Amin Maalouf - Leo Africanus

Far from laughing, I stood there in horror, my hand clenching the letter. Before my fixed gaze ran the faraway memories of myself as a child, with my mother and Sarah, in the shop of the astrologer-bookseller, whose words were ringing in my ears:

Death will come, and then the waves of the sea.

Then the woman will return with her fruit.

On my return to Fez, my parents were married again, and they were all astounded and disappointed that I was not surprised. I forebore to ask them how they had managed to circumvent the interdiction.

Khali’s letter continued:

I also leave my embassy in your hands, although it is not mine to bestow since it belongs to the sovereign who invested me with it. As a result of this mission, I was hoping to be able to approach him, but, by the soil that covers my father’s grave! this was less from a desire to gain favours and riches than to assist my own family. Was it not through my intercession for your sister that I came to know the prince? You must also think of her when you pay court to the monarch. When you go into his presence, give him the gifts that are his due, and then report to him, in measured terms, the fruits of your observations on Timbuktu. Tell him in particular that in the land of the Blacks there are many kingdoms, that they constantly fight one another, but that they do not seek to extend themselves beyond. When you have held his attention and won his esteem, you should speak to him of Mariam, unless she is already free at the time that I am writing these lines.

But she was not free, as Harun told me, when he came to welcome me as the caravan arrived at the gates of the palace. It was there that I had to give back the mounts to the superintendent of camels, hand over the gifts to the captain of the orderlies while waiting for my interview with the monarch. Having discharged these duties I went home on foot, gossiping with Harun, telling him of my uncle’s illness and death, recalling my experiences in Sijilmassa and Timbuktu, without forgetting Hiba, who was following me at a respectful distance carrying my luggage. The Ferret told me the latest news of Fez: Astaghfirullah had died, as well as Hamza the barber, may God lavish His mercy upon them! Ahmad the Lame had gone back to his region south of Marrakesh where he and his brother were leading a group of mujahidin who were fighting against the Portuguese.

At Khali’s house the women were already dressed in black, as the sad news had arrived well in advance of the caravan. Salma was there, delighted at my return, hastening to whisper the news of her remarriage. She still lived in my uncle’s house, so as not to leave my young cousin on her own, but also perhaps to avoid being under the same roof as Warda. Muhammad divided his time between the three houses, those of his two wives and his house in the country, where his crops were flourishing.

I also saw Fatima, whom mourning had made neither less grumpy nor sweeter, and who gave a tearful look in my direction. I turned instinctively to see whether Hiba was behind me. A strange sensation: I found myself repeating my father’s actions, caught between two women, a radiant slavegirl and a cousin in tears.

The next day I left for the palace, where I was given an audience the same day, out of respect for my family’s bereavement. I was not however received in private. The sovereign was accompanied by the captain of the orderlies, the chancellor, the keeper of the royal seal, the master of ceremonies and other courtiers, all far more sumptuously dressed than the monarch himself and who were talking quietly among themselves while I, deeply moved, poured out my carefully prepared sentences. From time to time the sultan pricked up his ears in the direction of some murmur or other, while motioning me to continue with a wave of his hand. Given the immense interest that my account aroused, I cut it as short as possible and then was silent. Several whisperings later the monarch became aware that I had finished, and declared himself impressed by my eloquence, a way of reminding me of my youth. He asked me to convey his condolences to my family, addressed several words on the subject of my uncle, ‘our faithful servant’, and finished by expressing the hope that he would see me on another occasion. The interview was over. However, I lingered where I was, in spite of the frowns of the master of ceremonies.

‘If you would grant me a minute more, I should like to ask you a favour.’

And I began to speak of my sister, as quickly as possible, repeating the word ‘injustice’ two or three times, recalling the promise made to Khali. The monarch looked away; I began to think he was not listening to me. But a single word convinced me otherwise:

‘The leper?’

The chancellor whispered a word in his ear, and then said to me with a little tap on my shoulder:

‘I will deal with it. You will not be disappointed. Do not bother His Majesty with the matter.’

I kissed the monarch’s hand and withdrew. Harun was waiting for me outside the railings.

‘Do you know that you have just committed an offence against the Law of God?’

He had seen immediately that I had been made to look ridiculous, and he was trying to console me in his fashion. I walked faster without saying a word. He continued:

‘I recently heard an eminent shaikh put forward the view that most if not all of the sovereigns of our time increase their revenue by taxes which are forbidden by the Law of God, and that they are all therefore thieves and ungodly men. It follows that anyone who eats at their table, or who accepts the smallest gift, or who establishes family relations with them is an accessory in their thefts and their ungodliness.’

My reply was accompanied by an outburst of anger:

‘That kind of notion has been responsible for starting all the wars which have torn the lands of Islam apart. Moreover, you can rest assured: the sultan did not invite me to his table, gave me no present, and has not offered me his daughter’s hand. Hence I am neither a thief nor an ungodly man, and I am in no danger of finding myself in the fire of Gehenna. But my sister is still with the lepers!’

Harun’s face clouded over.

‘Will you go and see her soon?’

‘I am waiting for a reply from the chancellor. I would rather see her after that, as I may perhaps have some good news for her.’

In the weeks that followed I went back to some of the courses at the madrasa Bu Inania. I was asked to talk about my travels to my fellow students, and in particular to describe to them some of the mosques which I had seen in the land of the Blacks, as well as the saints’ tombs which I had visited. Since I had taken copious notes, I was able to speak for two whole hours, and the professor was delighted. He invited me to his house and encouraged me to write down my observations, as Ibn Batuta and other famous travellers had done before me. I promise to do so one day, if God allows me.

The professor also asked me if I was seeking work, because his brother, who was director of the maristan of the city, wanted to employ a young student as secretary, at a salary of three dinars a month. I accepted eagerly, as I had always been interested in the work of hospitals and hospices. It was agreed that I would start work in the autumn.

I let two months pass before returning to the palace, since I did not wish to give the chancellor the impression I was rushing him. He seemed extremely friendly, told me that he had been awaiting me for weeks, offered me some syrup, spoke tearfully of my departed uncle and then told me in an almost triumphant tone that he had managed to arrange that my sister would be examined again by four officially designated women.