The temperature in the baths rose dramatically. Then a young man with a carefully chiselled face, pale olive skin and eyes the colour of green marble coughed suggestively. He could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. Everyone looked at him. He was new to the town, having arrived from Balansiya only a few weeks ago and before that from the great university of al-Azhar in al-Qahira. He had come to do some historical research on the life and work of his great-grandfather Ibn Khaldun, and study some of the manuscripts in the libraries in Gharnata. Unfortunately for his project, he had arrived on the very day that Cisneros had chosen to burn the books. The man with the green eyes had been heartbroken. He had wept all night in his tiny room in the Funduq al-Yadida. By the time morning came he had already decided upon the course which the remainder of his life would take. He spoke in a soft tone, but it was the music in his Qahirene speech, as much as his message, that entranced his fellow bathers.
‘When I saw the flames in the Bab al-Ramla consuming the work of centuries, I thought that it was all over. It was as if Satan had plunged his poisoned fist through the heart of the mountain and reversed the flow of the stream. Everything we had planted lay withered and dead. Time itself had petrified and here, in al-Andalus, we were already on the other side of hell. Perhaps I should pack my bags and return to the East…’
‘None of us would hold that against you,’ said Zuhayr. ‘You came here to study, but there is nothing to study except a void. You would be well advised to return to the university of al-Azhar.’
‘My friend is giving you sage advice,’ added Musa. ‘We are all now impotent. The only thing we can glory in is the vigour of our fathers.’
‘There I disagree,’ replied Zuhayr. ‘Only he who says “Behold, I am the man” not “My father or grandfather was” can be considered truly noble and courageous.’
The man with green eyes smiled.
‘I agree with Zuhayr bin Umar. Why should you who have been knights and kings desert your castles to the enemy and become mere pawns? Tear away the curtains of doubt and challenge the Christians. Cisneros imagines that you have no more fight left inside you. He will thrust you further and further towards the edge, and then with one last push he will watch you fall into the abyss.
‘I was told by friends in Balansiya that throughout the country the Inquisitors are preparing themselves to deliver the fatal blow. They will soon forbid us our language. Arabic will be banned on pain of death. They will not let us wear our clothes. There is talk that they will destroy every public bath in the country. They will prohibit our music, our wedding feasts, our religion. All this and more will fall on our heads in a few years’ time. Abu Abdullah let them take this town without a struggle. This was a mistake. It has made them too confident.’
‘What do you suggest, stranger?’ enquired Zuhayr.
‘We must not let them imagine that what they have done to us is acceptable. We must prepare an insurrection.’
For a minute nothing stirred. They were all frozen by his words. Only the sound of water flowing through the hammam punctuated their thoughts and their fears. Then Musa directly challenged the young scholar from Egypt.
‘If I were convinced that an uprising against Cisneros and his devils would succeed and enable us to turn back even one page of history, I would be the first to sacrifice my life, but I remain unconvinced by your honeyed words. What you are proposing is a grand gesture that will be remembered in the times which lie ahead. Why? What for? What good will come of it in the end? Gestures and grand words have been the curse of our religion, from the very beginning.’
Nobody responded to his objections and Musa, feeling that he now had the advantage over the Qahirene, pressed his arguments further.
‘The Christians hunt different beasts in different ways and during different seasons, but they have begun to hunt us the whole year round. I agree we must not let our lives become distorted with fear, but nor should we sacrifice ourselves unnecessarily. We have to learn from the Jews how to live in conditions of great hardship. The followers of Islam still live in Balansiya, do they not? Even in Aragon? Listen friends, I am not in favour of any foolishness.’
Zuhayr spoke angrily to his friend.
‘Would you convert to Christianity, Musa, just in order to live?’
‘Have not Jews done so throughout the land in order to retain their positions? Why should we not imitate them? Let them tighten the screws as much as they like. We will learn new methods of resistance. Here in our heads.’
‘Without our language or our books of learning?’ asked the great-grandson of Ibn Khaldun.
Musa looked at him and sighed. ‘Is it true that you are in the line of the master Ibn Khaldun?’
Ibn Daud smiled and nodded his head.
‘Surely,’ continued Musa, ‘you must know better than us the warning your noble forebear directed against men such as yourself. Scholars are of all men those least fitted for politics and its ways.’
Ibn Daud grinned mischievously. ‘Perhaps Ibn Khaldun was referring to his own experiences which were less than happy. But surely, however great a philosopher he may have been, we must not treat him as a prophet whose word is sacred. The question which confronts you is simple. How should we defend our past and our future against these barbarians? If you have a more efficient solution, pray speak your mind and convince me.’
‘I do not have all the answers, my friend, but I know that what you are recommending is wrong.’
With these words Musa got out of the bath and clapped his hands. Attendants rushed in with towels and began to dry his body. The others followed suit. Then they repaired to the adjoining chamber, where their servants were waiting with new robes. Before departing, Musa embraced Zuhayr and whispered in his ear: ‘Poison finds its way into even the sweetest cups of wine.’
Zuhayr did not take his friend too seriously. He knew the pressures of everyday life on Musa, and he understood, but that was not sufficient reason for cowardice at a time when everything was at stake. Zuhayr did not wish to quarrel with his friend, but nor could he keep silent and conceal his own thoughts. He turned to the stranger.
‘By what name are we to call you?’
‘Ibn Daud al-Misri.’
‘I would like to talk with you further. Why do we not return to your lodgings? I will help you pack your bags and then find you a horse to ride back with me to al-Hudayl. Trust in Allah. You might even find some of Ibn Khaldun’s manuscripts in our library! You do ride?’
‘That is very kind of you. I accept your hospitality with pleasure and, yes, I do ride.’
To the rest of the party Zuhayr issued a more general invitation. ‘Let us meet in my village in three days’ time. Then we will make our plans and discuss the methods of their execution. Is that agreed?’
‘Why not stay the night and we can talk now?’ asked Haroun bin Mohammed.
‘Because my father is in town and has pressed me to spend the night at my uncle’s house. I pleaded a desire to return home. It would be unwise to deceive him so openly. Three days?’
An agreement was reached. Zuhayr took Ibn Daud by the arm and escorted him to the street outside. They walked briskly to the lodging house, collected Ibn Daud’s belongings and then repaired to the stables. Zuhayr borrowed one of his uncle’s horses for his new friend and before Ibn Daud had time to recover from the suddenness of the proceedings, they were on their way to al-Hudayl.
Zuhayr’s uncle, Ibn Hisham, lived in a handsome town house, five minutes away from the Bab al-Ramla. The entrance to the house was no different from those of the other private dwellings on the street, but if one were to pause and look closely to either side it would become clear that the two adjoining entrances were in fact non-existent. False doors inlaid with turquoise tiles were designed to deceive. No stranger could imagine that what lay beyond the latticed doorways was a medium-sized palace. An underground passage beneath the street connected the different wings of the mansion and also served as an escape route to the Bab al-Ramla. Merchants did not take risks.