Shadhi began to laugh again. His laughter was infectious, and I managed a weak smile. But he could tell that I found the story only mildly amusing. This annoyed him, and he spat in an elegant arc over my head to express his disapproval. Then stared into my eyes and winked. I laughed. Peace was restored.
It was late in the afternoon when the Sultan deigned to notice my insignificant presence. He was in good spirits, and when I inquired if his trip with the Kadi had been successful, he sighed.
“Convincing people to pay taxes to the state is not one of my duties, but al-Fadil insisted that my presence was necessary in the North. As usual, he was not wrong. My being there had the desired effect. In two days we collected taxes that had not been paid for two years. So, let us continue with our story. Where did we finish?”
I reminded him of how he had become the Vizir of Misr.
I had been worried that the Sultan Nur al-Din might have been misled by the behaviour of some of the Damascus emirs. They scarcely bothered to hide their envy and contempt for me. I had sent Nur al-Din a message, and now eagerly awaited his reply. It came after a week. The form of address he had chosen revealed his nervousness at my elevation. I was still the Emir Salah al-Din, Chief of the Army. I quickly sent another message stressing that he, Nur al-Din, was my Sultan and I was obedient to his instructions alone. I also requested that my father Ayyub, and the rest of our family, might be permitted to come and live with me in Cairo. Without them I felt lonely and homeless. After several months, this request was granted. I had not seen my father and mother for nearly a year. Great was our mutual joy at the reunion decreed by Allah.
I told my father that if he would like to take the position of vizir, I would immediately transfer my position and power to him. He refused, insisting that Allah’s choice had fallen on me. It would be wrong to tamper with his will. I did, however, persuade him to become the Treasurer, a key position. Without control of the treasury, it was difficult to wield real power.
The Caliph of the Fatimids and his courtiers were enraged by this decision. They had chosen me to be the vizir because they thought me weak and unprepossessing. Now they realised that power was slipping away from their hands. The Caliph al-Adid was a weakling, manipulated by eunuchs. One of these creatures, a Nubian named Nejeh, with a complexion as black as his heart, was a particular favourite of al-Adid. It was Nejeh who supplied his master with both opium and false reports.
The Caliph had harboured ambitions of becoming the vizir himself, but had felt it would be easier to retain power in the court by acting through me. The spies put in place by al-Fadil reported one evening that the Nubian eunuch Nejeh had sent a secret messenger to the Franj. The Caliph pleaded with them to attack Cairo as a feint. He knew I would ride out and give battle to the occupiers. Then, once I was fully distracted, Nejeh and his Nubians would thrust their daggers in our back.
On the advice of al-Fadil, I decided that Nejeh had to be dispatched as soon as possible. It was difficult to do this while he was in the palace without provoking a full-scale war. You must realise that tens of thousands of Nubians followed Nejeh as if he were a god. But we discovered that he had a male lover. He used to meet him regularly at a country house far from the palace. We waited for the right moment, and then, when the time had come, both Nejeh and his lover were consigned to hell.
My father had taught me that two armies under two different commands can never coexist for long. Sooner or later, Allah willing, one or the other must triumph. What was taking place in Cairo in these months was a struggle to achieve absolute power. I told the Caliph of the Fatimids that his men had established contact with the enemies of our Prophet. I told him that the eunuch Nejeh had been captured and executed. I told him that my Sultan Nur al-Din wanted Friday prayers in al-Azhar to be offered in the name of the only true Caliph, the one who lived in Baghdad.
On hearing these words, the pathetic boy began to tremble and shake. Fear had paralysed his tongue. He spoke not a word. I did not tell him that Nur al-Din wanted me to get rid of him without further delay.
The next morning, the Nubians came out on the Beyn al-Kaisreyn. Armed from head to foot, with their sharp scimitars glistening in the sun, they began to taunt my soldiers. We had many black soldiers in our army, but these Nubian brutes shouted insults in our direction. My father advised me to show no mercy to these devils. As they saw me, riding out to confront them, their ranks began to heave with hatred and a chant reached my ears:
“All white men are pieces of fat and all black men are burning coal.”
My archers were ready to shoot, but first I sent the Nubians a message. If all white men were pieces of fat, I inquired, how come that Nejeh had been plotting treachery with the Franj? In the sight of Allah we are all equal. Surrender and give up your arms, or be crushed forever. One of the rebels struck my messenger on the face with a sword. Blood had been spilled and we gave battle.
The fighting lasted for two whole days, and the Nubians burnt streets and houses to slow our advance. On the third day it was clear that Allah had granted us another victory. When we burnt al-Mansuriya, the quarter in which most of the Nubians lived, they realised that further resistance would be foolish. It was a costly victory, Ibn Yakub, but the prize was worth every life we lost, for now Misr was under our sole control.
All our emirs wanted to topple the Caliph of the Fatimids and declare our immediate loyalty to the rightful Caliph in Baghdad. I sympathised with the emirs, but, in private, I consulted my father. His sense of caution advised against further bloodshed. He reminded me that it was the Caliph al-Adid who had placed the vizir’s turban on my head. His motives may have been dishonourable, but it would be a greater dishonour to our clan to act ungenerously. I was not entirely convinced by his line of argument. I pressed my father further and finally, after making sure that no eavesdroppers had been stationed outside the chamber, he whispered in my ear:
“This wretched Caliph will help keep Nur al-Din at bay. Destroy the Caliph and you become the Sultan. What will Nur al-Din, the Sultan of Damascus and of Aleppo, think if you made such a leap? I know him well. He would ask himself: how is it that one of my youngest emirs, a jumped-up Kurd from the mountains, a boy whose uncle and father are my retainers, how come, he would ask, how come this upstart has arrogated to himself the position of Sultan without offering it to me first? Be patient, son. Time favours you. Now is the time to consolidate our power. Your brothers and cousins must be placed in all the vital positions of the state. So that when the Caliph of the Fatimids one day takes so much opium that he can only sleep the sleep that knows no waking, at that time we must make sure that the succession is smoothly handled.”
“What succession?”
“Yours. The minute he dies, you will abolish this Caliphate, you will announce from the pulpit at al-Azhar that henceforth there is only one Caliph and he sits in Baghdad. All prayers are offered in his name and you, Salah al-Din, are his Sultan.”
My father, may he rest in peace, was an inspired adviser. He was proved correct once again. The Caliph fell ill and I immediately instructed the Kadi to change the prayers. From that day on, the prayers were said in our city in the name of the only true Caliph. When the news reached Baghdad, there was great rejoicing. I received from the Caliph a ceremonial sword and the black Abbasid flag. It was a great honour.