Since they had left Palermo, the most important person on board had ignored all attempts to flatter and please him. His manservant had tended to his needs and kept the other travellers, mainly traders, at a distance. This was the disadvantage of being known as an intimate of the Sultan. Throughout the journey he had avoided looking at the familiar coastline that he had mapped more than once. Instead his gaze remained directed at the sea, which had, thank Allah, remained calm as he reflected on the past and the future.
After having lived for countless years in the desert wildernesses of Arabia, he thought, my forebears were astonished by the unlooked-for prospects that greeted them in urban civilisations. They could not stay still and happily swallowed the best that the new civilisations had to offer them. The darkness of the desert was no longer visible, but they surprised the world with their learning and the opulence of their courts and bazaars. But the contrast between what they had once been and what they had become meant they could not build a lasting structure on these new foundations. Thus the waves of rebellion that arose from the deserts and the mountains ranges of the maghreb, rebels with long beards belonging to sects that preached the virtues of purity and abstinence, men who came on horseback with raised swords, screaming ‘Allah Akbar’ destroyed the cities that had been so carefully built by the first wave of Believers. The puritans burnt books of learning, outlawed philosophical discourse, punished scholars and poets, thus beginning the process that would allow the enemy to enter through the pores of our weaknesses and destroy everything. They did all this for noble motives. They genuinely believed they were acting on behalf of Allah and his Prophet. Naturally, they did not see themselves as a monstrous aberration: that was how they regarded the heretics and softheaded Sultans they slaughtered together with the soldiers who defended them.
Idrisi was thinking of al-Andalus, fragmented, under permanent siege and possibly on the edge of extinction. Siqilliya was different. Here it was not yet over and like many of his co-religionists, he believed that the Hauteville clan, for reasons of self-preservation, might aid the restoration of the old order. The first serious doubt had been raised by the Sultan’s decision to sacrifice Philip.
‘Most respected sir, we have reached Siracusa.’ The commander of the vessel was ready to lead him to the waiting boat sent by the Amir to row him to shore. Idrisi turned around and saw the row of lit torches on the shore. From the ship they appeared to be pallbearers, but he knew their presence signified that a person of importance had been sent to greet him.
As he disembarked, he was astounded to see the Amir waiting for him. The two men embraced. The Amir was dressed in a yellow silk tunic embroidered with gold thread, his trimmed hair and short beard dyed a darkish henna red went well with the tunic. He had a dour look. His eyes were dark, but deep-set, emphasising the corpse-like pallor of his countenance. The splendour of his garments could not conceal features that were not flawless and, even though he was some years younger than Idrisi, he had a stoop and walked with a slight limp. Nonetheless, the Amir had the air of a holy man, serious and penitent.
‘Allah be praised for bringing you here safely, Ibn Muhammad. Welcome to Siracusa. I believe the last time you visited us was on your way to Noto, but I was in Palermo at the time. Our families are, of course, acquainted with each other. It is an honour to meet you in person.’
News of his arrival had spread through the town. As the two mounted men followed the winding street to the large square, a throng of onlookers made a path for them. The bystanders accompanied them with rapid steps to the palace gate and began to chant ‘Wa Salaam, Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi, Wa Salaam Amir al Siracusa,’ ‘Allah Akbar’. A few young men bravely shouted ‘Death to the infidels’, before being silenced by their elders and hurried away from the square.
A lavish banquet had been prepared in his honour to which all the local notables had been invited. The Amir had left Idrisi to recover from his journey in the hammam. After a warm and a cold bath, followed by an invigorating massage carried out by two palace giants, Idrisi felt refreshed but still disliked the thought of a formal banquet. There was, of course, the novelty. He did not really know the city and he remembered Ibn Fityan’s injunction. He would listen closely to what was said, but why should anything be said at a public meal? When would Mayya and Elinore arrive? Would they come here or go first to the family village, an hour away and not easily accessible? A knock on the door announced the palace steward who had arrived to escort him to the courtyard where the guests were assembled.
The Amir had discarded his listlessness and even the stoop seemed to have disappeared. With an unflinching gaze, he introduced Idrisi to the fifty or so men who, like carefully planted trees, stood in a straight line. Most of them were aged oaks, but towards the end of the row he observed two young men of chivalrous and attractive mien, who, defying convention, were deep in animated conversation, but fell silent at his approach. Each placed his right hand on his heart, bowed slightly and introduced himself in turn.
‘Abu Khalid.’
‘Abu Ali.’
Idrisi was stunned. They were his sons-in-law and must have been invited as a courtesy by the Amir. He embraced them warmly and whispered, ‘I am happy to see you. We will speak on our own tomorrow.’
As they were being seated, Idrisi was struck by something odd: no Bishops or monks were present. As far as he could tell there was not a single Nazarene at the table. He could not recall having ever sat at an official banquet without the presence of a prince of the Church or a monk. True, the Amir was a Believer and the palace was without a chapel, but there was no shortage of Bishops or Barons in the region. Idrisi wondered whether this had been a wise decision. The answer came soon enough.
‘I have noticed your inquiring looks, Ibn Muhammad,’ began the Amir in a barely audible voice. ‘This is an unusual gathering and not intended for many who are normally invited to the palace. I thought we would take advantage of your presence to invite a few chosen men who are filled with foreboding at the news that reaches us from Palermo. You appear surprised? Let me assure you that this is the first mehfil to meet at the palace. Usually some of us gather in the mosque after Friday prayers to discuss matters of common interest. But, as you know, some of our guests have travelled a long distance to be with us. You are amongst trusted friends. What you say will not be repeated.’
Idrisi felt trapped. He knew perfectly well that everything he said would be repeated in the tiniest villages in the region and by the time his words reached Noto, their meaning would be distorted beyond reason. He knew he must take great care.
‘Friends, I am touched by your trust and honoured by your presence, but what I am about to say is no different from what I have said on many occasions to the Sultan himself. And I will be happy to answer your questions provided that I know the answers. I assume you have heard the news regarding Philip.’
All nodded sadly. Idrisi did not reveal the discussion that had taken place with Philip in the darkened room of the Ayn al-Shifa Mosque in Palermo, but he told them as much as he could without implicating anyone apart from himself. He talked of the loyalty that Philip had always demonstrated to the Sultan, of his administrative skills and how he had done his utmost to prevent injustices on the island. Even though he had not always succeeded, the Barons and other land-thieves saw him as an enemy, an obstacle that had to be removed if their cause was to triumph in the Two Kingdoms.
They heard him in silence.
It was the Amir who raised the first question. ‘They will try him, find him guilty and burn him. And we are to watch this powerless and without making any attempt to save him.’