Tree of Pearls, Queen of Egypt Read online

Bakr. I thereby hoped to avoid any harm he might do. He is the son of the Com-

  mander of the Faithful and the army answers directly to him.”

  Th

  e Caliph shook his head sorrowfully. “To God we belong and to Him we

  shall return. Indeed, I committed a grave fault in giving this boy of mine his

  freedom. If he had been cloistered in the manner of his predecessors, he would

  not have acquired this evil nature, nor brought these calamities upon us. He shall be detained and placed under guardianship once again. I will teach him obedience—may God shame the wayward rogue!”

  While they were thus engaged, there came at the door a great din in which

  they discerned the voice of Abu Bakr shouting angrily. “Are the hordes of women

  in his own house not enough for him? Must he lust aft er my own poor slaves?

  Let me enter!” Th

  e Chamberlain hurried in and awkwardly sought permission to

  admit the Prince.

  “Has he come alone?” demanded the Caliph.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “How so? Is not the Dawadar with him?”

  “No, Your Highness.”

  Abu Bakr stormed unannounced into the room, his whole body shaking

  with anger. At the sight of him, his father was constrained to invoke God’s mercy, for the coming interview promised to be a stormy one. “What is this, Ahmad? Is

  this how one enters the presence of the Commander of the Faithful? Where are

  your manners? Know you nothing of the dignity of the Caliphate?”

  Abu Bakr sat down uninvited. “You ask me about manners when I am the

  son of the Commander of the Faithful and have been raised in his lap? Perhaps

  this is the very cause of my wretchedness. People envy me because the Caliph is

  my father, but if they knew how he treats me, they would have nothing but pity.”

  His voice grew thick as though he would burst into tears.

  Now as soon as Al-Musta‘sim heard his son’s strangled sob and remarked

  the tear that sparkled in the corner of his eye, his anger subsided and his paternal aff ection began to get the better of him. A father’s love does not submit to justice, nor does it acknowledge the principles of logic, nor require evidence and proofs.

  It is a tyrannical ruler whose actions most oft en fall outside the realm of law, and many of which contradict all common sense and reason. Th

  e father loves his son,

  is jealous of his wellbeing, and sees in him virtues undiscernible by others. He

  a fat h e r’s l ov e | 

  loves him not for reasons of utility or because the son objectively deserves such love, but rather he loves spontaneously, unconditionally, simply because the child is his own son. Th

  e heavy trials and tribulations involved in raising a child only

  increase this strange love. Th

  e father’s compassion grows stronger in proportion

  to the son’s unhappiness. No matter how angry a parent is, his sympathy will

  always be moved by the sight of his off spring in tears, as though those tears but fall on the fi re of parental anger to put it out once and for all. Th

  e smoke that rises

  in its wake casts a lingering veil over the cause of the original resentment, leaving nothing but pity and tenderness behind.

  Al-Musta‘sim was the weakest of tender fathers. He was now tempted to for-

  get the reasons for his anger, but he still held fast to his injured pride. “Is this how you speak to your father? Do you have the right to complain against him,

  when he has given you the one thing that the sons of Caliphs have ever desired,

  the freedom to command and forbid at will? Where is the Dawadar?” he added.

  “I have not seen him,” Abu Bakr petulantly replied. “But they told me that

  he came to my Palace and confi scated my slave. I cannot bear this insult, and

  so I have come here to you to lodge my complaint. You speak of freedom? What

  freedom is it that allows you to begrudge me a paltry slave-girl while your Palace abounds with them?”

  “I have not begrudged you a slave-girl,” Al-Musta‘sim broke in. “I charge you

  with stealing a slave-girl sent expressly to me from Egypt.”

  “Sent expressly to you from Egypt?” Abu Bakr repeated mockingly. “You

  seek and acquire hundreds of slave-girls from all parts of the Empire, but if

  your young son lays a hand on one of them, you upbraid and repudiate him.

  Had I been the son of a commoner, my father would have treated me with more

  kindness than does the Commander of the Faithful.” He swallowed hard and

  made a show of controlling his sobs. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “you are our

  sovereign and you have rights where others have none. We are your slaves and all that we possess is at your command. A handful of other slave-girls yet remain to me—why don’t you order the Dawadar to take them as well? Would that you had

  kept me imprisoned and never shown me the light of freedom! Th

  e babe lives

  in darkness, knowing nothing of the joys of light, and therefore never missing

  them. If you regret having freed my hand, here I stand before you—confi ne me

  or kill me! Death would be preferable, since I would thereby relieve you of a

  great burden.” It now appeared that his struggle with the tears that threatened

   | t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t had failed, and he burst out sobbing while his father looked like he might at any moment join him.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din watched this little scene in amazement. His joy at having

  got the better of Abu Bakr’s scheming quickly evaporated, and he contented him-

  self with the thought that he had at least escaped the Caliph’s anger. He now

  urgently wished to quit the place, but was at a loss as to how to execute this purpose. He could not request leave to withdraw before the Caliph had exhibited an

  inclination to dismiss him: such is the prerogative of caliphs and kings. He began to fi dget in his seat in order to draw the Caliph’s attention to the superfl uity of his presence. Al-Musta‘sim had perhaps even more reason than himself to wish

  him gone.

  Th

  e unfortunate Minister only succeeded in attracting the attention of

  Abu Bakr, who, having wiped his tears and blown his nose, now turned toward

  Mu’ayyid al-Din and resumed his speech. “I doubt not my father’s aff ection for

  me,” he craft ily began. “I blame none but this Minister, who has imbibed a deep hatred of us with his mother’s milk, for he is an ‘Alawi and in his heart of hearts he rejects our right to the Caliphate!” And turning to address his father directly, he continued, “I wonder at my father’s patience towards an individual who hates

  us and who seeks to overthrow our state by secretly consorting with our worst

  enemy. How is it possible that you believe the lies with which he attempts to

  excuse himself?” He snatched Hulagu’s letter from Mu’ayyid al-Din’s hand and

  cast his eyes over it. “You believe his defense and suppose him innocent of con-

  spiring with our enemy. And yet in this letter, Hulagu calls him a friend and

  advises him to send his correspondence ‘in the agreed upon manner.’ Does this

  not prove a prior communication on the subject of treason? In spite of all this, Mu’ayyid al-Din the ‘Alawi’s words are taken for truth and those of my unhappy

  self are dismissed as lies.” And he burst into tears once more.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din could see that the spineless Caliph was deeply moved by his

  son’s outburst and that he was quickly succumbing to the boy’s clever ruse. He

  no
w realized that all his eff orts had been in vain, and he wished for nothing more than to vanish from the conference, for he dreaded to hear the Caliph’s inevitable rebuke. But it was too late. “I shall look into the matter of Ahmad and the slave-girl at another opportunity,” Al-Musta‘sim began. “As for your correspondence

  with Hulagu, Mu’ayyid al-Din, Ahmad speaks truly. How comes it that you con-

  sorted with our enemy for so long without telling us? I am confi dent of your

  a fat h e r’s l ov e | 

  loyalty, but trust has its limits . . . Yes, I trust you still, though Ahmad disagrees with me. He has spoken thus out of anger.”

  Abu Bakr brusquely interrupted his father. “I do not speak out of anger! You

  have always been aware of my suspicions regarding this Minister. Today, these

  suspicions have been proven!”

  Th

  e Caliph was caught in a delicate position. He believed in the aptitude

  and loyalty of his First Minister and knew that he needed his services more than ever at this juncture in the Empire’s aff airs. On the other hand, he was unable to master his fatherly feelings and to quarrel with his son. He decided to put an end to his quandary by bringing the audience to a close, and he gave Mu’ayyid al-Din leave to withdraw with a heavy gesture of his hand. Mu’ayyid al-Din rose and,

  bowing deeply, took his leave in brooding silence.

  Mu’ayyid al-Din was so incensed by this interview that he walked through

  the Palace’s winding corridors in a blind haze and lost his way from the Diwan

  to the stables where his page awaited him. On the road home, the intensity of the emotions that besieged him—sorrow, despair, and fear—made him insensible to

  his surroundings. His Steward awaited him at the gate of his palace, as was his

  habit. When Mu’ayyid al-Din’s absent gaze fell upon him, he recalled the slave on whose head the deadly message had been inscribed. Mu’ayyid al-Din inquired

  about the boy. “He is safely ensconced in my quarters,” the Steward replied.

  “And his hair?”

  “It has covered his head. I shall bring him to you this instant if you desire it, my Lord.”

  “Good,” Mu’ayyid al-Din curtly replied, and he mounted to his chambers,

  his body shaking and his thoughts full of the contemptible Abu Bakr.

  No sooner had he thrown himself onto his bed than the Steward entered

  with the dim-witted lad in tow. Mu’ayyid al-Din gazed at the boy. He seemed

  barely human to the great Minister. He examined the boy’s head and noted with

  satisfaction that the hair had indeed grown back and covered all traces of the

  secret message. “Th

  e words beneath this head of hair have the power to turn the

  world upside down,” he mused. “Hulagu shall wreak my revenge on Abu Bakr.

  And am I to blame if I send this message? Th

  e Khan is unstoppable, and shall take

  Baghdad one way or the other. I am certain of his imminent victory. If I send the message etched on the head of this Turcoman, I shall be sure of my own life and

  those of the friends and family that I choose to save. If only I believed that we

   | t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t stood a chance of repelling Hulagu and his men, I should pay no heed to Ahmad’s

  insolence. I should defend my country and my people with the last drop of my

  blood. I should indulge the Caliph’s weakness and his son’s recklessness. But it is impossible for us to resist the Tatars when our armies are only twenty thousand

  strong; twenty thousand, moreover, whose hearts are divided and whose objec-

  tives are at odds.” He raised his eyes slowly to his trusty old servant. “Send the boy on his mission.”

  Th

  e Steward said nothing, but his heart leapt with joy as he led the boy out of

  the room. His instructions to the youth were simple: that he must go to Hulagu

  the Khan of the Tatars and present his insignia. Th

  e Khan would then give him

  further instructions. Th

  e Custodian added that a great reward awaited him upon

  his safe return, whereupon the boy rejoiced and prepared to embark on his jour-

  ney like a sheep on its way to the slaughter.

  Shwaykar in the Women’s Quarters

  shwaykar reluctantly accompanied the Caliph’s page to the Imperial

  Harem. As she silently followed him from hall to hall, she struggled to sum-

  mon forth her gratitude for this sudden change of residence, for Prince Abu Bakr had clearly signaled his intention of using her for a purpose other than singing.

  She had stubbornly refused to bow to his will, and Rukn al-Din’s tender letter

  had only served to strengthen her resolve. Her beloved had sworn to rescue her!

  Th

  e faithful ‘Abid had gone to great lengths to deliver the precious letter into

  her hands whilst she was kept under lock and key at the Prince’s palace. ‘Abid

  had, moreover, succeeded in helping her escape to Karkh, with the deadly conse-

  quences we have already recounted. He subsequently accompanied her to Qad-

  himiyya, and remained there aft er her hiding place had been discovered by Abu

  Bakr whereupon she had been forcibly returned to the Prince’s palace.

  Th

  e inhabitants of the Imperial Harem had all heard the news that the

  singing-girl destined for the Caliph and seized by thieves had been found and

  brought to the Palace of the Crown. A great horde of men and women had con-

  sequently gathered to gape at her as she made her way to her new quarters (the

  women outnumbering the men, it should be noted, as the female sex is more

  inclined to engage in this type of activity). Th

  e Imperial Harem contained thou-

  sands of slaves and concubines of diff erent classes and functions. In the days and weeks aft er her initial disappearance, many of them had repeatedly begged the

  Custodian of the Imperial Harem to describe the famous singer to them, for a

  number of wildly divergent accounts of her person, her height, and the timbre of her voice were in circulation, and imaginations had run rife.

  Th

  e Caliph’s singing-girls were especially interested in this potential rival.

  Th

  ey had spent long hours discussing every detail, both real and rumored, that

  they had heard concerning her—an all-too-human tendency, alas, particularly in

  

   | t r e e of pe a r l s , qu e e n of e g y p t the day and age of which we speak, when this kind of gossip was the sole occupation of cloistered womenfolk. Th

  e women of that epoch had neither books nor

  newspapers and magazines in which to interest themselves; neither did they have

  access to schooling or to the literary and scientifi c salons common today. Th

  eir

  only concern was to adorn themselves and to compete with each other for the

  aff ections of men.

  Th

  e fi rst person Shwaykar met upon arriving in the Harem was the Major-

  domo, the Chief of Eunuchs. She was taken to him in his chambers, where he sat

  proudly enthroned on a raised dais in the very center of the room. She kissed his hand and stood waiting silently for his commands, for he was, as she well knew,

  the undisputed master of the women’s quarters and exercised an important polit-

  ical infl uence at the Caliph’s court (rather like the Aghas of Yalzar in the time of the Ottoman Sultan Abdulhamid). Th

  e Majordomo demanded her name, her

  age, and the date of her arrival in Baghdad, as well as an accoun
t of her primary physical characteristics, and commanded that all this information be recorded in the Harem register in order to avoid any possible confusion, for the women under his charge were many and their names oft en quite similar.

  Shwaykar was next taken to the apartments of the Qahramana, Custodian

  of the Imperial Harem. As she proceeded on her way to wait upon this august

  personage, she bowed her head bashfully to avoid the bold stares of the many

  eunuchs and slaves who stood by, gawking and whispering. A company of

  eunuchs stood at attention at the Qahramana’s door, much like a company of

  royal guards. Shwaykar entered and cast a quick glance about her. She identi-

  fi ed the Qahramana by the manner in which she occupied her couch and by the

  magnifi cent robes she wore. She was a middle-aged woman upon whose fl accid

  body the fl esh was piled in heavy layers, much like the rouge that caked her face and the splendid jewels that hung on her neck and wrists. Th

  is woman was the

  undisputed Queen of the Harem. Each and every concubine and slave fawned

  upon her and curried her favor with fl attery and gift s. Shwaykar approached her and bent to kiss her hand. Th

  e Qahramana placed a kiss on the girl’s forehead and

  invited her to sit at her side. She then began to shower upon her the customary

  phrases of welcome which, if addressed to an untutored ear, would appear to be

  the most sincere expressions of aff ection and regard. Overuse and shrewd social custom had even by then conspired to render them meaningless, or worse yet,

  entirely false.

  sh way k a r i n t h e wom e n ’s qua rt e r s | 

  Shwaykar was greatly comforted by this gracious reception, however. She

  surveyed the room’s elegant and rich furnishings, and taking note of the opu-

  lence and luxury in which the inhabitants of the harem seemed to live, she almost began to wonder whether she would not prefer to stay here in this marvelous

  place rather than return to Cairo. But her heart immediately rebelled at this

  ignoble thought, and she instantly paid heed to its call. “Fie upon you, woman!”

  she silently reproached herself. “Furniture and jewels were never wont to bring

  happiness to their owner! Only true love can secure life’s joys.” Th

  e Qahramana

  called for one of the eunuchs and ordered him to prepare a luxurious chamber for the Caliph’s newest singing-girl. Th