“Mahdi—is it you?”
The frightened maidservant slipped into bed beside her. Cait put her arm around the young woman’s shivering shoulders and gathered her in. As she would have comforted Alethea, she consoled Mahdi, stroking her hair and telling her there was nothing to fear. Pila’i slept on, serenely unaware of the wind and lashing rain. So, Cait and Mahdi held vigil together, huddled in bed until it was light enough to get up.
The storm gave no sign of abating with the dawn. But as soon as it was light enough to find her way around, Cait rose and allowed her maids to dress her. Then, escorted from the women’s quarters by Jubayar, she hurried to find Prince Hasan so the search for Alethea could begin anew.
THIRTY
SEARCHING FOR THE prince, she found Lord Rognvald instead. He was standing in the vestibule entrance with two fidgety porters, the door wide open, staring out into a bleak, wind-torn void of fog and sleet and swirling snow. He turned as she came to stand beside him, and greeted her with stiff, almost frozen formality, then observed, “You are early risen, my lady—for one so late to bed.”
Cait returned his chilly greeting, and said, “I could not sleep for the storm.” She looked out through the open door at the roiling gray mass and felt the cold bite of the wind on her skin. A memory stirred—of a dream, or the lingering impression of a dream: something about being lost in a raging gale. It passed through her with a shiver and then was gone. “It must break soon, I should think,” she said hopefully.
“Pray that it does,” Rognvald told her, “for until it spends itself somewhat, we cannot resume the search.”
Growing impatient at last, the porters intervened to close the doors and shut out the icy gale. Cait and Rognvald made their way to the reception hall where a fire had been lit and was now blazing with bright fury on the hearth. Two servants were adding firewood to the already towering stack under Prince Hasan’s commanding gaze. At his visitors’ approach, the prince beckoned them to come and warm themselves.
“It is the one regrettable verity of life atop a mountain,” he said. “If the weather is bad in the valleys it is always worse here—especially in winter.”
“It is often like this?” wondered Cait, extending her hands toward the fire.
“Worse, Ketmia. Winter arrives with a fury, and leaves only with the greatest reluctance. We call it al-Zoba’a: the Ferocious One. But the palace walls are stout, my forests keep us well supplied with firewood, and the harvest of the valleys is always bountiful, so we do not often have cause to trouble Heaven with our complaints.”
“Lord Rognvald thinks the storm will prevent us from resuming the search,” Cait said, hoping for a better word.
“Then he is most prudent,” agreed Hasan cheerfully. “It is unwise to tempt fate on a day like this.” At Cait’s distraught expression, he said, “Yet all is not lost, Ketmia.” He took her hand in both of his and pressed it comfortingly. “For if the storm prevents us from searching, it also prevents Ali Waqqar from escaping to the south.”
“Do you think that is where they are going?”
“To be sure,” replied Hasan. “Winter is mild in the south, and he will be able to sell to the slave traders.” Cait had never considered this possibility before, and it brought her up short; the prince immediately offered consolation. “Have no fear, Ketmia, that will not happen. I will not allow it.”
Spreading his arms wide, he took both Cait and Rognvald in his stride and said, “But come, my friends, this is a disagreeable business to discuss on an empty stomach. Let us breakfast together, and I will tell you how I plan to catch this rogue who has abducted the fair Alethea. For I pondered this matter long last night and this morning Allah, Author of Eternal Justice, has blessed me with a scheme of such simplicity and cunning it could only come by way of divine inspiration.”
He led them through a door to a chamber behind the hearth. Dim light shone through tiny diamond-shaped windows of colored glass, casting the room in shades of deep blue. One wall opened onto the hearth, so that both the reception hall and the smaller chamber could share the warmth of the fire. A number of cushions had been placed around a low table near the hearth, and the table laid for a simple meal.
“Please, sit, take your ease, my friends,” said the prince, dropping languidly onto a cushion. Serving maids appeared and began pouring cups of almond milk; they unwrapped stacks of flatbread spiced with anise still warm from the oven. There was dried fruit and nuts in little baskets, and a warm drink made with dried apples infused in hot water and sweetened with honey—which they served in small cups made of glass.
Cait took a bite of her bread, and set it aside. “If you please, Prince Hasan, tell me your plan,” she said, unable to suppress her excitement any longer. “I must hear it at once.”
“Then you shall, my dove, for it is swiftly told.” Tearing a bit of bread from the flat loaf, he dipped it into the sweetened almond milk and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, before saying, “You see, it came to me that no one chases mice—it is an impossible business. What do we do instead?” He paused to allow his listeners to appreciate his subtlety. “We set a trap.”
“Yes,” agreed Cait, waiting for the prince to expound his philosophy.
“You are saying,” mused an unimpressed Rognvald, “that we set a trap for this bandit, Ali Waqqar. We would still have to find him first—would we not?”
Prince Hasan smiled as if at an unenlightened child. “But we do not go out searching for mice. In fact, they find us, do they not? All we have to do is dangle the bait in the right place and, praise Allah, the rogue of a bandit will come to us. It will, I believe, save a great deal of time and effort.”
“If Ali Waqqar is as cunning as you suggest, he may not care to risk the trap.”
“Ah,” said the prince, raising a finger in triumph, “if the bait is irresistible enough, even the most wily mouse will risk the trap.” He smiled expansively. “I will simply make the bait so enticing that Ali Waqqar will have no choice. Then, when we have him where we want him, he will have no choice but to surrender Alethea.”
“That will work,” Cait said hopefully. “Do you not think so, Rognvald?”
“Oh, indeed, my lady,” he answered stiffly. “Ask any rat-catcher.” He sipped the warming apple drink, and regarded the splendidly pleased prince for a moment before saying, “Tell us more about this trap of yours.”
“As you know, it is my belief that the bandits will try to sell Alethea in the slave markets of Al-Andalus—most likely in Balansiyya, or Mayurika. Forgive me, Ketmia, but a young woman of your race would bring a very great price in Tunis, Monastir, or Rabat. Naturally, the price would be even greater for a virgin. Prices in excess of thirty thousand dirhams are not unusual; and if the woman is truly beautiful, the price could easily climb to as much as fifty or sixty thousand dirhams.”
“I had no idea,” said Cait, a little awed by the exorbitant amount.
“Oh, yes,” Hasan assured her. “And that is your sister’s greatest protection. For the bandits are well aware of the value of a fair-faced virgin. Thus, we can be certain that your sister has not been harmed in any way. As the poet says, ‘If evil is an oyster, hope is the pearl.’ You see? Even a brute like Ali Waqqar will want to make the best price, so he will take good care of her, believe me.”
“I pray you are right, Prince Hasan,” said Rognvald. “Even so, I cannot see how this helps us to find Alethea.”
“Ah! Impatience often begets impetuosity, my lord. I am coming to it in good time. As you yourselves have seen, for brigands like Ali Waqqar these mountains provide countless hiding places; a man might search for a hundred years and never find his quarry. But settlements are few, and all of them are within easy reach of this fortress.
“Now then,” he leaned forward, grinning with wily exuberance, “Ali and his band of thieves must obtain supplies from one settlement or another. I propose to send word throughout the realm that Prince Hasan wants to buy a white slave. We will say that
I have grown bored and lonely on my mountaintop and wish to divert myself with a female slave—a luxury for which I am happy to pay sixty thousand silver dirhams.”
Hasan gave a little laugh and lay back. “Then we simply sit back and wait for Ali Waqqar to come to collect his fee. And when he appears…” he clapped his hands together smartly, “snap! We have him.”
“It is indeed an ingenious plan,” Cait granted. “However, there is one thing which I question.”
“Only one?” muttered Rognvald sourly.
Ignoring him, Cait asked, “How can we be certain Ali Waqqar is still in the region? He might be fleeing south even now. Would it not be wise to send men to search the southern trails? If what you say about the slave markets is true—and I do not doubt it—we might catch him along the way.”
“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Rognvald. He tore off a bit of bread and popped it into his mouth. “Assuming that it is Ali Waqqar, and assuming that he would be making for the coast, how do we know he is not hastening there even now?”
“My friends,” said Hasan, “you do not know Ali Waqqar as I know him. He has long been a bane to me and to my people. We have suffered his thieving and plundering far too long. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to crush him like a worm beneath my heel.
“Perhaps, if I had been more vigilant in the past we might never have come to this difficult pass. But I have vowed before Almighty Allah, the Savior of the Righteous, to bring a swift end to this brigand’s predation, and restore your sister to her rightful place.”
Stretching his hand toward Cait, who grasped it with unseemly alacrity—so it seemed to Rognvald—the prince said, “My beautiful Ketmia, I could not endure the thought of seeing you bereft. To reunite you and your loving sister—that has now become the pure flame of my ambition.”
Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “By the will of Allah, I shall not rest until I have brought about this reunion.”
Rognvald watched this immodest display through narrowed eyes; but Cait, much taken with the prince already, found her heart beating a little more quickly for his promises. Unable to stomach any more, Rognvald rose and, begging the prince’s pardon, took his leave saying that he wished to see to his men. “I want to be ready to ride out as soon as a break in the storm permits,” he said.
Rising, he acknowledged the prince with a bow, then turned and strode quickly from the room—almost colliding with Jubayar, who was lurking at the door. Cait watched the tall knight depart, before turning to Prince Hasan to apologize. “I pray you forgive Lord Rognvald, my lord. He seems to have forgotten himself since coming here.”
“Ah, well, as the poet says, ‘Warriors, like swords, grow dull with neglect.’ All men of action feel inactivity an onerous burden. No doubt he will feel more at ease when he can return to the saddle.”
“You are too kind, my lord prince.”
“If I am, it is your good influence upon me.” He kissed her hand again. “You inspire me to greater virtue, and I am happy to be so inspired.”
They spent the rest of the morning together; the prince showed Cait through various chambers, halls, courts, and quarters, each more sumptuous than the last with rare woods carved and inlaid in fantastically intricate patterns, and fine colored marble. In some, the walls were smooth-plastered, and painted with rich, glowing colors; in others, the walls were decorated with ornate and costly tiles; some had windows fitted with triangles of colored glass, and others with grills of carved wood or stone.
Some of the rooms were spacious and grand, while others were intimate as bedchambers; whether large or small, however, the rooms were immaculate in cleanliness and conception, revealing the full splendor of the intellect that had created them. Each room was named, and the names were wondrous, too: Zaffira, Caravanserai, Ivory Court, the Ladies’ Tower, Red Sirocco, and one called Evening Narjis—where the deep-colored tiles reminded Cait of a peacock’s feathers, and so instantly it became the Peacock Room.
As they went on, Cait could not help but notice that the rooms, although exquisite to the tiniest detail, were uniformly devoid of furniture. After viewing one barren expanse after another, her curiosity grew unbearable. “Truly, I have never seen such a wealth of magnificence. Yet, I cannot help wondering where all the furnishings have gone?”
Prince Hasan put his head back and laughed, the sound of his voice full and deep. “Oh, Ketmia, you are a very marvel of practicality. Yes, the rooms are bare until the moment when I decide which shall be occupied and for what purpose. Then, the things I require are brought by my servants and arranged as need dictates.”
Cait thought this practice highly resourceful, and expressed such delight at the ingenuity of it that Prince Hasan said, “Allow me to demonstrate. Now then, of all the rooms you have seen so far, which do you favor?”
Cait was ready with her reply. “Oh, it must be the Peacock Room. The colors are exquisite.”
The prince appeared pleased with the choice. “Splendid! I knew you would choose that one; it is one of my special favorites, too. So! Tonight we will dine in the Peacock Room, you and I, and I will show you how this feat is accomplished.”
Cait spent the rest of the day examining the books in the prince’s considerable collection. Obtained in various places throughout the Arab world, each one was bound in fine leather and, although written in the graceful, flowing Arabic script which Cait could not read, she enjoyed looking at the painted pictures which adorned page after page. One book contained scenes of life along the River Nile, the Great Mosq of Cairo, and the Sphinx—and this one she especially enjoyed.
“You like this book,” said Hasan, enjoying her delight. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Oh, yes, very much,” she said. “You see, my father was once a guest of the Caliph of Cairo. He told me about it many times, and in these paintings I can see what he saw.”
“You love your father,” observed the prince. “I can hear it in your voice when you speak of him.”
“I did, yes. He was a fine man. He is dead now, and I cherish his memory. It is the most precious thing I own.”
“Then you must have this book so you can look at it whenever you like and remember him in a happier time.”
“Oh, but I could not—” Cait protested. “A book like this—I have never seen the like. It must have cost a fortune. I could never accept such a costly gift. I have nothing to give you in return.”
Prince Hasan closed the leather-bound book and placed it in her hands.
“Darling Ketmia, if you only knew how much you have already given me. Please, accept it as but a small token of my great esteem and,” he gazed intently into her eyes, “my even greater affection.”
Her heart, filled with tender thoughts of her father, the warmth of the prince’s breathtaking generosity, and so many fragile emotions, overflowed in a sudden rush. “Pray excuse me, lord,” she said, pushing the tears away, “but it has been so long since anyone has treated me with such kindness and compassion.”
His gaze softened. Reaching a hand to her cheek, he said, “Oh, my lovely Ketmia, you deserve nothing less. I would that I could give you such gifts always. For although we are but briefly met, I feel as if I have known you all my life.”
Flustered by this admission, Cait stood speechless. Grasping the book, she looked down and rubbed the fallen tears from the leather. In the end, she was saved having to answer the prince’s declaration by the sound of a gong ringing in one of the antechambers.
The prince straightened. “I am called away. Come, I will have Jubayar take you back to the women’s quarters so that you can rest and ready yourself for this evening.”
The gong sounded again, and the prince led Caitríona back through a long corridor to one of the reception halls, and there commanded the eunuch to conduct her to the women’s quarters. She looked for Rognvald, or one of the knights, as they walked back through the interconnecting maze of corridors and passages, but saw none of the other guests.
&nb
sp; Mahdi and Pila’i were waiting when she returned. While she rested, they prepared a bath for her, and laid out clothes for the evening. Cait surrendered herself to their ministrations, and passed the rest of the day in a pleasant haze of pampered indulgence.
As evening came on, the serving maids dressed her, arranged her hair, and brought out a necklace of jewels for her to wear. And then, when she was ready, the gong sounded, and a few moments later Jubayar arrived to take her to her dinner with the prince. She followed her escort through the covered courtyard, and as they passed the alabaster fountain, she heard a rustling sound and turned in time to see Prince Hasan’s sister, Danji, disappearing behind one of the leafy palms. Cait had just a glimpse and then she was gone, but received the distinct impression that the young woman had been trying to attract her attention.
She turned back to find Jubayar watching her, his wide, fleshy lips twisted in a sneer of suspicion and disgust.
THIRTY-ONE
CAITRÍONA DINED ALONE with Prince Hasan that night. He fed her duckling glazed with a compote of honeyed apricots, boiled rice with cardamom and pine kernels, and baked quail’s eggs. He plied her with spiced wine and sweetmeats, and pledged his love for her—not once, but twice. And she had accepted his blandishments.
She returned to her bedchamber slightly dazed and giddy from the heady potion of wine and murmured endearments. With the help of Mahdi and Pila’i, she undressed and went to sleep contemplating the evening in all its glittering grandeur.
Arrayed like an Eastern princess in layer upon layer of costly silks and jewels, she had been escorted by Jubayar to her dinner with the prince. She arrived to find the Peacock Room completely bare of any furnishings whatsoever, and stood for a moment peering into the dim, empty interior, feeling vaguely disappointed; for she had allowed herself to imagine something of the opulence of the previous evening. Her first thought was that the prince had forgotten his promise. Then again, perhaps she had not understood him correctly. As she stood in the center of the turquoise-tiled chamber, trying to think what could have happened, the prince arrived.
The Mystic Rose Page 30