and he does not hesitate to employ it on all who displease him. Thus the next thing to bear closely in mind is not to gag or spit. To reject and expel his essence would be a mortal insult to him.”
“But, Nazeera, what if I do not like the taste? What if I cannot help myself?”
“Swallow quickly and have done. In all events you will grow accustomed to it. We women learn and adjust very quickly.”
Rebecca nodded. Already the idea was not so shocking. “What else must I remember?”
“There is no doubt in my mind that the Mahdi will choose you. You must greet him as the Chosen of God and the successor to His Prophet. You must tell him what a deep joy and honour it is to meet him at last. You can add whatever else you wish that he is the light of your eyes and the breath of your lungs. He will believe this. Then you must tell him that al-Zahra is your orphan sister. The holy law places a duty on him to protect and care for the orphan, so she will not be parted from you. There are quotations from the holy writings about orphans that you must learn by rote so that you are able to repeat them to him. I will teach them to you.” Rebecca nodded, and Nazeera went on, “There is one other thing more important than all else. You must do or say nothing that might cause the Mahdi to pass you by. Show no anger, or resentment or disrespect. If he should reject you, the next choice will fall to his Khalifa Abdullahi.”
“Would that be worse?”
“Abdullahi is the cruel lest most wicked man in Islam. Better we should all perish than he take you or al- Zahra as his concubine.”
Rebecca shivered. “Teach me the quotations.”
She was a quick learner and, before Amber woke, Nazeera was satisfied that she would acquit herself properly in the presence of the prophet of God.
Osman Atalan returned across the Nile from the city he had conquered. He came in glory at the head of the flotilla of boats that had carried his army to Khartoum. Every man, woman and child who could walk, toddle or totter came down to the riverbank to greet him. The war drums boomed and thumped and ombeyas blared. One groom held his weapons, his lance, spears and broadsword. Another groom held his warhorse al-Buq for him, fully caparisoned, with his rifle in the scabbard behind the saddle.
When Osman stepped ashore from the dhow he was preceded by al-Noor who carried over one shoulder a leather dhurra bag, whose bottom was stained a dark wine colour. The crowds shouted when they saw it, for they guessed the contents. They shouted again at the sight of Osman, so tall and noble in his gleaming white jibba decorated with the brightly coloured patches.
Osman mounted al-Buq and processed through the town. The crowds lined both sides of the narrow, winding streets, and the road was strewn with palm fronds. The children ran ahead of his horse and the women lifted their infants high so that they could look upon the hero of Islam and tell their own children that they had seen him. Brave men and mighty warriors tried to touch his foot as he swept past, and the women ululated and called his name.
At the Mahdi’s palace, Osman dismounted and took the stained dhurra bag from al’Noor. He climbed the outside staircase to the flat-roof terrace where the prophet of Allah sat cross-legged on his angareb. He made a sign to the young women who attended him, and they prostrated themselves quickly before him, then moved gracefully backwards, leaving the terrace to the two men.
Osman went to the Mahdi and placed the sack before him. He knelt to kiss his hands and feet. “You are the light and the joy of our world. May Allah always smile upon you, who are his chosen one.”
The Mahdi touched his forehead. “May you always please God, as you have pleased His humble prophet.” Then he took Osman’s hand and raised him up. “How went the battle?”
“With your presence watching over us and your face before us, it went well.”
“What of my enemy and the enemy of Allah, the crusader, Gordon Pasha?”
“Your enemy is dead and his soul boils eternally in the waters of hell. The day you had foreseen has arrived, and those things you had prophesied have come to pass.”
“All that you tell me, Osman Atalan, pleases God. Your words are as honey on your lips and sweet music in my ears. But have you brought me proof that what you say is true?”
“I have brought you proof that no man may doubt, proof that will resound in the heart of every son of the Prophet throughout all Islam.” Osman stooped, gripped the corner seams of the dhurra bag and lifted it. The contents rolled out on to the mud floor. “Behold the head of Gordon Pasha.”
The Mahdi leant forward with his elbows on his thighs and stared at the head. He was no longer smiling. His expression was cold and impassive, but there was such a glow in his eyes that struck fear even into Osman Atalan’s valiant heart. The silence went on, and the Mahdi did not move for a long time. Then at last he looked up again at Osman. “You have pleased Allah and his prophet. You shall have great reward. See that this head is placed on a spike at the gates of the great mosque that all the faithful may look upon it and fear the power of Allah and his righteous servant, Muhammad, the Mahdi.”
“It shall be done, master.” For the first time Osman used the title “Rabb’, which was more than ‘master’. It meant “Lord of all things’. “Rabb’ was also one of the ninety-nine beautiful names of Allah. Had his praise exceeded the limits of flattery? Was this not blasphemy? Osman was immediately stricken by his own presumption. He bowed his head and waited for the Mahdi to rebuke him.
He need not have feared. His instinct had been flawless. The serene smile blossomed once more on the Mahdi’s beloved face. He held out his hand to Osman. “Take me to the city you have won for the glory of Allah. Show me the spoils of this great victory that brings the jihad to its full flowering. Take me across the river Nile and show to me all that you have achieved in my name.”
Osman took his hand and brought him to his feet. They went down to the riverbank and embarked in the dhow that was waiting for them. They crossed the flow and went ashore in the harbour of Khartoum. When he walked along the corniche to the governor’s palace the crowds spread before him bolts of looted silk, fine linen and wool so that the Mahdi need not soil his feet in the dust and filth of the captured city. The chorus of prayer and praise that went up from the prostrating crowds was deafening.
In the governor’s audience hall the Mahdi took his place beside Khalifa Abdullahi, who was working with four black-robed kadi, the Islamic judges. They were questioning the wealthy citizens of Khartoum who had been brought before them in chains. They were asked to reveal where they had hidden their treasures. This was a protracted process, for it was not enough simply to reveal all one’s wealth at the outset. The Khalifa Abdullahi and his kadi had to ensure that the victims were holding back nothing. The full answers were extracted with fire and water. The branding irons were heated in charcoal braziers and when the tips glowed red they were used to burn the texts of appropriate sura from the Koran into the naked bellies and backs of the victims. Their agonized shrieks echoed from the high ceilings.
“Let your cries be heard as praise and prayers to Allah,” the Mahdi told them. “Let your riches be offerings that you render to His glory.”
When there was no space left on their blistered skin for further religious texts to be inscribed, the red-hot irons were applied to their genitals. At last they were carried to the water fountain in the middle of the atrium of the palace. There they were strapped to a stool and tipped backwards over the wall of the fountain until their heads were below the surface of the water. When they lost consciousness, they were tipped forward, mucus streaming from their mouths and noses. They revived, and were immersed again. Before they expired the judges were well satisfied that they had revealed all their secrets.
Abdullahi led his master to the governor’s robing room, which they were using as a temporary treasury, and showed him all that they had collected so far. There were bags and chests of coin, piles of plate and chalices of silver and gold; some were even carved from pure rock crystal or amethyst and encrusted with precious and semi- precious stones. There were heaps of silk and fine wool in bolts, satins embroidered with gold thread, more chests of jewellery, fantastic creations from Asia, India and Africa, earrings, necklaces, collars and brooches set with fiery diamonds, emeralds and sapphires. There were even statuettes in images of the old gods, fashioned thousands of years previously and plundered from the tombs of the ancients. The Mahdi frowned angrily when he saw these. “They are an abomination in the sight of God, and every true Muslim.” His usually mild tones thundered through the halls so that even the khalifa trembled. “Take them hence, smash them into a hundred pieces and throw the fragments into the river.”
While many men scrambled to obey his order, the Mahdi turned to Osman and smiled again. “I think only what Allah wishes me to think. My words are not my own words. They are the very word of God.”
