Tariq Ali - A Sultan in Palermo

THE THREE WOMEN WERE alone. Elinore was busy packing her clothes and jewellery in preparation for their departure early next morning. Even though she had never met Samar, the news of her half-sister’s suicide had disturbed her more than she had thought possible. The incident continued to reverberate in her mind and she was barely listening to her mother and aunt who had been in a strange mood since yesterday.

‘If my life were to begin again, I think I would repeat it.’ Mayya was in a philosophical mood and even though Balkis was used to her sister’s habit of reflecting aloud she was surprised by the remark. ‘I thought you hated the palace-prison. Your description.’

‘What I wanted to say was that if my Amir al-kitab, the great Master Idrisi, led the same life if I were married to him when he was never at home, the palace-prison was better. I had friends and was never lonely. It’s much better than being married to a demanding but absent husband who insisted on being the centre of my life. It’s different now that his travels are over.’

‘My Amir leaves me alone. He never forces his presence on me.’

‘But when he does, is it pleasant?’

‘No, but nor is it unpleasant.’

Both of them burst out laughing.

‘I know how happy you are these days, Mayya. And seeing you like this makes me both happy and sad.’

‘When you said that I thought I heard our mother.’

They fell silent. Their mother had died when they were young. Balkis was only two and could barely recall her. Mayya, ten years older, had retained a few vivid memories. Aunts and their maternal grandmother had brought them up, the aunts out of duty and their grandmother because she loved them almost as much as she had loved her daughter.

‘Is it true what they say?’

‘Who?’

‘They.’

‘What do they say?’

‘That our mother did not die a natural death.’

Mayya hugged her sister. ‘I asked our grandmother and she said it was not true.’

‘She would. If she had told you the truth our father would have pushed her out of the house. She had nowhere to go.’

‘She could have gone back to Shakka where her sons lived.’

‘Mayya, I can always tell when you’re trying to hide things from me. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I think I’m pregnant.’

‘Allah protect us!’

‘He will. He did last time.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think so. The scholar’s seed is as fertile as this island.’

‘Not just this one, if the story you told me years ago was true.’

Mayya gave a gentle, noiseless laugh.

‘I’m not sure he knows whether it actually happened or was a dream after they had smoked a strong hashish. But how could all the men have had the same dream? Funny you remembered.’

Balkis rose and walked behind her sister’s chair. She began to plait Mayya’s hair.

‘You still haven’t answered my question about our mother.’

Mayya sighed. ‘I heard the same stories as you and probably from the same source. How do I know if it’s true?’

‘But Mayya,’ pleaded her sister, ‘if our mother was killed by her husband there must have been a reason. Our father could barely bring himself to look at me. I cannot remember a single affectionate gesture from him.’

‘He wanted a son.’

‘Why are you concealing the truth. Why? Will you never tell me? Mayya?’

Mayya had always known the truth but she had wanted to protect Balkis. They were all dead now. But something held Mayya back. An intuition, perhaps, that no good would come out of this story. It had already cost their mother’s life. The sight of Balkis sitting on the floor with her hands cupping her face and waiting anxiously decided Mayya. There was no real reason to keep the truth from her.

‘We had different fathers.’

The expression on Balkis’s face did not change. ‘That was obvious even to me. When I was five years old, your father had my head shaved because he couldn’t stand the colour of my hair. They pretended I had a fever and grandmother said it would grow thicker than ever before. But I cried every night and you would comfort me till I fell asleep. Remember? As I grew older I realised he hated the sight of me. Sometimes he would leave the room when I entered. And then I realised why he hated me, but there was nobody to ask and you would always deny it. Who was my father?’

‘He was a Greek merchant from Djirdjent who bought olive oil from my father. I remember him well. He was not only much better looking than my father but also more intelligent. Our mother must have thought the same. He would visit our house regularly. I suppose one day he found her alone and the gentle breeze of mutual attraction turned into a storm. You were the result. The surprise is that it took father two years to realise that this creature with blonde hair and blue eyes could not possibly be his child. I took after my mother. You were the image of your father.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘When I became one of Rujari’s concubines I sent for him. This was several years ago. He came to the palace and I told him our mother had been poisoned. He had no idea that she was pregnant till after you were born and she sent him a message telling him never to return to Noto. He wept a great deal. He was desperate to see you but our grandmother was still alive and I thought it was unwise.’

‘You were wrong.’

‘You may be right. He was still young and I thought you could see him some other time.’

‘He’s dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘An infection of some sort. One of the eunuchs in the palace kept an eye on him. We sent a physician to try and heal him, but it was too late. The disease had spread.’

‘He had no family of his own?’

‘No.’

Balkis began to weep. Mayya cradled her head and stroked her gently till she recovered.

‘Mayya, I have made up my mind. I want a child.’

‘Good. The only problem is finding a father.’

‘You kept my real father from me. Swear on all you hold dear that you will let me decide who should father my child.’

‘Of course I will. I swear on the head of Elinore I will support your choice and do everything in my power to help you trap the beast and extract his seed. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it.’

‘Remember how when we were young and I had only to mention that I loved a particular dish for it to reappear the next day?’

‘No, but what of it?’

‘Who decided?’

‘I have no idea. Probably grandmother. She was always complaining about how we never really appreciated her cooking and so when you said you liked something she would cook it three times a week. You are a funny creature, Balkis. We were discussing the father of your child and you turn to food. Do you have a man in mind?’

‘We should keep it in the family.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi.’

The very thought panicked her. At first she thought Balkis was teasing but the look on her sister’s face suggested otherwise.

‘No! No! Why him. There are enough men in Siracusa who would like nothing better. He’s fifty-eight years of age, you know. Did you know that? Fifty-eight! Too old for you. His seed is not strong and…’

‘Mayya, you mustn’t be selfish. You swore an oath.’

Her sister’s stern tone added to the discomfiture.

‘Oaths can be broken. Are you tormenting me? Is this a punishment because I did not let your father see you?’

‘No. I just think he would be a good match and there is no risk involved. He is not likely to blackmail me, or is he?’

‘But why him?’

‘The real reason?’

‘Yes!’

‘There is something childlike and very attractive about his laughter.’