‘Balkis, you must go with him, at least till the child is born. Afterwards he will not object if you return.’
‘You don’t care for me now that I am fat and ugly,’ she screamed, hurling herself against his body and weeping.
‘I agree that your body is not at its best, but to suggest that the love I feel for you is dependent on such things is an insult to our passion. If what you say were true, how do you explain that we make love almost every day, ignoring your stomach which seeks to obstruct us? Do you think I’m pretending when we are at the height of our union?’
‘Then why do you say I must go?’
‘It’s because you are married to him, Balkis. How often have we discussed this possibility? Believe me, all he wants is to show his child to his people and his family. I hope, for his sake, it is a boy. That will make him very happy. He won’t mind your returning here to create another child.’
She laughed. ‘In that case you should pray it’s a girl. Then I will definitely be returned to the great physician. But you speak the truth. I know that and I will do as you ask. The one thing I cannot bear to think of is being touched by him and if he does…’
‘Most men stay away from women when they are breast-feeding an infant. The reason I would not is because as a physician it is my duty to observe and record the functions…’
She kissed his lips and might have moved further had Ibn Fityan not knocked on the door to inform them that the Amir of Siracusa had left the palace and was reported to be riding in the direction of the house.
Refreshments, including the exquisite lemon elixir, were served on the terrace where they could enjoy the warmth of the winter sun. Aziz described his visit to the Sultan. He had been questioned in detail about the Trusted One, but denied that a Bishop had been burnt or Lombards fed to the animals.
‘But I can tell you, dear friends and trusted wife, what really took place. It is quite remarkable, but disturbing. They did burn the Bishop and the Trusted One did shout it was for Philip, but they dug a grave for the prelate and the local monk swears on the bible that he died a natural death. After his death the Lombards fought each other for the Bishop’s gold and probably his store of young men and, to the amazement of all, they destroyed first the castle in search of the gold and later themselves. The single survivor died of wounds. They were all buried in consecrated ground. This is, incidentally, true.’
‘But how did the battle start?’
Aziz told them the entire story, except what he did not know, namely, the meeting between the Trusted One and Halima and the discovery of his real identity.
‘We tended to believe that the Trusted One was a slightly unbalanced preacher, wandering through villages and infecting the credulous peasants with religious dreams, encouraging martyrdom and revealing the stigmata that marked his own uncultivated mind. This was certainly the impression he wanted to convey. But what he has done threatens us all.’
‘How?’ inquired Mayya, her curiosity aroused.
‘Shame has disappeared in that village. The people look into your eyes when they speak. Pride and insolence have replaced respect for their betters. One peasant had the effrontery to ask if I had read Aristotle. The only way to make them respect us is to grind them hard and make sure their yoke is heavy. If what they have done spreads we are all finished. It is the Trusted One who has taught them how to ensure they never lose the land again.
‘What I am about to tell you is based on my own assumptions. I have no proof and legality is on the other side. I had not visited that estate before, but was aware of what had happened after the Nazarenes wiped out the family of Ibn Hamza. When I visited the peasants a few weeks ago, the Trusted One had long departed, but he had left behind the happiest village community I have ever seen.’
‘How does that threaten you?’ asked Balkis.
‘When I asked who owned the land, now the Bishop was dead and gone, they replied cheerfully that the land had been gifted to them by Hamza ibn Muhammad many years before the arrival of the Nazarenes. I saw the register with my own eyes. It was impeccable. I find it incredible that Hamza, who often came to my palace, could have gifted away his hereditary lands. In fact I don’t believe a word of it. It was the Trusted One’s idea and he convinced them all and provided them with a single narrative.’
‘Did you question the monk in private?’ asked Idrisi.
‘Of course I did. He repeated the same rubbish. His family benefited from the Trusted One’s land distribution. He confessed to me he had never met a man like the Trusted One and wanted to convert to our faith, but the Trusted One had told him he was more helpful to the village as a monk. If he wanted to he could pray in the mosque, but when outsiders came he had to be a monk.’
Idrisi could not conceal his admiration. ‘He is inspired by Allah and the Great Satan at the same time. Where is he?’
‘Far from my estates, I hope. Here in Palermo you cannot imagine the effect this is having on the peasants. Many of them visit the village and return full of ideas.’
‘Did the Trusted One leave behind a plan if we are all defeated?’
‘Strange you should ask that, Ibn Muhammad. It did not occur to me, but one of the peasants, a well-read boy, volunteered the information. If our people are defeated, they will all swear that the Bishop had converted the entire village five years before he died. They have a church register to prove it and the monk and the handful of Nazarene families will attest to the truth of this assertion.’
‘This is incredible,’ said Elinore. ‘It makes me want to visit this place.’
‘Whenever you want,’ replied her uncle. ‘Perhaps after the child is born you should all come and spend some time in Siracusa. Elinore could come with us tonight?’
Nobody replied to the invitation and poor Aziz, slightly embarrassed, turned to his wife.
‘My sister, who you dislike so much, is praying you produce a girl. That way her son will inherit my estates.’
‘In that case,’ replied Balkis, ‘it will be a pleasure to disappoint her. And if we are leaving tonight I should go and make sure everything is packed.’
‘We’ll help,’ said Mayya and all three women headed towards the guest chambers.
‘The Sultan could die any day, Ibn Muhammad. He asked after you today.’
‘The sooner he goes the better. There will be a settling of accounts. I used to have many fond memories of him, but the treatment of Philip has changed everything. It made me angry with myself for being such a poor judge of people. Let us speak of more pleasant subjects.’
‘Let me raise an indelicate one.’
Idrisi smiled in anticipation.
‘I thank you for letting Balkis return. It was important for me, but you know this already.’
‘I do and if it embarrasses you we need discuss the subject no longer. I hope it is a boy for your sake. Have you considered taking another wife?’
‘There is no reason to do so. I have a serving woman in the palace who satisfies all my needs. With her there is no pretence. If Balkis gives me a boy I am content. And you?’
‘I will be content even if Balkis gives you a girl.’
FIFTEEN
The death of Rujari. Idrisi is a father again and twice. Dreaming of Siracusa.
ON A COLD FEBRUARY day in the year 1154 of the Christian calendar, the Sultan died in his palace in Palermo and Balkis gave birth to a son in Siracusa, though Idrisi and Mayya did not receive the message till the Amir of Siracusa arrived to attend the Sultan’s funeral, for the lighthouses had been too busy conveying the news of the Sultan’s death and the date fixed for the funeral to bother with other news. Receiving the information, notables of every variety and from all parts of the island began the journey to Palermo.