Stateless (26 page)

Zakki told Osric that, yes, there was stone upon stone in massive piles of rubble, far too heavy for the citizens to lift and clear away. It was so much, Zakki told him, that successive governments of the city, the Romans, Jews and now Muslims, had left it as it was for hundreds of years and it was true that nobody knew what was beneath the massive stones that in places were twice the height of a man. But to think that the Romans, the greatest scavengers the world had ever known, would have left even a single precious stone or the smallest golden object was nonsense.

Yet day after day, Osric argued that the treasure was there to be found, and that when it was, it would herald the return of Jesus Christ as Messiah in the second coming, to save the world from its misery.

‘When it is found, Solomon's wealth will be distributed to all the poor of the earth and raise them above the status of serfs and villeins. It is even said that the noble Emperor Constantine himself, first great Roman to convert to my faith, sent his very mother, the blessed Saint Helena, to find the treasure of Solomon. Wherefore, then, should we doubt or fail to seek this treasure?'

Zakki turned on the monk. ‘What nonsense you Christians talk,' he said sharply. ‘Helena made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to recover the cross on which your messiah was crucified. And it has been told that when they found out the Emperor's mother was in Jerusalem, there were a thousand scoundrels who picked up branches from their gardens and made them into splinters, telling her that they were fragments of the true cross, and sold them to her for a fortune. Stories abound in Jerusalem of a man who lived there and owed a great debt, so when Helena visited the city, he convinced her that the ground which he owned where stood a pagan temple was the very land upon which Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac, and upon which your Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, and where his sepulchre was laid to rest. She wasn't looking for any treasure of Solomon, Osric, but for the remnants of the life of your Jesus.'

The monk looked at him disbelievingly, and cited chapter and verse from Saint Isidor's works to prove his case. To pacify the distressed Christian mystic, Zakki promised him that when he returned to Jerusalem, he would search diligently for such a treasure, but he knew in his heart that it had been dissipated when the Jews were sent on their first exile into Babylonia, and had then been dispersed around the world.

And on this point and others concerning science, ethics, theology and philosophy, Zakki and Osric argued every day. They would also read from and debate the learned Bishop Isidor's other chapters in the
Etymologiae
. Zakki found it so
amazing to read that he begged Osric to allow him to buy the set of books so that he could spend the rest of his life studying them, but the monk had just received an urgent note from his monastery to return to Anglia. Zakki regretted his leaving, but Osric assured him that while ever Zakki was in Baghdad, he would always have access to St Isidor because the monk would leave the volumes of the
Etymologiae
in the great library of the House of Wisdom where they would be available to him and every other scholar.

Zakki spent his days either disputing with other sages, reading in the library, or translating ancient works, except those days dedicated to prayer, and several weeks had passed before he decided to take some time to himself and explore the wonders of the city.

The construction of Baghdad had begun sixty years earlier by the Abbasid Caliph Al-Mansur when he transferred his capital from Damascus. It was in the fertile valley between the two great rivers Tigris and Euphrates and hence called by the Greeks Mesopotamia. The city was replete with palms and gardens, cool spots for contemplation and roof gardens for the growing of vegetables such as carrots, herbs such as bananas, and fruits and flowers of every colour and description.

Yet despite being in existence for such a short time, Baghdad was already greater and more prosperous than Jerusalem, which had never fully recovered from the devastation wreaked by the Romans seven hundred years earlier.

Meandering through the wide city streets, Zakki found that the epicentre of the city was a huge mosque. Around it were Islamic study houses and instruction centres for pupils from all over the world who had come to study at the feet of the great Abbasid Koranic teachers. These buildings were surrounded by a ring road and beyond them were churches for Christian worshippers and synagogues for the many Jews who lived in
Baghdad. Then, surmounting these, were shops that sold meats and cloth, copies of holy books, jewellery from Asia and further east, ivory and the incredible skins of animals from Africa, and much more.

Tired from wandering in the heat of the day, Zakki walked beneath a cloth canopy attached to buildings on the side of the street and sat on a low stool at a wooden table attached to a market stall. The owner came over to him and asked him what he wanted to eat or drink.

‘Just a drink, please,' Zakki said.

The owner looked at the scholar's clothes and sneered. ‘I suppose you're a Jew! Why won't you people eat my food? Isn't it good enough for you?'

Zakki smiled. ‘It's probably very good, my friend,' he said. ‘But our holy book prohibits us from eating that which hasn't been prepared according to our ways, just as you Muslims are forbidden to drink spirits that intoxicate the mind, or like us, eat of the flesh of the pig.'

‘I'm not a Muslim, friend,' the owner scoffed. ‘I'm a Christian, and I'll starve in this city trying to feed people like you.'

Zakki took pity on him. ‘Then tell me, follower of Jesus, when you make bread, do you use the fat of a pig, or the milk and butter of goats or sheep?'

‘I use the milk and butter of cows.'

‘Good,' said Zakki. ‘Then kindly bring me slices of your bread and I'll have some olives and seeds with it.'

The owner showed the rudiments of a smile. ‘And what about some beef? I've slices from the haunch of a cow, if you'd like that . . .'

Zakki shook his head. ‘No, friend, just the bread.'

He sat alone, revelling in the silence of the street. Silence? It was full of the sounds of people and commerce. Yet compared to the perpetual din, the never-ending discord and shouting
and arguments in the House of Wisdom, sitting here was like being in the Fields of Elysium.

When he'd finished his bread and olives, he decided it was time for him to move further on, but as he sat he wondered where he should go. To another stall selling pomegranate juice? To look at more mosques, minarets, churches, synagogues, shops, houses and schools of learning? Or should he just sit here in the heat of the day, revelling in the freedom in which his mind had been given to think.

His cascading thoughts were broken when a shadow was cast over the table. Zakki looked up and saw a man about to walk underneath the canopy of the café. He was a tall man, dressed in fine clothes, and Zakki saw that standing in the roadway were a dozen of the Caliph's guards as escort.

But instead of sitting at one of the other three benches that were unoccupied, the man sat instead on the remaining wooden stool at Zakki's table, much to the doctor's surprise.

The man looked at Zakki and nodded without smiling. ‘Greetings to you, Zaccharius, son of Jacob, son of Abraham of the tribe of Levi. Welcome to Baghdad. I hope you like my city after your life in Jerusalem. How does the day greet you?'

‘It greets me well, thank you, sir. But you have the advantage, for I do not know you.'

The tall man waved his hand as if his identity was of no consequence. ‘Yet I know you. And why you're here by request of our Caliph, Ja'far al-Ma'mun, at his pleasure and munificence.'

Zakki studied the face of the tall man. He was obviously wealthy and his skin had been softened with oils and unguents to protect him from the fierce heat of the desert. His clothes, unlike those of the scholars with whom Zakki worked, weren't just colourful, but were richly endowed with jewels and made of the finest silks from distant Asia. The man's body movements, even sitting at the table, showed that he was a person of
position in the city, comfortable in himself and apparently used to the respect of others.

‘How do you know me, your Excellency?'

‘Ah, it is a strange tale. The world is indeed getting smaller . . .'

The man left an elongated pause, seemingly for dramatic effect, before continuing.

‘Many years ago, your great-grandfather of blessed memory cured my great-grandmother of a sickly yellow disease that caused her to faint all the while. Your grandfather called the disease “chlorosis” and she recovered when your grandfather forced her to eat the leaves of vegetables.'

Zakki nodded at the simple ‘cure'.

‘This is something that my family has done ever since and which I believe has kept us well and healthy. So when I heard that your reputation in Jerusalem had grown sufficiently, I suggested to my Caliph that he should send for you to join other scholars in our House of Wisdom.'

‘Then I owe you thanks. And I gather from what you've said that you're a Jew.'

The tall man nodded. ‘But it seems that our paths have crossed before. In the distant past. Isn't it told that your ancestors were priests in Solomon's temple?'

Zakki smiled. ‘I'm told by my father, and his father before him, that our family line can be traced back to Zadok the Priest. That's why I was given my name. But how does that relate us?'

‘I come from a long line of builders and traders. King Solomon's temple came into existence and was fashioned by the money of my ancestors. So there is perhaps much, Doctor, that we have in common.'

‘Except that I still don't know your name,' retorted Zakki, his curiosity and suspicion growing.

‘I am Hadir ibn Yussuf ibn Gibreel. I am the Vizier to the Caliph of the Abbasid ruling family, the ineffable and
all-powerful Ja'far al-Ma'mun, may Allah and Mohammed His Prophet, Moses and Jesus all smile upon him and bring him wisdom and great fortune.'

‘You say these words of blessings to Mohammed and to Jesus? Yet you are a Jew? And you've taken an Arabic name. Why is this?'

Hadir shrugged. ‘We are a practical people. We are flexible. We adapt. To survive we've had to; we've been exiled many times since Father Moses brought us out of the land of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. So we Jews prosper wherever we find ourselves.'

‘Perhaps, Hadir, but we have always retained our faith,' said Zakki.

‘Indeed, my friend. I am as much a Jew as you, but to look and sound part of this great city, I dress like them, and speak like them. And I have prospered – greatly. Many Jews have risen to power and status in the reign of the Abbasids. We are recognised for our skills as merchants, our knowledge of the the laws which govern this and other lands, and our learning. And because of our lines of families and friendships scattered throughout the world since the Romans expelled our people from Israel, we have a great advantage over others in trade.'

‘True, but many of our people have returned to Israel.'

‘As did my ancestors. But the growth and spread of Islam has given us boundless opportunities. Where once Islam was warlike, today it is calm and peaceful, and men like my Caliph are striving to uncover all that this world has to offer. That's why the House of Wisdom was built. It is the golden centre of Islamic learning and that's why I wanted you to be part of it, Zakki ben Jacob.'

Zakki looked at the other man and saw beyond the smile, the visage. There was something more, something deeper that the man was hiding.

‘And is that the only reason you've invited me to Baghdad, Hadir ibn Yussuf?'

Hadir smiled and turned to the owner of the stall standing in the corner. The shopkeeper was at a loss to understand why such an important man as the Caliph's Vizier would have visited and sat down at his stall.

‘Your finest juice, my friend, and I'll also have some bread and olives.'

Bowing, he returned to his counter. Never had his stall been full of such eminent men. He couldn't wait to regale his wife and children with the story later that night.

Hadir turned back to Zakki. ‘You have a suspicious mind, Doctor.'

Zakki shrugged. ‘I'm told many things, but I'm trained to see beyond the words, into the minds and thoughts of those who seek me out. There are many eminent scholars in our world. Many far more knowledgeable than I. Yet you selected me. I'd like to know why.'

The café owner reappeared and set down a glass of pomegranate juice before Hadir, as well as a plate of bread, olives, oil and a paste of pulverised lentils. He stood there, smiling at the important man, and waiting for a word of thanks.

Hadir looked up at him. ‘This looks delicious. Thank you, my friend.' He took some coins out of his pocket, far more than the owner normally charged, and put them into the man's palm. The shop owner backed away, bowing, thinking of the story he'd tell his friends that night in the baths.

The two men ate their food in silence until, at last, Hadir leaned forward to close the gap between himself and Zakki. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. ‘There is something you must do for me.'

‘Must?' said Zakki incredulously. ‘Is there some debt I owe you for having me summoned here?'

Hadir smiled but it was insincere and cold. ‘There is no debt. But you may feel . . .' He paused, as if looking for the right word. ‘ . . . Compelled.'

The word made Zakki's muscles tense.

‘Be at ease, my friend. Let me explain. How much do you know about the great schism in the religion practised by my Caliph: the division between those who are calling themselves Sunni, who believe that Abu Bakr, Mohammed's father-in-law and close companion, is the rightful heir and the first Caliph, and those who call themselves Shi'ite, and believe that Mohammed's son-in-law and cousin, Ali, was his rightful heir?'