Popes and Phantoms

The Year 1487 ‘I find service with a Master of my chosen trade and meet new and frightening people with my best interests at heart.’

‘I came to Tripoli because I was so tired of Europe,’ said Admiral Slovo. ‘And with what they are trying to do there.’

‘Are they trying to do something?’ asked his elderly companion. ‘I could never discern any cohesive project – and I am old, whereas you—’

‘I have an old mind,’ answered Slovo. ‘And, for all your years you have never experienced at first hand the frenetic chit-chat going on over there now. I perceived a burgeoning wish to render life … rational – understandable, even. Impossible, of course, but the attempt makes for a lot of misery, physical and spiritual. That doesn’t deter the merchants and philosophers, naturally.’

The old man looked up from his beautifully drafted star-charts and studied Slovo by the shifting light of the giant candle. ‘If what you say is true,’ he said eventually, having characteristically thought the matter through thoroughly, regardless of socially awkward silences, ‘then I would agree. To attempt to understand, let alone explain, the mind of Allah is the life-project of the fool. Yet all I see of you Christian infidel races suggests little such … dryness. My prevailing impression is one of quite appalling vitality – combined with a propensity for violence far beyond the needs of the situation. That, I suggest, Slo-el-Vo, is a recipe for boisterous expansion, not boredom.’

‘Perhaps, esteemed Khair Khaleel-el-Din,’ suggested Slovo with polite hesitation, ‘you have merely met the wrong people.’

The old man nodded, his great green turban adding enormous gravitas to the simple gesture. ‘Possibly. As a pirate, or latterly a chief of pirates, I have encountered perhaps an unrepresentative selection of your kin. It may be that I simply recall, across a gap of sixty years, what my tutor in the trade impressed upon me. Respect the ships of the Christians, he told me, even as you sink them. Be prepared to wade in blood, and not necessarily someone else’s. On the surface they may seem soft – with all their talk of love and charity – but underneath … well!’

‘He may have had a point,’ Slovo conceded. ‘I detect a lazy tendency in myself of late, of preferring to attack ships from the Moslem world. I don’t say, of course, that we discriminate or run, but given the choice …’

‘Your meaning is taken, Captain,’ said the old man warmly. ‘I could cap it with an anecdote from my own experience about a mad Austrian who preferred oblivion embracing a barrel of gunpowder to capture and ransom.’

They paused as Khair Khaleel-el-Din’s tiring heart was gladdened by the arrival of a meteor shower he had earlier predicted. Neither man knew what it was they were looking at or had any inkling of the cause of the celestial fireworks. Ignorant of whether the Heavens were infinite or mere miles away, they both watched the inter-planetary pebbles flare in final glory within the atmosphere of earth.

Slovo did not know what to think. He had not yet resolved whether Stoicism permitted moderate enjoyment at the party-tricks of nature.

By contrast, the older pirate allowed himself to succumb to joy and felt that, however briefly, he had been honoured to dabble his fingertips in the stream of Allah’s thoughts. His life-long reading and all his painstaking calculations had been rewarded and when the storm had quite finished he bowed his head in silent, thankful prayer.

‘They came as you said they would,’ Slovo congratulated him. ‘I am very impressed.’

‘They came,’ smiled the old man, ‘and, inshallah, they will come again. Neither of us will be here to see them – fortunately it is not given to humans to live for centuries. Allah guides these lights in the sky and directs them to the beautiful world He has made for us. Ah, but perhaps my talk seems over-pious to you?’

‘I can see that in accepting meaning and perfection as belonging to God alone, you spare yourself a lot of anguish,’ Slovo rejoined.

‘It’s not as good as you make out,’ commented the old pirate. ‘Many a noseless whore looks good at fifty paces. Still, there must be something in your religion – fully half of the ships I command are now captained by Christians. Perhaps one day, when I am safely dead and gone, every so-called Barbary pirate will be an infidel.’

‘The difference is,’ said Slovo carefully, ‘that these men you speak of are not Christian at all. They are the foul air which has bubbled up from the fens of Christendom and floated your way. Which is not to decry their seamanship,’ he added swiftly, not wishing to disparage his master’s judgement. ‘However, I would stake my ship not one in a hundred has ever entertained a thought emanating from above the belly-line.’

The corsair smiled gently, ‘Whereas you …’ he said.

‘I did not come to Tripoli just for gold,’ answered Slovo firmly. ‘I came to find my soul and perhaps to save it.’

‘I beg of you, Slovo, memorize what you have just said, burn the words into your heart. If you come to be as old as I, you will find that funny things are in short supply. On that day, if you can recall your last words, oh how you will laugh!’

Slovo could have been offended but simply said, ‘I will do as you ask.’

‘I know you will,’ replied Khair Khaleel-el-Din, ‘and that is because you are clever. I like you, Slovo, in so far as I like anything beyond my star-charts. You live here because your Stoa-whatever …’

‘Stoicism,’ said Slovo helpfully.

‘… Stoicism accords with what you perceive as our fatalism. You’ll see through that misconception soon enough and move on. Meanwhile, you’re a one-off I can make a great deal of money from. Do you know your ship is one of my most profitable?’

‘I surmised as much,’ said Slovo, ‘principally because I do not cheat you.’

‘You hand over all that you take,’ agreed Khair Khaleel-el-Din. ‘That is true – and rare. However, you are also more daring and less squeamish than most. I would not want any child of mine to do what you have done, but nevertheless you do have virtue welded to your wickedness and that is a most unusual and useful combination. I shall re-employ you, Christian; your licence is renewed for a further six months.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Slovo impassively.

‘That might even be true,’ answered the corsair. ‘We’ll agree and sign off the previous period’s accounts tomorrow, when it is light. You will be pleased with the bonus I have in mind for you.’

Books, a new knife and a fair-skinned slave to experiment with, thought Slovo – and was instantly ashamed of his weakness.

‘Oh, and one other thing.’ Khair Khaleel-el-Din made the question sound so casual that Slovo’s defence mechanisms were immediately alerted. ‘Have you been writing to anyone?’

‘No,’ said Slovo very firmly. ‘I agreed not to enter into any communications.’

‘Just so,’ replied the pirate-lord. ‘Well then, have you been making enquiries into the higher realms of the Islamic faith?’

‘Would that I could,’ said Slovo. ‘My Arabic is still such that I can only dimly hear the apparently sublime cadences of your Qur’an.’

‘Persevere,’ said the corsair as an aside. ‘It is well worth it. Meanwhile, I have received a letter concerning you. There is someone keen to meet you, my Captain Slovo, and I do not think I dare to deny them. It will be next month – are you agreeable?’

Slovo shrugged. ‘What have I to lose?’ he quipped.

Khair Khaleel-el-Din gave the comment far more consideration than it merited.

‘That,’ he said, running an index finger pensively along his withered lips, ‘is a very good question.’

At the time appointed for the meeting, Khair Khaleel-el-Din was more forthcoming. ‘This enlightened being who deigns to look upon you is the Principal of the ancient Cairene University of the Mosque Al-Azher. He is known as the Shaduf, after the original water-lifting implement of his nation, since he likewise brings life to the parched fields of the mind from the refreshing waters of truth. As a fellow respecter of wisdom, Slovo, you should abase yourself before him, as I do.’

In fact, neither of them made a move to do any such thing. Slovo took the minute movements of the little Arab visitor’s implausibly neat beard and moustache to be outward signs of facial expression, and presumed it was a greeting. He made a semblance of a bow in return.

‘I thank you, master privateer,’ said the Shaduf. ‘You may now leave us.’

Slovo wondered just what was in store. And it transpired he had the opportunity to ponder for some while. The Shaduf simply sat and studied him at first. Considering a trial of stares unwise, Slovo pretended to examine the galleys in Tripoli Harbour far below.

‘Yes,’ the Shaduf eventually drawled, clearly expectant that Slovo would give way to ecstasy at first hearing of that word. ‘Yes, you will do.’

Slovo cleared some imaginary dust from the knee of his breeches. ‘Well, that’s a great weight from my mind,’ he said. ‘Do for what exactly?’

‘For what we have in mind,’ replied the Shaduf concisely, not obviously disappointed by the infidel’s reaction. ‘But that needn’t concern you unduly at this stage in your career.’

‘I was unaware of owning such a structured concept,’ said Slovo. ‘And, incidentally, who is this “we”?’

For the Shaduf the interview was patently over but he remained willing to humour this impudent Christian. ‘Firstly,’ he ticked off one elegant finger, ‘you may be presently unaware of a pattern to your life but that is not to disprove its existence. Secondly,’ another digit was coaxed to bend over, ‘the “we” to whom I referred is a collective called the Vehme.’

Slovo’s data-retrieval faculties travelled gingerly down the hall of memories, careful to avoid some of the more monstrous items slumbering lightly there. ‘I recall hearing that word,’ he said, frowning to recollect, ‘in Germania, amongst the City States. I have heard things …’

‘But not the truth,’ interrupted the Shaduf dismissively, with confidence that convinced. ‘That is something that can only be learned gradually. It is this that we propose to you.’

Captain Slovo already had the experience to scent overwhelming power. Physically, the Shaduf might be no match for the youngest trainee pirate aboard Slovo’s ship but it was clear to the Captain that he himself was very much a slingless David to the Arab’s Goliath in this encounter.

‘Just out of curiosity,’ he asked, ‘is it open for me to refuse?’

‘It is open to all men to die,’ answered the Shaduf.