The Theocrat: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) (28 page)

“There was a time,” he said slapping his thigh, “when I used to prevent Egyptians from performing the pilgrimage. But then I cancelled the order. Today however I’m going to reimpose it, and there’ll be no appeals.”

Just at that moment al-Hakim felt a sudden stab of pain. He dismissed his servants and guards, then turned his mount toward the Lu’lu’ Palace gardens where he planned to lie down for a while. However no sooner had he arrived than he started feeling even worse. Trees loomed in front of his eyes like soldiers; the branches were drawn swords, each one ready and eager to tear him limb from limb. He headed back to the palace by way of the Tarma stables where he insisted on moving all the horses and other animals out so he could spent the night in the company of his faithful donkey, al-Qamar. It was here in the pitch darkness that al-Hakim started uttering strange phrases, the audible parts of which sounded weird and obscure; his only accompaniment was the neighing of his donkey spreadeagled on the ground, coupled with the stench of straw and animal droppings.

The following morning found al-Hakim still ensconced at al-Tarma. His guards came in and asked if he wished to be taken back to his own bed. He agreed, but once installed there, he continued talking in riddles. He kept shivering uncontrollably, but eventually fell into a deep, yet fitful slumber. When he woke up, his final night on earth had already-begun. He got up and summoned his astrologers. He was reminded that he had banished most of them and murdered the ones who were most skilled. There was only one left, and he was blind and crazy; no one knew his whereabouts. Al-Hakim looked up at the heavens.

“So there you are, O ill-omened star!” he said.

After contemplating the sky for a while, al-Hakim went to see his mother. Lady ‘Aziza. He kissed her head and hands and told her about the unlucky star. His mother wept bitterly. She begged her son to break his normal routine just for this one night and not go out to the desert by the Muqattam Hills.

Al-Hakim responded to her pleadings, shivering as he did so. “This very night and early tomorrow,” he said meekly, “I have much to do. My dear
mother, I have led you to perdition, and now my own sister is out to destroy me. But you’re the one I’m worried about, far more than whatever she may decide to do. Take this key, it’s the one to the safe; in it you’ll find boxes containing three hundred thousand dinars. Take the money back to your palace to keep as a reserve.”[
25
] Now I see you kissing the ground and begging me to dispense with my nighttime ride, yet my restless soul tells me otherwise. Either I’ll go out and come back unscathed, or else I’ll die. If it’s the latter, then farewell. We all belong to God, and to Him do we return.”

Only the last third of the night still remained when al-Hakim left his palace, as though drawn by some invisible force. He got on his donkey and rode off toward the Muqattam Hills, instructing his guards not to come with him; all except for a single boy who brought inkwell, pen, and paper with him. Sitt al-Mulk was following his every move from her own palace. No sooner did he reach the hilltop and go down into the hollow than he started shouting over and over again, “Now you’ll be rid of me! Now you’ll be rid of me!” Coming to himself again, he kept on talking, loudly at times and then muttering, “This is a night like no other. It is the infinite abyss whose overwhelming beauty draws me onward. As I follow the stars and planets of this night sky, I see myself longing for my own demise and the totality that is indivisible. This night is the never-sleeping eye that lures me, pulling me toward the treasure-trove of eternity and the blessings of the world to come.

“On this night that remains unsullied in spite of your vigilance and efforts, my body disintegrates and my cells evanesce, and yet I no longer value them.

“I now belittle this earth of mine where I was welcomed before this dark firmament studded with lustrous pearls!

“Were my soul to fly away and quit the havens of corruption in order to blend with the elements, then my death would be so easy and pleasant!

“Yet what distresses me and kindles my ire is that I am to meet my fate after being betrayed, cut down, and torn apart by the weapons of scum.

“My unlucky star reveals to me how my own end has come about as a result of the scheming of a woman who is closest to my heart, and
using a Tunisian knife. This woman will order me killed, then will kill my murderer, and all those who know about it.

“Woe then to the chief of the Kutama! And woe to all those who plot against me!”

The murder of al-Hakim bi-Amr lllah took place on the 27
^th
of Shawwal 411. At the time he was thirty-six years old, and he had reigned for twenty-five years and one month. If the killers had not forgotten to bury the crippled carcass of the donkey, Sitt al-Mulk’s plan would have worked perfectly. As it was, rumors were rife in every town and leaders started asking questions. But Sitt al-Mulk managed to brush aside this conspicuous error by responding to the rising tide of questions with a serene demeanor, “Al-Hakim informed me,” she said, “that he would be absent for a while. Everything is fine. Al-Qamar, his donkey, either died of exhaustion from carrying too heavy a load or else al-Hakim killed it himself, something he’s threatened to do many tunes.”

Throughout the week following al-Hakim’s disappearance Sitt al-Mulk was in a race against time. The long wait and al-Hakim’s empty throne seemed to her like a sword; either she had to use it herself, or else it would strike her down. In order for her gamble to succeed, she would have to get the Tunisian and Turkish soldiers on her side, distribute cash and rewards among them, and make land-grants to their commanders and officers. In order to broaden her sphere of discretion, she found it necessary to let the Prime Minister, Khatir al-Mulk, in on the secret of al-Hakim’s murder, in exchange for which she extracted from him a solemn oath of loyalty and total secrecy. She ordered him to bring the heir-apparent, ‘Abd al-Rahim ibn Ilyas, back from Syria. Since she was adamantly opposed to seeing the caliphate transferred to al-Hakim’s cousins, she also gave the minister the task of forcing the young man to commit suicide. A short while later Khatir al-Mulk did exactly that. His own retainers provided the following account: “We took the heir-apparent some poisoned fruit, dales, almonds, and pomegranates. “The Lady Sitt al-Mulk has sent these fruits to you as a present,’ we told him. ‘They’re fresh from this season’s pickings. Enjoy them!” With that the young man
and his throne,’ he gasped as he lay dying. ‘As I go to see my God, I have a never ending stream of disturbing questions.’”

At this point a whole series of strange tales and loaded rumors about Sitt al-Mulk began to circulate among the populace and even judges and justices. So she summoned a group of them to meet her.

“Woe to all of you!” she said in a harsh tone. “Are you supposed to be trustworthy servants of this state or merely scum of the earth? Are you all renouncing your faith in the esoteric, the occult, and the hidden, in the very bases of the Fatimid cause? Am I supposed to regard you all from now on as Sunni Muslims, a group of incompetents whose legal scholars and imams have had this to say: ‘There is to be no hereafter for such people. When they die, their souls will not leave their bodies; instead they will be punished for evermore in torture’s lingering grip.’ Recant your folly and spare me your arguments. Purge yourselves in the pure water of virtue and the preservation of honor. Otherwise look forward to God’s own curse upon you and the punishment of a woman behind the veil.”

When Sitt al-Mulk put on such an obvious display of anger and sanctity, the justices and judges started whispering to each other that she was obviously guiltless. With that they all bowed down before her and begged her for forgiveness and a pledge of safety. That said, she duly pardoned them all and calmed their worries.

Once this first and last storm had died down, Sitt al-Mulk began to feel the road to power now fully open to her. She used the occasion of the Feast of the Sacrifice to install her own candidate on the throne and crown him. He was Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali ibn al-Hakim, a young man to whom she assigned the title al-Zahir li-I‘zaz Din Allah. She immediately summoned Ibn Dawwas.

“I am now exactly as you have always known me,” she said, addressing him face to face, “and as I have pledged myself to you. Now you do likewise. The hearts of all free men are havens for secrets. Never forget that. I am placing this child in your charge; on your own head be it! You
must hold his hand and teach him how to govern and manipulate the reins of power. Long live our glorious dynasty!”

As Ibn Dawwas listened to these words, he bowed low and kissed the ground in a show of obeisance. She would not let him go until she had also summoned Khatir al-Mulk and told him exactly what she had told Ibn Dawwas.

“You are to outfit a splendid carriage for the new caliph,” she added imperiously, “then give him a slave escort and parade him before the people. You should inform them that she who is all-powerful hereby issues the following proclamation: ‘Here is your new lord and guardian, (live him a pledge of your loyalty and obedience.”‘

She had things her way. Khatir al-Mulk executed her orders with consummate skill. With the exception of a single servant whom she had killed because he refused to pledge allegiance and instead proclaimed the imminent return of al-Hakim. all the palace staff spent the day kissing the ground and rubbing their cheeks on the floor, outdoing each other in displays of fawning obedience. People from all walks of life arrived in droves to proclaim their pledges of loyalty and express their delight.

Soon after the coronation ceremonies for al-Zahir li-I‘zaz Din Allah and all the accompanying celebrations and festivities, Sitt al-Mulk proclaimed three days of mourning for al-Hakim’s disappearance. Once this period was past, everything gave the appearance of being in good order and on an even keel once again: waters flowing in their proper courses, swords back in their scabbards, and wayward tongues remaining silent. However it was not long before the genera! atmosphere inside the enormous palace began to echo with nasty rumors. A provocative whispering campaign started casting doubts on Sitt al-Mulk’s innocence in the matter of al-Hakim’s death. What fanned such doubts was a report issued by a group of investigative experts to the effect that, just three days following al-Hakim’s disappearance, they had combed the Muqattam Hills from top to bottom. They had found his clothing close to a small pond east of Hulwan and Dayr al-Baghl—seven buttoned garments, all of them blood-stained. However the group was scared of Sitt al-Mulk’s
likely reaction to this news and also anxious to appease the new caliph, so they did not release their findings. Eventually however the news leaked out, and everyone heard the story.

For an entire day Sitt al-Mulk stayed secluded in her bedroom, while she tried to figure out how to fix things and find a solution. Right at sunset she began to feel flashes of a strong conviction, one she was powerless to quell, namely that such important secrets could only be safely stored inside a single heart. To reduce them to a single entity and keep them out of harm’s way inevitably required that all the other versions would have to be eliminated. Simply stated, Sitt ah-Mulk reached the conclusion that, if the secret of al-Hakim’s murder was to be fully suppressed inside her own heart and prevented from spreading, then it too would have to be eliminated by killing everyone else who knew about it. As she saw it, such a course of action would not merely give her more leeway and cleanse her hands of his blood, but also accomplish other goals that were much needed in order to stabilize the government. Firstly, she would he rid of the rivalry for power and influence between Ibn Dawwas and Khatir al-Mulk which was all part of their bargain for keeping things secret. Secondly, it would squelch all talk about al-Hakim’s temporary disappearance that his devotees were putting about among simple country folk and conspirators against the current government. Thirdly, it would stop all the stories being put about by lunatics, some of whom, before killing themselves, would claim to be al-Hakim’s murderer, while others dressed themselves up to look like al-Hakim and then gathered a crowd around them with a view to bringing back his power and authority.

Sitt al-Mulk immediately summoned Nasim the Sicilian, the chief of security. She told him to stop kissing the ground in front of her and to get up. “Talk to me about secrets, Nasim,” she said.

“My lady,” he responded humbly, “secrets are part of my daily routine, my profession, a buried link, a veiled knot, something my eyes can envision but my tongue cannot speak. The secret is something I can neither understand nor seek to understand. The secret, my lady, is a priceless fundamental, a special core. Once spread abroad, it is lost. While the soul
of the one who beans it may be troubled, that of one of who does not bear it is yet more so. In the political realm secrets constitute the key to authority; in war they provides the means to take the enemy by surprise and secure crushing victory. Secrets, my lady, are the most exalted and cogent things a man may carry in his soul to his very grave. This is just a small portion of what our shaykhs and elders have told us about secrets and the secret of secrets.”

“Now, Nasim,” Sitt al-Mulk continued, well pleased by what she had heard, “you’re aware of the high esteem I have for you, just as my late brother did. In fact, mine is yet higher. I’ve no doubt you’ve heard all kinds of stories about al-Hakim’s death. Today I want to put an end to all that by revealing what my own investigations have brought to light regarding certain senior officials who always dreamed of doing away with my brother. Go outside now and in full hearing of Ibn Dawwas instruct the slaves as follows: Our Lady has discovered and confirmed that it was Sayf al-Dawla who murdered al-Hakim. So kill him.” Then go and say exactly the same thing about Khatir al-Mulk. Insist that he be killed too, along with the entire coterie of both men. Once you have carried out these orders, come back and tell me what you have managed to do.”

Nasim and his squad made their way to Ibn Dawwas’s home, but he wasn’t there. Next they headed to the Kutami quarter, and there they found him checking on his kinsmen and exhorting them to stick together. The Security Chief informed him that his lady required his presence immediately on an urgent matter. Once Ibn Dawwas had been escorted far away from the quarter, Nasim carried out Sitt al-Mulk’s orders. When the guards drew their swords, Ibn Dawwas began to defend himself and called on his tribesmen to help him. He managed to kill two slaves, but within minutes he was dead, his corpse riddled with sword-thrusts.