“Not yet,” she cautioned him, and swung herself over his body. “Concentrate upon my breasts, and not the randy fellow between your legs, Hasdai. That’s it,” she encouraged him as he reached out to fondle the ivory orbs once more. Then positioning herself carefully, she lowered her supple body, absorbing his love pillar slowly, slowly, until he was fully encased within her. The look on his face was one of disbelief and wonder. He was close to weeping.
He could feel the walls of her sheath closing about him, squeezing him gently but firmly. He crushed her breasts, struggling not to lose the small control that he had. She rose up off him, but before he might protest, she was pushing down again, and again, and again. Her thighs held him in a sensuous grip as she rode him. He wanted it to go on forever, but he could feel himself swelling, throbbing, bursting as his love juices exploded from their long captivity to flood her secret garden with his life’s essence. Above him her body arched, head thrown back, and then she collapsed upon him. His arms closed about her tightly.
They lay silent for some time, and he wondered if perhaps she had fallen asleep, but then she stirred. Arising from the bed, she busied herself heating water over a charcoal brazier, pouring it into a silver ewer, mixing a little bit of her fragrance in the water. She brought the basin to the bed, setting it on the little table, which was piled high with neat squares of soft cotton. Taking one, she dipped it in the water and wrung it out. Then she tenderly bathed his now subdued member. He felt more relaxed than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was a totally new feeling, quite unfamiliar to him.
When Zaynab was content that he was properly cared for, she cleansed herself. Then she disposed of the water and the used love cloths, wiping the basin out carefully, setting an earthenware pitcher upon the charcoal brazier and filling it with fresh water to heat. Returning to the bed, she reached into her little gold basket and drew forth the cup and the bottle of restorative. She poured him a draught and encouraged him to drink it down.
“You will not normally need this,” she explained, “but as it is your first time, I thought perhaps it would revive you.”
“You were wonderful,” he said admiringly, having downed the contents of the cup in a large swallow. “In my wildest dreams I never imagined that a woman could be … could feel … You were wonderful, Zaynab!”
“Every man says that to his first woman, I am told, and every woman says it of her first man.” She laughed. “I have pleased you, then?”
“Is there any doubt in your mind? I shall be forever grateful to you, my beautiful friend,” he told her sincerely.
“Perhaps now you will please your family and take a wife,” she teased him.
“I have no time,” he protested. “It will be all I can do to serve my lord, the caliph, and my exquisite Love Slave, Zaynab.” He reached up and pulled her down onto the bed with him. “Teach me more, Zaynab. I know that was but the beginning of passion.”
“I but live to serve you, lord,” she said with mock humility.
“Is it permitted to beat one’s Love Slave?” he asked seriously, but his warm eyes were twinkling.
“If the pain can bring pleasure,” she replied, and leaning forward, bit his earlobe. She followed the nip with a lick and a kiss, blowing softly into the shell of his ear.
He responded by rolling her beneath him and biting softly upon her nipple. Then he licked and kissed the tender flesh, asking, “Like that, Zaynab?”
“Indeed, my lord learns swiftly,” she praised him. Then she leaned over him again, bending forward to take the defeated bud of his manhood, and its sac, completely into her mouth. Slowly, gently, she worked him with her tongue and lips, carefully rousing him until he was throbbing with a desire he had not believed could be brought forth again so quickly. Finally, he gripped her hair and drew her up again.
“Enough,” he said. “Now answer me this, Zaynab. Can I do the same to you? Can a man taste of a woman too?”
“Yes,” she told him, and lying upon her back, she opened her legs for him. “Use your thumbs to part my nether lips, my lord, and then you will see the bud of my womanhood. The tip of your tongue, gently used, will excite it, excite me. You may even put your tongue into my sheath, using it as you would your manhood.”
Carefully, he followed her instructions. With almost clinical fascination he viewed her most intimate charms. Tentatively his tongue reached out to touch the dainty organ that seemed to quiver before his gaze. Within moments it was obvious that he had a talent for what he was doing, for she was whimpering and straining with pleasure. His tongue flicked back and forth. He was almost lost in his task, and then she cried out softly and her body shuddered. He had brought her to the apex of early pleasure, and he was iron hard with his own lust.
He pulled himself level with her again, and she eagerly took him into her arms. “Put yourself inside me,” she whispered to him, “and then use me as I did you earlier. Move yourself back and forth within me, my sweet lord. Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!” she cried as he complied. She was amazed. This inexperienced man was bringing her to a perfect crescendo of passion. It was impossible, but he was.
And it was wrong, she thought sadly. Wrong that she should experience pleasure with this man who neither loved her, nor whom she loved.
There was a bitterness in their coupling, a hollow feeling. She had felt it with the caliph too. It would always be that way for her without Karim.
Chapter 15
Hasdai ibn Shaprut seemed to be making up for all the years he had remained a voluntary celibate. He had, in a relatively short time, become a tireless and skilled lover under Zaynab’s tutelage. He wanted to know everything that she knew. He wanted to try it all, although he drew the line at sodomy. It was a form of passion that did not appeal to him, although he knew that many men enjoyed its practice, not just with their women, but with an occasional boy or two for diversion.
He enjoyed having her kneel before him, her golden head against his belly, using him with her mouth. Afterward she would kneel on all fours, and he would enter her female passage from behind her. He enjoyed it when she sat facing him, his member deep inside her, while he kissed her with lips and tongue. Once she sat with her back to him, and he sheathed himself within her, his big hands playing with her breasts. There were so many exciting variations, and if it had not been for Zaynab, he might have gone his entire life without knowing them. His former virginity had been his darkest secret, known to no one.
“You will make some girl a fine husband,” she told him one day as they sat playing chess together. She thought a moment, and then carefully moved a piece upon the board.
“I do not want a wife,” he said, studying his own pieces as thoughtfully.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because,” he said, moving his warrior piece, “I do not have the time for a wife, and the family that would follow our joining. You, my dear, are a delightful distraction for me. You have opened my eyes to physical pleasures, and you serve me well, Zaynab. But if I come home late, or perhaps do not come home at all, you will not complain about it when you next see me. You will not whine because my duty to the caliph, to al-Andalus, to the Jewish community, override all else, and make me forget the New Year, or Hanukkah, or Passover. You will not burden me with sons whom I must personally take the time to raise properly, or daughters whom I must make good marriages for else I be shamed before my own people. These are the reasons I will not wed. Jewry is full of men who take wives and have children. I am unique in that I can be of great value not just to the Jews, but to my country as well. I have two younger brothers who will carry on the family name for our father. Alas, my parents do not understand me, but they have at least managed, in their pride over my accomplishments, to accept my decision in this matter.”
“I bore the caliph a child,” Zaynab said quietly. “I could as easily bear you one, Hasdai.”
“I know,” he answered her, “that you have the means to prevent such a child, and I hope that you will use it, my
dear. But if you had my child, it would not, under Jewish law, belong to me. In my world a child belongs to its mother. Such a child could not bear my name nor inherit my estate. When the caliph gave you to me, he naturally assumed that we would become lovers, but I do not think he ever considered that you would have another child. As long as your only child is his, he will not forget you, or Moraima. Become the mother of several other children by another man, and you will quickly lose his interest. He might even forget the daughter you share. As long as Moraima is your only child, you yet have a hold on Abd-al Rahman.”
“Checkmate!” she said, moving her king in a manner he had not anticipated, and she smiled mischievously at him. “You need not fear that I will have a child, Hasdai. I do not want another one. I desired Moraima because I cared for Abd-al Rahman, and I knew his child would help me retain his affections, or so I had been told. I could not have anticipated the lady Zahra’s delusions.”
“Do you love me?” he wondered aloud, curious as to her feelings for him. She was usually so careful about revealing anything of herself that he could not help but wonder.
“Do you love me?” she countered.
He laughed. “You have checked me again, Zaynab,” he said.
“You are my friend, Hasdai, and I am glad of it,” she told him. “You are my lover, and I am glad of that also, but at this moment in time, no, I do not love you.”
“I’ve never been in love,” he said. “What is it like?”
“You will know if it ever happens to you,” Zaynab told him. “I cannot really explain it. I doubt that anyone can.”
Their lives settled into a pattern that seemed to please them both. She was there for him, and he seemed to spend all his leisure hours with her now. So much so that his father complained that their family never saw him anymore. He did not tell Isaac ibn Shaprut that the caliph had given him a Love Slave. His father would not have understood it. He would have said that if Hasdai would only take a wife, he would have no need for this concubine. Instead Hasdai apologized, and visited his parents with lavish gifts for them both. Then he returned to Zaynab.
The months went by. Hasdai ibn Shaprut was deeply involved in the translation of De Materia Medica. Sometimes he would come home so exhausted that he fell into bed and slept for ten hours. I may not be his wife, Zaynab thought wryly one evening as she picked up the clothes he had scattered about the room, but would my life be any different if I were?
Her life. She was pampered and had no worries, but had it not been for her daughter, she would have been totally bored. Watching Moraima grow was fascinating. She had her mother’s coloring, but she looked like her father right down to her imperious little hawk nose. Even if no one had told her, and even if Moraima did not understand, she was a little princess in her behavior.
Although Zaynab had not been fond of the city since her removal from the caliph’s court, she would occasionally venture out into Cordoba on the days that Moraima visited her father at the old imperial palace next to the Grand Mosque. Abra would take her to Abd-al Rahman, while Oma and Zaynab, accompanied by Naja, would visit the market, or a silk embroiderer’s workshop, or a silversmith’s. Sometimes they simply walked through the narrow, winding streets exploring the city. They never knew what would be around the next corner.
One day they came upon a tiny square, surrounded by the white, faceless walls of the houses. The square had a stone fountain in its center. About the fountain’s rims were set pots of bright flowers. There were several open gardens between the houses and the street. They were filled with Damascus roses, orange trees, and shiny green myrtle. Even on such a hot day, this little hidden square seemed cool, and very peaceful.
One day they even visited the Grand Mosque itself, leaving their slippers outside, walking about beneath the soaring arches with their dowels of red and yellow. The fragrance of aloe and amber permeated the air, and added mystery to the quiet of the holy place. Zaynab realized she had never been in a real church before.
Moraima was already toddling. Her first birthday had come and gone. She knew exactly who was who in her small world. The caliph, who according to Abra adored her, was Baba. Zaynab was Maa. Oma became 0, and her nursemaid was Ahh. Abd-al Rahman had given his daughter a fluffy white kitten, and the two were rarely apart. Zaynab named the kitten Snow.
On a bright spring day Hasdai arrived at the villa in mid-afternoon, which was odd, for the translation kept him so busy he did not usually come until late in the evening. “I must make a journey for the caliph, my dear,” he told her. “I may be gone several months.”
“Where do you go, my lord?” she asked him, signaling to her servants for refreshments.
“To Alcazaba Malina,” he answered. “There has been a tragedy of horrendous proportions in that little kingdom. The prince and his whole family, but for one member, were slaughtered in some sort of tribal feud. The new Prince of Malina is suffering deeply from the loss of his kin. I am being sent to see if he can be cured of his melancholy so he may continue to rule for the Umayyads, as his family has these last centuries, or if he must be replaced by a governor of the caliph’s choice. It is a terrible situation. The city is in chaos over the massacre. Its council is holding the peace by sheer force of will. I will be leaving in a very few days’ time.” He gratefully accepted the chilled wine offered him. The day was warm, and he had ridden all the way from Madinat al-Zahra.
“Let me come with you,” Zaynab suggested. “I am bored here, and without you, Hasdai, I shall be even more bored.”
“I do not know,” he said, contemplating her proposal. The thought of being away from her delightful charms for so many weeks was not one he relished. She had become as addictive to him as sweets to a sweet tooth. “I am not certain that the caliph would approve, Zaynab.”
“I do not belong to the caliph,” she said mildly. “I belong to you, my lord. Why should you not take me? This is not a secret mission. I was trained in Malina. Its city is a lovely one, and Oma’s sweetheart is there. He wanted to marry her, but she insisted on coming with me to al-Andalus despite the fact that I know she loves him. Perhaps he will still want her. Seeing how safe and happy and well-cared-for I am, she may change her mind if she sees Alaeddin again. She has been so loyal to me, Hasdai. I want her to have a little happiness too.”
“What of Moraima?” he asked her. “I think she is too young for such a journey. I would not expose the caliph’s daughter to danger.”
“You are correct, my lord. Moraima will remain here with Abra, continuing to see her father on a regular basis. I do not want to disrupt her life. She will be quite safe. We will tell the caliph I am going with you, and ask him to send a contingent of his guards to protect his daughter while we are away,” Zaynab said sensibly. Then she leaned over and slipped her arms around his neck. “You do not really want to leave me behind, do you, my lord?”
He slipped one arm about her supple waist, his other hand sliding into her caftan to cup a breast. Her mouth was tempting, and he succumbed, kissing her slowly, their tongues intertwining sensuously. “No,” he murmured against her mouth. “I do not want to leave you, my beautiful Zaynab.” His fingers pinched her nipple, and she hummed softly.
If Hasdai ibn Shaprut had believed in witchcraft, he would have said Zaynab was a sorceress. But he did not believe in it, even if the Love Slave had the ability to intoxicate his senses to the point where nothing else mattered but her kiss, her caress. Nonetheless, he was a loyal servant of the caliph before he was Zaynab’s lover. The next day he spoke with Abd-al Rahman in a private chamber at Madinat al-Zahra.
“Would you object if I took Zaynab with me to Malina?” he asked his lord. “She would like to accompany me, my lord.”
“Why?” the caliph wondered aloud, more curious than forbidding.
“She says she is bored, my lord,” Hasdai answered truthfully.
Abd-al Rahman chuckled. “The curse of an intelligent woman, my friend. Passion is not enough for her. My Aisha used to tell me
if I wanted peace in my house, I would choose women who were interested only in themselves. The others, she warned, are never content with their lot. They know there is more to life, and this, I fear, is Zaynab’s burden. Of course you may take her, Hasdai. She is yours to do with as you wish. My only concern is for my daughter.”
“Zaynab feels she is too young to travel. She will leave the princess behind with her nurse, Abra. She does, however, request that you post a guard about the child’s dwelling while we are not there to watch over her ourselves,” Hasdai said.
“Agreed!” the caliph replied. “She is a good mother, my friend. Why do you not have a child with her? Perhaps with more offspring to worry over, she would become less restless.”
“My lord, the laws of my faith would not allow me to accept any children Zaynab bore me. They would have no legal standing. You know the importance of family in this world. We have agreed, she and I, that there will be no children,” Hasdai ibn Shaprut told him.
Abd-al Rahman nodded. He had not thought about such a thing when he had given Zaynab to Hasdai. His first concern had been for her safety and the safety of their child. He had wanted them near that he might see his youngest child as she grew. Was Zaynab still as beautiful as she had been? He wanted to ask Hasdai, but he did not. It would have been impolite. He knew the answer at any rate. He wondered if she loved Hasdai, or if her affection for him had waned when he had given her away. Those were questions he could also not ask. He would never know the answers. They would haunt him the rest of his days. He silently cursed Zahra for her vicious jealousy, which had brought him to this unhappy state.
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