A Sultan in Palermo Page 6

  Of one thing Idrisi was now certain. Elinore was his child. All doubts had fled. And he feared that the Sultan suspected as much. The joy of holding Mayya in his arms and seeing his daughter had lifted his heart. But now, as he walked back to his house, acknowledging the greetings of passers-by as if in a dream, he could not get the thought of Philip out of his head. He knew him well, which did not make it easier to accept Rujari’s decision. Philip had been helpful in regard to the book, on one occasion going so far as to capture and bring to Palermo a Chinese merchant for questioning on his country’s coastal lines.

  But it was a long-ago meeting that Idrisi now recalled. That day after patiently listening to him expand his ideas of the world for over an hour, Philip had smiled a sad smile and spoken words that Idrisi had never forgotten: ‘I have never doubted that your work is of great importance for you, Master Idrisi. And for the Sultan, who waits impatiently for the completion of your book. I am also aware of how much it costs you in personal terms. I know of the men in the mosque, good people most of them, who are angry with you for not doing more to help their cause. For me—and you will forgive me for speaking plainly—geography has never been decisive for knowledge. If anything, true knowledge drowns all the maps you make. For this knowledge comes from those permanent storms that torture our minds, like the whiplash on the naked body of a sailor or prisoner. In both cases the scars left behind never heal. It is this experience of living that educates us, Master Idrisi. Not your maps. Don’t misunderstand me. We need to know the size and extent of the world, but on its own the knowledge is useless. It is what we do with it that matters. Sometimes the followers of the Prophet become so distracted by new landscapes that they forget their origins. And one day, without warning, knights arrive. The cross that marks their shields is the colour of blood. Their fierce shouts resemble those of a hungry lion. It is this intrusion that reminds the Believers of who they once were and what they have become. But now it is too late. The damage has been done. They will not recover. Rujari is a wise and prudent ruler, but he will die. Then the knights will clamber over us like a lizard scaling a rock. They will decide that in order to preserve their own power they need to cleanse the court of people like you and me. Later they will wash Palermo with the blood of its people. I fear we have lost the war.’

  These words reverberated in his mind as he thought of the consequences of Rujari’s decision to sacrifice the most intelligent adviser in his kingdom. Could anything be done to help Philip? Why shouldn’t he escape to Ifriqiya? It wouldn’t be difficult to organise a vessel that would transport him across the water. Philip, who knew everything, must be aware of what was being planned.

  An unexpected sea breeze took Idrisi by surprise. Instinctively, he clutched at his beard to prevent it from swaying, a sensation he disliked intensely, but he had forgotten that the beard had been severely trimmed only a few days ago. As he stood looking out to sea he knew that the eternal war between land and water was not over. Many battles lay ahead and perhaps even Allah was not sure who would win. Would this island still be there a thousand years from now?

  FOUR

  The mehfil at the Ayn al-Shifa mosque in Palermo. Philip is convinced that the Barons and Bishops are plotting a massacre or possibly two.

  IDRISI BREAKFASTED ALONE THE next morning. He had been looking forward to the presence of Khalid and Ali but it was not to be. His daughters had departed, ignoring his request that his grandsons be left with him. Ibn Fityan relayed his daughters’ message to the effect that the boys were desperate to return to their fathers. Even the servant smiled as he delivered it. But Idrisi was angered by their disobedience. How those wretched girls must dread his influence, fearing he might transfer his love of books to Khalid and Ali. As he ate the freshly plucked figs he looked out to sea. No breezes lifted the waves. Once this island was under water, of this Idrisi was convinced: the congealed shells he had discovered on mountain tops and the skeletal shapes of giant fish were enough proof of what once was and might be again. It would be fitting punishment for the Bishops and Barons.

  The irksome thought of his daughters returned to him. Why had Allah punished him with them? How could idiocy overpower all else? After today, he no longer cared. He would try and ensure that he saw his grandsons regularly. As for the fruit of his loins, it must have been rotten-ripe from birth. But the discovery of Elinore changed everything, like catching sight of a rich and fertile coast, with pure sandy beaches the colour of gold and a green mist rising from the rich forest of palms that lay behind. The barren rocks and dust-laden shrubs withering in the summer heat were soon forgotten.

  Ibn Fityan, returning with his morning coffee, whispered close to his ear, ‘The news from the palace is not good. They say that Philip has fallen out of favour and the Bishops are demanding his head. Could this be true, master? If Philip falls, who will protect us?’

  Idrisi was not at all surprised that the worried palace eunuchs were spreading the news. He shook his head in despair.

  ‘The Sultan is unwell. He thinks that offering Philip’s head to the Nazarenes on a platter will ensure a safe succession. He thinks that William is a weak boy and will need much help from the Bishops and the Barons. That is why he is prepared to sacrifice Philip, a person whose loyalty to him cannot be challenged.’

  The steward looked at him with hurt eyes. ‘Treachery. And you have accepted it?’

  Idrisi did not answer till he had finished eating the honey-flavoured sheep’s milk curds. ‘I will go to the mosque today and listen to the sermon, but after the Friday prayers are over. You may accompany me as long as you keep your dagger hidden. I don’t want it said that Idrisi is frightened of the populace.’

  Ibn Fityan smiled. It was what he wanted to hear. ‘Not the populace, Commander of the Book, but a Nazarene stoked to fury by the monks who resent your closeness to the Sultan. The vile rumours they spread about you are truly unbearable and ...’

  Idrisi interrupted him. ‘If I can bear them you must try and do the same.’ He understood the fear that the news had unleashed. He had known hunger, thirst, bodily weariness, and emotional anguish; sometimes, the thought of Mayya imprisoned in the harem induced a terrible misery. All this, but never fear. Now, he had to admit that the news of Philip’s fall from favour had shaken even his self-confidence.

  As they walked through the crowded streets to the mosque Idrisi noticed the silence of the multitude, straining to hear the words of the sermon, mutilated excerpts from al-Quran. Entering the mosque, the Believers made way for him so he could sit at the front, but he declined with a grateful gesture and sat in the open courtyard under the glare of the sun. He looked around to estimate the size of the gathering. There were at least three thousand people assembled, probably more. The qadi would speak for a long time today, overwhelming the faithful with a confusing mixture of dogmatic counsels and endless rhetoric, which flowed like a stream. When the crowd expressed appreciation of a particular phrase with cries of wa-allah, he would repeat it, enunciating each word carefully, his gaze directed towards heaven.

  Idrisi stopped listening and recalled one of his earliest meetings with Philip in the palace. The Sultan was questioning his victorious Amir al-bahr on the pattern of a city built by Believers. Why the water? Why the gardens? Why the row of straight trees?

  ‘Bountiful Sultan,’ replied Philip, ‘the garden is heaven on earth, the water must be kept pure and clear in canals, the trees must be planted in rows. The reason is simple. It helps us to develop pure and clear conceptions and guard against false illusions. The builders create cities like this everywhere to stress the universality of the Prophet’s faith. And it is this that pushes the soldiers of the Prophet towards expansion and the enemies of this faith towards surrender.’

  The Sultan smiled and nodded. ‘When you speak like this I sense something. In your heart you remain a Believer in your Prophet. The conversion to my faith was a pretence. I do not blame you, but I would be happier if you admitted this and then you a
nd Master Idrisi can pray together.’

  Philip had paled, but apart from that his expression betrayed nothing. ‘I am grateful to the Sultan. I pray in the large church built by your father.’

  Suddenly Idrisi became aware that Philip’s name had been spoken by the qadi. The other listeners had already succumbed to the preacher. Now Idrisi, too, strained to hear every word.

  ‘It has been reported to us that Philip al-Mahdia, the great Amir al-bahr and a worthy successor to the late George, may Allah bless his memory, is the victim of falsehoods. The Nazarene monks charge Philip with treason because they say that when he conquered Mahdia he refused to torture and kill Believers or rape the women. Is this a crime? May the stars rain on the head of the Nazarenes and may they be forced to drink their own blood for making this charge. Sultan Rujari is our protector and we must not do anything to shake his throne. Hear me, O Believers. This Sultan has defended us against the madness of his monks. The Sultan and his family will guard us against all catastrophes and for that reason let us pray to Allah to guide the Sultan and urge him to spare the life of Philip.’

  Idrisi joined in the prayer, cupped his hands and looked upwards. A collective ‘Amen’ rent the air and the sermon was over. As the faithful surrounded him, they shouted questions from every direction: Is what the qadi said true? Do you think Filib will die? Will our world end? Should we not resist now instead of waiting for the executioner’s axe?

  He smiled at them with sad eyes and allowed himself to be taken deep into the heart of the mosque, into a narrow room where the others had assembled. As his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, he felt a lightning bolt. Philip, attired in long white robes, was seated on the floor with the rest of them. He rose to his feet and embraced Idrisi, kissing him three times. The others did the same. Apart from the qadi, Philip and himself, there was the Chief Eunuch from the palace and two young men who introduced themselves as Philip’s captains in charge of their own ships of war. Philip had taught them all they knew and they would die for him. Once the introductions were over, a silence fell.

  It was Philip who spoke first. ‘What the qadi said today was true. There is a conspiracy being prepared against us. So much is certain. It is in its early stages, but our choices are limited. Any resistance at this moment would be easily crushed. The Barons and monks are hoping that when I am burnt at the stake, there will be an uprising.’

  The two young sea captains shuddered in horror and the older of them spoke. ‘Amir Philip, if they burn you, we will burn this city. The loyalty of the men on the ships is to you and no one else ...’

  Philip raised his hand to stop him. ‘It would be a tragedy if this were to happen. The Sultan is ill. He will die soon. He knows. The boy who succeeds him is even more sympathetic to us than his father. He has mastered our language and al-Quran. He has admitted to his tutors that he would like to convert to our faith. Is that not true, Master Idrisi?’

  ‘It is true,’ whispered Idrisi, ‘but be careful. These are the wishes of an impressionable young man who is in love with our women and we should not assume that he will convert ...’

  Philip smiled. ‘Some men remain impressionable till the day they die. I am aware of this only too well. If the tide turns, William may float away. In a long war nothing can be taken for granted. That I know better than all of you. The fate of a battle is usually decided at the moment of victory or defeat. Who would have believed that a handful of Normans could have defeated our armies on this island? We outnumbered them, we had more weapons, more food and we controlled the towns and the sea. But they won. Till the last moment anything is possible. It is the quality of the men who fight, their mental capacity, that determines a great deal. It is the same in the situation that confronts us at this moment. But we must prepare carefully and give strength to Rujari by declaring our loyalty to his family. For us the best conditions for the struggle that lies ahead would be if the Barons refused to accept William as their King. If that happens, you must resist them and defend him. Who knows, perhaps Siqilliya, with or without the Franks, will return to our faith.’

  Then Idrisi spoke. ‘There is a problem you have not taken into account. If they burn you, the charm will be broken and the beautiful illusion or hope—call it what you will—gone for ever. When our people see that Amir Philip, the most powerful man in the kingdom after the Sultan, can be burnt like a piece of wood and his ashes scattered in the sea, they will despair. They will think Allah has abandoned them. They will become embittered and desperate and in that state men can no longer think in a calm and rational way like you. Please do not underestimate the effects of your death.’

  Philip smiled. ‘Torture and death by fire is an abomination, but I think I will feel it more than you. I was sold into slavery and in that condition one is always prepared for death. It would worsen my misery if I thought you were all engaged in planning an action that was doomed to fail.’

  Then the qadi spoke. At seventy-six years of age, the hair on his head had disappeared some time ago, but his long white beard, clutched tight during key moments of his sermons, had a touch of wild grandeur. Idrisi had heard him in this same mosque for many years and knew all his rhetorical ploys. They reminded him of the weather. When he began to speak it was like a hot moist squall that suddenly blows away and the air becomes stagnant and motionless. Then, suddenly, without warning, a dark cloud appears, followed by a thunderclap, exhorting the faithful to action. Sometimes there were variations, but nothing significant. And Believers, to their credit, learnt to display a stoicism worthy of their earliest forebears, applauding the same words week after week as if they heard them for the first time.

  ‘Amir Philip,’ he said, ‘you are regarded as the wisest man on this island, wiser even than Master Idrisi. In the name of Allah I urge you to think again. Our Prophet, may he rest in peace, taught us to submit, but only to Allah. No earthly ruler can take his place. For you to submit to the crime being prepared in the palace is unacceptable and will damage our community. I would urge you to board a ship and disappear. How did our Prophet win those early battles? Because in those early clashes with the armies of the Ignorant, the Prophet’s soldiers were the only disciplined men of their day. It was not easy to elevate the mental state of the Ignorant to believe in one Allah, but finally we succeeded and they entered the stream of history. So Amir Philip, I plead with you to follow their example. There are many places where you will find refuge. Our Amirs in al-Andalus, threatened permanently by the Nazarenes, will reward your skills. And when stories of the battles you win, with Allah’s help, reach Siqilliya, we will rejoice and, who knows, it might even encourage our poets to speak less of wine and more of our victories.’

  In this vein the discussion continued for many hours, the young captains vigorously supporting the qadi’s suggestion that Philip take several ships and retreat to a friendly city. They described how, in the past, they had found a number of safe havens and marked them on their maps, not revealing the locations, even to Master Idrisi.

  But they had all reckoned without the will and determination of Philip al-Mahdia. Once he had made a decision it was difficult to shake his resolve. With a simple gesture, he demanded and obtained total silence. Then he brought the mehfil to a close.

  ‘Don’t misunderstand me, friends, but I have thought about this very carefully. I have no desire to die, but none of your arguments has convinced me. How can my death have the effect you describe if so few are aware that I am a Believer? Most of our people think I am a Nazarene. They will not be affected by my departure. The qadi talks of the Prophet’s disciplined soldiers. That is what we need, but it is the Franks who displayed that quality when they took this island. We were, as usual, busy fighting ourselves. If one of our Amirs had not invited the Franks to help him against other Believers, would they have come here in the first place? Allah alone knows. It is because we need discipline that I am prepared to die so that you have time to organise yourselves for the battles that lie ahead. The Nazar
enes will not be satisfied till they have killed us all. That is the only language they understand. And, rest assured, I will not submit easily at my trial. I will defend myself against all their falsehoods. And I hope Master Idrisi will insist on being present so that he can convey what took place to all of you. To run away and hide is a sign of guilt and I will not afford them that satisfaction. If I were to leave they would revenge themselves on you. The monks find it difficult to conceal their hatred of Palermo. There are too many Believers and Jews here for their liking.

  ‘So I say farewell to you my friends. Always think carefully before you act. Take everything into consideration. And one last thing for you Master Idrisi. Your hot-headed sons-in-law are preparing to take arms against the Sultan. That is what my men report from Siracusa and Noto. Naturally, I have stopped this information from being circulated, but urge them to be cautious. This is the wrong moment. And a last word of advice. The most dangerous man at the palace, because he is the cleverest, is Antonio, the monk from Canterbury, who was taught his trade by men cleverer than himself. He is not interested in wine, women or worldly goods. His only cause is to ensure the Nazarene triumph against Believers. Whenever I spoke with him, I felt I was being questioned by my executioner. He is a gentle fanatic, but don’t be deceived. He never relaxes his faith, never doubts his God and will happily sacrifice himself to advance his cause. That is what makes him different from the corrupt and indolent monks native to this island. Master Idrisi smiles. Yes, my friend, he is not unlike me, except that my concern is to safeguard our people as best I can. Antonio is afflicted by a religious passion and that, I’m afraid, always verges on insanity, no matter what the religion. That is why I fear him the most and so should you. I think he will be present at my trial. I wonder whether the island you describe as being total darkness nonetheless produces men whose inner light makes their souls shine.’