Tariq Ali - The Book of Saladin

This is not, of course, how the Sultan’s most learned secretary views the emotional landscape. He tells his story differently and let your wisdom, Ibn Maymun, be the judge.

Speaking in those sonorous tones I have come to know so well, and which were pleasing to my ears solely because I had not heard them for so long, he told me:

“What I simply could not understand, Ibn Yakub, was the obstinate resistance of this shallow youth. You raise your eyebrows? I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps this boy was not attracted to men. I thought so, but you would be wrong to make that assumption. I had him followed and discovered that he was in love with a man not much younger than myself, but with this important difference.

“Tarik’s lover was a heretic, a blasphemer, a sceptic. He came from Aleppo, but preached his evil in this our purest of cities. He claimed to be descended from Ibn Awjal. You know our faith well, Ibn Yakub. You have heard of Ibn Awjal? No? I must say you surprise me.

“He lived in Kufa, a hundred years after the death of the Prophet. He had converted to our faith from yours, but he was desperate to be famous. He wanted to be a big man. So he published four thousand hadith and was regarded as a scholar, but these hadith were completely false. He had invented each and every one, and put blasphemous and erotic language into the mouth of our Prophet. It is said that one of his hadith claimed that the Prophet had stated that any woman who permitted a man to see her in a state of undress, even by accident, was obliged to give herself to that man, and if she refused the man had a right to take her against her will. May Allah burn that son-of-a-whore in hell forever. There were others of this sort, even worse. In one of them Ibn Awjal claimed prophetic lineage for the remark: ‘Fornicate with your camel by all means, but never on the open road.’ Another hadith claimed that provided the Angel Gabriel ratified the deed, a Believer could satisfy his carnal desires in any way he wished. On another occasion he wrote that the Prophet had told his son-in-law Ali to bare his arse before no person and claimed that two words were missing from the original hadith. These crazed imaginings could not be left unpunished. To abuse our Prophet in such a way was unacceptable. Ibn Awjal was arrested by the Kadi of Kufa. He admitted manufacturing the hadith. Justice was swift. He was executed immediately after the trial.

“Tarik’s lover claimed descent from Ibn Awjal and began to tell his followers that many of the hadith published by his blaspheming forebear were genuine. When I heard this news I refused to believe my informant, who had insinuated his way into the intimate circles of this heretic. I informed the Kadi, who had all of them arrested, except Tarik. Unlike his more courageous ancestor, this pig of a sceptic denied all knowledge of what had been stated by my informant in the court. He had the audacity to claim that I had forged false evidence to put him out of the way for reasons best known to myself. The Kadi showed no mercy. The Sultan gave his approval. He was executed. That same day Tarik disappeared for ever. Nobody has sighted him, but there are rumours that he took his own life and some say his body was seen floating down the river.

“They tell me that your friend, Jamila, was enraged when she heard of the execution. She stormed into Salah al-Din’s chamber and lashed him with her fiery tongue. That woman is never ambiguous or discreet, is she? She sent me a letter denouncing me as an evil fornicator and lecher and suggesting that this city would be cleaner if I were castrated. These are the real reasons for my gloom, Ibn Yakub, though it would be false if I denied to you that the Treasury seems to have forgotten my existence and this fact has caused me considerable irritation.”

I was in a reflective mood as I left Imad al-Din’s dwelling. I was walking back slowly to my own house and dreading the silence that would greet me as I entered the courtyard. This house is suffused with memories of Rachel, and I think I should remove my belongings from here and shift to the citadel. I was formulating a letter along these lines in my head to dispatch to the steward when I was approached by the familiar figure of the Nubian mute, who handed me a note from the Sultana Jamila demanding my presence. Nothing had changed in the city. I smiled weakly and followed the mute back to the citadel. It is strange, is it not, Ibn Maymun, how one can return to a place after a long absence and find that all the old routines are still in place? The Sultan fights his wars, Imad al-Din sulks in his house and the Sultana summons me for a conversation.

She greeted me like a valued friend. For the first time she touched me. She stroked my head and expressed her sorrow at the loss of my family. Then she whispered in my ear: “We have both lost loved ones. This draws us closer to each other. You must not leave us again. The Sultan and I both need you now.”

Unsurprisingly, she had heard of my visit to Imad al-Din. Nothing escapes her. Even the most trivial conversation involving the Sultan or those close to him is reported to her. This makes her one of the best-informed people in the kingdom. Her authority is such that few deny her the information she craves.

Jamila wanted a detailed account of our conversation. I was about to speak when I realised she was not alone. Seated on a stool behind her was a young woman of striking beauty, whose face, with its sad expressive eyes, was strangely familiar. The young woman was dressed in a yellow silk gown and a matching scarf covered her head. She wore kohl to enhance the beauty of her eyes — not that anything about her needed enhancing. Surprised by the presence of this attractive stranger, I looked inquiringly at Jamila.

“This is Zainab. She is my scribe. She takes down my words so rapidly that my thoughts have to race to keep up with her. Her speed puts you to shame, Ibn Yakub. Now speak. What did that old charlatan tell you?”

I recounted my conversation with Imad al-Din, during the course of which the two women exchanged looks on a number of occasions. Then Jamila spoke with anger in her voice, though her language surprised me.

“Shadhi was not wrong about that swallower of a donkey’s penis! Everything he has told you is a lie. He had an innocent man executed, a man whose only crime was that of being a sceptic, but then so am I, so is Imad al-Din, and even you have been known to express heretical thoughts. Only simpletons refuse to doubt anything. A world without doubt could never move forward. When Salah al-Din was young, he too was a sceptic. It surprises you? Why do you think he never made the pilgrimage to Mecca? Now he is desperate to appease his Maker, but when he had the chance he refused. Imad al-Din ordered the execution because he was jealous. An old man who could not bear the thought of being rejected and went looking for a sacrificial goat. It disgusts me, and I told your Sultan to have his secretary castrated. No boy in Damascus is safe when the sap rises in that old trunk.”

She paused at this point to laugh and looked at Zainab for approval, but there were tears in the younger woman’s eyes, and this made Jamila angry once again.

“Look closely at Zainab, scribe. Imagine her in a man’s gown translating a letter in Latin to the Sultan.”

I was stunned. Now I knew where I had seen a similar face. In Jerusalem! This must be Tarik ibn Isa’s twin sister.

“Not his sister, fool. This is ‘Tarik ibn Isa’. Zainab’s father, an old Copt scholar, educated her as though she were a boy. They lived in Jerusalem, but prayed for deliverance. The Franj knights did not much care for the Copts, who they regarded as bad Christians and heretics. When Salah al-Din’s steward put out the call for a translator, Zainab’s father dressed her as a man and sent her to the court. The rest you know. Let Imad al-Din think that he caused the death of Tarik ibn Isa. Let him suffer for the rest of his life. We are thinking of disguising Zainab as a ghost and sending her outside Imad al-Din’s bedchamber. Do you think it might kill him?”