There was no mistaking the caliph’s person, but it was now illumined by another mind and another soul. His gestures were those of a phantom; he seemed to be his own ghost. Driven more by sheer willpower than by his human frame, he advanced towards Setalmulc and, upon drawing nearer, shot her a glance so deep, so acute, so penetrating, so laden with thoughts that the princess shuddered and crossed her arms over her breast, as if some invisible hand had ripped off her clothes.

‘Setalmulc,’ said Hakim, ‘I have long been thinking of giving you a husband, but no man is worthy of you. Your divine blood should not have to endure any admixture. We must honour the treasure we have received from the past and transmit it intact to the future. I, Hakim, the caliph, lord of the earth and sky, shall be your husband. The wedding shall take place in three days. This is my sacred wish.’

So shaken was the princess by this unexpected announcement that words failed her. Hakim had spoken with such authority, his hold on her was so mesmerizing, that Setalmulc felt any objection would be futile. Without awaiting his sister’s reply, Hakim swept out of the room and made his way to his chambers where, overcome by the ever more powerful effects of the hashish, he collapsed on to the cushions and fell asleep like a stone.

As soon as her brother had left, Setalmulc sent for the grand vizier, Argevan, and told him of everything that had just transpired. Argevan had been the regent of the empire during the early years of Hakim’s reign, for the latter had been proclaimed caliph at the age of ten. Argevan had continued to wield virtually unlimited power and, by sheer force of habit, had maintained all the prerogatives of a sovereign, leaving Hakim with the mere outer trappings.

Mortal words cannot describe what went through the grand vizier’s mind when he heard Setalmulc’s account of the caliph’s nocturnal visit – but then again, who could fathom the secret depths of Argevan’s soul? Was it years of study and meditation that had so hollowed out his cheeks and darkened his austere gaze? Was it his sheer willpower and determination that had etched the sinister letter tau6 – sure sign of an unlucky fate – into the creases of his brow? Was the pallor of his face, an immobile mask that only now and then displayed a furrow between the eyebrows, merely an indication that he was a native of the burning plains of the Maghreb? The respect he inspired among the people of Cairo, the influence he exercised over its wealthiest and most powerful inhabitants, were these merely a recognition of the wisdom and justice he had brought to the administration of the State?

Setalmulc, at any rate, had been raised by him and respected him as she did her father, the previous caliph. Argevan shared the sultana’s outrage, but merely commented, ‘Alas, how unfortunate for the empire! The prince of believers has left his senses … First the famine and now the heavens have smitten us with yet another plague! Orders must be given for public prayers; our lord has gone mad!’

‘God forbid!’ exclaimed Setalmulc.

‘Let us hope,’ added the vizier, ‘that when the prince of the faithful reawakens he will have regained his faculties and will be able to preside over the Great Council as usual.’

Argevan waited until the break of day for the caliph to awake, but it was quite late when he finally called for his slaves and was informed that the council chamber was filled with doctors, lawyers and cadis. When Hakim entered the chamber, everyone prostrated themselves as was customary; as he rose to his feet again, the vizier inspected the pensive countenance of his master.

The caliph sensed he was under scrutiny; it seemed to him that his minister was examining him with a kind of chilly irony. The prince had long regretted the excessive authority assumed by his inferiors; every time he attempted to take things into his own hands, he was astonished by the resistance put up by all the ulemas, cachefs and moudhirs who had remained loyal to Argevan. It was in order to shake himself free of the latter’s tutelage and to judge things for himself that Hakim had decided to adopt various disguises and to venture out into the city at night.

Seeing that the council was merely dealing with routine matters, the caliph cut short the proceedings and announced in a commanding voice: ‘Let’s talk about the famine; I’ve decided to have each and every baker beheaded today.’ An old man rose from the bench of the ulemas and said: ‘Prince of believers, did you not grant one of the bakers a pardon last night?’ The man’s voice sounded somewhat familiar to the caliph. He replied, ‘That is true, but I only pardoned him on the condition that bread be sold at ten okiehs a sequin.’

‘But remember that the bakers are paying ten sequins for each ardeb of flour. You should instead be punishing the people who are charging them this exorbitant rate.’

‘And who are these people?’

‘The moultezims, the cachefs, the moudhirs, and even the ulemas who have been hoarding grain in their houses.’

A shudder ran through the assembled members of the council, which was made up of the leading citizens of Cairo.

The caliph leaned forward, covered his face with his hands, and thought things over for a few seconds. Irritated by the old ulema’s words, Argevan wanted to break in, but Hakim’s voice rolled through the assembly like thunder:

‘This evening, at the hour of prayer, I shall leave my palace on Roddah, I shall cross the Nile in my cangia, and the chief watchman will be there on shore waiting for me with his executioner. I shall follow the left bank of the calish (canal), enter Cairo by the gate of Bab-el-Tahla, and make my way to the mosque of Raschida. I shall stop at the houses of every moultezim, cachef and ulema along my way, and I shall ask whether they have any grain in their homes. Should they deny this, they shall be summarily hanged or beheaded.’

Hearing the caliph utter these words, the grand vizier dared not raise his voice in the council. But he rushed after him as he was returning to his private chambers and said: ‘Surely you are not serious, Lord!’

‘Out of my sight!’ Hakim bellowed. ‘When I was a child you jokingly used to call me The Lizard, do you remember? Well, the lizard has now become a dragon.’

IV

The Moristan

That very evening, at the hour of prayer, Hakim entered the city by the soldiers’ quarter, followed only by the chief watchman and his executioner. He noticed that all the streets along his route were illuminated. Holding candles in their hands to guide him on his way, the common people of the city had gathered in groups in front of the various houses of the doctors, cachefs, notaries and other notables mentioned in his decree. Each house the caliph entered contained provisions of wheat; after duly noting down the name of its owner, he then gave orders that the grain inside be distributed to the crowd. ‘You have my word,’ he said, ‘this time I shall spare your necks. But hereafter there shall be no more hoarding of wheat; there shall be no more luxuriating in plenty in a time of dearth, there shall be no more reselling of grain for its weight in gold so as to corner all the wealth of the nation in a matter of days.’

Having visited a few residences in this manner, he dispatched his officers to the other houses and then proceeded on to the mosque of Raschida for his Friday evening prayers. But upon entering the mosque he was utterly taken aback to hear someone greet him from the pulpit with the following words: ‘Glory be to the name of Hakim on earth as in heaven! Let us give everlasting praise to the living God!’

However enthusiastically they might have reacted to the caliph’s measures, the crowd of worshippers gathered in the mosque was bound to take offence at this unexpected exhortation.