The Caliph had once, the story was told, decided to spend the night with Fatima, a wife of noble lineage known as “the Great Lady.” Marjan told Fatima she wanted to spend that night with their husband and offered a great sum of money to buy the opportunity. Fatima agreed, but she then made the fatal mistake of signing a document recording the sale.
Marjan spent the night with the Caliph.
The following morning she showed him the document.
From that day forward the ruler refused to visit Fatima and her status was substantially weakened. Marjan became the Caliph’s favorite wife and the recipient of lavish rewards. She bore Rahman III two daughters and three sons. One of the boys, the wonder child al-Hakam, appeared destined to inherit the Caliphate.
“Maybe all the stories you tell are exaggerated, Layla.” Solomon contended.
“Who knows what goes on in those villas in al-Zahra and those along the river?” she asked bluntly. “Do you?”
Her pointed barb carried deeper implications, revealing a darkness he rarely considered.
“You dance at their parties,” he groused. “You tell me what goes on.”
Layla raised a slender finger to his lips.
“Hush,” she whispered. “No need to get angry, darling. . .”
It was his turn to laugh. Solomon tucked his chin down towards his chest and quietly chuckled to himself least he offend his hostess. He found arguing with Layla difficult. Totally disarming, Layla always had him at a disadvantage. He often felt envious of her worldliness and the depth of her emotional intelligence. He didn’t know how the former slave girl had secured her manumission or the details of how she’d gained her freedom. He’d always considered the question too delicate to broach. Not wanting to open old wounds the subject might engender, Solomon took a cautious approach to this aspect of their relationship.
He knew Layla meant “night” in Arabic, and she almost always performed at night.
Maybe her parents had felt an intimation. If they were still alive, they might be surprised to learn that she attended classes during the day at The University of Córdoba. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine Layla flirting with her professors and shocking them with her uninhibited approach to life. Her personal history must have made her unique among the eleven thousand students pursuing a higher education at one of the world’s most prestigious institutions.
For independent women like Layla, attending classes at the University would’ve been as natural as breathing oxygen. In Andalusia, almost all of the gynecologists and pediatricians were female graduates of Córdoba’s internationally renowned Medical School, rivaled in Europe only by the School of Medicine at Montpellier, in southern France. Both institutions, at the forefront of science based 10th century medical knowledge, also maintained impressive research faculties.
Solomon knew one reason for employing women doctors to attend to childbirth and early child-hood diseases lay in male jealousy resulting from the custom of maintaining harems. The desire for privacy, and the need to exclude competing men, meant limiting contact to desirables. More important, in Solomon’s estimation, were empathy and physical dexterity. He’d once listened with rapt attention as a Jewish gynecologist described her childhood obsession. As a young girl she loved dissecting dead chickens.
Layla’s aspirations, fostered by the cultural milieu, didn’t surprise him.
“Have you been listening to me, Solomon?” she asked, poking him hard in the ribs.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I got caught up in my own thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts, darling?”
“Nothing important,” he said, side-stepping her inquiry. “I’ll tell you later.”
“I answered your question, Solomon When I dance at parties, the outer world almost ceases to exist. I’m aware that men stare at me, they probably mentally undress me. That’s their problem. When I dance nothing else matters. Some may find me uninhibited and exhibitionistic,” she continued while waving her hand in the air with a distinct flourish. “That doesn’t bother me because I pretend nobody’s watching. When I finish performing, I’m very particular about whom I relate to. I usually leave the parties early, but others don’t. They always ask me to stay. I always refuse. Do you know why?”
Solomon shrugged his shoulders, thereby admitting his ignorance.
“They often have wild parties,” she told him. “Sometimes they get completely out of control and I don’t fancy group participation.”
Layla’s revelation disarmed Solomon and left him speechless. She knows of the darkness, but its allure doesn’t entice her into giving up her hard earned individuality. This thought helped him find his own moral bearings.
“The last person known to have seen Umar alive is a Galician singer,” he informed his confidant.
“Sexual intimacy with Umar often resulted in lavish rewards.”
“I don’t think this Galician woman was the type.”
“You know nothing about her, Solomon.”
“A little,” he hedged. “I spoke with her roommate.”
“Galicia, huh,” quipped Layla. “I’ll bet they’re sending you north to track her down and bring her back.”
“You’re uncanny.”
Solomon sometimes wondered if Layla possessed mediumistic powers. He knew she’d experienced many hardships at an early age, but behind her mask of bravado he sensed a sensitive woman. Take a gentle approach, he told himself. Appreciate this special friend, and don’t ever forget that softness overcomes hardness just as water wears down the most impermeable rocks.
As much as he needed Layla’s friendship, Solomon desired it as well. He valued her role as a guide to various disreputable venues and also appreciated her insights into a wide spectrum of human nature. Better yet, her fun loving nature offered a practical counterpoint to his some-times serious disposition, thereby creating a shared affability.
They genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.
He often wondered if she loved him. Maybe it was just the idea of him. They were so different. Layla was a virgin in the original sense of the word, a woman who didn’t need a man to support her. She possessed an independent streak although it was very clear that she enjoyed the company of men. Some men, at least. Solomon knew that she was very selective about whom she offered her friendship to. Hadn’t she just told him so.
Layla rose from the sofa, hips swaying slowly and sensuously as the anklets produced a rhythmic tempo. Indigo eyes gazed briefly into brown. She circled the room and the cadence increased as she blew out all but one solitary candle, fashioning a more intimate ambience.
Solomon’s favorite courtesan had created a dreamlike world built by the mysterious light of a single candle. Its flickering revealed that a gentle draft of air had entered the room. Wavering shadows conveyed the impulses of the night as Layla quietly returned to the couch and lowered herself down beside the investigator. Only this time she moved in closer.
In the soft candlelight, Solomon began to relax. He took a breath, inhaling Layla’s perfume, and the fragrance of roses transported him as his mind began to wander, a victim of unwelcome pressure seeking escape. Incense wafted in the air. He knew it burned, pungent yet sweet, in Layla’s bedroom. Olfactory overload weakened his defenses, giving rise to sensuous thoughts.
Solomon felt slightly unnerved and a bit overwhelmed.
He’d only once seen Layla’s boudoir. At the end of one long, agreeable evening, she’d invited him to spend the night. He’d had second thoughts so he declined her generous invitation, but only at the last minute. He often wondered if he’d made a mistake.
Layla decided to give the reluctant translator yet another opportunity.
“You’ll be gone a long time,” Layla whispered as she inched ever nearer. “I can ease your burden.”
Her attractive offer made it difficult for him to resist her advances. It would’ve been easy to go bed with Layla, but in the aftermath she might have desired more from their relationshi
p and he might have wanted less. Although Solomon wanted to press his body against hers and feel the wonder of her warm, inviting flesh, he still wasn’t sure they were meant to be lovers. And he didn’t want to risk losing a friend and a confidant.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“But I want to tempt you, darling.”
“You’re making it hard.”
“I want to make it hard,” she laughed.
Was the dual meaning intended, he wondered. Of course it was, and this was his conundrum: Solomon wasn’t naturally inclined towards asceticism, yet he didn’t want to spend that night with Layla. What a dilemma. His inner nature inclined him towards a sensuous and deeply felt enjoyment of the natural world.
This appreciation of the prosaic aspects of life was a trait he shared in common with his hostess, an unspoken bond. They both valued the importance of small details: texture, color, scent, verbal nuance, and a wide range of other sensory particulars. Solomon found it a necessary component in his poetry and translations. These aspects of everyday life, the kind most people habitually dismissed, intrigued his poetic soul.
Layla had helped him cope with the changes his new life demanded following that initial investigation into the whereabouts of a lost, read stolen, manuscript. When he felt doubtful she listened to him and encouraged him to continue writing poetry. She served as a sounding board and soul mate. They’d grown close, yet he still felt uncertain about their long-range prospects.
Layla’s sisterly side, the willing helpmate, had filled a void in his once solitary life. He knew she felt eager to initiate him into mysteries deeper than the sophomoric relationships he’d accepted with woman at the University and during his subsequent professional life, but he wasn’t quite ready to take the plunge.
He began to understand why this was so when his mind turned to thoughts of Sara, the Christian woman he’d encountered earlier in the day. He suspected she might be part of the equation, She might be why he’d declined Layla’s invitation. Layla’s was a dancer, a storyteller, and an actress. How could he know when she wasn’t onstage, not playing a role. Sara, on the other hand, seemed genuine and sincere and guileless.
Then again, maybe that’s what Solomon wanted to believe. Maybe he’d read her incorrectly. Maybe Sara had also woven a spell and all his thoughts about her were illusionary. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready to cling to a new lover, any lover. Frustrated and recognizing his confused state of mind, it seemed the time was ripe to depart.
Solomon rose from the sofa and smiled down at Layla.
“I can’t stay.” he told her as he walked to the door.
The dancer forced a weak smile, but he knew that look of disappointment. It stung his heart. He paused at the threshold to reconsider. She must’ve sensed an opportunity because she stood up and followed him to the doorway. Please don’t make this more difficult, he said to himself.
As if reading his mind and knowing the anxiety he felt in his heart, Layla quietly encircled her arms around his neck, stood up on tip-toes, and planted her soft lips against his cheek. He found that this soulful, platonic, and heartfelt expression brought him emotional satisfaction.
“Take care, Solomon.” Layla advised. “May you be safe from every harm.”
This was the second time he’d heard the sentiment that day. It echoed similar words he’d heard earlier at Sara’s house. He found the coincidence unsettling, so unnerving that Solomon couldn’t find any words to offer Layla as a response.
A half-hearted smile and out the door he went. Through the courtyard, past the potted geraniums, quickly closing the gate behind himself. Street lights illuminated the pavement. He knew sleep would be impossible.
His mind was racing. So many unanswered questions and so much left to do before his journey north. He found himself nervous and excited and fearful all at the same time. During the course of that one day his life and become a mass of confusion and he really wasn't sure about anything.
Solomon decided to walk the wall, a chance to mull things over.
Chapter 14
A full moon illuminated the Roman Wall surrounding Córdoba as Solomon strolled along a path wide enough for two chariots to pass each other. Built as fortifications after the Romans captured the city, in 206 BCE, the ten-foot high wall completely enveloped the urban nucleus, a protective measure inspired by a combination of practicality and paranoia, and one providing the reluctant investigator a rare view of an ancient city first settled by Carthaginians centuries before the birth of Christ.
He felt too tired to circle the entire wall.
He began his trek on the southeast perimeter near the closest of the city's arched gateways. A nearby aqueduct brought water down from the Sierra Morena mountains and distributed the life giving liquid through iron pipes for the city and its twenty three suburbs, making possible the development of a world attuned to sounds of water: gurgling fountains, irrigated lush gardens, and the healing waters filling hundreds of public baths.
Since it took an hour to circle the entire wall Solomon dispensed with the north side where the Old City, once safely ensconced within the barricade, spilled out into surrounding suburbs, residential areas with mosques, markets, and industrial zones devoted to weaving, leatherwork, jewelry making, furniture making, gardens, bath houses, and cemeteries. These spread imperceptibly into a countryside of market gardens, and the munyas or country villas of the wealthy, situated along the southern slopes of the mountains, far below a rich mining region which provided the city with important reserves of coal, lead, and zinc.
Solomon passed a semi-circular tower and continued south towards the river.
Sailing in the night, along the Guadalquivir, boats laced with glowing lanterns resembled fireflies gliding along a liquid silver ribbon. Moonlight illuminated the sides and rooftops of the Great Mosque, an almost mystical presence in this European Islamic city. From its minaret, a soothing voice sang the 'Isha, an evening call to prayer, the final summons of the day. Before retiring for the night, Córdoba's devout Muslims took time to honor God's presence and to pray for guidance, mercy, and forgiveness.
Five calls to prayer were evoked daily from just before sunrise until sunset.
Solomon first heard these enchantments as a young child. With no context in which to associate the words drifting into the porches of his ears, he simply enjoyed sweet, melodious sounds, like echoes in a canyon, an appeal he later learned was intended to remind listeners to acknowledge a mysterious presence, both hidden and manifest. As an adult, he still preferred releasing these words from their religious references so he might enjoy the evocative resonances of pure sound.
He walked on, his attention directed across the Guadalquivir. Along the river's southern bank, where the Roman Bridge spanned the waterway, the area remained cleared of settlement. It lay like a fallow field since the Córdoba revolt of 818, when many of the Christian insurgents who revolted against Emir al-Hakem were crucified during an uprising crushed by three days of massacre and brutal pillage.
Many of the survivors chose a self-imposed exile, most relocating north to the Christian enclave in Zamora, where these followers of Christ became important middlemen in the lucrative olive oil trade connecting the two disparate cultures.
The former Secunda district had been razed and left in ruins as a necropolis. Times had surely changed, mused the investigator as he contemplated a sparsely inhabited section containing an old cemetery, a leper colony, and a few scattered munyas. The most celebrated of these villas was Munyat Nasr, attractively situated along the banks of the river.
Originally built by one of the counsellors of Emir Rahman II, a hundred years earlier, it became the home of the famous musician and courtier Ziryab, "Blackbird" as he was known among his inner circle and acolytes. By the 10th century the villa was back in the hands of the Caliph who often used it to house visiting notables like the distinguished envoys arriving from Constantinople a year earlier, in 949, with a priceless botanical manuscript.
; Solomon's walking meditation allowed him to stop and pause briefly, turning inward to once again contemplate Umar's murder and the nature of evil it revealed. It must be a contagious disease, he reasoned, spreading its disastrous effects subliminally. Those inclined to that particular form of madness, the acting out of their destructive fantasies, drew strength from the manifestations of uncontrolled impulses by others of their ilk. Lost souls creating a world of pain and fear and terror.
Not a pleasant thought he reflected as he resumed his stroll.
Beyond the Great Mosque, on the far side of the Roman Bridge, a dozen mills employed waterwheels, taking advantage of the river and the power of its currents to grind grains into flour to feed a growing, hungry populace of Ibero-Romans who were converting to Islam in droves. Solomon's eyes focused on a mill called Albolafia. Earlier that day, when he entered the walled city, he heard it creaking and straining as its massive wheel pumped water from the river to irrigate the lush gardens of the Alcazar.
This old royal citadel opened to his view.
The Alcazar once functioned as the political center of Andalusia long before the vision of Madinat al-Zahra entered Caliph Rahman III's fertile imagination. The impressive, old fortress contained various palaces built by previous Umayyad rulers along with a variety of buildings serving different administrative functions, the Umayyad family cemetery, and the exclusive Caliphal baths inherited from the Romans.
Its six gates included the Bab al-Sudda, near which the administrative bureaus were located and executions took place. Solomon soon spied the terrace built above this gate, a platform from which the Caliph viewed the esplanade between the Alcazar and the river. Along this route parades were still celebrated and the corpses of enemies exhibited for public viewing. After his unprompted mind conjured up the disturbing image of decapitated heads hanging from the Bab al-Sudda, he flinched and hurried onwards.
The Galician Woman Page 10