It was during his first year in the library of the old palace in Palermo, the longest voyage his mind had ever undertaken, that he stumbled on the secret section and informed the palace Chamberlain, who informed his master. Sultan Rujari had interrupted his meal and rushed to the library. Idrisi, meeting the Nazarene ruler for the first time, explained his excitement. The Sultan had not heard of al-Homa, but declared his immediate intention of studying the manuscript himself. His spoken Arabic was not perfect, but he read the language well. The Chamberlain took the manuscript and was about to leave the library, but was restrained by the Sultan who, noticing the disappointment on the face of the young scholar, instructed the Chamberlain to find the best calligraphers in Palermo and set them to work. He wanted a new copy waiting for him on his return from Noto. Then he turned to the turbaned youth who had assumed a modest posture.
‘Your name?’
‘Muhammad ibn Abdallah ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi, Your Majesty.’
‘Master Idrisi, after we have both read this work carefully we shall discuss it together. Let us compare the knowledge we derive from it. If the Arabic used in translation is too complex I will summon Ahmed from Djirdjent.’
Six weeks later, summoned to Rujari’s presence, the young scholar had memorised some verses from al-Homa’s work.
‘I cannot understand why this work upset your theologians so much.’
‘I think they could not tolerate the intermingling of gods and humans, Commander of the Wise. And gods created in the image of men and women were unacceptable to them. There could be no other reason.’
‘But that is the most enjoyable part of the work. Their gods were part of everything that happened: wars, floods, mishaps, adventures in the sky and on the sea, family quarrels, births, marriages, deaths, re-births. Do you think the wife of the seafarer Odysseus, who resisted earthly suitors, might have succumbed to a god’s charm? I’m surprised none of them tried. I must give instructions for it to be translated immediately into Latin, unless a manuscript already exists. Will you find out for me? If it’s only in the Vatican, then we will need our own translation. The monks won’t like it any more than the qadi. What aspect of the work most appealed to you? Was it the wiles of the women? Or the fear of the unknown? Or life as an unending journey, interrupted by tests of endurance?’
‘All appealed to me, Your Majesty, but I was distracted by something else: al-Homa’s sense of geography has amazed me. In the second part of the work he describes our sea and the islands and countries and trees. In ancient times people did not travel as much as we do. Most of them were buried in the village where they were born. Al-Homa told them there was another world outside their village and island. In the mouth of Menelaus he puts these words:
I wandered to Cyprus and Phoenicia, to the Egyptians,
I reached the Ethiopians, Eremhoi, Sidonians, and Libya.’
‘And one-eyed giants and the temptresses who wreck ships not far from these shores?’
‘Transient mischief, Exalted Sultan, nothing more. It reveals the power of the poet’s imaginings, but nothing more. For me, what is truly remarkable about this work is that the descriptions of real things are almost exact. He visited our island and called it Scylla. I am convinced al-Homa must have been a seafarer. And he fought in a war, but it was the map of his travels that distinguished his memory’
‘The Chamberlain informs me that you, too, are a mapmaker.’
Idrisi bowed.
‘When you have finished your work in this library, I wish to be informed of all your discoveries.’
For the next thirteen months Idrisi had abandoned all — lovers, friends, pupils — in search of the truth. The Sultan had given him the freedom of his library and apart from eating and the bodily functions that it necessarily entailed, he spent each day buried in a manuscript. The palace eunuchs often referred to him as Abu Kitab, the father of the book. Later, as a trusted confidant of the Sultan, his enhanced status required a superior title: he was now spoken of as Amir al-kitab.
Those months in the library had been pure joy. Al-Homa was only the beginning. He would visit Ithaci and the other islands in search of traces. He often wondered whether al-Homa alone had written such beautiful works or whether he had inherited the stories and covered them with his own divine mantle. And how amazing it was to discover that only a few generations after al-Homa’s death, Xenophanes denounced him in language that echoed the theologians of today: ‘Homer has attributed to the gods everything that is disgraceful and blameworthy among men — theft, adultery and deceit.’ And did the story-tellers in Baghdad who compiled the stories of a thousand nights have Odysseus in mind when they created their own tales of Sinbad the sailor? These questions, and even al-Homa, were soon forgotten as other treasures, closer to his preoccupations, began to emerge.
Reading the Arabic translations of Herodotus, Aristotle, Galen, Strabo and Ptolemy was like discovering distant lands familiar from travellers’ tales. His tutors had introduced him to the Greek venerables but he had been too young to really appreciate them. His knowledge remained incomplete till he began to study the texts for himself. Ptolemy’s ideas still echoed in his mind like music from a distant flute.
One day he came across an anonymous manuscript which delighted him. Who was the author of ‘The Library’? He could still remember the first sentence: Sky was the first who ruled over the whole world. Here was the story of the gods and how they populated the world and although not as stimulating as Ptolemy or even Strabo, much more exciting. It was here that he read of Hercules’ short visit to Siqilliya. Sky was the first who ruled over the whole world. The sentence reverberated. Why should he start In the name of Allah, the Beneficent… just like every other scholar in his world. Why?
During his first year in the library, the Sultan would often summon him to his chambers and question him closely on his reading. Rujari was not a big man, but he had strange swinging gestures and when he became excited his arms swayed like sails in a storm. His open-hearted welcome touched Idrisi.
‘What will you do with all this information, Master Idrisi? You can teach your own children and mine, but will this be enough to satisfy you?’
Idrisi recalled his worried, self-deprecating smile as he confessed his ambition. ‘If the Sultan permits I would like to write a universal geography. I will map the world we know and seek out the lands still unknown to us. This will be useful to our merchants and the commanders of our ships. This great city is the centre of the world. Merchants and travellers stop here before going West or East. They can provide us with much information.’
The Sultan’s pleasure was visible. He sent for the Chamberlain, instructed him to make sure that henceforth the scholar and master Muhammad al-Idrisi was paid the sum of ten taris each month by the Diwan and provided with lodgings close to the palace. As the Chamberlain bowed and prepared to leave Rujari had an afterthought.
‘And he will need a ship, ready to sail anywhere at his command. Find him a reliable commander.’
Idrisi fell on his knees and kissed the hands of his benefactor. He was delighted by Rujari’s generosity, but more than a little apprehensive at how it might be perceived outside the palace. His work would proceed without hindrance, but most of his friends might begin to regard him with suspicion. Every Friday night, after the city had gone to sleep, a small group of poets, philosophers and theologians — thirty men in all — met in a small room located at the heart of the Ayn al-Shifa mosque. Till the mehfil was disturbed by the morning call of the muezzin it would discuss matters pertaining to the needs of the community of Believers on the island. Till now, they had accepted his presence as one of them, but for how long?