“Nothing that happens in this palace is secret. Within a few hours the stories reach the harem, and rumours travel swiftly from there to the city. If it became known that you were part of the innermost councils of the state, your life might be in danger. That is the reason. However, tonight’s meeting is completely unplanned. So tonight you can sit at a distance, observe and take notes, but it will not be al-Fadil who checks them for accuracy but Imad al-Din. He will remember everything.”
I bowed to show my gratitude as I left the chamber. I was pleased that I had found the courage to challenge his decision and, for some unfathomable reason, this tiny victory gave me a gigantic amount of pleasure. Outside I met Shadhi and informed him of the Sultan’s directives. He summoned a messenger to inform the three men that they had to return to the palace without further delay. Then he turned to me.
“And what make you of our great scholar, the noble Imad al-Din?”
“I think highly of him, but perhaps not as highly as he thinks of himself.”
Shadhi laughed.
“That son of a whore, al-Wahrani, has written a new song about him and his lover.”
“Who is his lover?”
“That pretty boy with curly hair. The singer. You know who I mean? I think his name is al-Murtada. Yes, that is his name. Anyway, the song goes like this:
“Our great scholar Imad al-Din knows
that his favourite text is al-Murtada,
but without any clothes.
They fornicate like dogs, each one on all fours,
And drink wine from the navels of slave-girls and whores.”
Even as we were enjoying the joke, Imad al-Din walked past us in animated conversation with the Kadi al-Fadil. The sight of him sobered me immediately, but Shadhi was by now completely out of control. He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. I left him in that state as I followed the two men back to the Sultan’s chamber. Behind him I heard the gentle tread of the trusted Qara Kush. I waited for him to catch up, and we walked together to the Sultan’s chamber.
The discussion had clearly been taking place for several days. The main issue to be decided was the Sultan’s departure for Damascus. It was felt that since Cairo and the rest of the country was stable, now was the time for the Sultan to return to Damascus, where there were serious problems which needed attention.
Imad al-Din reported that Salah al-Din’s nephew in charge of Damascus, Farrukh Shah, was not a good administrator. His tastes were lavish, he refused to consider the needs of the jihad as a whole, and made decisions that depleted the funds held by the treasury. Imad al-Din argued strongly for the court to shift from Cairo to Damascus.
Qara Kush resisted the move, but was unconvincing. Unable to give a single serious reason for his argument, he descended to merely singing the praises of the Sultan, arguing that without his serene and noble presence he was fearful that the country might degenerate.
Remarks of this nature irritated the Sultan. He admonished his steward in sharp tones, pointing out that the sole basis for any major decision was the answer to one simple question: would it bring closer the defeat of the enemy and the capture of al-Kuds? He refused to countenance any other criterion.
Then al-Fadil spoke. He explained that if the Sultan’s standard of judgement was to be the only one then the move to Damascus was unavoidable. Al-Kuds would not be taken using Cairo as the centre of operations. At the same time he expressed some worry as to what could happen here in the Sultan’s absence.
Salah al-Din let them speak for a while, before interrupting them with a gesture of the hand.
“I think the arguments for strengthening Damascus and the other cities of Sham are irrefutable. If we are to take al-Kuds, I must be sure that all my cities are in safe hands. We cannot trust either to luck or the hope that the Believers will not betray us. As I never cease telling our people, this has been the curse of our faith. We shall leave exactly ten days from now. You, Ibn Yakub, will come with us to Damascus, together with your wife and daughter, for Allah alone knows how long we shall be away.
“We shall return to Cairo after our tasks, Allah willing, are accomplished, and not before. I am fond of this city. There are good memories to treasure.
“Your job, Qara Kush, is to make sure that, by the time I return, the citadel will be finished. That is where I will stay. As you know, I am not greatly attached to these old palaces.”
Everyone present smiled, but Imad al-Din’s face clouded, and when he spoke there was a trace of anger in his voice.
“That you sleep best in citadels is known to all, O Sultan, but I must plead with you to keep Qara Kush under some control. He is busy selling all the books in the palace libraries. Some of the fools buying them are so ignorant that they purchase according to weight rather than content. I am aware that Qara Kush is contemptuous of learning, but what he has been selling is our heritage. We have the most complete collection on medicine and philosophy in the library of this palace alone and…”
Before he could finish, the Sultan interrupted him.
“Qara Kush! I do not like this. Will you please make sure that Imad al-Din is consulted before any more books are sold.”
Qara Kush nodded to acknowledge the instruction.
“One more thing. Bertrand of Toulouse has expressed a desire to return to his country. He will help us from there, and keep us informed on the movements of the Franj leaders. I want him given a safe-conduct and an escort on a merchant ship. Give him everything he needs. Will you see to this yourself, al-Fadil? I want this knight to return safely to his family.”
The Kadi acknowledged the order, and Salah al-Din clapped his hands. Three attendants, familiar faces to me since they were permanently positioned outside the Sultan’s chamber, entered and prepared the table. They served us a frugal meal, whose contents I had inwardly predicted. As I had suspected it was bread and three varieties of bean stew. No concessions were made to the presence of Imad al-Din, whose tastes in food were well known. His banquets consisted of several courses and always included a new dish that left his guests gasping in astonishment. I watched the face of our greatest living historian. It did not betray a single emotion. Like all of us, he followed the Sultan and dipped his bread in the stew. The Sultan looked at him.
“Does this humble meal meet with your approval, Imad al-Din?”
Answer there was none, but the great man touched his heart to convey his approval and gratitude. It was only as we left the chamber that I heard him whisper to al-Fadiclass="underline"
“One should only eat with Salah al-Din if afflicted with constipation and an urgent need to move the bowels.”
Seventeen
I arrive home unexpectedly to find Ibn Maymun fornicating with my wife
A CHAMBER HAD BEEN assigned to me at the palace and usually, after a late night, I did not bother to return home. It was well past the midnight hour and, had I not heard al-Fadil grumbling earlier that because of the Sultan’s meeting he had to cut short a consultation with Ibn Maymun, I would have stayed at the palace. Instead I began a brisk walk home. I had not seen Ibn Maymun for a long time, and I wanted him to be present when I told Rachel that we were all moving to Damascus.
As I reached the courtyard inside my house I was surprised to see the lamps still burning. Not wishing to wake either our guest or my family, I crept in quietly. Imagine my surprise when I entered the domed room to see Ibn Maymun lying flat on his back with his robe pulled above his stomach and covering his face while Rachel, my very own Rachel, sat astride him and kept moving up and down as if she were taking a leisurely morning ride on a tame pony. She was stark naked, her breasts moving in rhythm to the rest of her body. I stood paralysed. Anger, shame and fear combined to stun me. I was horrified. Could it be an apparition? A bad dream? Was I still asleep in my palace chamber?