of any woman, young or old, who was not already in hiding. War arouses the lust for loot and human flesh. I gave firm instructions that this should not happen. When these were disobeyed I had three Bedouin and six of our own soldiers flogged in public for rape. Yes, I stood there and watched them bleed. Do I regret that? No. And I would do it again. I think in better times the Sultan would have defended all these actions.

  ‘I have nothing more to say. I know that the fires that will consume me have already been lit and I am prepared to meet my Maker. I have done nothing of which I am ashamed. My only regret is that I had no opportunity to live among our people because whenever I asked myself how the earth procured the food we eat in order to survive the answer was never in doubt. It was the ordinary peasants on the land who produced the food and from the comfort of this palace, I sometimes envied them their closeness to the earth. I remember mentioning this to many people.

  ‘To the Sultan I will say this: if I have offended you in any way I beg your mercy and I apologise. I have always been loyal to you and your family. Those who have poisoned your ears with regard to me are the same people who will try and get rid of your sons and the system of administration that your father and you helped to create. Think of that when you watch me in the flames.’

  The Barons rose to protest and shouts of ‘Cut off his tongue’ were heard from the mouth of more than one monk. The prosecutor had worked himself into a confected rage.

  ‘We have a witness who will testify that this man concealed his real faith behind a Christian mask. Bring him in.’

  The guards brought in a venerable merchant, Ali ibn Uthman al-Tamimi. He was one of the most respected traders in the city and had attended the mehfil at the Ayn al-Shifa mosque which Philip had attended just before he was arrested. The marks on his face suggested that violence had been inflicted on him.

  The merchant was asked to swear on al-Quran that he would speak the truth. He spoke in a very low, broken voice, not daring to face Philip. But he did not mention the meeting. He testified that on a single occasion he had prayed together with Philip at the mosque. The evidence was enough to condemn him. As he was leaving he looked up at Philip with tearful eyes and in a voice that was heard throughout the hall he said: ‘Forgive me. They threatened to rape my ten-year-old daughter.’

  At this point Philip, greatly angered by the sight of an old friend who had been humiliated and tortured, demanded to speak. The Sultan nodded. ‘Burn me, if you will, but do not inflict suffering on innocent people. Yes, it is true I was a secret Believer, but my sin lay not in my belief but in my cowardice. I should have told the Sultan and for this I beg your pardon and plead for your mercy. I was very young when I came to the Court and you were so kind to me that I wished to please you in every way. But when I accompanied the Amir George to Mahdia, memories of my childhood overwhelmed me and it was at that time that in my heart I became a Muslim once again. I do not regret my choice. I know you will burn me today for that is the custom of your faith. But before I am sentenced I wish to address the Sultan directly.’

  Rujari looked at him and for the first time their eyes met. Rujari nodded and turned away quickly. ‘I thank you, gracious Sultan. You more than anyone else present here—and I do not see our friend Master Idrisi in this gathering for which I thank him—understand full well that the reason you and your noble father were able to resist the commands of the Popes in Rome was because, even after the conquest of Siqilliya and the handing over of the most fertile estates to your Barons and the Lombard barbarians from the North, even after all that, my people are still a majority on this island. That is why your Barons speak and understand my language. And that is why you and you father could resist papal demands to send soldiers to fight in the Crusades. We were your strength, we gave you the courage to be independent, our learning, our language, our culture enabled you to boast that you were superior in every way to your poor cousins in England, which was only the truth.

  ‘Living under an occupation is never easy, but your family made it less painful because you needed us for your own reasons. And we needed you to survive. If you destroy us—and forgive my boldness ... but we all know that the decision to burn me is a victory for those who would like to burn every Believer on this island, if you destroy us you destroy yourselves. One, perhaps two, Hautevilles might reign as kings. Then your fellow religionists will sweep southwards and take what they believe belongs to them by papal right. At that time there will be no force left here to defend your family. As for these unfortunate eunuchs you have imprisoned with me, they are completely innocent. Their only crime is that they worked with me, but then so did the Sultan for many years. To punish them is base and unworthy and I would plead for mercy on their behalf. Spare their lives. You have mine. Your monks and Bishops wish to consign me to Hell. But Allah alone will decide.’

  As he stepped back and bowed half-ironically to the Sultan, the Amir of Catania could not contain himself. He rose from his bench. ‘Allah will send you to heaven, Philip al-Mahdia. Allah akbar.’

  Angered by this display of insubordination, Rujari rose from the throne and still refusing to look his old friend in the eye he addressed the court. ‘Most distinguished sirs who sit in judgement today, my words are for you. My soul is pierced by the greatest grief, and roused to passion by severe torments, because this minister of mine, whom I raised from boyhood so that, having been purged of his sins, the Saracen might become Christian, is yet a Saracen and, under the name of faith, has done deeds of faithlessness. Had he offended our majesty in other ways, had he carried off a greater part of our treasure, we would have forgiven him because he had done great service for us. But because he has offended God and has furnished others with the opportunity and the precedent of sinning, and because I should not forgive an injury to our faith and a crime against the Christian religion by my own son, nor should I acquit anyone else. In this act let the whole world learn that I love the Christian faith with absolute constancy and do not refrain from avenging any injury to it, even by my own ministers. For this reason are laws set up and for this reason our laws are armed with the sword of fairness; they wound the enemy of the faith with the sword of justice, and thus they set a terrible snare for the infidels. Most distinguished sirs, you who are here to judge this crime, do your duty.’

  The Barons clanged their swords to show approval of their king. Rujari, exhausted, slumped on the throne. The Barons, justiciars and judges did not take too long in their deliberations.

  ‘We decree that Philip, a traitor to the name of Christian, and an agent of the works of faithlessness under the disguise of faith, shall be consumed by the vengeful flames, so that he who would not have the warmth of love shall feel the fire that burns, and so that no trace shall remain of this worst of men, but that, having been turned to ashes by an earthly fire, he may proceed to perpetual torment in the eternal flames. His fellow-conspirators in evil are also sentenced to death but by normal methods.’

  The Amirs and the Muslim notables did not stay to watch the Christians savour their triumph. As soon as the Sultan limped out of the chamber, they left the hall and the palace. A loud wailing could be heard in a section of the palace as they made their way into the streets. To their astonishment these were empty. The people of Palermo, even the Nazarenes, had no desire to witness the fallen Philip dragged through the streets in ignominy. Before
they parted the Amir of Catania took them aside and said: ‘They have declared war on us. And I, for one, will not willingly become a headless chicken. We will fight in Catania. We will not surrender and become their slaves or be killed without a struggle. All of you will make your own choices, but I hope you listened carefully to Rujari’s words. It is the end of Siqilliya as we have known it. My friends from Qurlun, your choice is very clear. Either you fight with us or convert now to their faith and turn your mosques into churches. Do not wait for them to do it. In that way you might save your lives, if not your property. I do not know if we will meet again. Peace be upon you and may Allah protect you all.’

  A noble from Qurlun restrained his departure. ‘Before you leave, give me your advice. Is there any way we could save our property as well as our lives?’

  ‘Perhaps by offering the Barons half of what you own tomorrow and your daughters the day after. But don’t delay too long. And one more word of advice. You Qurlunis are so inbred that you think you’re cleverer than everyone else and that your secrets remain safe within your community. You saw what happened to Philip. If you convert, do it properly and don’t meet in secret to pray and fast or circumcise your boys. Learn to worship the bleeding man on the wooden cross and the mother who remained a virgin after his birth.’

  The Amirs of Catania and Siracusa walked away together, both enraged by Rujari’s speech and the verdict.

  ‘I hope Rujari dies soon, freeing us from our oaths of loyalty. Our presence here is now under serious threat. Our culture is tottering and if we do not act it will fall.’ It was the first time the Siracusan had spoken that day.

  ‘I think his speech has freed us already. Idrisi’s messenger told me that the Trusted One will instruct his followers to capture three monasteries the minute they receive the verdict on Philip. I think the lighthouses will be busy today. My ship is ready to sail. Are you accompanying me or did you bring your own vessel?’

  ‘I did and will sail later today.’

  The two men embraced and went their separate ways.

  Inside the palace walls, Philip was handed to the justiciars, who removed his chains and tied him to the hooves of wild horses. The horses had to be restrained as they reached the gates. Every palace window was crowded with people. They watched in horror and it was later reported that young William, the only remaining legitimate son of Rujari, had tears in his eyes. He had been exceptionally close to the condemned man. Philip had taught him astronomy. The Barons and monks and their retainers stood behind the horses to follow the victim to his death. Outside only a few monks and Nazarenes watched, but less than a hundred in all, and this in a city of three hundred thousand people. There were reports that the mosques and synagogues were overfull that day as special prayers were said to honour Philip. The qadi was seen hurrying in the direction of Ayn al-Shifa to try and contain the hotheads.

  The palace gates were opened. The grotesque procession moved forward. Philip’s limbs were bleeding, but he held his face high even as he was being violently dragged and some of those who had come to watch turned away. A lime-kiln close to the palace had been prepared and a fire had been blazing even before the trial had begun. The justiciars untied the man who was covered in blood. They lifted him above their shoulders and hurled him into the flames.

  Then they all returned to the palace where a grand banquet had been prepared in honour of those who had passed judgement on an enemy of their faith. Rujari pleaded ill-health and was not present at the celebrations. Nor was his son William.

  After a private conference with his friend from Catania, the Amir of Siracusa had instructed his men to make the ship ready to sail at short notice. Walking slowly towards the house where his wife was lodged, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A shiver of fear ran through him, but it was only a grim-faced Idrisi and his retainers.

  ‘Ibn Muhammad, what a relief it is you,’ he said wiping the sweat from his face.

  ‘It has been a catastrophe. The trial was as you suggested, even worse.’

  ‘I have just returned from the mosque. It was a dignified farewell but our young men are angry and I fear there will be some violence in the city tonight. Were you walking to my house? Good. We shall arrive together.’

  ‘Ibn Muhammad, could you ask your men to let us talk on our own?’ Idrisi signalled to Ibn Fityan who told his men to slow down. The Amir confided to him that they would now plan a full-scale rebellion in their regions and drive the Franks out.

  ‘It will take us a few years yet, but the preparations must start now. I know I sometimes give people the impression of not being as steadfast as the Trusted One. But whatever doubts I may have had disappeared today. They declared war on us. That’s why I have a favour to ask of you ...’

  TWELVE

  Idrisi’s love for Balkis and its consequences.

  IDRISI DID NOT HAVE long to wait for the three women outside the Chamberlain’s room at the front of the palace. Relieved of their hurriedly packed clothes by his retainers, he walked back with them to his house. The sky was so starry and active and Idrisi so delighted that he almost forgot the weight of events to come.

  ‘I thought that nights like this happen only when one is young,’ he said.

  ‘I am young,’ replied Elinore. ‘And I will never forget this night.’

  ‘I’m not as old as you and I too will remember this night,’ said Balkis.

  ‘I am older than both of them, but why should enjoyment be left to the young?’

  ‘How far is your house, Abi?’

  Idrisi smiled before replying. ‘None of you know the loneliness that has afflicted me for so many years. When Walid left home without telling us I thought everyone was forsaking me and I became despondent. Tonight I feel all that is over. And we are nearly home. Can you see those lit windows on the hill? Another few minutes and we’ll be there.’

  A palace messenger had already conveyed news of the Sultan’s decision releasing Mayya to Ibn Fityan and so he was waiting with the rest of the household to welcome the new lady of the house and the master’s daughter. Balkis was welcomed equally warmly. The torches held high charmed the women as they walked up the steps.

  ‘Have the rooms been prepared?’

  ‘Yes, Ibn Muhammad,’ replied the steward, ‘but we were not expecting a third guest. It will not take long to prepare a guest chamber.’

  ‘This is the Lady Balkis, who is my wife’s sister and whose husband, the Amir of Siracusa, will probably join us here tomorrow.’

  Ibn Fityan was impressed by this news. It answered all his questions.

  ‘The hammam has also been prepared.’

  The women had already bathed once that day and declined the offer. They asked for an infusion of fresh mint leaves and were escorted to the terrace. Mayya wondered whether she should accompany Muhammad and talk to him while he was bathed, but thought it might be too soon.

  Idrisi’s intention was to have a bath without being disturbed and meditate on the thorny problem that had been preoccupying him ever since they had left the palace: Balkis or Mayya? It might be his only chance to lie in Balkis’s arms before her husband arrived and they departed for Siracusa. What if Mayya insisted, as was only natural, that they should spend the first night here together and make up for lost time? It would be inhuman to resist such a plea. Balkis, who loved her sister, would understand. He had made up his mind, but doubts persisted quite simply because his heart was pushing him in the wrong direction. Left to himself with no other considerations, he would have rushed to Balkis. He knew he might live to regret it and yet, if Allah was kind and gave him ten more years, it was futile to live them in a sea of unhappiness.

  As he left the hammam, refreshed and ready to face his new life, he had decided in favour of Mayya. He would allow nothing to deter him from this path. Ibn Fityan had laid the table in the dining room that was rarely used. The rectangular table could easily seat twenty-five people, but he had prepared just one end of it for Idrisi and the ladies. As they walked
in he looked admiringly at the different colours worn by Mayya and Elinore, but it was Balkis who took his breath away. She wore a high priestess off-white robe and had lifted her hair back with a silver clasp.

  The welcoming feast was pronounced a success and the sweet homemade lemon liquor, which Idrisi insisted was a much more effective digestive than a similar concoction made from aniseed, was highly praised.

  ‘Mayya told me you were a master of medicine as well,’ Balkis said in a slightly indifferent tone, ‘but I had no idea you prepared medicinal mixtures.’

  ‘I do and I even have one which helps get rid of unwanted pregnancies, which is much in demand on Lombard estates. They rape our women who are too ashamed to tell their brothers, fathers or husbands. They go to the local medicine man and plead for the herb that will purge their system. It works. You will not find the prescription in al-Kindi’s Aqrabadhin. When I was in Cairo I introduced it to the physicians at the al-Nasiri maristan. They were pressing me to write a book on compounded drugs and herbs that could help common ailments. If I have time I might yet write such a work.’

  Balkis glared at him and Elinore, thinking her father was being somewhat insensitive to her aunt’s lack of children, decided to change the subject.

  ‘This lemon drink we all loved tonight. You distilled it yourself?’

  ‘I used to, but the Sultan liked it so much that I was forced to part with the formula and from the palace it has spread to the monasteries and estates. My own supplies now come from the palace. I’m really surprised you have never tasted it before. I would have thought the eunuchs would have made sure the harem was regularly supplied.’