He shook himself from his reverie.
“The reports I have of the Prince of Malina are confused, Hasdai,” he said. “He was away when the family was murdered. When he was sought after and told of the tragedy, he fell into a stupor for several days. He was finally roused, but they found him incapable of making any decisions. He could only mourn, poor fellow.
“The family physician believes it is a temporary state of affairs. He says it is the prince’s way of dealing with the loss of his family. I want to know what you think, Hasdai. Can the prince be cured? Or must I replace him with a governor, and if I do, should that governor come from al-Andalus proper, or from among the council of Malina? I want the truth of this matter, and I need it quickly. You are the one man within my government I can trust completely, Hasdai. I am singularly fortunate in having you in my service.”
“What of the assassin, my lord? Do you want him caught, and is it up to me to administer your justice on this man?” Hasdai asked.
“Absolutely!” Abd-al Rahman said firmly. “I cannot allow murderous bandits like this one to run loose within even the farthest reaches of my kingdom. If you allow one to get away, then others spring up like so many weeds in a field of grain. Find this man, and punish him, my friend. He must not be allowed to roam unchecked. Make his punishment a particularly unpleasant one. Use public torture, and draw it out for as long as you can. Discipline the underlings first, and save their leader for last. Be as cruel as you wish. It will offer solace to the people of Malina, and give their prince even greater status that I sent you to administrate the caliph’s own justice. You will sail in one of my own ships, and have a troop of one hundred Saqalibah to help you dispense my law, Hasdai.”
The doctor nodded, and bowed to his master. “It will be as you desire, my lord Caliph,” he promised. “When are we to leave?”
“Can you be ready in three days’ time, Hasdai?”
“We can, my lord,” was the dutiful reply.
“I will send ten Saqalibah to the villa tomorrow. They will remain until you return,” the caliph said. “They will have their orders from my mouth, and no other. Moraima will be perfectly safe.”
By the time Zaynab and Hasdai were ready to leave, the caliph’s guard had been fully integrated into the household. Aida was delighted to have a group of men to cook for, and little Moraima had already wrapped the captain of the Saqalibah about her tiny finger. Abra was utterly devoted to the child. Zaynab was content that her daughter would be secure and well guarded during her absence. She did not bother to explain in great detail to her child that she would be gone for several months. Moraima would not have understood. She simply told her that Mama would be away, but she would come back. To her pique, Moraima was not in the least affected by the news.
“Maa come back?” she demanded.
“Yes,” Zaynab reassured her, tears in her eyes.
“See Baba?” the little one wondered.
“Of course you’ll see your father,” Zaynab replied.
“Good!” said Moraima, and turned her attention to Snow.
“I do not think she cares one bit that I am leaving her,” Zaynab said, weeping in Hasdai’s arms. “She is like my mother! Heartless!”
“She is not quite two,” he explained, “and she does not really understand what you have told her, my love. It is better that way. You don’t want her crying when you leave, do you?”
“No,” Zaynab admitted, “I really do not. I just want her to be safe and happy.”
“And so she shall be in her own home,” he replied.
They sailed from Cordoba on a ship larger than any Zaynab had seen before. She and Hasdai had a huge airy cabin above deck, while belowdecks the one hundred Saqalibah were housed, if not not as luxuriously, at least comfortably. Even Oma had her own tiny cabin next to her mistress.
They made good time down the many miles of the Guadalquivir. It was late spring, and everything was in bloom, the orchards pink, white, and yellow with blossoms; the fields of grain already greening up. The second day they passed between fields of red anemones and white daisies blowing in the afternoon breeze.
They sailed by Seville in early morning. It was, Hasdai told her, a typical Moorish city, with small winding streets and low white buildings, with balconies, courtyards, gardens and fountains everywhere. He promised they could stop and see it on their return from Ifriqiya.
“Why did you want us to go to Alcazaba Malina?” Oma asked Zaynab one day as they sat in a sheltered location upon the deck. “Do you hope to see the lord Karim?”
“No,” Zaynab answered. “Karim is a married man now. There is no point to seeing him. But perhaps we could find your Alaeddin, Oma. Wouldn’t you like to marry, and have children of your own? My life, while comfortable, is hardly exciting. I shall never have any other children. Hasdai does not want them. I must accept this fate, but you do not have to, Oma. You are mine to free, dear friend, and I want you to be happy. What would I have done these last few years without you to give me courage and comfort? Let me give you your freedom, Oma, and make this match for you with Alaeddin ben Omar. I will dower you myself very generously. It is time you lived your own life.”
“I do not know,” Oma replied. “Alaeddin and I have been parted for several years now, lady. He may have wed already, and I will not be a second wife. Besides, I do not know if I still love him, the black-bearded rogue. And who would look after you, I should like to know? You never filled your household with a bevy of maidens like other women. It has just been you and me, Naja and Aida. The old women who keep the house clean are practically invisible. And have we not been happy?”
“I will force you to nothing,” Zaynab said, “but let us find Alaeddin ben Omar and see how you feel about him. It should not be difficult. Alcazaba Malina is not a large place. Then, if you do not marry him, when we return to al-Andalus I will give you your freedom. You may remain with me, and I will pay you for your services as I do Abra. Otherwise, what would happen to you if something happened to me, Oma? I want you to be safe. You are my friend, and your loyalty means a great deal to me.”
As she lay next to Hasdai in the night, the gentle swell of the sea half lulling her, Zaynab wondered if she had meant what she had told Oma. What if she did see Karim again? Would the love she had for him be reborn? Or had it died when he presented her to the caliph? Nothing, of course, had gone as either of them had anticipated. He was married now, and probably the father of a son or two. She was the mother of the caliph’s youngest child, even if she no longer belonged to him. She sighed sadly. She was not happy, and yet she did not know why. She had everything a woman could want: wealth, a child, a man to protect her. What more did she really need? But still she was melancholy.
She had been wrong to come with Hasdai. She had put her mood down to boredom, and not until they had been under way had she realized that it was not boredom, but unhappiness that was driving her. Still there was nothing for her in Alcazaba Malina but memories that were too painful to even contemplate. And passion without love, she had quickly discovered, was a very bitter thing. That, however, she hid from Hasdai. Neither of them loved the other, although they had become good friends; and he did enjoy making love to her. It would have distressed him to learn the extent of her deception.
Finally, one afternoon the twin lighthouses of the harbor of Alcazaba Malina came into view. The sky above the ship was flawless. The gulls swooped and soared on the whorls of the wind, their mewling cries both raucous and mournful at the same time. It was, Hasdai had told her, a city in chaos because of the deaths of the ruler and his family, but looking upon it, Zaynab thought it seemed quite unchanged. When their vessel had been made fast to the dock, the captain came to tell Hasdai ibn Shaprut that a litter was awaiting him on the dock to transport him to the prince’s home.
“There is also a horse, should your excellency prefer to ride,” the ship’s captain said politely.
“Is it safe to transport the women through the streets at th
is time?” the Nasi asked the captain.
“I have spoken to the prince’s servant who has come with the transport,” the captain said. “The city is peaceful in itself, my lord. There have been no riots or civil disturbances. It is just that the people are yet in shock over the deaths of their ruler and his family.”
Hasdai nodded his understanding. “Then I shall ride. My lady and her servant will be transported in the litter.”
Zaynab and Oma, properly muffled in the traditional street-wear of the respectable Moorish woman, were escorted by the Nasi to the litter. After they had settled themselves, the Saqalibah marched in orderly fashion off the ship. They were dressed in full battle gear and looked most fearsome to those onshore. Immediately, word began to spread through the city that the caliph’s representative, the famous Hasdai ibn Shaprut, had arrived. He would help the surviving prince, and all would be well again. He had come with a small army. The bandits who had murdered their late ruler and his family would be hunted down and destroyed.
Leading the way, Hasdai ibn Shaprut, with the aid of the prince’s representative, made his way to the home of Malina’s ruler. The citizens of Alcazaba Malina came out onto the streets and cheered them as they passed.
When they had reached the royal gates and passed through into the courtyard, Zaynab leaned over, saying to Oma, “I thought a prince would live in a palace. This is no more grand than the house the caliph gave me.”
Immediately, however, slaves in long white robes came forth to greet the doctor and his party, bringing them inside.
A tall man with a black beard came forward and bowed to Hasdai ibn Shaprut. “Welcome, my gracious lord,” he said. “I am Alaeddin ben Omar, the prince’s vizier. We are grateful that you have come.”
Oma gasped softly, clutching Zaynab’s hand hard.
“We did not realize you would travel with your wife, my lord,” the vizier continued, “but she can be made comfortable in the harem of the house. It is unoccupied at the moment.”
“The lady is my concubine,” the Nasi answered. “I am not a married man, to my father’s regret.” He smiled slightly.
“Then our fathers would have their grief in common,” came the reply. “Mustafa, take the women to their quarters,” Alaeddin ben Omar told the waiting eunuch. He turned back to Hasdai ibn Shaprut. “Prince Karim is awake now, if you would like to see him, my lord.”
Now it was Zaynab who gasped, but recovering, she cried, “Alaeddin ben Omar, is it Karim ibn Habib of whom you speak?” The question surprised even herself, and she knew the answer before it was spoken. Allah! Why had she come? She did not know if she could bear to see Karim, to be in the same house with him. She strove to maintain the dignity expected of the Nasi’s Love Slave, but her heart was pounding and she was pale.
“Lady, who are you?” the vizier said, all protocol aside.
Oma yanked her own veil from her face and replied sharply, “Who do you think she is, you great oaf! It is my lady Zaynab!”
Alaeddin ben Omar stared at her and the still-muffled figure in turn. “Is it really you, lady?” he finally asked.
Zaynab nodded. Her innards felt like jelly. She mustn’t faint. If she fainted, Hasdai would surely know something was wrong. She mustn’t faint!
“How did the caliph know to send you, my lady?” Alaeddin was saying excitedly. “You may be the one person who can bring him back! Praise Allah, the all-compassionate, for His mercy!”
“I do not understand any of this,” Hasdai ibn Shaprut said sharply. “What do you know of this matter, Zaynab?”
“We should not stand here in the public entry discussing it, my lord,” she answered him. “My lord vizier, where may we speak in private?” Her voice was cool and impersonal. By some miracle, and even she didn’t understand it, she had managed to regain her equilibrium.
Alaeddin led them quickly to a light-filled room overlooking a familiar garden. Zaynab’s head was whirling. Karim, the Prince of Malina? How could this be so? She wanted the answers to her questions every bit as much as Hasdai ibn Shaprut wanted his own.
“How do you know the prince, Zaynab, if indeed you do know him?” Hasdai asked her, confusion in his eyes.
“I did not know that I knew a prince, my lord,” she began. “Karim al Malina, formally known to me as Karim ibn Habib ibn Malik al Malina, is the Passion Master who trained me to be a Love Slave. How is it that he has become the prince of this city?”
“Perhaps,” Alaeddin interjected, “I might help in the explanation, my lord, with your permission, of course.” When Hasdai nodded, the vizier continued, “Karim al Malina was the youngest of three sons of the former prince, Habib ibn Malik. Karim al Malina was a sea captain and trader, as well as a Passion Master. It was into his hands that the merchant, Donal Righ, placed the lady Zaynab for training. She had no idea that he was a son of the ruling prince.”
“How could I?” Zaynab said. “Look about you, my lord Hasdai. Does this look like a palace? It is no bigger than my own house. I never met the late prince, or my lord Karim’s brothers. I knew his mother, the lady Alimah, and his sister Iniga was my friend. At no time, however, was I made aware that they were royalty. I came here once, entering through a garden gate, to partake in Iniga’s wedding feast. Never did she or my lord Karim say his father was the prince of this land, my lord Hasdai. Never!”
Hasdai was silent, lost in her words, pondering them.
“How is it that you are here, then?” the vizier asked, unable to help himself. His curiosity was great. “Are you not the caliph’s property, my lady Zaynab?”
“I am the Love Slave of my lord Hasdai,” she answered him softly. “The caliph gave me to him, my lord Alaeddin.”
He wanted to ask why. He had thought she’d pleased the caliph. His dark eyes strayed to Oma, who sat quietly by her mistress’s side. The girl’s gaze met his and she blushed, but not before giving him a little smile. Oma, he knew, would supply him with the answers he needed. Now, however, it was Karim who was important. “May I have the ladies escorted to the harem, my lord?” he asked the Nasi.
Hasdai ibn Shaprut nodded. “Yes, and I will want to see Prince Karim immediately, my lord vizier.”
“Mustafa, take the women to their apartments,” the vizier ordered the eunuch as Zaynab and Oma scrambled to their feet.
Zaynab wanted to question Alaeddin ben Omar more closely. What exactly was the matter with Karim? Was he injured? Where was his wife? Did he have children? Had all of Habib ibn Malik’s family been destroyed? Even Iniga? Dear heaven, not Iniga! Instead, however, she dutifully followed the familiar form of Mustafa. Perhaps he would provide some answers for her in the privacy of the harem. Mustafa always knew everything.
The doors of the women’s quarters, empty and desolate, had no sooner closed behind them than Oma said, “Mustafa, tell me true! Is my lord Alaeddin wed yet? Does he have a wife?”
“Did you not listen, girl, when he told Hasdai ibn Shaprut that he had no wife? Nor concubine either, I might add,” Mustafa said with a little chuckle. “If you had taken him when he asked, you would have been a mother three times over by now.”
“There is still time for that,” Oma said pertly.
“What happened, Mustafa?” Zaynab asked him softly.
“It was my lord Karim’s wife, the lady Hatiba,” Mustafa began, explaining to her what had transpired on the wedding day and in the two months following. “She was difficult from the beginning, and afterward the lady Hatiba could not seem to get herself with child. Both she and my master were saddened. Prince Habib began to say that his youngest son should put his wife aside, and marry a girl who could give him children, but my lord Karim would not do it. Finally the signs were good and the lady Hatiba was to have a child. A message was sent to her family in the mountains, but there was no word in return.
“Prince Habib asked my master to go to Sebta, which is south of Jabal-Taraq. Ironically, he wanted him to select fifty northerners, like the caliph’s own Saqalibah, in
the slave markets there; they are the best markets in the world, lady. These men would be trained as a personal guard. Prince Habib had always thought the caliph wise to put the safety of his family in the hands of those loyal to him alone, men untainted by the politics of al-Andalus. He felt the caliph set a wise example. And the lady Hatiba was sick and irritable in her early days of pregnancy. Prince Habib thought the separation would do them both good, and so my master went.”
“Did he love her?” Zaynab asked quietly.
Mustafa shook his head in the negative. “They had accepted their fate,” he replied dryly, and then continued. “Ali Hassan, he who had been the lady Hatiba’s lover before her marriage to my master, then slipped into Alcazaba Malina with his men. They did not come boldly, but rather like the jackal, skulking and slinking furtively into the city. They attacked in the deep of night, blocking one end of the street quietly, leaving the other open for their escape. They came on foot. They broke through the gates of the house, catching the few guards the prince kept unawares, slaughtering them in their tracks.
“They had chosen their time well. All the family but for my lord Karim were here. There had been a celebration for my lord Ayyub’s birthday. He, his two wives, and their children were killed, as was my lord Ja’far, his wives and children; the old prince, the lady Muzna, and the lady Iniga’s husband Ahmed. They killed the lady Alimah last, but not before she had thrust me and her grandson, little Malik ibn Ahmed, into a cabinet. I hid the boy beneath my robes, my hand over his mouth, watching them complete their butchery. Then Ali Hassan came to where the lady Iniga and the lady Hatiba stood, clinging to each other in their fear and horror.
“ ‘Bitch!’ he said to the lady Hatiba. ‘You swore that you would bear no man’s child unless it was mine.’
“His eyes blazed with madness, it seemed to me,” Mustafa continued. “He tried to pull her away from the lady Iniga, but they would not be parted. Reaching out, he fingered the lady Iniga’s golden hair, an evil smile upon his lips. I could see it all from my hiding place.
The Love Slave Page 33