The Holy Sail

by Abdulaziz Al-Mahmoud

  Emir Nasser stretched out his legs, then grabbed a cushion that he put behind his back. ‘Not yet, Jawhar. Not yet.’ With a malicious smile on his face, he added, ‘Anyway, I thought you were going to retire from the killing business after your sweetheart Farah died!’

  ‘She was a beautiful girl, my lord, but it was perhaps best for her to die along with my promises.’

  Emir Nasser’s smile remained on his face. ‘You didn’t tell me how she died.’

  ‘The guard at the farm told me she had slit her wrists and bled to death. Her mistress buried her near the house. I think she killed herself out of guilt after stealing the dagger and then finding out it was used to blackmail her mistress. The guard told me she did it to atone for her sin, but I still don’t know why Halima has not killed herself too! She was the one who sold you her honour in return for the dagger!’ Jawhar rolled his eyes, as though trying to think of an answer. ‘It seems your plan has become more complicated with Bin Rahhal’s return, my lord. The man has not left his house for days. The couple seems clearly happier. The guard at the farmstead has not even opened the gates since Bin Rahhal entered. So what’s happening? Does the man not know what his wife did with you in his absence?’

  Emir Nasser twirled his moustache, deep in thought. ‘Are you sure you have spread news of our affair properly?’

  ‘I assure you, my lord, there is no one in Bahrain who does not know about it. Your story with Halima has become the talk of the town.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Jawhar. We might need to get Bin Rahhal out of the way too. Whatever is happening behind those gates, it’s a mystery to us.’

  Emir Nasser took a date from the plate in front of him and put it in his mouth. Jawhar was distracted. The emir took the seed from his mouth and flicked it at the slave to get his attention. The seed hit Jawhar’s face and he turned angrily towards his master, but quickly controlled himself.

  ‘When I speak to you, you look at me, slave!’ Nasser then softened his tone. ‘Did you find out who the guest was that stayed at Bin Rahhal’s estate for a few days?’

  Jawhar wiped the place where the seed had hit him and gave his master a grudging look. ‘No, I didn’t. Bin Rahhal has not spoken to anyone about him. Maybe he’s a Hormuzi friend he met after he ran away from India. Anyway, isn’t he supposed to present himself to you on his return to Bahrain?’

  Emir Nasser was still twirling his moustache. ‘He wrote to me to tell me his wife was unwell and that he had to be with her. He said he would come as soon as she recovers. But let’s wait a little and see what Halima is going to tell him, and if he will act as if he has not yet heard about the affair. Her reputation is dirt! We expected him to divorce her after he heard the stories about her, but he hasn’t yet. Isn’t that odd?’

  Emir Nasser found no other solution to his predicament than to send a clear message to Bin Rahhal, telling him he had slept with his wife. Bin Rahhal would then divorce her and she would be his, Nasser thought.

  For his part, Bin Rahhal was now plotting his revenge against Emir Nasser. The best way to do it would be to go through Jawhar, Bin Rahhal realised, because the slave was the only one who could confess to stealing the dagger before Sultan Muqrin. And the best way to get to Jawhar was to bond with Emir Nasser again. Jawhar was a poor slave who needed money to buy his freedom, and Bin Rahhal could take advantage of this to achieve his aims.

  Bin Rahhal turned things over in his head: people were still saying Emir Nasser had copulated with Halima, and they were waiting to see his reaction when he supposedly learned about it. But what if he did nothing? How would people react if his relationship with the emir grew stronger, and what would they say?

  Any other reaction and Bin Rahhal would be confirming the rumours, so he decided to act in a way that went contrary to what people would expect. Bin Rahhal did not have a single way to silence all the allegations, but at least he could make people doubt their conclusions.

  Bin Rahhal started visiting Emir Nasser once again. Soon enough, they resumed playing chess as though nothing had happened. Then, as he had expected, many question marks were raised over his unexpected behaviour. People asked: If Halima had cheated on him with the emir, then why was he still with her, and why was he frequenting the emir’s majlis?

  Bin Rahhal decided to let everyone know what had truly happened, and started circulating the story of how Emir Nasser had slept with Halima’s maid rather than with Halima herself, who had successfully tricked him to avoid his treachery.

  People did little more than spread rumours and counter-rumours. Almost every conversation on the island centred on Halima, her maid, Bin Rahhal and Emir Nasser, and the plots they hatched against one another. As people generally disliked Emir Nasser, they started believing that Halima had indeed tricked him into sleeping with her maid.

  Bin Rahhal met with a smile all the rumours he heard by way of his servants and confidantes whom he sent forth to get the pulse of the street. He knew his battle could be long and painful, but he felt his plan was moving in the right direction. The Arabian vizier let things run their natural course, like leaves in a stream whose path and fate were determined by time and the flow of water.

  One night, Jawhar went to see the emir. The slave was feeling discontent; his plans to gain his freedom had been thrown down the drain when he heard a rumour that the emir had slept with Farah rather than Halima. This meant that the vizier’s wife had tricked the emir, who would have more reasons not to set him free once he found out.

  ‘What’s going on in your head, slave?’ asked the emir.

  ‘Nothing, my lord. Nothing!’

  The emir became enraged and raised his voice. ‘Nothing? There are many things. Did you hear the rumour that it was Halima’s maid who slept with me that night? I, Emir Nasser, slept with a maid? Is it possible that I went to bed with a maid that you, a slave, had also had? If this is true then it would be a black mark that will haunt me forever!’

  The emir fell silent for a few moments, but his agitated breathing was audible. Then he spoke again. ‘There is one way to find out the truth, only one way.’

  At Bin Rahhal’s home, Halima took out some clean clothes for her husband. He was going to pay Emir Nasser a visit again. This night in particular, however, he put a big bundle of money in his pocket. What Jawhar knew was priceless, and he had to find a way to talk to the slave privately and give him the money to buy his loyalty.

  Bin Rahhal mounted his horse and set off to the emir’s majlis. The emir welcomed him cordially as though nothing had happened, and as though the battle of rumours between them in Bahrain were not still raging outside.

  During a chess game, just as Bin Rahhal was about to end the game in his favour with a swift move, Emir Nasser leaned to one side, twirled his moustache and said,

  At night the wolf prowled

  Devoured your herd

  And ate until he was satisfied

  If you want him slain

  The chum you keep company

  Then don’t go about it

  With sycophancy.

  Bin Rahhal did not respond immediately. He moved his chess piece and took out the emir’s king, ending the game. Then he leaned back in turn on a large cushion and said,

  The wolf set out to hunt

  A most dangerous game

  But the wolf got the runt

  And nothing to his name

  A tale all people know

  Despite his claim.

  Emir Nasser’s expression changed suddenly and blood rushed to his face. He understood what Bin Rahhal was alluding to, and realised that the disgrace of having slept with the maid was real and that it would remain with him for the rest of his life. He could not bear it and cried out for Jawhar, who came running.

  ‘Kill him, Jawhar! Rid me of him!’

  Bin Rahhal turned around quickly but Jawhar was quicker. He wrapped his arm around his neck, drew his dagger and stabbed him in his heart with great force. Bin Rahhal fell to the ground covered in h
is own blood. He automatically put his hand on his wound trying to stop the bleeding, before he grabbed the robes of his killer. Bin Rahhal arched violently, then his grip loosened gradually until his body became completely still. He was dead.

  Emir Nasser spat on Bin Rahhal’s corpse. ‘Damn you and your wife. You made me sleep with a maid and brought me scandal! I will take revenge against your wife soon too!’

  He turned to Jawhar. ‘You have done well. You must take his body and dump it in a canal near the road, so people think bandits have robbed him and killed him.’

  Jawhar reached into Bin Rahhal’s pockets, looking for anything of value. ‘Let us search him first. He may have some money on him.’

  The slave searched the slain vizier’s clothes thoroughly, until he found the purse that Bin Rahhal had brought to bribe him. He jiggled it and then put it in his pocket. He took the body and threw it into a remote, isolated canal.

  When Bin Rahhal did not return home that night from Emir Nasser’s majlis, Halima went to the farmstead guard and asked him to go and look for her husband. She sat nervously waiting for the guard’s return.

  The guard returned a few hours later. His face did not suggest there was a happy ending to his mission.

  Halima was standing near the gate of the estate. ‘Did you find him?’

  The guard did not respond. His face was grim and he seemed to be in shock. Halima approached him and grabbed him by his clothes.

  ‘Tell me! Did you find him? Did you?’

  The guard shook his head, looking away from her. ‘They found him dead. I think highwaymen tried to rob him and he resisted.’

  Halima opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She tried again but her voice betrayed her. She loosened her grip on the guard’s clothes. She stared at him in disbelief and then she fell to the ground unconscious.

  When she woke up a few hours later, her house was filled with women she did not recognise. She looked shocked, confused and lost, her eyes wandering aimlessly. Halima tried to figure out what had happened and who those women were, and was not sure whether Bin Rahhal had really died or whether it was all a bad dream.

  She looked at them, and heard wails, sobs and groans. She could make out the words ‘Emir Nasser’ . . . ‘Farah’ . . . ‘slept with’ . . . ‘scandal’ . . .

  She did not recognise their faces and she suddenly screamed, ‘Who are you? Get out of my house! Get out now! I don’t want to see you here! It was Emir Nasser who killed Bin Rahhal. Who else other than this murderer would dare do it?’

  The women lumbered out of the house muttering to one another. Mentioning Emir Nasser in this way could bring them dire consequences.

  Halima was still in shock. She felt her soul had been ripped from her body. She thought about getting a knife and cutting her wrists like Farah had done. There was nothing to live for any more.

  She got out of bed and started looking for anything with a sharp blade, meaning to end her suffering and her misery. Death felt once again like an attractive prospect, an oasis to a thirsty traveller lost in the desert.

  Halima then fainted again. This time, no one came to help her. The maids were afraid of her and had locked themselves in their rooms to avoid her wrath. The sun went down, never tiring of rising and setting on people’s misfortunes. The night insects and frogs came out; the sounds they made outside the desolate-looking house suggested it would be a long night.

  Halima woke suddenly from the slumber that had allowed her to forget for a few fleeting hours her terrible loss. She heard the crickets singing outside and remembered Bin Rahhal’s death. She started wailing again, and pulled a lock of her hair so strongly that she managed to rip it out. Halima wanted to wake up from this terrible nightmare, and struck the ground with her hands repeatedly until they went numb. Suddenly, she stopped and wiped her face with the palms of her hands.

  She went to her bedroom and put all her jewellery and money in a small box. She broke the lock on Bin Rahhal’s chest and took out some of his clothes and valuables, including the wretched dagger. Her box was heavy with the relics left behind by her beloved Bin Rahhal. Halima then packed clothes randomly in another box, and spent the night looking for whatever valuable effects she could fit in the boxes. She was intent on travelling to Al-Ahsa to meet Sultan Muqrin and ask him to punish Emir Nasser, her husband’s killer.

  – 33 –

  Jeddah, Arabian Peninsula

  Hussein arrived in Jeddah. People in the city were not happy to see him again; everyone had hoped he had been killed after his defeat in Diu. But the devil, as they called him, had now returned.

  The city had not changed much during Hussein’s absence. It was peaceful without his harsh decisions and punishments, but people feared Sultan al-Ghawri might send someone even worse than Hussein al-Kurdi. As time went by with Hussein in India and the sultan not sending anyone in his stead, people felt as if they were in limbo, or a purgatory of sorts. But Hussein had returned – by land this time – and entered the city using the gate they had never expected to see him pass through.

  Hussein entered the palace. He knew there were many things he had to catch up with, and asked for his unread mail to be brought to him. The letters he had missed contained much news waiting to be read.

  The dawadar brought him a set of scrolls that had arrived during his time away, at the top of which was a letter from Sultan al-Ghawri. Hussein picked it up quickly. ‘When did this letter arrive?’

  ‘A few days after you set sail to India, my lord. The date is noted on it. I have collected all the letters that arrived from the day you left until your return. The last letter came a few months ago.’

  The dawadar paused and then said, ‘Everyone here and in Cairo thought you had been killed in the fleet’s defeat in the Battle of Diu, but we received a letter from Sultan al-Ghawri asking us to go ahead with the measures you had begun before you left, to be overseen by your deputy until your return. You have been gone too long from us, Pasha.’

  The dawadar smiled as though bearing good tidings. ‘But don’t worry, my lord. Everything here is fine. The soldiers are still stationed on the wall you ordered built. Things have returned to the way they were before you left, except that merchants are now complaining again – as is their wont – about everything. Also, the sultan sent some money to restore the dome of the Prophet’s Mosque. It is in much better shape now, and has been painted a bright green colour. The dome is visible from a great distance. The architect brought the money and left after he finished the job. You have to see what the dome looks like now.’

  The dawadar’s memory was faulty. He remembered things intermittently and pronounced whatever came to his mind first. He was over sixty years old, but he was loyal to Hussein and discreet, qualities that made Hussein trust him. ‘Ah, something else. We brought carrier pigeons from Egypt because we need to have a faster way to send and receive mail from Cairo. The situation there remains volatile, my lord, and we cannot wait the many days it takes mail to arrive by sea.’

  Hussein felt the dawadar had said everything he had to say. ‘Write a letter to Sultan al-Ghawri informing him that I have returned safely to Jeddah and that I am ready to carry out any task he requires of me.’

  ‘Very well, my lord. I shall send it via carrier pigeons. We have yet to put the birds to use.’

  Hussein opened the scroll in his hand and began to read. It was a long letter that the sultan had personally dictated to his dawadar. Ghawri wanted to keep Hussein abreast of the deteriorating situation in the region. He told Hussein that Sultan Selim, after murdering all his brothers who were contending for the throne, had decided to fight the Safavids. For this purpose, the Ottoman sultan had put together an army of 140,000 soldiers, and was at the time of writing on his way to eastern Anatolia to meet Shah Ismail in battle. Sultan al-Ghawri expressed his concerns about both powers, writing that whoever won would pose a threat to Egypt, particularly if Sultan Selim was the victor, given how close he was to the borders of the Egypti
an sultanate.

  The last paragraph in the letter described how the sultan had sent gifts to Sultan Selim to placate him, and that he had ordered his commanders on the northern fronts to avoid skirmishing with the Ottoman army. At the end of the letter, Ghawri wrote that delegations had been sent by Shah Ismail asking him to join an alliance against Sultan Selim and the Ottomans.

  Sultan al-Ghawri’s letter ended abruptly on that note. Hussein summoned back the dawadar and asked, ‘Has there been a battle between Sultan Selim and Shah Ismail?’

  ‘Oh yes, my lord, the Battle of Chaldiran. The Ottoman sultan won a great victory but I heard the victory was not complete. The sultan withdrew back to Turkey quickly, giving Shah Ismail the chance to recover from his defeat and regroup his forces.’ The dawadar lifted his hands to the sky as if in prayer. ‘God have mercy on us, much blood was spilled in that battle! People are still talking about it.’

  Hussein signalled for the dawadar to leave. He then took to reading the other letters, trying to bring himself up to speed on the many events he had missed during his long absence.

  A few days later, the dawadar entered Hussein’s office with quick steps that were uncharacteristic for him. He was carrying a piece of paper no bigger than two inches long, folded in a special way to appear much smaller than its true size.

  ‘This message arrived from Cairo today, my lord. These birds are incredibly fast!’

  Hussein took the thin piece of paper. It was from Sultan al-Ghawri and was written in small print.

  Glad you are back safe and sound. I will send you ships and men to put your fleet back together. We must defeat the Portuguese. They have left our trade in ruins.

  Hussein flipped the paper over. There was another message written on its back.

  Sultan Selim has learned of our contacts with the Safavids, and sent us threats.

  Hussein did not know what he was supposed to do. Sultan Selim was clearly enraged by Sultan al-Ghawri contacting his Safavid enemies. The Battle of Chaldiran was a pyrrhic victory in which the sultan had lost many soldiers. The Ottoman sultan would need a long time to regroup his forces and address the shortages in men and material, but he had no tolerance for betrayal. Hussein wondered what the wounded sultan’s next move would be, and whether he was planning to invade Egypt.