Bensalem Himmich - The Polymath

BARQUQ: Indeed, I would very much like you to prepare such a document.

IBN KHALDUN: God willing, the chapters will follow a logical progression. We’ll start by recalling the Mamluk victory over the Mongols at the battle of ‘Ayn Jalut, the interest in Ibn ‘Abd al-Zahir’s version of the heroic tale of Baybars who defeated the Mongol invaders, and the command that it be translated into both Turkish and Tatar; then a chapter on Timur’s retreat in the face of Sultan al-Zahir Barquq’s advance and the dispatch of trustworthy spies and agents to infiltrate his army ranks and tribes. God alone grants success.

BARQUQ: Power to you, Wali al-Din, power to you! (Gesturing to Sudun.) Escort Judge Ibn al-Tunsi out. He has fallen asleep.

IBN AL-TUNSI (waking up): Heaven forbid! Neither slumber nor sleep take him . God’s peace on my lord the sultan!

BARQUQ (gesturing to Ibn Khaldun to come closer): Bata, the person who has always protected you against the evil designs of Sudun, has died. Sudun’s fanaticism is part of a long-standing obligation I have, as you well know. But, God willing, I intend very soon to appoint you chief Maliki judge in Ibn al-Tunsi’s place, whether he’s alive or dead. And there’s something else I want you to know: I’m feeling weaker and weaker and I don’t imagine that any attack on Timur’s part will happen while I’m alive. It’s far more likely to be during the reign of my heir-apparent, my son al-Nasir Faraj. I’m asking you now, Wali al-Din, to take good care of the boy; be a steadfast counselor and supporter. Now you can get up and leave. Just one prayer I ask of you as dawn breaks on this day, that I might sleep a little. (He embraces Ibn Khaldun.) Go in peace.

When Ibn Khaldun woke up at midday, he was greeted by the beaming smile of his wife. He was surprised that she did not ask him why he had been out most of the night, and invited her to ask him. She did so, but still smiling and without the slightest show of concern.

“There have been many deaths,” she went on, “so I suppose you’ve been offering your condolences again.”

He paid no attention to this sarcastic remark.

“No, not that,” he replied with a frown. “I spent the night with the sultan discussing crucially important matters.”

“With the sultan? How is he?”

“Not at all well, Umm al-Batul, not at all well.”

“A sultan, and he’s not feeling well. So what’s a poor citizen supposed to say?”

So saying she went off to prepare the meal. ‘Abd al-Rahman meanwhile sat there, thinking about the fact that his wife did not seem to be so jealous any longer and wistfully reflecting on the passage of time that was certainly not working in his favor within his own household.

As soon as lunch was over, the master played with this little daughter for a while and fell asleep by her side. When he felt a certain amount of renewed vigor, he went upstairs and spent many hours till the middle of the night composing the document he had promised the sultan and letters to be dispatched by the hand of Qutlubagha to the religious scholars in the Maghrib in which he was asking for their counsel regarding the Mongol menace and their attitude toward Timur. Next morning, he went back to the palace and was one of the most prominent participants in the departure ceremony for the sultan’s mission. He gave the emissary the benefit of his best advice and suggested the most direct route to get to the kingdoms to the west.

Ah, the vicissitudes of time and events. Ah, the effect of time on the human frame! At the very end of 799, emissaries reached Egypt from the three kings of the Maghrib. There was a superb caravan loaded down with the most costly luxuries and expensive gifts. The most opulent and lavish gifts — truth to tell — came from the Marini, Abu ‘Amir. The royal household grabbed the smaller items and made off with them, leaving for the sultan some magnificent horses with gold-encrusted bridles and saddles. The day when these items were displayed in front of him was a notable day indeed. ‘Abd al-Rahman meanwhile was busy talking to the Maghribi emissaries either in the palace itself or in his own home. He made all the necessary arrangements for their stay, gave them a warm welcome, and did not lose a single moment in questioning them at length about the conditions of both monarch and people in their countries. He repeated the procedure when they all returned to Cairo after completing the obligation of the pilgrimage to the Holy Places. They stayed in the city for a few days to rest before embarking on the long journey back to their homeland, duly honored with gifts from the generous hand of the sultan.

Following the death of the Maliki judge, Ibn al-Tunsi, Barquq appointed Ibn Khaldun as his successor in the middle of Ramadan 801, thereby fulfilling the promise he had made earlier. The gesture was marked by a substantial level of welcome and praise in spite of the best efforts of rumormongers and slanderers. The sultan also turned down an offer from Judge Ibn al-Damamini to purchase the post for a sum of seventy thousand dinars. The newly appointed judge was extremely grateful to be reappointed to this position and announced his firm intention to apply the law with justice and in accordance with the shari‘a as God wills. He now devoted himself to the new position, to such an extent that he would often bring food prepared by his wife to his judicial office: sweet pastries prepared Moroccan style, meat slices Egyptian style. Deep down the judge had the feeling that his nomination to this position was a kind of farewell gift from the sultan who was now unable to keep his exhaustion and illness a secret from anyone. Indeed, not even a whole month passed before Sultan Barquq went to meet his Maker, after arranging the succession for his children beginning with his eldest son, al-Nasir Faraj, whom he placed in the care of the atabeg, Aytamish. He had Caliph al-Mutawakkil, amirs, and judges all serve as witnesses to his will. However, what ensued was a series of revolts that left ‘Abd al-Rahman fair game for any number of eventualities; there were variations, but the basic import was always one and the same. Aytamish, the young sultan’s guardian, gets above himself; Tanam, the viceroy of Syria, who loathes him, declares a revolt; Aytamish’s atabegs revolt against their own master and encourage the young sultan to get rid of the noose around his neck. Events pursued their course, and ‘Abd al-Rahman grew tired of trying to keep up with it all. It was lucky for the new sultan that the revolt only lasted a few months. He marched to Damascus and managed to do away with all the conspirators either by killing them in battle or having them strangled.

The process of consigning the sultanate to Barquq’s descendants and consolidating their hegemony by massacring dissidents, that may best represent the import of Sultan Barquq’s bequest to his heirs. It suggests that those heirs had learned from their father that the only way they would be able to rid themselves of the Mongol menace was by consolidating Mamluk ranks and fortifying their fighting spirit. But there was something about Faraj’s personality that deeply troubled ‘Abd al-Rahman. It was not his general lack of experience, something that obviously resulted from his youth. After all, intelligence and sound advice could solve that problem. No, the real problem was a bad case of snobbery that was made yet more reckless by drink. The huge difference between father and son in this regard was not one that was likely to disappear over time; it involved temperament, posture, and build. ‘Abd al-Rahman had noticed this great difference first hand when he had accompanied the young sultan on his expedition to Syria to quash the rebellion against him. In notes made on the journey he had written: “Timur’s rampage is certainly going to come, O God, unless some miracle happens and the reason for it is no longer valid.”