The Holy Sail (47 page)

Jaafar looked at the food again but decided against eating. He continued, ‘After the Portuguese came to dominate the seas, trade in Alexandria ground to a halt and life there became miserable. There was no money or merchants or ships. Everything collapsed. The inn owner eventually had to close it down and sack everyone. I tried to find work, any work, and moved from city to city in Egypt to find my sustenance. At the same time, I was searching for Hussein, Suleiman's friend, who had become a pasha. Then I learned he had been murdered in Jeddah and I despaired. All I could do was try to find Suleiman, my last remaining friend who could rescue me from misery and penury.'

Jaafar gave the woman a pathetic look to elicit her sympathy. ‘I came to Istanbul without a penny to my name! I worked as a porter in the markets. As I've got older, it has become difficult for me to continue this sort of work, so I decided to try to find the pasha at any cost!'

Jaafar shifted his eyes to his dirty and tattered clothes and then back to the woman, and continued. ‘What else could I have done, madam? Each time I made queries about the pasha, I was ignored or, worse, insulted. No one knew who I was. They see my clothes and state and decide to look down on me immediately. That's life for you! I did try
to make a decent living in a way that preserved my dignity, but I failed because of my injury!'

The woman's face had changed upon hearing Hussein's name. Now she was sure he was telling the truth. Hussein was indeed a friend of Suleiman Pasha. ‘All right, don't worry. I am the pasha's wife. I will ask him to help you.'

The woman watched as a young man wearing an Ottoman officer's uniform entered the garden. She rose and embraced him. The young man looked at Jaafar in contempt. ‘Who is this man, Mother? Another dervish?'

‘A dervish, yes, but not just any one.'

The officer approached the dervish, who stood up in respect.

‘This is my son Hussein, Jaafar. I named him after Hussein al-Kurdi, Suleiman Pasha's friend,' the woman said.

Jaafar examined young Hussein's face, trying to see if there was any trace of his old friend in him. ‘I hope he doesn't take after Hussein, that man grumbled about everything.'

The woman laughed, saying, ‘He did not grumble when I last saw him.'

Jaafar's expression changed. ‘You've met him, madam? How? Where?'

The woman, who was still holding her son's hand, gestured to Jaafar to sit back down. ‘Sit, Jaafar. The conversation might last a while.'

‘I come from the kingdom of Hormuz, an island east of here. It used to be a splendid, wealthy kingdom before the Portuguese appeared on its shores. I married a man named Ghurair bin Rahhal, who was the vizier of Sultan Muqrin, an Arabian king in those parts. The sultan sent him to fight the Portuguese in India, where he met Hussein
Pasha. They fought together but they unfortunately were defeated in battle, after which they returned in disguise to Bahrain, where I was living.'

The woman, who was none other than Halima, continued, ‘Hussein did not stay with us for very long. He left for Jeddah, and I did not see him again after that. My late husband was killed months after Hussein left. Then I travelled to Jeddah for the Hajj, and there I met Suleiman who became my husband. He told me that Hussein al-Kurdi was killed in a rebellion in Jeddah.'

Pointing to the young man who was still standing near them, she said, ‘I have three children with Suleiman. This is my eldest. We also have a girl whom we named Farah, after my best friend who died many years ago. Then we had another boy, Fekri, who is still in the military academy.' Halima now seemed more interested in the dervish, who knew a lot about her husband. She said, ‘You have to wait until my husband comes. He will be back soon.'

Jaafar started eating from the food that was offered to him. Halima and her son Hussein, who was still not fully comfortable with this stranger, sat with him. Jaafar told them stories about Suleiman and Hussein when they were young officers in the Mamluk army.

They heard a noise outside the main door, and saw the pasha's wagon bearing the banners of the Ottoman navy stop outside. Guards from the Janissary regiment escorted him. The procession crossed the main gate and came up the path leading to the house, to the entrance decorated by beautiful carnations.

Halima and Hussein stood up and went to where the wagon had stopped. They spoke to the pasha before
they returned to Jaafar. Halima had told Suleiman about his miserable state.

When the pasha came close to Jaafar, he opened his arms and said, ‘Jaafar, you fatso! We miss the food you used to feed us. I see your belly has actually shrunk a little. Hopefully, you're less talkative too!'

‘Pasha Suleiman! You survived the
atabeg
curse then. You murdered no one and no one murdered you in Cairo!'

They all sat in the garden and talked about every topic under the sun, until they got to the story of how Halima met Suleiman in Jeddah. Halima said, looking at her husband, ‘Sheikh Tazi was very cunning when he asked me to wash my face with
zamzam
water in front of you, making up a
hadith
. He wanted you to see me and fall in love, so you could marry me before he left for Morocco.'

‘The sheikh's trick worked. If he hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't have seen your face and married you,' Suleiman said happily.

Halima gave out a deep sigh, remembering the man and how much she owed him and his wife. She said in her usual gentle voice, ‘I don't know what happened to him after he left Jeddah. May God have mercy on him if he passed away. His compassion, knowledge and intelligence have changed my life for the better.'

Jaafar continued to joke with Suleiman. ‘Shall I call you Suleiman? Or shall I call you Suleiman Pasha? All these titles scare me a bit and I don't really understand their value. The highest rank I'd heard of was
atabeg
. May God have mercy on my mother, I wish she had named me “Atabeg Jaafar” so that the title would stick to me my whole life.
People would say, “Atabeg Jaafar, bring us some meze and put on some extra olive oil.”'

Everyone laughed. Halima looked at the faces around her and thought about how much her life had changed. She lifted her eyes to the sky and prayed for her father, whom she had heard nothing about for many years.

Her memory took her back to Bahrain, to the farmstead where she had lived some of the best days of her life. She tried to imagine the state of Farah's grave, isolated and forsaken in a strange land. She looked back at her husband and son and this odd dervish, and lifted her eyes back to the sky.

‘Praise be to God for everything. Dear God, have mercy on my father!'

 

–
 
42
 
–

Massawa, East Africa

A Catholic priest from Portugal disembarked from the ship that had brought him to Massawa. He scanned the people around him as if searching for a familiar face. The docks were teeming with people and goods being moved about. No one paid him any attention; many like him were seen coming and going every day.

He spotted a young man dragging a mule that lumbered heavily behind him. The priest approached him and asked whether he could take him to a place between the distant cloud-covered mountaintops that towered behind the port.

‘Yes, I can take you there. But I will charge you by the day. It's very far as you can see.'

The priest shook his pocket so that the guide could hear the sound of the coins he carried. ‘Very well, we shall do that. I will pay your wage when the sun sets every day, but my condition is that you must never leave me when we are on the road.'

The guide, stroking the neck of his mule, replied, ‘I'm fine with that, sir.'

The two men headed west along a dirt road, where thin shepherds were herding their cows and sheep. The shepherds wore a length of fabric that wrapped around their waists and folded over their shoulders.

The guide asked the priest, ‘Where to exactly, sir?'

‘To the realm of Empress Eleni,' replied the Portuguese.

The guide trembled upon hearing the name. ‘Are you sure, sir? People who go to her kingdom never come back. When I asked you at the port you said you were going to somewhere between those green mountains!'

‘The place between the mountains
is
Empress Eleni's realm,' the priest replied mockingly. ‘Do you remember my condition, which you agreed to before we set off?'

‘I do, priest. But do you know you may never return?'

The priest wanted to put an end to the conversation. ‘I know, friend. I know.'

The two-man convoy travelled without speaking through highlands, streams and valleys towards a plateau situated in the middle of the realm. After a few days, when the guide could no longer bear the priest's silence, he said, ‘Father, we have been walking and eating together for days and yet you have not told me your name!'

‘Francisco Álvares. I am a priest from Portugal. I am on my way to visit the empress to enquire about a man we lost in these parts many years ago.'

The guide pointed in the direction of the high mountains in front of them. ‘It is a vast land, Father, full of predators and bandits. Anything could have happened to him. Why is he so important to you?'

‘He's not important to me, but he is to my king. He sent him nearly thirty years ago to look for the kingdom of Prester John but the man vanished. We want to find out how and why.'

The guide tried to pull the mule, which did not seem to want to cross the narrow pass they were at now. The guide said, ‘Empress Eleni is much better than her husband, who
was a cruel man. He prohibited foreigners from leaving his kingdom once they entered, forcing them to stay with him. He believed all foreigners were spies who had come to scout out the kingdom's strengths and weaknesses. I heard the empress allows some to leave, however, thinking they could return with treasures and goods for trade, but I wouldn't trust that either. Those kings and queens change their mind every time they wake up. If I were you I would think twice before going there.'

The priest was surprised by the guide's advice. ‘You speak like you are not one of the empress's subjects.'

The guide grunted at the animal, urging it to move. ‘I am from the coast, sir. We don't see ourselves as her subjects. She rules the distant mountains in front of you, but her people know nothing about the sea. All I know is that she is a powerful queen who was able to return to the throne after being banished. Struggles for the throne in this country almost never stop.'

The pair encountered several tribes inhabiting the hills. Some were aggressive while others were peaceful. Each tribe had its own costumes and accessories. Some were completely naked. Some adorned their bodies with paint and tattoos. And others covered themselves with animal skins. But they all seem to have carved their faces with cuts and signs to distinguish themselves from others.

The priest had brought with him some leather goods, mirrors, hats, shoes and fabrics that he distributed to the tribal chiefs to gain their favour. ‘The gifts work like a charm with these savages,' the priest told the guide.

Several days later, they reached a village high on a hill. The
air was chilly. The people inhabiting the area seemed more civilised, wearing white wool garments and living in homes made from stones quarried from nearby hills. There were markets, domesticated animals and eateries.

They walked quietly in the middle of the village, trying to ignore people staring at them in amazement. The priest's black robes were especially unfamiliar in these isolated highlands, where people did not see many foreigners.

Álvares and his guide reached a stony plateau beautifully engraved near the entrance and on the sides. A group of men and women clad in white stood outside. The door was guarded by men carrying long spears and rudimentary straight swords. The guide exchanged a few words with them, after which they gave the priest a look of suspicion before allowing him to enter.

The priest walked through passageways carved into the rock. He could still see the sky above as they had no roof. The men reached another stone door. The guard asked him to remain there and wait for permission to enter.

A voice spoke from inside the hall. The guard then signalled for the priest to enter. The hall was lit by several torches placed strategically in the corners. It took the priest a few seconds to adjust to the dimmer light.

Álvares saw the empress sitting in front of him on a wooden throne adorned with intricate inscriptions. She wore a white robe that covered most of her body. Over it she wore a tiger cub skin stretching from her neck to her thighs, which was somehow affixed to her chest. She wore a crown of pure gold, and held a sceptre made of ivory with gold and silver engravings. A group of what looked like princes and dignitaries sat around her. Young girls wearing
dyed woollen tunics with exquisite patterns sat behind her and at her feet.

The priest bowed before her in a show of respect. A voice told him to sit and he kneeled as though at the altar of a church. He started feeling pain in his knees but did not dare to stand up.

Someone addressed Álvares in Portuguese. The voice came from near the queen, and ordered him to sit on the ground and relieve his knees. The priest scanned the faces of the people present, his eyes now accustomed to the dim light in the hall. He noticed an elderly white man wearing a strange smile. The man asked him in perfect Portuguese, ‘Who are you? Why have you come here?'

A broad smile appeared on the priest's face. He felt his mission was a success. He replied quickly, ‘I am a Catholic priest from Portugal. My name is Francisco Álvares. I have come at the request of the king of Portugal in search of Covilhã, who disappeared in these lands.'

The old man translated what Álvares said to the queen, who shook her head and then gestured at him.

The elderly man stood up and bowed to the queen. He then asked the priest to leave the hall with him. Álvares followed the man outside, and walked towards a bullock cart. They rode it and headed outside the settlement in awkward silence.