A Sultan in Palermo (16 page)

‘But ...’ interrupted Balkis.

‘Please, let me finish. And lastly, when you see him again in the morning you must pretend nothing happened.’

‘What if nothing did happen? I mean, what if we didn’t succeed the first time?’

‘You can try again, but in exactly the same way.’

‘I accept the conditions. Now reveal each and every detail of your plan.’ She did, but before the rough edges could be refined, Elinore burst into the room.

‘Are we definitely leaving for Palermo tomorrow?’

Her mother nodded assent.

‘Why do you want to go back so soon Elinore? Why not wait for your father. He will be back in a few days and then both of you can return on his boat. Much nicer than going on a cart.’

‘I find Siracusa so dull, my aunt. All my friends are in Palermo. Everything happens there. I have heard of interesting happenings near Noto. They say there is a long-haired preacher with rapture in his soul who is spreading disaffection throughout Catania. Is this true? Have you heard of him?’

Balkis waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

‘My husband knows him and says the man is half-mad.’

Elinore was not going to accept this. ‘That means he is also half-sane.’

Her mother glared at her.

‘Well,’ responded her aunt, ‘if you’re interested in the Trusted One—that’s what they call him—you had better wait for your father. He must have met him on his son-in-law’s estate.’

Elinore was torn. She was desperate to return home to see if any of the eunuchs had succeeded in finding the flute-player who had entranced her with his music. But the thought of waiting for her father was also attractive. She debated the merits of each case in her head and decided in favour of the boy who played the flute. They would return early tomorrow morning.

Her mother accepted the decision for her own reasons. She did not really wish to be in Siracusa when Idrisi returned. Balkis making eyes at him would be intolerable. Despite her show of support for her sister, Mayya was nervous about the cruel and monstrous pact they had sealed. Her brain was in a whirl. It was better if she was not present when Idrisi returned to the palace. If he even suspected her involvement she would be covered in disgrace. Elinore’s free-and-easy manner appeared to have convinced her aunt that they had to leave and unwittingly provided a neat solution to her mother’s dilemma.

‘Balkis, I do not wish you to wake up early on our account. We will leave before the sun is up, while Believers are being woken for the morning prayer. We will not disturb you. Let us say our farewells now.’

Elinore kissed her aunt warmly and left the room.

Balkis took hold of her sister’s hands and held them tight. ‘You are afraid of my impulsiveness. You’re beginning to regret our agreement. I love you, Mayya. You were a mother and a father to me. If I have hurt you I am prepared to withdraw my suggestion and declare our agreement dead. I want nothing to come between us. Nothing.’

Mayya, touched by the offer, did not speak immediately, but embraced Balkis and kissed her. ‘We have made a deal. Let us stay with it. It will not affect anything between us. That much I can promise you. I hope it works the first time, that’s all. I don’t want you to make it a habit.’

And on that note of warning the sisters parted.

T
HE RESPLENDENT MORNING CHEERED
Idrisi. He had an early breakfast and left for Siracusa accompanied only by armed retainers. He had permitted neither Abu Khalid nor his brother Umar to accompany him. They had more important tasks at home.

The death of his daughter had led to much soul-searching on his part and Idrisi wondered if matters might have been different had he spent more time with his daughters and educated them. Then he would, once again, return to the root of the problem: his marriage. Even though he was only eighteen at the time he should have resisted his father.

Last night he had composed a short letter to Walid.

My dearest son:

I write with sad news. Your sister, Samar, died ten days ago. I was present in the house the day she decided to take her life. It took us all by surprise as there had been no indication that she was on the edge of despair. Young Khalid walks around in a bewildered state and it is difficult to console him. His father blames himself, but unfairly. He is a kind and considerate man and is not to blame for what happened. If anyone is to blame it is me. I should have been less harsh with her after uncovering a foolish and treacherous plan to bear false witness against her husband was exposed. It was her mother’s idea. She and Sakina became willing tools through stupidity more than malice. It would be foolish to provide more details in a letter that might not even reach you.

Your mother and Sakina arrived for the funeral, but stayed only a few days. I spoke with them briefly, spending more time with my grandchildren whose intelligence you would appreciate more than most.

I have been thinking a great deal of the past and will come to Venice before too long so we can sit and talk. You can’t imagine how much I miss your presence. The ripple of laughter and the babble of voices when your friends would come to see you at our house remains a cherished memory.

I embrace you,

Abu

He rode at a furious pace, anxious to reach Siracusa before sunset and set sail for Palermo early next morning. He had left the city in despair, searching for possible escape routes from the disaster that lay ahead. Rujari had not replied to his letter pleading for mercy. Perhaps he should have stayed and pleaded with the Sultan every day. Now he wanted to make one last effort to persuade the Sultan to spare Philip’s life. Rujari had treated Philip as his own son. He knew that the human sacrifice demanded by the Church and the Barons—a sacrifice to which Rujari had agreed—must nonetheless be tormenting the Sultan.

When Idrisi had discussed Philip’s imprisonment with the Trusted One, the preacher had mocked the community of Believers in Palermo. If they let Philip die without resistance, they would perish themselves.

Despite himself, Idrisi had begun to fall under the preacher’s spell. At times his superstitious beliefs irritated him, but the fierceness and fervour with which he spoke against the land-grabbing Church and the mercenaries it employed as its hangmen were admirable. And the multitudes he aroused were far from credulous. They knew he spoke the truth and they compared him to their Amirs and landowners who vied with each other to appease and please their enemies, especially the monks, who were constantly preaching sermons advocating terror and violence to rid the island of Believers and Jews.

From where did this religious passion come? It was a response to the fires that had been lit to destroy what he had long regarded as indestructible. The early victories of the Prophet and the resulting triumphs had created a civilisation so proud and conscious of its superiority that, like the ancients of Greece and Rome, it became infected with the idea that this superiority made it invulnerable. A fatal error.

But the Trusted One had been right to draw attention to the treachery that had led to the invitation despatched by Ibn Thumna, the Amir of Siracusa, to the Franks. Events that had taken place a hundred years ago were still fresh in the imagination of most Believers. How many times had Idrisi heard the story of the evil and promiscuous Amir, Ibn Thumna, who had killed the pious and noble Ibn Maklati, the Amir of Catania, for reasons of sheer greed. He wanted more land. The murder was avenged by Ibn al-Hawwas, who inflicted a crushing defeat on the Siracusan Amir. It was then and simply to save his own skin that Ibn Thumna had invited the infidels to cross the water. He was killed in battle alongside them, so gained nothing in the end. He was probably roasting in the fires of hell at this very moment. It suited Idrisi to think of somewhere hotter than Siqilliya.

He looked up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight, even though the shepherds had predicted rain last night. Sweat poured down his face and neck and he yearned for a moist sea breeze as they galloped on. He would not rest till the men pleaded on behalf of their horses. Coming to a grove of trees, the trunks and boughs twisted by the wind and wounded by lightning and the leaves parched and withered, he relented. As he strolled among the trees he could hear the men talk of the Trusted One. When he joined them they fell silent, but he asked if they had attended the
mehfil
at the village. They nodded without volunteering any information.

‘Would all of you join the army of which the Trusted One spoke?’

Again they nodded.

‘You are prepared to die, but for what?’

‘So that the prayers can be said in the name of the Caliph once again.’

‘Is that all?’

Another voice replied. ‘Many of our people work as slaves for the Church. When we defeat the infidels we can free all our people.’

Then the youngest of them, who had not spoken, said, ‘We are poor people and you are a great scholar. How can we tell you anything you don’t already know. But you can teach us a great deal. Do you think we can win?’

Idrisi thought before replying. ‘I don’t know. There is a tendency amongst our people to boast loudly of our capacities. We became too selfish and vainglorious. If extravagant language could defeat the enemy, we would never lose a single battle. And then there is this island, which has a magical effect on all who come here, regardless of their faith. Geography and local conditions isolate us from other lands and, Nazarene or Believer, we begin to adjust to the conditions here. The geography of this island shapes our character and in fifty years or more—Believer or Jew or Nazarene—you will not be able to tell the difference between us. We become Siqilliyani facing the same problems.’

The men did not know what to make of this, and smiled but remained silent. Ready to move on again, they covered their heads and mounted their horses.

A gentle wind arose and clouds had already darkened the sky as they reached Siracusa.

Idrisi was greeted by the palace steward, who informed him that the Amir was expected back later that night. A bath had been prepared for him and the Lady Balkis would join him for the evening meal.

‘Are the Lady Mayya and Elinore here?’

‘They returned to Palermo a few days ago.’

He had been hoping to find his daughter on her own and take her back with him. Why had Mayya gone back so soon? Balkis would have the answers.

He went to the
hammam
where a warm aromatic bath had been prepared for him. Camomile, wild thyme, marjoram and yes, mountain-mint. Was that a bundle of black nightshade he saw floating in the water? It was. He lifted it out of the bath and handed it to the attendant.

‘Who chose the herbs?’

‘The Lady Balkis.’

He made a mental note to tell his sister-in-law that nightshade should only be used to cure insomnia. As he slipped into the bath he felt the soothing powers of the herbs extracting the tiredness out of him. He lay back and enjoyed an infusion that was poured on his head, after which the attendant massaged it for what appeared to be a very long time. He insisted on a cold bath to get rid of the slight drowsiness and soon emerged feeling completely refreshed.

A different bedchamber had been prepared for him, but since the view of the sea was even better, he did not complain. It was raining and the sea was rough. He could see the boats along the quay bobbing up and down like a row of horses before a race. An attendant knocked on the door to tell him that the meal was about to be served. He followed her to a set of rooms where he found Balkis awaiting him, dressed in a gaudy red tunic, her golden curls tied in a knot. The colour did not suit her.

‘Welcome back, Muhammad ibn Muhammad. I am only sorry my husband is not here to greet you. As you can see, the weather is really bad and I think he will not arrive till tomorrow. The messenger who brought the news said that the Amir insisted you not leave for Palermo without seeing him.’

Idrisi bowed politely. ‘I’m touched by your hospitality. If the storm carries on like this I doubt I will be able to leave in the morning. I will wait till the Amir returns. I, too, have things I wish to discuss with him.’

‘I’m sorry to hear of your daughter’s death. Were you close to her?’

‘No and that makes me feel guilty. But let us not talk about sad things this evening. I was looking forward to seeing Mayya and Elinore. Why did you let them depart?’

‘It was Elinore who insisted.’

For a while they ate in silence.

‘Balkis, I have been wondering. You and Mayya don’t look like sisters. Did you have different mothers?’

Balkis smiled and said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, ‘No. Different fathers.’

‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.’

‘Should I tell you the whole story?’

‘Please do.’

While he was listening, a serving woman cleared the table, and another placed little bowls of herb infusions in front of them. So enraptured by Balkis was Idrisi that he sipped his without noticing the
shahdanaj al-barr
*
and honey. Its effects were not immediate, but even as he listened he felt a light-headedness emboldening him in the way he looked at her.

Abruptly he asked, ‘Why did you decide to wear this unbearable red dress? The colour does not suit your complexion. Was it deliberate?’

‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Take it off and ...’

Her laughter interrupted him. He was relieved it was not a stupid or a malicious laugh, but delicate and careful without being precious. There was no movement of the hand to conceal her lips, a gesture he disliked in women.

He returned to her story. ‘Did Mayya know?’

‘She knew for a long time but only told me the entire truth a few weeks ago. Ibn Muhammad, would you ever kill a woman who betrayed you?’

The reply was instantaneous. ‘No.’

‘And now it’s your turn for a story. Mayya told me about the strange island of Julian, but she was not sure if it was real or imagined.’