‘This is the Amir’s terrace,’ she said nervously. ‘He has been delayed in Palermo and asks you to join him as soon as you can.’
‘In that case I should leave immediately.’
‘No,’ she replied, her voice stifled with passion.
He took her by the arm and gently guided her into the room. He extended his arms and felt both her breasts. She flinched.
‘Strange, these friends seem familiar.’
‘You knew?’
‘Not last night, but this morning when my head was clear.’
She fell into his arms as a devouring passion gripped them. Blind to all else, they made love in the Amir’s large bed below a canopy embroidered with gold thread. After the storm had passed, he looked at her closely. ‘Balkis, my dear, I think the seed will flower now. And for that reason it was appropriate that you chose your husband’s bed. Have I your permission to return to Palermo?’
‘No!’ she shouted and slapped his face. ‘No. No. No. No.’
‘But I must go. Your husband and my wife await me.’
‘It’s not just your seed, it’s you I want.’
‘But you barely know me.’
‘I do now.’
‘First, you must answer me truthfully and avoid any further deception. And keep looking straight into my eyes. If your gaze falters I shall know you’re trying to avoid the truth.’
‘I will not deceive you. Ask your question.’
‘I thought I detected the hand of Mayya behind this delicious plot, especially the opening scene last night. She knows everything?’
‘It was my idea to extract your seed. She was not happy, but later when I insisted that this was what I wanted, she laid down a condition. If it had to happen, she would prepare everything. She did, Muhammad.’
‘Including the shahdanaj al-barr?’
‘Especially that… the rest I learned from you when you described in such wonderful detail the love rites of Aphrodite’s high priestess. It’s as if you were describing a landscape or the flowers, herbs and trees that grow here. Now I understand why they say you are a many-sided scholar and if you will permit me I would…’
Idrisi interrupted her: ‘I will not deny that my eyes found themselves following you more than is permitted. And I confess that images of you entered my head during the long ride to Abu Khalid’s village. And if you were not married to such an honourable and decent soul, it would not matter, but you are, and for that reason alone we must not repeat this. Ever.’
‘He’s such a decent and honourable soul that you dragged me into his bed and kept me there till your passion flowed. Now you talk as if nothing had happened. If you really want us never to repeat this then we won’t, but I don’t believe you. I’ve held you in my arms and I know you felt exactly the same as me. The situation is difficult, but solutions can always be found.’
‘And what about your sister?’
‘We’ll agree to share you. She can have you for the first two days and me for the next three.’
‘I thought there were seven days in a week.’
‘After I’ve had my way, you’ll have earned two days’ rest.’
He began to laugh. ‘You are impossible.’
Her eyes filled with longing. ‘Why. It’s quite normal, except that Mayya and I are half-sisters.’
‘Balkis, you are married to someone else.’
‘He will divorce me if I ask him. We can discuss this on the journey to Palermo.’
‘You’re coming with me? This is foolish.’
‘Why? My sister and husband are already there. I will stay in the palace, not with you. There are no children to keep me here.’
‘Balkis, listen carefully. You can travel with me, if you insist, but the ship is a public place and decorum must be preserved. If our weakness triumphs the whole of Palermo will know that the Amir is a cuckold even before you reach the palace.’
‘Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi, my Sultan of love, I will do as you say. Balkis will be the most modest and demure passenger your vessel ever carried.’
‘I had a presentiment that it would end like this.’
‘Surely you mean begin like this.’
A few hours later they were on the sea for Palermo. The veiled lady was sitting in a cabin sipping tea while the scholar-lover was pretending to make notes.
‘I know they can see us, but surely we can talk.’
‘Of course we can talk.’
‘Then tell me about Abu Nuwas.’
‘Balkis!’
‘What? Just talk about him. If you don’t I’ll walk up to you in full view of the men and kiss your lips.’
‘You promised…’
‘Yes, but only if you behave normally as well, agree to speak with me and answer my questions. Surely we’re not going to make this journey in total silence. It’s not often that a humble woman like me has the chance to travel with a great scholar. So perhaps we could start with the poetry of Abu Nuwas.’
Despite himself, Idrisi was amused and impressed by her.
‘Abu Nuwas was born in Basra, a hundred years after the death of our Prophet. He moved from there to Kufa to study, Basra and Kufa being the cities where even well-educated scholars enhance their learning. Kufa was famous at that time for its grammarians and Abu Nuwas arrived to perfect his knowledge of our language. Later he moved to Baghdad, but this was largely for employment and pleasure.
‘He was a poet much favoured by the Caliph and became the subject of story-tellers in the bazaar. According to one story, Shahrazad is late one evening and enters the Caliph’s bedchamber to find him sprawled on his front with Abu Nuwas riding him like a horse. Shahrazad feigns horror. Abu Nuwas withdraws and stands up naked. She slaps his face. He replies: “We’re just proud and penetrating men, Princess.” She threatens to inform the qadi unless the Caliph releases her from her side of the bargain. He agrees, but pleads with her not to stop telling her stories. From that day onwards he pays her ten gold dirhams for each of her stories, which get better.’
A discreet giggle interrupted his flow. ‘Muhammad, is that true?’
‘It’s a story they tell in the bazaar of Baghdad. It fulfils two functions. It informs us that Abu Nuwas and the Caliph liked men even though al-Quran forbids such acts on pain of death. Secondly, the story is designed to appeal to an important section of the audience, the street-traders. For Shahrazad to be paid for her daily labour would seem natural to them. And the fact that the stories improve is a hint that voluntary labour is better than slavery. The Zanj would have liked that.’
‘I’m more interested in his poetry.’
‘I have read it, of course, but can’t recall it. I’m more familiar with the work of Ibn Quzman, my friend in al-Andalus. He is a disciple of Abu Nuwas and his verses are sung in many cities, especially after a few flasks of wine.’
‘Is it true that Abu Nuwas has written of a perfect religion in which it is obligatory to make love five times a day instead of praying?’
‘It’s true but impractical.’
‘Not for you.’
‘Balkis!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What I meant was that the older men get the more difficult it becomes. Abu Nuwas was unaware of this problem, but old men would have to be pardoned their inability to perform five times. What would they do instead?’
‘Dissemble as so many do now when they pray.’
‘Let me finish the story of Abu Nuwas. The real subject of his poetry was the joys of wine. He was the link between the world that existed before our Prophet received the message and what was created afterwards. Wine was the substance that linked all worlds. It was timeless and universal. And many a time did Abu Nuwas inquire politely why, if wine and young boys were permitted in paradise as written in al-Quran, were they forbidden this enjoyment on earth. So he made fun and he had fun.