Well in Time

by SUZAN STILL

  I was becoming very relaxed and would have drifted soon into slumber, right there on the floor, but that we now must move again into still another room. Here were low tables and the ladies aided us in positioning ourselves on them with our faces down on soft mats. They then began to massage us, two or three women working over each girl. One rubbed my back and neck, while another stroked and kneaded my arms and hands, and still a third rolled and pummeled my legs and feet.

  I must have swooned, for the next thing I remember, I was being carried through the corridors on the bosom of a stout servant, with a gaggle of my new friends chattering along behind. I was placed in a small but beautifully appointed room on a low mattress covered in embroidered fabric. One of the ladies bent kindly over me, stroking my forehead maternally, and that is all I remember.

  §

  Later, two ladies who could speak a limping sort of French told me that I had slept for three full days and that they had feared I would never awaken but might simply slip away from my slumbering body, not to return. These two ladies of the harem who were able to speak with me were called Farah and Fatima, and they had an interesting story to relate regarding their ability to speak our language.

  It seems that during the last Crusade, the wife of one of our French sergeants was captured. Rather than put her instantly to death, however, as is the Musalman custom, she was delivered to that household because of her great beauty.

  She became a favorite of the master of the house, and so lived out her life in great comfort until she died of a fever but months before my unfortunate arrival. While she was incapable of learning the barbaric tongue of the Musalman ladies, she yet persisted in teaching them our language. I am most grateful to this unknown woman whom they called Irene, for it was through her efforts that I was able to converse and to learn so much.

  We spent several weeks languishing in the harem. The sole delight of these ladies seemed to be to fatten us like Toulouse geese. Day and night they plied us with the richest and most delicious foods, until even the thinnest among us began to look sleek.

  During these days, I questioned my French-speaking friends closely, endeavoring to learn all that I could of my situation. It was as well a method I used to quell my grieving after my lost Godfrey, for while I thus conversed, my mind could not dwell on his sufferings.

  I learned that I was not, as I originally had supposed, in the house of the Caliph of Egypt. It was, in fact, cause for great hilarity when I suggested this notion. My new master was but a high-ranking official in the office of the Caliph’s vizier.

  Since the wealth surrounding me was unimaginable, I asked them how much greater must be the palace of the Caliph. These ladies seemed quite well informed despite their sheltered life, and I soon learned that they had spies everywhere, so that they had news of all the latest happenings in the instant. Thus, they were well able to describe for me the opulent surroundings of their king.

  First, they told me, I must imagine materials of only the finest sort, for his palace was built of precious stones and woods. There are pillars inlaid with colored stones and jewels and in the throne room, pillars carved to resemble trees with golden leaves upon them. The fountains have basins of a red stone veined in rich pink, in gardens and courtyards that are too many and vast to comprehend. The tall rooms are walled in panels of marble pierced in wondrous designs, and the floors are covered in rich and brilliantly colored carpets.

  The Caliph himself, they said, sits upon a golden throne, but behind a curtain, to give audience. Never does he speak directly to those who come to do him homage but speaks only through his advisors, who then convey his will to the supplicant.

  He is arrayed the while in the finest linen or cotton fabric, all woven and embroidered with designs of such cunning that they are works of years and years of labor by skilled weavers and craftsmen. And about it all, everywhere one moves, there is the sound of splashing fountains, songs from birds in golden cages and the scent of flowers perfuming the air.

  It is, withal, a most pleasurable description. I shiver with wonder to think on it still, for I am sure that in all of France not one such compound exists to compare with its richness.

  §

  One day when we had been perhaps two months in our new captivity, an astonishing thing occurred which was to change my life forever. We were sitting on our cushions as usual. Some of the women were playing at dice. Some were waxing their legs by rolling balls of beeswax over them very rapidly. The wax caught and pulled out their hair; and thus, their skin was smooth as glass. I was sitting, as was our custom, with my new friends and they were regaling me with tales of their city.

  Of a sudden, the curtains parted and the eunuch stepped in—for such my friends had now told me he was. He clapped his hands sharply and called out an announcement that I could not understand. My friends, however, rose quickly to their feet, pulling me with them, whispering that we were to be visited by the master, whose name I now knew was Ali Abu’l-Hasan.

  I had wondered many times about the nature of this man whom I had never seen. My friends had told me he was young but this I now would plainly see had been sheerest flattery. For soon there entered a man of perhaps fifty, with black hair, gray about the face, and a visage thin and shrewd. His eyes were so deep-set as to be more like caves of shadow, his forehead was high and finely lined, and his nose was thin and cruelly hooked, like the beak of my father’s falcon.

  The eunuch again gave an order, clapping his hands officiously, and the ladies of the harem turned upon us ten girls, pinching our cheeks to make them pink, brushing our hair back with their hands, and otherwise quickly surveying us. Then we were pushed into a ragged line before Ali Abu’l-Hasan.

  There was much twittering from the ladies at our backs, as if a flock of sparrows had landed there, but one swift glance from their master silenced them. Placing his hands behind his back, this man commenced a slow stroll back and forth before us, eyeing each of us as I have seen bidders do with horses, before the auction at the spring fair. He even pulled back the lips of my friend Jeanne to examine her teeth! When his eyes fell upon me, I felt my face go white and I thought I should faint, so cold and pitiless was his stare.

  At last, he turned to the eunuch and whispered something to him. As quickly as he had come he departed, the long white skirts of his garment swishing heavily across the marble steps. Immediately, pandemonium broke out among the ladies. They fairly mobbed the eunuch, clearly questioning him about their master’s wishes. The eunuch demanded silence with frantic waving of his pudgy hands. When the assembly had settled, he made a brief announcement that, of course, we girls could not understand.

  There was among our poor betrayed party one girl named Agnes, who had come from Amiens to join our sad Crusade. She was consigned by nature to be a stout person. Even our extreme hardships on the road to Marseilles and on the ship across the sea had not completely diminished her. Now, with the fine foods that were insisted upon us day and night, she had again blossomed to her full buxomness. She was fair and full, for all that she was but thirteen years old.

  Suddenly, all eyes were upon Agnes. Now it was her turn to be mobbed by the ladies. They shrieked and petted her and made such a fuss that the poor girl was quite bewildered.

  Farah finally told me the cause of all this commotion. Arab men, it seems, dislike thin women but must have their ladies plump and round. Because of her stout figure, Agnes had just been chosen first among us to spend the night with Ali Abu’l-Hasan!

  §

  Never have I been more grateful that merciful God created me small and thin! I felt the greatest pity for poor Agnes, although I did not yet understand the enormity of what had befallen her. Agnes, however, being a simple-minded girl, was delighted with her newfound glory. All day as the ladies worked over her, bathing and combing and massaging her with perfumed oils and manicuring her nails, Agnes was beaming like the sun, full well pleased with herself.

  As evening approached, the ladies were still workin
g over her. They arrayed her in a caftan of fine vermillion fabric and painted her face by lining her eyes with black kohl and rouging her cheeks and lips. They had braided her wet hair in tiny braids in the morning. Now these were released and her hair fell in a sheet of wavy gold, past her waist. To me she looked like a poor, silly doll. It was clear, however, that the ladies of the harem found her lovely.

  As the sun fell below the horizon, a servant brought in a silver tray bearing one single cup of tea. This was administered to Agnes and although she complained mightily of its bitterness, the ladies compelled her to drink it all. It was, Fatima explained to me, a draught to bring lethargy and to release in a woman her sensuality. Having drunk this opiate, Agnes was escorted from our sight by one of the senior women of the harem.

  I am relating all this as dispassionately as I am able, these three years hence. You must know, however, that in that moment I was consumed in horror. Often had my dear mother spoken to me of the sanctity of marriage and the honor of a woman who goes to that bed unsullied. From that hour I vowed to eat meagerly, consuming only enough to sustain my life, so that I should never be appealing to this infidel who held sway over my fate.

  I vowed, as well, that beginning that very night while others slept, I would explore these confines, seeking any way of escape. I knew that it was well nigh an impossible task that I had set myself, for the compound of women was surrounded by high walls that were themselves contained within still higher walls surrounding the buildings and properties of Ali Abu’l-Hasan. Nevertheless, I preferred death itself to the fate I now knew awaited me within the seraglio.

  §

  Well after midnight when the sleeping quarters were at last filled only with the deep breathing and snores of sleeping women, I arose from my mattress and slipped into the corridor. I intended to move toward the back of the building, where the kitchens and laundry were situated.

  I had only gone several feet, however, when a sharp whisper brought me to a halt, with my heart beating in fear as if to break from my chest. From behind a curtained doorway, in the dim light of the few oil lamps situated in wall niches, I saw the wan face of another of my companions, Marguerite. Slipping a hand from behind the curtain, she beckoned me with silent urgency.

  Quickly, I darted into her room and the curtain was drawn behind me. Marguerite clutched my hand in terror and pointed toward the floor. There in the dancing shadows of the oil lamp lay a bundled heap that, on examination, I discovered to be none other than Agnes!

  Marguerite told me that a servant had just brought her thence, completely insensible, and dumped her upon her mattress. I bent quickly toward her in concern. Her fine dress was no longer upon her body, but merely wrapped about her like a blanket. Her round face was smeared almost beyond recognition with the remnants of her once glad makeup. Her hair was twined about her in disarray like a net about a large fish.

  I set to work to straighten her, pulling straight her legs that were crumpled beneath her and smoothing her arms. I set her head aright upon her pillow. Then I began to pull the caftan from around her and that was when the full horror of her situation was revealed to me!

  As I pulled away the dress, I saw red welts and scratches upon her torso. Bending closer in the dim light, I saw to my grief that her poor nipples were mauled, as if gnawed by rats. Worse sights awaited me, for as I removed the gown completely, I saw that this young girl, too young for her first bleeding, was yet flowing with blood from between her legs. I drew back from her in fright. You may be sure, I felt so ill I could scarcely breathe!

  Beyond thought, I rushed from the room to the sleeping chamber of my friend Farah. Without even pausing to knock, I threw aside the curtain and dashing to her bed, began to shake her awake without ceremony.

  Begging my sleepy friend to accompany me, I dragged her, still half-clothed, down the corridors to the chamber where Agnes lay. Farah had only to glance at the pathetic child on the mattress. She made a clucking sound universal to women when they have seen something that is a great shame and injustice. My own mother used to make such a sound. Telling Marguerite and me to wait with Agnes, she disappeared from the room.

  It seemed forever that we waited. Marguerite and I held one another, to give ourselves courage. Agnes lay moaning upon her bed, while the blood flowed endlessly from her, soaking into the mattress in a stain almost as black as ink.

  At last Farah returned, drawing behind her the senior lady of the harem, one of the master’s first wives, who had taken Agnes away earlier in the evening. The two stood but a moment speaking in low and hurried voices, and then the older lady bent toward Agnes and Farah again departed.

  The woman made clucking and sighing noises, as if it were her own daughter who lay before her so cruelly violated. She gently opened the legs of my companion and with the hem of her garment, began to wipe away the blood.

  Soon Farah returned bringing towels and a basin of water. The two women first ripped one towel into strips. One of these they gently began to push within the orifice of my poor friend. Gentle as were their ministrations, Agnes began to moan and cry out, as if they were causing her the greatest pain. Terrible as this scene was, I could not tear my eyes away. My only thought was that, but for the sacrifice of Agnes, I myself or another of our company would now be suffering this terrible anguish.

  The two women worked long over Agnes, wiping her clean until the basin of water was as red as blood itself. When they had sufficiently cleaned her, they discovered that her second orifice in her bottom was bleeding as well. The two women passed a dark look containing purest outrage.

  At this moment, the curtain was drawn aside and a man entered. I had seen him before, for he was the doctor who ministered to Ali Abu’l-Hasan’s harem. He bent quickly to the bed and having taken but one look, turned and shooed all but the oldest woman from the room.

  Marguerite and I stood shaking in the corridor until Farah emerged from the chamber. She embraced us both most gently, then shepherded us back to my room. There she put us both in bed together, as we were so frightened that we could but cling mindlessly to one another.

  Farah sat beside our bed, singing and crooning to us until through sheer exhaustion we slept. When I awakened in the morning, Farah was still there. In answer to the first question that sprang to my lips, she answered sadly that Agnes had departed this earth during the night and that she rested now in the loving care of Allah.

  I was unhinged by this report. I shrieked, asking Farah how such a terrible thing could have happened in a house where we had all otherwise felt so welcome. It was then that Farah, treating me as an equal and one far older than I was in fact, told me a dark story.

  §

  During the last Crusade, she said, Ali Abu’l-Hasan had gone to Jerusalem to fight. While there, he witnessed atrocities visited upon local women by our own invading force. Women were raped, mutilated, and killed. The brutality of this treatment fairly undid him. When he returned from the Holy Land, he was a different man, dark of countenance and dark of thought. His treatment of Agnes obviously reflected his wrath regarding the treatment of Musalman women by the Crusaders.

  This line of reasoning I could understand, if not condone. But then, I protested, how could it be that Irene, she who taught Farah the French language, was a favorite of the master? Why did he not brutalize her, as well?

  Farah gave me a long look, as if assessing my ability, at so young an age, to understand. There are certain women, she explained delicately, whose temperament and physical form outfit them in such a way as to make them irresistible to men. This dispensation makes them invulnerable to the affairs of the world. Politics, philosophies, religions, and enmities mean nothing when faced with such a woman.

  Irene had been one such as this. Despite his hatred of the Crusaders, Ali Abu’l-Hasan could not hate Irene. In fact, her physical attractions and abilities made of her a soothing balm to his fevered psyche. Doubtlessly, because Irene was no longer available to catalyze his emotional intensity, poor Agn
es had borne the brunt of it in its raw and virulent form.

  From that moment forward I became a different person. Where before I had languished, eating the food provided me and whiling away the hours conversing with Farah and Fatima, I now pulled together all my wits. I still conversed with my new friends but I now asked questions of a more pointed nature. I found out how food was delivered into the compound of women and how and when the laundry was collected and delivered. Slowly, I formulated a plan of escape.

  §

  About two weeks after the death of Agnes, I put this plan into action. During my nightly forays, I had discovered that the laundry contained huge baskets. These were filled with freshly washed bedclothes of the harem and then transported outside to be spread in the sunshine to dry.

  Early one morning, I crept into the laundry where the servants were just starting to be busy at their tasks and crawled into a basket already half-filled with washing. I pulled a wet sheet over me and curled up tightly beneath, still as a mouse.

  Soon one of the servants brought another batch of wet laundry and threw it in on top of me. I thought I would suffocate beneath the hot, heavy weight of it. As more and more sheets and towels were added, I was sure that I had chosen my coffin instead of my escape route!

  At last the basket must have been full. I felt the load being lifted. I heard the servant grunt, as if from the unexpected weight of it, and I held my breath, for I knew that this could be the moment of my discovery. The burden was shouldered, however, and I felt myself being carried and jostled.

  I was blind beneath the smothering load and saw nothing of what surrounded me. My sole hope was that as the laundry was unloaded, I might find an undiscovered moment in which to hide myself away outside. Then, it was my plan to await the cart of the vegetable sellers that daily delivered goods to the harem kitchens and to stow away thereon.