The Book of Saladin (20 page)

“With respect, O master, it is said that your intention was not to become a secretary in the Sultan’s chancery, but to concentrate your great powers on writing your own works. Would such an assumption be accurate?”

He looked at me coldly, making me feel like an insignificant insect. I regretted having spoken, but his familiar voice reassured me.

“No. It is not accurate. When I studied the texts and letters formulated by al-Fadil in Cairo, I realised that we could do the same in Damascus. I had thought that this might be a difficult task, but Allah helped me. I threw off all the old ways of composing a letter of state and developed an entirely new style. This, my dear young man, astounded rulers such as the Sultan of Persia and even the Pope in Rome. The late Sultan Nur al-Din, may he rest in peace, was so pleased with my work that he made me the
mushrif.
I was now in charge of the entire administration of the state. This annoyed many people who felt that I had been promoted above their heads. They tried to make my life difficult.

“I recall one occasion. An envoy had arrived from the Caliph in Baghdad with a letter to Nur al-Din. My small-minded enemies had not invited me to the reception for the envoy. The old Sultan noticed that I was not present. He ordered a halt to the entire proceedings till I had been fetched. The Sultan handed me the letter to read, but al-Qaisarini, who was standing in for the Vizir that day, snatched the letter from my hand. I humoured him, but throughout his reading I corrected his mistakes and guided him whenever he went astray. I remember afterwards, when we were alone, Nur al-Din laughed at what had taken place—and this was a Sultan who rarely found time to appreciate a joke. That day he laughed and complimented me on my diplomatic skills.”

He was about to continue, when our conversation was interrupted by the Sultan’s entry. I stood and bowed, but Salah al-Din pushed Imad al-Din’s shoulders downwards to stop him rising.

“You’ve been educating Ibn Yakub?”

“No sir. Not I. I have simply been correcting a historical misapprehension regarding my own past.”

The Sultan smiled.

“You must not tire your memory, Imad al-Din. Sometimes I feel you memorise too much. I need you to be ready for the wars we are about to fight. It is possible that I might fall. You alone will be able to recall each and every detail of the jihad and make sure that it is diffused amongst the Believers.”

The secretary bowed his head, and the Sultan indicated that he could leave. Once we were alone, he began to speak.

“As you know, I appreciate the Sultana Jamila and her enormous intelligence. Yet sometimes I wonder how such a capable woman can create such a mess. It would appear that she and Halima have separated themselves from most of the other women. Jamila has a group of six or seven women, and she educates them and trains them in her own ways. This creates tension and hostility, since neither Jamila nor Halima bother to conceal their contempt for those who prefer to enjoy the pleasures of life by refusing to exercise their minds at all. They live for pleasure and pleasure alone. They are not concerned either with the jihad or the philosophy of Ibn Rushd. For this Jamila seeks to punish them. I was forced to reprimand her and insist that she does not impose her will on the others. She accepted my injunction in front of the others, but with bad grace. I left immediately afterwards, but have no doubt, Ibn Yakub, she will try and bend both your ears and mine before this week is over. That woman never accepts defeat. I am not in the mood to dictate today. We will speak again tomorrow.

“As you leave, could you please ask Shadhi to send al-Fadil, Imad al-Din, and Qara Kush to my chamber? You look surprised. There are important decisions to be made over the next few days.”

I was despondent at being asked to leave, and for the first time I spoke my mind.

“I will do as Your Grace asks, but it would seem more logical if I, too, could stay. It is I who have been chosen to write the Sultan’s memoirs. I will remain silent and take notes, and the accuracy of these could be checked by the Kadi.”

He looked as amused as he would have if his favourite steed had dislodged him from the saddle.

“There are some things, Ibn Yakub, which are best left untold. Do not imagine that I am unaware of your unease when I ask you to leave before meetings where the highest matters of state are discussed. This is as much for your safety as for our security. All my enemies are aware that you see me every day. They are also aware that you are sent out of the chamber when we plan our tactics for the next phase of the jihad.

“Nothing that happens in this palace is secret. Within a few hours the stories reach the harem, and rumours travel swiftly from there to the city. If it became known that you were part of the innermost councils of the state, your life might be in danger. That is the reason. However, tonight’s meeting is completely unplanned. So tonight you can sit at a distance, observe and take notes, but it will not be al-Fadil who checks them for accuracy but Imad al-Din. He will remember everything.”

I bowed to show my gratitude as I left the chamber. I was pleased that I had found the courage to challenge his decision and, for some unfathomable reason, this tiny victory gave me a gigantic amount of pleasure. Outside I met Shadhi and informed him of the Sultan’s directives. He summoned a messenger to inform the three men that they had to return to the palace without further delay. Then he turned to me.

“And what make you of our great scholar, the noble Imad al-Din?”

“I think highly of him, but perhaps not as highly as he thinks of himself.”

Shadhi laughed.

“That son of a whore, al-Wahrani, has written a new song about him and his lover.”

“Who is his lover?”

“That pretty boy with curly hair. The singer. You know who I mean? I think his name is al-Murtada. Yes, that is his name. Anyway, the song goes like this:

“
Our great scholar Imad al-Din knows

that his favourite text is al-Murtada,

but without any clothes.

They fornicate like dogs, each one on all fours,

And drink wine from the navels of slave-girls and whores.”

Even as we were enjoying the joke, Imad al-Din walked past us in animated conversation with the Kadi al-Fadil. The sight of him sobered me immediately, but Shadhi was by now completely out of control. He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. I left him in that state as I followed the two men back to the Sultan’s chamber. Behind him I heard the gentle tread of the trusted Qara Kush. I waited for him to catch up, and we walked together to the Sultan’s chamber.

The discussion had clearly been taking place for several days. The main issue to be decided was the Sultan’s departure for Damascus. It was felt that since Cairo and the rest of the country was stable, now was the time for the Sultan to return to Damascus, where there were serious problems which needed attention.

Imad al-Din reported that Salah al-Din’s nephew in charge of Damascus, Farrukh Shah, was not a good administrator. His tastes were lavish, he refused to consider the needs of the jihad as a whole, and made decisions that depleted the funds held by the treasury. Imad al-Din argued strongly for the court to shift from Cairo to Damascus.

Qara Kush resisted the move, but was unconvincing. Unable to give a single serious reason for his argument, he descended to merely singing the praises of the Sultan, arguing that without his serene and noble presence he was fearful that the country might degenerate.

Remarks of this nature irritated the Sultan. He admonished his steward in sharp tones, pointing out that the sole basis for any major decision was the answer to one simple question: would it bring closer the defeat of the enemy and the capture of al-Kuds? He refused to countenance any other criterion.

Then al-Fadil spoke. He explained that if the Sultan’s standard of judgement was to be the only one then the move to Damascus was unavoidable. Al-Kuds would not be taken using Cairo as the centre of operations. At the same time he expressed some worry as to what could happen here in the Sultan’s absence.

Salah al-Din let them speak for a while, before interrupting them with a gesture of the hand.

“I think the arguments for strengthening Damascus and the other cities of Sham are irrefutable. If we are to take al-Kuds, I must be sure that all my cities are in safe hands. We cannot trust either to luck or the hope that the Believers will not betray us. As I never cease telling our people, this has been the curse of our faith. We shall leave exactly ten days from now. You, Ibn Yakub, will come with us to Damascus, together with your wife and daughter, for Allah alone knows how long we shall be away.

“We shall return to Cairo after our tasks, Allah willing, are accomplished, and not before. I am fond of this city. There are good memories to treasure.

“Your job, Qara Kush, is to make sure that, by the time I return, the citadel will be finished. That is where I will stay. As you know, I am not greatly attached to these old palaces.”

Everyone present smiled, but Imad al-Din’s face clouded, and when he spoke there was a trace of anger in his voice.

“That you sleep best in citadels is known to all, O Sultan, but I must plead with you to keep Qara Kush under some control. He is busy selling all the books in the palace libraries. Some of the fools buying them are so ignorant that they purchase according to weight rather than content. I am aware that Qara Kush is contemptuous of learning, but what he has been selling is our heritage. We have the most complete collection on medicine and philosophy in the library of this palace alone and...”

Before he could finish, the Sultan interrupted him.

“Qara Kush! I do not like this. Will you please make sure that Imad al-Din is consulted before any more books are sold.”

Qara Kush nodded to acknowledge the instruction.

“One more thing. Bertrand of Toulouse has expressed a desire to return to his country. He will help us from there, and keep us informed on the movements of the Franj leaders. I want him given a safe-conduct and an escort on a merchant ship. Give him everything he needs. Will you see to this yourself, al-Fadil? I want this knight to return safely to his family.”

The Kadi acknowledged the order, and Salah al-Din clapped his hands. Three attendants, familiar faces to me since they were permanently positioned outside the Sultan’s chamber, entered and prepared the table. They served us a frugal meal, whose contents I had inwardly predicted. As I had suspected it was bread and three varieties of bean stew. No concessions were made to the presence of Imad al-Din, whose tastes in food were well known. His banquets consisted of several courses and always included a new dish that left his guests gasping in astonishment. I watched the face of our greatest living historian. It did not betray a single emotion. Like all of us, he followed the Sultan and dipped his bread in the stew. The Sultan looked at him.

“Does this humble meal meet with your approval, Imad al-Din?”

Answer there was none, but the great man touched his heart to convey his approval and gratitude. It was only as we left the chamber that I heard him whisper to al-Fadil:

“One should only eat with Salah al-Din if afflicted with constipation and an urgent need to move the bowels.”

A
CHAMBER HAD BEEN
assigned to me at the palace and usually, after a late night, I did not bother to return home. It was well past the midnight hour and, had I not heard al-Fadil grumbling earlier that because of the Sultan’s meeting he had to cut short a consultation with Ibn Maymun, I would have stayed at the palace. Instead I began a brisk walk home. I had not seen Ibn Maymun for a long time, and I wanted him to be present when I told Rachel that we were all moving to Damascus.

As I reached the courtyard inside my house I was surprised to see the lamps still burning. Not wishing to wake either our guest or my family, I crept in quietly. Imagine my surprise when I entered the domed room to see Ibn Maymun lying flat on his back with his robe pulled above his stomach and covering his face while Rachel, my very own Rachel, sat astride him and kept moving up and down as if she were taking a leisurely morning ride on a tame pony. She was stark naked, her breasts moving in rhythm to the rest of her body. I stood paralysed. Anger, shame and fear combined to stun me. I was horrified. Could it be an apparition? A bad dream? Was I still asleep in my palace chamber?

I stood in the darkened corner of the room silently observing the fornication progress. Then I coughed. She saw me first, screamed as if she had caught sight of the devil himself, and ran from the room. I approached our great philosopher, who had just managed to cover his erect penis.

“Peace be upon you, Ibn Maymun. Did Rachel make you welcome? Were you demonstrating a particular section from your
Guide to the Perplexed
just for her benefit?”

He did not reply, but sat up and hid his face in his hands. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Then his choked voice managed to mutter an apology.

“Forgive me, Ibn Yakub. I beg your forgiveness. It is a lapse for which I deserve to be severely punished. What more can I say?”

“Perhaps,” I asked him in a calm voice, “I should simply cut off your testicles. Honour would then be restored, would it not?”

“None of us are infallible, Ibn Yakub. We are only human. Would you have resisted had Halima invited you into her bed?”

I was startled and angered by his audacity. Before I could control myself, I moved forward, grabbed him by the beard, and slapped his face, first on one side and then the other. He began to weep. I left the room.

Rachel was sitting on the mattress, wrapped in a blanket, as I entered. She was too ashamed to look me in the eye. Anger had dumbed me. I spoke not a word, but removed a blanket and left the room. I entered my daughter’s room and lay down on the floor, beside her mattress. Sleep refused to visit me that night or the next.

Rachel wept for two whole days, pleading with me to forgive her. To my surprise I did so, but I also knew that I did not wish her to go with me to Damascus. I merely informed her that the Sultan had asked me to accompany him and I would be away for an indefinite length of time. She nodded. Then I asked her the question that had been burning my mind since I saw her mount Ibn Maymun.