Tariq Ali - A Sultan in Palermo

‘May Allah roast that serpent Rujari in hell for this crime.’

‘The monks pray that God will raise him to heaven for defending his faith.’

‘It has nothing to do with faith. It’s a blood sacrifice to save the throne for his family. The whole of Siqilliya is aware of this fact. Ibn Muhammad, I asked you here to discuss a plan.’

Idrisi knew what to expect.

‘With four big vessels already in port in Palermo we have the capacity to take them by surprise and rescue Amir Philip.’

‘We discussed all these possibilities with him in the Great Mosque. You know him better than me. He will not be moved.’

‘He is wrong.’

‘I agree.’

‘He is the only leader we have capable of uniting the Believers after Rujari’s death and leading us to victory. Do you agree?’

Idrisi fell silent. He knew where this sort of argument would end. He also knew that Ahmad spoke the truth. Without Philip, the community of Believers would be orphaned. It was Philip’s military and political skills that had prevented a bloodbath on the island. He thought by sacrificing himself he would provide time and space for his people to organise, but he did not ask who would lead them. Rebellions without a plan were common on the island. Each and every one had been defeated.

‘Why do you not answer?’

‘Because kind friend, Ibn Rumi, to reply in the affirmative would encourage your adventure, to reply in the negative would be an untruth. Best to remain silent.’

‘Ibn Muhammad, I was in Catania as well. I, too, met the Trusted One.’

Idrisi’s heart sank. The preacher would have incited rebellion.

‘He promised us an army of ten thousand armed men could reach Palermo quicker if I transported them in my vessels.’

‘I hope you didn’t agree.’

‘No. I said I would think before taking any measures.’

‘Allah be praised, Ahmad. Allah be praised. If you had agreed and let him down, word would have spread far and wide. The Barons and monks would have demanded that you be burnt with Philip.’

‘I asked only for your advice. I will decide on my own.’

‘Of course. But when you make the decision, ask yourself the consequences of rescuing Philip and hiding him in Ifriqiya. That is your plan, is it not? I thought so. But while your ships sail away, who will defend the Believers in Palermo? It will become impossible to restrain the Barons. They will want blood in the rivers on either side of the qasr. Our blood.’

‘The alternative is to let Philip burn? Will not many of our people curse us for not even making a single attempt?’

‘But if you make an attempt which fails you will die as well. Who will that help? If you succeed, all of us in Palermo, including your wife and children, could be killed. Rujari is no longer strong enough to prevent a massacre. I have a better plan.’

‘Speak.’

‘The day after Philip burns, the Trusted One should organise raiding parties to Catania and Noto to punish the Bishops and monks and the Lombards they have hired to protect them. They have stolen our lands and treat the peasants who once worked on those estates as slaves. The Bishops are hated and for good reason. They demand the right to deflower our women on their wedding nights. The Lombards flog the men at the slightest pretext. A carefully organised rebellion in this region where we are still strong would have an impact in every corner of the island. The Trusted One could make it clear that this is our response to the crime committed against Philip al-Mahdia. What do you think?’

Ibn Rumi reflected before he spoke again, ‘You are determined to sacrifice the life of the only man capable of leading us to victory.’

‘It is he who is determined, not me.’

‘The path you recommend is not without merit. I will think about this carefully. If you see my ship heading back to Siracusa you will know I have accepted your plan. Otherwise we shall meet in Palermo.’

The two men embraced, but just as Idrisi was about to leave, Ahmad took his arm and whispered fiercely in his ear, ‘Philip means more to me than my own father.’

Idrisi gripped Ahmad’s hand. ‘I know how you feel and how difficult this decision will be for you. Whatever you decide, remember I am always there as your friend and will help in any way I can.’

An hour later the two ships had still not lifted anchor. Idrisi anxiously paced the deck, waiting to see the direction in which the Amir of the Sultan’s fleet would decide to sail. Balkis was walking with him. Hearing what had happened her first response had been to wonder where her child would be born. He became angry with her, then controlled himself and explained patiently why there were some things in this world that transcended love, passion or the production of children. At a time when the fate of the entire community of Believers was dependent on the decision of Amir Ahmad it was selfish and thoughtless to contemplate one’s personal future. She had never heard him speak so harshly and angry tears filled her eyes.

She returned to the cabin and waited. How dare he assume she didn’t care about anything else except her own life and that of her unborn child? She was determined to punish him. For a start, she would not speak to him for the rest of the journey. Before she could think of more severe punishments the men on the deck started cheering and, her dignity evaporating, she rushed to join them. Idrisi was laughing and waving like the others. Ahmad had set course for Siracusa. As the two ships passed each other, loud cries of ‘Allah Akbar’ rent the skies. Ahmad stood on the deck and raised a hand in farewell. Idrisi responded with the same gesture. Both men wondered whether they would see each other again.

‘Hoist the sails,’ shouted the Commander. ‘With this breeze we may reach Palermo within the hour.’

Balkis walked back to the cabin in as aloof a fashion as she could invent. Her lover followed her but each attempt he made to speak with her was rebuffed. She looked away from him. He sat down at the table with a manuscript he had removed from the palace library at Siracusa and pretended to be deeply engrossed. After a quarter of an hour had elapsed he decided to break the silence.

‘It is time for the afternoon prayer, but I am not in the mood. If you have no objection I will recite a verse for you.’

She did not reply. Idrisi rose from his chair, climbed on top of the rough wooden table that separated them and sat cross-legged on the table before her. She succeeded — just — in keeping a straight face. He then adopted a posture typical of a person preparing to read al-Quran.

‘Say O disbelievers, I do not worship what you

worship and you do not worship what I worship;

My mores are not those mores,

That’s not my school or style

Bacchic love, stand and rise!’

She could no longer restrain her laughter, at which point he slid neatly off the table and placed himself on the bench next to her. He kissed her hands and then drew back.

‘Where did the great scholar find this verse? Abu Nuwas?’

‘No. Ibn Quzman.’

‘I though you said we had to be careful on this journey.’

‘The men are all busy preparing the ship for arrival and you dispensed with caution when you paced the deck with me, then quarrelled and abandoned my side. All that implies familiarity.’

‘I am your sister-in-law.’

‘Nobody knows that apart from us.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that, I confess.’

He held her close and kissed her mouth. Her hand moved down his tunic.

‘You’ve pitched your tent early today Master Idrisi. I think the pole needs to be dismantled.’

‘Enough, enough, Balkis. Your hands are on fire. When we arrive, you will be taken to the palace, where your husband has been lodged. I will go to my home, bathe, dress and visit all of you later. Perhaps we can all eat together.’