Tariq Ali - A Sultan in Palermo

‘She knew for a long time but only told me the entire truth a few weeks ago. Ibn Muhammad, would you ever kill a woman who betrayed you?’

The reply was instantaneous. ‘No.’

‘And now it’s your turn for a story. Mayya told me about the strange island of Julian, but she was not sure if it was real or imagined.’

Another bowl of the potent brew was placed before him. He accepted it eagerly. Then shut his eyes in silent appreciation. He told the story of Julian’s island, not sparing her a single detail. He recounted the night of passion and the different ruses the high priestess had used to excite and revive him after they had made love the first time. Idrisi was so engrossed in his story that he did not notice her blushes. He had succeeded in physically exciting her without a single touch. She rose from the table and suggested they retire for the night.

When he returned to his room, Idrisi opened the shutters to watch the storm. No stars were visible in the pitch black sky, only flashes of lightning and hard rain. He undressed and fell on the bed. A little later an apparition — or so he thought — floated into the room, dressed in white. It was… no it couldn’t be… yes it was… he was sure… it must be the high priestess from Julian’s island.

‘Is it you?’ he whispered in Greek.

‘Yes.’

Idrisi fell on his knees before the keeper of Aphrodite’s flame and slowly worked his way upwards till she, like him, was naked.

‘The storm outside, it frightens me.’

She went to the window and closed the shutters.

He took her by the hand and led her to his bed. ‘It is the storm inside that frightens me.’

What followed was a night of pure passion. Balkis had heard his story well and she mimicked each and every incident that he had described. Idrisi barely opened his eyes. He felt he was being washed in waves of bliss as he explored the mounds and crevices of her body.

She wanted to whisper in his ear: ‘I’m Balkis, I’m not your stupid high priestess. It’s my body you’re pleasuring. Mine. And I want your child.’ But her part of the bargain could not be broken. She had promised her sister that she would not reveal her identity. If Idrisi recognised her, she had another carefully prepared story. After they had made love for the third time her exhausted lover fell into a deep sleep. As he turned over to make himself comfortable, he broke wind noisily, like a thunder-clap. It was the only time that night she was reminded of her husband.

She left the chamber. Safe in her own rooms, Balkis could smell him on her and her body tingled with delight. I hope it didn’t work tonight, she thought. Anyway, how could one tell? We will have to do it again just to make sure. Thank Allah she had not refused to learn Greek when she was a child. What if he decides to leave before nightfall? I will stop him. I will send a secret message from the priestess. I will do anything I have to in order to keep him here for just one more night. Just one more. And if necessary I will accompany him to Palermo to see Mayya. She’ll kill me, I know, but I refuse to let him go. She shared Rujari with Allah knows how many other women. Why couldn’t she share Muhammad with only me, a sister who loves her? What if Mayya and I are both pregnant? With this thought in mind she finally fell asleep.

And Idrisi? Perhaps it was the herbs. Perhaps the passion. Perhaps both. He had not slept as comfortably as this for a long time. He did not wake till he heard the muezzin early next morning.

He shivered slightly as he remembered the erotic dream of last night, Ishq khumari. Bacchic love. Then he smelt her perfume and her body on his. Had it been real after all? He sniffed his arms like a dog. Then he went on all fours and sniffed the sheets. Delicious scents invaded his nostrils. He lay back perplexed, but happy. There was no mistake. A woman had been here last night. They had made love. It was no dream, but how could it be the high priestess exactly as she had been all those years ago? Was that possible? And then he remembered the herbal infusion he had drunk. It was not dissimilar to what he and his men were given on Julian’s island all those years ago.

The more he thought, the more agitated he became. Only one person could have wanted to test him. Mayya. But who played the part of the high priestess? The moment he posed the question he knew the answer. Balkis. The vulgar red dress was designed to distract him from what she would wear later on that evening. Ibn Hazm had argued that it was permitted to look at a woman once, but not the second time. He had looked at Balkis the whole evening and she had drugged him as well. And the reason now became obvious. It was he who had suggested to Mayya that in a storm many seeds begin to fly.

Three courses of action were open to him. The storm had died and the sea appeared calm again: he could leave for Palermo without saying a word. He could confront her, demand an explanation, and then leave. Or he could spend another night here. The thought of seeing her again — but this time as herself — began to excite him. His breakfast had been laid on the terrace and as he sat down he saw her on the neighbouring terrace, looking in the direction of the sea.

‘Allah be praised, the sea is calm this morning, sister Balkis.’

She was startled, but only for a moment. She had been waiting over an hour for him to come out.

‘Did you sleep well, Ibn Muhammad?’

‘Better than I have done for many years. I can’t imagine why.’

Her tranquillity shaken, she turned away from him. He stepped over the wall separating them.

‘This is the Amir’s terrace,’ she said nervously. ‘He has been delayed in Palermo and asks you to join him as soon as you can.’

‘In that case I should leave immediately.’

‘No,’ she replied, her voice stifled with passion.

He took her by the arm and gently guided her into the room. He extended his arms and felt both her breasts. She flinched.

‘Strange, these friends seem familiar.’

‘You knew?’

‘Not last night, but this morning when my head was clear.’

She fell into his arms as a devouring passion gripped them. Blind to all else, they made love in the Amir’s large bed below a canopy embroidered with gold thread. After the storm had passed, he looked at her closely. ‘Balkis, my dear, I think the seed will flower now. And for that reason it was appropriate that you chose your husband’s bed. Have I your permission to return to Palermo?’

‘No!’ she shouted and slapped his face. ‘No. No. No. No.’

‘But I must go. Your husband and my wife await me.’

‘It’s not just your seed, it’s you I want.’

‘But you barely know me.’

‘I do now.’

‘First, you must answer me truthfully and avoid any further deception. And keep looking straight into my eyes. If your gaze falters I shall know you’re trying to avoid the truth.’

‘I will not deceive you. Ask your question.’

‘I thought I detected the hand of Mayya behind this delicious plot, especially the opening scene last night. She knows everything?’

‘It was my idea to extract your seed. She was not happy, but later when I insisted that this was what I wanted, she laid down a condition. If it had to happen, she would prepare everything. She did, Muhammad.’

‘Including the shahdanaj al-barr?’

‘Especially that… the rest I learned from you when you described in such wonderful detail the love rites of Aphrodite’s high priestess. It’s as if you were describing a landscape or the flowers, herbs and trees that grow here. Now I understand why they say you are a many-sided scholar and if you will permit me I would…’

Idrisi interrupted her: ‘I will not deny that my eyes found themselves following you more than is permitted. And I confess that images of you entered my head during the long ride to Abu Khalid’s village. And if you were not married to such an honourable and decent soul, it would not matter, but you are, and for that reason alone we must not repeat this. Ever.’