The Madrasa of Emir Sarghatmish

Next, we come to the Madrasa of Emir Sarghatmish. It and the Mosque-Khanqah of Emir Sheikhou further down Saliba Street and the Palace of Emir Taz around the corner are among the most grandiose, monumental buildings in this area. With good reason: Sarghatmish, Sheikhou and Taz were the most powerful emirs of their time, and their fates are intertwined. Together, they formed a rough triumvirate that ran the Mamluk Sultanate for a decade during the rules of two young sultans in the mid-1300s.

Taz was the warrior, Sheikhou the savvy politician, and Sarghatmish the court schemer. They rose to prominence together, partners backing each other one moment, rivals plotting against each other the next. Eventually, they would fall within months of each other, one by one.

They were each purchased as young slaves by the great Sultan al-Nasir Mohammed in the 1330s. Sarghatmish was so startlingly beautiful that the sultan paid 200,000 pieces of silver for him and gave the slave dealer a finder’s bonus worth another 1,000 gold pieces, an unprecedented price for a mamluk at the time. After al-Nasir Mohammed’s death in 1341, the other top emirs squabbled over Sarghatmish, each trying to pull him into his retinue. (“If he doesn’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll kill myself,” the young mamluk Emo-ed over one emir who was too persistently trying to take him under his wing.)

After al-Nasir Mohammed’s long, 40-year rule, the senior emirs who had been in his inner circle installed a series of his sons onto the throne, each lasting a few years before being ousted and replaced by another half-brother. Meanwhile, these emirs essentially ran the sultanate. But their generation was dying off, killed in their constant feuds over power or at the orders of whatever sultan they were trying to control.

Taz and Sheikhou were in the second tier of emirs, rising rapidly. By 1346, they were comrades in the bodyguard retinue of the son-sultan of the moment, al-Muzaffar Hajji. When the inevitable uprising against Hajji came the next year, they read the writing on the wall, abandoned the sultan at the last moment and joined the rebels. Hajji was killed, and his 13-year-old half-brother Hassan was enthroned as sultan (This is the Sultan Hassan of the famed mosque at the foot of the Citadel).

At this point, Sheikhou took the reins.

To control the new sultan, avert disputes among emirs and bring some sense of stability, he organized a core advisory council that would make all decisions, particularly on finances. The council included himself, Taz, the deputy sultan and several other senior emirs. (Sarghatmish at this time was low-level emir serving in Sheikhou’s personal household.)

One of the council’s first jobs was to flush out Hajji’s court. Hajji had drained the treasury with spending on his servants, slave-girls, drinking companions, entertainers and eunuchs. The council did an audit and found Hajji’s oud player, Abed Ali al-Awwad, had been given 60,000 silver dirhams, the equivalent of a month’s salary for the sultan’s entire corps of mamluk soldiers. To his favorite concubine, Kayda, Hajji had bestowed 220,000 dirhams and nearly 35,000 gold dinars just in the past two months. They were all thrown out of the palace and their riches confiscated. Also eliminated was Ali al-Kaseeh, a hunchback who at first served as a sort of jester amusing Hajji and then became his court spy. He listened in on palace gossip and took money from emirs and officials not to reveal their scandals. The council had al-Kaseeh tortured to death, trying to force him to reveal where he’d hidden his riches.

Sheikhou didn’t officially lead the council, but he was the one who got things done. He kept the peace, mediating disputes among the other council members and among lower emirs. When soldiers needed money, they came to him. Reflecting his power, he built his gigantic mosque on Saliba Street. (His Khanqah across the street would not come until later.) When a horrific outbreak of the plague ravaged Cairo in in 1349, killing thousands every day, Sheikhou washed bodies of the dead himself and led a procession to the northern cemetery to recite the Quran and the Hadith compendium of al-Bukhari, begging God to intercede.

The council kept its grip on Sultan Hassan for three years. But he bristled at their control. In December 1350, when Sheikhou, Taz and the deputy sultan were all outside of Cairo, he made his move. He had one council member arrested in court. He had Sheikhou arrested in Damascus. He ordered Taz to arrest the deputy sultan, who was at that moment on the way to Mecca for the hajj pilgrimage. Taz carried out his order — either because he decided it was better to join the purge than be purged, or because he was in on it with the sultan from the start.

At the same time, Sultan Hassan plucked Sarghatmish out of the now arrested Sheikhou’s retinue and gave him a major promotion. He appointed him to Sheikhou’s former position as commander of the sultan’s corps of mamluk soldiers, or “ras al-nouba.”

Taz returned to Cairo in triumph, welcomed by the sultan with a feast and a tidy reward of 100,000 dirhams. Soon after, Taz married a half-sister of the sultan in a grand wedding celebration at which the sultan gifted him another 300,000 dirhams.

The honeymoon only lasted about six months.

In July 1351, it was announced that the sultan had fallen ill and was confined to bed. Taz suspected it was a trap, that the sultan planned to arrest him when he came to make the customary visit to wish him quick recovery. Taz and his allies gathered their forces and prepared to attack.

As soon as Hassan heard this, he declared he had had enough. He quit the throne, handed over his sultanic regalia and holed himself up in his harem in the Citadel.

Taz sent Sarghatmish after him. Sargatmish and his men barged into the harem and seized Hassan as the women of the household wailed and palace officials wept.

“This is how you repay him?” screamed Sitt Hadaq, the respected doyenne of the harem, who had served there for decades and had helped raise Hassan. Ignoring her, Sarghatmish dragged the ousted sultan away. One of his half-brothers, Salih, was installed as sultan, and Hassan was allowed to go back and live imprisoned in his harem.

Taz had his old comrade Sheikhou freed from Alexandria Prison, where he was being held. As Sheikhou’s boat on the Nile approached Cairo, he was met by a public celebration. Hundreds came out in boats to cheer him and escort his boat into Cairo’s port. He was swept up to the Citadel in a grand parade up Saliba Street, which was decorated with banners and lit up with candles all along its length, as processions of Sufis (Sheikhou was a great patron of Sufis) turned out to greet him.

The three years of Sultan Salih’s rule were the high point for the triumvirate of Sheikhou, Sarghatmish and Taz, uneasy as it was.

They held the reins of power firmly and, to show their authority, they started building. Taz launched construction on his palace just off el-Saliba Street. Sarghatmish picked this spot next to Ibn Touloun Mosque, near a well called the Well of Bats — because, well, it was full of bats. Here, he built a grand stable for himself and later would erect this giant madrasa. Sheikhou was known for the weekly gatherings of religious scholars and Sufis at his home near el-Saliba, where they spent the evenings studying, reading tomes to each other, reciting poems and singing anthems in praise of the Prophet Muhammad.

Sheikhou delegated Sarghatmish to run the day-to-day affairs of state, and Sarghatmish proved to be lousy at it. He was petulant and domineering and flew into a rage if anyone made a decision without him. When he felt slighted by the wazir, he had him imprisoned and tortured, beating his children in front of his wife to reveal where he’d hidden his gold. He tried to confiscate the wazir’s palace, one of the grandest in Cairo, to give to the sultan’s mother as a gift, but the judges declared the confiscation illegal, so the frustrated Sarghatmish stripped the palace of its marble and valuables.

Sarghatmish’s arrogance pissed off the lower emirs. They whispered that he planned to arrest his ruling partners Sheikhou and Taz, restore Hassan to the throne and hold sole power himself. He denied the rumors, but Taz himself nearly went to war with him until Sheikhou, ever the mediator, talked him down.

Eventually, the emirs begged Sheikhou to step in and, after a show of reluctance, he took back authority from Sarghatmish.

Taz, the great horseman, had meanwhile built up a warrior’s reputation. Over the years, he’d been on expeditions to put down unruly Bedouin, suppressed various rebellions and had defeated the ruler of Yemen in battle, bringing him to Cairo in chains and then releasing him in a show of magnanimity once he showed fealty to the sultan. In 1352, the governor of Damascus revolted against Sultan Salih, and all it took was news that Taz was leading a force on the way to Syria for most of the governor’s allies to abandon him and flee.

The next summer, Taz threw a grand feast for all the emirs at his palace to celebrate its completion. Even the sultan descended from the Citadel to attend, a rare honor. To his guests, Taz gave gifts of his much-admired warhorses, three to the sultan, two each to Sheikhou and Sarghatmish, and one to each of the other emirs.

After that show of comradery, their partnership began to unravel.

Tensions grew between Taz and Sarghatmish. Caught in the middle was Sheikhou, who wanted above all to prevent feuds and divisions. One moment Sheikhou was talking Taz down from moving against Sarghatmish. The next moment, Sarghatmish would come to him and complain, “That man wants to destroy me,” and Sheikhou would have to calm him and assure him everything was fine.

Chroniclers of the time depict the problem as, in part, romantic. Sultan Salih had fallen in love with one of Taz’s brothers, Jantamur, and was showing greater favoritism to Taz. Meanwhile, the wazir, who was an ally of Taz, was whispering to the sultan against Sheikhou and Sarghatmish. The whole time, Taz’s brothers were urging him to take power himself. Taz was reluctant, mainly out of respect for Sheikhou.

Sheikhou could feel the mood in the court and the barracks moving against him and decided it was better to step down than to be removed. He left his post and declared that the now 21-year-old Sultan Salih had full authority to made decisions for himself. Salih immediately put Taz in charge of the state’s finances.

That Ramadan in 1354, the sultan went to his country palace in Siryaqus north of Cairo, taking his mother, his harem and all the emirs with him. There he created a scandal with his unsultan-like behavior. First, he openly displayed his crush on Taz’s brother Jantamur. Then he amused himself by working alongside local artisans, like glassblowers and woodcutters; Salih was a talented craftsman who could learn a craft just by watching it a few times. He also loved to cook. At Siryaqus, he cooked an entire feast with his own hands for his mother and even served it to her himself. Then for her entertainment, he dressed up slave girls and servants in the sultan’s regalia and had them do a mock royal procession through the gardens.

The whole affair was undignified and enormously expensive, much to the anger of Sheikhou, who had always kept a tight grip on spending.

The next month back in Cairo, Taz decided to rid himself of Sarghatmish. His plan was, he would go on a hunting trip outside the city to give himself an alibi, and meanwhile his brothers and his mamluks would armor up, ride out, and arrest Sarghatmish.

But Sheikhou got wind of the plot and decided his need to keep balance trumped his long friendship with Taz. He gathered his own powerful personal mamluk force, some 700 soldiers, and joined Sarghatmish with his fighters. They fought Taz’s brothers near the Nile and defeated them. Taz returned to the city, and for a moment it looked like he was about to battle his longtime partners. But the few soldiers with him fled, and Taz went into hiding.

In the meantime, Sarghatmish demanded to Sheikhou that Sultan Salih be removed. He was too close to Taz. Sheikhou resisted at first, reluctant to prolong the turmoil, but soon relented. Their men marched into the Citadel, arrested Salih and freed Hassan from the harem chambers. The turnaround happened so fast that the dinner prepared for Salih in the palace was instead served to the re-installed Sultan Hassan, and Salih was left eating the more meager meal in detention meant for Hassan.

But they remained worried. As long as Taz was still on the loose, nothing was assured. Their soldiers searched the streets for him. Sheikhou and the sultan slept in the Citadel stables close to the warhorses, ready for action.

Much to their surprise, after two days of tension, Taz showed up at the Citadel and surrendered. Sheikhou stood and embraced him, and the two wept together in regret over their break. Sultan Hassan and Sarghatmish wanted Taz imprisoned. But Sheikhou insisted he be spared and instead be sent away from Cairo. So Taz was appointed governor of Hama in Syria, given a robe of honor and, the very next day, seen off by the sultan and all the emirs as he departed Cairo in a grand procession with his brothers, household staff and personal mamluks.

“You’re safe as long as he’s in Hama,” Sheikhou told Sarghatmish. Then he added a warning: “Don’t ever arrest him. If you do, you’ll be next.”

The triumvirate was now a diumvirate, with Sheikhou and Sarghatmish running the state and controlling the 18-year-old Sultan Hassan.

The next few years were quiet. Sheikhou built the monumental Khanqah that faces his mosque on el-Saliba Street. He funded an extensive teaching staff, with living chambers for Sufis and students. Notably, he didn’t use forced prison labor as was often done on such mega-projects, and poets lauded him for actually paying his workers:

“Sheikhou has built a marvelous Khanqah, more marvelous than a garden glistening with dew/ He built it without workers in chains, and all those employed received their due.”

Soon after, Sarghatmish finished his equally gigantic madrasa, and the poets lined up to praise it as well.

“How great a madrasa Sarghatmish has built, so marvelous and excellent / In its beauty it’s like a paradise, its domes so high in their ascent / Its marbles resemble a garden, how sweet their flowers’ scent.”

The unusual quiet was broken by a thunderbolt on July 26, 1357.

Sultan Hassan was holding court as usual in the Citadel. All the officials, the chief judges and the top emirs were there, Sheikhou sat on the sultan’s right as his station called for. Suddenly a common mamluk soldier burst forward, sword drawn, and hacked Sheikhou in the face, head and arm. The court was thrown into chaos. The sultan fled the room, the attacker was wrestled to the ground, and Sheikhou fell bleeding and unconscious. His retainers carried him to his home on el-Saliba Street and the doctors rushed to him. The attacker confessed that he hated Sheikhou because he once refused him a piece of land. He was promptly cut in half and his body parts paraded around the city.

In the next days, Sarghatmish and the sultan himself each went to visit Sheikhou, swearing they had nothing to do with the attack. Sheikhou held on for months but finally died that November. He was buried in the dew-glistening garden that was his glorious Khanqah.

Naturally, it was widely believed that the sultan had arranged the assassination. Whether he did or not, Sheikhou’s moderating influence was gone, and the sultan and Sarghatmish now had free rein. One of their very first steps: They had their mutual nemesis Taz arrested in Hama and shipped off to the desert prison of Karak.

Sarghatmish was now alone as the most powerful emir, and Hassan let him make the decisions. But the sultan was also building his own position. He purged a number of emirs, sending them into exile and using their confiscated fortunes to distribute among his own loyalists. In August 1358, the sultan called Sarghatmish to a private audience, and when he arrived, the sultan’s loyalists burst out of hiding and arrested him. El-Saliba Street became a battle zone as the sultan’s troops put down Sarghatmish’s mamluks, looted his home and sacked his glorious madrasa, driving out and robbing the Sufis who lived there.

Sarghatmish was sent to Alexandria Prison. From there, he wrote to the sultan a message declaring his loyalty and pleading for mercy. He started it with the famous first line of a love poem by one of Egypt’s most beloved Sufis, ibn al-Farid:

“My heart tells me you will be my destroyer. Still, my soul is yours to sacrifice, whether you know it or not.”

The sultan ignored his pleas. Sarghatmish was killed in his cell.

First lines of ibn al-Farid’s poem, “My heart tells me you will be my destroyer” (قلبي يحدثني بأنك ملتفي) .

From a 14h century manuscript, Bibliotheque nationale de France, departement de manuscrits, Arabe 3144

The manuscript’s frontispiece

Sultan Hassan then turned to the imprisoned Taz and had his eyes gouged out.

The triumvirate was eliminated. Sultan Hassan finally ruled on his own and went on to build his own soaring masterpiece of a madrasa at the foot of the Citadel. He met his own grisly end a few years later, murdered by his closest emir.

In 1361, Hassan’s successor freed Taz from prison and allowed him to go into exile. The blinded warrior made his way to Damascus, where he was welcomed by the governor, who allowed him to live out the rest of his days in comfort in the Ablaq Palace.

Taz died a year later, the gentlest end — comparatively — of the three. He was buried in Damascus’ Graveyard of the Sufis.