Tariq Ali - A Sultan in Palermo

‘This is the Lady Balkis, who is my wife’s sister and whose husband, the Amir of Siracusa, will probably join us here tomorrow.’

Ibn Fityan was impressed by this news. It answered all his questions.

‘The hammam has also been prepared.’

The women had already bathed once that day and declined the offer. They asked for an infusion of fresh mint leaves and were escorted to the terrace. Mayya wondered whether she should accompany Muhammad and talk to him while he was bathed, but thought it might be too soon.

Idrisi’s intention was to have a bath without being disturbed and meditate on the thorny problem that had been preoccupying him ever since they had left the palace: Balkis or Mayya? It might be his only chance to lie in Balkis’s arms before her husband arrived and they departed for Siracusa. What if Mayya insisted, as was only natural, that they should spend the first night here together and make up for lost time? It would be inhuman to resist such a plea. Balkis, who loved her sister, would understand. He had made up his mind, but doubts persisted quite simply because his heart was pushing him in the wrong direction. Left to himself with no other considerations, he would have rushed to Balkis. He knew he might live to regret it and yet, if Allah was kind and gave him ten more years, it was futile to live them in a sea of unhappiness.

As he left the hammam, refreshed and ready to face his new life, he had decided in favour of Mayya. He would allow nothing to deter him from this path. Ibn Fityan had laid the table in the dining room that was rarely used. The rectangular table could easily seat twenty-five people, but he had prepared just one end of it for Idrisi and the ladies. As they walked in he looked admiringly at the different colours worn by Mayya and Elinore, but it was Balkis who took his breath away. She wore a high priestess off-white robe and had lifted her hair back with a silver clasp.

The welcoming feast was pronounced a success and the sweet homemade lemon liquor, which Idrisi insisted was a much more effective digestive than a similar concoction made from aniseed, was highly praised.

‘Mayya told me you were a master of medicine as well,’ Balkis said in a slightly indifferent tone, ‘but I had no idea you prepared medicinal mixtures.’

‘I do and I even have one which helps get rid of unwanted pregnancies, which is much in demand on Lombard estates. They rape our women who are too ashamed to tell their brothers, fathers or husbands. They go to the local medicine man and plead for the herb that will purge their system. It works. You will not find the prescription in al-Kindi’s Aqrabadhin. When I was in Cairo I introduced it to the physicians at the al-Nasiri maristan. They were pressing me to write a book on compounded drugs and herbs that could help common ailments. If I have time I might yet write such a work.’

Balkis glared at him and Elinore, thinking her father was being somewhat insensitive to her aunt’s lack of children, decided to change the subject.

‘This lemon drink we all loved tonight. You distilled it yourself?’

‘I used to, but the Sultan liked it so much that I was forced to part with the formula and from the palace it has spread to the monasteries and estates. My own supplies now come from the palace. I’m really surprised you have never tasted it before. I would have thought the eunuchs would have made sure the harem was regularly supplied.’

For some reason this made Balkis laugh. ‘You speak as if this was the only drink available in the palace. And what if the eunuchs hated it?’

Mayya, aware of the slight tension between Balkis and Idrisi, wondered what, if anything, had taken place in Siracusa. She followed her daughter’s lead in making sure he was confined to a safe subject.

‘Muhammad, I was trying to remember that friend of yours who you talked about endlessly some years ago. The man who distilled what you said was the most beautiful elixir you had ever tasted. I could not recall his name or where he lived or even the name of the drink.’

Idrisi laughed. ‘Muammar ibn Zafar! He died two years ago and his foolish son sold the fruit orchards to a merchant from Shakka. You would all have liked him. He was one of the most gifted cooks whose food I have had the pleasure to taste. But the elixir was something very special. He used to call it the Heavenly Nectar. Once when I was staying with him to ask his advice on cures for constipation, which was common amongst sailors, he devised a suppository with the most effective mixture. It was October and a great deal of fruit was lying on the ground. Oranges, lemons, peaches, apricots, tangerines and others I cannot recall. His men were ordered to collect these from the ground. The undamaged fruit was washed and placed in a large perpendicular earthenware pot, almost as tall as Balkis. No, a bit taller. To these fruits he added saffron, black pepper, crushed ginger, and peeled clusters of garlic. Then the pot was sealed with a flour paste and left outdoors till the following April. I was present one year when the seal was broken. The most delicious aroma greeted us. Muammar stood on a ladder and stirred the pot till it was properly mixed. I tasted it before and after it was distilled. Completely different each time but equally unforgettable. Al-kohl. Pure. Heaven. I would consider myself lucky if I tasted a drink like that again before I die.’

Elinore clapped her hands. ‘But surely we can try to make it ourselves. Can’t we try? Just a small amount?’

‘Certainly, child. You can try, but don’t be disappointed if you fail. There are some things in this world that are best tasted once.’

‘But I haven’t tasted it, Abu.’

After the table was cleared, the retainers were dismissed for the night. The four of them looked at each other in the candlelight. Elinore and her mother exchanged glances before the young woman addressed her father.

‘Abu?’

‘Elinore bint Muhammad?’

‘I know this is a difficult request, but as you know, the move to your house from the palace was sudden, perhaps too sudden and we were emotionally unprepared…’

‘I cannot imagine your mother being emotionally unprepared for anything.’

‘It’s me more than her. I’m really happy to be here, but you must understand it will take some time for me to adjust to the change.’

‘I understand that, child, and will do all I can to make it easy for you. Allah be thanked, I have finished my book. The Sultan has gifted me a small vessel and unless he revokes the order, which is unlikely as he is not a small-minded ruler, then we can travel together.’

The delight on Elinore’s face was visible. But she now broached another matter.

‘I would love to travel. I had never set foot outside Palermo till we visited Siracusa a few months ago. But Abi I want to ask… if I can sleep next to Ummi tonight? Just tonight because I’m feeling unsettled.’

That Idrisi managed to frown at this request was a tribute to his ingenuity — or so he told himself. ‘Elinore, I grant your request — but do not repeat it too often. And now I wish to speak with your mother alone for a while, if that meets with your approval?’

She embraced her father before leaving the room, accompanied by Balkis who had barely spoken the whole evening and appeared engrossed in her own thoughts. She had avoided his gaze and restricting her talk to trivial questions about Palermo. Was she doing it simply to annoy him? It did not occur to him, that unlike her sister, she might not be feeling too happy.

Alone with Mayya in his chamber, they embraced warmly. Then she looked carefully around the room and at his bed.

‘It was generous of you to let Elinore sleep in my bed tonight. She is uneasy, which is not surprising. Everything has happened far too quickly for her. I think she is torn about the move. A part of her wished to stay in the palace till Rujari’s death. She is very fond of him, you know.’