Amin Maalouf - Leo Africanus

In a trembling voice, Muhammad made a vow: if we survived, he would break his journey to make a pilgrimage to the village of Taghya, and place an offering upon the tomb of wali Bu ‘Izza, a saint famous for his many miracles involving lions.

I do not know whether it was the intercession of the saint or that of the mother of the Messiah which was the more effective, but in any case the lions eventually seemed to become weary and lose interest, and in the first glimmers of dawn they went away, although their roars, which were only a little less frightening, still reached us from the nearby mountain. It was only when the village came to life in the early hours of the morning that we had the courage to leave our shelter. However, before continuing our journey, we had to wait for a long caravan to come past. Determined to fulfil his vow immediately, Muhammad wanted to find a group of pilgrims at Meknes who were leaving for Taghya.

Arriving there a week later, and seeing the vast crowd of people who, like ourselves, were visiting the wali ’s tomb, I understood the perpetual dread which lions strike in the hearts of the inhabitants of Africa. I was to experience this even more profoundly during my travels. How many times, on arriving at a village, have I seen the inhabitants gathered together, in deep distress, because a family has just been devoured by these savage beasts! How many times, when wishing to go in a particular direction, have the guides directed me another way, simply because a pride of lions had just decimated a whole caravan! It has even happened that one of these beasts alone attacked a detachment of two hundred armed horsemen, and managed to kill five or six of them before beating a retreat.

Certainly, the lion is the bravest of all animals, and I say this unreservedly, because I bore the name of this beast for the eight years of my stay in Italy. However, I must make it clear that those who live in the cold lands are far less fierce than those who live in the hotter ones. In order to silence a braggart in Fez, one says to him ‘You are as brave as the lions of Agla; even the calves can nibble at their tails.’ It is true that in the place of this name a child only has to run shouting behind a lion for the latter to run away. In another village in the mountains, called Red Stone, the lions wander between the houses to eat the bones which are left out for them, and everyone mixes with them without fear. I have also heard that when a woman finds herself alone witji a lion in an isolated place she has only to uncover a certain part of her body in front of him for the animal to roar loudly, lower his eyes and slink away. May everyone be free to believe what he will!

On the way back from this makeshift pilgrimage, I remembered the vague feeling of apprehension that I had experienced for Mariam. A premonition of the lions’ attack on our hut? For the time being, I thought so. At the age of twelve I still believed that as between beasts and men the former could do the most damage.

907 A.H.

17 July 1501 — 6 July 1502

Mariam’s fiancé was four times her age and twice her height, had an ill-gotten fortune and the smile of those who have learned at an early age that life is a perpétuai swindle. At Fez he was called the Zarwali, and many envied him, since this former shepherd had built the largest palace in the city, the largest, that is, after that of the ruler, a piece of elementary common sense for anyone who wanted to make sure that his head remained attached to his body.

No one knew how the Zarwali’s fortune had grown so vast. For the first forty years of his life, it was said, he and his goats had roamed over the mountain of Bani Zarwal in the Rif, thirty miles from the sea. Many years later I happened to pay a visit to the area, where I observed a strange phenomenon. At the bottom of the valley there was an opening in the earth, rather like a cave, from which a huge flame issued continuously. All round it was a brownish coloured pool full of a thick liquid with a pervasive smell. Many travellers came to marvel at this wonder, and threw in branches or pieces of wood, which were burnt up on the spot. Some believe that it is the mouth of Hell.

Not far from this intimidating place, it was said, were the secret wells where the Romans had buried their treasure before leaving Africa. Had the shepherd accidentally stumbled on one of these hiding places while pasturing his flocks? That was what I had heard at Fez long before the Zarwali burst upon my life. Whatever the truth was, having discovered his treasure, instead of squandering it at once as happens to so many who become rich unexpectedly, he slowly worked out a long-term strategy. Having sold off part of the treasure bit by bit, he appeared one day, richly accoutred, at the public audience of the Sultan of Fez.

‘How many gold dinars do you obtain from the Bani Zarwal each year?’ he asked the monarch.

‘Three thousand,’ replied the sovereign.

‘I will give you six thousand in advance if you will farm the taxes to me.’

And our Zarwali got what he wanted, including a body of soldiers to help him collect the taxes, extracting all the savings of the local population by threats or torture. At the end of the year he went back to the monarch:

‘I was mistaken. I managed to get twelve thousand, not six thousand.’

Deeply impressed, the master of Fez farmed the whole of the Rif to the Zarwali, and assigned him a hundred bowmen, three hundred cavalrymen and four hundred foot soldiers to assist him to fleece the population.

For five years the amount of tax extracted was higher than it had ever been, but the people of the Rif gradually became impoverished. Many fled to other provinces of the kingdom; some of the coastal cities even considered handing themselves over to the Castilians. Sensing that things might begin to change for the worse, the Zarwali resigned his office, left the Rif and set himself up at Fez with the money he had extorted. Having retained the trust of the monarch he set about building a palace and began to devote himself to all manner of business. Greedy, pitiless but exceedingly clever, he was always on the lookout for new schemes.

My father had got to know him through a rich Andalusian émigré, and had told him about his plan to raise silkworms. Showing great interest, the Zarwali had plied him with questions about the caterpillars, the cocoons, the slime and the spinning, and asked one of his advisers to make a note of all the details. He declared that he was delighted to work with a man as capable as Muhammad.

‘Well,’ he said with a laugh, ‘it’s a partnership of money and brains.’

When my father replied that all Fez knew how astute and intelligent the Zarwali was, the latter replied:

‘Don’t you know, you who have read so many books, what the mother of one of the sultans of long ago said when her son was born? “I do not want you to be endowed with intelligence, because you will have to put your intelligence at the service of the powerful. I want you to have good fortune, so that intelligent people may serve you.” That’s probably the same thing as my mother wanted for me when I was born,’ laughed the Zarwali, showing all his teeth.

My father was encouraged by the meeting, although the Zarwali asked for some time to think it over. He wanted to inform the monarch about the project, obtain his consent, and consult various weavers and exporters. However, as an earnest of his genuine interest in the matter, he advanced Muhammad four hundred pieces of gold and also held out to him the dazzling prospect of a marriage alliance between the two families.