Leo Africanus (7 page)

‘As you will have guessed, Hasan my son, this cannon was never used. Abu Khamr had neither bullets nor gunpowder nor artillerymen, and some of his visitors began to snigger. Happily for him, the
muhtasib
, who was responsible for public order, alerted by the
crowds, organized a gang of men to take the object away and drag it to the Alhambra to show it to the sultan. No one ever saw it again. But we continued to hear about it long afterwards, from the doctor himself, naturally enough, who never ceased to say that it was only with the aid of cannons that the Muslims could defeat their enemies, and that as long as they did not agree either to acquire or to make a great number of these machines, their kingdoms would be in danger. For his part Astaghfirullah preached exactly the opposite: it was through the martyrdom of the soldiers of the faith that the besiegers would be overcome.

‘The sultan Boabdil eventually brought them into accord, since he desired neither cannons nor martyrdom. While the shaikh and the doctor quibbled endlessly, and the whole of Granada around them pondered its fate, the master of the city could only think of how to avoid confrontation. He sent message after message to King Ferdinand, in which the only question was that of the date of the surrender of the city, the besieger talking in terms of weeks and the besieged in terms of months, hoping perhaps that the hand of the Most High would wipe out the feeble arrangements of men by some sudden decree, a storm, a cataclysm or a plague, which would decimate the grandees of Spain.'

But Heaven had other destinies for us.

897 A.H.
4 November 1491 – 22 October 1492

‘It was cold that year in Granada, fearfully cold, and the snow was black with freshly dug earth and blood. O, the familiarity of death, the imminence of exile, how the joys of the past were painful to remember!'

A great change came over my mother whenever she used to speak of the fall of our city; for this drama she assumed a particular tone of voice, a look, words, tears, which I never knew in any other circumstances. I myself was less than three years old in those tumultuous days, and I do not know whether the cries that came to my ears at that moment were the memory of what I had actually heard at the time or simply the echo of the thousands of accounts of the story that I had heard since.

These tales did not always begin in the same way. Those of my mother spoke first of hunger and anguish.

‘From the very beginning of the year,' she used to say, ‘the snows had come to cut off the few roads which the besiegers had spared, making Granada completely isolated from the rest of the country, particularly the Vega and the Alpujarras mountains in the south, from which wheat, oats, millet, oil and raisins still used to reach us. People in our neighbourhood were afraid, even the least poor of them; every day they bought anything they could lay their hands on, and instead of being reassured at the sight of the earthenware jars of provisions stacked up along the walls of their rooms they became even more afraid of famine, rats and looters. Everyone said that if the roads opened up again they would leave immediately for some
village or other where they had relatives. In the first months of the siege it had been the inhabitants of the surrounding villages who sought asylum in Granada, meeting up with the refugees from Guadix and Gibraltar. They accommodated themselves as best they could with their relatives, in the outbuildings of mosques or in deserted houses; during the previous summer they were even living in gardens and on waste ground, under makeshift tents. The streets were choked with beggars of all descriptions, sometimes grouped in whole families, father, mother, children and old people, all haggard and skeletal, but also often gathered in gangs of youngsters of menacing appearance; and men of honour who could not bear either to throw themselves upon charity or into a life of crime were dying slowly in their homes, away from prying eyes.'

This was not to be the fate of my family. Even in the worst moments of penury, our house never lacked for anything, thanks to my father's position. He had inherited an important municipal function from his own father, that of chief public weigh-master, in charge of the weighing of grains and the regulation of proper commercial practice. It was this function which entitled members of my family to the name of al-Wazzan, the weigh-master, which I still bear; in the Maghrib, no one knows that I now call myself Leo or John-Leo de Medici, no one has ever addressed me as the African; there I was Hasan, son of Muhammad al-Wazzan, and in official documents the name ‘al-Zayyati' was added, the name of my tribe of origin, ‘al-Gharnati', the Granadan, and if I was far off from Fez I would be called ‘al-Fassi' referring to my first country of adoption, which was not to be the last.

As weigh-master, my father could have taken as much as he wished from the foodstuffs submitted to him for inspection, provided he did not do this to excess, or even receive payment in gold dinars as the price of his silence on the frauds perpetrated by the merchants; I do not believe that he thought to enrich himself, but his function meant that the spectre of famine was always distant for him and his family.

‘You were such a chubby little boy,' my mother used to tell me, ‘that I did not dare to take you for walks in the streets in case you attracted the evil eye'. It was also important not to reveal our relative affluence.

Concerned not to alienate those of his neighbours who were in more straitened circumstances, my father would often offer them
some of his acquisitions, particularly meat or spring produce, but he always gave within limits and with modesty, because any largesse might have been provocative, any condescension humiliating. And when the people of the capital had no strength or illusions left, and showed their anger and helplessness in the streets, and when a delegation was to be sent to the sultan to charge him to put an end to the war at all costs, my father agreed to join the representatives of al-Baisin.

Thus, when he would retell the tale of the fall of Granada, his account would always begin in the tapestried rooms of the Alhambra.

‘There were thirty of us, from all the corners of the city, from Najd to the Fountain of Tears, from the Potters' quarter to the Almond Field, and those who were shouting loudly did not tremble any less than the others. I will not pretend to you that I was not terrified, and I would have certainly gone back if I had not feared to lose face. But imagine the folly of what we did; for two whole days thousands of townspeople had sown disorder in the streets, yelling the worst curses against the sultan, abusing his counsellors and making ironic remarks about his wives, beseeching him either to fight or make peace rather than prolong a situation indefinitely in which there was no joy in living and no glory in dying. So, as if to bring directly to his ears the insults which his spies had certainly already reported to him, we, a group of strange, dishevelled and vociferous parliamentarians, were coming to defy him in his own palace, before his chamberlain, his ministers and the officers of his guard. And there I was, an official from the
muhtasib's
office, charged with maintaining respect for the law and public order, in the company of the ring-leaders of the riots, while the enemy stood at the very gates of the city. Thinking of all this in my confusion, 1 told myself that I would find myself inside a dungeon, beaten with a bull's pizzle until the blood came, or even crucified on one of the crenellations in the city walls.

‘My fears turned out to be groundless, and shame soon replaced fright. Fortunately, none of my companions was aware of either the one or the other. You will soon understand, Hasan my son, why I have told you about this moment of weakness, which I have never spoken of before to any member of my family. I want you to know what really took place in our city of Granada during that calamitous year; perhaps this may prevent you allowing yourself to be misused
by those who have the destiny of multitudes in their hands. For my part, everything of value that I have learned about life has been revealed to me while unveiling the hearts of princes and women.

‘Our delegation passed into the Hall of the Ambassadors, where Boabdil was enthroned in his usual place, surrounded by two armed soldiers and several advisers. He had astonishingly deep wrinkles for a man of thirty, his beard flecked with grey and his eyelids withered; an enormous carved copper brazier standing in front of him concealed his legs and chest from our sight. It was the end of Muharram, which corresponded that year with the beginning of the Christian month of December, and it was so cold at the time that one recalled the arrogant words of the poet Ibn Sara de Santarem when he visited Granada:

People of this land, do not pray,

Do not turn away from that which is forbidden.

Thus you will win your place in Hell

Where the fire is so comforting

When the north wind blows.

‘The sultan welcomed us with a smile hovering on his lips, which seemed to me to be benevolent. He motioned us to sit down, which I did very gingerly. But, before the discussion could even begin, I saw pass by, to my great surprise, a large number of dignitaries, officers,
ulama
, notables from almost everywhere, including shaikh Astaghfirullah, the vizier al-Mulih, doctor Abu Khamr, almost a hundred people, some of whom had always avoided one another.

‘Boabdil spoke slowly, in a low voice which forced his visitors to be quiet and strain their ears in his direction, barely able to breathe. “In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, I have commanded that all those with an opinion on the disturbing situation in which fate has placed our city should meet here in the Alhambra Palace. Put forward your opinions and make up your minds on the course of action which should be adopted for the good of all, and I undertake to act according to your advice. Our vizier al-Mulih will give his opinion first; I shall not speak until the end.” Upon which he leaned his back on the cushions arranged along the wall and did not say another word.

‘Al-Mulih was the sultan's principal confidant, and it was expected that he would deliver some words of praise in rhyming
prose of the stand taken by his master. He did nothing of the kind. Although he addressed his speech to the “glorious descendant of the glorious Nasrid dynasty” he continued in very different tones: “My Lord, will you guarantee me immunity from punishment,
aman
, if I say to you fully and frankly what I think at this moment?” Boabdil indicated his assent with a slight movement of his head. “My opinion,” continued the vizier, “is that the policy we are pursuing serves neither God nor those who worship Him. We can hold forth here for ten days and ten nights, but this will not put a single grain of rice into the empty bowls of the children of Granada. Let us look the truth in the face, even if it is hideous, and let us scorn untruth, even if it is decked out in jewels. Our city is large, and even in time of peace it is not easy to provision it with the supplies that it needs. Every day which passes takes its toll of victims, and one day the Most High will call us to account for all those innocents whom we have allowed to perish. We could demand sacrifices of the inhabitants of the city if we could promise them a swift deliverance, if a powerful Muslim army was on its way to liberate Granada and punish its besiegers, but, as we now know, no one is coming to succour us. You, Lord of this kingdom, have written to the Sultan of Cairo, and to the Ottoman sultan; have they replied to you?” Boabdil raised his eyebrows to indicate that they had not. “And more recently, have you not written to the Muslim rulers of Fez and Tlemcen asking them to hasten here with their armies? What has been their reaction? Your noble blood, O Boabdil, forbids you to speak, but I will do so in your place. In fact, the rulers of Fez and Tlemcen have sent messengers laden with gifts, not to us but to Ferdinand, swearing that they will never take up arms against him! Today Granada is alone, because the other cities of the kingdom are already lost and because the Muslims of other lands are deaf to our appeals. What solution remains open to us?”

‘A weary silence came over the assembly, which contented itself with occasional rumblings of approval. Al-Mulih opened his mouth as if about to continue his argument. But he said nothing, stepped backwards and sat down, his face fixed on the ground. Three speakers of no particular distinction then got up in turn to say that the surrender of the town should be negotiated immediately, and that those in charge had lost too much time, and had been insensitive to the sufferings of the ordinary people.

‘It was now the turn of Astaghfirullah, who had been sitting
impatiently in his seat since the meeting began. He got up, made a mechanical movement with both hands to adjust his turban, and directed his gaze towards the ceiling, which was decorated with arabesques. “The vizier al-Mulih is a man well known for his intelligence and his skill, and when he wishes to implant an idea in the minds of his audience, he can manage it with ease. He wants to give us a message, and he has prepared our minds to receive it and now he is silent, because he does not wish to give us with his own hands the bitter cup from which he wishes us to drink. What is there in this cup? If he does not want to tell us from his own mouth, I will do it myself: the vizier wants us to agree to hand over Granada to Ferdinand. He has told us that all further resistance is useless, that no help will reach us from Andalus or elsewhere; he has revealed to us that the envoys of the Muslim princes have compromised themselves with our enemies, may God punish them and the others as He alone knows how! But al-Mulih has not told us everything! He has not said that he has himself been negotiating with the Rumis for weeks. He has not confessed that he has already agreed to open the gates of Granada to them.”

‘Astaghfirullah raised his voice to speak above the mounting uproar. “Al-Mulih has not told us that he has even agreed to bring forward the date of the surrender, that this will take place within the next few days, and that he has only sought a delay to prepare the minds of the people of Granada for defeat. It is to force us to capitulate that the food warehouses have been closed for several days; it is to deepen our discouragement that the demonstrations in the streets have been organized by the vizier's agents; and if we have been invited to come to the Alhambra today, it is not to criticize the actions of our governors, as the vizier would have us believe, but to give our backing to their impious decision to surrender Granada.” The shaikh was almost shouting; his beard shook with rage and bitter sarcasm. “Do not be indignant, my brother believers, because if al-Mulih has concealed the truth from us it is certainly not because he wished to deceive us; it is only because he lacked the time. But, by God, let us interrupt him no more, let him tell us in detail what he has been doing these past few days, and then we can agree on the course of action to be followed.” He finished abruptly and sat down, gathering the hem of his stained gown with a trembling hand, while a deathly silence came over the room, and all eyes turned towards al-Mulih.