peace, wanted to know everything. Happily, I was in a position to supply him with each and every detail. I have given you a very short version, O learned scribe, but at that time it was all fresh in my mind.
“Ayyub, to my great surprise, clapped his hands and exploded with laughter. Perhaps he was relieved that it was a wench, rather than one of his soldiers or a young mare! His severe face returned as he threatened me with a terrible fate if even a word of what had transpired ever found its way to Salah al-Din.
“It was difficult for me to remain silent. I had always felt close to the boy and, in different circumstances, this tongue of mine would have defied the instructions. But there was something in Ayyub’s tone that warned me against disregarding his injunction. Despite the strong temptation, I obeyed him.”
“You mean,” I asked, “that to this day the Sultan is unaware of what happened? Can this be possible?”
Shadhi grinned, and picked his nose.
“I waited for the right moment. I told him on his wedding night. He was in a cheerful mood, and he laughed, but I should have known him better. A month later, when I thought he had forgotten the whole business, he asked me for an explanation. His face was stern. I told him. He expressed surprise that neither of his parents had ever raised the matter with him. I shrugged my shoulders. That was hardly my responsibility.”
Seven
The Spring Festival in Cairo; an erotic shadow-play in the Turcoman quarter
W EEKS PASSED. IT WAS no longer winter, yet the spring had not yet begun. I had still received no word from Halima, and the intoxication was beginning to lose its effect. On Ibn Maymun’s advice, I had stopped tormenting my own heart by yearning for her. I had not seen him now for many days. At home, Rachel had recovered her good spirits. Our lives had adjusted to a new routine.
In the palace, the Sultan was busy with his most trusted family members, discussing his strategy for liberating al-Kuds. This was the only time I was denied entrance to his council chamber. The deliberations in which he was engaged were not intended for ordinary ears. These were truly confidential talks. An indiscretion or a thoughtless boast, the Sultan always used to say, could cost our side an entire army and set back our cause for decades. Yet it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I was not upset. I thought of myself as someone in the total trust of his ruler. The Sultan must have noticed this, for he tried to soothe my hurt pride.
“Ibn Yakub, what you are writing is known to me, the Kadi and three other people. If I were to permit you to attend our military council, everyone would know who you are and this would be dangerous. One of my brothers or nephews might think that you hold the secret to my succession. They might torture or kill you, and then forge documents claiming whatever they wish people to believe. Do you understand?”
I nodded and bowed my head, acknowledging the truth in the words he had spoken.
The Cairenes greeted the early morning mists of spring as they had done for hundreds of years. The city was taken over by its people. All were equal on that first day of spring. In the schools and colleges, the students either stayed away, in preparation for the late-afternoon festivities, or came and kidnapped their teachers, holding them prisoner till a ransom was paid. The money was spent on food and wine, freely distributed to the poor throughout the day.
I had avoided the streets for the last few years, in fact, ever since some revellers had thrown Rachel into a fountain, the better to see her breasts through her soaked clothes. Her objections had been mild compared to mine, but this year I was determined to spend the whole day in the company of the common people. Who would be the object of their humour this year? For the last three years they had targeted the Kadi al-Fadil, laughing at his poetry, mocking his pomposity, and cruelly mimicking his courtroom
“Ayyub, to my great surprise, clapped his hands and exploded with laughter. Perhaps he was relieved that it was a wench, rather than one of his soldiers or a young mare! His severe face returned as he threatened me with a terrible fate if even a word of what had transpired ever found its way to Salah al-Din.
“It was difficult for me to remain silent. I had always felt close to the boy and, in different circumstances, this tongue of mine would have defied the instructions. But there was something in Ayyub’s tone that warned me against disregarding his injunction. Despite the strong temptation, I obeyed him.”
“You mean,” I asked, “that to this day the Sultan is unaware of what happened? Can this be possible?”
Shadhi grinned, and picked his nose.
“I waited for the right moment. I told him on his wedding night. He was in a cheerful mood, and he laughed, but I should have known him better. A month later, when I thought he had forgotten the whole business, he asked me for an explanation. His face was stern. I told him. He expressed surprise that neither of his parents had ever raised the matter with him. I shrugged my shoulders. That was hardly my responsibility.”
Seven
The Spring Festival in Cairo; an erotic shadow-play in the Turcoman quarter
W EEKS PASSED. IT WAS no longer winter, yet the spring had not yet begun. I had still received no word from Halima, and the intoxication was beginning to lose its effect. On Ibn Maymun’s advice, I had stopped tormenting my own heart by yearning for her. I had not seen him now for many days. At home, Rachel had recovered her good spirits. Our lives had adjusted to a new routine.
In the palace, the Sultan was busy with his most trusted family members, discussing his strategy for liberating al-Kuds. This was the only time I was denied entrance to his council chamber. The deliberations in which he was engaged were not intended for ordinary ears. These were truly confidential talks. An indiscretion or a thoughtless boast, the Sultan always used to say, could cost our side an entire army and set back our cause for decades. Yet it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I was not upset. I thought of myself as someone in the total trust of his ruler. The Sultan must have noticed this, for he tried to soothe my hurt pride.
“Ibn Yakub, what you are writing is known to me, the Kadi and three other people. If I were to permit you to attend our military council, everyone would know who you are and this would be dangerous. One of my brothers or nephews might think that you hold the secret to my succession. They might torture or kill you, and then forge documents claiming whatever they wish people to believe. Do you understand?”
I nodded and bowed my head, acknowledging the truth in the words he had spoken.
The Cairenes greeted the early morning mists of spring as they had done for hundreds of years. The city was taken over by its people. All were equal on that first day of spring. In the schools and colleges, the students either stayed away, in preparation for the late-afternoon festivities, or came and kidnapped their teachers, holding them prisoner till a ransom was paid. The money was spent on food and wine, freely distributed to the poor throughout the day.
I had avoided the streets for the last few years, in fact, ever since some revellers had thrown Rachel into a fountain, the better to see her breasts through her soaked clothes. Her objections had been mild compared to mine, but this year I was determined to spend the whole day in the company of the common people. Who would be the object of their humour this year? For the last three years they had targeted the Kadi al-Fadil, laughing at his poetry, mocking his pomposity, and cruelly mimicking his courtroom
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