The Love Slave

by Bertrice Small

  “Lady, I beg your pardon, but I had to ask,” the physician said.

  “Can she travel?” the caliph interjected, surprising them all.

  “Where would you take her, my lord?” Hasdai asked.

  “Al-Rusafa. She will be safe there while she recuperates,” the caliph replied. “We will travel in stages, first to the Alcazar in Cordoba, and then the next day to al-Rusafa.”

  “Yes,” the physician said thoughtfully, “yes, that would be a good idea, my lord. At al-Rusafa you can control her situation much better. Is the palace still habitable? You have not been there since the court removed to Madinat al-Zahra.”

  “I shall keep her in a little summerhouse in the gardens that is quite habitable. It will not be the first time I have taken a pretty girl there,” Abd-al Rahman said with twinkling eyes. “It is peaceful there,” he amended, a bit more soberly.

  “All her clothing will have to be burned,” the physician decreed, “and her jewelry boiled in vinegar. We cannot be certain that the poison has not been infused into other of her possessions.”

  The caliph saw the storm building in Zaynab’s eyes, and quickly said, “I will have a brand-new wardrobe made for you, my love. Besides, I like you best as nature has fashioned you. There is none fairer than you, my darling Zaynab. I thank Allah that you were not taken from me.”

  “Oh, my lord, you are so good to me,” she answered him sweetly, but she was both angry and frightened at the same time. Iniga had warned her of such things as poison, but she hadn’t taken her friend seriously.

  Hasdai ibn Shaprut thought to himself that the caliph was falling in love with her, or at least believed he was. In the few years he had known Abd-al Rahman, he had never seen him act this way with a woman. What had begun as blind lust was softening as his master learned more of the Love Slave than just her nubile body. As for Zaynab herself, the physician did not believe she was in love with the caliph. She respected him, was perhaps a trifle afraid of him, and might harbor a small affection for him, but love? No. Whether she was even capable of love he could not ascertain, not knowing her well enough. Did a female trained to lead such an unnatural existence really know how to love? It was a challenging conundrum.

  She was frankly the most beautiful female the physician had ever seen. He understood the caliph’s fascination with her youth and beauty. Zaynab was the love of Abd-al Rahman’s old age as Abishag had been the last love of King David. He would probably get a final child on her. Even though he was over fifty, the caliph was yet potent, as the existence of his two youngest sons proved.

  * * *

  “How is she?” the lady Zahra asked Hasdai ibn Shaprut. She had requested that he come to her apartments before he departed the harem. “What was the matter with her? Is she with child?”

  “Someone tried to poison her,” the physician said quietly. “The caliph is very angry. Fortunately, I was able to save her.” And why is the caliph’s first wife concerned? he wondered. Zahra did not usually bother with those she felt beneath her.

  “Then she will live,” Zahra said calmly. “He is too old for such a plaything, you must agree, but will he listen to me? No! It would have been better if he had given her to Hakam, do you not think, my lord?”

  “I think my master, the caliph, is happy with the lady Zaynab. I think him fit enough to indulge his passions with a beautiful girl,” Hasdai ibn Shaprut answered her. He had never before seen the lady Zahra exhibit such rancor. Why was she jealous? Her own position was secure, as was that of her eldest son.

  “Men!” Zahra said disgustedly to the caliph’s second wife, Tarub, after the physician had left. “They are all alike! Our lord endangers his health with that girl. He does not think of his value to al-Andalus.”

  “If he is happy,” Tarub said wisely, “is he not of greater value to al-Andalus? What do you have against Zaynab that your jealousy burns so hot? None of the others have ever caused you to turn a hair, Zahra. From the beginning this girl has been mannerly, and has politely deferred to you. She causes no dissensions among the other harem women. Indeed, she keeps more to herself than any I have ever known. I have heard no complaint against her, nor would she appear to have any fault that should distress you. Why do you dislike her so?” asked Tarub, a Galacian whose once red hair was now faded.

  “I do not dislike her,” Zahra protested. “I am simply concerned over our dear lord’s health.” The first wife was a Catalan, from a country known for the intellects of its people. It had been that which had first attracted Abd-al Rahman to Zahra.

  “It is not his health that is in question,” Tarub said with some small humor. “It is poor Zaynab who was poisoned.”

  “He loves her,” Zahra almost whispered.

  “Ahh, so that is it,” her companion replied. “Oh, Zahra, what matter if he loves her? He loves me, and you are not the least jealous. He loves all the charming and not so charming concubines who have given him children, particularly Bacea and Qumar. You are hot jealous of them in the least. If he loves Zaynab, he loves you better. Indeed he loves you best of all. He always has. Did he not name a city for you? Madinat al-Zahra. How marvelous that a man of Abd-al Rahman’s age can still find new love!” She laughed.

  “Praise Allah for it! We came to Abd-al Rahman at the same time, you and I. How many years ago was it? We were young girls. Your son was born but two months ahead of mine. I do not curse Allah that it happened that way. I rejoice in my children and my grandchildren. I accept that time has passed. You seem unable to do that, Zahra. It is growing worse for you with each year. You are no longer a girl. You never will be again. I think your jealousy lies not so much in that Abd-al loves Zaynab, but that she is young and extravagantly beautiful. You cannot change that any more than you can change the fact that you are past forty.”

  “You are cruel!” Zahra cried, tears springing to her eyes.

  “I am honest with you as I have always been, dearest friend,” Tarub replied. “I tell you that our husband will always love you best, Zahra, no matter who else he may love as well. Accept that truth and let your anger and your jealousy die, lest in the end they kill you, or the abiding love that Abd-al Rahman has for you. Will you throw away all those happy years?”

  Zahra did not reply, but rather she turned her head away from her friend. Was Tarub right? she wondered. Or was her fellow wife simply saying those things to soothe her feelings? Abd-al Rahman did not seem to rely upon her as he once did. She remembered when his oldest concubine had died. The lady Aisha had been the first woman he had ever known. She had been older than he was.

  Aisha was a gift from the old emir Abdallah, the caliph’s grandfather, who had raised him. Abd-al Rahman had genuinely liked her. She had initiated him into the erotic arts, but she had also become his trusted friend as well. Long after they ceased their amatory adventures, he regularly visited her apartments, and he held her in the highest esteem. When Aisha had died, she directed that her vast fortune be used to ransom men and women of Islam held captive in Christian lands. So few were found that Abd-al Rahman was at a loss as to what to do with Aisha’s monies. Whatever he did, he wanted it to be something Aisha would have approved. It was Zahra who had suggested that he build a new city.

  It was more a walled town than a city. The site chosen was on a slope of the Sierra Morena overlooking the Guadalquivir River, to the northwest of Cordoba. It had been begun almost ten years ago, and was still not finished. There were three levels, the first of which was completed and held the royal palace. Ten thousand laborers were used in the city’s construction as well as fifteen hundred beasts of burden—mules, donkeys, and camels. Six thousand stones were hewn to fit the buildings and walls each day. The roof tiles were covered in gold and silver leaf. The city was a full mile wide east to west, and half a mile north to south.

  Each of the three levels planned for the city was set high enough to allow the level below it a clear view. Beneath the royal residence was a level consisting entirely of gardens, orchards, a zo
o for the caliph’s exotic creatures, and an aviary filled with wonderful birds. The bottom level of the town held the government offices, residences of those important people attached to the court, public baths, workshops, armories, the mint, barracks for the vast royal guard, and a mosque.

  Although Zahra had joined the caliph on his expeditions to the construction site in the early years of its building, he gave her a marvelous surprise the day he moved the inhabitants of the royal palace there from Cordoba. As they approached the entry gate, he had advised her to look up. When she did, she saw a marble bust of her own head over the entrance to the city. Wordlessly she looked at him, and he told her that the city’s new name would be Madinat al-Zahra, the city of Zahra.

  “But should it not be Madinat al-Aisha in honor of your old friend, whose vast funds provided the wherewithal for the city?” she asked him, heart beating excitedly. She knew he would refuse, for he did love her above all women. In deference to Aisha, however, she felt she should at least ask him. Allah! Had any woman ever been so honored?

  Now, however, Abd-al Rahman had a new interest in life. The Love Slave, Zaynab, consumed him entirely, it seemed. Zahra sighed She was working herself into a jealous fit again. Was Tarub right? Tarub was not a woman to lie, even to herself. She was kind and practical and honest to a fault.

  Still, each time Zahra looked at Zaynab, she felt uncontrollable anger. She could not seem to help it. What right had this girl to take the caliph from her? And what if Zaynab had a child? Not that she really expected any child of any of her husband’s women to supplant her own son, Hakam. Abd-al Rahman had always made it quite clear that Hakam was to follow him as caliph. But what if he changed his mind? What if he came to love Zaynab more? She laughed shakily. Why was she so upset? There was no danger to her high position or to her son. Yet she did not know that for certain. An older man in love with a young girl might act foolishly.

  Her choler was not improved by the knowledge that Zaynab and her servants were to be moved to al-Rusafa. “From whom is she in such danger here that he must move her?” she said bitterly to Tarub. “It is ridiculous! Simply ridiculous!” Zahra’s color was high.

  Tarub attempted to soothe her friend, her warm brown eyes brimming with sympathy. “Do not fret yourself, Zahra. The caliph plays at being the concerned lover with Zaynab. He merely wishes to be alone with her for a time. It is natural. Do you not remember how we used to sneak off to the summer palace with him? When she is recovered, he will bring her back. With al-Rusafa to the northeast of Cordoba, and Madinat al-Zahra to the northwest, he will spend more time on his horse than in Zaynab’s arms.” Tarub chuckled. “She is young, and probably frightened by what happened. Whatever the caliph may have told her, Zaynab is not stupid. She knows the chances of finding who poisoned her are small at best. By taking her to al-Rusafa he merely reassures her, and eases her fears.”

  But Zaynab was not frightened. She was angry that someone would have tried to kill her. To her knowledge, she had no enemies. It was therefore some silly girl who actually believed that by killing the caliph’s Love Slave she could win his attention herself. It was unlikely she would ever know who had done it, but she certainly intended to be on her guard from now on. She watched, furious, as her clothing was carefully removed for burning as per Hasdai ibn Shaprut’s instructions.

  “It is ludicrous that all of my clothing must be destroyed,” she fumed. “It could not all be poisoned! And my jewelry will be ruined, being boiled in a vinegar solution! Damn that meddling physician!”

  “He saved your life, lady,” Oma said sharply. “Surely that is worth a few garments and trinkets. Besides, the caliph has promised to outfit you like a young queen. The twenty bolts of silk that Donal Righ gave him have all been allocated for your use.”

  “How do you know that?” Zaynab demanded of her.

  “Naja told me,” Oma said, “and you know he knows everything that goes on in this palace. He even knows that the lady Zahra is jealous of you. He’s friends with one of the girls in the favorite wife’s apartments.”

  “Do you think she is the one who poisoned me?” Zaynab wondered.

  “Anything is possible,” Oma said, shaking her head, “but I would not think so. Even though the chances of being caught are slim, if the culprit is caught, it would mean her life. I do not think the lady Zahra would endanger her position simply because she is jealous and feeling her years. Nay, it was probably someone insignificant.”

  They left for al-Rusafa, traveling with the caliph down the carpeted highway between Madinat al-Zahra and Cordoba. Zaynab was astounded by the size of the capital city, and begged to be allowed to see it.

  “You may go with Naja and a suitable guard,” Abd-al Rahman told her. “If I appear on the streets, we will be mobbed. By keeping a respectable distance from the people, I ensure their respect.”

  “Tell me the city’s history,” she begged him, and he laughed.

  “Any other woman I know would want directions to the nearest marketplace so she might buy herself something. You, however, want to know Cordoba’s history. Very well, my funny love, I shall tell you. It was founded by a race of people called Carthaginians, and captured by the Rumi in the days of their great empire. The next to hold sway here were the Visigoths, and we captured it from them over two hundred years ago. Over a million people live here. We have six hundred mosques, eighty schools of higher learning, and a public library with over six hundred thousand volumes. Hasdai would like a medical school built here, and eventually he will have one, for I agree with him. Now, all of our physicians have to travel to Baghdad to be trained.”

  “There is no such number as six hundred thousand, let alone a million,” she said disbelievingly, and he laughed again.

  Zaynab went out into the city with Oma and Naja, ensconced within a litter, surrounded by a suitable guard, and muffled to her eyes. She didn’t know where to look next. Everything was so exciting, so interesting, so busy! When they had arrived in Cordoba aboard Karim’s ship, she had been transferred to a barge that transported her up the river to Madinat al-Zahra. She had had no chance to really see the larger city.

  Everywhere they went, commerce flourished. The city was famous for its leatherwork, its silversmiths, and the women who did silk embroidery. There were people from all the known world walking through Cordoba’s streets. The different faces and clothing fascinated Zaynab. The caliph assigned fully one-third of the state budget, more than six million dinars yearly, to building and maintaining the canals of the city, its irrigation systems, and its public structures, Naja informed them proudly. “Cordoba,” he assured them, “is the finest city in all of the world, and it is the most prosperous.”

  “What do you think of the city?” the caliph asked Zaynab when they returned to the Alcazar palace that afternoon.

  “It’s wonderful,” she told him, “but much too big a place for me to Uve in, my lord. It makes Madinat al-Zahra seem small by comparison. I have never seen so many different people!”

  They traveled on to al-Rusafa the next day. Once the summer palace for the rulers of al-Andalus, it had fallen out of favor after the construction of Madinat al-Zahra. It was a very romantic place, set among wonderful gardens by the riverside. It had been built by the first Abd-al Rahman, re-created from the original al-Rusafa, which had been erected by Caliph Hisham along the banks of the Euphrates River outside of Baghdad. These gardens were irrigated by the river just as the original gardens had been. Zaynab was enchanted by it all.

  She settled into a small marble house in the middle of the gardens, by a little lake that had been artificially created by the waters of the river. In the center of the lake was a wonderful summerhouse that the caliph promised Zaynab they would visit She loved her new house. It had a spacious bright day room where they might while away the hours playing chess or singing together as she played her rebec. There was a bedchamber for her, with a bath that opened off it, two smaller chambers for Oma and Naja, and a room where Naja would p
repare their meals. Zaynab clapped her hands gleefully when she saw it.

  “I do not have to share any of it with anyone!” she chortled.

  “Do you dislike the harem so?” he asked her, his hand smoothing her fair hair. “Do you not enjoy the company of other women?”

  “My lord, if you knew how I was raised, you would understand,” Zaynab explained. “Other than two female servants, my mother, my sister, and I were the only women at Ben MacDui. My mother favored my sister, and I spent more time alone than with them. Oma is the first real friend I’ve ever had of my own sex. I am not certain that I like other women. They gossip too much and can be cruel. I am more interested in the world about me than in spending hours beautifying myself. The women in the harem are mostly an idle lot.

  “My world before al-Andalus was so narrow, my lord. Here there is so much to see and to learn! I was trained to be a Love Slave, to know nothing but the giving and receiving of pleasure, but it is an unnatural life for me now that my eyes have been opened to the wonders of your world! I hope I do not disappoint you, my dear lord, for I should not like to do so.” She nestled into his arms. “You are so good to me.”

  She is a miracle, he thought to himself, lying by her side in their bed. She had begun by being the most erotic woman he had ever known. There was still nothing he desired of her physically that she would not give him; but there was so much more to this girl-woman who was his possession. Not a day went by that he did not find himself amazed and delighted by her. That she should have come to him now in the late afternoon of his life was the pity. Had they only come together in his youth, they would have bred a race of giants!

  “You will never disappoint me, Zaynab,” he told her sincerely. Then he said, “I have heard of a game that Love Slaves are taught. It is called the Rose in Bondage. Did Karim al Malina school you in this entertainment, my beauty?” His deep blue eyes looked directly at her.