by Jurji Zaydan
Tower. Th
e Dawadar, Commander of the Imperial Army, was unable to prevent
their advance. His Highness, Commander of the Faithful, is sorely wroth with
his General and intends to replace him. Th
e Caliph’s Majordomo has consulted
me on the matter of a suitable candidate for the post; a champion who will restore the honor of the Abbasid Army and drive back the enemy from the gates of Baghdad. I have thought of none other than you—for you are always in my thoughts,”
she added, smiling. “None but you can rescue the Empire. If you become the
Commander in Chief of Baghdad’s army, your ambition shall thereaft er know no
bounds. I shall personally guarantee you Egypt’s throne, or another, should you
so wish. My only condition is that you acknowledge my love and my right to seek
your own. Say then that you love me, or at least that you love no other!”
Rukn al-Din bowed his head in silence for a moment while he gathered his
thoughts and struggled to master his confl icting emotions. We know him to be
one of those supremely ambitious men who seek their own interests above all.
We know that his love for Shwaykar was not unmixed with pity for the trials
t h e m e et i ng |
and travails she had been obliged to endure through no fault of her own. He had
truly wished to make her happy. But now that she was dead, it would be unmanly
to die in her wake. Th
ough her death affl
icted him greatly, and though his heart
forbade him to love her mortal enemy, he felt it would be folly to ignore the diz-zying prospects now off ered him. He was convinced of Sallafa’s great infl uence at Baghdad—he had already seen the proofs of it—and he knew that she was
supremely well equipped to aid him in the realization of his greatest aspirations.
But the dangers of the alliance she proposed were many, and mortal. He needed
time in which to think in peace and solitude. “I am not fi t to accept such a position, my Lady. Let us not speak of it now. We shall defer this discussion to a future occasion.”
“Th
is is a matter that cannot be postponed, Rukn al-Din, for the state is at
war. Do you not hear the missiles that fall upon our palaces day and night? As
for your suitability, I do not hesitate for an instant to put my full confi dence in you. Th
e only excuse that remains to you, cruel man, is that of my love. I have
only asked that you accept it. How would you act if I were to demand that you
return it, cold-hearted one!” She broke off peevishly and hearkened to the sound of voices in the outer vestibule. “Listen . . . the Majordomo has arrived. He comes for your answer. Do not confound me before him, I beseech you! We will postpone these matters of love till aft er you have seized your prize—and many others that I shall lay at your feet!”
At the Palace of the Crown
a servant entered to announce the Caliph’s Majordomo, and Sallafa rose
to meet him at the door. She welcomed him eff usively and escorted him into
the hall. Pointing to Rukn al-Din, she said, “Th
is is the Prince Rukn al-Din al-
Bunduqari, who vanquished the Franks and repelled them from Egypt. I have
spoken to you of him at great length, and we are indeed fortunate to have him
here with us in Baghdad. We were only now engaged in discussing the grave mat-
ter that you confi ded to me but yesterday.”
Th
e Majordomo glanced briefl y at Rukn al-Din and inclined his head in
greeting. Th
e young man’s intelligent mien and noble bearing pleased him well.
“We shall be grateful to discover in Prince Rukn al-Din the superior martial
qualities sought by the Commander of the Faithful. We hope that he may recom-
pense us for the shame heaped upon us by the previous Dawadar. Let us go to the
Palace of the Crown this very hour.”
Rukn al-Din attempted, with many delicate and well-turned expressions of
gratitude, to decline this great if precipitate honor, but the Majordomo dismissed his excuses as issuing from over-excessive modesty. He continued to press the
Prince, who, fi nding that his protests were useless, was obliged to submit to the mighty Imperial offi
cer in good grace. As they took their leave of their hostess,
Sallafa threw Rukn al-Din a look full of passionate languor and pressed his hand in a parting salute. “I confess that I am delighted to have succeeded in fulfi lling the charge laid upon me by our most excellent Majordomo. Brave Prince, you
shall, with God’s aid, deliver the state from the grave dangers that threaten it.”
She drew closer and whispered in his ear. “As for myself, should I now die, I shall depart this world knowing that you submitted to me in this, though the knowledge of it only increases the fi res of longing that burn in my heart. If we are fated to meet again, you shall have a token of their ardor.”
at t h e pa l ace of t h e crow n |
Sallafa’s impassioned farewell struck a reluctant spark in Rukn al-Din’s
heart, but he let no sign of this escape. He returned her salute and silently followed the Majordomo into the courtyard. Once outside the palace gates, they
mounted their beasts and proceeded to the Palace of the Crown, with ‘Abid trail-
ing behind on his mule.
Rukn al-Din passed the short distance to their destination wrapped in
deep thought, for his interview with Sallafa had once again confounded him.
Shwaykar was dead, Sallafa claimed innocence, and he now found himself on the
point of taking an important step in the direction of his dearest ambitions. Had he acted rightly? He had stayed his hand and refrained from seeking the blood of Shwaykar’s mortal enemy. He was a sensible and realistic young man, however,
and he decided that revenge would yet be his, should he ascertain beyond the
shadow of a doubt Sallafa’s complicity in his betrothed’s death.
Th
e three men rode on in silence. Rukn al-Din was oblivious to his sur-
roundings, and he paid no attention to the frenetic comings and goings of pass-
ers-by nor yet to the distant explosions made by falling canon. Upon arriving
at the Palace of the Crown, however, he found its residents in a state of utter
chaos and great terror, for much of this incessant bombardment was directed at
the Imperial compound itself. Being unsure of Palace protocol, he watched the
Majordomo in order to be guided by his movements. When he dismounted, so
too did Rukn al-Din, and he proceeded to follow the Majordomo on foot until
they reached the Commons Gate. Th
e Chamberlain met them there, and the
Majordomo requested permission for an audience with the Caliph. As soon as
this had been granted, they entered the Reception Hall.
Th
e Majordomo gave the customary greeting and then addressed the Caliph.
“I beg the Commander of the Faithful to permit me to introduce Prince Rukn al-
Din Baybars al-Bunduqari. His Highness will recall that I have already spoken to him of this Prince and of the excellent qualities that would make of him a most
suitable Commander of the Armies of Baghdad in these perilous times. Sallafa,
the Royal Chamberlain of Al-Salih of Egypt’s Palaces, has testifi ed to his renown as a warrior and a leader of men.”
Rukn al-Din noted that the Caliph was withdrawn and pensive. His head
was bent as though the cares of the world lay upon it, and a deep frown creased
&
nbsp; his brow. He was entirely alone in the reception hall, as though wishing to avoid any and all company and diversion. Th
e words of his Majordomo raised him
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t from his lethargy. He gestured for his guest to be seated. “Welcome to Prince
Rukn al-Din. Does the Majordomo speak truly, then?”
“His good opinion, if nothing else, equals truth, your Majesty. I, however,
hesitate to endorse his claims, for I am nothing but the lowest of offi
cers.”
Th
e Caliph was pleased by these modest words. “Nay, you are a valiant war-
rior whose fame is justly celebrated throughout our Empire. Moreover, I have
the highest confi dence in the testimony of Sallafa, the Royal Custodian. Young
Prince, we are at war with a foreign invader, the enemy of all Muslims, for if he should prevail here—God forbid—Egypt, too, shall surely suff er. You are charged with annihilating him in defense of the Abbasid Caliphate and the Sultanate of
Egypt, and you shall triumph, God willing. If we had but known of your merit
heretofore, we should never have confi ded the leadership of our armies to this
Dawadar. He has brought nothing but shame upon us. May God grant that you
shall be the means by which we shall erase this blot on the name of the Imperial forces.” He shift ed nervously in his seat as he said this. Rukn al-Din remained silent and respectfully waited for him to fi nish his speech.
“We erred in ignoring the counsel of our Minister Mu’ayyid al-Din. Had we
given him our ear, we would not now be obliged to seek parley with the enemy
and to sue for peace: a suit of which the outcome is far from certain. May God
forgive Abu Bakr,” he murmured sorrowfully, almost to himself. “He abused the
natural right of a son and muddied our heart against our Minister. And now,
listen closely, Prince. I hereby raise you to the rank of Dawadar of the Imperial Army,” he solemnly declared. “If you succeed in repelling the enemy, your reward shall be equal to your success.”
Rukn al-Din bowed deeply. “Th
e defense of the Abode of Peace and the
Commander of the Faithful is the duty of every Muslim,” he replied. “I shall
exert the last drop of my blood to this worthiest of ends, and may God be my
support.”
Th
e Chamberlain now entered and announced the presence of the Minister
Mu’ayyid al-Din. Upon hearing this news, the Caliph’s face lit up and his eyes
glinted with curiosity. As soon as Mu’ayyid al-Din entered, Al-Musta‘sim, unable to restrain himself and too eager to give the customary greeting, cried, “Tell us, Minister, what news do you bring?”
“Good news, God permitting, your Highness,” Mu’ayyid al-Din replied.
“Be seated and speak,” the Caliph commanded.
at t h e pa l ace of t h e crow n |
Th
e Minister did as the Caliph bade him. He was out of breath and his face
was drenched in perspiration from the haste he had made in returning to the
Imperial Palace. “Your Highness, I met with the Khakan of the Tatars, Hulagu, as you commanded me, and exposed to him the injustice of this aggression against
us at great length, in addition to which I made clear to him that we do not fear him in the least, but only wish to prevent further bloodshed. He replied coldly, and aft er much discussion he refused to end the siege unless his Highness, the
Commander of the Faithful, comes in person to sue for peace. He promised that
his honor and dignity would be preserved and respected, and that the Caliphate
would be upheld and honored. Th
is, he said, is the Khakan’s custom in dealing
with the great kings he meets in battle. He informed me, moreover, that he cares not a fi ddle for the game of king-making, but only for the honor of his troops; and furthermore, that he considers the Commander of the Faithful’s refusal of
aid in the war against the Isma‘ilis, and his subsequent silence in response to the Khan’s letter of reproach, to have been the gravest of insults. Th
e Commander of
the Faithful’s continued silence in the face of the Khan’s most recent demand for the capitulation of myself or the Imperial Dawadar is considered by the Khan to
be yet another insult added onto the fi rst two, an insult that can only be righted by the submission of the Commander of the Faithful himself. Th
e Khan repeated
that the Commander of the Faithful, along with the princes and offi
cers of his
entourage, shall be given every honor, as befi ts their rank most high. Finally, the Khan notifi ed me that if we comply with these conditions, he shall willingly grant his eldest daughter to Prince Abu Bakr in marriage.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din was severely discomfi ted by the news he brought the Caliph,
and his face glistened with beads of heavy perspiration as he spoke. Th
e Caliph,
however, received the news in immobile silence, his head bowed and his brow
furrowed, as did Rukn al-Din. Once Mu’ayyid al-Din had fi nished, the Caliph
raised his head and sighed deeply. “If only I had listened to your counsel from
the beginning, we would never have reached this pass. I dare to hope that we may yet be victorious over the Tatar and repel him from our lands, now that we have
given the command of our armies to Prince Rukn al-Din.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din, who had up until this moment not perceived Rukn al-Din’s
presence in the Imperial audience chamber, and who was unaware of the Dawa-
dar’s disgrace, turned to look at him in surprise. “Rukn al-Din is indeed worthy of your confi dence, your Highness, and we may yet have victory at his hands. But
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t I fear that our troops are weaker than we suppose, and that if we refuse Hulagu’s terms, we may miss a fi nal opportunity to sue for peace. We have been off ered a treaty that will stanch the blood-letting. Th
e decision belongs to his Highness.”
He bowed deeply and fell silent.
“Does the tyrant truly insist that I go alone to his camp?” the Caliph repeated
incredulously.
“By no means, Your Highness. He has agreed to allow the Commander of the
Faithful’s favorites and counselors to accompany him to the pavilion that shall be raised for them at the Kalwadhi Gate on the riverbank. Hulagu shall meet Your
Highness there, and the matter will come to a close.”
Th
e Caliph was inclined to accept the Tatar’s terms, but fi rst he turned to
consult the Majordomo. Th
is personage quickly gave his approval of the scheme,
for he shrewdly saw that this was the Caliph’s own inclination.
Th
e Caliph now made his will known, aft er which he turned to Rukn al-Din
once again. “You have heard our Minister’s counsel. We have failed to accept it
in the past, and this failure has brought us nothing but grief. We now intend to rectify our past mistakes, but we nonetheless consider Prince Rukn al-Din to
be one of our leading commanders and we shall recompense him well for his
service to us.” Rukn al-Din bowed deeply and the Caliph turned to the Minister.
“Once the pavilion is raised, we shall go forth. You are charged with this matter, Mu’ayyid al-Din.”
Th
e Minister bowed deeply and requested permission to withdraw, and with
this the council came to an end. Mu’ayyid al-Din signaled to Rukn al-Din to fol-
low him home.
Th
e Caliph’s grave
capitulation had shocked Rukn al-Din, and he could not
help but suspect Hulagu’s true intentions. He feared the Caliph was walking into a trap. He kept his misgivings to himself, however, and rode to the Minister’s
palace with ‘Abid by his side to act as guide. He counseled himself to be patient, for he knew that he would no doubt get to the bottom of the matter soon enough.
The Truth
rukn al-din was escorted into Mu’ayyid al-Din’s private chambers and found
the Minister, who had arrived, himself, but a few moments earlier, restlessly pacing the room with furrowed brow and an expression of the greatest distress on his face. Sahban sat silently by, waiting for the Minister to acknowledge his presence with a word. Mu’ayyid al-Din nodded at Rukn al-Din to be seated and, coming
to an abrupt halt before him, fi nally spoke. “Oh Prince, fate shall now take its course!”
Sahban leaned forward eagerly. “What mean you by this, my Lord?”
Mu’ayyid al-Din turned upon him. “It shall take the course that you have
long desired, and not the one for which I had hoped, nor Prince Rukn al-Din,”
he cried bitterly.
“My Lord, I beg you to explain these grave words,” Rukn al-Din said.
“I was unable to persuade Hulagu to preserve the Abbasid Caliphate. He is
intent upon its destruction.”
“Its destruction?” Rukn al-Din cried, aghast. “Does he intend to kill every
last Abbasid?”
“Th
is is indeed what his tone and manner implied, though his words
affi
rmed the opposite.” Th
e revelation was like music to Sahban’s ears, and he
chuckled soft ly to himself, as does one who cannot believe his sudden good for-
tune. “You laugh because you consider not the consequences,” Mu’ayyid al-Din
sternly upbraided him. “If the Abbasid Caliphate ceases to be, Islam itself shall vanish from these lands.”
“Nonsense!” Sahban declared. “We shall reconstitute the Caliphate.”
“You are a fool and a knave!” Mu’ayyid al-Din cried impatiently. “If you hope
to restore the Fatimid state, you hope for the impossible and would resurrect the dead.” Sahban fell into a sullen silence at this stinging rebuke, but he continued to
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t gloat in his heart over what he perceived to be a great Shi‘ite victory. Meanwhile, Mu’ayyid al-Din turned his attention back to Rukn al-Din. “You have kept your