Tariq Ali - The Book of Saladin

The Sultan was not in a light mood that morning. He frowned at his secretary of state.

“I suppose you know what the letter contains?”

Imad al-Din nodded.

“It is not a well-written letter, which means that Saif al-Din must be ill or otherwise engaged. The letter is long, and full of inept flattery and clumsy sentences. It refers to you as the ‘Sword of the Faith’ on four separate occasions, but its purpose is expressed in one sentence. The Commander of the Faithful wishes to be informed as to when you intend to renew the jihad against the unbelievers. He also asks whether you will find time to make the pilgrimage to Mecca this year and kiss the Ka’aba.”

The Sultan’s face grew dark.

“Take my reply, Imad al-Din. Write it as I speak. You too, Ibn Yakub, so we have another copy immediately. I know that Imad al-Din will coat my words with honey, and for that reason we shall compare the two versions at my leisure. Are you ready?”

We nodded, and dipped our pens in the ink.

“To the Commander of the Faithful. From his humble servant, Salah al-Din ibn Ayyub.

“You ask when I intend to renew our war against the Franj. I reply when, and only when, I am sure that there is no dissension within our own camp, and when you will use the authority vested in you by Allah and the Prophet to warn all Believers who collaborate with the Franj for petty gain, to desist from their acts which harm our cause. As you know full well, I have been trying to tame some of the princes whose citadels are not far from the Euphrates. On each occasion they have refused to accept your authority, and have gone hands outstretched to plead for money and support from our enemies. If you can keep vermin of this sort under control, I will take al-Kuds within the next year.

“I have fought so many battles in recent years that my cheeks have become permanently scorched by the sun. Alas, many of these wars have been against Believers, which has weakened our cause.

“Reynald, that visitor from Hell, under whose cold and emotionless gaze so many of our women and children have died and whose terror has even silenced the birds, whose name is used to frighten recalcitrant peasants, that Reynald still lives, while his puppet in al-Kuds who they refer to as ‘King Guy’ refuses to honour the terms of the truce. Our soldiers still rot in the dungeons of Karak, in open violation of all that was agreed between both sides.

“I say this so that the Commander of the Faithful realises that it is some of the so-called Faithful who have prevented me from fulfilling our aims this year. Fortunately for us the Franj, too, are divided. The noble Raymond of Tripoli, who, I hope, will one day become a Believer, has sent me much valuable information. Be reassured that the jihad will be resumed very soon, provided the Commander of the Faithful plays his part in the campaign.

“I share your worry regarding my inability, till now, to make the pilgrimage to Mecca. I ask Allah’s forgiveness each time I offer prayers. I am so busy as the ‘Sword of the Faith’ that I have not yet found time to kiss the Ka’aba. I will make up for this lapse soon, after I have taken al-Kuds, and given thanks for our victory to Allah at the Dome of the Rock. I pray for your health.”

The Sultan had barely left the chamber to relieve himself when Imad al-Din exploded.

“This letter is a disgrace, Ibn Yakub. A disgrace. It will have to be rewritten from beginning to end. A letter from the most powerful Sultan in the land to the Caliph, whose authority is great but whose power is weak, must be dignified as befits the position of Salah al-Din.

“What you have transcribed will give offence, but without being effective. It is couched in crude language, its tone is petulant, and it fails to deploy an irony that would deceive the Caliph, while simultaneously alarming his more astute advisers.

“It has one serious factual error. Our Sultan is besotted with Count Raymond of Tripoli. It is true that Raymond has helped us in the past, but precisely because of that he was accused of treachery and collaboration with the enemy. Our intelligence reports suggest that he has now made his peace, sworn an oath of loyalty to the so-called King of Jerusalem, and is pledged to take arms against us. The Caliph must be informed of this fact. The Sultan’s hope of converting Raymond could, in the circumstances, appear as a serious misjudgement. If you don’t object, Ibn Yakub, I will take your copy as well and have a new version prepared tomorrow.”

Despite the Sultan’s express instructions to the contrary, I could not resist the great scholar’s logic. I meekly handed him my copy of the letter. He marched out of the chamber with a triumphant smile, leaving me alone to confront the wrath of my master. When Salah al-Din returned he was, to my pleasure and relief, accompanied by the Sultana Jamila, whose return to Damascus had been reported to me by Amjad the eunuch earlier that day. The Sultan gave me a knowing smile, as if to indicate that he was not surprised at Imad al-Din’s absence. I bowed before the Sultana, whose complexion had fed on the sun. She was much darker now, but the lines of worry that had marked her forehead and the space below her eyes had disappeared.

“Welcome back, Princess. The citadel was dark without your light.”

She laughed, and immediately I knew that she had recovered from the pain of Halima’s betrayal. It was her old laugh, and her shoulders shook as she watched me.

“A compliment from you, good friend Ibn Yakub, is as rare as a camel with a scented behind. I, too, am glad to be back. It is wonderful, is it not, how distance from pain can heal our innermost wounds better than anything else?”

The Sultan was clearly pleased by her return, though I was surprised by her openness in his presence. He read my thoughts.

“Jamila and I are now good friends, scribe. We have no secrets from each other. Do you know what this woman has been reading in her father’s palace?”

I shook my head respectfully.

“Blasphemy. Cursed philosophy. Scepticism.”

Jamila smiled.

“He is not wrong this time. I have been devouring the writings of al-Farabi. He has reinforced my instinctive belief that human reason is superior to all religious faiths, ours included. His writings are more convincing than the works of Ibn Hazm.”

The Sultan grimaced and took his leave, but told me to stay.

“I am preparing the orders for the last battle of this jihad, Ibn Yakub, to show that our religious faith is superior to that of the Franj. You are welcome to listen to Jamila’s stories, but I forbid you to be convinced by her. Heads may roll if you do.”

“I am only the storyteller, O great Sultan.”

Jamila had lit a pipe of banj and smiled at my surprised expression.

“I permit myself this indulgence once a week. It was more than that when I arrived at my father’s palace, but it helped to deaden the pain. It relaxes me, yet if I smoke a pipe more than once a week it slows down my brain. I find it difficult to think or concentrate my attention on a book.”

“It is good to hear the Sultana laugh again as she used to in the old days. I hope you are fully recovered, and that the hurt you suffered is now firmly in the past.”

She was touched by my concern.

“Thank you, my friend. I thought of you often while I was away. Once I even had an imaginary conversation with you which was very soothing. It is strange how our deepest and most heartfelt emotions can be so transient. In Arab and Persian literature, if the river of true love is diverted, it must perforce travel through a valley of madness. A lover deprived of his beloved loses his mind. This is sheer nonsense. People love. Their love is rejected. They suffer. Do you know of a single case where any person has really lost his or her mind? Has this ever happened, or is it a poet’s fantasia?”