Nor is there any sign of such a lake having existed, and the sudden winter rains which make every dry watercourse roar from bank to bank are not of a character fit to cause floods likely to be mistaken for a marsh or a lake.
✿
He dreamed of a hawk that hovered. A warning, the others said. And they went down to Asana, and a blind man at the entrance to the city raised his hand and spoke.
Pay heed to the wind that moves above this place. The drums you hear are not of our people, nor are the hands that hit the skins.
He saw the blind man’s face and remembered the hawk. Behind the walls and higher were the hills, white and hard against the noonday sky.
And they did not enter Asana, but turned southward over an empty plain, and came to the bank of a river.
Asana was destroyed. Only dust was there.
✿
Another road led from Tocolosida to Tingis. The first-named place is doubtful. It might have been Mghila or Zarhun, but it was neither Amergo nor Ksar Faraun. The stones of Tocolosida are there in the shadows below the cliff.
✿
The Moorish Sultan (who had suffered at Sierra Morena such a defeat by the Spaniards that for several days the victors used no other fuel than the pikes, lances and arrows of their fallen enemies) answered his captors with great dignity that he had lately read the Book of Paul’s Epistles, which he liked so much that were he to choose another faith it should be Christianity.
But for his part (Nazarenes have the minds of small children) he thought every man should die in the religion into which he was born. (And this will probably not get through into those pork-nourished brains.) The only fault I find with Paul is that he deserted Judaism, he told them, smiling.
✿
The old cemetery by the grottoes has been despoiled. To our great grief they have converted it into ploughed land. And by the seven sefarim and the seven heavens, by the twelve roes, by the bread and the salt, by the Name and the sacrifice, we swear that justice shall be made to prevail.
A few can remember that summer. The sun’s breath shriveled what it touched. No one went out, for there was fever in the lower city.
They say he had a walled-in garden where he walked at sunset. It could have been his prison, save that he was free, and with the leisure to invent the perils that beset him from within. “Shall the pillar of the law be shattered, and the edifice laid with the dust, the Mishnah desecrated and trodden underfoot?” With the seven categories of the just may his part and lot remain.
No one went out. We waited in our darkened rooms, and with every breath of wind that clicked the blinds we shuddered. May those destroyed by fever rest in Eden, and their dwelling be under the Tree of Life.
In the course of his travels in Portugal, Fra Andrea of Spoleto had met a man for whom he felt great sympathy, and the man happened to be a Moslem. Heretofore he had not known anyone professing that faith, none having chanced to visit the Franciscan monastery where he had lived, and he was amazed, after an hour’s talk with this Moroccan gentleman, to find him not only wholly conversant with Christian doctrine, but actually in accord with certain of its tenets.
They saw one another often during that year. As a result of their growing friendship, Si Musa conceived the idea of inviting Fra Andrea to Fez, in order to set up a small Franciscan mission there. Initially the concept struck the monk as purely a fantasy, and quite unrealizable. Then Si Musa let fall the information that his wife was the sister of King Mohammed VIII who at that time ruled Morocco from Fez.
As you know, His Majesty has had ample opportunity to study the works of the Christians, Si Musa remarked with a wry smile. Fra Andrea nodded; he understood that his friend was referring to the unfortunate king’s long incarceration by the Portuguese.
Solitude and study can make a man tolerant, you know, he went on. It would give him great pleasure to have you and your friends in Fez, so that the public could see for itself that not all infidels are savages.
Here Fra Andrea guffawed. Si Musa smiled politely, not understanding the reason for his mirth. It was this very ingenuousness in the Moroccan which delighted the monk, and which doubtless was instrumental in persuading him to accept his unlikely suggestion.
Three years later Fra Andrea arrived in Fez, along with Fra Antonio and Fra Giacomo, two other Franciscans who had gone because they considered it their duty to be on hand in Fez, where they might be able to intercede on behalf of Christian hostages being held for ransom. Fra Andrea was looking forward particularly to having religious discussions with the several Moslem intellectuals to whom Si Musa had given him letters of introduction.
From the moment of their arrival everything went wrong for the three. When Fra Andrea tried to find the men to whom he had the notes, he discovered that they were all mysteriously absent from Fez. The old palace near the Fondouq Nejjarine which Si Musa had assured him would be put at his disposal proved not to be available. Indeed, the mere mention of Si Musa’s name brought forth unfriendly stares.
It did not take him long to learn the reason. While they had been en route to Fez a new monarch had been crowned: King Ahmed III. The friars received this news with inexpressive faces, but among themselves they discussed it dolefully, agreeing that it did not bode well for their project.
They were advised to look for a house in Fez Djedid, where foreigners were not regarded with quite such antipathy as in the Medina. The house they found was not far from the entrance to the Mellah. It had only three small rooms, but there was a patio, which they soon filled with potted plants.
Fra Antonio and Fra Giacomo quickly accustomed themselves to the static life of their new dwelling. They seemed to be contented in the dreary little house. But Fra Andrea was restless; he had been counting on passing long hours in the company of new friends with whom he could talk.
The few excursions he made into the Medina persuaded him that he would do better to stay out of it. Thus he took to wandering in the Mellah, where it is true that he was stared at with much the same hostility as in the Medina, the difference being that he was not afraid of the Jews. He did not believe that they would attack him physically, even though they must have felt considerable rancor towards his Church for the recent deportations of Jews from Spain. Fra Andrea considered theirs a politically motivated hostility, whereas the hatred he had encountered in the Medina transcended such considerations. He felt free to walk in the alleys of the Mellah, and to listen to the Spanish conversation of the passers-by.
One evening as he stood leaning against a wall, enjoying the scraps of domestic conversation that reached him from inside the houses, a portly gentleman came along the alley, saw him standing there, and bade him good evening. Embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping, Fra Andrea replied briefly and started to walk away.
The other spoke again, and pointed at a door. This was his house, he said, and he invited him to come in. Only when the monk stood inside a well-lighted room did he see that his host was a rabbi.
In this way Fra Andrea came to know Rabbi Harun ben Hamu and to pay him regular visits. He had found a Moroccan with whom he might conceivably have religious and metaphysical discussions. Rabbi Harun ben Hamu was exceedingly courteous, and showed a willingness to engage in serious conversation, but Fra Andrea felt the need to study the Talmud carefully before expressing any opinions touching on Judaic law. He could read Hebrew haltingly, and this small knowledge gained early in life served him perfectly in his present project.
For more than a year he spent most of his time in intensive study. He filled a book with notations and learned the Mishnah by heart. During this time he paid constant visits to the rabbi’s house, where eventually he was presented to two other men, Rabbi Judah ibn Danan and Rabbi Shimon Saqali. He saw that these two did not entirely accept the presence of an anonymous Christian friar in their midst, and this gave him a powerful desire to impress them. It was hard for him to sit by and be silent when he was so eager to discuss their religion with them, but he was
preparing himself for the day when he would be able to meet them on an equal footing in the arena of religious polemics, so he held his tongue.
When he had decided that he knew the Law as well as they knew it, and perhaps understood its relation to Islam and Christianity rather better than they, he determined to speak on the next occasion when they should find themselves together.
He had not been wrong in expecting them to show incredulity and amazement when he began to address them. They listened, nodding their heads slowly, puzzled by his strange metamorphosis. At one point he remarked that the halakkic material had little to do with God, and that even the haggadic midrashim contained no passages dealing with the nature of God.
Rabbi Shimon Saqali stiffened. Every phrase contains an infinite number of meanings, he said.
And an infinite number of meanings is equivalent to no meaning at all! cried Fra Andrea. Then, seeing the expressions on the faces of the three men, he decided to make a joke of it, and laughed, but this seemed only to mystify them.
As the discussion progressed, he found in himself a strong desire to confound them, to confront them with their own contradictions. He had behind him years of practice in the art of theological argument, and this had given him an extraordinary memory. He could recall the exact words which had come from the lips of each man during the evening, and he quoted them accurately, his eye on the one who had uttered them.
Even Rabbi Harun ben Hamu was astounded, not so much by his friend’s sudden burst of erudition as by his masterly use of logic. Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Judah were appalled by Fra Andrea; after he had left they told their host as much. Never before had they been baited and humiliated in such a manner, they declared.
Rabbi Harun, who felt mildly possessive about his foreign friend, tried to reassure them. The Christian meant no offense, he told them. He’s not one of us, after all.
Then, as they made no answer, he added: a brilliant man.
Yes, unnaturally brilliant, said Rabbi Judah.
Fra Andrea walked back to his house that night highly satisfied with the effect he had produced upon his listeners. Strangely enough, Rabbi Harun ben Hamu continued to invite the other two rabbis and the monk together, and they continued to meet around his table. After his first indiscretion Fra Andrea was careful not to express his personal opinions regarding the Talmud. The discussions were limited to Christian theology. With his diabolically clever mind and tongue Fra Andrea invariably silenced the others. Rabbi Harun ben Hamu greatly enjoyed being host to these fiery harangues. And little by little he found himself accepting many of the monk’s premises. The other two noticed with misgiving his growing tendency to agree with him in small matters. This troubled them, and in private they discussed it.
One evening as they sat around Rabbi Harun ben Hamu’s table, Fra Andrea in passing thoughtlessly qualified the Targumim as inaccurate and inexcusably vulgar exegeses. Rabbi Judah smote the table with his fist, but this warning sign escaped Fra Andrea’s notice.
The Targum to the Megilloth, for instance, he continued, is a piece of unparalleled nonsense. How can anyone credit such absurdities?
Then with great gusto he proceeded to demolish the Second Targum of Esther, not heeding the pallid rigidity in the faces of both Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Shimon.
All at once Rabbi Judah laid his hand on Rabbi Shimon’s arm. As one man they rose and left the house. Fra Andrea ceased to speak, looking to Rabbi Harun for an explanation. But his host was staring straight ahead, an expression of mingled doubt and terror on his face.
Fra Andrea waited. Slowly Rabbi Harun raised his head and as if in supplication pointed to the door. Please, he said.
He did not rise from the table when his guest went out. He understood that the other two rabbis had come to the conclusion that the monk was in league with Satan. Although Rabbi Harun ben Hamu was a fairly learned man, the possibility of such a thing did not seem to him at all unlikely. He resolved that under no circumstances would he see the Christian again.
It never became necessary for him to implement his decision. Two days later all the notables and elders of the Mellah (save Rabbi Harun ben Hamu, whom his colleagues considered to be already contaminated by the power of evil) went in a procession to the palace. There they protested at the presence in Fez of a foreign sorcerer who had been sent to sow discord among their people. They charged Fra Andrea with “conspiracy and the practice of magic.”
The Moslems, only too happy to have a pretext for ridding their city of this undesirable Christian, agreed to arrest him.
Fra Andrea was given no opportunity of defending himself against the charges, but was thrown straightway into a cell where they tortured him for a few hours. Finally someone impaled his body on a lance.
The Armada lay under the water, and the land of Spain lay above, color of camels and saffron.
Shoubilia, Gharnatta, Kortoba, Magherit, fell under the years, to be remembered at dusk by exiles in Fez.
Then Ahmed IV, the Emperor of Morocco, sent a message to Charles I, telling of his success (illusory) in dealing with the pirates of Slâ, and suggesting the need of British aid in combating those of Algeria and Tunis.
The Moriscos of Andalucía had made every concession, undergone every indignity, even to being baptized, eating turnips in public, and wearing crucifixes, in the hope of avoiding exile.
Notwithstanding, the Inquisition did not consider their conversion a genuine one, and continued to deport them to Slâ and Rabat where, since they spoke no Arabic, they were at a great disadvantage.
Here the sun was hotter and the waves higher than at home in Almería or Motril.
The fishing, at least, was good.
At night, in the boats, the men could talk.
✿
Every second, ten stars set behind the black water in the west.
When we went out in several boats, we spoke of revenge. What would it be like if a Spanish ship appeared and we were to overtake it and climb aboard? How would we make ourselves happy?
One day such a ship aid come along, sailing straight in our direction.
By the time they saw us, it was too late for them to change the course of the ship, and we caught up with them easily, every man pulling on the oars with all his strength.
Then we shouted: Allah akbar! and went onto the ship.
Only three of our men were lost. We finished off all the Spaniards, took what we could into the boats, and went back to the port.
Now that we had seen their blood, we felt better.
The ship drifted ashore farther south.
Soon we had good luck again, but this time the ship was British. We knew better than to kill any more than we had to.
Instead of cutting up the crew and the passengers, we bound them and carried them back to Slâ. The prices they fetched were a gift from Allah.
Little by little we gave up fishing. We were spending all our time building faster boats.
When the men of Slâ saw this, they set to work doing the same thing.
The seas are full of Nazarene ships, they said. There are enough for all. It is pleasing to the Most High that the riches of the infidels should be returned to Islam.
✿
The Sultan writes to the kings in Europe: he deplores the slave traffic, Marrakech lies at a considerable distance from Slâ, he is unable to do away with the lawlessness there, notwithstanding the great effort he is putting forth in his attempt to abolish piracy.
He does not tell them that he collects one guirch for every ten realized by the trade.
In Fez it is said that Moslems spend most of their money on weddings, Jews on Pesagh, and Christians on lawsuits. But what the people of Fez call lawsuits are the frantic attempts by Europeans to secure the audience of local dignitaries willing to help them arrange the payment of ransom for their relatives and countrymen being held as hostages.
The Sultan wrote to the British.
“Praise be to the Most High alone! And Allah’s blessing be upon those
who are for his prophet.
“As for those men thou didst say were taken at sea, I neither know nor have heard anything of them.
“Our servant, Mohammed ben Hadu Aater, who came from your presence, told us that lions are scarce in your country, and that they are in high estimation with you. When your servant came to us, he found we had two small young lions; wherefore by him we send them to you.”
Heavy sea and a gale from the east.
An English privateer sailed into the bay at daybreak. We dispatched four men to bring the ship into harbor. Then we all went quickly to the shore at the foot of the cliffs and waited.
When the prow hit the reef we swam out and climbed aboard. Some of the passengers dived into the water.
The captain and the crew were on deck. This time we had orders to kill as few as possible. We took them all alive save for one English woman who drowned when she jumped overboard.
We had the chains ready, and we drove them ahead of us through Tangier.
That night there was more wind and rain, and our tents were spread on the sand at the edge of the Oued Tahadartz.
Three at a time we brought in the crew, and they sat with their chains in our tent.
Abdeslam ben Larbi spoke with them in their tongue. Embrace the true faith, and you need not be slaves.
A few screamed curses, but the rest agreed.
They were poor youths, not likely to be ransomed.
During the last hour of darkness they were unshackled and silently taken across the river. We did not see them again.
When daybreak came we set out with our captives. To be safe, we took away their heavy footgear. They walked barefoot like us, and protested greatly, claiming that it caused them much pain.
Each day more of the prisoners had bloody and swollen feet. Some could no longer walk, and we left them behind. Had it taken many days more to reach Meknes, we should have lost them all.