Then they all returned to the palace where a grand banquet had been prepared in honour of those who had passed judgement on an enemy of their faith. Rujari pleaded ill-health and was not present at the celebrations. Nor was his son William.
After a private conference with his friend from Catania, the Amir of Siracusa had instructed his men to make the ship ready to sail at short notice. Walking slowly towards the house where his wife was lodged, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A shiver of fear ran through him, but it was only a grim-faced Idrisi and his retainers.
‘Ibn Muhammad, what a relief it is you,’ he said wiping the sweat from his face.
‘It has been a catastrophe. The trial was as you suggested, even worse.’
‘I have just returned from the mosque. It was a dignified farewell but our young men are angry and I fear there will be some violence in the city tonight. Were you walking to my house? Good. We shall arrive together.’
‘Ibn Muhammad, could you ask your men to let us talk on our own?’ Idrisi signalled to Ibn Fityan who told his men to slow down. The Amir confided to him that they would now plan a full-scale rebellion in their regions and drive the Franks out.
‘It will take us a few years yet, but the preparations must start now. I know I sometimes give people the impression of not being as steadfast as the Trusted One. But whatever doubts I may have had disappeared today. They declared war on us. That’s why I have a favour to ask of you…’
TWELVE
Idrisi’s love for Balkis and its consequences.
IDRISI DID NOT HAVE long to wait for the three women outside the Chamberlain’s room at the front of the palace. Relieved of their hurriedly packed clothes by his retainers, he walked back with them to his house. The sky was so starry and active and Idrisi so delighted that he almost forgot the weight of events to come.
‘I thought that nights like this happen only when one is young,’ he said.
‘I am young,’ replied Elinore. ‘And I will never forget this night.’
‘I’m not as old as you and I too will remember this night,’ said Balkis.
‘I am older than both of them, but why should enjoyment be left to the young?’
‘How far is your house, Abi?’
Idrisi smiled before replying. ‘None of you know the loneliness that has afflicted me for so many years. When Walid left home without telling us I thought everyone was forsaking me and I became despondent. Tonight I feel all that is over. And we are nearly home. Can you see those lit windows on the hill? Another few minutes and we’ll be there.’
A palace messenger had already conveyed news of the Sultan’s decision releasing Mayya to Ibn Fityan and so he was waiting with the rest of the household to welcome the new lady of the house and the master’s daughter. Balkis was welcomed equally warmly. The torches held high charmed the women as they walked up the steps.
‘Have the rooms been prepared?’
‘Yes, Ibn Muhammad,’ replied the steward, ‘but we were not expecting a third guest. It will not take long to prepare a guest chamber.’
‘This is the Lady Balkis, who is my wife’s sister and whose husband, the Amir of Siracusa, will probably join us here tomorrow.’
Ibn Fityan was impressed by this news. It answered all his questions.
‘The hammam has also been prepared.’
The women had already bathed once that day and declined the offer. They asked for an infusion of fresh mint leaves and were escorted to the terrace. Mayya wondered whether she should accompany Muhammad and talk to him while he was bathed, but thought it might be too soon.
Idrisi’s intention was to have a bath without being disturbed and meditate on the thorny problem that had been preoccupying him ever since they had left the palace: Balkis or Mayya? It might be his only chance to lie in Balkis’s arms before her husband arrived and they departed for Siracusa. What if Mayya insisted, as was only natural, that they should spend the first night here together and make up for lost time? It would be inhuman to resist such a plea. Balkis, who loved her sister, would understand. He had made up his mind, but doubts persisted quite simply because his heart was pushing him in the wrong direction. Left to himself with no other considerations, he would have rushed to Balkis. He knew he might live to regret it and yet, if Allah was kind and gave him ten more years, it was futile to live them in a sea of unhappiness.
As he left the hammam, refreshed and ready to face his new life, he had decided in favour of Mayya. He would allow nothing to deter him from this path. Ibn Fityan had laid the table in the dining room that was rarely used. The rectangular table could easily seat twenty-five people, but he had prepared just one end of it for Idrisi and the ladies. As they walked in he looked admiringly at the different colours worn by Mayya and Elinore, but it was Balkis who took his breath away. She wore a high priestess off-white robe and had lifted her hair back with a silver clasp.
The welcoming feast was pronounced a success and the sweet homemade lemon liquor, which Idrisi insisted was a much more effective digestive than a similar concoction made from aniseed, was highly praised.
‘Mayya told me you were a master of medicine as well,’ Balkis said in a slightly indifferent tone, ‘but I had no idea you prepared medicinal mixtures.’
‘I do and I even have one which helps get rid of unwanted pregnancies, which is much in demand on Lombard estates. They rape our women who are too ashamed to tell their brothers, fathers or husbands. They go to the local medicine man and plead for the herb that will purge their system. It works. You will not find the prescription in al-Kindi’s Aqrabadhin. When I was in Cairo I introduced it to the physicians at the al-Nasiri maristan. They were pressing me to write a book on compounded drugs and herbs that could help common ailments. If I have time I might yet write such a work.’
Balkis glared at him and Elinore, thinking her father was being somewhat insensitive to her aunt’s lack of children, decided to change the subject.
‘This lemon drink we all loved tonight. You distilled it yourself?’
‘I used to, but the Sultan liked it so much that I was forced to part with the formula and from the palace it has spread to the monasteries and estates. My own supplies now come from the palace. I’m really surprised you have never tasted it before. I would have thought the eunuchs would have made sure the harem was regularly supplied.’
For some reason this made Balkis laugh. ‘You speak as if this was the only drink available in the palace. And what if the eunuchs hated it?’
Mayya, aware of the slight tension between Balkis and Idrisi, wondered what, if anything, had taken place in Siracusa. She followed her daughter’s lead in making sure he was confined to a safe subject.
‘Muhammad, I was trying to remember that friend of yours who you talked about endlessly some years ago. The man who distilled what you said was the most beautiful elixir you had ever tasted. I could not recall his name or where he lived or even the name of the drink.’
Idrisi laughed. ‘Muammar ibn Zafar! He died two years ago and his foolish son sold the fruit orchards to a merchant from Shakka. You would all have liked him. He was one of the most gifted cooks whose food I have had the pleasure to taste. But the elixir was something very special. He used to call it the Heavenly Nectar. Once when I was staying with him to ask his advice on cures for constipation, which was common amongst sailors, he devised a suppository with the most effective mixture. It was October and a great deal of fruit was lying on the ground. Oranges, lemons, peaches, apricots, tangerines and others I cannot recall. His men were ordered to collect these from the ground. The undamaged fruit was washed and placed in a large perpendicular earthenware pot, almost as tall as Balkis. No, a bit taller. To these fruits he added saffron, black pepper, crushed ginger, and peeled clusters of garlic. Then the pot was sealed with a flour paste and left outdoors till the following April. I was present one year when the seal was broken. The most delicious aroma greeted us. Muammar stood on a ladder and stirred the pot till it was properly mixed. I tasted it before and after it was distilled. Completely different each time but equally unforgettable. Al-kohl. Pure. Heaven. I would consider myself lucky if I tasted a drink like that again before I die.’