Tariq Ali - A Sultan in Palermo

‘With Rujari.’

‘If necessary.’

‘There are times when I cannot understand you at all. This man is about to despatch Amir Philip, burn him alive in public. Amir Philip, according to you, is the most intelligent and gifted political leader on the island. Perhaps you can’t save his life, but to sit at the table with his killer? Is that not taking your sense of duty a bit far?’

‘Listen to me, my dearest Balkis. One thing many of us had to learn, Philip included, was how to dissemble most effectively. If I refuse to eat with the Sultan he will know that I am angry and, given his state of mind, he could punish everyone associated with me. We must behave as normally as possible at a most difficult time. I hope Rujari does not invite me to the palace. In that case I suggest we break bread at my house.’

‘That would be a delight.’

‘And Balkis, remember what we discussed earlier. Not even a hint of what has transpired between us must reach your husband.’

‘And Mayya?’

‘Leave that to me.’

And then the sailor on lookout waved excitedly and the familiar cry was heard: ‘Al-madina hama-hallahu.’

Balkis recovered her composure, tightened the scarf that covered her head, veiled her face and the two of them went out on deck. As they were rowed to the shore he could see the unmistakable portly figure of the Amir of Siracusa in the distance. He gently nudged the Amir’s wife.

When they docked, the two men embraced.

‘Allah be praised, both of you have arrived safely, Ibn Muhammad,’ said the Amir. ‘The situation here is more tense than you could imagine. We need to speak urgently about many things. The Sultan’s health continues to deteriorate and the atmosphere in the palace reflects that of the city. Only the Barons and the monks appear happy these days. They say the Sultan asks each day when you will return.’

‘I will see him today.’

‘There’s not much time, Ibn Muhammad. The trial of Philip is due to start tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Sooner than I had thought.’

‘They want to make sure Rujari is still alive when Philip is burnt. A Baron from the mainland who is here as a judge confided to me that if Rujari died they feared a rebellion.’

Idrisi took his leave of them and joined Ibn Fityan who had been waiting for him. The two men rode home together.

‘In answer to the question you posed before I left I can say with confidence that the Amirs of Siracusa and Catania are with us.’

‘Friends in the palace had already given me the good news. The Sultan expects you for the evening meal.’

‘I feared as much.’

Ibn Fityan told him that the city was like a mountain of fire. It could explode at any time and the Barons had placed their own men at key points of the city for the duration of the trial.

‘Remember what Philip said at our mehfil in the mosque before I left: any premature uprising will be defeated. So every quarter of the city must be told that the trial of Philip is designed as a provocation to draw us out before we are ready and kill us.’

‘The qadi has already sent out this message, but people are angry. There could be trouble despite the qadi’s best efforts.’

‘Send out the word that the Trusted One has organised an army in Catania that will take back a number of monasteries and inflict public punishments on the Bishops. Tell people that we should wait for the news from Catania before anything rash is done here. Why did the Amir of Siracusa prolong his stay in the city?’

‘The Sultan asked him to attend the trial. He will ask you as well.’

‘He will get a rough answer.’

‘Master, there is a more delicate matter.’

‘Speak your mind.’

‘A report has reached friends in the palace about you and the Lady Mayya.’

‘What do the idle minds say on this occasion?’

‘They say that Elinore is your daughter and that you and her mother were married in Siracusa.’

‘How did the news reach here?’

‘The palace in Siracusa is filled with our friends. They hear everything.’

‘What if what they said was true?’

‘If the news reaches the Sultan he will react badly. He will compare his generosity to you with this betrayal.’

‘Silence, man. Philip’s trial starts tomorrow and I have neither the time nor the desire to discuss whether or not I succeeded in gaining the good graces of one lady or another.’

Three armed retainers accompanied him as he walked towards the palace. He could not recollect how often he had made this journey at all hours of the day and night. But this phase of his life was coming to an end. The steward who greeted him was an old and familiar face. He spoke in a voice weakened by old age. ‘Welcome once again, Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi. You come at a sad time.’

‘Peace be upon you, friend,’ Idrisi replied as he followed the old man through the usual set of rooms with wooden architraves and mosaics that recalled an earlier past.

The Sultan was in his private audience chamber, a room Idrisi knew well. But he had to wait in the antechamber until the Sultan’s visitors had left. He wondered who they were and why they had been summoned at this hour. Rujari usually conducted business during the first half of the day. The old steward sat next to him and, looking in the direction of the Sultan’s chamber, whispered in a broken voice, ‘A mehfil of killers is taking place. Last minute preparations for tomorrow’s trial. Everything is already decided. He has been found guilty. Tomorrow they will burn him.’

Before Idrisi could reply several Barons and three Bishops came through the door looking pleased with themselves. The steward bowed and escorted them out of the antechamber. In contrast to previous occasions, none of them bothered to acknowledge Idrisi’s presence. He strode into Rujari’s chamber without waiting for the steward to return. The Sultan seemed genuinely pleased to see him. How could he be so remote from reality?

‘I’m glad you’re back. I need you by my side.’

‘I just saw the men who are on your side. Barons bloated with too much food and Bishops living off the fat of lands they have stolen.’

‘From your tone, Idrisi, I detect that you will not be present at the trial tomorrow.’

‘The Sultan will forgive me, I hope. The sight of your foster-son being falsely accused, found guilty and burnt is something I do not wish to witness. It is bad enough living with my conscience, powerless to prevent Philip’s death and too weak and cowardly to do anything myself. It would appear that we have returned to a primitive state of conflict between our two communities.’

‘It’s not easy for me, Muhammad. You know full well I have not long to live.’

‘Philip al-Mahdia was your best chance of keeping your family on the throne. The Barons will not leave the Hauteville clan alone for too long. Who will defend them once you have gone?’

‘I have made my choice, Master Idrisi. And I fully understand your repugnance at what I have done. It’s best if you stay away from the palace for a few weeks till this storm blows itself out. And you have my permission to take Mayya and Elinore with you. She has inherited your intelligence. You should be proud of her.’

Idrisi, caught by surprise, asked in a low voice: ‘You knew?’

‘From the beginning.’

‘Then why…’

‘Because to have acknowledged that I was aware of what had taken place could have established an unhealthy precedent. It was Philip who advised total secrecy. Your own Sultans would have ordered the executioner and made your neck taste the scimitar. For that reason Philip was against letting you know. But in my heart I was happy for you.’