Tree of Pearls, Queen of Egypt Page 16

  Th

  is terrace was artfully appointed like a bower. It was roofed in latticed

  woodwork ornamented with an exquisite gold-leaf motif and strewn with pre-

  cious carpets woven with superb designs. Richly embroidered cushions lay every-

  where. On the table in the middle of the terrace were dishes fi lled with a lush array of fruits and sweets. Al-Musta‘sim reclined near the table on a raised couch. His

  

  a l-m usta‘si m | 

  elaborate dress was in the Turcoman style. He wore a fl owing, long-sleeved white garment embroidered with gold thread. On his head he wore a golden cap ringed

  with rich black fur of the kind only used by the Turkish kings. Al-Musta‘sim

  was of medium stature and dark-skinned, with a long shining beard. He was

  retiring, soft -spoken, and easy-mannered, but also timid and inexperienced in

  politics and in the business of Empire, and many were those who hoped to take

  advantage of him. Th

  e waters of the Tigris rippled gently before the terrace and

  rocked the boats moored to their marble pier that waited to receive the Caliph

  whenever he should so desire.

  At sight of the assembled company, Mu’ayyid al-Din’s heart misgave him

  and he regretted having come at this hour. He had no choice now but to greet the Caliph with the appropriate marks of deference. Al-Musta‘sim signaled for him

  to be seated on a cushion nearby. “Welcome to our energetic Minister!”

  Mu’ayyid al-Din returned the greeting politely. He turned to the men in

  attendance and saw none amongst them that merited either interest or esteem.

  Th

  ey were a coterie of the Caliph’s personal offi

  cers and dependents. Th

  e Pal-

  ace Steward and the Majordomo were two of these. Th

  is last offi

  cer was known

  as “the Friend.” He exercised great infl uence over the Caliph and his name was

  invoked and blessed immediately aft er that of the Caliph by Friday preachers

  in the mosques. Rarely did he appear in public, for he was almost constantly

  occupied with his vast management duties. Day and night, he watched over the

  obscure workings of palace life. Th

  e Palace of the Crown was home to a large

  number of women, seven hundred in all. He was responsible for them and their

  many children, and imagine how many more eunuchs these women required for

  their simple service! Th

  e young Abyssinians and Majabib amongst these eunuchs

  were the Caliph’s particular pride. Th

  ey had advanced mightily in the Abbasid

  State. Th

  ey possessed gorgeous mansions and rich estates, and if one of them were

  to venture abroad in public, he would be surrounded by a company of valiant

  Turkish and Dalmatian horsemen and accompanied by fi ft y unsheathed swords.

  Th

  ere were a number of these eunuchs in the gathering, but no matter how

  great their station outside the palace, they were obliged to bow their heads humbly in the Caliph’s presence. No voice but the Caliph’s was permitted to be heard above a whisper, unless it be that of a petitioner who begged a royal favor.

  Once Mu’ayyid al-Din was seated, Al-Musta‘sim signaled to the vocalist

  to repeat the piece he had just sung, and he immediately lost himself in public

   | t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t transports of ecstasy quite unbecoming the dignity of the Caliphate. His companions were used to this lack of decorum. Some considered it elegant and refi ned, while others thought it feeble and contemptible. Mu’ayyid al-Din was of the latter opinion. All agreed on the Caliph’s artlessness, however, this being perhaps one of the main causes of the weakness that made him such easy prey for plotters.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din listened to the song absently, his thoughts constantly re-

  turning to the mission on which he had come, and he waited for the Caliph to

  address him. When the vocalist had fi nally fi nished, Al-Musta‘sim turned to his minister and said, “Have you ever heard a voice more pure and more plaintive

  than this? Th

  e piece itself moves us greatly. Th

  ere is another composition, similar

  to this one, that no one in Baghdad is capable of performing. We have been told

  of a singer in the Sultan’s palace in Egypt who executes it beautifully, and so we sent for her, but she never arrived here . . .” he trailed off , and a sudden frown crossed his brow. “We have been meaning to send for you for many days now to

  inform you of this mishap and to request your help in fi nding this singer. We are certain she reached Baghdad, but it seems that some thieves snatched her from

  the caravan in which she came from Egypt.”

  Mu’ayyid al-Din bowed his head obediently. “Th

  e thieves shall be pursued

  and punished, your Highness. It is unacceptable that any should dare to commit

  a crime in the dominion of our Lord and Master the Commander of the Faithful,

  may God sustain him.” He now prepared to turn to the subject on which he had

  come, but the Majordomo spoke up fi rst.

  “Th

  e impudence of these thieves in stealing a singer destined for the Caliph

  is unheard of. It gives evidence of the failings of the government and the low

  regard in which it is held by the public. We had dared to hope that our First Minister—God preserve him—would never have allowed such goings-on in the city.”

  Th

  ese words fell like an arrow on Mu’ayyid al-Din’s heart and it was all he

  could do to control his anger and hold his tongue. He knew full well that the

  eunuch only wished to display his eager—and false—solicitude for the wellbeing

  of the State before his master. Th

  is was an insolence ill becoming the decorum

  of the royal assembly. He turned a cold look upon him. “True, Sir, brigandage is a capital off ense and the Minister would be responsible if it be considered to fall under his jurisdiction. Our lives are ransom to the Commander of the Faithful

  and our common goal is to defend the state and do our utmost to obey its Caliph.”

  He now addressed Al-Musta‘sim. “All kinds of criminal off enses are duly dealt

  a l-m usta‘si m | 

  with by his Highness’s offi

  cers without news of them ever troubling the ears of his

  Highness, the Commander of the Faithful. Even the imperial troops, it seems, are not above committing acts unbefi tting their commissions,” he added darkly, and

  the Caliph understood that his Minister wished to present a complaint.

  “Such acts must not go unpunished,” Al-Musta‘sim vaguely replied, “unless

  they have our express permission or that of our Minister or our Majordomo. Has

  something occurred recently?”

  Mu’ayyid al-Din assumed a formal tone. “I wish to inform his Highness,

  Commander of the Faithful, that a group of residents of Karkh—old men and

  women—have come to me this hour weeping and grieving. Th

  ey have told me

  that a band of soldiers descended upon them, robbed their houses, killed those

  who stood in their way, and assaulted their women.”

  Th

  e Majordomo shook his head contemptuously. His voice was full of sar-

  casm. “Th

  e people of Karkh never cease to make such complaints. Not a month or

  a year goes by without word of such ridiculous accusations reaching us.”

  Mu’ayyid al-Din was great
ly incensed by this insolent interruption, and he

  marveled at the man’s objections. Turning to him directly, he said, “Th

  e people of

  Karkh continue to protest because the soldiers continue to harm them.”

  “Harm or no harm, they love to complain. Th

  is is the way of the Shi‘a.” He

  looked around at the company and laughed disdainfully.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din grew red with rage. He turned away from the man and

  addressed the Caliph directly. “I did not suppose that anyone would dare to say

  such a thing in the presence of his Highness, the Commander of the Faithful.”

  Al-Musta‘sim was now obliged to intervene. “Th

  is exchange displeases us,”

  he said uneasily. “Our Majordomo is wrong to speak in this tone. If the people

  of Karkh—or any others for that matter—protest, we must look into their com-

  plaint and give them justice if they have been wronged or punish them if they

  have done wrong.” He turned to Mu’ayyid al-Din and said, “Tell us, Minister,

  what happened?”

  “I was told, your Highness, that a band of soldiers descended upon Karkh this

  morning and applied themselves to robbing and murdering the people. I myself

  saw a group of wounded composed of women and children and the elderly. I could

  do nothing, however, until I had consulted the opinion of my Lord and Master.”

  Al-Musta‘sim showed signs of deep interest. “Th

  is matter surely concerns

  the Dawadar. We must question him about the aff air. Perhaps he had some good

   | t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t reason for directing the troops to Karkh.” He clapped and ordered the Chamberlain, who swift ly appeared, to summon the Dawadar immediately.

  Th

  e Caliph now motioned to the vocalist to resume his song, a special com-

  position for which he accompanied himself on the oud. Th

  e assembled men were

  all swept away by the music, except for Mu’ayyid al-Din, who did his best to control his seething anger.

  Aft er a short while, a page came to announce the arrival of the Dawadar. Th

  e

  Caliph ordered him to conduct the General to the Hall of Public Assembly and to

  await him there. He then rose and dismissed the company, except for Mu’ayyid

  al-Din, whom he summoned to attend him.

  Th

  e Caliph fi rst stopped at the Royal Wardrobe, where he was dressed in his

  offi

  cial reception robes—the large turban, the cloak, and other items—, then he

  entered the Assembly Hall through a private communicating door. Th

  e Hall was

  spread with valuable drapery, couches, and sofas. Historians describe its splen-

  dor as an example of the overweening luxury that plagued the very heart of the

  Abbasid State in its last days.

  Al-Musta‘sim seated himself and nodded to Mu’ayyid al-Din to do the same.

  He then ordered the Chamberlain to summon the Dawadar. Mu’ayyid al-Din had

  by now regained his composure. Th

  e Dawadar entered and, aft er greeting the

  Caliph and the Minister, stood by in respectful silence.

  Th

  e Caliph began. “Our Minister—may God preserve him—tells us that a

  band of soldiers have attacked Karkh and wrought great destruction there. Did

  you have knowledge of this?”

  “Yes, your Highness,” replied the Dawadar.

  “Yes, you say? And why did you permit this violence to transpire?”

  “I only executed the orders of his Excellency, Prince Abu Bakr, son of his

  Highness the Commander of the Faithful.”

  “If Ahmad tells you to murder people, you would do this without good

  reason?”

  “I did not permit troops to be sent to Karkh without reason, your Highness.

  His Excellency Abu Bakr informed me that a group of Karkhis had kidnapped

  one of his slave-girls and hidden her in the area. We sought her there, but the

  people refused to let us enter the town and they turned their weapons upon us.

  Th

  e Prince commanded me to search the area and to preserve the lives of my

  men, and I undertook to do so.”

  a l-m usta‘si m | 

  “Scores of people dead because of an insignifi cant slave-girl? Th

  is is unac-

  ceptable. Where is Ahmad?”

  “I believe he is at his palace, your Highness.”

  “Call him to me immediately,” the Caliph commanded.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din took the Caliph’s visible anger at his son’s reckless actions

  as an auspicious sign. He dearly hoped that he might soon be relieved of the

  impudent youth’s constant meddling in the business of the Empire. He glanced

  at Al-Musta‘sim. Th

  e Caliph’s head was bowed and his features contracted in a

  dark frown, but Mu’ayyid al-Din could see no resolve or fi rmness there. Th

  is was

  the single great fault of the Caliph. He did not lack good intentions; he simply lacked determination.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din bowed his head in turn and kept his silence until the Cham-

  berlain returned to announce Prince Ahmad’s arrival and the Caliph ordered

  him to be introduced into the Hall.

  Ahmad, Son of Al-Musta‘sim

  abu bakr, barely past his twentieth year, moved with the preening self-impor-

  tance of vacuous youth. With every step his arrogant bearing declared his self-

  proclaimed perfection. At this age, young men sincerely believe their surpassing beauty and virility to be a magnet for all eyes and if they but speak, they expect their words to fall as revelation upon the ears of those around them. Th

  e bore-

  dom or contempt of others only serves to enrage them and to provoke unfounded

  accusations of envy and spite. If this is the way of common youth, then what of

  the progeny of kings and caliphs, upon whom sumptuous praise and the most

  poetical of eulogies are lavished all day long by professional fl atterers?

  And what if the youth in question be both innately frivolous and mean-

  spirited, as was this Ahmad, son of Al-Musta‘sim? Th

  e fact that his father had

  released him from the prison of his minority—a highly unusual act in the annals

  of the Caliphate—had only increased his natural arrogance a hundredfold. He

  cared not a fi g for the consequences of his actions, nor did he understand the sim-plest facts about the state of his father’s Empire. He only cared that his outlandish orders be obeyed and his petty desires fulfi lled, no matter the cost.

  Abu Bakr greeted the company and his gaze carelessly wandered over the

  room. His eyes came to rest contemptuously upon Mu’ayyid al-Din, but the Min-

  ister did not betray the slightest reaction. Abu Bakr then seated himself without waiting for his father’s permission.

  “Ahmad,” Al-Musta‘sim began, “did you order the Dawadar to attack the

  people of Karkh?”

  “I did, father,” Abu Bakr replied with a spiteful little smile directed at

  Mu’ayyid al-Din.

  “And why, pray, did you do so?”

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  a h m a d, s on of a l-m usta‘si m | 

  “One of my slave-girls fl ed my palace and took refuge in a house there. I am

  certain that the Karkhis incited her to this treachery. I sent a courier to retrieve her, but they insulted and beat him. I then ordered the Dawadar to discipline the wretches f
or their scandalous defi ance, but they resisted and our soldiers were obliged to defend themselves. What, pray tell, is your objection to this simple

  aff air?”

  “I object to an ‘aff air’ in which a dozen men were killed because of a slave-

  girl. Th

  ere are hundreds of choice slaves in our palaces. If you had asked me to

  give you ten in place of the one you lost, this would have been preferable to me than the news I now hear. Th

  ey are all alike, aft er all.”

  Abu Bakr fi ddled with his belt and simpered coyly at his father. “If all slaves are alike and if there are hundreds of them in our palaces, then why did the Commander of the Faithful feel obliged to demand a particular one from the Sultan

  of Egypt?”

  Mu’ayyid al-Din watched Al-Musta‘sim’s face closely to gauge the eff ect of

  the boy’s impertinent words. Th

  e father’s stern demeanor crumpled in the face of

  this cunning objection and his voice suddenly grew conciliatory. “I only wished

  to hear her sing. Th

  ey say she possesses a voice unparalleled in all the land of

  Egypt,” he replied.

  “And how do you know that this slave of mine has not similarly unique

  qualities?” the son insolently demanded. “Does it not behoove me to emulate my

  father, Commander of the Faithful and supreme model for all Muslims?”

  Th

  e sarcastic tone of this question cut Al-Musta‘sim to the quick, and he

  was ashamed to let it pass in front of his Minister and his Dawadar without

  comment. “Is this how you answer me, Ahmad? Are then the privileges of the

  Commander of the Faithful to be the common rights of all? Th

  is action of yours

  displeases me.”

  Ahmad shook his head in mock regret. “Th

  at it should please me is enough.

  Are the actions of my father agreeable to one and all? A man cannot be expected

  to satisfy everyone!”

  Al-Musta‘sim had at fi rst made clear his disapproval of his son’s unseemly

  disdain. Now he evaded the issue and ignored the evident sarcasm in this reply.

  “Have you found this unparalleled slave, then?” He smiled feebly.

  “I have not,” the boy petulantly replied. “And I shall have to keep looking

  for her.”