Tariq Ali - The Book of Saladin

“This was no ordinary victory, my good scribe. It made your Sultan the most powerful ruler in the land. It was at this time that he declared himself the Sultan of Misr and Sham. Gold coins were cast in his name and the Caliph in Baghdad sent him the documents which sanctified his new position. He also sent him the robes which he would wear as a Sultan.

“But that was not the end of the story. No, far from it. The wounded pride of the nobles of Aleppo caused them to make one last attempt to rid themselves of this meddlesome Kurd. They sent a message to Sheikh Sinan, the Shiite, who lived in the mountains. The Sheikh was surrounded by a band of men trained in the art of tracking and killing particular individuals. He was a supporter of the Fatimids and had his own good reasons for seeking to dispatch our Sultan.

“The fact that the request came not from the remnants of the Fatimids, but from Sunni nobles, strengthened Sinan’s resolve. Imad al-Din, who I hope you will meet one day soon, informed the Sultan that Sheikh Sinan’s followers were accustomed to smoke a large amount of banj or hashish before they went on their special missions. Only thus intoxicated, and dreaming of other pleasures, could these hashishin kill on the orders of the Sheikh. They made two attempts on the life of the Sultan. On one occasion they overpowered his guards and surrounded his bed. Had an alert soldier not given the alarm, and had not Salah al-Din been wearing his special quilted jacket to protect himself from the cold of the night desert, he would have been dead. Only one dagger touched him before his assailants were taken.

“It was after these assassination attempts that he finally met Sheikh Sinan and agreed a truce. Indeed, on one occasion, when Sinan was threatened by some rival, we even sent soldiers to defend him. He never tried again. All sorts of stories were spread about the truce. Some said that the Sheikh had magical powers and could make himself invisible. Others said that, when surrounded by our soldiers, the Sheikh had the power to defend himself by exerting a mysterious force around himself which protected him against all weapons. These were tales spread by the hashishin to promote myths of their invincibility. But one thing I must tell you, Ibn Yakub. Whether it was the hashish or dreams of paradise, there is no doubt that Sheikh Sinan’s men were extremely efficient and capable of reaching any target. We all sighed with relief, and gave thanks to Allah, after Salah al-Din and Sinan agreed to respect each other.

“A few months later, the Sultan entered Aleppo and was recognised as the Sultan of all the territories over which he ruled. He appointed Nur al-Din’s son, es-Salih, as the governor of Aleppo. He confirmed Salih’s cousin, Saif al-Din, as the ruler of Mosul, and he agreed to keep the peace for six years. I think he took caution too far. He was behaving as his father would have advised, but I thought that he needed more of his uncle Shirkuh’s spirit on this occasion. He should have removed es-Salih and then taken on the dogs of Mosul, men so sly that they would not have hesitated to piss on their own mothers.

“Yes, I told him that, but he smiled, his father’s smile. He had given his word, and that was enough. This Sultan never broke his word, even though his enemies often took advantage of this fact.

“The Franj, for instance, believed, good Christians that they are, that no promises made to infidels were binding on those who had pledged their word. Those arse-fucking icon-worshippers broke treaties whenever it suited them. Our Sultan was too honourable. I think it was his origins. In the mountains, a Kurd’s word, once given, is never taken back. This tradition goes back thousands of years, long before our Prophet, peace be upon him, was brought into this world.

“Amalric, King of Jerusalem, had died and had been succeeded by his fourteen-year-old son Baldwin, a poor boy afflicted with leprosy. Bertrand of Toulouse had given us information about Raymond, the boy’s uncle, the Count of Tripoli. He became the real power in the Kingdom of the Franj. Salah al-Din concluded a two-year peace with Baldwin. He did not want to be outflanked in Misr while he was shoring up Syria.

“The Sultan’s brother, Turan Shah, was left in charge of Damascus, and the Sultan, myself and his bodyguards returned to Cairo. We had been away for two whole years, but there were no problems. The Kadi al-Fadil had administered the state in the Sultan’s absence.

“He had done it so well that Salah al-Din, congratulating him, asked: ‘Al-Fadil, tell me something. Is there a real need for a Sultan? It seems to me that this state runs perfectly well without a ruler!’ The Kadi bowed with pleasure, but reassured the Sultan that without his authority and prestige he, the Kadi, could not have managed anything.

“As for me, Ibn Yakub, I think they were both right. You know something? In the mountains of Armenia, the father of Ayyub and Shirkuh commanded the loyalty of people because they knew he was one of them. He would defend them and their sheep and cattle against raiders from neighbouring villages.

“I know I’m getting very old and I may be simple-minded, but it seems to me that if you can maintain peace and defend your people, what title you give yourself is of no great importance.”

I looked at this old man closely. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have multiplied since I had first met him. He had only eight or nine teeth left in his mouth and was totally deaf in his left ear. Yet in his head lay decades of unsuspected wisdom, truths he had learnt through the rich experience which life had brought him. His tongue was always out of control and respected neither Sultan nor mamluk.

It was this capacity to speak whatever came into his mouth that made him indispensable to Salah al-Din, and before him to Ayyub and Shirkuh. It is often assumed that people in positions of power prefer sycophants and flatterers to those who speak unpleasant truths. This only applies to weak rulers, men incapable of understanding themselves, leave alone the needs of their subjects. Good rulers, strong sultans, need men like Shadhi who fear nothing.

As I observed him slowly chewing nuts in the winter sunshine, I felt a surge of affection for him sweep through my whole being. All of a sudden I wanted to know more about him. I knew his pedigree, but had he ever married? Did he have children? Or was he one of those men who always prefer their own sort to the presence of any female? I had wondered about this in the past, but my interest had waned and I had never questioned the old man. Today, for some reason unconnected with him, my curiosity had been aroused.

“Shadhi,” I said, speaking to him in a soft voice, “was there ever a woman in your life?”

His face, relaxed in the sun, acquired an alertness. The question startled him. He glared at me, a frown casting a giant shadow across his face. For a few minutes there was an oppressive silence. Then he growled:

“Has anyone been telling you stories about me? Who?”

I shook my head.

“Dear, dear friend. Nobody has spoken to me of you except with affection. I asked you a question because I wondered why someone as alive and wise as you are never built a family. If the subject is painful, forgive my intrusion. I will leave you alone.”

He smiled.

“It is painful, scribe. What happened took place seventy years ago, but I still feel the pain, right here in my heart. The past is fragile. It must be handled carefully, like burning coals. I have never spoken about what happened all those years ago to anyone, but you asked me with such affection in your voice that I will tell you my story, even though it is of interest to only me and affects nothing. Shirkuh was the only one who knew. I must warn you, it is not an unusual tale. It is simply that what happened burnt my heart and it never recovered. Are you sure you still want to hear me?”