Tariq Ali - The Book of Saladin

“What you learn from books you can just as easily forget, unless you are blessed with the memory of Imad al-Din. What you experience yourself stays with you till you die.

“I summoned you because it has come to my attention that some weeks ago you challenged the authority of your cousin and my brother’s son, Taki al-Din, in front of the emirs, ordering him to carry out an instruction contrary to what he had already decided. He was disciplined, and did as you asked. In his place my uncle Shirkuh and I would have slapped your neatly bearded face. Fortunately your orders did not lead to disaster, otherwise I would have had to reprimand you in public.

“I want to be clear on one point. Taki al-Din is my right arm. I trust his judgement. I trust him with my life. If, in the course of the battle, Allah decides that my time has come, Taki al-Din is the only emir genuinely respected by the soldiers, who could still lead our side to victory. I am leaving orders to that effect. You can learn a great deal by observing your cousin and staying by his side, but that is a decision for you alone. Tomorrow morning I want you to go to him, apologise for what you did, and kiss his cheeks. Is that plain? Now go to bed.”

The Sultan’s chosen heir was in chastened mood as he bowed to both of us and left the tent.

“Do you think I was too harsh, Ibn Yakub?”

“Not having a son myself, O Sultan, I am not the right person to comment on relationships between a father and his son, but as a leader of men, what you said was totally justified. He was hurt, but mainly because of my presence. He would have taken it better without me, but a young prince who aspires to be a good ruler must learn to make his own way in this harsh world.”

“I could not have put it better myself, scribe. I wanted you to be present so that you could inscribe it and it will remain part of our family history. If he turns out to be a good Sultan he will appreciate these words, for he might need to use them to his own son. Leave me now. I think I will spend the night exploring the mind of Ibn Said. I shall send for our sceptic from Aleppo to warm my bed and stimulate my brain.”

I looked at him in surprise. There was a twinkle in his eye, but how would Jamila receive the news of the intended exploration? She had not shared the Sultan’s bed for many years, and the look on his face made it clear that this was what he had in mind.

The story of Amjad the eunuch and how he managed to copulate despite his disability

ASHTARA, THREE DAYS’ JOURNEY south of Damascus, lies on a plateau that crowns a large hill. We had been there for almost a month. The Sultan was delighted with the progress being made by the soldiers. While there would always be differences between the units gathered under his command, he now felt that they understood how he wanted to fight the war. Much time had been spent explaining the meaning of different signs and sounds. Each unit assigned a member to watch the Sultan’s tent. For troops at a distance, the ability to understand what the shifting banners signified was as much a matter of life and death as a correct interpretation of the drumroll was for soldiers in closer proximity to the Sultan. All this took time to explain to the emirs and nobles in command of the different units and squadrons of Salah al-Din’s armies.

One day after morning prayers, he breakfasted in his tent with only Taki al-Din and myself in attendance. He looked his nephew in the eye, saying with a laugh: “The dust that rises when my army marches to al-Kuds will eclipse the sun!”

This was the only time that I saw him excited by the prospect of war. He had embarked on the conflict at this particular moment, not because military strength favoured him, but for reasons of state. He had behind him the most united army of Believers ever raised to defeat the infidel. There were Jews and Christians as well, but their numbers were small. Many of them were simply waiting for an opportune moment to convert to the faith of the Prophet of Islam. Not the Copts, however. Their strong beliefs and implacable hostility to Rome and to Constantinople made them Salah al-Din’s natural allies.

I was walking away from the Sultan’s tent when Amjad the eunuch took me by the arm and whispered: “Ibn Said, the mute, desires your attendance.”

I followed him without a word. I had still not become used to Jamila’s new identity. Only when her eyes twinkled did I recognise the woman behind the disguise. That and her voice, which could only be heard in the secrecy of her tent.

“Salah al-Din tells me that he shocked you, confessing the desire for me that was filling his loins a few nights ago. True?”

I could never get used to this woman. She invariably took me by surprise. Amjad the eunuch laughed at my discomfiture. How in heaven’s name could I reply?

“The truth, Ibn Yakub. As always, the truth!”

“I was not shocked by the Sultan’s announcement that he wished you to share his bed again. That was normal for him. You are very beautiful and…”

She became impatient.

“And I’m the only woman in the camp. Yes, yes, I am aware of this fact, but what was it that shocked you, master scribe?”

“It was the thought of how degrading it might be for you if you were compelled to submit to the desires of a man.”

She smiled and stroked her false beard.

“I thought as much, and it was noble of you to feel a sense of shock at my predicament. As you can see, I survived the experience. I am used to your Sultan. I could not have submitted my body to any other man — or, for that matter, a eunuch.”

Amjad the eunuch flinched as if he had been touched by fire. He appeared upset by her remark. Realising this, she stroked his head and whispered an apology, immediately putting him on the defensive.

“Trying to persuade Amjad to talk about his past is like pulling a tooth from the mouth of a crocodile.”

The eunuch smiled, pleased with her attention. She continued to press him.

“Who knows whether any of us will live or the over the next few weeks? Today you must tell us your story, Amjad. We have the advantage of the scribe’s presence. Ibn Yakub will write it all in his little book, and you will be immortalised for the future. What say you to this, my red-haired friend?”

It was now for the first time that I observed Amjad’s features. The reddishness of his hair was emphasised by the whiteness of his skin. His eyes were grey. He was much taller than me, and I am taller than the Sultan. I had never been interested in him as a person, but his closeness to Shadhi and Jamila mirrored my own affections. I too appealed to him directly.

“Amjad,” I said. “Shadhi often spoke with me about you. He had a high regard for your intelligence and yet, despite this, we know little of each other. Who are you? When did you come to Damascus, and how did you end up in the citadel as a retainer of the Sultan?”

His eyes became melancholic and he sighed, before speaking in his soft, unbroken voice.

“The reason I have resisted the Sultana’s previous injunctions to speak of myself is because I know very little of my past. I am a saqalabi, that much is clear from my appearance, and I am a eunuch, which almost reduces me to the level of a caged animal.

“As you are both no doubt aware, people like me come in different shapes and sizes. There are some eunuchs whose entire penis has been removed. This variety is popular amongst those kings and sultans who watch their women like tigers, ready to pounce on them at the first signs of betrayal. They imagine that a eunuch whose organ has been completely removed can, for that reason, be trusted completely. Strange how the degree of trust for some nobles and emirs is dependent on the degree to which a eunuch has been mutilated. If they really wanted to avoid all physical contact between a eunuch and a woman they would have to eliminate more than a poor penis. Fingers, toes and the wonderfully agile tongue would also need to be removed. But I have long given up studying the inconsistencies of emirs and sultans.