Amin Maalouf - Leo Africanus

Thus I heard myself telling, in detail, the story of my Circassian, beginning with the chance meeting at a merchant’s in Khan al-Khalili.

‘Now I understand your terror when the Turkish officer took Bayazid in his arms in Alexandria harbour.’

I laughed. ‘Abbad continued, happy to have been able to distract me:

‘I could never explain to myself why a Granadan could be so afraid of the Ottomans, the only ones who promise to give him back his city one day.’

‘Maddalena can’t understand it either. She wants all the Andalusians, Jews and Muslims, to rejoice with her every time she hears the news of an Ottoman victory. And she’s astonished that I remain so cold.’

‘Are you going to light her lantern now?’

‘Abbad had spoken in a low voice. I replied in the same tone:

‘I will tell her everything in small doses. I could not tell her about Nur’s existence before.’

I turned towards my friend. My voice became feeble and thoughtful again:

‘Have you noticed how much we have changed since we came to this country? At Fez I would never have spoken of my wives in this way, even to my closest friend. If I had done so, he would have blushed to the peak of his turban.’

Laughingly, ‘Abbad agreed with me.

‘I myself made a thousand and one excuses before asking my neighbour after the health of his wife, and before answering me, he made sure nobody listened, fearing for his honour.’

After a long burst of laughter and some moments of silence, my companion began a sentence and then interrupted himself, hesitant and embarrassed.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘It’s probably not yet the right moment.’

‘I’ve told you too many secrets for you to hide from me half of what you’re thinking!’

He resigned himself.

‘I was going to say that henceforth you are free to love the Ottomans because Bayazid is no longer your son and because your wife is no longer a Circassian, because in Rome your protector has been replaced by an inquisitor, because in Constantinople Salim the Grim has been dead for two years and Sulaiman has replaced him.’

In a sense, what ‘Abbad said was true. I was henceforth free in my feelings, in my enthusiasm, free to join with Maddalena in her spontaneous outburst. What happiness, what serenity there would be to be able to draw, amid the succession of events in the world, a dividing line between joy and grief! However, I knew that this happiness was denied me, by my very own nature.

‘But I know you,’ ‘Abbad continued without looking at me. ‘You cannot enjoy anything to its full.’

He thought for a moment.

‘I think that, quite simply, you do not love princes, and sultans even less. When one of them wins a victory, you immediately find yourself in the camp of his enemies, and when some fool venerates them, that in itself is sufficient reason for you to abhor them!’

This time, what ‘Abbad said was probably true. Seeing that I was not attempting to defend myself, he harried me:

‘Why should you be hostile to Sulaiman?’

He spoke to me with such a moving naïveté that I could not prevent myself from smiling. At that very moment Maddalena came into the room. She heard the sentence my friend had uttered, which he hastened to translate into Italian for her, knowing that she would immediately bring him reinforcements. Which she did with vigour:

‘Why on earth are you hostile to Sulaiman?’

She walked slowly towards us, still slumped against the wall like schoolboys reciting the long Sura of Women to each other. ‘Abbad sat up, a confused word on the tip of his tongue. I stayed where I was, thoughtful and perplexed. As if to accompany my thoughts, Maddalena launched into a passionate eulogy of the Grand Turk:

‘Since he came to power Sulaiman has put an end to the bloody practices of his father. He has strangled neither brothers, sons nor cousins. The notables who were deported from Egypt have been brought back to their homes. The prisons have emptied. Constantinople sings the praises of the young sovereign, comparing his actions to a refreshing dew, and Cairo no longer lives in fear and mourning.’

‘An Ottoman sultan who does not kill!’

My tone was full of doubt. ‘Abbad corrected me:

‘Every prince must kill. The main thing is that he should not take pleasure in it, as was the case with the old sultan. Sulaiman is certainly from the Ottoman race, and in conquest he yields nothing to his father. For two months he has been besieging the knights of the island of Rhodes, with the largest fleet that Islam has ever seen. Among the officers who accompany him is your brother-in-law Harun, and with him his eldest son, who will, one day, marry Sarwat, your daughter, his cousin. Whether you like it or not, your family are involved in that battle. Even if you have no desire to join them, should you not at least wish for their victory?’

I turned back towards Maddalena, who was delighted at my friend’s words. I asked her solemnly:

‘If I were to decide that the time had come for us to take the road to Tunis with our child, what would you think about it?’

‘You have only to say the word and I should leave with pleasure, to get away from this inquisitor-Pope who is only waiting for the opportunity to seize hold of you!’

‘Abbad was the most excited of the three of us:

‘Nothing detains you here. Leave with me at once!’

I calmed him down:

‘It’s only December. If we must go by sea, we cannot do so for three months.’

‘Come to my house in Naples, and from there you will embark for Tunis in the first days of spring.’

‘That seems possible,’ I said thoughtfully.

But I hastened to add:

‘I shall think about it!’

‘Abbad did not hear the last part of the sentence. To celebrate my timid acceptance and to prevent me changing my mind he called from the window to two of his servants. He ordered one to go and buy two bottles of the best Greek wine, while the other had to prepare a pipe of tobacco.

‘Have you already tasted this sweet poison from the New World?’

‘Once, two years ago, at the house of a Florentine cardinal.’

‘Is it on sale in Rome?’

‘Only in certain taverns. But the tabacchini which run them have the worst reputations in the city.’

‘Soon the whole world will be full of tabacchini , and their reputation will be no worse than the reputation of grocers or perfume sellers. I myself import whole cargoes from Seville which I sell in Bursa or Constantinople.’

I took a puff. Maddalena inhaled the perfume but refused to try it.

‘I would be too afraid to choke myself with smoke!’

The Soussi advised her to heat the water to drink an infusion of the tobacco, with a bit of sugar.

When ‘Abbad left us that day, Maddalena immediately threw her arms around my neck.

‘I shall be happy to leave. Let’s not linger here!’

‘Be prepared! When my friend returns, we shall take the road together.’

‘Abbad had been to Ancona on business, promising to be back within ten days. He kept his promise, only to be welcomed by a weeping Maddalena.

I had been arrested the previous day, 21 December, a Sunday, while I was very unwisely carrying a pamphlet which a French monk had slid into my pocket at the entrance of the church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini.

Whether by coincidence or as a deliberate humiliation, when I was taken to the Castel San Angelo I was shut up in the same cell which I had occupied for almost two years. But, at that time I risked nothing more than captivity, while this time I could be judged and condemned to purge my crime in a far-off prison, or even in a galley.