by Jurji Zaydan
to break the unhappy news. “His Highness’s slave, Shwaykar, has fallen ill.”
“Ill?” he roared. “I parted from her but a few hours ago and she was then the
picture of health!”
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t
“She has contracted a fever that she fears will kill her, my Lord. His High-
ness’s servant, her countrywoman Sallafa, has taken charge of her.”
Al-Musta‘sim frowned. He tossed aside the silk sash that his servant had
given him to wind round his waist and wearily threw himself into a chair. “Good
God,” he sighed. “One aggravation aft er another. Th
is slave is indeed a wellspring
of ill fortune. She has caused nothing but trouble from the moment she left Egypt!
And now that we have fi nally found her, she has taken ill.” He lowered his eyes in thought for a moment, then resumed. “Would that she had remained with Abu
Bakr, and that we had not grown angry with him on her account. Do you suppose
that her malady is fatal?”
“I know not, your Highness. She complains of a severe headache and pains in
her throat. She is likely to recover in a few days. If she does not, another can easily take her place. His Highness possesses many singing-girls. Shall I prepare one of them now for his evening’s pleasure?”
“Very well,” the Caliph gloomily replied. “I am in need of rest aft er the day’s trials. Have you been informed of our dispute with Abu Bakr?” he added sharply.
“Indeed, your Highness. If his Highness permits me to speak, his Excellency
Prince Ahmad was wrong to have acted as he did in purloining his father’s prized possession. And yet he is but a fond youth who only dares to make a natural claim on his beloved father’s generosity.” Th
is last expression soothed Al-Musta‘sim.
Indeed, he had only questioned the woman in order to receive this very answer,
for he regretted the rough manner in which he had used his son. He knew that
his Qahramana adored Abu Bakr and that she was fully aware of his own partial-
ity towards the youth. Al-Musta‘sim was given to discussing many private and
public matters with her, in spite of the fact that she was confi ned to the Harem.
She knew of all that took place at court and did not hesitate to interfere quite frequently in the politics and intrigues that there reigned. Al-Musta‘sim himself invited her meddling, and was given to all sorts of vain strutting and preening
in her presence. Th
e result of all this was that she held great infl uence over the
Caliph. Such is the sad state of aff airs in all declining states.
Th
e Caliph’s heart was pleased by her defense of Abu Bakr. “You speak truly,”
he nodded. “It is only his fi lial fondness that makes him act thus. Th
e Dawadar has
encouraged the boy’s recklessness, rather than curbing and taming it as is his duty.”
Th
e Qahramana disliked the Dawadar, for he was at heart a rough sol-
dier who treated her rudely and looked down upon her as a slavish female. She
t h e su bt e r f uge |
therefore immediately agreed with the Caliph’s assessment. “Indeed, your High-
ness, the Dawadar should have restrained my Lord Abu Bakr, out of loyalty and
aff ection for the Commander of the Faithful. His loyalty is false, however. His Highness will no doubt agree that while it is possible to exchange his Dawadar for a better one, he has only one son.” She laughed out loud at this little joke, which pleased her no end. Th
e Caliph responded with a similar laugh. He had perfectly
understood the meaning behind the pleasantry. “Send for Abu Bakr,” he said in
between chuckles. “I wish him to attend this night’s entertainment so that we
may recompense him for the sorrow we have caused him today.”
Th
e Qahramana bowed deeply in reply and took her leave.
A Newcomer
meanwhile, mu’ayyid al-din, having sent his unwitting messenger to
Hulagu, was once more plunged into mental turmoil. Remorse and relief com-
peted for dominion over him, though relief was foremost. He remained cloistered
at home all that day, and for many days aft er, as well, for the staggering nature of the deed he had committed and the anxiety that continued to haunt him left him
ill-disposed to see or speak to another living soul. Th
e Caliph’s unusual silence
doubled his apprehension. During Mu’ayyid al-Din’s lengthy absence from
court, the Commander of the Faithful had never once summoned him, nor even
inquired aft er his health. Mu’ayyid al-Din inferred that the Caliph had changed towards him, and he clung to the solitude of his quarters like a condemned man
who awaits news of his fate.
One day while he was thus occupied, he heard a familiar knock at the inner
gates. It was Sahban, fi nally come in his turn, aft er a long and somewhat disquieting absence. Mu’ayyid al-Din was particularly glad to see his blustering young friend walk through the door on this occasion. He welcomed him warmly and
bade him be seated at his side. “What news, Sahban?” he inquired uneasily, aft er a close examination of his guest’s face. “I perceive dark clouds gathered above that fi ne brow of yours.”
“You are not looking so well as the last time I saw you, either, my Lord,” Sah-
ban moodily remarked. “But why should this change of condition surprise you?
Your own counsel shall lead us down the path to perdition soon enough.” He bit
his fl eshy lower lip in frustration.
Mu’ayyid al-Din understood this remark as a criticism of his stubborn loy-
alty to Al-Musta‘sim. He gave a bitter little laugh. “My dear friend, the next world may well be a better place than this one.”
“Perhaps, but let us at least be avenged before proceeding there.”
a n ewc om e r |
“It shall be as you wish,” Mu’ayyid al-Din solemnly replied.
Sahban was taken aback by this unexpected answer. “When?” he eagerly
demanded.
“Sooner than you think. Who knows? Tomorrow perhaps.”
Sahban was now genuinely baffl
ed. He rose and began frantically pacing the
room. “What mean you, my Lord? Surely, you have mistaken my words.”
“I have understood you perfectly. Do you not wish to be rid of this tyrant,
though it be at the price of seeking outside aid?”
“I do!”
“It is done. We have only to await the result.”
Sahban looked about him fearfully. “You have written to Hulagu?” he
whispered.
“I have. You would have known it many a day since, had you come to me
sooner. I would know your opinion, Sahban,” he added thoughtfully.
“My opinion?” Sahban joyfully declared. “I have wished for nothing else! If
my hopes are fulfi lled, I would happily drop dead on the spot this very minute!
But I come to you today with discouraging news, though it shall never be a real
obstacle to us.”
“Speak!” Mu’ayyid al-Din demanded.
“Th
e Imam Ahmad has been moved to another prison. It may be that his
absence of a fortnight ago was discovered. In any case, they have taken him to a palace near the Kalwadhi Gate in the southern part of the city, and they have doubled his guard. But let them do as they will,” he shrugged dismissively. “He shall be our Caliph wherever they take him. We shall have no diffi
culty rele
asing him
when the time comes. Aft er the Tatars enter Baghdad and capture Al-Musta‘sim,
you shall guide them to Imam Ahmad’s prison and he shall be invested with the
Caliphate on the very spot. Oh, what a joyful day that shall be! And then we shall have our ‘Alawi state! My heart’s one true desire!”
Mu’ayyid al-Din stared at him in wonder. He almost envied Sahban his
seemingly endless optimism and his unshakeable, though entirely unjustifi ed,
confi dence in the certainty of success. A man of this character may well err and fail, but he is yet closer to true happiness than the cautious or suspicious man who grasps happiness in his hand while doubting its existence. For Sahban, the simple fact that Mu’ayyid al-Din had written to Hulagu meant the war was already won.
Th
e many great dangers and obstacles to come simply did not occur to him. “We
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t pray God to favor us in the coming battle against the tyrants,” was all Mu’ayyid al-Din could think of to say as he pondered his friend’s strange disposition.
While they were thus occupied, another knock was heard at the gates. Th
ough
in the normal course of events, Mu’ayyid al-Din never paid much attention to the daily commerce between his household and the outside world, this past week his
anxious ears were constantly strained for the slightest signs of movement. He
now fi xed his eyes on the door to the apartment in which they conversed, and
sure enough, shortly thereaft er Sahban’s servant entered.
“Where do you come from, boy?” Sahban demanded of him.
“I have come from the house, master. A stranger asks for you. He insisted
that I bring him to you immediately.”
“Who is this stranger? And where is he now?”
“He refused to tell me his name, but he is here and awaits permission to enter.”
Sahban turned inquiringly to the Minister. “Let him enter,” Mu’ayyid al-Din
said.
Th
e boy promptly returned with a young man dressed in handsome trav-
eling clothes. Sahban recognized him immediately. “Prince Rukn al-Din!” he
cried, and hurriedly rose to welcome him.
Mu’ayyid al-Din had been expecting this visit since the day that Sahban had
brought Shwaykar to him. He was glad to meet the excellent young man again
aft er so many years, and he graciously rose to greet him in his turn. “Welcome to Prince Rukn al-Din,” he exclaimed warmly. “I have been following your intrepid
career in Egypt from a great distance and I am all the more pleased on the occa-
sion of this happy meeting.”
“You fl atter me, sir, for I am but a humble servant of the Sultan and have done nothing to merit such generous recognition,” Rukn al-Din replied. “If praise be
due, it belongs to my Lord Minister Mu’ayyid al-Din al-Alqami, he who holds
the reins of the Abbasid State in his capable hands and guides its aff airs with his wisdom and sagacity.”
“Prince Rukn al-Din’s fame precedes him,” Sahban politely declared. “He is
a great hero whose valiant deeds in the wars against the Franks I have recounted time and again to my Lord Mu’ayyid al-Din. May he know equal success against
the enemies that even now threaten the health and prosperity of the Imperial
State,” he added meaningfully.
Mu’ayyid al-Din was by now used to Sahban’s rash speech. He ignored this
last remark, as did Rukn al-Din, who was the Minister’s equal in prudence and
a n ewc om e r |
caution. Sahban was somewhat embarrassed by their studied silence and he
immediately changed the subject. “When did you arrive at Baghdad, my Lord?
And how did you fi nd my place of residence?”
“I arrived this morning,” Rukn al-Din replied. “You yourself told me in
Egypt that you reside in Qadhimiyya. As I am not entirely unfamiliar with Bagh-
dad, I dismissed my servant and entered the city disguised as a common traveler.
At Qadhimiyya I inquired aft er you, and was told that you were to be found at the house of his Excellency the First Minister. I have come to see you on urgent business and to pay my respects to his Excellency, whose brilliant reputation travels far and wide throughout the Empire.”
“You are most welcome, dear Prince,” Mu’ayyid al-Din replied in response
to this compliment.
Sahban now resolved to broach the subject of Shwaykar, for whose sake Rukn
al-Din had come to Baghdad. “Permit me to speak of the mission with which you
charged me in Egypt, my Lord. His Excellency the Minister is aware, in part, of
its details. He holds you in particularly high esteem and is anxious to serve your interests.”
“You speak of Shwaykar, no doubt,” Rukn al-Din replied. “I had long expected
a letter from you on this subject,” he added reproachfully, “and having received none, I have come in person to hear the results of your research.”
Sahban fl ushed at this gentle rebuke, and he hastened to apologize and to
off er his excuses. “You speak truly, my Lord. But I have not tarried out of negli-gence. As soon as I arrived in Baghdad I managed to discover Shwaykar’s where-
abouts. I attempted to rescue her from her persecutors, but my attempts have so
far failed. What use would it have been to write to you with no concrete results?
Th
e Minister is aware of the diffi
culties that have beset us in this matter.”
“Where is she now, then?” Rukn al-Din demanded.
“She was in the Caliph’s household only two days since. But she has disap-
peared again, my Lord!”
“How can this be? Explain yourself, man,” Rukn al-Din replied. “By whom
was she fi rst abducted?”
“She was seized by Abu Bakr, son of Al-Musta‘sim, without his father’s
knowledge. We managed to free her and take her to a hiding place in Qadhimi-
yya with the intention of bringing her to you in Egypt as soon as circumstances
permitted, but Abu Bakr discovered her hiding place and seized her once again
by force of arms. His father subsequently discovered the truth of her whereabouts
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t and demanded her restitution. All this is a long story, but the most important
thing that you will surely wish to know is that Shwaykar has not changed since
leaving Egypt, my Lord. She remains entirely devoted to you. Her only concern is for your good opinion; her only wish, to return to your side. I am certain that she lives in the Caliph’s own harem against her will. We must save her, but patience is necessary, for we are on the threshold of a momentous event which shall turn
Baghdad upside down and whose echoes will reach as far as Egypt, Andalucía—
the whole world! A great event,” he added meaningfully, “from which the resolute and judicious man may well profi t.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din feared that Sahban intended to use this introduction as a
prelude to divulging their plans. He broke in hastily before Sahban could con-
tinue. “Wonder not, young Prince, at the remarkable nature of the narrative
you have just heard. Our Caliph prefers to spend his time scouring the Empire
for new singing-girls, while the enemy approaches the gates of the city and our
armies languish in disarray.”
“I heard much talk of the Tatar Khan’s advance at the outskirts of Baghdad.
Th
ey say his mighty army is less than two days’ march away from the capital.
Hav
e you made no preparations to meet him?” Rukn al-Din asked.
“Indeed, we have done the best that can be done, but I shudder at the coming
battle, nonetheless. A fortnight ago news reached us that Hulagu’s army under
the leadership of his greatest general, Baiju, had reached Tikrit and crossed the Tigris to the western bank in the direction of Baghdad. Precious time was lost
in debating the appropriate strategy for the defense of the city. By the time the Tatar army had arrived at Dujayl, no solution had yet been decided. Th
eir army
numbers approximately thirty thousand mounted men. Th
e Dawadar, Mujahid
al-Din Aybak, shall ride out to meet them at the Caliph’s command, but our army
is small by comparison and we are uncertain of success. Moreover, dissension at
the Abbasid court is rife. Our Caliph is weak. He is led by his son and his Com-
mander in Chief, both of whom are inexperienced and foolish men. Verily, we
fear that God has decreed the end of this Empire.”
“Fear not such an outcome!” Sahban passionately declared. “Rather pray that
it should be so! Th
is prince is aware of our true situation. I have already spoken
with him in Egypt about the future restoration of a Fatimid Caliphate there.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din was greatly wroth at Sahban’s headlong recklessness in
speaking so openly, but he clenched his jaw and maintained his outwardly calm
a n ewc om e r |
demeanor. “I doubt that the Prince sees eye to eye with you on this fantastical
subject, Sahban.” He turned to Rukn al-Din and looked him steadily in the eye.
“For the present, we must be content to replace a lackluster Caliph with one who will exert himself for the good of the Empire.”
Rukn al-Din returned the Minister’s unswerving gaze with cool composure.
Ibn al-Alqami’s prudence and resolve pleased him. “His Excellency the Minister’s proposal must strike any intelligent man as a sensible one,” he began, “particularly those who would gladly reach deep into their own purses in order to avoid
great bloodshed. Once you have decided on a course of action, I undertake to
guarantee its successful implementation in Egypt.” He secretly resolved, however, to make this promise of aid conditional on his own elevation to the Sultanate.