Once upon a time there was a merchant called Omar who had three sons: the eldest was named Salem, the second Seleem, and the youngest Judar. He reared them all to manhood, but the youngest he loved more than his brothers, so that they grew jealous of Judar and hated him. When Omar, who was by now well advanced in years, noticed that the two hated their brother, he feared that after his death Judar might come to mischief at their hands. He therefore summoned his kinsfolk together with some learned men and a number of property-dividers from the Cadi’s court, and said to them: ‘Bring me my money and all my goods.’ They brought him his money and his goods, and Omar said: ‘Friends, divide these things into four portions according to the law.’

    They did so; and he gave each of his sons a portion and kept the last for himself, saying: ‘This is the sum of my property and I have divided it among my children in my lifetime, so that all disputes should be avoided. They shall have nothing to claim from each other after my death. The portion which I have kept for myself shall belong to my wife, the mother of these children, that she may have the wherewithal to support herself when I am gone.’

    Shortly afterwards old Omar died, and the two elder brothers, not content with their inheritance, claimed a part of Judar’s share, saying: ‘Our father’s wealth has fallen into your hands.’

    Judar referred the matter to the judges, and the Moslems who witnessed the division came and gave testimony. The judge dismissed their claim; but as a result of the dispute Judar lost a part of his property and so did his brothers. Yet it was not long before they plotted against him a second time, so that he was obliged to go to law again. The three lost more money at the hands of the judges. Bent on ruining Judar, his brothers pursued their claim from court to court; they lost, and he lost, until at length they were reduced to penury.

    The two elder brothers then came to their mother; they cheated her of her money, beat her, and threw her out. In this state she came to Judar and told him what his brothers had done to her, cursing them bitterly.

    ‘Mother, do not curse them,’ Judar replied. ‘Allah will requite them for their deeds. We are paupers now; we have lost all our inheritance in suing one another and incurred disgrace in the sight of men. Am I to sue them again on your account? No, we must resign ourselves. Stay with me, and the bread I eat I will share with you. Allah will sustain us both. As for my brothers, leave them to Allah’s judgement.’ And he went on comforting his mother until he persuaded her to stay with him.

    He bought a net, and every day he went to the river and the neighbouring lakes. One day he would earn ten coppers, another day twenty, and another thirty, so that he and his mother ate and drank well.

    Meanwhile the two brothers squandered away the money which they had taken from their mother. Misery and ruin soon overtook them, for they neither bought nor sold, nor had any trade with which to earn a living. Naked and destitute, they would come from time to time humbling themselves before their mother and complaining of hunger. Her heart being compassionate, the old woman would feed them on mouldy bread or any remnants from the previous night’s supper.

    ‘Eat this quickly,’ she would say, ‘and go before your brother returns; for if he sees you here he will harden his heart against me and I shall justly earn his displeasure.’

    So they would eat in haste and leave her. One day, however, as they sat eating the bread and cooked meat she had placed before. them, their brother Judar came in. Confused and ashamed, his mother hung her head and looked at the ground, fearing his anger. But Judar smiled at them.

    ‘Welcome, my brothers,’ he cried, ‘and may this day bring you joy! How is it that you have honoured me today with this visit?’

    Then he embraced them lovingly, saying: ‘I never thought that you would keep away from me and your mother.’

    ‘By Allah, we have longed to see you, brother,’ they replied. ‘But we were stricken with remorse over what had passed between us, and shame prevented us from coming. That was the work of Satan, Allah’s curse be upon him! We have no blessing but you and our mother.’

    ‘And I have no blessing but you two,’ Judar answered.

    ‘May Allah bless you, my son,’ exclaimed the old woman, ‘and shower His abundance upon you. You are the most generous of us all!’

    ‘Stay and be welcome in this house,’ said Judar to his brothers. ‘Allah is bountiful; there is plenty here for all.’

    He thus made peace with them, and they ate and stayed the night in his house.

    Next morning, after they had breakfasted, Judar took up his net and went to work, trusting in Allah’s bounty. His brothers also went out, and came back at noon to eat with their mother. In the evening Judar returned, bringing meat and vegetables. In this way they lived together for a whole month, Judar paying for their daily needs with his fishing and his brothers eating their fill and making merry.

    Now it chanced that one day Judar went down to the river, cast his net, and brought it up empty. He cast it a second time, and again it came up empty.

    ‘There are no fish in this place,’ he muttered to himself, and moved to another spot. He cast his net there, but it still brought up nothing. In that way he moved farther and farther along the bank from morning till evening, but caught nothing at all.

    ‘This is indeed a strange thing!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are there no fish left in the river? Or is there some other reason?’

    Dejected and sick at heart, he took up his net and made for home, troubled over his brothers and his mother; for he did not know what he could give them to eat. Presently he came to a baker’s shop and saw the people crowding round the bread with money in their hands. He stopped and sighed.

    ‘Welcome, Judar!’ the baker cried. ‘Do you want any bread?’

    But Judar remained silent.

    ‘If you have no money with you,’ said the baker, ‘take what you need. You can pay me some other time.’

    ‘Give me ten halves’ worth of bread,’ said the fisherman.

    The baker handed him the loaves together with ten halves, saying: ‘You can bring me fish for the twenty tomorrow.’

    Judar warmly thanked the good man. He took the loaves and the ten halves and bought meat and vegetables with the money. ‘The Lord willing,’ he said to himself, ‘all will be well again tomorrow.’

    His mother cooked the meal, and Judar had his supper and went to bed. Next morning he rose and took up his net.

    ‘Sit down and eat your breakfast,’ said his mother.

    ‘You have breakfast,’ he replied, ‘and my brothers.’

    He went down to the river and cast his net time after time, moving from place to place until the afternoon; but all to no purpose. In despair he carried up his net and walked away. The baker saw him as he passed by, and gave him bread and ten coppers, as on the day before.

    ‘Here,’ he cried, ‘take this and go. If you had no luck today, you will have luck tomorrow.’

    Judar wished to apologize, but the baker would not listen to him.

    ‘There is no need for apologies,’ he said. ‘When I saw you empty-handed I knew you had caught nothing. If you have no luck tomorrow, come again and take your bread. Let shame not prevent you; I will give you time to pay.’

    For the third day Judar went from lake to lake, but when evening came he had caught nothing, and was forced to accept the baker’s loaves and coppers. Ill-luck pursued him for a whole week, and at the end of that time he said despondently: ‘Today I will go to Lake Karoon.’

    He journeyed to Lake Karoon, and was about to cast his net when there suddenly came up to him a Moor riding upon a mule and wearing a magnificent robe. The mule was richly saddled and bridled and bore upon its flank a saddle-bag embroidered with gold.

    ‘Peace be to you, Judar son of Omar,’ cried the Moor, dismounting.

    ‘And to you peace, good pilgrim,’ answered the fisherman.

    ‘Judar,’ said the Moor, ‘I need your help. If you accept my offer you shall have much to gain and be my companion and trusted friend.’

    ‘Good sir,’ Judar replied, ‘tell me what you have in mind and I will gladly do your bidding.’

    ‘First,’ said the Moor, ‘recite the opening chapter of the Koran.’

    Judar recited it with him, and then the stranger took out a silken cord and handed it to the fisherman, saying: ‘Fasten my arms behind me as firmly as you can, then throw me into the lake and wait a little. If you see me lift up my hands out of the water, cast in your net and haul me quickly ashore. But if you see me put up my feet, you will know that I am dead. In that case leave me in the water and take the mule with the saddle-bag to the market-place. There you will find a Jew called Shamayah; give him the beast and he will pay you a hundred dinars. Take them and go your way. But you must on no account reveal the secret.’

    Judar fastened the Moor tightly; then, at his request, he pushed him forward and threw him into the lake. After a little while he saw his feet come out of the water, and he knew that the Moor was dead. Leaving the body in the lake, Judar took the mule to the market-place, where he found the Jew sitting on a chair at the door of his shop.

    ‘The man must have perished!’ exclaimed the Jew when he saw the mule. ‘It was greed that destroyed him.’

    He took the beast and gave Judar a hundred pieces of gold, charging him to keep the matter secret.

    Judar hastened to the baker’s and, giving him a dinar, took as many loaves as he required. The baker made up his account and said: ‘I now owe you enough for two days’ bread.’ He then bought meat and vegetables and returned home with the provisions, to find his brothers asking their mother for something to eat.

    ‘I have nothing to give you,’ she was saying. ‘Have patience until your brother returns.’

    ‘Take this,’ Judar cried, throwing to them the bread. And the two fell upon the loaves like famished beasts.

    Then Judar gave his mother the rest of the gold, saying: ‘If my brothers come tomorrow, give them money to buy some food and eat while I am away.’

    Next morning he went again to Lake Karoon, and was just about to cast his net when he was approached by another Moor, dressed more sumptuously than the first. He, too, was on a mule and had a saddle-bag which held a pair of little caskets.

    ‘Peace be to you, Judar!’ he cried.

    ‘And to you peace, pilgrim,’ replied the fisherman.

    ‘Did you meet a Moor yesterday, mounted upon a mule like mine?’ he asked.

    Fearing lest he should be accused of having drowned the man, Judar denied all knowledge of him. But the Moor cried: ‘Poor wretch! He was my brother. He came here before me. Was it not you that tied his hands behind him and threw him into the lake? And did he not say to you: “If you see my hands come up through the water, haul me quickly ashore, but if my feet appear you will know that I am dead”? It was his feet that came up; you took the mule to Shamayah the Jew and he gave you a hundred pieces of gold.’

    ‘If you know all that,’ said Judar, ‘why do you ask me?’

    ‘Because I wish you to do with me as you did with my brother,’ replied the Moor.

    And he thereupon took out a silken cord and handed it to the fisherman, saying: ‘Fasten my arms and throw me into the lake. If I meet the same end as my brother’s, take my mule to the Jew and he will give you a hundred pieces of gold.’

    ‘Very well,’ Judar answered.

    He tied his arms and threw him into the lake, and the Moor disappeared under the water. After a while his feet emerged.

    ‘He is dead and finished,’ said Judar to himself. ‘May Allah send me a Moor each day to drown, that I may earn a hundred pieces of gold!’

    Then he took the mule to the market-place.

    ‘The second one is dead!’ exclaimed the Jew when he saw him.

    ‘May Allah give you long life!’ cried the fisherman.

    ‘That is the reward of avarice,’ added the Jew. And he took the mule from him and gave him a hundred dinars.

    Judar went home and gave the gold to his mother.

    ‘My son,’ she cried, ‘where did you come by this?’

    Judar recounted to her all that had happened.

    ‘You should never go to Lake Karoon again,’ said the old woman. ‘I greatly fear that you may come to harm at the hands of these Moors.’

    ‘But, mother,’ replied Judar, ‘it is at their request that I throw them into the lake. Am I to give up this trade which brings me every day a hundred dinars, and for such little labour? By Allah, I will go there day after day until I have drowned them all and not a single Moor has been left alive.’

    The next day he went again to Lake Karoon; and presently a third Moor, even more richly attired than the other two, came riding on a mule with a saddle-bag.

    ‘Peace be to you, Judar son of Omar!’ he cried.

    ‘How is that they all know my name?’ thought Judar to himself as he returned his greeting.

    ‘Have any Moors passed by this lake?’ inquired the stranger.

    ‘Yes, two,’ replied Judar.

    ‘Where did they go?’ he asked.

    ‘I bound their arms and threw them into the lake,’ replied the fisherman. ‘They were both drowned. I am ready to render you the same service.’

    ‘Miserable fool!’ smiled the Moor. ‘Do you not know that every life has its predestined end?’

    Then, dismounting, he gave the fisherman a silken cord and said: ‘Judar, do with me as you did with them.’

    ‘Turn around and let me bind your arms,’ said the fisherman. ‘Time is short and I am in a hurry.’

    Judar threw the Moor into the lake and stood waiting for his feet to emerge from the water. But to his surprise a pair of hands came out instead, and he heard the Moor crying: ‘Good fellow, cast out your net!’

    He threw the net over him and, drawing him in, saw that in each hand he was holding a fish, red as coral.

    ‘Open the two caskets,’ cried the Moor, as he quickly rose to his feet.

    Judar opened the caskets, and the Moor put a fish in each and securely shut them up. Then he threw his arms about the fisherman’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks saying: ‘May the Most High preserve you from all hardships! By Allah, but for your help I would have surely perished.’

    ‘Sir,’ said Judar, ‘I beg you in Allah’s name to tell me the story of the drowned Moors, the red fish, and the Jew Shamayah.’

    ‘The two who were drowned were my brothers,’ the Moor replied. ‘One was called Abdul Salam, and the other Abdul Ahad. My name is Abdul Samad, and the man whom you take to be a Jew is my fourth brother, a true Malikite Moslem whose real name is Abdul Rahim. Our father, Abdul Wadud, taught us the occult sciences, witchcraft, and the art of opening hidden treasures, to which we applied ourselves with such diligence that in the end we made the demons and the jinn our servants. When our father died we inherited all his wealth and divided his gold and his treasures, his talismans and his books; but a quarrel arose amongst us concerning a book called The Lore of the Ancients. It is unique among writings and cannot be valued in gold or jewels: for it holds the answer to all mysteries and the clue to every hidden treasure. Our father made it the study of his life, and we four conned a little of its contents. Each of us strove to gain possession of it, so as to be acquainted with its secrets. When our feud had reached its height, we were visited by the old sheikh who had reared our father and taught him magic and divination; his name was Al-Kahin al-Abtan. He ordered us to bring him the book, and he took it in his hand and said: “You are the sons of my son, and I cannot wrong any one of you. I therefore pronounce that none shall have this book but he that opens the Treasure of Al-Shamardal and brings me the Celestial Orb, the Vial of Kohl, the Ring, and the Sword. The Ring is served by a jinnee called Rattling Thunder, and he that wears it can vanquish kings and sultans and make himself master of the vast earth. The man who holds the sword and shakes it can rout whole armies, for flames as bright as lightning shoot forth from it at his bidding. By means of the Celestial Orb a man can view the world from east to west while sitting in his chamber: he has but to turn the orb towards the land he desires to see and, looking upon it, he shall behold that land with all its people. If he is incensed against a city and has a mind to burn it down, let him turn the orb towards the sun’s disc, and all its dwellings shall be consumed with fire. As for the Vial, he that applies its kohl to his eyes shall see the buried treasures of the earth.

    ‘ “This then is the condition which I impose upon you. Whoever fails to open that treasure shall forfeit his claim to this book; but he that opens it and brings me the four precious things it holds shall become sole master of it.”

    ‘We all agreed to his condition, and the old sage went on: “Know, my children, that the Treasure of Al-Shamardal is under the power of the sons of the Red King. Your father told me that he himself had vainly tried to open it, for the sons of the Red King had fled away from him to Egypt. He pursued them to that land, but could not capture them because they had thrown themselves into an enchanted lake called Lake Karoon. When he returned and told me of his failure I made for him a computation and discovered that the treasure could be opened only under the auspices of an Egyptian youth called Judar son of Omar, who would be the means of capturing the Red King’s sons. This youth was a fisherman and could be met with on the shores of Lake Karoon. He alone could break the spell that bound it, and it was for him to cast into the lake those who would tackle the sons of the Red King. The man whose destiny it was to vanquish them, his hands would come out of the water and Judar would bring him safe to land with his net. But those who were destined to drown, their feet would come out first and they would be abandoned to their fate.”

    ‘Two of my brothers said: “We will go, even though we perish,” and I resolved to do the same. But my third brother, Abdul Rahim, said: “I will not risk my life.” We thereupon arranged with him that he should go to Egypt in the guise of a Jewish merchant, so that if any of us perished in the attempt he should take the mule and the saddle-bag from Judar and pay him a hundred pieces of gold.

    ‘My first brother was slain by the sons of the Red King, and so was my second brother. But against me they could not prevail and I took them prisoner.’

    ‘Where did you imprison them?’ Judar asked.

    ‘Did you not see them?’ answered the Moor. ‘I shut them up in the two caskets.’

    ‘But those were fish,’ said Judar in amazement.

    ‘No, they are not fish,’ replied the Moor. ‘They are jinn in the shape of fish. Now you must know that the treasure can be opened only in your presence. Will you agree to come with me to the city of Fez-and-Meknes and open the treasure? I will give you everything that you demand and you shall be my brother in the sight of Allah. When our quest has been accomplished, you shall return to your people with a joyful heart.’

    ‘Sir,’ Judar replied, ‘I have a mother and two brothers to support. If i go with you, who will provide for them?’

    ‘A poor excuse,’ rejoined the Moor. ‘If it is money that prevents you, I will give you a thousand dinars for your mother to spend and my promise that you shall return within four months.’

    On hearing mention of this sum, the fisherman cried: ‘Give me the thousand dinars, my master. I will at once carry them to my mother and set out with you.’

    He handed him the gold, and Judar hastened to his mother and recounted to her all that had passed between him and the Moor.

    Take these thousand dinars,’ he said, ‘and spend them on yourself and my brothers. I am going away to Maghreb with the Moor, and shall be back within four months. I may return with a vast fortune.’

    ‘My son, I shall be desolate without you,’ said the old woman. ‘I greatly fear for your safety.’

    ‘No harm can befall the man who is in Allah’s protection,’ he replied. ‘Besides, the Moor is a good and honest fellow.’

    And he went on praising him to her until his mother said: ‘May Allah incline his heart towards you! Go with him, my son; perhaps he will reward your labours.’

    He took leave of his mother and returned to the Moor.

    ‘Have you consulted your mother?’ Abdul Samad asked.

    ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and she has given me her blessing.’

    The Moor bade Judar mount behind him on the mule, and they rode from midday till late in the afternoon. By that time the fisherman felt very hungry, and, noticing that his companion had nothing with him to eat, he remarked: ‘Sir, you have forgotten to bring any provisions for the journey.’

    ‘Are you hungry?’ asked the Moor.

    ‘I am indeed,’ Judar replied.

    They both dismounted from the mule.

    ‘Bring down the saddle-bag,’ said the Moor.

    Judar brought it down.

    ‘Now, my brother, what would you like?’ his companion asked.

    ‘Anything will do,’ Judar answered.

    ‘In Allah’s name, tell me what you would rather have,’ said the Moor.

    ‘Some bread and cheese,’ replied the fisherman.

    ‘Poor Judar,’ said the Moor, ‘you surely deserve better than that. Ask for some excellent dish.’

    ‘Anything would be excellent to me just now,’ Judar replied.

    ‘Would you like some roast chicken?’ asked the Moor.

    ‘I would,’ answered the fisherman.

    ‘And some honeyed rice?’ asked the Moor.

    ‘Yes, by Allah,’ replied Judar.

    ‘And such-and-such a dish,’ went on the Moor, until he had named four-and-twenty dishes.

    ‘The man is mad,’ thought Judar to himself. ‘Where will he bring me all these dishes from when he has no cook and no kitchen?’ Then, aloud, he said: ‘That is enough. But why do you make my mouth water when I cannot see a thing?’

    ‘You are welcome, Judar,’ said the Moor with a smile. And, putting his hand into the bag, he took but a gold plate with two roast chickens upon it steaming hot. He thrust his hand in a second time and there appeared a plate filled with kebab. And he went on bringing dishes out of the bag until he had produced the two dozen courses he had named.

    ‘Now eat, my friend,’ said the Moor.

    ‘Sir,’ exclaimed the confounded Judar, ‘you must surely have a kitchen and numerous cooks in that saddle-bag of yours!’

    ‘It is enchanted,’ replied the Moor, laughing. ‘It is served by a jinnee. If we were to ask for a thousand dishes every hour, the jinnee would come and prepare them for us immediately.’

    ‘Upon my life,’ Judar exclaimed, ‘that is an excellent bag!’

    The two ate together, and when they were satisfied the Moor threw away what remained of the meal and replaced the empty dishes into the bag. He put his hand in again and brought out a ewer filled with water. They drank, made their ablutions, and recited the afternoon prayers; then, returning the ewer to the bag, they mounted on the mule and resumed their journey.

    Presently the Moor said to Judar: ‘Do you know how far we have travelled from Egypt?’

    ‘No, by Allah,’ Judar replied.

    ‘We have travelled a whole year’s journey,’ said the Moor. ‘You must know that this mule of mine is a jinnee and can make a year’s journey in a single day. But for your sake it has been going at an easy pace.’

    For four days they travelled westwards, riding every day till midnight and having all their food provided by the enchanted bag. Judar demanded of the Moor whatever he fancied, and the Moor supplied it promptly upon a gold dish. On the fifth day they reached Maghreb and entered the city of Fez-and-Meknes. As they made their way into the town, everyone who met the Moor greeted him and kissed his hand. At length they halted before a certain house; the Moor knocked, and the door was opened by a girl as radiant as the moon.

    ‘Rahmah, my daughter,’ said the Moor, ‘open for us the great hall.’

    ‘Welcome, father,’ the girl replied, and went in, swinging her hips.

    ‘She must be a princess,’ said Judar to himself, marvelling at her beauty.

    The girl opened the great hall, and the Moor took the saddlebag off the mule.

    ‘Go,’ he said to the beast, ‘and may Allah’s blessing be upon you!’

    At once the earth opened, swallowed up the mule, and closed again.

    ‘Praise be to Allah,’ Judar exclaimed, ‘who kept us safe on the creature’s back!’

    ‘Do not be amazed, Judar,’ said the Moor. ‘Did I not tell you that the mule was a jinnee? Come now, let us go into the hall.’

    Judar followed him into the hall and was astounded at the abundance of fine carpets, the rare ornaments, and the hangings of gold and jewels which decked its walls. As soon as the two were seated the Moor bade his daughter bring him a certain bundle. She fetched it for him and he took out from it a robe worth a thousand dinars.

    ‘Put this on, Judar,’ he said, ‘and be welcome in this house.’

    Judar put it on and was so transformed that he looked like some Moroccan king. Then the Moor plunged his hand into the bag and drew from it dish after dish until he had spread out before his guest a banquet of forty courses.

    ‘Eat, sir,’ he said, ‘and pardon us our shortcomings. We do not know what kind of food you fancy. Tell us what you relish and we will set it before you without delay.’

    ‘By Allah,’ Judar replied, ‘I like every kind of food and hate nothing. Do not ask me what I fancy; give me whatever comes into your mind and I will do nothing but eat.’

    He stayed with the Moor twenty days, receiving from his host a new robe every day and feasting with him on the provisions of the enchanted bag. On the morning of the twenty-first day the Moor came to him and said: ‘Rise, my friend. This is the day appointed for opening the Treasure of Al-Shamardal.’

    Judar walked with the Moor to the outskirts of the city, where he found two mules with two slaves in attendance. The Moor mounted one beast and Judar the other, and they rode on and on, followed by the slaves. At midday they came to a running river and dismounted. The Moor made a sign to the slaves, who took the mules and went off with them. Presently they returned, one carrying a tent, which he pitched, and the other a mattress and cushions, which he spread inside. Then one of them went and brought the two caskets containing the two fish, and the other brought the enchanted bag.

    The Moor drew several dishes out of the bag and, seating Judar by his side, invited him to eat. As soon as the meal was over he took the caskets in his hands and mumbled a magic charm over them.

    ‘At your service, dread enchanter!’ cried the two fish from within. ‘Have mercy upon us!’

    He repeated his incantation, and they pleaded louder and louder, until the caskets burst in fragments and there appeared two creatures with their arms chained behind them.

    ‘Pardon us, great enchanter!’ they cried. ‘What would you do with us?’

    ‘Swear to open the Treasure of Al-Shamardal,’ roared the Moor, ‘or I will burn you both!’

    ‘We will open it on one condition,’ they answered. ‘You must bring the son of Omar, Judar the fisherman. The treasure cannot be opened except in his presence. None but he may enter it.’

    ‘Here stands the very man of whom you speak,’ replied the sorcerer. ‘He beholds and hears you.’

    Thereupon they swore to open the treasure and the Moor broke the spell that bound them. He placed two tablets of red carnelian upon a hollow reed; then he took a brazier filled with charcoal and set it alight with one breath. After that he brought some incense and said to Judar: ‘I am about to throw the incense and recite my conjuration. Once I begin the charm I cannot speak again, or the spell will be broken. Therefore I will now tell you what you are to do so as to achieve your end.’

    ‘Speak,’ Judar replied.

    ‘Know,’ said the Moor, ‘that as soon as I have cast the incense and begun my charm, the water of the river will dry up and on the sloping bank there will appear a door of gold, as high as the city gate, with a pair of metal rings. Go down to that door, knock lightly on it, and wait a little. Then knock louder and wait again. After that knock three times in succession, and you will hear a voice say from within: “Who knocks at the door of the treasure-house and yet cannot solve the Riddle?” You will reply: “I am the son of Omar, Judar the fisherman.” The door will open and reveal a man bearing a sword in his hand, who will say: “If you are that man stretch out your neck, that I may strike off your head.” Stretch out your neck to him and have no fear; for no sooner will he raise his sword and smite you than he will fall on the ground, a body without a soul. You will feel no pain from the blow, nor will any harm befall you. But if you defy him he will kill you.

    ‘When you have thus broken the first charm, go in and you will find another door. Knock on it, and the door will be opened by a horseman bearing a lance upon his shoulder, who will say: “What brings you to this place, forbidden alike to man and jinnee?” He will brandish his lance at you. Bare your breast to him and he will strike you and fall on the ground, a body without a soul. But if you defy him he will kill you.

    ‘You will make your way to a third door, which will be opened by a man armed with a bow and arrow. He will shoot at you with his weapon. Bare your breast to him and he will at once fall on the ground, a body without a soul. But if you defy him he will kill you.

    ‘After that go in to the fourth door and knock. An enormous lion will rush out and leap upon you, opening its jaws apart to eat you. Do not flinch or run away; give it your hand and it will fall down lifeless upon the instant.

    ‘Then knock at the fifth door. A black slave will open it to you, saying: “Who are you?” Say: “I am Judar”, and he will reply: “If you are that man, go and open the sixth door.”

    ‘At the sixth door you must cry: “Jesus, bid Moses open the door.” The door will swing ajar. Go in, and two huge serpents, one on the right and the other on the left, will hurl themselves at you with open mouths. If you stretch out a hand to each they will do you no harm. But if you resist them they will kill you.

    ‘The seventh door will be opened by your mother. “Welcome, my son,” she will say. “Come near that I may greet you.” You must answer: “Stay where you are and put off your clothes!” “My child,” she will say, “I am your mother, who suckled you and brought you up. How would you see me naked?” You must reply: “Put off your clothes, or I will kill you.” Look on your right, and you will find a sword hanging from the wall: take it down and threaten her with it. She will plead with you and humble herself before you; have no pity on her, and each time she takes anything off, cry: “The rest!” Go on threatening her until she has put off all her clothes. Then she will fall at your feet.

    ‘At that moment all the charms will be annulled and all the spells broken. Safe and sound, you will enter the hall of the treasure and see the gold lying in heaps. But pay no heed to that. At the opposite end you will find a small pavilion with a curtain over it. Draw aside the curtain and you will see the Magician Al-Shamardal sleeping on a couch of gold, with a round object above his head shining like the moon. That is the Celestial Orb. You will find the Sword on his side, the Ring on his finger, and the Vial of Kohl hung from a chain about his neck. Bring back these four talismans. Be on your guard lest you forget any of my instructions; if you go against them you shall rue it.’

    The Moor repeated his directions until Judar assured him that he had them all by heart.

    ‘But who can face the charms you speak of?’ the fisherman then cried. ‘Who can brave such mighty perils?’

    ‘Have no fear, Judar,’ the Moor replied. ‘They are but phantoms without souls.’

    Judar commended himself to Allah, and the Moor threw the incense on the fire and began his incantation. Presently the water of the river vanished and the door of the treasure-house appeared below. Judar went down to the door and knocked.

    ‘Who knocks at the door of the treasure-house and yet cannot solve the Riddle?’ cried a voice from within.

    ‘Judar, son of Omar,’ he answered.

    The door was opened and a man with an unsheathed sword appeared, crying: ‘Stretch out your neck!’ Judar stretched out his neck, but no sooner did he raise his sword and smite Judar than the man fell down on the ground. Then Judar passed on to the other doors, breaking their spells in turn. When he reached the seventh door, his mother came out and greeted him.

    ‘What are you?’ Judar asked.

    ‘I am your mother,’ she answered. ‘I suckled you and brought you up. I carried you for nine months, my son.’

    ‘Put off your clothes!’ cried Judar.

    ‘But you are my son!’ the old woman exclaimed. ‘How can you strip me naked?’

    She pleaded long with him, but Judar repeated his demand, threatening her with the sword which he had taken from the wall, until she had put off all but one of her garments.

    ‘Is your heart of stone, my son?’ she cried. ‘Would you see your mother utterly naked? Do you not know that this is unlawful?’

    ‘You are right, mother,’ answered Judar. ‘That is enough.’

    Scarcely had he uttered these words when the old woman exclaimed: ‘Beat him! The man has failed!’

    At this the guardians of the treasure fell upon him with mighty blows and gave him a thrashing which he never forgot for the rest of his life. Then they flung him out of the treasure-house and slammed the golden gate behind him.

    When the Moor saw the fisherman thrown outside the door he hurriedly dragged him from the water, which was already tumbling back into the river-bed, and recited charms over him until he recovered his senses.

    ‘What have you done, you fool?’ he cried.

    Judar recounted to him all that happened after he had met his mother.

    ‘Did I not charge you to observe all my instructions?’ shouted the Moor. ‘By Allah, you have wronged me, and yourself too. Had the woman unrobed herself entirely we would have gained our end. Now a whole year will have to pass before we can renew our attempt.’

    He at once called the slaves, who struck the tent and brought back the mules. And the two rode back to the city of Fez.

    Judar stayed with the Moor another year, feasting to his heart’s content and dressing in a splendid new robe each morning. When the appointed day arrived, the Moor took him outside the city, and there they saw the black slaves with the mules. On reaching the river bank they pitched the tent and ate the midday meal. Then the Moor arranged the reed and the tablets as before, lit the charcoal, and said to Judar: ‘Listen again to these instructions.’

    ‘You need not repeat them, sir,’ Judar cried. ‘I shall forget them only when I forget my thrashing.’

    ‘Do you remember every detail?’ asked the Moor, and, when the fisherman assured him that he did, went on: ‘Keep your wits about you. Do not think that the woman is really your mother; she is no more than a phantom which has taken on your mother’s semblance to mislead you. You came out alive the first time; but, if you slip this time, you shall assuredly perish.’

    ‘If I slip this time,’ Judar replied, ‘I shall deserve burning.’

    The Moor cast the incense on the fire and as soon as he began his conjuration the river dried up and Judar went down to the golden door. Spell after spell was broken until he came to his mother.

    ‘Welcome, my son!’ she cried.

    ‘Wretched woman!’ Judar shouted. ‘Since when have I been your son? Put off your clothes!’

    The old woman undressed herself, pleading with him the while, until only her drawers remained.

    ‘Off with them, wretch!’ he cried.

    And as she removed her drawers she dropped at his feet, a phantom without a soul.

    Judar entered the seventh door and, paying no heed to the piles of gold that lay within, went straight up to the pavilion. There he saw the Wizard Al-Shamardal lying, with the Sword at his side, the Ring on his finger, the Vial of Kohl upon his chest, and the Celestial Orb above his head. He ungirt the Sword, pulled off the Ring, unclasped the Vial, took down the Orb, and made for the door again. Suddenly a burst of music sounded in his praise, and the guardians of the treasure cried: ‘Rejoice, Judar, in that which you have gained!’ The music went on playing until he was outside the gate of the treasure-house.

    As soon as he saw him, the Moor ceased his fumigation and his charms, and, quickly rising, threw his arms about the fisherman’s neck. Judar gave him the four talismans and the Moor called the slaves, who carried away the tent and returned with the mules.

    When they were back in the city the Moor brought out a variety of meats, and the two feasted and ate their fill. Then the magician said: ‘Judar, you left your native land on my account and have fulfilled my dearest wish. Therefore name your reward; ask whatever you desire and Allah will grant it through me. Do not be shy; you have earned it well.’

    ‘Sir,’ replied the fisherman, ‘I can ask for nothing better than this saddle-bag.’

    The Moor bade his slave fetch the bag, and then handed it to Judar, saying: ‘It is yours. You have earned it. Had you asked me for anything else I would have as willingly given it to you. But, my friend, this saddle-bag will provide you only with your food. You have exposed yourself to great perils for my sake, and I promised to send you home with a contented heart. I will give you another bag filled with gold and jewels and bring you safe to your own land. There you can set up as a merchant, and satisfy your needs and your family’s. As for the first bag, I will now tell you how to use it. Stretch your hand into it and say: “Servant of the Bag, by the mighty names that have power over you, bring me such-and-such a dish.” He will at once provide you with whatever you demand, even if you call for a thousand different dishes every day.’

    The Moor sent for a slave and a mule and, filling a second bag with gold and jewels, said to Judar: ‘Mount this mule. The slave will walk before you and be your guide until he brings you to the door of your own house. On your arrival take the two bags and return the mule to the slave, so that he may bring it back. Admit none to your secret. And now go with Allah’s blessing.’

    Judar thanked the Moor with all his heart, and, loading the two bags on the beast, rode off. The mule followed the slave all day and all night, and early next morning Judar entered the Victory Gate. There he was astounded to see his mother sitting by the roadside.

    “Alms, in the name of Allah,’ she was crying.

    Judar quickly dismounted and threw himself with open arms upon the old woman, who burst into tears on seeing him. He mounted her on the mule and walked by her side until they reached their dwelling. There he took down the saddle-bags and left the mule to the slave, who returned with it to his master; for they were both devils.

    Judar was profoundly distressed at his mother’s plight.

    ‘Are my brothers well?’ he asked as soon as they went in.

    ‘Yes, they are well,’ she answered.

    ‘Then why are you begging on the streets?’ he inquired. ‘I gave you a hundred pieces of gold the first day, a hundred more the next day, and a thousand the day I left home.’

    ‘My son,’ she replied, ‘your brothers took all the money, saying they wished to buy some merchandise. But they deceived me and threw me out, so that I was forced to beg or starve.’

    ‘Never mind, mother,’ said Judar. ‘All will be well with you now that I am home again. Here is a bag full of gold and jewels. Henceforth we shall lack nothing.’

    ‘Fortune has smiled upon you, my son,’ cried the old woman. ‘May Allah bless you and ever give you of His bounty! Rise now and get us some bread. I have had nothing to eat since yesterday.’

    ‘You are welcome, mother,’ Judar replied, laughing. ‘Tell me what you would like to eat and it shall be set before you this very instant. There is nothing I need to buy or cook.’

    ‘But I can see nothing with you, my son,’ said his mother.

    ‘It is in the bag,’ he answered. ‘Every kind of food.’

    ‘Anything will serve, if it can fill a hungry woman,’ she replied.

    ‘That is true, mother,’ said Judar. ‘When there is no choice one has to be content with the meanest thing: but when there is plenty one must choose the best. I have plenty: so name your choice.’

    ‘Very well, then,’ she replied. ‘Some fresh bread and a slice of cheese.’

    ‘That scarcely befits your station, mother,’ Judar protested.

    ‘If you know what is fitting,’ she answered, ‘then give me what I ought to eat.’

    ‘What would you say,’ he smiled, ‘to roast meat and roast chicken, peppered rice, sausage and stuffed marrow, stuffed lamb and stuffed ribs, kunafah swimming in bees’ honey, fritters and almond cakes?’

    ‘What has come over you, Judar?’ exclaimed the old woman, thinking her son was making fun of her. ‘Are you dreaming or have you taken leave of your senses? Who can afford these wondrous dishes, and who can cook them?’

    ‘Upon my life,’ Judar replied, ‘you shall have them all this very moment. Bring me the bag.’

    His mother brought the bag; she felt it and saw that it was empty. Then she handed it to Judar, who proceeded to take out from it dish after dish until he had ranged before her all the dishes he had described.

    ‘My child,’ cried the astonished woman, ‘the bag is very small, and it was empty; I felt it with my own hands. How do you account for these numerous dishes?’

    ‘Know, mother, that the bag is enchanted,’ he replied. ‘It was ‘given me by the Moor. It is served by a jinnee who, if invoked by the Mighty Names, provides any dish that a man can desire.’

    Thereupon his mother asked if she herself might call the jinnee. Judar gave her the bag, and she thrust in her hand, saying: ‘Servant of the Bag, by the mighty names that have power over you, bring me a stuffed rib of lamb!’

    She at once felt the dish under her hand. She drew it out, and then called for bread and other meats.

    ‘Mother,’ said Judar, ‘when you have finished eating, empty thè rest of the meal into other plates and restore the dishes to the bag. That is one part of the secret. And keep the bag safely hidden.’

    The old woman got up and stowed away the bag in a safe place.

    ‘Above all, mother,’ he resumed, ‘you must on no account disclose the secret. Whenever you need any food bring it out of the bag. Give alms and feed my brothers, alike when I am here and when I am away.’

    The two had scarcely begun eating when Judar’s brothers entered the house.

    They had heard the news of his arrival from a neighbour, who had said to them: ‘Your brother has come home, riding on a mule and with a slave marching before him. No one ever wore the like of his rich garments.’

    ‘Would that we had never wronged our mother,’ they said to each other. ‘She is bound to tell him what we did to her. Think of the disgrace!’

    ‘But mother is soft-hearted,’ one of them remarked. ‘And supposing she does tell him, our brother is kindlier still. If we apologize to him he will excuse us.’

    Judar jumped to his feet as they entered, and greeted them in the friendliest fashion. ‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘and eat with us.’

    They sat down and ate ravenously, for they were quite faint with hunger.

    ‘Brothers,’ said Judar when they could eat no more, ‘take the rest of the food and distribute it among the beggars.’

    ‘But why, brother?’ they replied. ‘We can have it for supper.’

    ‘At supper-time,’ said he, ‘you shall have a greater feast than this.’

    So they went out with the food, and to every beggar that passed by they said: ‘Take and eat.’ Then they brought the empty dishes back to Judar, who bad his mother return them to the bag.

    ‘In the evening Judar went into the room where the bag was hidden and drew from it forty different dishes, which his mother carried up to the eating-chamber. He invited his brothers to eat, and, when the meal was over, told them to take the remainder of the food and distribute it among the beggars. After supper he produced sweets and pastries for them; they ate their fill, and what was left over he told them to carry to the neighbours.

    In this fashion he regaled his brothers for ten days, and at the end of that time Salem said to Seleem: ‘What is the meaning of all this? How can our brother provide us every day with such lavish feasts morning, noon, and evening, and then with sweetmeats late at night? And whatever remains he distributes among the poor and needy. Only sultans do such things. Where could he have got this fortune from? Will you not inquire about these various dishes and how they are prepared? We have never seen him buy anything at all or even light a fire; he has no cook and no kitchen.’

    ‘By Allah, I do not know,’ replied Seleem. ‘Only our mother can tell us the truth about it all.’

    Thereupon they contrived a plan and, going to their mother in Judar’s absence, told her that they were hungry. She at once entered the room where the bag was hidden, invoked the jinnee, and returned with a hot meal.

    ‘Mother, this food is hot,’ they said. ‘And yet you did not cook it, nor did you even blow a fire.’

    ‘It is from the bag,’ she answered.

    ‘What bag is that?’ they asked.

    ‘A magic bag,’ she replied.

    And she told them the whole story, adding: ‘You must keep the matter secret.’

    ‘No one shall know of it,’ they said. ‘But show us how it works.’

    Their mother showed them and they proceeded to put in their hands, each asking for a dish of his own choice.

    When the two were alone, Salem said to Seleem: ‘How long are we to stay like servants in our brother’s house, living abjectly on his charity? Can we not trick him and take the bag from him, and keep it for our own use?’

    ‘And how shall we do that?’ asked Seleem.

    ‘We will sell our brother to the chief captain of Suez,’ Salem replied. ‘We will go to the captain, and invite him to the house with two of his men. You have only to confirm whatever I say to Judar and by the end of the night you will see what I shall do.’

    When they had thus agreed to sell their brother, they went to the chief captain of Suez and said to him: ‘Sir, we have come upon some business that will please you.’

    ‘Good,’ said the captain.

    ‘We are brothers,’ they went on. ‘We have a third brother, a worthless ne’er-do-well. Our father died and left us a small fortune. We divided the inheritance and our brother took his share and squandered it on lechery and all manner of vices. When he had lost all his money, he began complaining of us to the judges, saying that we had defrauded him of his inheritance. He took us from one court of law to another and in the end we forfeited all our fortune. Now he is at us again. We cannot bear with him any longer and want you to buy him from us.’

    ‘Can you bring him here upon some pretext?’ the captain asked. ‘Then I can send him off to sea forthwith.’

    ‘No, we cannot bring him here,’ they answered. ‘But you come to our house and be our guest this evening. Bring two of your sailors with you – no more. When he is sound asleep the five of us can set upon and gag him. Then you can carry him out of the house under cover of darkness and do whatever you please with him.’

    ‘Very well,’ said the captain. ‘Will you sell him for forty dinars?’

    ‘We agree to that,’ they replied. ‘Go after dark to such-and-such a street and there you will find one of us waiting for you.’

    They returned home and sat talking together for a while. Then Salem went up to Judar and kissed his hand.

    ‘What can I do for you, brother?’ Judar asked.

    ‘I have a friend,’ he said, ‘who has invited me many times to his house and done me a thousand kindnesses, as Seleem here knows. Today I called on him and he invited me again. I excused myself, saying: “I cannot leave my brother.” “Let him come too,” he said. I told him you would never consent to that and asked him and his brothers to dine with us tonight. His brothers were sitting there with him and I invited them, thinking they would refuse. However, they all accepted, and asked me to meet them at the gate of the little mosque. I now regret my indiscretion and feel ashamed for asking them without your leave. But will you be so kind as to give them hospitality tonight? If you would rather not, allow me to take them to the neighbours’ house.’

    ‘But why to the neighbours’?’ Judar protested. ‘Is our house too small or have we no food to give them? Shame on you that you should even ask me. They shall have nothing but the choicest dishes. If you bring home any guests and I happen to be out, you have only to ask our mother and she will provide you with all the food you need and more. Go and bring them. They shall be most welcome.’

    Salem kissed Judar’s hand and went off to the gate of the little mosque. The captain and his men came at the appointed hour and he took them home with him. As soon as they entered, Judar rose to receive them. He gave them a kindly welcome and seated them by his side, for he knew nothing of their intent. Then he bade his mother serve a meal of forty courses and the sailors ate their fill, thinking that it was all at Salem’s expense. After that he produced for them sweets and pastries; Salem served the guests with these, while his two brothers remained seated. At midnight the captain and his men begged leave to retire, and Judar got up with them and went to bed. As soon as he fell asleep the five men set upon him and, thrusting a gag into his mouth, bound his arms and carried him out of the house under cover of darkness. The sailors took their victim to Suez, and there, with irons on his feet, he toiled for a whole year as a galley-slave in one of the captain’s ships. So much for Judar.

    Next morning the two brothers went in to their mother and asked her whether Judar had woken up.

    ‘He is still asleep,’ she said. ‘Go and wake him.’

    ‘Where is he sleeping?’ they asked.

    ‘With the guests,’ she answered.

    ‘There is no one there,’ they said. ‘Perhaps he went off with them whilst we were still asleep. It seems our brother has acquired a taste for visiting foreign lands and opening hidden treasures. Last night we overheard him talking to the Moors. “We will take you with us, and open the treasure for you,” they were saying.’

    ‘But when did he meet the Moors?’ she asked.

    ‘Did they not dine with us last night?’ they answered.

    ‘It is probable, then, that he has gone with them,’ said the old woman. ‘But Allah will guide him wherever he goes, for he was born under a lucky star. He is bound to come back laden with riches.’

    Upon this she broke down and wept, for she could not bear to be parted from him.

    ‘Vile woman!’ they exclaimed. ‘Do you love our brother so much? Yet if we went away or returned home, you would neither shed tears nor rejoice. Are we not your sons as much as he?’

    ‘Yes, you are my sons,’ she answered. ‘But how wicked and ungrateful! Ever since your father died I have not had a moment’s joy with you. But Judar has always been good and kind and generous to me. He is worthy of my tears, for we are all indebted to him.’

    Stung by her words, the two abused their mother and beat her. Then they went in and searched the house until they found the two bags. They took the gold and jewels from the second bag, saying: ‘This is our father’s property.’

    ‘No, by Allah,’ their mother replied. ‘It is your brother’s. Judar brought it with him from the Moors’ country.’

    ‘You lie!’ they shouted. ‘It is our father’s property. We will dispose of it as we choose.’

    They divided the gold and jewels between them. But over the magic bag they fell into a hot dispute.

    ‘I take this,’ said Salem.

    ‘No, I take it,’ said Seleem.

    ‘My children,’ pleaded the old woman, ‘you have divided the first bag, but the second bag is beyond price and cannot be divided. If it is split into two parts, its charm will be annulled. Leave it with me and I will bring out for you whatever food you need, contenting myself with a mouthful. Buy some merchandise and trade with it like honest men. You are my sons, and I am your mother. Let us live in amity and peace, so that you may incur no shame when your brother comes back.’

    However, they paid no heed to her and spent the night quarrelling over the magic bag. Now it chanced that an officer of the King’s guards was being entertained in the house next door, of which one of the windows was open. Leaning out of the window, he listened to the angry words that passed between the two brothers and understood the cause of the dispute. Next morning he presented himself before Shams-al-Dowlah, King of Egypt, and informed him of all he had overheard. The King sent at once for Judar’s brothers and tortured them until they confessed all. He took the two bags, threw the brothers into prison, and appointed their mother a daily allowance sufficient for her needs. So much for them.

    Now to return to Judar. After toiling for a whole year in Suez, he set sail one day with several of his mates; a violent tempest struck their ship and, hurling it against a rocky cliff, shattered it to pieces. Judar alone escaped alive. Swimming ashore, he journeyed inland until he reached an encampment of bedouin Arabs. They asked him who he was, and he recounted to them his whole story. In the camp there was a merchant from Jedda, who at once took pity upon him.

    ‘Would you like to enter our service, Egyptian?’ he said. ‘I will furnish you with clothes and take you with me to Jedda.’

    Judar accepted the merchant’s offer and accompanied him to Jedda, where he was generously treated. Soon afterwards his master set out on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and took Judar with him. On their arrival Judar hastened to join the pilgrims’ procession round the Ca’aba. Whilst he was thus engaged in his devotions, he met his friend Abdul Samad the Moor, who greeted him warmly and inquired his news. Judar wept as he recounted to him the tale of his misfortunes, and the Moor took him to his own house and dressed him in a magnificent robe.

    ‘Your troubles are now ended, Judar,’ he said.

    Then he cast a handful of sand on the ground and, divining all that had befallen Salem and Seleem, declared: ‘Your brothers have been thrown into prison by the King of Egypt. But you are welcome here until you have performed the season’s rites. All shall be well with you.’

    ‘Sir,’ said Judar, ‘I must first go and take my leave of the merchant who brought me here. Then I will come to you straightway.’

    ‘Do you owe him any money?’ asked the Moor.

    ‘No,’ Judar replied.

    ‘Go, then,’ said the Moor, ‘and take leave of him. Honest men must not forget past favours.’

    Judar sought out the good merchant and told him that he had met a long-lost brother.

    ‘Go and bring him here, that he may eat with us,’ said the merchant.

    ‘There is no need for that,’ Judar answered. ‘He is a man of wealth and has a host of servants.’

    ‘Then take these,’ said the merchant, handing him twenty dinars, ‘and free me of all obligations towards you.’

    Judar took leave of him and went out. On his way he met a beggar and gave him the twenty dinars. Then he rejoined the Moor, and stayed with him until the pilgrimage rites had been completed. When it was time to part, the magician gave him the ring which he had taken from the treasure of Al-Shamardal.

    ‘This ring,’ he said, ‘will grant you all that you desire. It is served by a jinnee called Rattling Thunder. If you need anything, you have but to rub the seal and he will be at hand to do your bidding.’

    The Moor rubbed the seal in front of him, and at once the jinnee appeared, saying: ‘I am here, my master! Ask what you will and it shall be done. Would you restore a ruined city, or lay a populous town in ruin? Would you slay a king, or rout a whole army?’

    ‘Thunder,’ cried the Moor, ‘this man will henceforth be your master. Serve him well.’

    Then he dismissed the jinnee and said to Judar: ‘Go back to your country and take good care of the ring. Do not make light of it, for its magic will give you power over all your enemies.’

    ‘By your leave, sir,’ Judar replied, ‘I will now set forth for my native land.’

    ‘Rub the seal,’ said the Moor, ‘and the jinnee will take you there upon his back.’

    Judar said farewell to the Moor and rubbed the seal. At once the jinnee appeared before him.

    ‘Take me to Egypt this very day,’ he commanded.

    ‘I hear and obey,’ Thunder replied. And carrying Judar upon his back flew with him high up into the air. At midnight he set him down in the courtyard of his mother’s house and vanished.

    Judar went in to his mother. She greeted him with many tears and told him how the King had tortured his brothers, thrown them into prison, and taken from them the two bags.

    ‘Do not grieve any more over that,’ Judar replied. ‘You shall see what I can do. I will bring my brothers back this very instant.’

    He rubbed the ring, and the jinnee appeared, saying: ‘I am here, my master! Ask, and you shall be given.’

    ‘I order you,’ Judar said, ‘to free my brothers from the King’s prison and bring them back forthwith.’

    The jinnee vanished into the earth and in the twinkling of an eye emerged from the floor of the prison-house, where the two men lay lamenting their plight and praying for death. When they saw the earth open and the jinnee appear, the brothers fainted away with fright; nor did they recover their senses until they found themselves at home, with Judar and their mother seated by their side.

    ‘Thank Allah you are safe, brothers!’ said Judar when they came round. ‘I am heartily pleased to see you.’

    They hung their heads and burst out crying.

    ‘Do not weep,’ said Judar. ‘It was Satan, and greed, that prompted you to act as you did. How could you sell me? But I will think of Joseph and console myself; his brothers behaved to him worse than you did to me, for they threw him into a pit. Still, never mind. Turn to Allah and ask His pardon: He will forgive you as I forgive you. And now you are welcome; no harm shall befall you here.’

    He thus comforted them until their hearts were set at ease. Then he related to them all he had suffered until he met the Moor and told them of the magic ring.

    ‘Pardon us this time, brother,’ they said. ‘If we return to our evil practices, then punish us as you deem fit.’

    ‘Think no more of that,’ he answered. ‘Tell me what the King did to you.’

    ‘He beat us and threatened us,’ they replied. ‘And he took away the two bags.’

    ‘By Allah, he shall answer for that!’ Judar exclaimed. And so saying he rubbed the ring.

    At the sight of the jinnee the brothers were seized with terror thinking that he would order him to kill them. They threw themselves at their mother’s feet, crying: ‘Protect us, mother! Intercede for us, we beg you!’

    ‘Do not be alarmed, my children,’ she answered.

    ‘I order you,’ said Judar to the jinnee, ‘to bring me all the gold and jewels in the King’s treasury. Also fetch me the two bags which the King took from my brothers. Leave nothing there.’

    ‘I hear and obey,’ replied the jinnee.

    He thereupon vanished and instantly returned with the King’s treasures and the two bags.

    ‘My master,’ he said, ‘I have left nothing in all the treasury.’

    Judar put the bag of jewels into his mother’s charge and kept the magic bag by his side. Then he said to the jinnee: ‘I order you to build me a lofty palace this very night and to adorn it with liquid gold and furnish it magnificently. The whole must be ready by tomorrow’s dawn.’

    ‘You shall have your wish,’ replied the jinnee, and disappeared into the earth.

    Judar sat feasting with his family and, when they had taken their fill, they got up and went to sleep. Meanwhile Thunder summoned his minions from among the jinn and ordered them to build the palace. Some hewed the stones, some built the walls, some engraved and painted them, some spread the rooms with rugs and tapestries; so that before day dawned the palace stood complete in all its splendour. Then the servant of the ring presented himself before Judar, saying: ‘The task is accomplished, my master. Will you come and inspect your palace?’

    Judar went forth with his mother and brothers to see the building and they were amazed at its magnificence and the peerless beauty of its structure. Judar rejoiced as he looked at the edifice towering high on the main road and marvelled that it had cost him nothing.

    ‘Would you like to live in this palace?’ he asked his mother.

    ‘I would indeed,’ she answered, calling down blessings upon him.

    He rubbed the ring again, and at once the jinnee appeared saying: ‘I am here, my master.’

    ‘I order you,’ said Judar, ‘to bring me forty beautiful white slave-girls and forty black slave-girls, forty white slave-boys and forty black eunuchs.’

    ‘I hear and obey,’ the jinnee replied.

    The slave of the ring at once departed with forty of his attendants to India, Sind, and Persia, and in a trice returned with a multitude of handsome slaves to Judar’s palace. There he made them stand in full array before their master, who was greatly pleased to see them.

    ‘Now bring each a splendid robe to put on,’ said Judar, ‘and rich garments for my mother, my brothers, and myself.’

    The jinnee brought the robes and dressed the slave-girls.

    This is your mistress,’ he said to them. ‘Kiss her hand and obey her orders; serve her well, you blacks and whites.’

    He also clothed the slave-boys, and one by one they went up to Judar and kissed his hand. Finally the three brothers put on their fine robes, so that Judar looked like a king and Salem and Seleem like viziers. His house being spacious, Judar assigned a whole wing to each of his brothers with a full retinue of slaves and servants, while he and his mother dwelt in the main suite of the palace. Thus each one of them lived like a sultan in his own apartment. So much for them.

    Next morning the King’s treasurer went to take some valuables from the royal coffers. He entered the treasury, but found nothing there. He gave a loud cry and fell down fainting; when he recovered himself, he rushed to King Shams-al-Dowlah, crying: ‘Prince of the Faithful, the treasury has been emptied during the night.’

    ‘Dog,’ cried the King, ‘what have you done with all my wealth?’

    ‘By Allah, I have done nothing, nor do I know how it was ransacked,’ he replied. ‘When I was there last night the treasury was full, but this morning all the coffers are clean empty; yet the walls have not been pierced and the locks are unbroken. No thief could have possibly entered there.’

    ‘And the two bags,’ the King shouted, ‘have they also gone?’

    ‘They have,’ replied the treasurer.

    Aghast at these words, the King jumped to his feet and, ordering the old man to follow him, ran to the treasury, which he found quite empty.

    ‘Who dared to rob me?’ exclaimed the infuriated King. ‘Did he not fear my punishment?’

    Blazing with rage, he rushed out of the room and assembled his court. The captains of his army hastened to the King’s presence, each thinking himself the object of his wrath.

    ‘Know,’ exclaimed the King, ‘that my treasury has been plundered in the night. I have yet to catch the thief who has dared to commit so great an outrage.’

    ‘How did it all happen?’ the officers inquired.

    ‘Ask the treasurer,’ shouted the King.

    ‘Yesterday the coffers were full,’ said the treasurer. ‘Today I found them empty. Yet the walls of the treasury have not been pierced, nor the door broken.’

    The courtiers were amazed at the treasurer’s words and did not know what to answer. As they stood in silence before the King, there entered the hall that same officer who had denounced Salem and Seleem.

    ‘Your majesty,’ said he, ‘all night long I have been watching a great multitude of masons at work. By daybreak they had erected an entire building, a palace of unparalleled splendour. Upon inquiry I was informed that it had been built by a man called Judar, who had but recently returned from abroad with vast riches and innumerable slaves and servants. I was also told that he had freed his brothers from prison and now sits like a sultan in his palace.’

    ‘Go, search the prison!’ cried the King to his attendants.

    They went and looked, but saw no trace of the two brothers. Then they came back to inform the King.

    ‘Now I know my enemy,’ the King exclaimed. ‘He that released Salem and Seleem from prison is the man who stole my treasure.’

    ‘And who may that be, your majesty?’ asked the Vizier.

    ‘Their brother Judar,’ replied the King. ‘And he has taken away the two bags. Vizier, send at once an officer with fifty men to seal up all his property and bring the three of them before me, that I may hang them! Do you hear? And quickly, too!’

    ‘Be indulgent,’ said the Vizier. ‘Allah himself is indulgent and never too quick to chastise His servants when they disobey Him. The man who could build a palace in a single night cannot be judged by ordinary standards. Indeed, I greatly fear for the officer whom you would send to him. Therefore have patience until I devise some way of discovering the truth. Then you can deal with these offenders as you think fit, your majesty.’

    ‘Tell me what to do, then,’ said the King.

    ‘I advise your majesty,’ replied the Vizier, ‘to send an officer to him and invite him to the palace. When he is here I shall converse with him in friendly fashion and ask him his news. After that we shall see. If he is indeed a powerful man, we will contrive some-plot against him; if he is just an ordinary rascal, you can arrest him and do what you please with him.’

    ‘Then send one to invite him,’ said the King.

    The Vizier ordered an officer called Othman to go to Judar and invite him to the King’s palace.

    ‘And do not come back without him,’ the King shouted.

    Now this officer was a proud and foolish fellow. When he came to Judar’s palace, he saw a eunuch sitting on a chair outside the gateway. Othman dismounted, but the eunuch remained seated on his chair and paid no heed to the distinguished courtier, despite the fifty soldiers who stood behind him.

    ‘Slave, where is your master?’ the officer cried.

    ‘In the palace,’ replied the eunuch, without stirring from his seat.

    ‘Ill-omened slave,’ exclaimed the angry Othman, ‘are you not ashamed to lounge there like a fool while I am speaking to you?’

    ‘Be off, and hold your tongue,’ the eunuch replied.

    At this the officer flew into a violent rage. He lifted up his mace and made to strike the eunuch, for he did not know that he was a devil. As soon as he saw this movement the doorkeeper sprang upon him, threw him on the ground, and dealt him four blows with his own mace. Indignant at the treatment accorded to their master, the fifty soldiers drew their swords and rushed upon the eunuch.

    ‘Would you draw your swords against me, you dogs?’ he shouted and, falling upon them with the mace, maimed them in every limb. The soldiers took to their heels in panic-stricken flight, and did not stop running until they were far away from the palace. Then the eunuch returned to his chair and sat down at his ease, as though nothing had troubled him.

    Back at the palace the battered Othman related to the King what had befallen him at the hands of Judar’s slave.

    ‘Let a hundred men be sent against him!’ cried the King, bursting with rage.

    A hundred men marched down to Judar’s palace. When they came near, the eunuch leapt upon them with the mace and cudgelled them soundly, so that they turned their backs and fled. Returning to the King, they told him what had happened.

    ‘Let two hundred go down!’ the King exclaimed.

    When these came back, broken and put to rout, the King cried to his vizier: ‘Go down yourself with five hundred and bring me this eunuch at once, together with his master Judar and his brothers!’

    ‘Great King,’ replied the Vizier, ‘I need no troops. I would rather go alone, unarmed.’

    ‘Do what you think fit,’ said the King.

    The Vizier cast aside his weapons and, dressing himself in a white robe, took a rosary in his hand and walked unescorted to Judar’s palace. There he saw the eunuch sitting at the gate; he went up to him and sat down courteously by his side, saying: ‘Peace be with you.’

    ‘And to you peace, human,’ the eunuch replied. ‘What is your wish?’

    On hearing himself addressed as a human, the Vizier realized that the eunuch was a jinnee and trembled with fear.

    ‘Sir, is your master here?’ he asked.

    ‘He is in the palace,’ replied the jinnee.

    ‘Sir,’ said the Vizier, ‘I beg you to go in and say to him: “King Shams-al-Dowlah invites you to a banquet at his palace. He sends you his greeting and requests you to honour him with your presence.”‘

    ‘Wait here while I tell him,’ the jinnee answered.

    The Vizier waited humbly, while the eunuch went into the palace.

    ‘Know, my master,’ he said to Judar, ‘that this morning the King sent to you an officer with fifty guards. I cudgelled him and put his men to flight. Next he sent a hundred, whom I beat, and then two hundred, whom I routed. Now he has sent you his Vizier, unarmed and unattended, to invite you as his guest. What answer shall I give him?’

    ‘Go and bring the Vizier in,’ Judar replied.

    The jinnee led the Vizier into the palace, where he saw Judar seated upon a couch such as no king ever possessed and arrayed in greater magnificence than any sultan. He was confounded at the splendour of the palace and the beauty of its ornaments and furniture, and, Vizier that he was, felt himself a beggar in those surroundings. He kissed the ground before Judar and called down blessings upon him.

    ‘What is your errand, Vizier?’ Judar demanded.

    ‘Sir,’ he answered, ‘your friend King Shams-al-Dowlah sends you his greetings. He desires to delight himself with your company, and begs your attendance at a banquet in his palace. Will you do him the honour of accepting his invitation?’

    ‘Since he is my friend,’ returned Judar, ‘give him my salutations and tell him to come and visit me himself.’

    ‘It shall be as you wish,’ the Vizier replied.

    Upon this Judar rubbed the ring and ordered the jinnee to fetch him a splendid robe. The jinnee brought him a robe, and Judar handed it to the Vizier, saying: ‘Put this on. Then go and inform the King what I have told you.’

    The Vizier put on the robe, the like of which he had never worn in all his life, and returned to his master. He gave him an account of all that he had seen, enlarging upon the splendour of the palace and its contents.

    ‘Judar invites you,’ he said.

    To your horses, captains!’ the King exclaimed and, mounting his own steed, rode with his followers to Judar’s house.

    Meanwhile, Judar summoned the servant of the ring and said to him: ‘I require you to bring me from among the jinn a troop of guards in human guise and station them in the courtyard of the palace, so that when the King passes through their ranks his heart may be filled with awe and he may realize that my might is greater than his.’

    At once two hundred stalwart guards appeared in the courtyard, dressed in magnificent armour. When the King arrived and saw the formidable array, his heart trembled with fear. He went up into the palace and found Judar sitting in the spacious hall, surrounded with such grandeur as cannot be found in the courts of kings or sultans. He greeted him and bowed respectfully before him; but Judar neither rose in his honour nor invited him to be seated. The King grew fearful of his host’s intent and, in his embarrassment, did not know whether to sit down or leave.

    ‘Were he afraid of me,’ he thought to himself, ‘he would have shown me more respect. Is it to avenge his brothers’ wrong that he has brought me here?’

    ‘Your majesty,’ Judar said at last, ‘is it proper for a king to oppress his subjects and seize their goods?’

    ‘Sir, do not be angry with me,’ the King replied. ‘It was avarice, and fate, that led me to wrong your brothers. If men could never do wrong, there would be no pardon.’

    He went on begging forgiveness and humbling himself in this fashion until Judar said: ‘Allah forgive you,’ and bade him be seated. Then Judar dressed the King in the robe of safety and ordered his brothers to serve a sumptuous banquet. When they had finished eating, he invested all the courtiers with robes of honour and gave them costly presents. After that the King took leave of him and departed.

    Thenceforth the King visited Judar every day and never held his court except in Judar’s house. Friendship and amity flourished between them and they continued in this state for some time. One day, however, the King said to his vizier: ‘I fear that Judar may kill me and usurp my kingdom.’

    ‘Have no fear of that, your majesty,’ the Vizier answered. ‘Judar will never stoop so low as to rob you of your kingdom, for the wealth and power he enjoys are greater than any king’s. And if you are afraid that he may kill you, give him your daughter in marriage and you and he will be for ever united.’

    ‘Vizier, you shall act as our go-between,’ the King said.

    ‘Gladly, your majesty,’ the Vizier replied, invite him to your palace, and we will spend the evening together in one of the halls. Ask your daughter to put on her finest jewels and walk across the doorway. When Judar sees her he will fall in love with her outright. I will then lean towards him and encourage him by hint and suggestion, as though you know nothing about the matter, until he asks you for the girl. Once they are married, a lasting bond will be ensured between you and, when he dies, the greater part of his riches will be yours.’

    ‘You have spoken wisely, my Vizier,’ said the King.

    He thereupon ordered a banquet to be given, and invited him. Judar came to the royal palace and they sat feasting in the great hall till evening.

    The King had instructed his wife to array the Princess in her finest ornaments and walk with her past the doorway. She did as the King bade her and walked past the hall with her daughter. When Judar caught sight of the girl in her incomparable beauty, he uttered a deep sigh and felt his limbs grow numb and languid. Love took possession of his heart, and he turned pale with overpowering passion.

    ‘I trust you are well, my master,’ said the Vizier in a whisper. ‘Why do I see you so distressed?’

    ‘That girl,’ Judar murmured, ‘whose daughter is she?’

    ‘She is the daughter of your friend the King,’ replied the Vizier, if you like her, I will ask him if he will marry her to you.’

    ‘Do that, Vizier,’ Judar said, ‘and you shall be handsomely rewarded. I will give the King whatever dowry he demands and the two of us will be friends and kinsmen.’

    ‘Allah willing, you shall have her,’ the Vizier replied.

    Then, turning to the King, he whispered to him.

    ‘Your majesty,’ he said, ‘your friend Judar desires to marry your daughter, the Princess Asiah. Pray accept my plea on his behalf. He offers you whatever dowry you wish to ask.’

    ‘I have already received the dowry,’ the King answered. ‘My daughter is a slave in his service. I marry her to him. If he accepts her I shall be greatly honoured.’

    Next morning the King assembled his court, and in the presence of Sheikh al-Islam Judar wedded the Princess. He presented the King with the bag of gold and jewels as a dowry for his daughter and the marriage-contract was drawn up amidst great rejoicings. Judar and the King lived together in harmony and mutual trust for many months; and when the King died the troops requested his son-in-law to be their sultan. At first Judar declined, but when they continued to press him he accepted and was proclaimed their king. He built a great mosque over the tomb of Shams-al-Dowlah and endowed it munificently. Judar’s house was in the Yemenite Quarter, but since the beginning of his reign the entire district has been known as Judariyah.

    Judar appointed Salem and Seleem his viziers, and the three of them lived in peace for one year, no more. At the end of that time Salem said to Seleem: ‘How long are we to stay as we are? Are we to spend the whole of our lives as servants to Judar? We shall never taste the joy of sovereignty or power as long as Judar is alive. Can we not kill him and take the ring and the bag from him?’

    ‘You are cleverer than I am,’ Seleem replied. ‘Think out some plot for us whereby we can destroy him.’

    ‘If I contrive to bring about his death,’ said Salem, ‘will you agree that I shall become sultan and you chief vizier? Will you accept the magic bag and let me keep the ring?’

    ‘I agree to that,’ Seleem replied.

    Thus for the sake of power and worldly gain, the two conspired to kill their brother. They betook themselves to Judar and said to him: ‘Brother, will you do us the honour of dining with us this evening?’

    ‘To whose house shall I come?’ he asked.

    ‘To mine,’ Salem replied. ‘Then you can go to my brother’s.’

    ‘Very well,’ said Judar.

    He went with Seleem to Salem’s house, where a poisoned feast was spread before him. As soon as he had swallowed a mouthful his flesh fell about his bones in little pieces. Salem thereupon rose to pull the ring off his finger, and, seeing that it would not yield, cut off the finger with his knife. Then he rubbed the ring, and the jinnee appeared before him, saying: i am here! Demand what you will.’

    ‘Take hold of my brother and put him to instant death,’ Salem said. ‘Then carry the two bodies and throw them down before the troops.’

    The jinnee put Seleem to death, then carried out the two corpses and cast them down in the midst of the palace hall, where the army chiefs were eating. Alarmed at the sight, the captains lifted their hands from the food and cried to the jinnee: ‘Who has killed the King and his vizier?’

    ‘Their brother Salem,’ he replied.

    At that moment Salem himself entered the hall.

    ‘Captains,’ he said, ‘eat and set your minds at rest. I have become master of this ring, which I have taken from my brother Judar. The jinnee who stands before you is its faithful servant. I ordered him to kill my brother Seleem so that he should not scheme against my throne. He was a traitor and I feared he would betray me. Judar being dead, I am your only King. Will you accept my rule, or shall I order this jinnee to slay you all, great and small alike?’

    The captains answered: ‘We accept you as our King.’

    Salem gave orders for the burial of his brothers, and assembled his court. Some of the people walked in the funeral and some in Salem’s procession. When he reached the audience-hall, Salem sat upon the throne and received the allegiance of his subjects. Then said he: i wish to take in marriage my brother’s wife.’

    ‘That may not be done,’ they answered, ‘until the period of her widowhood has expired.’

    But Salem cried: ‘I will not hear of such trifles. Upon my life, I will go in to her this very night.’

    Thus they wrote the marriage-contract and sent to inform Judar’s widow.

    ‘Let him come,’ she said.

    When he entered, she welcomed him with a great show of joy. But she mixed poison in his drink and so destroyed him.

    Shams-al-Dowlah’s daughter took the ring and broke it to pieces, so that none should ever use it. She also tore the magic bag. Then she sent to inform Sheikh-al-Islam of what had happened and to bid the people choose a new king.

N. J. Dawood (trans.), Tales from the Thousand and One Nights

(Harmondsworth, 1973), PP. 350–71

Even without taking account of the Nights, the Mamluk period was a golden age for the production of popular fiction. In particular there was a vogue for lengthy poetic epics featuring Arab paladins who battled against Byzantines, Crusaders and Zoroastrians – not to mention sorcerers, dragons and seductresses. Such enthusiasm for pseudo-historical fiction aroused disapproval in pious circles. A fourteenth-century Syrian religious scholar advised copyists not to copy deceptive books ‘by which Allah does not offer any useful thing, such as Sirat 'Antar and other fabricated things’. Quite a number of heroic epics circulated in the late Middle Ages, among them Sirat Dhat-al-Himma, Sayf al-Tijan, Sirat al-Zahir and Sirat Sayf bin Dhi Yazan. However, the Sirat 'Antar seems to have been the best known of these epics, as well as the most accomplished in literary terms. Its stories were lightly based on the exploits of the real-life warrior and poet of pre-Islamic times, 'Antara ibn Shaddad. 'Antara (but 'Antar in the folk epic) had been born to an Arab father, but his mother was an Abyssinian slave. Thus 'Antar was one of the Ghurab, or ‘Crows’, and in early episodes of the epic he has to perform many valorous feats in order to be fully accepted by his fellow tribesmen as one of them. More acts of heroism have to be accomplished before he can win the hand of Abla, his uncle’s daughter. Although 'Antar started out as a saga of inter-tribal warfare in the Arabian desert, later episodes took the hero to Europe, Africa, India and even into the skies (thanks to a box drawn up by eagles). Antar fought for the Byzantines against the Franks and tangled with heroes of Persian legend. His fantasy conquests can be seen as prefiguring the real ones made by Islamic armies in the seventh and eighth centuries. At the opening of the epic it is claimed that it was composed by the famous ninth-century philologist al-Asm'i. However, its real authors were anonymous figures who transmitted and added to the epic over several centuries. A version of 'Antar certainly existed as early as the twelfth century, though what survives today seems to have been heavily revised in the fourteenth century, probably in Egypt. It is rich in excitement and colour – and also very long and somewhat shapeless. One printed version in Arabic runs to thirty-two volumes.

‘In the first extract here, the jinn Wajh al-Ghul (his name means ‘face of a monster’) is dispatched by King Ghawwar to do battle with 'Antar. After a week’s marching Wajh al-Ghul’s army encounters that of 'Antar, but the battle goes badly for the former. Then Wajh al-Ghul is tempted to enter the heat of the fray …

	Then it was that a knight called al-Dahhash ibn al-Ra''ash advanced towards him and kissed the ground. He said, ‘My lord, by al-Lat and al-'Uzza be not rash. I shall go forth in single combat. I will show you what I can do with these horsemen.’ When Wajh al-Ghul heard him speak, he answered, ‘Hurry to achieve your wish. If you slay not Antar, then bring him to me captive so that I can deliver him to the great king.’ Then the other went forth on a pale charger, tall and thin, which raced against the wind. He bore a sharp sword and having entered the field of combat he loosed his horse’s reins and broke forth into verse. He had but finished when Ghasub attacked him. He was mounted on a fine-coated horse of unsurpassed speed. Over his chest he wore a hauberk of closely linked rings, impenetrable to the Indian blade nor could a well-aimed spear penetrate its doubled links. On his head he wore a pot de fer prized by Chosroes, king of Persia. It was hammered from iron plates. In his hand he grasped a sword as sharp as a razor.
	Then he attacked, roaring like a lion. He thrust his enemy through the heart, toppled him from the back of his steed, and he fell on the ground wallowing in his gore. Ghasub cried out with an eloquent tongue, ‘Woe to you, will you challenge us with words, bastards that you are! We are heroes of the Banu 'Abs, noble among men called by the name of “the terrible death”.’
	When they saw these deeds of Ghasub the gallant were in awe of him. None came out to challenge him in single combat, neither Arab nor negro. He therefore returned to his people and changed his horse. Once again he returned to the battlefield. He cried out, ‘Oh, sons of harlots, come out and fight this knight of 'Adnan.’ Wajh al-Ghul remained still, looking and listening. But he had become restive within. His eyes burned like embers when set alight. He charged forth from between the banners. He roared, and he made for Ghasub like a bird of prey when it strikes a dove. He taunted him in verse, then he unsheathed his Indian sword. He was a fighter skilled in every kind of weapon, and no man could face him when he screamed with all his voice.
	On that day he was clad in a jazerant of thick quilted cotton hidden by a covering of tightly woven mail. On his head he wore a casque which deflected blades of iron, nor could spears penetrate its thickness. When Ghamra saw him she feared for the safety of her son, and she wished to sally forth to bring him away from Wajh al-Ghul. She went to Antar and told him of the matter. She said to him, I fear this knight and what he may do to my son. I fear lest he arouse my emotions to a degree that I go forth to send back my son and fight the foe myself.’ When Antar heard her, he persuaded her not to act thus. He said to her, ‘Stay where you are. I will fulfil your hope. This devil is a doughty smiter and I alone can resist him.’ Then he went to his son and said to him, ‘What you have done today in battle is more than enough.’ When Ghasub heard the words of his father he realized that affection had inspired his sentiments. So he returned to his mother. She embraced him and kissed him. She thanked him and praised him.
	But then Wajh al-Ghul saw that he was angry, and he wondered how he could withstand the opponent who now faced him. He advanced towards Antar with caution and calculation. He said to him, ‘Woe to you, offspring of base blood. Who are you to turn aside my foe and deny me my vengeance?’
	Antar said, ‘Oh, offspring of apes and vilest creature of these lands. I am Antar ibn Shaddad, the mightiest of the Arabs in zeal and the firmest in resolve. No tongue can describe me and my noble deeds. I am the mine of valour and pride, unique in this age. I have attained every goal I have sought, and every enemy of mine is abandoned. My foe has been slain, his blood scattered in drops. I smite with iron swords and with the lofty lance. My flame burns brightest among the Arabs. I am the noblest born and the stoutest in rebuff. I am the viper in the valley bottom, the father of knights, Antar ibn Shaddad. I have only to come to this country to avenge Ghamra, to uproot every trace of you, and to ruin these towns so that no hearth will be left to be tended.’
	Al-Asma’i said that when Wajh al-Ghul heard Antar’s speech he was dark in his countenance. He said, ‘How happy is this day of combat. I will show all who is the doughty knight, and who is the one entitled to his praise.’ Then he attacked Antar with a pounce while Antar met him with cool resolve. Dust rose above them as they were locked in weighty struggle beyond the gaze of the courageous. Destiny decided their fate – glory be to Him who has decreed death and wretchedness and who has singled out life and glory for the elect. The knights were awestruck until their horses, restless beneath them, were aware that both parties to the fight were equally fatigued, hungry and thirsty in a confined desert where the sun had passed its zenith.
	Wajh al-Ghul sought to escape, but when Antar realized his intent he faced him, and when he was opposite him he thrust him with his spear in his left side. He leant from his saddle like a towering mountain and cried aloud, ‘Oh, 'Abs, oh, 'Adnan, I am Antar, the father of knights.’ Then the negroes saw Wajh al-Ghul covered in dust on the ground, and they all attacked Antar like the onset of blackest night. They called aloud in one great shout, ‘Oh, mighty knight and hero, may God cut short your life and rid the world of your evil. You have slain the knight of the desert.’
	When Antar saw the negroes attack and loose their reins he made a sign with his hand. He cried out to the Banu 'Abs, and they attacked behind him. They answered his call. They hurled cries into the hearts of Antar’s foes. Death was relief, and the battle raged on foot. The sea of mortality swelled, and the fire of fate burst into flame. Swords were blunted by hard blows, and spearpoints were moist with blood. The horizon became sombre and darkened. Amid the rage of nations skulls were severed from their bodies. Only the bones were left. Men roared like forest beasts, speaking in tongues which were unintelligible. Every negro leader was killed. Lawn al-Zalam and his son accomplished deeds of valour, so too the negroes who were beneath his sway and his cousins. As for Ghamra and her son Ghasub, and Maysara his brother, they were like a blazing fire which caught alight amidst dry firewood. Their fighting was a marvel, it stirred the spirit. Their sword was at close quarters and in remoter corners of the battlefield.
	After a little while Antar had split apart the other negro bands and the Arabs. His men forgot their cares. Every rank he attacked sought flight. As the night fell the negro warriors scattered. The Banu Quda'a and the soldiers of Lawn al-Zalam returned praising Antar and praying for his life to be prolonged, for he had endured much. He returned sorely stabbed, and like a red flower, bathed in human blood. He marched before his men. He was tired and bent, yet able to phrase his couplets as he sat in his saddle. Lawn al-Zalam said to him, ‘May God’s breath give joy to your heart. You have quenched your thirst in breaking asunder these innumerable warriors.’ In this wise their discourse continued until they reached their tents. They rejoiced at their success while the negro warriors said to one another, ‘By the All Knowing King, Lawn al-Zalam has fortified this knight with his utmost powers. Antar has no equal at this time. None can resist him.’

COMMENTARY

Al-Lat and al-'Uzza are pre-Islamic goddesses.

Jazerant is a piece of armour.

Lawn al-Zalam had previously defected to 'Antar’s army.

The next short extract concerns the bizarre pagan city of King Hammam. King Ghawwar has written to him requesting help against 'Antar.

This King Hammam was a man of great courage and stubborn in combat. He used to raid tribes and capture women. He used to attack a man mounted on horse or fighting on foot, and he thrust with spear and lance. He had a city constructed from white stone. There was none like it in that land. It was reported that the jinn had built it for our lord Solomon, son of David, peace be upon him. Near that city was a hill like a pyramid. It was covered with growing vegetation, dark and obscure. In the middle of that hill was an upright sword over which a bird ceased not to hover. No one could pass by that sword unless his garments were white. If one whose clothes were dyed approached it, winds from all countries blew upon it, and a flood would come upon it until the villages which were round about it were almost destroyed; so violent were the rains.

King Hammam was lord of the Land of Flags and Ensigns. In that place he had left those who could guard him by the payment of jamakiyya and diwan. At the base of it was a house. When one of the people died they left him in that house. They took the deceased and extracted his bones and stripped him of his flesh and pickled it. All the marrow in the bones would be removed, and they would place the bones in bags according to the status of the deceased. As for those who were revered their coverings were of Byzantine brocade, and the poor were placed in bags of cotton and sacking. They wrote on each the name of the occupant. They cast them in that house. As for the flesh, they cast it outside the city to the black crows so they could eat it. They allowed no other creature to eat any of it. They chased it away with arrows and with slings and catapults. All who were in that city were engaged in the manufacture of suits of mail; and coats of mail and helmets and swords and spears and everything concerned with weapons of war and other arms. They paid no tax or tribute to King Hammam, and none of the kings could take anything from them in that country …

H. T. Norris (trans.), The Adventures of Antar

(Warminster, Wilts., 1980), pp. 122–5, 155–6

COMMENTARY

This strange fantasy appears to draw on Arab early accounts of sub-Saharan Africa, as well as on Muslim distortions of Persian Zoroastrian burial practices.

Jamakiyya means ‘pay’ or ‘salary’. Diwan in this context refers to a ‘financial bureau’ (and not a collection of poetry).

Warfare is described in quite a different key in another anonymous narrative, The Delectable War between Mutton and the Refreshments of the Market Place. This curiosity, which dates from the Mamluk period, is a kind of dramatized version of munazara (the competitive comparison of one kind of person or thing with another). King Mutton, leader of the foods of the rich, alarmed by reports of the growing power of the foods of the poor, decides to wage war on their leader, King Honey. King Honey musters his vegetables, milk, cheese and fish to resist the onslaught of the foods of the rich. In the end, however, he is defeated by the defection to mutton of treacherous sugar, syrup and rendered fat. The mock-epic saga ends with the line, ‘And the boon companions related tales in praise of foods, attaching to each story the names of its transmitters.’ Despite the triumph of the food of the rich, this strange story is part of folk literature.

	In the name of Allah, the merciful, the compassionate! It has been told of the wonders of time that there was a monarch of powerful sway, called ‘King Mutton’. He was savoured by every caliph and sultan, and people were eager to taste him that he might ward off adversity from them. Invigorated by his healing powers, they implored Allah for the prolonging of his life. Whenever gratified at the sight of him, they thanked Allah for that favour. He used to sit in his fortress on lances, known as ‘hooks’, and none save the well-fed lambs might keep him company. His insignia were red and white, and his cuts glistened [with crimson]. In his presence stood people known as ‘Butchers’, incessantly wielding their cleavers and knives. In his kindness he adapted himself to every disposition, and was the healing salve applied to the wounds of hunger. In his service were enrolled only people of dinars and dirhams. He had a vizier, called the ‘Meat of Goats’, to whom no poor man came but he fortified him and supplied his want. He had also an emir, called ‘Beef’, in whom every noble found refuge when in need, and a clever and sociable chamberlain, called the ‘Scalded Meat’. He had, besides, special attendants who added to the glory of it all; they were called ‘Chicken’. Says the poet apropos:
	‘When he appears in the assembly, you are the recipients of those favours with which pleasures are conjoined;
	‘and when he is remote from his mansion, sadness overwhelms you, and you are overcome with grief.’
	And the narrator continues: And once when he appeared in his shining glory, overlooking the country and its market-places, and diverting himself with the radiance in the eyes of his admirers, behold searchers and spies came unto him, informing him that a nation, called ‘Paupers’, had given the Honey sway over the refreshments of the market, and had enlisted in his service in both East and West; and that he had engrossed their hearts and minds, and was content with the tribute of a baser coin than a dirham. [And the spies added:] ‘And if you are unmindful of them, they will degrade you and depose you from your throne.’ And the king grew angry at hearing this, and his demeanour became severe, yet he jestingly alluded to the situation in a verse:
	‘Behold this is an age and you are of its neighbourhood; it has unjustly dispensed its laws and become oppressive.’
	Then he ordered a wise man into his presence, called the ‘Fat Tail’, renowned for his elegance and stately appearance, and said unto him: ‘Immediately proceed, delegated in power, to the king of the refreshments, and summon him to service and obedience; and in case he refuses, challenge him to prepare a banquet for us, if he thinks that the bounty of a king can vie in munificence with the bounty of a caliph.’ Then he improvised:
	‘And here is a letter expressing our wish; convey it to him, and return with his answer.
	‘And capture the hearts of his oppressed subjects with promises whose fulfilment will delight them when we draw nigh unto them.’ – And the narrator continues: In preparation for his departure, the messenger embarked upon a vessel called the ‘Frying Pan’. And the whiteness of his adipose layer was disclosed after he had been fried and the coating removed; and his scent became delightful after he had been boiled and cooked. And lo, his tissue proved immaculate, and his taste delicious. He then seated himself in his glass-jar cabinet, deigning to expose himself to view.
	And he proceeded on his way until he reached the shops of the sellers, where the [meat]-starved people approached him with hot breads. And he bestowed upon them his generosity, and satisfied their hunger with his fat. Thereupon he was met by the special officers of King Honey, such as rendered fat, syrup, butter and the various juices, contained in rows of vessels upon stone-benches. He was next met by the grand-vizier, called ‘Sugar’. They all introduced him to their king, the ‘Honey of bees’, to whom the Fat Tail made obeisance. And the king rose from his place when the Fat Tail was presented, and inquired about his welfare and about his experiences since the day he started on his journey. And the Fat Tail thanked the king for his great solicitude and overflowing kindness.
	Thereupon the king prescribed a rest for him in the palatial residence, and withdrew showing signs of fear. To quote the poet:
	‘And he beamed with a beautiful and joyous and sweet countenance, and with a mien that was appealing.
	‘And greeting in genial manner those prostrated before him, and they in turn saluted him with their fingers.’
	And the narrator continues: Afterwards the Fat Tail proceeded on his journey until he alighted upon the upper shop-shelves only to find himself surrounded by the special officers of the empire of Honey. And he began to run to and fro among the various personages, recounting the virtues of his king; and excited within them a desire to behold him, by revealing to them the secrets that would make them anxious to serve him, saying:
	‘My king bestows favours bountifully; there is no poor man, but he makes him rich by his gifts.
	‘And at no time does calamity creep stealthily over any of his subjects, but he endeavors to battle it in the open.’
	Then he conferred privately with each of them, impressing them with his amenities and tractability, and assuring them of such favours from his king as would burst their rivals’ hearts with envy. He first addressed the Syrup, who was already distressed by being bottled-up for the night, saying: ‘O, translucent swain, sweet of taste and of goodly nature! What distinguished office has the king of the refreshments assigned to you that you are so loyal to him? Is not your form more delicate than his, your countenance fairer?’ And the Syrup responded: ‘By Allah, he displays me only in a cold day on the surface of puddings, and does not care to be my fellow-condiment in any dough but the Basisa; and this is the highest honour and rank that I have attained in this service.’ Thereupon the Fat Tail resumed: I am touched with pity at the sight of your coat torn in contention between the soft, unleavened starch-paste and the leavened Basisa. Also for your mingling with the solid greases upon every table! How much pleasanter are the surroundings of King Mutton, who is endeared to all hearts! Were he to note your good qualities, he would befriend you, and raise you above those of his immediate entourage, and privilege you to communicate with him directly. Moreover, I guarantee you to become the emir of fried colocasia, sweetened rice and the chickens of the frying pan, prepared with butter and stuffed with seeds, and warrant, besides, your overtopping the legions of pancakes. You would be stationed in an elevated position on his table-cloth, towering high above the trays. Thus says the poet:
	‘You would come to lead a life of ease on the rims of the pastries, and you would trail upon the confections the train of your silk-gown.
	‘You would ascend lofty places; yea, with your shoes you would step upon the cheeks of the sweetmeats.’
	And the narrator continues: And the Syrup swore to join his ranks on the day of battle, while the Fat Tail reassured him in turn of his promise to assist him.
	Then the Fat Tail entered into private conference with the grand-vizier, whose name was ‘Sugar’, and heaped praises upon him, saying: ‘O, heart’s delight and of all things most resembling a lover! In what way has the king of the refreshments helped you that you became so enamoured of him?’ And the Sugar replied: ‘By Allah, I am disgusted with frequenting the sick. Indeed the king has assigned me an office with which I am displeased. Moreover, I do not convene with my peers, the seeds, except as a dressing for legumes. And the highest rank I have attained with him is that he placed me in control over the beverages; but only those stricken with fever, sore throat or indigestion taste me, with the result that I have been disgorged from many a stomach in which I had hardly settled.’ And the Fat Tail responded: ‘O, soul-food and healer of misfortune! By Allah, you deserve preference over all refreshments of the market-place, and you ought to rank higher in majesty than King Honey himself. Were you to repair to King Mutton, he would set you in control over all foods, especially over the appetizing dishes of dense consistency, such as sweetened rice, zirbaj, chicken conserved with julep, clotted lemon-sauce with its ingredients mixed in the right proportion, juice of pomegranate seeds, clarified upon sheets of Tutmaj, and fine flour gruel, and concoctions such as poppy-seeds, Lady Nuba, apricots, pistachio nuts, walnuts and hazelnuts. Then he would appoint you to be the flag-dainty of all sweets, and you would ascend the loftiest station, and gain the highest rank you might wish. You would become the topic of people’s talk and the object of their fascination.’ Having said this, the Fat Tail recited:
	‘In how many lofty castles, whose tables abound in wonderful foods, would you take up your abode!
	‘And over how many splendid victuals and relished dishes of the choicest viands would you preside!’
	And the narrator continues: And the Sugar smiled wonderingly and became almost intoxicated with joy. Then he swore by the brightness of his youth and by the folding of the sheaths of his canes at the melodious sound of the rollers that no one would forestall him to the royal gate of King Mutton, and that he was determined to spend the rest of his life in no other place but under the shadow of his stirrup.
	Thereupon the Fat Tail began to wheedle the rendered Fat until he secured a hold on the handle of his friendship, and said: ‘O, brother, and beloved, and nearest of all things to myself! What precious gifts has the king of the refreshments bestowed upon you all the while you have been in familiar discourse with him?’ And the rendered Fat answered: ‘Why inquire about my misery when my very existence is to be marvelled at? By Allah, I have been shut up in earthenware vessels for years until I became rancid, and hoofs have been smeared with me so I became putrid. And they made me a medicine for wounds and swellings, and the poor mended their soups with me. My anger reached its height when the king ordered me into the pans for the frying of eggs. And the highest rank he conferred upon me was that he anointed his lances with me on the day of battle, and coated with me the unleavened flat-cake whose harm exceeds its benefit. Such is surely an evil master and a miserable companion! And yet he styled me “vizier”, but no one could better inform you of my plight than I who suffer from it.’
	Upon hearing this the Fat Tail became agitated, and was on the point of melting from indignation and resentment, and exclaimed: ‘I wonder how your delicate sap could endure such harsh treatment. Alas for you! Were you to repair to King Mutton, he would put you at the head of all boiled milk preparations, such as Haytaliyya, rice cooked in milk, macaroni-stew, slices of paste dipped in milk, vermicelli-pottage and boiled eggs well compounded with milk and butter. And with you would be seasoned such noble and renowned foods as are made of dates, white flour and thin bread-sheets, also dates mixed with butter and curd, dates soaked in milk, and dried dates. And the viands of the most distant lands would serve you; yea, of all countries foods worthy of you, such as the gruel of coarse semolina, Ma’muniyya and peppered rice. And sweets would be added to you, such as the pastry made of vermicelli and the 'Ajamiyya. And you would take my place as vizier, and my armies and everyone connected with my office would obey you.’ Then the Fat Tail improvised:
	‘And you would come to be an emir in all porringers, leading all lions of the legions of pounded grain.
	‘And you would join the confections in a combination highly favoured by the knights.’
	And the rendered Fat, having been won over to the side of the Fat Tail, said thus: ‘I swear in the name of the good tidings that I will join your cause and plot against my king.’
	And the Fat Tail, having corrupted the highest officials of the empire of the refreshments, sent messengers to King Honey with a request to admit him, so that he might deliver the letter and set out on his return-journey.
	And the narrator continues: And the king resided in parlours, called ‘bee-hives’, whose ceilings and cells were overlaid with white and yellow wax. Surrounded by swarms of bees which guarded him from adversity, he overlooked the country from the windows of his palace, enjoying universal admiration. He then ordered into his presence the Fat Tail, who stepped forward in the midst of the royal attendants. And the king drew himself up and went forward to meet him; then gathered him to himself and greeted him and brought him near [to the throne]. Then he began to observe his features, and found him to resemble none of the officers of his kingdom. He next inquired about the welfare of King Mutton on the day he left him, and about the most signal favours he had bestowed upon him. And the Fat Tail rose to his feet at the mention of his king, and bowed to Allah with words of praise and gratitude for the gifts and benefactions which his king had conferred upon him. Then [in reply to the king’s last question] he said: ‘How can one count the waves of the sea, and how can one number the drops of the rain? However, one must curtail his speech in the presence of a king. Now, my sovereign – may God ever be gracious to him, and exalt his authority, and inspire the hearts of men to love him – has made me governor of all his provinces and set me at the head of all his emirs and captains. I am the nearest to him in station and the most beloved of all. I make swallowing pleasant at his court, and I stamp my mark upon all kinds of foods.’ But the king of the refreshments interrupted him, saying: ‘Present the letter; “a messenger is to do no more than deliver his message”.’ At these words, the Fat Tail arose from among those who were seated, and produced the letter of King Mutton, kissing it and raising it above his head. Then he turned it over with both hands to the king, who kissed it in turn, and placed it on his eyes; then he broke its seal and passed it on to his vizier. And behold the following was its content …

Anon., ‘King Mutton. A curious Egyptian tale of the

Mamluk period’, trans. J. Finkel, in Zeitschrift fur

Semitisik und verwandte Gebiete, vol. 8 (1932), pp. 1–8

COMMENTARY

The fat tail of the sheep was especially esteemed as a dish by the Mamluk elite.

Essentially zirbaj is a Persian sweet-and-sour recipe, but there are many varieties of this dish.

Ibn Zafar’s collection of animal fables, which was very loosely modelled on Kalila wa-Dimna, had more serious literary pretensions. Hujjat al-Din Muhammad IBN ZAFAR (1104-70) was born in Sicily and strictly his book should be accounted as a work of Sicilian Arab literature. Sicily had been occupied by the Arabs in the ninth century, and even after the loss of the island to the Normans in the eleventh century Muslim Arabs continued for some time to play an important role at court and in the administration. However, even in the heyday of Muslim rule in Sicily, the place seems to have been a cultural backwater and Ibn Zafar was one of the very few writers of note to have been born on the island. He was educated in Mecca and later he spent so much time in Syria that his book should be accounted as, to all intents and purposes, a work of Syrian literature.

The title of Ibn Zafar’s book, Sulwan al-Muta' fi 'Udwan al-Atba', has been translated as ‘Resources of a Prince against the Hostility of Subjects’. Sulwan strictly means ‘seashells of a special kind such that if one drinks water from them, one is cured of lovesickness’. Like Kalila wa-Dimna, Sulwan consists of a series of moralizing, proverb-laden animal fables boxed within one another and – again like Kalila wa-Dimna – the book presents itself as a guide to good government. Ibn Zafar dedicated the first version of his book to an unnamed and possibly perfectly imaginary Syrian ruler; the second version was dedicated to a Sicilian Arab grandee. This rather pietistic treatise deals with good kingship, taking wise advice, fortitude in adversity and the benefits and limitations of friendship. Although modelled on the fable collection of Ibn al-Muqaffa, Ibn Zafar’s version is pervaded with an Islamic religiosity which one does not find in Kalila wa-Dimna. Each chapter of Sulwan begins with citations from the Qur’an, the Prophet and other pious figures. Interestingly, Ibn Zafar felt that the practice of fiction needed defence against the strictures of people who saw themselves as even more pious than he was. He invoked the precedents of the early caliphs ‘Umar and Ali who occasionally used fables to drive home their points, as well as the appearance in the Qur’an of the ant and the lapwing as creatures from whom one should take instruction. Ibn Zafar claimed that he employed animal fables to make his points in order that ‘no law shall be found to prohibit my work, nor shall the ear of any be offended by it’. Also, ‘We are more willing to listen to the language of brutes than to the quoted sayings of men of genius.’ Though fiction may have had its critics in the twelfth century, the great 'Imad al-Din Isfahani commended Ibn Zafar’s collection of fables: ‘I have read it with close attention and have found it a very useful work, combining beauty of thought with diction, and moral warning with instruction.’ However, such were the embarrassments of fiction that in the passage which follows (from the introduction to the first version) Ibn Zafar is impelled to defend the practice of writing fables:

    I therefore now prepare myself to set forth the parables of various kinds which I have succeeded in collecting, all resting on the foundation of the original narratives translated into Arabic; which parables I have sought to enliven with the charm of eloquence, and have introduced into them various philosophical sayings put into the mouths of animals. But first I must premise one consideration, in order to shield myself from the blame of the short-sighted, and also from that of men of penetration, who feign not to see. And this consideration is the same which is recorded upon good authority, by the Imam and Jurist Abu Bakr Muhammad ibn Husayn al-Ajawi, who relates that the Commander of the Faithful, 'Umar ibn 'Abd al-'Aziz, having on one occasion attended the obsequies of a member of the house of Umayya when the corpse was buried, commanded those present to remain where they were, whilst he, uttering a cry, went forward into the midst of the tombs. His attendants waited for him a long time, and when he at length returned, with red eyes, and the veins of his neck all swollen, they said to him, ‘You have lingered a long time, O Commander of the Faithful! what has detained you?’ And 'Umar replied: ‘I have been among the sepulchres of those most dear to me. I saluted them; but no one returned my salutation; and when I turned my back to depart, the earth cried unto me: “ 'Umar, why dost thou not ask me what is become of the arms?” “What is become of them?” said I; and the earth replied; “The hands have been separated from the wrists, the wrists from the fore-arms, the fore-arms from the elbows, the elbows from the joints of the shoulders, the joints from the shoulder blades.” And as I turned in the act to depart, the earth called to me once more: “Why, 'Umar, dost thou not ask me about, what is become of the trunks?” “What?” replied I, and the earth resumed: “The shoulders have been parted from the ribs: and afterwards, in succession, the ribs, and the back-bone, the hipbones, the two thigh-bones, and in the lower extremities, the knees, the legs, and the feet, have been severed from one another.” I then sought to withdraw, and the voice cried to me a third time: “Attend to me, 'Umar; hast thou no shrouds that will not wear out?” “And what shrouds will not wear out?” replied I. And the earth answered, “The fear of God, and obedience to his will”’ and so on to the end of the tradition.

    The author of this book says: O reader, may God be gracious unto thee, attend to these words that 'Umar attributed to the earth, to which, as inanimate matter, it appears absurd to ascribe flowery and elegant language. 'Umar nevertheless represented the earth as repeatedly calling upon another person, questioning, relating, and admonishing; which assuredly had never really come to pass: but he used this language metaphorically, because having called to mind these philosophical admonitions he was minded to cast them in the form of a narrative, dividing them into questions and answers, attributing them to others, and putting them in the mouth of the inanimate earth, because he perceived that the hearers would thus be more forcibly driven to reflection, and more urgently moved to relate the matter to others. For if he had said, ‘Reflecting upon the state of those who are buried, I perceive that they must be reduced by the earth to such and such a condition’, his warning would not have been expressed with nearly the same vigour that is derived from the original form recorded above …

Ibn Zafar, Solwan, or Waters of Comfort, trans. Edgerton

from Michele Amari’s Italian (London, 1852), pp. 124–6

COMMENTARY

'Umar ibn ' Abd al-'Aziz was one of the Ummayad caliphs and reigned from 717 to 720. Although 'Umar when young seems to have had a taste for luxury, when he became caliph he was noted for austere piety.

Ibn Zafar goes on to cite an instance when 'Ali, the Prophet’s cousin and son-in-law, used a fable concerning three bulls and a lion to make a political point. Thus comfortably supported by pious precedent, Ibn Zafar concludes that ‘the examples here alleged give abundant evidence of the lawfulness of the species of fiction which I have undertaken to relate’.

Ibn Zafar also wrote Inba Nujaba’ al-Abna’, a treatise on the intriguing subject of the characteristics of children of the famous.

Thanks to the abundance of madrasas (teaching colleges) and khanqas (Sufi hospices or colleges), Egypt and Syria under the Ayyubids and Mamluks offered good prospects for intellectual employment and lured scholars and authors from all over the Islamic world. 'Ala al-Din ibn 'Ali al-GHUZULI (d. 1412) was of Berber origin and came from North Africa, but settled in Damascus. His Matali’ al-Budur fi Manazil al-Surur (‘Risings of the Full Moons in the Mansions of Pleasure’) is a belles-lettres compilation on the pleasures of life, including houses, gardens, hammams, palaces, birds, parties, lamps, chess, wine, cup companions, story-telling, slave-girls, sex, the pleasures of talking with viziers and reading chancery documents. Ghuzuli drew heavily on earlier adab compilations and his work is a late testimony to the enduring appeal of the culture of the nadim and the zarif. The following old Bedouin romance is found in several other belles-lettres anthologies.

	Numayr, of the tribe Hilal, narrates the following: There was a certain youth of the Bani Hilal whose name was Bishr ibn 'Abdallah, but who was commonly known as el-Ashtar. Among all the chieftains of the tribe, he was the handsomest face and the most liberal hand. He fell desperately in love with a girl of his people named Jayda’, who was pre-eminent in her beauty and her accomplishments; then after the fact of their attachment became generally known, the affair grew to be a cause of strife between their two families, until blood was shed; whereupon the two clans separated, and settled at a long distance apart from each other.
	So when the time of separation grew so long for al-Ashtar that he could bear it no more, he came to me, and said: ‘O Numayr, have you no aid for me?’ I answered: ‘There is with me naught but what you wish.’ Then he said: ‘You must help me to visit Jayda’, for the longing to see her has carried away my soul.’ ‘Most gladly and freely!’ I replied; ‘Only set out, and we will go whenever you wish.’ So we rode away together, and journeyed that day and night, and the morrow until evening, when we halted our beasts in a ravine near the settlement of the clan we were seeking. Then he said: ‘Do you go on, and mingle with the people; and when you meet anyone, say that you are in search of a stray camel. Let no mention of me pass lip or tongue, until you find her servant-girl, named so-and-so, who is tending their sheep. Give her my greeting and ask her for tidings; tell her also where I am.’
	So I went forth, not averse to do what he bade me, until I found the servant-girl and brought her the message, telling her where el-Ashtar was, and asking her for tidings. She sent back this word: ‘She is treated harshly, and they keep watch of her. But your place of meeting will be the first of those trees which are near by the (undermost of the tents, and the time the hour of the evening prayer.’
	So I returned to my comrade, and told him what I had heard. Thereupon we set out, leading our beasts, until we came to the designated spot at the appointed time. We had waited only a few moments when we saw Jayda’ walking toward us. El-Ashtar sprang forward and seized her hand, giving her his greeting, while I withdrew a little from them; but they both cried out: ‘We adjure you by Allah to come back, for we intend nothing dishonourable, nor is there anything between us that need be hid from you.’ So I returned to them and sat beside them. Then el-Ashtar said: ‘Can you contrive no way, Jayda’, by which we may have this night to ourselves?’ ‘No,’ she replied, ‘nor is it in any way possible for me, without the return of all that misery and strife of which you know.’ ‘Nevertheless it must be,’ he answered, ‘even if that results which seems likely.’ But she said: ‘Will this friend of yours assist us?’ I answered: ‘Only say what you have devised; for I will go through to the very end of your plan, though the loss of my life should be in it.’ Thereupon she took off her outer garments, saying: ‘Put these on, and give me your garments in place of them.’ This I did. Then she said: ‘Go to my tent, and take your place behind my curtain; for my husband will come to you, after he has finished milking, bringing a full jar of milk, and he will say: “Here, your evening draught!” But do not take it from him, until you have tried his patience well; then either take it or leave it, so that he will put it down and go away; and then (please Allah) you will not see him again until morning.’
	So I went away, and did as she had bidden me. When he came with the jar of milk I refused to take it, until he was thoroughly tired of my contrariness; then I wished to take it from him, and he at the same time wished to put it down; so our two hands met at cross purposes on the jar, and it upset, and the milk was all spilled. Thereupon he cried out: ‘This is wilfulness beyond the limit!’, and he thrust his hand into the front part of the tent and brought out a leather whip coiled like a serpent. Then he came in, tearing down my curtain, and had used the whip on me for full twenty lashes when his mother and sister entered and pulled me out of his hands. But, by Allah, before they did this I had lost control of myself, and was just ready to stab him with my knife, whether it cost me my life or not. However, as soon as they had gone out I fastened up my curtain again, and sat down as before.
	Only a short time had passed when Jayda’’s mother entered and spoke to me, never doubting that I was her daughter. But I struck up a weeping and a sobbing, and hid my face in my garment, turning my back to her. So she said: ‘O my dear daughter, fear Allah and keep from displeasing your husband, for that is where your duty lies; as for el-Ashtar, you have seen him for the last time.’ Then as she was going out she said: I will send in your sister to keep you company tonight.’ And sure enough, after a few minutes the girl appeared. She began crying and calling down curses on him who beat me, but I made no answer. Then she nestled up close to me. As soon as I had her in my power, I clapped my hand over her mouth, and said: ‘O Such-a-one, that sister of yours is with el-Ashtar, and it is in her service that my back has been flayed this night. Now it behoves you to keep her secret, so choose for yourself and for her; for by Allah, if you utter a single word, I will make all the outcry I can, until the disgrace becomes general.’ Then I took away my hand from her mouth. She trembled like a branch in the wind; but after we had been together a little while she made friends with me, and there passed the night with me then and there the most delightful companion I have ever had. We did not cease chatting together, and she was also rallying me, and laughing at the plight I was in. And I found myself in the position of one who, had he wished to take a base advantage, could have done so; but Allah restrained me from evil, and to him is the praise.
	Thus we continued until the dawn broke, when lo, Jayda’ stole in upon us. When she saw us, she started, and cried out: ‘Allah! Who is this?’ ‘Your sister!’ I replied. ‘What has happened?’ she asked. ‘She will tell you,’ I answered, ‘for she, on my word, is the sweetest of sisters.’ Then I took my own clothing, and made off to my companion. As we rode, I narrated to him what had happened to me, and bared my back for him to see. Such a flaying as it had had – may Allah throw into hell-fire the man who did it! – from every single stripe the blood was oozing out. When he saw this, he exclaimed: ‘Great was the deed which you did, and great the acknowledgement due you; your hand was generous indeed! May Allah not withhold me from repaying you in full.’ And from that time on he never ceased to show me his gratitude and appreciation.

Ghuzuli, Matali 'al-Budur fi Manazil al-Surur, ‘A Friend in

Need’, trans. Charles Torrey, Journal of the American

Oriental Society 26 (1905), pp. 303–30

Shihab al-Din Ahmad ibn Muhammad IBN 'ARABSHAH (1392–1450) was born in Damascus. In 1400, when Ibn 'Arabshah was only nine, Syria was invaded by a Turco-Mongol army under the command of Timur (also known in the West as Tamerlane), Damascus was sacked, and Ibn 'Arabshah and his family were among the thousands taken off in captivity to Timur’s Central Asian capital, Samarkand. While in the eastern lands, Ibn 'Arabshah learnt Turkish, Persian and Mongolian. Subsequently he travelled widely in the Islamic world and for a time served as secretary to the Ottoman Turkish Sultan Mehmed I, before settling in Egypt, where he wrote various works designed to attract the patronage of the Mamluk sultan. In the long run he was unsuccessful in this endeavour and, despite having begun a eulogistic biography of the Sultan Jaqmaq, the sultan imprisoned him and Ibn 'Arabshah was to die in captivity.

Ibn 'Arabshah’s earlier works included a volume of animal fables in the tradition of Kalila wa-Dimna and Sulwan al-Muta. The Fakihat al-Khulafa' wa Mufakahat al-Zurafa’, or ‘The Caliph’s Delicacy and Joke of the Refined’, like its predecessors purports to give guidance on good government and how to take wise counsel. The ape is the governor of a province, the fox is his vizier, the mule is the qadi, the panther an obedient subject, and so on. Wise animals teach man. Like Ibn Zafar, Ibn 'Arabshah in his preface justified the writing and reading of animal stories by quoting the Qur’an and other impeccable precedents. Some of the Fakihat is really no more than a plagiarization of the Marzuban-nama, an eleventh-century Persian collection of animal fables by Marzuban-i-Rustam-i-Sharwin. On the other hand, much of the work, particularly the diatribes against Timur, is original to Ibn 'Arabshah.

Ibn 'Arabshah’s chief claim to fame is his full-length biography of Timur. Although his time as a prisoner in Samarkand was the intellectual making of him, Ibn 'Arabshah was not grateful to his captor and his life of Timur is an act of retrospective revenge. The 'Aja’ib al-Maqdur fi-Nawa’ib Timur, or ‘Wonders of Destiny regarding the Misfortunes Inflicted by Timur’, is a vitriolic biography of the would-be world conqueror, written in the most extraordinarily ornate and metaphor-laden rhymed prose. Ibn 'Arabshah’s colourful but rather strained imagery is certainly the product of his familiarity with the classics of Persian literature. Among the chapter headings of the biography one comes across such choice specimens as ‘What Timur Did with the Rogues and Villains of Samarkand and how He Sent Them to Hell’, ‘The Cause of His Invading Arabian Iraq, Though His Tyranny Needed No Reason or Cause’, ‘An Example of the Way in which that Faithless Despot Plunged into the Seas of His Army, and Dived into Affairs, then Advanced with the Surge of Calamities; and Particularly His Plunges into Transoxania and His Coming Forth from the Country of Lur’, and ‘The Thunderstorms of that Exceeding Disaster Pour from the Clouds of Greed upon the Territories of Syria’. Ibn 'Arabshah’s portrayal of Timur, which verges on parody, may remind some of Sir Thomas More’s life of Richard III.

… when he [Toqtamish] saw that the attack could not be avoided and that the place was settled, he strengthened his spirit and the spirit of his army and put aside heaviness and levity and placed in the front line the bolder of his followers and arrayed his horse and foot and strengthened the centre and wing and made ready arrows and swords.

But Timur’s army was not wanting in these things, since what each one had to do was decided and explored and where to fight and where to stand was inscribed on the front of its standards. Then both armies, when they came in sight one of the other, were kindled and mingling with each other became hot with the fire of war and they joined battle and necks were extended for sword-blows and throats outstretched for spear thrusts and faces were drawn with sternness and fouled with dust, the wolves of war set their teeth and fierce leopards mingled and charged and the lions of the armies rushed upon each other and men’s skins bristled, clad with the feathers of arrows and the brows of the leaders drooped and the heads of the heads [captains] bent in the devotion of war and fell forward and the dust was thickened and stood black and the leaders and common soldiers alike plunged into seas of blood and arrows became in the darkness of black dust like stars placed to destroy the Princes of Satan, while swords glittering like fulminating stars in clouds of dust rushed on kings and sultans nor did the horses of death cease to pass through and revolve and race against the squadrons which charged straight ahead or the dust of hooves to be borne into the air or the blood of swords to flow over the plain, until the earth was rent and the heavens like the eight seas; and this struggle and conflict lasted about three days; then dust appeared from the stricken army of Toqtamish, who turned his back, and his armies took to flight …

COMMENTARY

Toqtamish was the Khan of the Golden Horde, ruling over the Kipchak Turks of the south Russian steppes. This first defeat at the hands of Timur took place in 1387.

‘Ibn ‘Arabshah offers a perfectly useless all-purpose literary description of a battle.

The ‘heads of the heads’ phrase is a pun, as ru’asa’ means both ‘heads’, as on necks, and ‘heads’ in the sense of captains.

     How that proud tyrant was broken and borne to the house of destruction, where he had his constant seat in the lowest pit of Hell

Now Timur advanced up to the town called Atrar and since he was enough protected from cold without, he wished something to be made for him, which would drive the cold from him within and so he ordered to be distilled for him arrack blended with hot drugs and several health-giving spices which were not harmful; and God did not will that such an impure soul should go forth, save in that manner of which he by his wickedness had been the cause.

    Therefore Timur took of that arrack and drank it again and again without pause, not asking about affairs and news of his army or caring concerning them or hearing their petitions, until the hand of death gave him the cup to drink. ‘And they shall be made to drink boiling water which will rend their bowels.’

    But he ceased not to oppose fate and wage war with fortune and obstinately resist the grace of God Almighty, wherefore he could not but fail and endure the greater punishments for wickedness. But that arrack, as though making footprints, injured his bowels and heart, whereby the structure of his body tottered and his supports grew weak. Then he summoned doctors and expounded his sickness to them, who in that cold treated him by putting ice on his belly and chest. Therefore he was restrained from the march for three days and prepared himself to be carried to the house of retribution and punishment. And his liver was crushed and neither his wealth nor children availed him aught and he began to vomit blood and bite his hands with grief and penitence.

    ‘When death has fastened his talons

    I have marked that every charm is in vain.’

    And the butler of death gave him to drink a bitter cup and soon he believed that which he had resolutely denied, but his faith availed him naught, after he had seen punishment; and he implored aid, but no helper was found for him; and it was said to him: ‘Depart, O impure soul, who wert in an impure body, depart vile, wicked sinner and delight in boiling water, fetid blood, and the company of sinners.’ But if one saw him, he coughed like a camel which is strangled, his colour was nigh quenched and his cheeks foamed like a camel dragged backwards with the rein; and if one saw the angels that tormented him, they showed their joy, with which they threaten the wicked to lay waste their houses and utterly destroy the whole memory of them; and if one saw, when they hand over to death those who were infidels, the angels smite their faces and backs; and if one beheld his wives and servants and those who continually clung groaning to his side and his attendants and soldiers, already what they had feigned fled from them and if one saw, when the wicked are in the sharpness of death, angels stretch forth their hands and say, ‘Cast out your souls; to-day you shall receive the punishment of shame, because you spoke concerning God without truth and proudly scorned His signs.’

    Then they brought garments of hair from Hell and drew forth his soul like a spit from a soaked fleece and he was carried to the cursing and punishment of God, remaining in torment and God’s infernal punishment.

    That happened on the night of the fourth day of the week which was the 17th of Shaban, the month of fires, in the plains of Atrar and God Almighty in His mercy took from men the punishment of shame and the stock of the race which had done wickedly was cut off; praise be to God, Lord of the ages!

J. H. Sanders, Tamerlane or Timur the Great Amir

(London, 1936), pp. 81–2, 231–3

COMMENTARY

Timur died in 1405 while he was on his way to conquer China. His death occurred at Atrar (or Utrar), a town on the caravan route to China, some 250 miles east of Samarkand.

He had been drinking the spirit arrack heavily until the very last days.

‘And they shall be made to drink boiling water which will rend their bowels’ is from the Qur’an.

The Mamluk sultanate survived Timur’s occupation of Syria, which lasted less than a year, and during the fifteenth century its fortunes revived somewhat, particularly during the long reign of the Sultan al-Ashraf Qaytbay (1468-96). Qaytbay himself wrote poetry in Turkish and Arabic, as did at least one of his senior generals, the Amir Yashbak. In the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and probably as a result of the prestige of the courts of the Timurid princes in Samarkand, Bokhara and elsewhere, Persian increasingly came to be regarded as the language of the courts and high literature, not only in the Timurid lands, but also in Ottoman Turkey and Mughal India. The more cultivated members of the Mamluk elite also interested themselves in Persian poetry and prose. The penultimate Mamluk sultan, Qansuh al-Ghuri (reigned 1501-16), was of Circassian origin, but wrote poetry in Arabic, Turkish and Persian. He commissioned a translation into Turkish of Firdawsi’s epic saga of Persian legend and history, the Shahnama. (Qansuh al-Ghuri could read it in the original; he commissioned the translation for the benefit of those of his emirs who could not read Persian.)

Qansuh al-Ghuri used to hold twice-weekly majalis, or soirées, in the Cairo Citadel which were attended by the city’s leading scholars and literary men. (No wine was drunk at these very proper soirées.) The subjects of conversation that came up in these gatherings were many and various, but religious topics were the most frequent. A partial record of what was said in the course of some of the sessions has survived in two sources. The first of these, the Nafa’is Majalis al-Sultaniyya, ‘The Gems of the Royal Sessions’, was written down by Muhammad ibn Muhammad al -HUSAYNI called Sharif and covers a run of sessions from February to December 1505. The second source, the Kawkab al-Durri fi-Masa’il al-Ghuri, ‘The Glittering Stars regarding the Questions of al-Ghuri’, was completed in 1513-14, but the second half of the text has been lost. Religious, historical, humorous and literary matters came up for discussion. The meaning of an obscure couplet in Ibn al-Farid’s poetry was debated. The sultan and one of the chief qadis debated the rightness of addressing a love poem to an Abyssinian slave rather than to a Circassian or Turk. Harun al-Rashid’s request for panegyric lines on brevity was alluded to. However, in general the sultan and his courtiers seem to have been more interested in Persian and Turkish history and literature than in Arab culture.

In the extract which follows, as so often the sultan has produced a story from Persian literature about the Turkish Sultan Mahmud of Ghazna (who ruled over Afghanistan and north-west India from 998 to 1030) and the famous poet Firdawsi. (The story is legendary. The real origins of the Sbahnama were quite different.)

Our lord the Sultan said: ‘The Sultan Mahmud intended to perpetuate his name up to the Day of Resurrection. It was suggested to him that he could become known as the “Supreme Builder”, but he said, “Buildings perish after three or four hundred years.” So then everyone agreed that a book should be compiled bearing the name of the Sultan Mahmud. They gave orders for the composition of the Sbahnama and they promised its author Firdawsi a mithqal of gold for each couplet. However, when the work was complete, Mahmud’s vizier suggested that a mithqal of silver for each couplet should suffice the poet. The whole work ran to 60,000 verses, so the Sultan sent 60,000 mithqah of silver to Firdawsi. At the time of receipt Firdawsi was in the hammam, so he gave 20,000 to the bath-keeper and another 20,000 went as payment for a bubbling barley drink, and he gave the final 20,000 to the bearer of the drink. When the Sultan heard of this he gave orders for Firdawsi to be killed because of this grievous insult. Firdawsi went into hiding. Then he composed a satire on the Sultan and he spent half the night with the treasurer and (while he was there) he requested a copy of the Sbahnama so that he could consult it. He took the book and wrote in it his lampoon on the Sultan Mahmud before fleeing from him.

Then one day when the Sultan was out hunting, he requested the copy of the Shahnama to be brought to him. When he opened the book and he saw the satire, he became utterly enraged. He ordered the execution of the vizier and at the same time he sent sixty thousand mithqals of gold to Firdawsi’s home town. Just as this money reached one of the gates of Tus, Firdawsi’s coffin was being carried out by another gate. So they offered this money to his daughter, but she refused it. So the Sultan ordained that the money be spent on buildings in honour of the spirit of Firdawsi, and they built a great bridge which is still extant today.

Husayni, Nafa’is Majalis al-Sultaniyya

(ed. 'Abd al-Wahhab 'Azzam), in Majalis al-Sultan

al-Ghawri (Cairo, 1941), pp. 81–2, trans. Robert Irwin

COMMENTARY

Firdawsi’s Shahnama, written around 1110, is one of the longest poems in the world. There is no fixed text, but its length is between 50,000 and 60,000 couplets. It was normal for a medieval ruler to store books (which were expensive artefacts) in his treasury. Thus a treasurer, or khazindar, often doubled as a librarian.

A mithqal is a unit of weight. Like most such units it varied from region to region.

Tus is a town in north-east Iran.

Sadly there was little discussion of literature. Though the records of the sultan’s night conversations are absolutely fascinating, if one compares these sessions with the soirées of' Abbasid caliphs, Mamluk culture seems less impressive. There seems (to me at least) to have been a diminishment in the range of topics, the erudition and the literary skill displayed in the Mamluk sultan’s soirees.

In 1516 the Ottoman Turkish Sultan Selim I invaded Syria and Qansuh al-Ghuri was defeated and died at the battle of Marj Dabiq. (He seems to have died as the result of a stroke, or a hernia.) Although Qansuh al-Ghuri’s nephew, Tumanbay, proclaimed himself sultan in Egypt and rallied last-ditch resistance to the Ottoman invasion, he was defeated at the battle of Raydaniyya in 1517 and subsequently executed. Thereafter the Mamluk territories were annexed to the Ottoman sultanate.

The heroic last days of the Mamluk sultanate were celebrated in a prose romance entitled the Kitab Infisal dawlat al-Awam wa’l-Itisal Dawlat Bani Uthman (‘Book of the Departure of the Dynasty of Time and the Coming of the Ottoman Dynasty’). Nothing is known about its author, Ahmad IBN ZUNBUL al-Rammal, apart from what can be deduced from his own writings. Neither the date of his birth nor of his death is known, but he was probably a boy at the time of the Ottoman conquest of Egypt, and he was certainly still alive in 1558. He was a rammal, that is to say a geomancer who told fortunes from randomly made markings in the sand. He wrote treatises on geomancy, astrology, dream interpretation and apocalyptic prophecy.

The Infisal has been misclassified by some scholars as a serious historical chronicle. It is in fact a remarkably early example of the historical novel. It tells the tale of the chivalrous but doomed Mamluks. Although Ibn Zunbul clearly sympathized with the Mamluks, he also recognized the justice of the Ottoman cause and gave due weight to Selim’s piety. To paraphrase 1066 and All That, the Mamluks were wrong but romantic, whereas the Ottomans were right but repulsive. Ibn Zunbul is interested in the motivations of his protagonists and he often makes use of invented dialogue to bring out those motivations. The dialogue is vigorous, even at times to the point of crudity. His heroes are Tumanbay and his allies. Yet, for all their chivalric élan and martial prowess, the Mamluks are destined to be defeated. At one level, this is because of traitors within their ranks and the superiority of Ottoman firearms; but at another level, the Mamluks are fighting a hopeless series of battles against fate itself. All dynasties and people have their appointed times. Ibn Zunbul’s book is a nostalgic romance about a society on the turn. Unsurprisingly, given Ibn Zunbul’s other profession, his novel is pervaded by occult themes and imagery. The Infisal survives in many manuscripts, almost all of them containing significant variations and additions. The basic text seems to have been revised again and again over several decades. The way Ibn Zunbul presents his story suggests that it was designed for oral delivery.

In the passage which is extracted here, a leading Mamluk general, Kurtbay the Wali (‘Governor’), has surrendered after the battle of Raydaniyya and has been brought before Selim’s tent.

	Then Selim emerged from his tent and took his seat on the throne which had been put there for him. He looked at Kurtbay and said to him, ‘You are Kurtbay?’
	He replied, ‘Yes’.
	‘Where now is your chivalry and valour?’ asked Selim.
	‘They are as ever.’
	‘Do you recall the damage you have done to my army?’
	‘I do and I shall never forget any of it.’
	‘What did you do with ‘Ali ibn Shahwar?’
	‘I killed him together with a lot of your army.’
	Then, after he had seen the treachery in the eyes of the Sultan and realized that Selim had resolved to kill him, so that it was all up with him, Kurtbay abandoned decorum and spoke in despair of his life. He looked the Sultan in the eyes and he raised his right hand and said, ‘Listen to my speech, so that you and others may know that we count Fate and the Red Death among our horsemen. A single one of us could account for your army. If you do not believe it, have a go, so long only as you refrain from using the gun. You have two hundred thousand men of all races here with you. So stand your ground and deploy your troops, and three of us will sally out against you: myself, the slave of God; the noble horseman, the Sultan Tuman-bay; and the Emir ‘Allan. Then you will see for yourself how we three will fare and you will then learn about yourself, whether you are really a king in spirit and whether you deserve to be a king. For only an experienced warrior deserves to be king – as were our virtuous predecessors (may God be pleased with them). Look into the history books and consider 'Umar ibn al-Khattab (may God be pleased with him) and observe his courage and similarly consider the Imam 'Ali ibn Abi Talib (may God be merciful to him and bless his face). But you have pieced together an army from the Christian and Anatolian regions and from other places as well and you have brought with you this device which the Franks invented, because they were incapable otherwise of encountering Muslim armies.
	The nature of the musket is that, even if a woman fired it, it would keep at bay such-and-such a number of men. If we had chosen to use this weapon, you would not have beaten us to it. However, we are a people who will not abandon the practice of the Prophet. Shame on you! How dare you fire upon Muslims who profess the unity of God and the mission of the Prophet (blessings and peace be upon him). The right way is that of Holy War with the lance and the victory belongs to God.
	It happened once that a Maghribi with a musket appeared at the court of Qansuh al-Ghuri (may God be merciful to him and slay his killer). The Maghribi informed the Sultan about how the musket had appeared in Venetian territory and how all the Ottoman and Arab armies were using it, and here was the weapon.
	Then the Sultan ordered him to teach the use of it to some of his mamluks. So he did so. Then he brought them in to the Sultan’s presence and they fired their guns, but the Sultan was displeased and he said to the Maghribi, “We are not going to abandon the way of our Prophet in order to follow the way of the Christians, for God, may He be praised and exalted, has said if God aids you, then you will be victorious.’”
	So the Maghribi went home, saying, “There are those now living who will see the conquest of this land by the musket.”
	Then Sultan Selim asked Kurtbay, “If you possess bravery and brave men and cavalry and you follow the Book and the Sunna, as you claim, then how is it that you have been defeated and expelled from your land and your children enslaved and many of you perished? How is it that you stand before me a prisoner?”
	Kurtbay replied, “You have not taken our land because of your strength or because of your horsemanship. It has only happened by God’s decree and fate fixed from eternity. For every dynasty there is a fixed duration and an appointed end. This is the way of God (may He be praised) with his creation. What has become of the holy warriors:? And what has become of kings and sultans? You also must certainly die …”’

Ibn Zunbul, Akhira al-Mamalik. Waqi'a al-Sultan al-Gburi

ma a Salim al-Thani, trans. Robert Irwin, 'Abd al-Mu'nim

Amir edn. (Cairo, 1962), pp. 57–9

COMMENTARY

Although there are two printed versions and many manuscripts, there is no properly established text of Ibn Zunbul’s book and the text I have used for my translation has its problems and obscurities.

I have translated furusiyya as ‘horsemanship’, but it is not a very satisfactory translation because furusiyya also has connotations of chivalry, courage and military prowess. Medieval Arab treatises on the arts of war in general and on the requirements of Holy War (jihad) in particular were known as books of furusiyya.

'Ali Ibn Shahwar in my text is a corrupt rendering of ‘Ali Ibn Shahsiwar. Shahsiwar had been an Ottoman client prince and enemy of the Mamluks in eastern Anatolia. (Despite Kurtbay’s boast, an ‘Ali ibn Shahsiwar in fact seems to have survived the Ottoman conquest of Egypt and outlived Kurtbay.)

In this extract, ‘decorum’ is my translation of adab. As we have seen, in other contexts the same word could be translated as belles-lettres.

‘Fate’ is manaya, which has the more specific sense of fated death. Manaya was one of the key notions in pre-Islamic poetry. Arab fatalism predates the revelation of the Qur’an.

‘Red Death’ is a stock phrase for violent death, as opposed to ‘White Death’, which is a natural death.

Bunduq means a bullet. (It also means a hazelnut.) Bunduqiyya means a rifle, musket, or arquebus. Coincidentally, Bunduqiyya is also Arabic for Venice – hence doubtless the Maghribi’s impression that the musket originated in Venice.

Historically, the alleged dialogue between Selim and Kurtbay is a piece of nonsense. The Mamluks loved guns and had been using them for decades, before any alleged arrival of a prophetic Maghribi at the court of Qansuh al-Ghuri. They both bought guns from their Venetian allies and they also manufactured them themselves. The story reflects the prejudices of Ibn Zunbul rather than those of the ruling military elite of Mamluk Egypt. In fact Kurtbay, a former governor or wali of Cairo, was discovered in hiding and seems to have been peremptorily executed. It is all but certain that his argument with Selim never took place. The dialogue is fiction, not history. The meeting was invented by Ibn Zunbul to provide a context for a meditation on the decline of chivalry and the doom of dynasties – themes he returns to again and again in his historical romance.

Historians of Arabic literature have neglected Ibn Zunbul. (He does not even rate an entry in the capacious Encyclopaedia of Islam.) It may well be that other writers from the sixteenth century onwards have been overlooked. The decline of Arabic literature in the post-medieval period may possibly be an optical illusion, the product of insufficient research into the literary productions of the period in question. Whatever the truth of the matter, it is certain that relatively few texts from the sixteenth, seventeenth or eighteenth centuries have been published and edited (and even fewer have been translated into English).

Although it is conceivable that the decline of Arabic literature in what European historians call the ‘early modern period’ is more apparent than real, there does appear to have been a decline both in the quantity and quality of original writing in Arabic in that period. We find no poets who can bear comparison with Mutanabbi or Ibn al-Farid, or prose writers who can match the achievements of Ibn Hazm or Hariri. This phenomenon requires explanation. In part it may be due to the relegation of Egypt, Syria, Iraq and much of North Africa to the status of provinces within the Ottoman Turkish empire. Cairo was no longer the seat of a court which could dispense lavish patronage to writers. (Baghdad had, of course, ceased to be a significant centre of patronage centuries earlier.) The culture of the court elites tended to be Turco-Persian rather than Arabic. Outside the courts, Arabic culture was by and large dominated by a rigorist Sunni orthodoxy, something which had not been the case in, for instance, the tenth century. Horizons seemed to have shrunk and there were to be no more translations from the Greek, or from more modern European languages, until the late eighteenth century. The poetry and fiction which was produced in the Ottoman centuries was mostly conventional and backward-looking (though there were of course occasional exceptions, such as the satirical verse of the seventeenth-century Egyptian, al-Shirbini).

‘In time Arabic literature would revive. That revival should be seen as beginning in the late eighteenth century with al-Jabarti (d. 1825) and his vividly written chronicle of Egyptian history since the Ottoman conquest. In the late nineteenth century Jurji Zaydan practically invented the Arabic novel (though, as we have seen, he did have one precursor in Ibn Zunbul). In the twentieth century there was a real renaissance of Arab poetry. Experimental poets like Adonis have found precedents and licence for their experiments in the works of medieval poets. Innovative novelists such as Naguib Mahfouz, Gamal al-Ghitaniy and Tayyib Salih have succeeded in breaking away from the Western form of the novel and have sometimes drawn on medieval Arab prose works in order to do so. But all this should really be the subject of another book.