by Jurji Zaydan
Rukn al-Din and Sahban
now finding himself alone, Rukn al-Din was plunged into gloomy refl ec-
tions on Baghdad’s imminent fate. He was inclined to believe that the Tatars
would be victorious in the coming battle. If they did indeed manage to take the
city, would they overthrow the government and bring down the Caliphate? Or
would they retain the sacred institution and simply replace one Caliph with
another? His own ambitions in Egypt would certainly be aided by the current
weakness of the Sultanate. He was fully aware that he would need the support
of the Caliph in Baghdad to secure the throne of Egypt, however. His thoughts
turned to the glory and might of Baghdad, the very center of the entire Muslim
world from its easternmost lands to the farthest west. No king could sit securely on his throne without the sanction of Baghdad, for the common folk revered the
Caliphate as an article of their deepest faith.
Th
e present perils that beset the Imperial city grieved him mightily, and he
wondered at the illusions that dominate the minds of men. Power, as Rukn al-
Din well understood, depends most keenly on illusion, through which it bends
and shapes the populace to the will of the ruler. An extraordinary idea suddenly occurred to him, and his heart leapt with excitement. Why not move the Caliphate itself to Egypt? Cairo would then become the beating heart of the Islamic
world that no prince or sultan, however independent, could do without. Had
Rukn al-Din been a man like Sahban, he would have danced for joy and imag-
ined himself already seated on his Egyptian throne and supported by an Egyp-
tian Caliphate, while the princes and monarchs begged his favor. But our worthy
prince was pessimistic about the future, and was inclined to dwell on any and all possible impediments to his plans and ambitions. He preferred to assume failure.
Th
e many obstacles to this farfetched plan now crowded in on his mind and he
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t pushed them aside with a deep sigh, preferring for the moment to return to the
immediate problem of fi nding Shwaykar.
‘Abid had twice interrupted him during these solitary refl ections: once to
call him to table, and a second time to prayer. Shortly before sunset, the eunuch came to inform him that Sahban had returned from his visit to Mu’ayyid al-Din.
Soon thereaft er, Sahban himself appeared with furrowed brow and angry eyes.
“What news, Sahban?” Rukn al-Din began. “Have you seen the Minister?”
“I have not,” Sahban glumly replied.
“And why not?”
“He is not at home. He left shortly aft er we took our leave of him. I was told that Al-Musta‘sim sent him to Hulagu’s encampment. It seems that the Caliph has
fi nally awoken to the dangers that beset him. His faith in our Minister’s ability is apparently renewed, and he has secretly sent him to negotiate with the Tatar.”
“It has come to this, then . . .” Rukn al-Din murmured as he considered the
consequences of this new development.
“Th
e Caliph’s decision to send Mu’ayyid al-Din on this mission is the best
decision he has taken in many a month, though I fear it comes too late. Our Min-
ister—may God preserve him—has infl uence with Hulagu and can negotiate an
outcome that shall suit both parties.”
“I do not understand what you mean by the Minister’s infl uence over the
Tatar. Was there previous acquaintance between them?”
“I shall not hide from you that the Minister and Hulagu have secretly cor-
responded. Hulagu proff ered alliance and promised him many benefi ts in conse-
quence. For many a month Mu’ayyid al-Din hesitated, bent as he was on further
attempts to reform Al-Musta‘sim. When he had fi nally despaired of success, he
wrote to Hulagu, for the sake and safety of his kinsfolk and of the Shi‘a of Baghdad.” Catching sight of the look of astonishment on Rukn al-Din’s face at this
revelation, he added, “Our Minister only pretended his surrender. It is no treachery, my Lord.”
“Mu’ayyid al-Din has betrayed his Caliph!” Rukn al-Din thought to himself
in bitter irony. “And so the mighty Empire doth fall.” He held his tongue, how-
ever, and continued to question Sahban. “What course of action do you then
suppose the Minister and Hulagu will decide?”
“I believe they will depose Al-Musta‘sim and crown the Imam Ahmad, Al-
Mustansir’s brother, in his place. He is the scion of the Abbasid Dynasty most
ru k n a l-di n a n d sa h ba n |
worthy of the Caliphate. For this reason, Al-Musta‘sim fears him. He is a prisoner in his own palace, surrounded by guards and spies. We have nonetheless managed to see and parley with him. We have discussed the future of the Caliph-
ate, and he has promised us nothing but good should it fall to his lot.” Sahban
paused and glanced slyly at Rukn al-Din. “I doubt not that he would help you to
acquire the Sultanate of Egypt, should you choose to pursue it, worthy Prince, for amongst all your peers you are surely the most deserving of it.”
Rukn al-Din realized that Sahban was covertly inviting him to join forces
against Al-Musta‘sim and assist in the installation of Prince Ahmad as Caliph.
But were the truth to be told, the ambitious youth desired much more than this—
he desired nothing less than the removal of the Caliphate itself to Cairo! He dissembled, however, and was content for the moment to give his tacit support to the planned succession. “Where is the Imam at present?” he inquired.
“He was confi ned in the Firdaws Palace, close by the Palace of the Crown.
Since then he has been moved to a fortifi ed palace near the Kalwadhi Gate. I
know where it is, and can easily extract him from his prison when the time comes.
We must fi rst eliminate Al-Musta‘sim. No one shall stand in our way, especially should Hulagu himself, Khakan of the Tatars, decree it. Th
e people have grown
weary of the weakness and indecision of our present rulers.”
“An excellent plan,” Rukn al-Din replied distractedly. “May God aid you in
its execution.” Th
e mention of the Kalwadhi Gate had reminded him of Sallafa’s
mysterious presence in Baghdad. He recalled that ‘Abid had told him that she
had taken Shwaykar to a palace near this very Gate. His fears for Shwaykar’s
safety now returned in full force. Was she alive or dead? Did Sallafa still intend to harm her?
Rukn al-Din was more than ever determined to fi nd Shwaykar and carry
her back to Egypt as quickly as possible. If, however, she had fallen victim to
Sallafa’s wicked plots, then he intended to have his fullest revenge. In the meantime, his continued presence in Baghdad could only prove useful for his political ambitions.
Th
at night when he fi nally betook himself to the quiet refuge of a warm bed,
the lovely, tear-stained face of his betrothed haunted his dreams and gave him
no peace.
An Important Message
the next morning ‘Abid brought him a message. “My Lord, Sallafa’s page is at
the door and would speak with you on urgent business.”
Rukn al-Din shivered imperceptibly, as though a sudden shadow had passed
over the sun’s warming rays. “Let him enter,” he replied.
Th
e boy entered and bowed deeply. “A note from my
Lady to your Lord-
ship,” he said, and placed a slender scroll in Rukn al-Din’s hand. From Sallafa to Prince Rukn al-Din, it began. It has come to my knowledge that you are presently in Baghdad, as am I. Th
ere is a matter of great importance that I wish to discuss
with you. Pray come to my palace at the Kalwadhi Gate. My messenger shall guide you. Peace.
Aft er he had read the note, Rukn al-Din handed it to Sahban, who strongly
advised him to ignore it. “I cannot,” he replied. “I have no choice but to accept an interview with that she-fox in order to ascertain Shwaykar’s whereabouts.
Besides, man, what can she possibly do to me? It is unbecoming of me to fear her whilst I carry my trusty dagger at my side. But tell me, in which direction does her palace lie?”
“It is far, my Lord,” Sahban replied. “Th
e longest part of the journey will be
that portion that takes you to the Tigris Bridge that we crossed yesterday. Soon aft er the crossing you shall arrive at the Kalwadhi Gate. If you insist on going, my horse is at your service. ‘Abid shall accompany you mounted, and this messenger
on foot.”
“I shall go immediately.” Rukn al-Din rose with a look of stony determina-
tion. He disappeared into his chamber to change his clothes, and armed himself
with two daggers. He then swift ly quit the house and mounted the horse that
‘Abid brought to him. Rukn al-Din again observed the joyful expressions exhib-
ited by the people of Qadhimiyya as he rode through its streets. Spite against
a n i m p orta n t m e s sage |
their Sunni neighbors was evident in the passing snatches of conversation he
heard around him.
Th
e pride of Baghdad’s Sunni population had derived from the Abbasid
Caliph and his government, and the coming upheaval of the Sunni State had,
in consequence, greatly diminished the Sunnis’ collective confi dence and sense
of security. Outside Qadhimiyya, the mood changed drastically. Fear and dread
ruled the streets, and Rukn al-Din saw many tight knots of men, seated or stand-
ing, avidly piecing together contradictory information from passers-by and anx-
iously discussing the latest rumors and reports.
He arrived at the aforementioned bridge and crossed over to al-Rusafa,
where the streets were much calmer. In spite of the occasional crash of an enemy catapult, the inhabitants felt secure in their proximity to the Imperial Palace, for offi
cial propaganda did not cease to celebrate the might of the Imperial Army and
the strength of the Imperial fortresses. Th
e artillery fi re from across the river was
fairly negligible, and frequent cease-fi res allowed people to circulate in the streets and markets. But the damage it caused was terrible to behold. If a projectile fell on a house, it clove the structure in two. If a man were its unlucky victim, it
killed him instantly. Th
ese projectiles were round fl int boulders whose diameter
measured approximately half a meter. Th
ey were fi red by the siege engines from
the Tatar encampment, aiming at the Gate’s towers or at the surrounding palaces.
Th
e soldiers stationed in the towers responded with catapults of their own. Th
ese
antique machines were the cannon of those days.
Rukn al-Din’s journey fi nally ended on the eastern bank of the Tigris. Th
e
messenger stopped and pointed to a palace on the riverbank surrounded by an
enclosed garden. He entered through the gate on his mount, and the messenger
preceded him to announce his arrival. Rukn al-Din descended and handed the
reins of the horse to ‘Abid, ordering him to wait and above all to be on his guard.
He walked on into the garden, his heart pounding in anticipation of the coming
interview, his mind’s eye calling up the image of Sallafa on the day when they
had last met.
The Meeting
a page emerged from the palace and beckoned to him to follow. Th
ere, at
the doors of the sumptuous edifi ce, stood Sallafa, arrayed in her most magnifi -
cent robes and jewels and armed with her most eff ective arts of seduction. Rukn al-Din marshaled his prudence and his abiding love for Shwaykar. He greeted her, and she returned the greeting with eff usive words of welcome. She invited him
into a hall sumptuously furnished with mokado carpets, tapestries, and couches.
“Who would have thought that we should meet again in this country?” she began
as she beckoned him, with a beguiling smile, to be seated.
“Indeed, the coincidence is a marvel of marvels, my Lady,” Rukn al-Din
replied.
“Coincidence? Do you suppose that we meet now by chance?”
“Yes my Lady, for it did not occur to me that you had reason to travel to
Baghdad.”
“Perhaps so. For myself, however, wretched and desolate as I am, no course
of action is too farfetched. I would give my comfort and my very life to encounter Rukn al-Din, wherever he may be.” Sighing deeply, she continued, never once
taking her opaque, restless eyes off his, “I have watched and considered your
every step in Egypt, Rukn al-Din.” Rukn al-Din began to grow uneasy at this
inauspicious introduction, and he attempted to change the subject. “I thank you
my Lady, for your good opinion of me,” he began. “I have received your letter and have come at your request. I come to you, in turn, with a query, and I beg that you shall answer it honestly.”
“Speak,” Sallafa replied.
“I have heard that Shwaykar was lodged of late in this palace, and I call
upon you to enlighten me as to where she may now be found.” Th
e many fears he
t h e m e et i ng |
entertained on Shwaykar’s behalf danced before him, and he steeled himself for
the reply. Sallafa dawdled over her answer. “Poor girl,” she murmured.
“Why speak you so? Where is she, my Lady?” It was all he could do to keep
from crying out in despair.
Sallafa sighed sadly. “She is not here, good Prince. You must recall that I once considered her a rival, and that I desired to be rid of her in order to enjoy sole possession of your aff ections. But when I became acquainted with her engaging
person at the Caliph’s palace, I regretted the torment that I may have caused her, for she is truly a sincere and kind-hearted girl.”
Rukn al-Din grew exceedingly impatient with these evasions. “Sallafa, this is
not the answer I require of you. What has happened to her? Where is she?”
“I have already told you that she is not here.”
“I understand, but where is she, then? Speak!”
She glanced reproachfully at him. “By God, how hasty you are! Can a prince
such as yourself, who seeks the throne and fi nds himself on the verge of acquiring it, be so impatient of receiving a short communication regarding a slave girl?
Listen then—I shall tell you what has befallen the poor wretch. I saw her on the fi rst day that she arrived at the Palace of the Crown, and I was greatly taken by her and regretted having been the author of her suff ering. She, too, took comfort in my presence and she recounted her story to me from beginning to end. She
spoke touchingly of her love for you, and how she could not bear to be sepa-
rated from you, even if she were a favorite in the Caliph’s palace. I advised her to feign illness and was able to convince the Caliph’s Qahramana of the trut
h of her claim. I persuaded the woman that the girl was in dire need of a change of air.
Th
e following day, I came to this, my temporary abode, and I sent for her.” She
swallowed and fell silent.
“And then? Did she come?” Rukn al-Din prompted.
“Believe what you will. She is dead—that is all that matters,” Sallafa suddenly
blurted out.
Rukn al-Din rose furiously from his seat. “Nay, she is not dead,” he declared.
“You have hidden her somewhere.”
“She is dead, Rukn al-Din, and you must believe me when I say that I do most
sorely regret it. Th
e sailors in whose charge she was sent informed me that she
had fallen off the boat that carried her here and drowned, despite all their eff orts to save her. Recover your reason, Rukn al-Din, and submit to God’s will. Shall
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t you indulge in womanish behavior and weep over the loss of a slave, while Sallafa stands here before you and off ers you her person and a rank that no Sultan of
Egypt has dared yet dream of?”
Shwaykar was truly dead then! Rukn al-Din’s mind reeled from the blow.
In spite of Sallafa’s pretense of innocence and her claims of friendship for the wretched girl, he yet suspected her role in the tragedy. His heart clamored for
revenge, but he could not be sure that she was, in fact, the author of so heinous a crime. He resolved to exercise his cunning and discretion in hopes of discovering the truth, and he therefore made a monumental eff ort to hide his anguish
beneath a mask of stony self-possession. “Poor Shwaykar,” he murmured. “Her
death is a great loss to me.”
Sallafa, who had been watching Rukn al-Din closely, was heartened by this
measured response. “Poor child, indeed,” she echoed, “it has weighed sorely upon me, as well. But what is to be done? We must submit to the decrees of fate. And
now, great Prince, do you wish me to inform you of the glory to which, with my
aid, you shall soon be raised?”
Rukn al-Din said nothing, but once again took his seat at Sallafa’s side.
She was delighted that he had yielded to her so easily, and her face glowed
with triumph as she spoke. “You have surely heard of the tumult that has befallen the government due to the Tatar siege. Hulagu’s forces are camped at the ‘Ajami