The Hanbali judge, Shams al-Din, stood up. “Ibn al-Nu‘man.” he said, “everything you’ve just said is contrary to both canon law and logic. In any case, you can inform the Great Khan that we intend to curse him in mosques and homes and entrust his fate to God the One, the Powerful.”
“My dear Judge,” Ibn al-Nu‘man replied, “such are your threats that I pity you and fear for your life and that of your colleagues. I certainly have no intention of translating it for the Great Khan. Fear God for your own sakes and show some forbearance.”
The judges left the office and palace as quickly as possible. ‘Abd al-Rahman stayed behind, anxious for some information about his friend, Burhan al-Din ibn Muflih.
“Your colleague Ibn Muflih’s words really annoyed Timur,” Ibn al-Nu‘man replied. “He defied his troops and then refused to pay the full amount of tax. The khan ordered him kept in preventive detention in a safe place. But have no fear. He’s in no danger as long as I’m with him. Now do you understand why I agreed with Shah Malik’s opinion about not letting the judges have an audience with Timur?”
‘Abd al-Rahman now headed for the Umawi mosque to see for himself exactly what had been destroyed. Inside people were putting out the last of the fires and removing the piles of ashes and refuse from the damaged cloisters and arcades. They all looked stunned, and their constant movement did nothing to hide their feelings. Once in a while one of them would ask out loud, “How can anyone who sets God’s own houses on fire face his God?”
The historian sat down for a moment to contemplate the idea of Timur on the Day of Judgment. He envisaged him stating that he had not deliberately set fire to the Umawi mosque. It was just that the people who started the fire had no idea where it would end. ‘Abd al-Rahman stood in a corner of the great mosque where strands of smoke were still drifting from time to time and prayed for a long time. He then returned to his house.
How to escape Timur’s clutches? The question kept preying on ‘Abd al-Rahman’s mind; a tricky theoretical issue, since experience had long since taught him that only an absolute miracle could liberate anyone who becomes part of Timur’s coterie. It was a habit of the khan to take scholars and trained professionals with him on his campaigns so he could use them in his favorite cities. He would also bring religious scholars along to enliven his councils and soirees with their learned discussion and banter. For his part, ‘Abd al-Rahman, who had only joined Sultan Faraj’s trip to Damascus with some reluctance, was now of an age when he no longer looked forward to the excitement of long journeys, even if it involved a journey all the way to Samarqand amid enormous pomp and respect. His exclusive and only desire was to return to Cairo so he could spend time with his family, friends, and books. But how could he express such a desire to Timur and get him to appreciate how strong his feelings really were?
He realized that a direct approach would not work; indeed it might well work to the disadvantage of both his own person and his goal. The only hope lay in a more indirect approach and some type of circumlocution, using all the devices of figurative language, simile, and allusion. Combined with all the necessary linguistic safeguards and rhetorical flourishes such methods might achieve the desired effect.
In his quest for means of escape, ‘Abd al-Rahman decided to lay the groundwork for his flowery presentation by proffering some symbolic gifts to the Great Khan: a lavishly decorated copy of the Qur’an, a superb carpet, and a copy of al-Busiri’s famous poem, The Mantle Ode, along with some boxes of Egypt’s famous sweetmeats. As he walked through the book markets, he became aware of the extent to which taxes imposed by the Mongols had destroyed the livelihood of so many merchants. “Their stomachs are bottomless,” one of them told him. “Every time I feed them, they ask for more.” “We’ve become their slaves in chains,” another said. “We starve so they can eat. We suffer so they can have a good time.” As ‘Abd al-Rahman listened to complaints like these, all he could do was to recommend patience and promise that the calamity would eventually come to an end.
“My life proceeds through God’s blessings. O God, let the paces of this faithful mule be enveloped in a process of release and rescue. O God, endow me with Your kindness. O Merciful and Compassionate One, clear the path before me and do not make things difficult!”
In the grand arcade of al-Ablaq Palace, ‘Abd al-Rahman presented his gifts to Timur. He watched as the Great Khan got up from his chair and put the Qur’an in front of him. He then sat on the carpet and looked pleased with it. When ‘Abd al-Rahman presented the copy of The Mantle Ode, he asked the translator to give the khan a few details about the work and its author. Lastly, he himself ate some of the sweetmeats to convince his host that they were safe to eat, whereupon Timur took some and swallowed them. He then gave ‘Abd al-Rahman an inquisitive stare.
“Where’s the report on the Maghrib, Wali al-Din?” the translator hastened to ask, putting the khan’s expression into words. “Where’s the report?”
“The report? Oh my!” replied ‘Abd al-Rahman in some confusion. “However forgetful can one be. . the report, yes indeed, the report. It is only the Devil who has made me forget to remember it. Here it is, straight from the warm inside of my burnous to the hand of the Great Khan.”
Timur put the pile of paper on top of his hand as though weighing it. “Khub, khub,” he commented in a desultory fashion. He then addressed some remarks to the translator, the gist of which was that the text should be translated into Mongolian. ‘Abd al-Rahman took a deep breath and waited for the appropriate point at which to say what was really on his mind. The senior officials in attendance were sitting by the door to the arcade, reacting to their leader’s comments with gestures of support and approval. As they all watched, bleary-eyed, Timur, his mouth full of sweetmeats, started to make a speech involving much groaning, along with raising and lowering of his voice. Once finished, he ordered the grandees and commanders to leave. He then instructed the chamberlain to bring in two sturdy boys to meet the great scholar, Ibn Khaldun. The historian was told that these were Timur’s sons, Miran Shah and Shah Rukh. They greeted him, then left.
When ‘Abd al-Rahman made it clear that he was anxious to understand what Timur had said, Ibn al-Nu‘man leaned over and translated for him: “What the Great Khan said with his voice lowered was that he was very upset to hear about the outrages to which Damascus and its citadel had been exposed. He was particularly saddened to hear about the fire that had destroyed part of the Umawi mosque. How could he not be affected when he had specifically recorded in his memoirs: Ί have made a great effort to avoid pillage and excessive force, because such deeds only cause famine and various other disasters that can wipe out entire races.’ But what was he supposed to do when his specific instructions to his army to take a gentle approach were not always obeyed in the heat of the battle and the ravages that followed? If he forced his army generals to restrain their soldiers and forbid them taking spoils as the result of fierce battles in which they had risked life and limb, they might well cause him a lot of trouble. These were the rules of warfare; nothing could either prevent or change them. When the khan spoke out loud, it was to say that the Syrians had deserved the treatment they received at the hands of the Mongol army as punishment for the crimes they and the Umawis had committed against ‘Ali and his two sons — may God sanctify their spirits.”