The Lioness of Morocco

by Julia Drosten

  “Very well, sir,” the man answered obediently.

  Benjamin entered the house cheerfully whistling a tune. Had he turned around, he would have seen the man spitting contemptuously in his direction before disappearing down the alleyway with astonishing alacrity. A few moments later, the supposed beggar was standing in front of the walls of the governor’s palace. He carefully peered in all directions and knocked on a narrow side door, which was immediately opened a crack.

  “To the qaid, quickly!” he ordered the slave. “His Excellency is expecting me!”

  “Daddy, Daddy! What did you bring us?” The two little boys came running across the riad’s courtyard and boisterously threw their arms around their father. Benjamin laughed, leaned forward, and picked them up, one in each arm. “Well, check inside my pocket, boys!”

  He did not have to tell them twice. They squealed with excitement when they found two small horses carved in wood. “Wow, Daddy! Thank you!”

  Benjamin looked around. “Where’s your mother?”

  “Dunno,” said Tom.

  “You mean ‘I don’t know,’” Benjamin corrected him.

  “Mummy is gone!” Johnny shouted.

  Benjamin frowned. “What do you mean? Nadira, where is your mistress?”

  The servant stepped closer. “Mrs. Hopkins is not at home, sir. She has gone out.”

  “Gone out? Where?”

  “I do not know, sir.”

  Benjamin scrutinized her ebony face.

  Like hell you don’t, he thought. But Nadira silently stood her ground.

  “Well, I’ll know soon enough.” He put his sons down and gave them each a pat on the bottom. “Run along and play, boys. But don’t throw the horses in the fishpond!”

  He went to the stairs that led up to the living quarters. “I intend to take a bath,” he informed Nadira. “See to it that everything is made ready. And tell Firyal to bring me soap and towels.”

  When the servant appeared bearing the requested items, clouds of steam were already wafting from the claw-footed porcelain tub in Benjamin’s bedroom. Just like his sundial and horse, the imported tub had caused quite a stir when it was unloaded in the harbor, but that did not bother him. He found the Arab custom of visiting a public bath unnatural—especially for a man. To avoid ever finding himself in that dreadful situation, he had had a cistern that always contained enough water for a bath installed on the roof of the house.

  “Sayyid? Sir? Are you there?” Firyal called.

  Benjamin stepped out from behind the screen. He was wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. “What took you so long? Don’t you like me anymore?”

  “I do, sir.” She stood in the middle of the room, her head demurely bowed, pressing the towels against her chest. He was happy to see the little smile at the corners of her mouth and to think that she was looking forward to their rendezvous as much as he.

  “Put that down and come here,” he commanded.

  She obediently placed the towels and soap on a small stool and walked over to him. He looked at her silently. She was just a Negress, a former slave, but damn it, she was a hundred times more enticing than his wife!

  With two fingers of one hand, he stroked the delicate, warm skin between her breasts. Next he placed both hands on her breasts. They were full and heavy and it aroused him to see them bob and sway under her cotton dress. He spread his fingers, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the nipples until they became hard and he felt his own pleasurable arousal.

  “Did you close the door properly?” he asked her quietly.

  “Yes, sir.” Her black eyes sparkled.

  “I have brought some gifts.” He nodded to a dresser on which lay a small folded package of cloth and a pair of gold earrings.

  “You are very generous, sir.” Firyal pressed herself against his hands. “Do you wish to bathe now or later? I think the water is still too hot. It should cool off a little.”

  He grinned. “I need to do the same and you are going to help me do it, aren’t you, Firyal?”

  In response, she felt for his towel and loosened the knot. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down. “Oh, you little hussy!” he panted hoarsely when he felt her mouth. “How I’ve missed you!”

  “Harder! That’s better!” Benjamin sat up in the tub so Firyal could scrub his shoulders. “Ahh, yes, wonderful! You can’t imagine how much my back hurts after three weeks in the saddle and every night spent on those hard cots at the inns.”

  “I’m sure it was very stressful, sir.” The servant set down the sponge and began lathering Benjamin’s wet hair.

  “Make sure to use plenty of soap!” he ordered. “I feel as if the stench from the tanneries is clinging to me. If the fine ladies and gentlemen who wear boots and gloves made from my leather only knew how tanneries smell! The fires of hell could not be any worse! But no matter—I concluded some excellent deals.” He turned to Firyal. “Do you know what makes a good businessman?”

  “No, sir. Please lean your head back now. I am going to wash out the soap.”

  Benjamin carefully leaned back and continued. “A good businessman knows how to buy the best merchandise for the lowest price and to sell for the highest price. That is how I convinced my father-in-law of my qualities and I—what was that?” Benjamin sat up with a start. “Do you not hear it? What is that racket?”

  “Yes, sir. It sounds like someone trying to kick in the front gate.”

  Benjamin listened anxiously. There were crashing sounds coming from downstairs, a door slamming, men’s voices hollering commands. And in the middle of it, he could hear Nadira and his children, squealing and frightened.

  “Damn it, what on earth? Are we being robbed?” Benjamin got up hastily, water dripping from his hair and running down his body. “Come on, hand me a towel!”

  The servant fearfully reached for the towels. But when she heard heavy steps coming toward them up the stairs, she froze.

  “Good God, are you stupid or what?” Benjamin ripped the towel out of her hands.

  The bedroom door flew open and crashed against the wall. Firyal screamed. Benjamin dropped the towel and instinctively tried to cover his nakedness with his hands.

  Not three yards from him stood a black man with a red tarboosh, white kaftan, and the scimitar of the sultan’s guards. His massive body filled the doorway. He scrutinized Benjamin with a stony expression.

  “Benjamin Hopkins?”

  “That is who I am. But who might you be and how dare you intrude here? I shall complain to the qaid personally!” Benjamin spat, determined not to be intimidated by the giant.

  Instead of answering, the man stepped aside. Two others appeared behind him. Benjamin was speechless when he recognized them. One was Qaid Hash-Hash’s personal secretary, the other Nuri bin Kalil. The secretary was holding a scroll of paper, which he handed to the interpreter. Bin Kalil bowed to Benjamin. “Assalamu alaikum, Mr. Hopkins.”

  “Bin Kalil!” Benjamin exclaimed. “What’s the meaning of this? Why do you dare intrude in my private rooms? And armed at that.”

  He stepped out of the tub and leaned over to reach for a towel. The guard blocking the door placed his right hand on the handle of his scimitar. Benjamin flinched, but demanded, “Call off your dog, bin Kalil! Or is this your famous Arab hospitality?”

  The interpreter gave a signal to the soldier, who took a step back. Benjamin wrapped himself in the towel as best he could.

  Nuri bin Kalil unrolled the paper and a beautiful red seal became visible at the lower end. “Mr. Benjamin Hopkins, by order of His Imperial Majesty Sultan Moulay Abd al-Rahman, Imam of the all the Faithful, Ruler of Marrakesh, Fez, and the Sous Plain, you are hereby arrested for treason and fraud. The arrest is being carried out by His Excellency Qaid Hash-Hash. Until a verdict is pronounced, you will be held in the bastion of the Island of Mogador.”

  Benjamin burst out laughing. “Treason? Fraud? Are you joking? Now I have really had enough of this spect
acle. Get out, all of you! I shall inform the British consul general in Tangier of this outrageous violation, and you may rest assured that they will submit a formal diplomatic grievance!”

  The guard grunted something in Arabic and Nuri bin Kalil nodded. Then he looked directly into Benjamin’s eyes.

  “Put on some clothes, Mr. Hopkins, and come with us. If you resist, the guards will intervene. Believe me, it is better to follow the sultan’s command.”

  Sibylla had bid farewell to André when they reached the alleyway. She was lost in thought as she walked toward her house and noticed the two guards at the gate only when she almost collided with them.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked anxiously when they both stepped forward. “Let me by!”

  Looking uncertain, the soldiers stepped aside.

  “Hamid, who are these men?” she asked.

  The gatekeeper shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “The Black Guards wanted to see the master. I had to let them in.”

  Sibylla raced inside. The hallway was dark and empty. An indefinable sense of fear and apprehension came over her as she hurried to the courtyard. Nadira was standing in front of the water basin and had one arm protectively wrapped around each of the children. All three were looking up anxiously at the colonnade.

  “Nadira! What has happened? Why are there soldiers in the house?”

  “Mummy!” Johnny and Tom ran to her. “The soldiers are taking Daddy!”

  Sibylla stared at her servant in disbelief, but Nadira only shook her head helplessly. “I swear by the Almighty, my lady, I know nothing!”

  She could hear a door being opened, then steps. Sibylla spun around and saw Benjamin coming out of his bedroom with a guard. He was followed by the qaid’s translator and another Arab man. Tom squeezed his mother’s hand and Johnny began to cry.

  The small parade came down the stairs. Benjamin’s hair was wet, his shirt untucked, and his jacket unbuttoned. He avoided Sibylla’s fixed stare.

  She let go of the children and resolutely stepped into the guard’s path. “Leave my husband in peace and get out of our house!”

  But the man pushed her aside without a word.

  “Benjamin!” Sibylla cried in disbelief. “What do they want? You are a subject of the queen. They are not allowed to treat you like this!”

  He stopped and, for the first time, looked at her directly. There was fear in his eyes. “Inform Consul Willshire at once! There has been a grave misunderstanding.”

  The guard grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. She watched numbly as he disappeared into the dark.

  “If there is so much as an ounce of truth in the qaid’s accusations, then we’re talking about your husband’s head, Mrs. Hopkins.” Consul Willshire sank wearily into the divan.

  It was long past midnight. Many hours had passed since the Black Guards had led Benjamin away, since a distraught Sibylla had burst into her neighbors’ house with news of the arrest. The consul had not wasted a moment before leaving for the governor’s palace. In the meantime, his wife had gone back to Sibylla’s house to take care of her while they awaited Willshire’s return.

  “All of this is going to be cleared up, you’ll see. By tomorrow, the whole thing will seem like nothing more than a bad dream,” Sara had insisted, but Sibylla could sense the other woman’s fear.

  Now, Sibylla looked into the unsmiling face of the consul and said with strained calm, “Please, Consul, take a seat. May I offer you a cup of tea? I’m sure you could use it.” She picked up the pot and a cup from the tray Nadira had brought and placed the steaming beverage in front of the consul. Then she took a seat opposite and waited for him to take a few sips before she asked, “What is my husband being accused of?”

  Willshire took a deep breath and placed the cup on the table. “I’m not going to mince words, Mrs. Hopkins. Your husband is being accused of trading in slaves. For three years now, one of the ships of the Spencer & Son Shipping Company has allegedly been taking on slaves and selling them overseas.”

  “Good God!” Sara gasped, with a horrified look in Sibylla’s direction.

  “Slander and nonsense!” Sibylla sputtered. “Benjamin has always had difficulties with the qaid. I’m certain this is all a plot against him.”

  Willshire shook his head in doubt. “Apparently, the qaid has been having your husband watched for some time and is quite confident in his claim. Please forgive my bluntness, Mrs. Hopkins, but what makes you so certain of your husband’s innocence?”

  “Because slave trading has been illegal for over thirty years and my husband knows it. He would not violate the law, especially to the detriment of my family’s company! And besides, I cannot believe that any of our captains would stoop to such shameful business.”

  “According to Qaid Hash-Hash, the captain in question is Captain Nathaniel Brown of the Queen Charlotte.”

  Sara got up and solicitously filled her husband’s teacup. He gave her a grateful smile.

  “There is something more, I can tell,” Sibylla said with her heart in her throat. “What are you keeping from me? Mr. Willshire, I beg you to tell me everything you know!”

  He cleared his throat. “Earlier this evening, the qaid of Mogador interrogated your husband, and His Excellency permitted me to be present. Your husband naturally denied all accusations, but then the governor produced a witness.”

  “Whom?”

  “Samuel Toledano. And, Mrs. Hopkins, his testimony against your husband was severely incriminating.”

  Sibylla pounded the table with the palm of her hand. “Mightn’t it be possible that Toledano is lying to divert attention away from himself?”

  “You may be correct.” Willshire lowered his head. “Of course, he will try anything to save his own neck. My impression is that he procured the slaves, Captain Brown organized the transport, and your husband was pulling the strings . . .”

  “But it’s possible that Brown and Toledano are the only guilty parties and are simply using my husband as the scapegoat,” Sibylla interjected.

  “Perhaps,” Willshire replied doubtfully. “But Brown is at sea and the qaid cannot arrest him. He cannot touch Toledano because, as tujjar al-sultan, he is under the ruler’s personal protection. So that leaves only your husband. He is the chief culprit as far as the governor is concerned. The only thing in your husband’s favor is the fact that Hash-Hash has not yet found the revenues of this business.”

  Sibylla had a lump in her throat. To think that her own husband could be involved in the slave trade!

  “Of course, Hash-Hash will do everything to find that money,” Willshire continued. “If there is so much as an ounce of truth to the story, it must be a fortune.”

  Sara Willshire, who had been silently listening to the revelations, moved a little closer to her husband, disgust and horror on her face. Sibylla could well understand. She herself was fighting with all her might not to give credence to the accusations.

  “But, Consul, how could it be possible to load slaves in the port of Mogador without attracting attention? The whole thing is absurd!”

  Consul Willshire emptied his teacup and sighed. It pained him to be the bearer of such bad news to Mrs. Hopkins, all the more so since he considered the accusations plausible. He was not himself fond of Benjamin. He detested the man’s showing off and thought him absolutely capable of something as despicable as trading in slaves. But he respected Sibylla as an honest and incorruptible woman.

  And so, he responded with the greatest reluctance. “Toledano claims the slaves were taken aboard at Cape Juby, an abandoned Spanish trading base about one hundred miles south of Agadir. Toledano’s karwan bashi could conceivably have brought them there straight through the Sahara from Timbuktu.”

  Sibylla shook her head, bewildered. “And you believe all that? Do you really believe it?”

  Willshire raised his shoulders. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what to believe, Mrs. Hopkins. Your husband has, of course, accused Toledano of fabricati
on. On the other hand, the overseas sales of slaves are very enticing because of the exorbitant profits. Money like that can lead many an honest man to flout the law.”

  Sibylla cradled her head in her hands. “Mr. Willshire, what are we going to do to help my husband?”

  He hesitated. “If you wish, I can ask Consul General Drummond-Hay in Tangier to address an official note of protest to the sultan.”

  For a moment, Sibylla thought she had misheard him. “Well, of course you will do that, Consul! But what are you going to do in addition to that?”

  Willshire squirmed. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Hopkins, but at this moment, we do not know the whole truth of the matter. The slightest indication of culpability on your husband’s part could bring about serious diplomatic disagreements between Great Britain and Morocco.”

  He rose and Sara followed suit. “Sibylla, perhaps you should take your children and return to London,” Sara reflected. “No one there knows about this terrible affair, and you can rest assured that they will not learn of it from us. But here in Mogador, all the foreigners will be affected by your husband’s offense.”

  Sibylla stared at her, shocked that Benjamin had apparently already been found guilty. Consul Willshire bowed slightly. “Good-bye, Mrs. Hopkins. I am truly sorry.”

  “You are sorry?” Sibylla responded listlessly. “We are English citizens. It is your duty to stand by our side in this country.”

  He was unable to conceal his discomfort as he looked at her. “Mrs. Hopkins, the qaid was eager to see your husband thrown in the dungeon. It was only thanks to my intervention—made at some personal risk—that he was taken to a guarded room. Early tomorrow morning, he will be transferred to the bastion of the Island of Mogador. If you want to see your husband, this is your last opportunity. I am unable to do anything more for you or him at this time. I am sorry.”

  Dawn was breaking when Sibylla hurried to the harbor. Misty rain blew in her face. She had wrapped herself in a thick woolen shawl, but still, for the first time since she had come to Morocco, Sibylla felt cold. Her head lowered, she rushed along the empty alleyways and through the Bab El Mersa, which the guards had just opened. Fog hung heavy over the water. She could make out the outlines of some anchored ships, and, out on the water, the hazy lights of the fishing boats.