‘I thank you for correcting me, Uthman ibn Muhammad. There is enough land here to be divided among these families. That will still leave sufficient land to maintain the estate, not as before but certainly without creating a problem. Then there is the question of bearing false witness. This is unnecessary for Ibn Muhammad will himself sign the papers of transfer and these can be registered in Noto. The problem is the future. If we are defeated, the only way for the peasants to keep the land is to pretend they are Nazarenes. You have a small mosque here, but no church. I think we need one. Greek not Latin. It’s simpler. If the peasants agree, I have seen a site where it could be constructed quite easily. Once that is done, we will need a monk and a register where he will testify he converted this village the day Rujari died to honour his memory.’
‘Trusted One,’ Uthman asked in a nervous voice, ‘will my friends be forced to become Nazarenes?’
‘What are they at the moment?’
‘They are neither Believers nor Nazarenes. They still worship the old Greek god, Poseidon.’
‘It will not be necessary for them to convert.’
‘I won’t either.’
‘That will not be a problem.’
‘Perhaps all this can be done,’ said Idrisi, ‘but our peasants are very religious and I am doubtful whether they will agree to change their religion to keep their land.’
‘This is a strange island,’ said the Trusted One. ‘Its climate and its way of life have a way of affecting everyone. The choice is either to let the tyrant reap the seed they have sown and be driven off the land or to pretend they have been baptised. They can pray to Allah five times a day in the field or at home. But the choice is for them, not for you or me. That much I learnt from the other village. We had won, but the peasants were scared of reprisals. And to promise them that there would be no revenge killing because we were going to be victorious and re-take the island was unconvincing. I’m not sure whether that is possible, given our present state, so how could I convince anyone else? It was then that I thought of conversions planned by us as a counter to those forced on our people by a sword. Where’s the harm? Allah be praised, if we win. If we lose, let us ensure the peasants and their families are secure even though we may not be. It is the least that can be done for them.’
‘It is sensible advice, I grant you,’ said Idrisi. ‘But on this estate they have not had to struggle against adversity and that has given them a remarkable self-confidence. I will back your advice.’
Elinore and her husband discussed their future through the night. She wanted to leave Siqilliya, but he wanted to stay so that their children would be born here. He reminded her that his family had lived in Siracusa since the town was built. She argued that she could not bear her children being brought up in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. If Rujari, whom she had loved, could kill Philip whom she had admired, the bloodletting on this island would never stop. He leaned and whispered something in her ear which made her laugh. It was a deep, throaty laugh, uncalculating and straight from the heart.
‘Does that mean we have reached a compromise, my lady?’
‘Blow out the candle, Simeon, and let me sleep. You will know in the morning.’
The next morning, the sound of the flute woke her. By the early morning light at the window she saw him, his face leaned sideways, his eyes gazing sadly at the distant sea. She had never realised that music could have such an effect on her. Now she wished she had bowed to her mother’s pressure and learnt how to play the lute when they still lived in the palace. She had made up her mind, but would tell Simeon later.
The Trusted One had woken early so he could speak with the peasant families. He had organised a mehfil for the late afternoon, an hour before they usually finished working in the fields. All they had been told was that Ibn Muhammad al-Idrisi had returned to the estate and wished to consult with them. Sakina was already in the kitchen supervising the food that had to be prepared to feed the assembly.
Idrisi had taken Uthman on a walk to breathe the air and inspect the fruit trees. Uthman proved himself knowledgeable here as well, looking closely at each tree and estimating the fruit it would bear later in the year. His constant urge to assert himself delighted his father, who wondered whether they had left him on his for too long and whether talking to him each day and treating him as a normal person might not have partially cured him.
Suddenly, from a distance, they heard the sound of people running towards them and hailing them. Uthman froze, his face filled with fear. Idrisi put his arms around his son’s shoulders and told him not to worry, they were friends, not Roman soldiers.
‘Are you sure, Abu? Neither of us are wearing swords.’
A shiny-eyed Elinore and Simeon, his golden locks ruffled by the breeze, both slightly out of breath, stopped running as they saw her father. Uthman smiled and relaxed once again. He liked Elinore and loved hearing Simeon play the flute. Idrisi looked at her and knew instantly that she had something to say but had not expected to find Uthman with him.
‘What is on your mind, child? There are no secrets from your brother.’
‘I will go and sit under the tree, if you like,’ said Uthman.
‘No!’
‘Then speak.’
‘Simeon ibn Thawdor and I have been thinking a great deal. We have come to a decision, but only if it meets with your approval, Abi. We would like to come and live here with Uthman and… if the Trusted One is right about the need to build a church, then Simeon could, when the need arose, don a monk’s robe and hide his flute.’
Uthman clapped his hands in excitement and Idrisi laughed. He was surprised and delighted. What had been worrying him was the thought of Uthman, abandoned by his family and dependent exclusively on retainers. He felt guilty that he had abandoned this boy at a young age. Now his daughter had decided to do what he should have done years ago.
‘A wonderful decision! As long as you are happy here, everyone else will be. But till you need to become a monk, Simeon, you should choose a piece of land and work it.’
‘I will,’ he replied, ‘but first we must build a small church. A single dome, a cross and unadorned, rough wooden benches inside. The map is in my head. It could be used as a school. Elinore is determined to teach the children how to read and write Arabic and Greek.’
‘When will you have the children?’
‘Uthman!’ she shrieked as she stood, legs apart and hands on hips. ‘We’ve only just got married. Give us time. Simeon was talking about the village children.’
‘I am very happy you and Simeon will live here with me. Very happy. We have much to discuss, but now if you will excuse me, I must go and inform my friends.’
When the villagers arrived for the mehfil they were dressed in their best clothes. Idrisi, who knew most of the families, sat with them while they ate and they talked of what the island had been before they had arrived. All that had been grown was wheat. Now they had cotton and silkworms and the sumac tree for tanning and dyeing and our weavers — here they were talking of Noto alone — were the best on the island, if not in the world. A voice added: ‘Noto was the last to surrender and will be the first to rise against them.’
After they had eaten, Idrisi and the Trusted One spoke in turn and explained how they saw the future of the estate. The villagers were overjoyed when Idrisi told them the land would belong to them, but less pleased when the Trusted One gently explained that the path to long-term survival might necessitate a detour via the church.
‘Trusted One,’ a young peasant asked, ‘it is normal to dream of victories and triumphs, but you speak only of defeat. Are you so sure we will be defeated? Our village has pledged fifty young men to fight in the jihad.’