Tree of Pearls, Queen of Egypt Page 17
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t
“Th
at will not be necessary. I shall ask our Minister Mu’ayyid al-Din to look
into the matter. He will fi nd her and have her returned to you.”
Abu Bakr glanced suspiciously at Mu’ayyid al-Din, then turned to the Dawa-
dar. “If he does not fi nd her, we will dig her out of her hiding place though it be the Minister’s own pocket.” Rising to go, he addressed himself once again to
his father. “I now beg my Lord’s permission to withdraw, for I have a hunting
appointment with a company of our offi
cers.” He nodded for the Dawadar to
follow him and strode airily out of the hall. Al-Musta‘sim watched him go with
despair in his moist eyes, then sighing, he turned to Mu’ayyid al-Din. “He spoke truth who said, ‘our beating hearts walk this earth in the shape of our sons.’”
Mu’ayyid al-Din only hung his head, amazed and disconsolate at the Caliph’s
infi rmity. “You are our Minister and the repository of our trust, Mu’ayyid al-
Din,” Al-Musta‘sim fi nally said. “You have seen the scorn with which Ahmad
has met our rebuke. Perhaps we were wrong to diverge from the tradition of our
grandfathers and to make our children their own masters. If Ahmad were still
under guardianship as the sons of Caliphs have ever been, we would not be in the present situation.” He broke off and began to fi ddle with his beard.
Mu’ayyid al-Din preferred not to delve too deeply into this subject for fear
that the father’s helpless tenderness would get the better of him and his anger be transferred to the Minister who had witnessed the debacle. “We beseech God to
restore the boy’s reason,” Al-Musta‘sim continued heavily. “You are a father and you know a father’s heart. Search for Ahmad’s slave and recompense the people
of Karkh for their losses. We deeply regret these events and hope they shall not be repeated.” He shift ed uncomfortably in his seat and prepared to rise. “And
neglect not your charge to retrieve the other slave-girl, Shwaykar, the singer that we caused to be brought from Egypt.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din rose and lowered his head obediently. “I am the slave of
the Commander of the Faithful. May God aid me in his service.” He cleared his
throat and was on the point of speaking again, but the Caliph quickly intervened.
“We know that Ahmad should not have spoken as he did, but he is still an
inexperienced youth and is sure to come to his senses in good time.” With that he rose and, graciously taking his leave of his Minister, quit the Grand Hall by the door through which he had come.
Shwaykar
lost in the whirl of his black thoughts, Mu’ayyid al-Din al-Alqami
quit the Palace of the Crown and mounted his mule for the return journey home.
As he approached his palace, he noticed two mules tethered to the post out-
side the gates. One of these he immediately recognized as belonging to Sahban.
At his knock the gates were thrown open, and he entered the spacious court-
yard. Th
e page who rushed forward to help him dismount led the mule away to
the stables. Mu’ayyid al-Din strode into the palace and the doorkeeper hurried
alongside. “Who is the rider of the second mule that is tied up outside alongside Sahban’s?” Mu’ayyid al-Din demanded.
“A woman that accompanies him, Master. Sahban awaits your Excellency on
the terrace.”
“Tell him to come to me in my chambers. And who is this woman?”
“I know not, my Lord. Aft er you left this morning, Sahban took his father
and sister back to Karkh and has only just returned this hour, accompanied by
the woman. I suppose her to be a slave of some kind.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din had gained his chambers, and the doorkeeper bowed
respectfully and withdrew. Th
e Minister’s staff and domestics knew that no one
was allowed access to these rooms without special permission. Th
e head cook
knocked at the door and begged to inquire whether Mu’ayyid al-Din would now
dine. “Prepare a light meal and bring it hither. Sahban shall dine with me this
evening.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din began to change his heavy robes of state. He had barely
fi nished dressing when Sahban was introduced into the anteroom with an
expression of barely concealed delight on his face. Mu’ayyid al-Din wondered at
this sudden change in the man’s bearing. He had left him sunk in the depths of
despair that very morning. He sincerely hoped that some happy event lay behind
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t Sahban’s broad grin. His own weary smile of welcome did not go any further
than his lips, however. “What news, my friend?”
Sahban immediately remarked on the telltale signs of fatigue and dejection
that clung to his host. “It seems that your audience with the Caliph has vexed
you, my Lord,” he replied. “Wherever one turns, the news is bad,” he sighed, and smiled mysteriously.
“Have you reason to celebrate, then, Sahban? If so, speak, by God, for I grow
wearier of this life by the day! Come, let us eat fi rst.”
Sahban bowed and seated himself at the low table upon which their meal had
been laid a few moments earlier. He helped himself to a portion of meat stewed
in vinegar and busied himself in carving it up as he watched the Minister’s face out of the corner of his eye. “I have news that shall please and astonish you,” he fi nally said between mouthfuls.
“Out with it then!” he demanded impatiently. “I was told that you arrived in
the company of a woman. Who is she?”
Sahban laughed again as he raised a morsel of meat to his mouth. “She is the
one sought by Prince Ahmad; the one in whose name the people of Karkh were
slaughtered.”
“God be praised! We shall at last now be rid of Abu Bakr’s latest mischief.
How did you fi nd her? Where was she hid?”
“In a neighbor’s house, my Lord. My sister knew of her hiding place but she
said nothing, thereby exposing herself to great danger for the poor girl’s sake.
Th
e girl was terrifi ed lest she be returned to her persecutors. My sister confi ded the story of this slave to me, and she took me to her. I have brought her to you.”
“Well done. Th
e Caliph seeks her everywhere and intends to return her to
his son. It seems he will spare no madness to placate him. Th
e man’s weak-willed
fondness continues to baffl
e me.”
“But the girl does not wish to return,” Sahban replied.
“Th
at is unfortunate,” Mu’ayyid al-Din shrugged, “but I must discharge my
duty to the Caliph.”
“She fears the Caliph even more than his son, and does not wish her presence
here to be known.”
“How so? I have never known a slave-girl to refuse the favor of a caliph!”
“Th
is girl’s circumstances are singular. No one in Baghdad save myself
knows her story.”
sh way k a r |
“By God, man, you seem to know all!”
“Th
e traveler learns much on his travels.”
“And what has this business to do with your travels, Sahban?”
“I shall tell you. I fi rst heard the sad tale on my last trip to Egypt. Its twists and turns will astonish you, my Lord.”
Th
is mysterious statement only increased Mu’ayyid al-Din’s curiosity.
“Speak, Sahban. I have no patience for these vagaries.”
“Have you not heard of the Egyptian slave-girl who was abducted from the
Caliph’s caravan just outside Baghdad a few weeks ago?”
“Indeed. He has spoken to me of her.”
“Th
is is the girl.”
“Th
e same who fl ed from his son to Karkh?” Mu’ayyid al-Din demanded in
wonder.
“Exactly, my Lord. She is Shwaykar, the former slave of Tree of Pearls. Th
e
Caliph heard tell of her unparalleled voice and her musical genius, and he sent
to the Sultan of Egypt to claim her. Before she entered Baghdad, a band of horsemen descended upon the caravan in which she travelled, saying that they came
by order of the Caliph, and they abducted her. Th
e people of Baghdad spoke of
nothing else for many a day. Th
e real reason for the assault was as follows: Upon
hearing that this slave was to come into his father’s possession, Prince Ahmad
decided that he would have her for himself. He was the one who sent those brig-
ands to abduct the girl. Th
ey then brought her to a safe house prepared for that
very end. Meanwhile, the Palace of the Crown continued to await her arrival.
Th
ey quickly discovered that she had disappeared, but continue to be entirely
ignorant of her whereabouts.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din was astounded by Abu Bakr’s sheer impudence, and the evi-
dent contempt in which he held his father. “And what is the girl’s objection to her new master? Does she not prefer the company of the youth to that of the father?”
“Th
e girl refuses to reside anywhere but Egypt, for she is betrothed to one of
its Mamluk princes.”
“Betrothed?” Mu’ayyid al-Din repeated incredulously. “And the Caliph
nonetheless sought to possess her?”
“Th
e Caliph was unaware of her engagement. He only knew that she belonged
to Tree of Pearls, the deposed Queen, and that she was an excellent vocalist. Th e
Sultan’s regent had no choice but to comply with the Caliph’s request.”
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t
“Who then is her betrothed?” demanded Mu’ayyid al-Din.
“He is Rukn al-Din Baybars al-Bunduqari.”
“Rukn al-Din Baybars,” Mu’ayyid al-Din mused. “I met him once in Egypt
and we have corresponded a few times since. I know him to be a brave warrior
and an intelligent and noble-minded prince. What shall he do now, I wonder?”
“He is exceedingly angry, and I confess to my Lord that he entrusted the
matter of this slave to me when I was last in Egypt. I hastened to return to Baghdad and discover some news of his future bride. She was able to inform him
secretly of her abduction in a letter. At the time she did not know who the per-
petrators were. My guess is that he may soon travel to Baghdad to search for her in person.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din pushed his plate aside and bowed his head as he considered
the unfortunate state of aff airs that the Caliph and his son had brought to pass by their indecorous occupations. “Do you suppose that he will come?” he fi nally asked Sahban.
“It is not unlikely. If you would permit me to speak, my Lord: let us keep this
Shwaykar with us until he does so, or at least until we can send him word of her recovery and await his instructions.”
“How did she manage to escape from Abu Bakr’s palace? She is, aft er all, a
stranger in these lands.”
“A eunuch in her service gave her succor. He knew the people of the house
next to ours, and he carried her there in secret.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din thought carefully about all that he had just heard. He feared
that the girl’s presence in his own house would provoke any number of suspi-
cions, for he knew himself to be surrounded by spies. “See here, my friend,” he
began, “the girl’s plight has moved me, and I am glad that she has escaped her
prison. I shall not insist you return her to Abu Bakr, but I cannot keep her in my house.”
“Indeed, my Lord, you are right to say so. I only wished to inform you and
to consult you on the matter. I also wish Rukn al-Din to know that her liberation was your own doing. He is a great leader whose prudent views and discretion
may benefi t us in the project of which we have spoken. We must arrange a meet-
ing. Rukn al-Din promised me in Cairo that he would consider aiding us in the
overthrow of this government. He shall kill the Caliph and give us an Alawi State in Egypt. Once this is accomplished—”
sh way k a r |
Mu’ayyid al-Din silenced him with an impatient gesture. “Give not free reign
to these extreme ideas, man! Let us set aside wanton illusion and deal in the
possible.”
Sahban was nonplussed by this rebuff , for he truly believed his plans to be
within easy reach. He also believed that Rukn al-Din had indeed promised to aid
him in their execution, even though the noble young man had remained reso-
lutely silent in the face of Sahban’s wild proposals. But Sahban lived on illusions, as we have already pointed out, and he tended to build mountains out of mole-hills. Fantasists of this stripe concoct schemes and shape them according to their own wishes. Th
us silenced, Sahban was obliged to feign acquiescence. “Suppose,
then, that my hopes are far-fetched,” he said. “Do you see no benefi t whatsoever to us from Rukn al-Din’s presence in Baghdad?”
“His coming may be useful to us if we work to make it so. But this is neither
the time nor the place to discuss such matters.”
“Th
ere never seems to be a right time or place for such matters!” Sahban
broke in. “Suppose that I agreed with you and was content to replace one Caliph
with another. May we not at least discuss this?”
“Perhaps, my friend. I am of two minds about our Caliph. At times he seems
reasonable enough, while at others he appears hopelessly irredeemable. We shall
consider it.”
“Assuming then that Al-Musta‘sim is indeed irredeemable, who would you
have replace him? Do you not think that the Imam Ahmad Ibn Al-Zahir would
be an appropriate substitute?”
Th
is abrupt proposal took Mu’ayyid al-Din by surprise. He had oft en con-
sidered it himself in private. He knew that the Imam Ahmad was indeed the only
suitable candidate to replace Al-Musta‘sim, but he had never openly discussed
the possibility with a living soul. He hesitated as he pondered his response, and his eyes glittered darkly. “Yes. He would fulfi ll our requirements. But he is a prisoner in the Firdaws Palace, as you well know. It is impossible to communicate
with him.”
“Once we agree on a course of action, no prison can stand in our way,” Sah-
ban replied. “But I beg you to be candid with me. I have had enough of silence and mystery. Th
ough they be inherently politic strategies, they may also confound
him who practices them too liberally. I beg you to speak clearly, my Lord. Do you think the Imam Ahmad could take Al-Musta‘sim’s place as Caliph?”
| t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t
“He descends from the most excellent branch of the House of ‘Abbas,”
Mu’ayyid al-Din spoke slowly. “But we cannot reach him. We must scale back our
ambitions for now and continue to hope that Al-Musta‘sim can be reformed. Th
is
would spare us the need to depose him.”
“So be it,” Sahban sighed as he rose to withdraw. “I wish you luck in your
endeavors, my Lord,” he added ironically. “Do you not wish to see the slave
Shwaykar and give her leave to kiss your hand before I return her to Karkh?”
“Very well, though I pray you to speed her departure from under my roof.”
“She shall kiss your hand and leave immediately.”
Sahban left the room and returned shortly with the girl. Shwaykar’s appear-
ance had changed dramatically, thanks to the many trials and tribulations that
she had undergone since leaving Egypt. She had been kept a prisoner until that
very day, when Sahban had brought her from Karkh to Baghdad. He had assured
her that all was well with Rukn al-Din, and that it was Rukn al-Din himself who
had sent him to search for her. Her dearest hope now was to be quickly returned
to Egypt, or at least that Rukn al-Din would soon arrive in person at Baghdad.
She bent to kiss Mu’ayyid al-Din’s hand but the Minister quickly withdrew it, wet with her copious tears. “Have no fear, my child. Th
e Commander of the Faithful
is just, and God abandons not his creatures.”
Shwaykar bowed her head shyly and, swallowing the lump in her throat,
replied, “I thank God for sending this brave man to save me and bring me to you, my Lord. I ask for nothing but to be returned to Cairo.”
Mu’ayyid al-Din rose from his seat. “You shall return safely, God willing.”
Sahban now thanked Mu’ayyid al-Din and bade him farewell. He signaled
to Shwaykar to follow him, and he took her to the house of one of his relatives in Qadhimiyya.
The Dervish
as soon as mu’ayyid al-din found himself alone again, he mounted to the
terrace and stretched out on a couch. He thirsted for the quiet solitude in which to ponder his great dilemma. Th
e sun was about to set and the Tigris glittered
gold in the sun’s mellow rays. Hearing the sunset call to prayer, he rose and set off on foot for a nearby mosque, for nothing off ers more comfort to the believer in his hour of need than to pray and to entreat God to guide him on the true path,
and to rescue him from dangers both real and imagined.