Tree of Pearls, Queen of Egypt Read online

  fi lled the room. When Rukn al-Din’s eyes fell upon her, he regretted even more

  having obeyed her summons, for he saw that a trap had indeed been laid for him.

  Rukn al-Din and Sallafa

  sallafa received him warmly. “I fear I have disturbed your rest, brave

  Prince.”

  “By no means, my Lady. I am pleased at an opportunity by which I may per-

  haps have the occasion to render you some small service.”

  She extended her hand in greeting, and Rukn al-Din took it in his. Her fi n-

  gers, which were cold as ice to his touch, made him shiver slightly. She led him by the hand to a seat in the very center of the candlelit room and gracefully arranged herself on a pile of cushions by his side. Once thus installed, she gazed at him in silence. Rukn al-Din politely waited for her to refer to the urgent subject that had caused her to summon him at this late hour, but she showed no signs of doing so

  and he was forced to speak again. “I have come at your command, my Lady, and

  would know if I may be of some service to you.”

  “On the contrary, it is I who place myself at your disposal, Rukn al-Din,”

  she fi nally replied. “You have been perchance unaware of my existence until this very night. I, on the other hand, have followed your every step for years now from afar.” Her eyes glittered and the glow that suff used her cheeks as she said this made her ravishing features even more comely.

  Th

  is opening sally did not bode well for Rukn al-Din, for he was in no mood

  for fl irtation, and particularly on this of all nights, when his mind was occupied with much graver matters. He had heard tell of this woman’s great beauty, and

  occasional news of her doings had reached him in Al-Salih’s lifetime but he had

  paid them no heed. Moreover, his knowledge of her most recent intrigues dis-

  posed him to treat this pleasantry with the utmost caution. He lowered his eyes.

  “You are too kind, my Lady. I have heard of the noble rank you occupied in the

  Good King’s esteem, but circumstances were never such as to permit a mutual

  acquaintance.”

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  Sallafa smiled. “I, however, have come to know you quite well, my Lord. I

  have oft en watched your comings and goings at the Garden Palace. I used to

  stay up late of a night and await your passage through the courtyard so that I

  might catch a glimpse of you through the curtains,” she added as she gazed at

  him intently.

  “I am honored, my Lady, and I am indeed sorry for having been ignorant of it.”

  “You are no longer ignorant of it,” she whispered hotly. “I beg you to indulge

  my boldness, Rukn al-Din, and to refrain from judging me too severely.”

  He blinked at this clear hint and once again he sorely repented having come.

  “I beg your pardon, my Lady. I did not expect to hear such words, knowing as I do that our Lord Regent ‘Izz al-Din oft en visits this place, and is, moreover, its master.”

  Sallafa sighed. “Your Lord does not deserve his good fortune. But of what

  concern is he to us? Let us speak no more of him.”

  Here was the trap that Rukn al-Din suspected! He resolved to refuse her

  advances and to extricate himself from the audience as quickly as possible. “Is

  this why you have summoned me tonight, Sallafa?”

  Her languishing eyes spoke eloquently. “And is this such an insignifi cant

  matter in your opinion, my love?”

  He stood up and fi rmly replied, “Far from it, my Lady, but I must beg your

  indulgence, for I am sorely occupied at present.”

  Sallafa rose to bar his way. “What can distract you from the love I off er you?”

  she demanded. “She who once claimed your interest is no more, cruel-hearted

  Prince! Baghdad is a long way away.”

  Th

  is malevolent allusion to Shwaykar repelled him all the more. “I must

  nonetheless beg your leave to withdraw, my Lady.”

  She seized both his hands in her own. “Tread carefully, Rukn al-Din, and

  do not rush to refuse me. Open your eyes! Know that Sallafa alone is capable of

  fulfi lling your desires. What good can a mere songstress be to you? You are in

  need of a woman who shall clasp your hand and carefully nurture the fi re of your ambitions until the time is ripe to enthrone them.”

  “By God, my Lady, allow me to withdraw, for pressing matters call me away.”

  “Do not attempt to deceive me, Prince. I am well informed of your aff airs.

  Forget Shwaykar! You shall never fi nd her!”

  At these words, Rukn al-Din angrily withdrew his hands from her fi erce

  clasp. “And what has she to do with you?” he demanded.

  ru k n a l-di n a n d sa l l a fa | 

  “Is she not my rival for your aff ections? But she is far off now. Let us speak of her no more.”

  “She shall be close by soon enough, God willing!”

  “Whoever has told you so lies,” Sallafa laughed. “Shwaykar is lost! I have

  warned you, and you would do well to take heed.”

  He shuddered at these words and stared, speechless, at the formidable woman

  who stood before him. Was she somehow responsible for Shwaykar’s abduction?

  Th

  e letter that had arrived from her that very evening only added to his growing

  suspicions. He slowly resumed his seat and invited Sallafa to join him. “My Lady,”

  he solemnly entreated, “I beg you to listen closely to what I shall say. I have oft en heard tell of the great esteem in which you are held in the palaces of the Commander of the Faithful at Baghdad. I therefore wish you to aid me in a matter of great import to me in those quarters.”

  “I am at your service, brave Prince,” she replied. “I do not deny my infl uence

  with the Caliph. Perchance you are aware that it was I who engineered the recent coup d’état in Egypt.”

  Rukn al-Din indeed believed that she was capable of wonders. He was none-

  theless taken aback by this naked admission, and he realized that in so openly

  speaking she off ered him the chance to reach for the throne in his turn. He could not bring himself to trust her, however, and moreover, his sole concern for the

  moment was to rescue Shwaykar from the great peril that threatened her.

  “I thank you profoundly for the great favor you show me, my Lady. I do not

  doubt the truth of what you say, and should I one day dare to engage in politics, I am convinced that your aid and advice will be invaluable to me. But I now

  beseech you to assist me in one matter alone. Shall you grant me this boon?”

  “I shall do so with pleasure,” Sallafa replied complacently.

  “Shwaykar . . . I would have her returned from Baghdad.”

  Sallafa’s smile turned to a deep frown and she glared at him. “You are not a

  judicious prince, I see. Do you yet hope to recover your poor songstress aft er all I have said? She is not at Baghdad!”

  “Where is she to be found then?” he persisted. “Surely not in Egypt?”

  “Neither is she in Egypt,” Sallafa replied. “She is gone forever!”

  Rukn al-Din started violently at this terrible declaration.

  “She shall never be returned to you,” Sallafa continued. “I shall never allow

  such a thing to happen. It was I who fl ung her to her fate in the fi rst place!”

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  Rukn al-Din’s suspicions were now confi rmed by this frank admission. “You

  caused her to be sent to Baghdad? But she has
never harmed you. You are her

  superior in every way and she can never compete with you for the favor of kings

  and princes.”

  Sallafa rose and pointed at him. “And what of you, Rukn al-Din? Does she

  not yet prevent me from gaining your love?” She sobbed with the bitter force of

  her frustrated passion.

  Rukn al-Din could not bring himself to believe in the sincerity of this wild

  declaration. He suspected that she wished to use Shwaykar as a bargaining chip

  in the execution of some purpose known only to herself. “By God, Sallafa, do not continue to torment me. If you wish me to serve you in some way, then speak,

  and I shall do so from the bottom of my heart. But I only ask that you help me to bring back Shwaykar.”

  She glared at him fi ercely. “Woe is me! How you test me, man! I throw myself

  at your feet and unburden my heart to you but your ears remain shut fast! Do

  you not know that the greatest of your princes aspires to the merest token of my favor?” She fell silent, for tears threatened to overcome her, and she turned her face away from him in shame.

  Rukn al-Din took pity on her. “I am honored by your solicitousness and I

  thank you for it sincerely, Sallafa. But I must persist in begging this service of you.”

  “I would do anything for you but this,” she replied. “I could easily make

  you Sultan of all of Egypt, but I cannot bring back the girl. Do you still not

  understand?”

  Rukn al-Din was overcome by confusion. Sallafa’s passionate confession and

  her frank off er troubled him deeply, and he was suddenly tempted to let go of his scruples and join forces with her. He was an ambitious young man, as we have

  already pointed out, and it would have been quite natural for him to submit to

  Sallafa and be guided by her towards the greatest prize of all. But her cruel ani-mosity towards Shwaykar spoke to his honor and provoked his manly loyalty. He

  now knew himself to be the cause of her predicament, and he could not bring

  himself to sacrifi ce her to his ambition and to consort with her worst enemy.

  Sallafa watched him closely as he sat thinking. Her hungry eyes followed his

  every expression as though she would devour him whole. Rukn al-Din keenly felt

  the diffi

  culty of his present position. He was confounded by the confl icting infl u-

  ences that competed for mastery of his will, and he sorely needed a small delay

  ru k n a l-di n a n d sa l l a fa | 

  in which to rest and to mull over his course of action. He therefore resolved to postpone the discussion to a more opportune time.

  He accordingly rose and smiled courteously at Sallafa, though his eyes

  bespoke the turbulence of his thoughts. “I thank my Lady for her high opinion of me—an opinion which I surely do not deserve—and I beg leave to withdraw from

  her presence.” He bowed and awaited her accord, but Sallafa only turned her back upon him and refused to speak. Baffl

  ed by this obstinacy, he took a step towards

  her. “By God, my Lady, permit me to leave instantly, for I am greatly fatigued and have need of rest,” he pleaded.

  “How wretched is my lot!” she fi nally cried. “I complain to you of my passion

  and you complain to me of your lack of sleep. A poignant token of the fi res of

  love!” She had moved a few steps away from him as she said this. Now she turned

  back and pierced him with a contemptuous look. “Go in God’s keeping,” she said.

  “Go to your bed, oh Prince, and do not suppose that my disappointment tonight

  shall be without consequences,” and with that, she rushed out of the room.

  The Departure

  rukn al-din breathed a sigh of relief as he hurried to quit the oppressive man-

  sion. On the way back to the Citadel, he reviewed all that had passed between

  him and Sallafa on this inauspicious evening. Now that he had met her in per-

  son, he well understood her legendary reputation at court, and he was forced

  to admit that he was not a little in awe of her. Moreover, he greatly feared for Shwaykar on her account, and he realized that his betrothed’s perilous situation had now become even more dangerous. Sallafa would surely seek to infl ict yet

  greater harm on the defenseless girl. Perhaps she would even go so far as to. . . .

  Rukn al-Din dared not complete the thought that had half-formed in his mind. A

  shiver went through his body and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  He now began to regret having so undiplomatically rebuff ed Sallafa’s advances.

  What harm would it have done to play along with her, until he had managed to

  bring Shwaykar back to safety?

  He entered the gates of the Citadel and gained his rooms. Th

  e servant let him

  in, silently lit the lamps, and withdrew. Rukn al-Din wearily began to undress.

  Th

  en his eyes fell upon Shwaykar’s open letter. He snatched it up and re-read

  it eagerly. Th

  is second reading aff ected him even more powerfully than the fi rst,

  and he was overcome with deep compassion for her. He would not rest until he

  had found her, and he resolved to travel to Baghdad in person, for Sallafa’s threats were deadly and no one but him could be trusted to undertake such an uncertain

  mission.

  Th

  e call to dawn prayers sounded and he retreated to his bed seeking much-

  needed rest, but the piteous image of Shwaykar fi lled his dreams and disturbed

  his sleep.

  Th

  e next morning, the messenger arrived seeking the promised reply to her

  letter. Rukn al-Din received him warmly and questioned him about the journey

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  to Baghdad. He had travelled to that city only once in his life, but was nonetheless familiar with its principal streets and quarters. He gave the letter for Shwaykar to the messenger and rewarded him generously in parting.

  “Do you then intend to travel to Baghdad, my Lord?” the messenger inquired.

  “God willing, my good man,” he replied, and dismissed him aft er having fi rst

  ascertained the place in which he should fi nd him in the imperial city, should he have need of his services.

  As for Sallafa, she was furious at Rukn al-Din’s vacillation, for she desired

  him with all her heart, and she had supposed that her confession would be

  enough to make him her prisoner.

  She had long sought an opportunity to declare her passion. She had marked

  how Tree of Pearls had deft ly drawn him into her nets, once crowned Queen, and

  she had hated her all the more for it. She had also heard news of his engagement to Shwaykar. Her letter to Baghdad had thus been meant to kill two birds with

  one stone. News from Baghdad came to her regularly, and that very morning

  she too had been informed of Shwaykar’s abduction. She armed herself with this

  news and waited to confront Rukn al-Din with it, for she was determined that

  he should give up all hope of ever seeing the girl again. She had expected that he would eagerly respond to her advances, and had fl attered herself that he would

  soon belong to her alone. She had set her heart on serving him and seeing him

  crowned Sultan of Egypt, with herself at his side, but she had been sorely dis-

  appointed. All her plans had succeeded except for this one vital thing. She had

  failed utterly to ensnare al-Din in her nets. Now her love slowly turned to hate, and she resolved to oppose him tooth and nail if he did not come to his senses
<
br />   and attempt to conciliate her.

  And now let us take leave of these Egyptian intrigues for the time being and

  move our story to Baghdad, Capital of the Abbasid Caliphs.

  Baghdad

  baghdad had reached the zenith of its architectural glory in the days of

  Al-Ma’mun. Its numerous buildings and gardens extended over a vast area the

  size of which was estimated to be 53,750 juribs; 26,750 to the east and 27,000

  to the west (a jurib being the equivalent of 3,600 square cubits, and its propor-tional relation to the feddan, about 100 to 333). Th

  e total area of Baghdad was

  thus about 16,000 feddans—a very large size indeed. We are told that the Abba-

  sid capital was an agglomeration of contiguous towns: forty in all, according to the imperial chronicler Al-Khatib the Baghdadi, who, wishing to give an idea of

  the city’s architectural splendor, states the following in his History: “In the days of Al-Ma’mun, Baghdad’s public baths numbered 65,000. At least fi ve persons

  were employed in each of these baths: a bath-attendant, a caretaker, a janitor, an oven-stoker and a water-carrier, making in all 300,000 souls. It is said that fi ve mosques adjoined each one of these baths, a number totaling 300,000 mosques.

  Each mosque in turn employed at least fi ve persons, making 1,500,000 employees

  in all.” While these fi gures are no doubt exaggerated, they do give us some sense of the size of Baghdad at the time.

  Th

  e famous traveler Al-Astakhri described it as he had himself seen it in

  the eleventh century: “Th

  e imperial palaces and gardens occupy two farsakhs

  between Baghdad and Nahrabin, so that they extend from Nahrabin to the

  banks of the Tigris. Th

  e city rises above the imperial complex about fi ve miles

  to the north on the shores of this great river. Shamsiyya stands opposite Har-

  biyya in the western part of the city and descends towards the Tigris, to the

  extremities of Karkh. Between Baghdad and Kufa (or between the Tigris and

  the Euphrates) lies a vast and monotonous area of arable land intersected by

  tributaries of the Euphrates.” Th

  e author then counts the tributaries that run

  from the Euphrates to the Tigris.

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