The Mother of Cities and the Last Jihad
Freedom
September, 1420
The Mameluke functionary was bored. It was obvious that he had better things to do than deal with a mere vassal, even if he was lord of the Hejaz and guardian of Mecca and Medina. He could barely stifle a yawn as Al-Hasan went through the usual stack of papers. He barely noticed when Al-Hasan handed him a scroll bearing the crests of both the Mameluk Sultan and the Sultan of the Hedjaz. Suddenly, he shot bolt upright.
“You accept the alliance?” Al-Hasan nodded.
“There has been a great friendship between our nations for generations. It is only fitting that we support you in your just wars.” The emissary’s eyes lit up- to think that he was the man who finally closed the trap on the leg of the Hedjaz’s Sultan! This cooperation would open the way for the Hedjaz’s annexation, and the Mamelukes would own the Holy Cities. Such wealth and prestige… and naturally some of it would trickle down to the man responsible…
The emissary could hardly be blamed for missing Al-Hasan’s next statement.
“I’m sorry, what was that, your Majesty?” Al-Hasan smiled indulgently.
“I said, it is also only fitting that the Hedjaz break the oaths of vassalization that have bound us to the Mameluke Sultan. A Sunni people deserve a Sunni ruler, do they not? Does not the Koran itself state that no one rules but Allah? Does not the Koran state that each person is granted an equal portion of the earth, that we should live as brothers under our great Father? It strikes me, therefore, as the logical conclusion that the Hedjaz should, with great regret, obviously, break the oaths. We are an independent nation again.” The emissary shot out of his chair, his turban slipping.
“You- you- you can’t! Why, why the Sultan will-“
“Declare war? Against his ally?” The emissary blinked. Suddenly, his trip back to Cairo looked rather less pleasant…
June, 1423
The Sultan and Prince Barakat looked over the stack of reports. Al-Hasan adjusted his spectacles, peering closely at the parchments. Finally, he leaned back and sighed, rubbing his eyes.
“What do you think?” Barakat smiled.
”It appears to be working. Tax revenues in Mecca are up twenty percent from last year’s receipts.” Al-Hasan scratched at his chin.
“Considering the fuss the sharifs made over my decree on the tax code, it seems like a poor return.” Barakat snorted.
“Those old fools just don’t want to see any competition. Their sons can read and write, and that means that these posts will fall into their hands sooner or later. They’ll come around. Mind you, on top of the controversy over Hussein ibn-Gabril, it has made for some headaches.” Ibn-Gabril was a philosopher who taught in Medina. He had stirred up controversy by his spirited defense of Christian philosophers. The Sultan had thrown his weight behind him, protecting him from conservatives, but it had cost Al-Hasan a great deal of political capital. Al-Hasan leaned forward, gazing steadily at his son.
“The country is unsettled, and the Mameluke alliance is weak. We have alienated a great many important people. Are you sure we can continue to walk this path?” Barakat nodded vehemently.
“Father, Islam is sick. We are rent by schism, the Caliph is the prisoner and puppet of barbarians who destroyed the wonders of Persia and tore down the buildings of Baghdad. The Christians held the Holy Land for a century. For a millenium, Islam has been the light of the world, the center of learning, art, culture… now, we are frightened. We turn in upon ourselves, rejecting the outside world. How grand would Mecca be today if we had burned the works of Aristotle and Plato, if we had smashed the astrolabes and the maps? Another generation or two, and Islam will no longer be a beacon to the world. It will turn dour and suspicious, backward and intolerant- forever. We must do what we can to turn the tide.” Al-Hasan blinked and thought for a long while. Finally, he bowed.
“You see farther than I, my son. You will make a powerful and just prince. May Allah bless your path.” Barakat bowed. “I only hope that our reforms will not attract unwelcome attention.”
March, 1425
Barakat burst into his father’s chamber. Al-Hasan was growing steadily weaker, and rarely left his rooms. He held up a parchment bearing the seal of the Caliph.
“It is jihad. The Mongols have pushed the Caliph to declare us infidel.” Barakat slammed his fist on a table. “They just can’t bear to have any sort of happiness just across their border.” Al-Hasan stared in horror.
“We can’t fight the Caliph- his armies outnumber ours three to one-“
“No, but the Mamelukes can.” Barakat stared at a map that ran the length of the northern wall. “I think I have a plan.”
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