And this is how we returned to the citadel in Damascus, from where I am writing these lines. I now have three large rooms at my disposal and am treated as a guest rather than a servant. The chamberlain visits me regularly to ensure that my needs are not ignored. He does so on the express instructions of his master. It is as if Salah al-Din has decided to reward my diligence over the years by ensuring that my last years are pleasurable and not lacking in comfort.
I see the Sultan every day. He talks often of his father and uncle, but the person he misses the most is our old friend, Shadhi, the Kurdish warrior who was also his uncle by blood and who never hesitated to speak the truth. Yesterday he reminded me of “Shadhi’s capacity to turn rhetoric into logic” and we both laughed, not as ruler and servant, but as two friends mourning the loss of something precious.
I worry about him a great deal, Ibn Maymun, and sincerely wish you could travel to this city and be his physician. He needs care. His face is lined and shows signs of real weariness. White hairs dominate his beard. Exertions tire him and he finds it difficult to sleep through the night. Could you recommend some herbal infusions?
Yesterday, after his afternoon rest and on a pure whim, he sent for Imad al-Din. The great man did not arrive till much later, long after we had finished our evening meal. He apologised for this, claiming that he had only been informed of the Sultan’s message half-an-hour ago. Salah al-Din smiled and did not challenge the falsehood. It is known everywhere that Imad al-Din avoids eating with the Sultan, because of the latter’s frugal taste in food.
“What did you eat tonight, Imad al-Din, and where?” asked the Sultan without a smile.
The secretary was shaken by this unexpected question. His drooping eyelids lifted and his entire posture became alert.
“It was a modest repast, O Commander of the Brave. A little grilled lamb, followed by one of my own recipes, quails cooked in curds from sheep’s milk and flavoured with salt and garlic. That’s all.”
We laughed, and he joined in. Then after an exchange of pleasantries the Sultan announced his wish to make the pilgrimage to Mecca and asked Imad al-Din to make the necessary plans. The secretary frowned.
“I would not recommend it at the moment. The Caliph is already envious of you. He knows the people love you. He will regard your visit to Mecca as an indirect challenge to his authority in Baghdad.”
“That is the talk of the insane, Imad al-Din,” the Sultan interrupted his chief adviser on protocol. “It is the duty of a Believer to visit Mecca once a year.”
“I am aware of this, Sultan,” replied the secretary, “but the Caliph might inquire why you have chosen this time for your first visit. He might even listen to evil tongues which gossip that you were once a sceptic and, as such, attached little importance to the rituals of our faith.”
“Do as I say, Imad al-Din,” came the stern reply. “I will visit Mecca before this year is out. Inform the Caliph of our intention and inquire politely whether we should stop and pay our respects to him on our way.”
Once this question was settled, Imad al-Din made as if to take his leave, but the Sultan indicated that he should stay.
“It is not often we have the pleasure of your presence these days, Imad al-Din. Tell me, have you found a new lover?”
It was not like Salah al-Din to be so intimate, and the secretary was surprised and a little flattered by the familiarity shown by his sovereign. He parried the question with a joke which amused neither the Sultan nor me. Frustrated by Imad al-Din’s excessive desire for secrecy, Salah al-Din became serious.
“I know you have studied the Christian faith closely, Imad al-Din. Is it not the case that the early Christians from whom the Copts claim their descent viewed icons and images with the same repugnance as ourselves? Here I include Ibn Yakub and the followers of Musa, whose faith, like ours, is built on a rejection of image-worship. How did it happen that the later Christians abandoned their early beliefs and began to worship icons? If it happened to them, could it not happen to us?”
For a moment Imad al-Din was buried deep in his own thoughts as he stroked his beard. Once he had composed a reply in his head, he began to speak slowly as if he were instructing a pupil.
“The early Christians were indeed deeply offended by the worship of images. They were, in the main, descended from the people of Musa and, as such, they carried within them many of the old Jewish precepts. They were also hostile to the Greeks. In fact some of the early Christians used to mock the pagans by arguing that if statues and images were capable of thought and feeling the only person they would love would be he who had created them.
“The change came three hundred years later when the pagans had been decisively defeated. The luminaries of the Church thought that images of Isa and the saints and relics such as the Cross could act as a bridge between them and a sceptical multitude which recalled the past with affection and whose memory was still infused with the more delightful aspects of pagan rituals. If the followers of Pythagoras could only be won over by images of Isa nailed to the cross, then the bishops were prepared to tolerate this departure from their own past.
“Reminded by newly converted pagans that their faith lacked an Athena, a Diana, a Venus, they set the minds of their new flock to rest by elevating Isa’s mother, Mary, into one of the most popular images of their religion. The figure of a mother was necessary for them, as they ruled over countries where goddesses had been worshipped for centuries. Our Prophet, may he rest in peace, was aware of this problem, but resisted the lures of Satan in this regard.
“The Sultan asks if we will go the same way. I think not. The purity of our faith is so closely tied to the worship of Allah and Allah alone, that to worship the image of anyone would not simply be profane, it would seriously challenge the authority of the Commander of the Faithful. After all, if power resided in a relic or an image, why bother to accept the power of a human being? I know what you’re thinking, O Commander of the Intelligent. The Pope in Rome? I thought as much, but as the years pass their faith will witness schisms and a challenge to the Pope’s authority. That is the logic of worshipping images.
“If we were to go in that direction our faith, unlike that of the Christians, would not be able to withstand the strain. It would collapse.”
The Sultan stroked his beard thoughtfully, but was unconvinced by Imad al-Din’s logic.
“The power of their Pope or our Caliph may well be challenged, Imad al-Din. That much I grant you, but where I disagree is your assumption that all this flows from the worship of images and icons. You have not proved your case, but the subject interests me nonetheless. Speak with the chamberlain and let us have a conference of scholars next week to discuss this matter further. I will detain you no longer. I am sure that somewhere in the heart of Damascus a beautiful young creature is waiting patiently for you to enter his bed.”
The secretary did not reply, but permitted himself a smile and kissed the Sultan’s cloak before he departed. It was not late, but Salah al-Din was tired. Two attendants, laden with sheets, soaps and oils, came to accompany him to the bath. He looked at me with a weak smile.
“Jamila will be angry I have kept you so long today. She is desperate to speak with you. Like me she has grown to value your friendship. Your presence reassures her. Better spend the day with her tomorrow.”
I bowed as he left, resting his arms on the shoulders of the attendants. Both of them were holding lamps in their right hands and as he walked out positioned delicately between them, the soft light shone on his face. For a moment it appeared as a light from another world. From paradise. He talks sometimes of the unexpected gifts bestowed on him by kind Fate and speaks of himself as a mere instrument of Allah. He is only too well aware of his mortality. He is not well, Ibn Maymun, and this makes me sad.