The rest of the day was spent in Balkis’s company. They could talk and laugh together for hours. She accepted his balanced critique of Ibn Hamdis and phrased her own remarks more carefully, but her basic view of the poet remained unaltered, although they agreed never to discuss the matter with the poet’s descendant.
Elinore had begged him to let her marry as soon as possible. He had observed the young couple on the boat journey and was convinced that they were destined for each other. He asked them both whether they were happy to be married in the absence of her mother and his parents and was told that both parties had recommended this course of action. The Amir took charge of the matter and on a beautiful Sunday morning, Elinore bint Muhammad and Ibn Thawdor were married by a Bishop at a quiet ceremony in the old Byzantine church. They were assigned a set of rooms in the palace and at the feast that evening, Ibn Thawdor played the flute to mark his own wedding.
Several weeks later a messenger arrived from Noto with a letter from Sakina, his oldest daughter, informing Idrisi that her mother had died peacefully a few days earlier. The rest of the family had gathered, with the exception of Walid, and she pleaded with Idrisi to return to the estate and decide what should be done. It was not a decision for her or anyone else.
‘I will have to go,’ he told Balkis. ‘I was quite content to die without seeing my house again, but Allah has willed otherwise. It is strange, but I feel nothing for the departed woman. Nothing.’
‘Take Elinore and Ibn Thawdor with you. You enjoy their company and she should see the house where her father was born. If I did not have to carry out the five obligatory breast-feedings for Hamdis, I would have accompanied you as well, just in case the dust on the journey gave you a sore throat.’
They left early one morning in a large covered cart drawn by two horses and with a retinue of four armed retainers. A new path had been opened to reduce the time it took to reach Noto. The reasons for this were military, but everyone benefited and the traders had been especially pleased. As they passed an ancient viaduct he insisted they break the journey. He had seen it from afar on previous visits and now he had an opportunity to observe its structure more closely.
‘I agree to stop,’ said Elinore, ‘provided we are spared a lecture on ancient Rome.’
Idrisi smiled and ignored the remark, but to punish her he took Ibn Thawdor with him and improved the boy’s understanding of the ancient world. As they resumed their journey a silence fell. They were all thinking of what lay ahead.
Idrisi had not seen his oldest son, Uthman, for almost twenty years and the thought of the boy pained him. As a physician, he could try and cure pain and stomach disorders and fevers and snake-bites, but he had no idea what caused mental suffering or why his oldest child had been born with a disordered mind. There was no blemish on his body. He had been as normal as any other child except that he was slow to speak. This had not worried him unduly till the boy was five and barely spoke. He did learn eventually, but it became obvious that he was different from the rest. He preferred to be alone. He would talk to the farm animals at length and could be seen laughing with them, but when a human approached he would rush and hide in a barn or behind a tree or crouch in the open and imagine that nobody could see him.
Not wishing Elinore to be taken by surprise, Idrisi told her the entire story. Her only response was to hold his hand tightly. She had been wondering how the family would receive her and Ibn Thawdor. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come with her father.
The sun was still up as they entered the estate on the outskirts of Noto. The large house stood at the top of the exposed hill. It was built on two levels around a courtyard bordered by a row of orange trees. Behind the house were peasant houses built on the slope and near them a tiny domed mosque.
Below the house, on either side of the path, were gently sloping terraces, first cultivated by his grandfather. Fruits of every variety were flanked by mulberry for the silkworms. Vegetables and wheat were grown in the flat fields nearby. The sight pleased him. Sakina’s mother must have been a good administrator — something he could not quite believe — but there was nobody else who could have watched over everything, once he had left and made it clear he had no intention of returning.
He saw Khalid riding towards them, waving. Idrisi waved back. The boy has lost a mother and a grandmother in the space of a year. A growing boy needs a woman in the household. Umar should marry again.
‘Jiddu, Jiddu,’ the boy was shouting, as he got closer. He abandoned the horse he had been riding bare-backed and boarded the cart, embracing his grandfather and managing a broad smile as he was introduced to his new aunt and Ibn Thawdor. How he had grown over the last six months. A beard and moustache were sprouting on his face. Elinore hoped her father would not refer to them and embarrass Khalid, but was disappointed.
‘I’m glad to see a beard on the way. Have you decided whether you want to grow it long or short?’
‘I do not want to grow it at all, Jiddu. No beard. No moustache.’
‘Unthinkable, boy. Unthinkable. Everyone in our family has grown one or the other. I shall speak with your father. We shall see what he has to say on this subject.’
‘The Trusted One says that these things do not matter at all.’
‘Then why does he grow a beard?’
‘Because he’s too lazy to shave it off. He’s looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘Is he here?’
‘Yes, of course. He came with us. He and Abu have become very close friends.’
There goes my estate, thought Idrisi.
The rest of them, too, had sighted him and were waiting to receive him. Sakina kissed his hands and he hugged and kissed her head. Her husband was present as well with the twins. He embraced Abu Khalid with special warmth. They were all introduced to the newly wed couple. Sakina, having lost a sister, was anxious to please the new one. She took Elinore and Ibn Thawdor to their rooms. Idrisi looked around him.
‘Where is Uthman?’
‘I’ll take you to him,’ replied Khalid.
The sight of his first-born had always had a disquieting effect on him. He must be thirty-five this year. The woman who looked after Uthman saw them approach. At least she’s still alive, Idrisi thought to himself. Her strong bony frame must have helped her survive the worst of a hard life. Then he saw Uthman hiding behind a tree and observing him.
‘Peace be upon you, son. Will you not come and greet your old father?’
Idrisi was shocked as he watched Uthman emerge from hiding. He had aged beyond his years. His hair was white and he walked with the step of a frail old man. Yet, he spoke in a strong, self-assured voice. ‘Peace upon you, Abu. It is good to see you after so many years. You know, of course, that my mother and sister were killed by Roman soldiers.’
‘Uthman, it’s nice to see you after all these years. Is there anything you need? Anything?’
‘I need a wife, Abu. A wife.’
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’
Uthman took his father by the arm and walked him to the sheep pen. He pointed to a sheep.
‘Yes I can see Uthman. Sheep.’
‘That one,’ he said pointing again, ‘I want to marry her. Don’t tell me it isn’t permitted Abu. Who doesn’t permit? Who?’
Idrisi realised that a reference to al-Quran would not carry much weight with his poor son. He decided to try something else.
‘The Roman Emperor has forbidden marriage between humans and animals.’
Uthman yelled, ‘I know that, of course. It’s to defy him that I will go through with this marriage. Let his soldiers come. We will trap and kill them. Have you got your shield and spear ready, young Khalid?’