Once Timur had stood up, propping his leg on a gold box, he gave everyone a piercing stare and identified someone behind them hiding by a tent pole. He shouted at him what sounded like angry orders. The translator came over to Timur: “The great leader orders the man hiding to eat.” The man in question let out a cry that shook the whole tent and followed it with a ringing retort, “Tell him I will not eat.” Everyone turned round in amazement and discovered that the man in question was none other than the shaykh of the poor, with his simple face, piercing eyes, and proverbial skinniness. He started countering Timur’s threats by reciting, “As a Muslim I care not when I am to be killed; in whatever quarter my death belongs to God alone.” Everyone was now convinced that the shaykh was going to die for sure. However, Timur rapidly calmed down and launched into a succession of phrases, punctuated by gestures and grimaces that swung from fiery expatiation to sarcastic rebuke. Once finished he sat down on his chair again.
“Praise be to Him, to other than Whom no praise is due!” began the translator. “He gives authority to whomever He wills and grants victory likewise. I have left your poor shaykh to his own devices; he can go where we wills. He is full of stuff and nonsense. Do you know why I spare such indigents my punishment? It is because the strand that connects him with life is thinner than a spider’s web; such people care for survival not a jot. This shaykh who clings to my tent pole is one such person; indeed among their number he counts as one of the most stubborn and rigid. What’s the point of cutting him in two when he’s already like liquid or quicksilver? No, no! Spare me the world’s hermits and all others who are weak in body or provision. Spare not just them but all others whose necks my swords wish to shun. Rather, give me sultans and grandees who rebel, people I encounter as foes during campaigns. I set my ravens on their heads before they are executed and force them to commit themselves to bloody conflict. The Circassian Faraj ibn Barquq is so afraid I might make him taste my punishment that he has run away. And you can pass on a message to his commander in the Damascus citadeclass="underline" I will invade his domain like a roaring flood and crash of lightning and destroy this heretic’s citadel just as I did previously to others. I intend to pulverize him in revenge for his stubbornness and arrogance and as a lesson to he learned by all such upstarts who choose to hoard silver and gold for themselves. That lesson is that their time is up. They can say farewell to all pomp and splendor and wash their hands of life itself.
“O ye who believe, obey God and those in authority among you—God the Mighty, the Wise has spoken truly. Obedience to me is a solemn obligation on all those whom I have conquered. I am what is ordained to be good; anything other than me is the opposite. This is the age of the Mongols, descended from the Chagatai, and no others. My rule is established in canon law and reinforced by the readings of astrologers in the heavenly firmament. Your own colleague, Ibn Khaldun, has confirmed these facts and confirmed for mc what I know and all of you do as well. God preserve you all!
“Judges, if I have been sent to renew obedience to God through obedience to me, then why do people insist on defying me?
“Is the one who has invaded kingdoms and cities to be resisted?
“Is the one who has subdued peoples and communities to be resisted?
“Is the one who has bridled kings and sultans and brought down crowns and thrones to be resisted?
“The Mamluk Faraj and his army should have strewn my path with roses and jasmine. They should have thrown rice at me and sprayed me with perfume and rose water. They should have greeted me with dates and milk, with kisses and embraces. But instead, that manumitted slave has chosen the path of arrogance and loathing. When he came out to meet me with his army, we crushed them and sent them reeling backward; their deeds were like a mirage in a depression which the thirsty man imagines to be water—God the Devout, the Almighty has spoken truly.
“Verily it is our dead alone who are genuine martyrs.
“O God, make our martyrs dwell in Paradise!
“O God, shower them with the abundant rains of mercy and forgiveness!
“O God, prolong the life of our great lord, Timur, sustained by God!
“O God, strengthen his steps and grant him victory over the Mamluks and all other rebels! Amen! Praise be to God, the Lord of humanity!”
The judges all shifted in their places and took a deep breath. They felt as though they had just emerged from a trying examination, one in which they were supposed to don the armor of partiality and dissimulation, lift their hands in supplication, and go along with the prayers of the translator jurist, Ibn al-Nu‘man, wherever they happened to lead. Burhan al-Din leaned over and spoke to ‘Abd al-Rahman. “I notice,” he said, “that, like me, you are eager to challenge certain details of what was just said. Maybe you noticed, as I did, that the translator added certain ideas of his own to the original. But in the present situation it’s much too risky to say anything. So just pray to God that the tyrant’s path will be removed from us.”
By now the Mongols’ shouting outside the tent had reached some sort of climax. Timur looked as though he were riding in a boat on top of it all, almost drunk from an excess of pride and delight. Then all of a sudden, with a single gesture of his hand, an abrupt and scary silence fell over everyone. After another gesture, he was put on a sedan-chair and carried away to his harem quarters. His official, Shah Malik, asked the judges to go back to Bab al-Jabiya ahead of the Great Khan and await his arrival there in the evening.
It was noon. Heat, indigestion, the mob of uncouth soldiery in the Mongol camp, Timur’s explicit refusal to confirm his safe-conduct document, all these things served to make the judges feel almost giddy. They certainly did not feel like talking. As a result, each of them rushed back to his own house, hoping to get some rest before the appointed rendezvous with Timur on this nineteenth day in Jumada al-Akhira in 903.
Next to Manjak’s tomb, close by Bab al-Jabiya, the air over Damascus began to reverberate to the beating of drums and the clarion calls of horns and bugles. The people in the city were thus notified of Timur’s arrival at the city gates and his army’s imminent entry into the city itself. The overwhelming atmosphere was one of fear and trepidation, something that was in no way mitigated either by the soothing sentiments of speeches and sermons or by talk of Timur’s safe-conduct agreement. Most people were instinctively aware that the Mongols could not simply abandon their normally aggressive behavior at the threshold of Damascus and spare the surrendering city from their normal ravage and rapine. On the other hand, they also realized that any resistance coming from the Citadel was both an expression of ultimate despair and a gesture with death as a certain consequence. All people could do was to recite the prayer for mercy and then pray that the Mongol hurricane would not totally destroy the city along with all its people and produce.
Spurred by curiosity and a desire to witness the event for themselves, the people of Damascus gathered in the spot where Timur and his retinue were supposed to appear. At their head were the city’s judges and dignitaries, decked in all the garb of pomp and respect. They felt bolstered by Burhan al-Din’s slogan: “We are handing over the keys to the city, but not to our souls.” The strident music still managed to scare people. All the while Timur sat in his pavilion, accepting greetings from those coming to see him and gesturing to them to take a seat. Once the gathering was assembled, a sudden silence fell over the proceedings. Shah Malik then demanded that the chief judge, the Hanafi Mahmud Ibn al-’Izz, appear before Timur. He then showed the judge a huge box filled with keys and conveyed to him the command that the symbols of the surrender of Damascus be placed inside the Mongol invader’s box. At this crucial point in the ceremony, Burhan al-Din ibn Muflih stepped forward and bowed to Timur. Out of his sleeve he took a piece of paper and proceeded to read out loud so that everyone in the pavilion could hear. “Those pages also contain our keys,” he said, “keys symbolizing our demand for a guarantee of safety. They contain the guarantee signed by the Great Khan, shepherd of Muslim souls, guardian of their womenfolk and possessions, Timur ibn Chagatai, the righteous, the upright.” Judge Ibn Muflih then repeated his statement in Turkish (close to the Mongol’s own tongue). Timur had not been expecting any of the judges to be so bold as to make such an impromptu statement in public, but even so he managed to keep his anger under control. He glowered at Burhan al-Din, then guffawed as he looked toward the rest of assembled company before gesturing to the judges to depart. As they left, Ibn al-Nu‘man reminded them that from now on they would be obliged to deliver the sermon on Fridays and feast days in the name of the Great Khan, Timur the Magnificent. Ibn Khaldun was ordered to stay behind along with the notables of Damascus society so that they could discuss cutting off the water supply to the Citadel as a means of bringing about its surrender. Argument on the topic was long and inconclusive since there were various opinions on the subject of cutting off the water. Eventually Timur accepted a proposal from the translator that within two days the notables prepare a plan they could all accept and submit it to him. With that he allowed everyone to leave.