Following the death of the Maliki judge, Ibn al-Tunsi, Barquq appointed Ibn Khaldun as his successor in the middle of Ramadan 801, thereby fulfilling the promise he had made earlier. The gesture was marked by a substantial level of welcome and praise in spite of the best efforts of rumormongers and slanderers. The sultan also turned down an offer from Judge Ibn al-Damamini to purchase the post for a sum of seventy thousand dinars. The newly appointed judge was extremely grateful to be reappointed to this position and announced his firm intention to apply the law with justice and in accordance with the shari‘a as God wills. He now devoted himself to the new position, to such an extent that he would often bring food prepared by his wife to his judicial office: sweet pastries prepared Moroccan style, meat slices Egyptian style. Deep down the judge had the feeling that his nomination to this position was a kind of farewell gift from the sultan who was now unable to keep his exhaustion and illness a secret from anyone. Indeed, not even a whole month passed before Sultan Barquq went to meet his Maker, after arranging the succession for his children beginning with his eldest son, al-Nasir Faraj, whom he placed in the care of the atabeg, Aytamish. He had Caliph al-Mutawakkil, amirs, and judges all serve as witnesses to his will. However, what ensued was a series of revolts that left ‘Abd al-Rahman fair game for any number of eventualities; there were variations, but the basic import was always one and the same. Aytamish, the young sultan’s guardian, gets above himself; Tanam, the viceroy of Syria, who loathes him, declares a revolt; Aytamish’s atabegs revolt against their own master and encourage the young sultan to get rid of the noose around his neck. Events pursued their course, and ‘Abd al-Rahman grew tired of trying to keep up with it all. It was lucky for the new sultan that the revolt only lasted a few months. He marched to Damascus and managed to do away with all the conspirators either by killing them in battle or having them strangled.
The process of consigning the sultanate to Barquq’s descendants and consolidating their hegemony by massacring dissidents, that may best represent the import of Sultan Barquq’s bequest to his heirs. It suggests that those heirs had learned from their father that the only way they would be able to rid themselves of the Mongol menace was by consolidating Mamluk ranks and fortifying their fighting spirit. But there was something about Faraj’s personality that deeply troubled ‘Abd al-Rahman. It was not his general lack of experience, something that obviously resulted from his youth. After all, intelligence and sound advice could solve that problem. No, the real problem was a bad case of snobbery that was made yet more reckless by drink. The huge difference between father and son in this regard was not one that was likely to disappear over time; it involved temperament, posture, and build. ‘Abd al-Rahman had noticed this great difference first hand when he had accompanied the young sultan on his expedition to Syria to quash the rebellion against him. In notes made on the journey he had written: “Timur’s rampage is certainly going to come, O God, unless some miracle happens and the reason for it is no longer valid.”
On the way back to Egypt, ‘Abd al-Rahman asked the sultan for permission to visit the holy places in Jerusalem that he had long wanted to see, but events and duties had conspired against him. That is how he came to pray in the al-Aqsa Mosque, the original place toward which Muslims directed their prayers and the third of the sacred shrines that God blessed. From it, the Prophet Muhammad — on him be peace — had undertaken his night-journey into the heavens. In this mosque the entire roof was open to God’s firmament as was the rest of the sacred enclosure in al-Quds protected by the walls of Salah al-Din ibn Ayyub. In such surroundings ‘Abd al-Rahman’s five senses all seemed to be pulling him gently toward abstraction and transcendence; a throbbing, yet firm desire urged him to launch himself on a spiritual journey. were he not married and tied to the ground, he thought to himself, he would stay here close to the spacious mosque, humbly worshipping God and reflecting as he walked from David’s chambers to Job’s oratory, Mary’s shrine, and Zakariya’s temple — peace be upon them all. As he visited the burial sites of certain prophets, the Dome of the Rock, the paddock of Barraq, the Prophet’s steed on his night-journey, the tower where God spoke to Moses, and many other holy places, ‘Abd al-Rahman felt suffused by a pure spirit of sanctity and enveloped in its radiant light.
This holy city is a symbol of something that occurs readily to the mind of any fascinated visitor. Here amid the three divinely revealed religious faiths stand the covenants of the word all combined. Within the broad context of the unity of God the beginning and end is peace. For that reason ‘Abd al-Rahman decided not to go into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre built on the site of the crucifixion because it represents a breach of those convenants and a slander against the Holy Qur’an.
Having fulfilled all his obligations in the city of peace and radiance, ‘Abd al-Rahman made his way to Bethlehem, where Jesus, son of Mary, grew up. There he touched the remains of the palm root and wrote as follows about the church there:
A huge building on the site of the birth of the Messiah. There the Caesars erected a structure with two rows of stone columns, rounded and aligned, topped by images of kings and the dates of their reigns, duly arranged for whoever may wish to verify their translation at the hands of those familiar with their circumstances. This building may well be seen as a symbol of the rule of the Caesars and the splendor of their regime.
From Bethlehem ‘Abd al-Rahman made his way to Hebron which lies in a gently shaded valley. In spite of its small size, the town is greatly valued because it contains the place of prayer constructed by Solomon the Wise. While there, ‘Abd al-Rahman visited the grotto shrine of Ibrahim, the Companion of God, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives — the purest of peace be upon all of them. There he prayed not only the obligatory prayers but the supernumerary ones as well. In awe and reverence he descended into the grotto, overcome by emotion. Before saying farewell he cast an eye at the grave of Lot — on him be peace — and expressed the wish to bathe in his lake before long.
On the coast of Syria, by the town of Gaza, he recalled that it would soon be time to rejoin the sultan’s retinue on its way back to Cairo. He therefore made do with a short prayer in the city mosque. After eating a sampling of its dates and grapes, he mounted his horse and set off along the coast, avoiding the Israelite wilderness as he did so. On his way a variety of thoughts occurred to him: that visiting al-Quds, just like Mecca and Medina, served to rid any doubting mind of the existence of the spirit; the five senses were left with an indelible trace of that particular dimension called the absolute. Another thought was that any visit to the city of light and peace, to the tombs of the witnesses to the unity of God and those of their wives, was only totally fulfilled in the company of one’s beloved life-companion.