Verse 6—And lo, Fatima beheld Muhammad at Jabreel’s right, and Isa at Jabreel’s left, and she knew the words of the malaekah to be true.
Verse 7—And she spake, “If my son is to save mankind, my flesh is a small price to pay. Take me into the arms of God, and let my son come forth with the Final Revelation."
- from the Aionite
Al-Lawh Al-Mahfouz (
The Eternal Tablet)
May 3rd, 1236
Sharif al-Hinnawi listened as his footfalls echoed, each echoing rumble thunderously loud. The Roman and Egyptian architects that had torn down the remains of the
Pharos to build the immense Southern Imperial Palace had done their work well—every noise that echoed in the huge throne room of marble and stone did so with great power—Hinnawi had seen how the acoustics could make a whisper from Prince Theodoros Komnenos, the unofficial
Despotes of all Egypt, turn into a thunderous command from on high.
The interior of the reworked Sultan’s palace of Alexandria, now an official imperial residence and oft-home of Theodoros Komnenos. In lieu of destroying the interior, Theodoros has ordered much of the original artwork restored.
Yet for Sharif, each footfall was only a reminder of his footfalls the day before, as he’d run from the palace to his home, only to hear Fatima’s screams, the door blocked by a bevy of midwives and servants. He remembered standing there, stupefied, wondering why the servants were carrying in white towels and bringing out red ones, until he realized…
No. Sharif shook his head desperately. He couldn’t think about that, not now. The
Katepanos had summoned him to the palace—something urgent had taken place. Nikolaios Komnenos, brother of the Prince, wouldn’t have summoned his chief
logothetes on a day like today unless it was truly urgent. The walk to his lord’s chambers seemed to take forever, but finally servants opened the fine ebony door for the
Logothetes ton mousulmanoi to the
Katepanos—the ‘Chief Advisor on Muslim Affairs,’ as his full title. Inside, the short, rather plump form of Nikolaios Komnenos looked up at him.
“I’m sorry to call you in on such a day,” Nikolaios said quietly, extending a hand. Sharif took it slowly, and looked into his master’s eyes. Nikolaios Komnenos had deep brown orbs that very rarely hid his emotions, and like Hinnawi expected, they were full of sympathy.
“I…” Sharif started to say, before tumbling over words. He wasn’t sure what to say actually. There was a moment’s awkwardness, before he finally said, “At least the boy will live,
inshallah.”
“I pray God that he does,” Nikolaios patted his
logothetes shoulder, motioning towards the conference table at the center of the room. “Fatima’s loss…” the
Katepanos’ voice dropped off, and he merely shook his head. “She was a wonderful woman, Sharif. I am sorry.”
Hinnawi nodded quietly.
“Have you decided on a name?” Nikolaios asked, pouring tea for the both of them. Unlike Theodoros, at least the
Katepanos wasn’t a drunkard. “A Greek one, I mean?”
“No,” Sharif said, a little startled. In the chaos of the funeral, making arrangements, and finding someone to nurse the child, Hinnawi had utter forgotten that singularly important detail—the child had no Greek name. “I…I haven’t yet.”
“Don’t name him Nikolaios,” the
Katepanos smiled thinly. He pulled out a seat, and Sharif nodded in thanks before sitting down. As usual, Nikolaios did not sit—the man was far too excitable to
ever sit.
“I…I haven’t decided his Greek name,” Sharif confessed. The child would be raised in the upper elites of Egyptian society, but Sharif was well aware that for anyone with a Muslim name, there was a glass ceiling in this cosmopolitan world. Thus, like most Muslims under Roman rule, Sharif also had a name he adopted for speaking to Greeks. Nikolaios, in fact, paid him a great compliment by referring to him by his given name, and not his Greek adopted name, Stephanos.
“What’s is local name?” Nikolaios asked. The Greeks collectively referred to Muslim given names as “local names.” Often the Greek aristocracy wasn’t given to keeping track of which specific subculture they were dealing with.
“Adib,” Sharif replied. It was the name of Sharif’s own father, a name of solid Damascus stock. “Lordship, I know you did not call me here the day after I lost a wife and gained a son to discuss his name. If we could…”
“Of course,” Nikolaios nodded. Sharif understood the
Katepanos was merely trying to be polite and understanding, but Hinnawi much preferred getting his work here finished so he could go home and mourn his wife. “I have a major problem, Sharif, a problem you know. Al-Nafis.”
Sharif closed his eyes and sighed.
Aladdin Al-Nafis was one of the up and coming teachers in the
ulema of Alexandria. He too was originally of Damascus origin, and like Hinnawi he’d moved to Egypt for the unique opportunities presented by the enormous, bustling city of Alexandria. While for Hinnawi it’d been a chance at governmental service, for his childhood friend it was mostly the attraction of the Alexandria
ulema, one of largest and most influential in this new, Roman world. The man was a budding polymath. Despite being only 23, Aladdin had already written three treatises on medicine, several of which completely disproved Galen’s concepts of the human body. In addition, the few works he’d already started on Muslim philosophical thought were impeccable. Unfortunately, he was also an anti-Roman hothead—Hinnawi had no doubt his friend’s mouth had gotten him into trouble.
Ala al-Din Abu al-Hassan Ali ibn Abi-Hazm al-Qurashi al-Dimashqi, commonly known as Ibn Al-Nafis
“There must be some mistake,” Sharif said, stalling as best he could. His already worried mind was addled trying to think of a way to save his friend. “I know al-Nafis personally, he is my friend of many years! He’s young, sometimes he speaks in anger and…”
“He really opened his mouth, Sharif,” Nikolaios glowered. “Agents of mine were inside the Mosque to Mahomet,” the Greek butchered the name of the Prophet, “and they recorded down the words he said.” Nikolaios’ hand flitted across the desk to a piece of parchment covered in writing. The paper crinkled angrily as the
Katepanos shoved it towards his
logothetes. “Read.”
Sharif hastily took the document from his master’s hands, eyes scanning the words. As each word crossed his gaze, his heart fell further and further.
Aladdin had opened his mouth, and all sorts of things had come tumbling out.
“Your Lordship…” Sharif started to say quietly.
“We are at a delicate time here, Sharif,” Nikolaios cut him off, “The most delicate time since the Emperor faced Fahraz in the field near Susa.”
Hinnawi nodded. Those few weeks in July two years past had been… touch and go, at best. There had been a sudden stop in couriers from the Emperor, or Prince Theodoros, and Sharif had to simultaneously keep rumors down, and deal with an increasingly worried, even slightly paranoid Nikolaios. When an imperial messenger finally arrived, revealing the Emperor had willingly cut himself off to surprise and annihilate Fahraz’s army in one fell swoop, Sharif doubted he’d felt more relieved. The Emperor’s death would have been violence and chaos in the streets…
Emperor Thomas, despite years without seeing battle, had lost little of his martial mettle. Using himself as bait, he and a detachment of 10,000 lured Sultan Fahraz into a trap between the remainder of his own troops and Theodoros Komnenos’ 15,000 men. The last Seljuk organized force was crushed easily, but the war was far from over…
“News?” Sharif asked.
Nikolaios nodded. “I received a dispatch from my brother—he says revolts on the coast are down, and the Emperor has finally managed to quell the more turbulent areas of Isfahan and Shiraz.”
“What of Prince Gabriel?” Sharif muttered. He’d heard stories of the young man. Like Nikolaios, the Prince at least
tried to be understanding of Muslims, even if he was not one. Sharif could serve a man like that, just as he willingly served Nikolaios. He heard stories of some of the Romans in Syria who no longer had a Muslim advisor on their staff—they considered it unnecessary.
“Hulagu has finally moved,” Nikolaios said darkly.
…for two unforeseen events happened. Firstly, through a long series of misunderstandings, confusion, and outright ignorance, the Romans in the southern columns cause a series of rebellions in places such as Shiraz and Isfahan. Both the Emperor and Prince’s first reaction is to suppress the revolts brutally—Thomas ordering the city of Isfahan burnt after the city refused to surrender to his armies. Further north, the local population has been far more cooperative, but by the spring of 1236 Hulagu was ready to move with an army nearly 50,000 strong. Gabriel and Adrianos have, between them, only 35,000 available to resist…
“Battle?” Hinnawi raised an eyebrow. For two years the Romans had free reign across Persia, and Sharif was personally surprised it’d taken the Mongols that long to move.
“Likely,” Nikolaios started his usual fidgeting. Sharif knew in a minute or so, his master would soon start pacing. “And the Emir of Hejaz…”
“The
Sharif?” Hinnawi corrected. To the Romans, Muslim nobility were sheikhs, emirs, or sultans. There was no concept of subtlety in their understanding.
“Yes, him,” Nikolaios went on, paying little heed to his advisor’s correction, “has sent a letter to the Prince of Arabia Petraea, demanding he renounce his allegiance to Konstantinopolis and convert to Islam, or the Hejazi armies will come tumbling down upon his head!” the
Katepanos exploded.
Hinnawi blanched slightly. Most of the
Despotes’ thematakoi that were free for a field army were in Persia. Since the fall of the Qasim’s, he had no doubt the Levant was not mobilized for a war. It looked as if things could get ugly… quickly.
…AND, the opportunistic Sharif of Hejaz is making designs upon the Roman Levant!
“So… a delicate time,” Nikolaios began his ritual pacing. “A delicate time…”
“Shall I talk to Aladdin? Perhaps I can persuade…”
“We’re
far past talking, Sharif!” Nikolaios chuckled sarcastically, his pacing drawing to a halt as Sharif winced in preparation for the inevitable explosion. “No, not what he was uttering during the Friday prayers, that’s beyond
talking!” Nikolaios finally snapped. “He’s telling people the war in Persia is unjust! He’s saying that the Muslims should fight both Roman
and Mongol! And on top of that,” Nikolaios’ hands were flying wildly now, “He’s adding lies and slander! He said I’m a servant of the Devil, and that my brother urinated inside of a
mosque!” Nikolaios thundered. “That’s pure slander!“ the man snarled, resuming his stalking. “Theodoros is a bit a-religious, I grant you,” Nikolaios understated, “but he’d never do something that… that
daft!”
Sharif bit his lip, not saying a thing. In his capacity as advisor to the brother of the Prince of Damietta, Sharif was
sure Theodoros Komnenos was capable of such a thing—especially if he ran into a righteous imam who insisted on keeping the Prince out of his mosque. Once his ire was stirred, Theodoros’ temper was legendary.
“And his comments about the Emperor…”
Those words made Sharif’s blood ran cold. He’d heard al-Nafis’ words a week before, and he’d blanched then. Accusing the Emperor of deflowering a hundred virgins? War was war, Sharif knew innocents were harmed, but he could hardly fathom how al-Nafis would know that Emperor Thomas II had burnt Isfahan to the ground, raped all the virgins of the city, then ordered lemon juice strewn over the wreckage. It seemed impossibly insane. To speak truthfully about the local Prince was one thing, to create fabrications about the Emperor was something else entirely.
“That…that was only his third sermon at the mosque,” Sharif said quickly.
“He called for the Muslims of the Empire to rebel,” Nikolaios snapped, “and openly said that the Mongols were agents of God sent to destroy the Roman infidel! Urging the Muslims of Alexandria to rise in arms is far past slander, Sharif! I need your help in finding a suitable way to shut him up!” Nikolaios said darkly. “Petros was in here earlier,” Nikolaios named Damietta’s spymaster, “and
he said to just have some men slit this troublemaker’s throat. Sharif, what do
you think?”
“You can’t kill him!” Sharif said suddenly. His friend was about to die, his wife had just died, and the young
logothetes mind slowly crawled through the glass of weariness, panic and confusion towards a reason why. “He is a consummate physician, one of the greatest medical minds alive!” Sharif said desperately. “His future as a scholar is bright! He could be one of the greatest minds of our generation! To sacrifice that for something he uttered while young and foolish would be…”
“He spoke against the Emperor, there’s no defense against that!” Nikolaios snapped. At Sharif’s look of being taken aback, the
Katepanos sighed. “My brother’s legates and functionaries are expecting
something to be done about him. If not, I fear they’ll report the whole unsavory affair to Theodoros, and it will be
our heads in trouble. And imagine the chaos in the streets if people take his words seriously. I know he’s your friend, but think of your son! He lost a mother yesterday, don’t let him lose a father over some… balderdash a man shouted in a mosque!”
Sharif wanted to tell Nikolaios that those words weren’t ‘balderdash,’ they were honest, truly felt words… but the
logothetes held his tongue.
“I called you in because you don’t tell me the usual… balderdash,” Nikolaios waved his hands about angrily, muttering Greek that Sharif didn’t understand, “Tell me the truth. The honest truth. What can I do about this al-Nafis?” the
Katepanos complained. “Have him executed?”
“You cannot have him tried and executed for treason,” Sharif said quietly, desperately hoping to spare the life of his lifelong friend. “To do so would incite his followers.” He cleared his throat, as more parts of the thought tumbled into his mind. “Right now, he’s young, he’s foolish. He’s only 23, he’s not an elder in the
ulema. To kill him would elevate his thoughts far past the station they hold…”
“True!” Nikolaios said after a moment’s pause, before a slight smile crossed his lips. “If I’d been listening to that idiot Petros I would’ve already had him hung!” The
Katepanos stopped his pacing, eyes fervently looking at Sharif. “So what do I do? I can’t have him continue his sermons…”
“Damage his credibility?” Sharif offered after an awkward minute’s pause. Silently, Hinnawi cursed himself, and hoped his friend could recover from whatever machinations Nikolaios was about to unleash.
“You mean frame him?” Nikolaios raised an eyebrow, before a smile crossed his lips. “Some crime of some kind. Theft, bribery,” the
Katepanos started thinking aloud, “something not too serious, so I can also show magnanimity in not incarcerating him, ‘because of his youth and contributions to society.’ Brilliant!”
As the
Katepanos began thinking of ways to ruin a new young voice against the Empire, Hinnawi silently wished his son would grow up in less turbulent times. Little did he know in the future it would be son causing the turbulence…
==========*==========
So Persia has not gone exactly to plan—in the north, areas were pacified quickly, while rebellions and uprisings have died down the southern armies of the Emperor and Theodoros. Of course, this is when the Mongols chose to strike, and opportunistic Hejaz is moving in to steal a piece of pie as well. How will all this turn out? And what was up with Fatima, and Adib? More when Rome AARisen continues!
