The Lioness of Morocco

by Julia Drosten

  He offered his mother his arm. As they walked through the dark alleyways, he told her about his day, of the two ships of theirs that had left the harbor. He also told her that he had spoken with several more people about the break-in, among them the harbormaster and Consul Willshire. But all claimed not to have noticed a thing amiss. There had been no other break-ins in the foreigners’ quarter. Whoever the intruder was, he seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

  “A very troubling notion.” Sibylla thought about the scattered dirt around the foundation of the sundial.

  “Isn’t it, though? If he hadn’t left traces in our garden, one might think we’d imagined it all.”

  “I wish we had,” she sighed.

  “My lady! You’re back at last!” Hamid said, relief all over his face.

  “Why? Has something happened?” Sibylla asked anxiously. “Another break-in?”

  “No, my lady, no break-in, but—”

  “My lady!” Nadira called. “Thank goodness you’re back!”

  “What’s happened?” Sibylla scrutinized both of her servants.

  Nadira took her coat. “You have a visitor from Qasr el Bahia. He is waiting in the drawing room.”

  “I hope nothing has happened to Emily!” Sibylla took off running, followed by John. When she pushed open the door to the drawing room, the guest hastily rose from the divan and bowed awkwardly. Sibylla stopped dead on the threshold. “André?”

  After a few confusing seconds, she realized that, although the young man looked like André, he did not look like the André she knew, but André as he must have looked as a very young man.

  “Mrs. Hopkins?” The stranger looked at her uncertainly. “My name is Frédéric Rouston. Emily has sent me. She said that you would help us. Qasr el Bahia was attacked this morning!”

  “Good Lord!” Sibylla felt her knees giving way. She felt John’s hand supporting her back and heard his voice as if from a distance. “I am Emily’s brother John. Please take a seat, Frédéric.”

  Frédéric Rouston collapsed onto the divan and ran his fingers through his tousled black hair.

  “Bring something to eat and drink for our guest,” Sibylla ordered Nadira, who was waiting by the door. When the servant returned with a tray, Frédéric reached for the water jug, poured himself a goblet, and drank greedily. “Please excuse me!” he said and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been riding nonstop since morning.”

  Sibylla looked at him anew and took in the man’s exhaustion, his filthy, scraped-up hands, the crusted blood. “I am grateful that you found your way to us. Once you have eaten something, you will tell us what happened on the estate.”

  Frédéric devoured the couscous, meat, and bread Nadira had brought. He washed it all down with two more goblets of water. Then he began gloomily, “It was terrible, it was just a stroke of good luck that they didn’t murder us all . . .”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Qasr el Bahia, the same morning

  The first blue-gray light of day was shimmering across the peaks of the High Atlas when André stood in front of the big cedar in the middle of the courtyard and clapped his hands. “Today we are going to break our backs for the last time this season, and tomorrow we are going to celebrate the best saffron harvest in years!”

  “Ay! So be it!” The sixty Ait Zelten men, women, and children sitting on rugs laughed and clapped in agreement. They had been camping in the courtyard in their khaimas, tents made of goat’s hair. They had just eaten breakfast with André and his family, as they did every day, and now it was time to go out into the fields. Even old Tamra was present. Frédéric and Christian had carried her in her armchair to a spot under the cedar tree, where Aynur had draped a woolen blanket over her to protect her from the cool morning air.

  “I’ll take the teapots to the kitchen!” André Jr. eagerly ran over to the large fire pit in the middle of the camp, where several large brass pots were resting on the warm stones.

  “I suppose I’ll start breaking my back as well, then.” Malika began stacking the empty couscous bowls. “What do we have here?” She held up one hand. A brown, spotted insect with long legs, round black eyes, and spiderweb-like wings was dangling between her forefinger and thumb.

  “A locust! Eeeh!” Emily, who had been collecting the baskets with the remnants of flatbread, grimaced.

  “What are you saying?” André crossed to Malika and looked at the insect for himself.

  “Ugh! One has landed on my shoulder!” Emily shook herself. The locust fell to the ground and she stomped on it with her boot.

  André stared at the dead insect for a few seconds and then looked out at the horizon. A rosy golden light above the High Atlas announced the sunrise. However, a thin dark-gray streak hung between the mountain peaks.

  He strained his eyes, but could not make it out.

  “Is everything all right?” Aynur looked at him quizzically.

  “I’m not sure.” He showed her the locust.

  Aynur’s eyes grew large. “The wind’s teeth, a bad omen.” She beat her breast with her fist. “On the day when the caller calls for evil occurrences, they will come from their graves. May God help us!”

  “Stop that! Are you trying to frighten everyone?” André took hold of her. “We’d better see to it that the rest of the saffron is harvested as quickly as possible.”

  “Frédéric!” He motioned to his eldest son. “Go open the gate with Christian. And then everybody off to the fields!”

  He threw the locust to the ground and trod on it the way Emily had. “Don’t worry,” he reassured Aynur, who was watching wide-eyed. “You’re too superstitious, that’s all.” He put his arm around her. “Let’s go and see if the saffron we plucked yesterday has dried already.”

  They went off to the barn where the saffron from the day before was being stored, untold numbers of tiny thin threads glowing orange in the light of the oil lamp.

  He placed the lamp on the floor, leaned over the saffron, and inhaled that strong, aromatic scent of sun and earth. Gently, as though caressing a woman, he lifted a few of the thin threads, crushed them between his fingertips, and tasted them. The saffron tasted slightly bitter, slightly sweet, slightly like the pungent smoke of a wood fire.

  “Wonderful!” he said with satisfaction. “I can’t wait for your roasted beef marrow bones with saffron gravy!”

  “Then we can put the other threads together with the rest of the harvest in the tower?” Aynur asked eagerly.

  “Yes. I’m riding to Mogador next week and I shall get a wonderful price for our red gold.” Out of sheer joy over the exceptionally good harvest, he grasped Aynur’s waist, lifted her up, and spun around with her. “What shall I bring from town for you? Indian silk for a new dress? Or a nice piece of jewelry?”

  “Can I have both?” She smiled mischievously.

  He set her down. “Anything you want. I know well that Qasr el Bahia would not be what it is today if it weren’t for you. Day in, day out, you see to it that everything gets taken care of.”

  She smiled and felt flattered, but she knew that his praise was justified. Every morning, she went out to the terraced fields with the Ait Zelten and painstakingly picked thousands of lilac crocus blossoms until her back was so bent that she could hardly stand. Still, the harvest had to go quickly. For once the sun had risen over the fields and the blossoms opened up in its warmth, the hidden threads lost their precious aroma.

  The most pleasant part of the harvest would begin later. They would all sit in the courtyard together, singing songs and telling stories while they deftly plucked the tender threads out of the blossoms. The children would mill around and pick up the empty blossoms to feed to the cows and goats later on. Aynur would see to it that there was an ample supply of fresh, sweet peppermint tea available and would watch with great vigilance to ensure that not a single one of the precious pistils surreptitiously disappeared in the women’s wide skirts.

  “Here.” A
ndré handed her a linen sack.

  She filled it with saffron from the rack and tied it carefully. “I shall accompany you to Mogador this year.”

  He stared at her incredulously. “You have never wished to come before!”

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind. I would like to choose my own silk and jewelry. We could also visit Emily’s mother together. We are all family, after all.” Aynur sounded a little unsure.

  André was delighted. “What a wonderful idea. For that, you’ll get another present!” He had been wondering for a long time how he could bring Emily’s family and his together.

  “I’ll hold you to that!” She disappeared from the barn swinging her hips.

  “Baba! Help! Ahhh!” The rest of the scream was drowned out by a desperate cry of pain.

  “By God! Away with you, rogues!” André heard Aynur call out.

  Screams and the clatter of galloping horses drowned out everything else. André grabbed a shovel. The sack of saffron lay in front of the barn door where Aynur had dropped it. Before he knew it, André was pushed aside by one of the onrushing riders. He stumbled and fell and, as he scrambled to his feet, he saw the rider lean down and snatch the sack.

  “Villain!” André yelled. Then he saw the other riders rushing through the half-open gate. He guessed there were ten, maybe twelve. He recognized the leader immediately by his port-wine stain.

  He ran toward him angrily, holding the shovel. “Damn it! What do you want now? Can’t you leave us in peace?”

  There was pandemonium in the courtyard. The Berbers guided their horses ably through the narrow spaces and ruthlessly rode over anyone who did not jump out of the way in time. The men bellowed, the women screeched, children bawled, cries of fear mingled with cries of pain, and panic-stricken people ran into each other.

  “Christian! Watch out!” André watched in horror as his son stumbled and fell. But Frédéric pulled him out of the way of the horses’ hooves.

  “To the tower! Quickly!” André bellowed against the din and gesticulated with his shovel. Frédéric seized his younger brother by the arm, raced with him to the donjon, and pushed him up the ladder ahead of himself.

  André frantically looked around. Where were his other children, where was Aynur? He tried in vain to find the rest of his family amid the people, horses, tents, gunshots, and screams. Then he saw Emily and Malika. They were standing as though paralyzed by the entrance to the kitchen.

  “Come on!” André screamed frenetically.

  But they were much too far to hear him.

  “Imma! Imma!” André Jr. had spotted his mother in the chaos and was trying to squeeze past his sisters. Fortunately, Emily and Malika grabbed the little boy’s shirt just in time, dragged him into the house, and slammed the door shut.

  André had also spotted Aynur. Tamra had been pushed from her armchair and was lying helplessly on the ground. The two riders, coming from behind at full tilt, did not notice Aynur trying to help the old woman.

  “Over there! That’s the little one! She’s the one I want for myself!” yelled the first of the two men. “And afterward—” He made a jagged motion in front of his throat. “Then we’ll collect our reward!” He laughed as he jabbed his heels into his horse’s flanks.

  “Wait!” the second one replied. “That’s the wrong one! We’re supposed to kill the merchant woman’s brat!”

  “Who cares? Everyone on this accursed estate is a traitor!” His companion aimed his gun.

  André let loose an earsplitting scream and threw himself forward with desperate courage. His concern for Aynur lent him tremendous speed, and he succeeded in cutting off the first of the two riders.

  At that moment, a gun rang out next to him. Aynur screamed and slumped down on Tamra’s body.

  “No!” André bellowed. He swung his shovel high in the air and hit the rider who had fired the shot. There was a crunching sound. The attacker dropped his gun, his neck snapped to the side. As the man plunged off his horse, André noticed his expression of surprise, frozen in death.

  A loud howl erupted next to him. “You will pay for that, infidel!”

  André spun around and dodged the hooves of a rearing horse. The hideous face of the rider was distorted with bloodlust, but the jagged port-wine stain across his face was still clear.

  André felt a hatred the likes of which he had never before experienced in his life. He was going to kill that man if it was the last thing he did! He swung the shovel again, but the younger man was quicker and pushed his horse against him. André stumbled and lost his shovel. He pulled out his knife, but before he knew it, a rifle butt came crashing down. Tremendous pain flashed through his skull. He covered his head with his hands and swayed. Above him, he could see the leader’s face, his triumphant grimace. There was a growing buzzing in his ears and, above him, a shimmering, dancing cloud rose over the walls of Qasr el Bahia and darkened the sky.

  Locusts, that’s all we need, he thought before falling into a fathomless darkness.

  Tears ran down Frédéric’s face. “The teeth of the wind did destroy part of our harvest, but they also saved us. If God had not sent them at that moment, we would all be dead.” He reached for his goblet and gulped some water. Sibylla refilled it with trembling hands.

  Finally, John cleared his throat and asked, “What do you mean by the ‘teeth of the wind’?”

  “Locusts,” explained Frédéric. His eyes lost focus as he relived the events of the terrible day. “The largest swarm I have ever seen. They came across the mountains like a storm cloud and blocked out the sun. More of them fell from the sky than there are grains of sand in the desert. And the noise! Crows and ravens diving at the insects and all the people screaming. Christian and I were safe in the donjon, but in the courtyard, people were running for their lives. But when the locusts came, the attackers’ horses took fright and they had to flee. It was a miracle! As soon as the attackers were gone, I climbed out of the tower and barricaded the gate. And then I saw my parents—” Frédéric’s voice broke. “I’m not even sure they’re still alive. My father was unconscious when I left. He had a terrible head wound and my mother had been shot. Tamra is dead for certain, killed by a bullet. I must go back! Who knows how my brothers and sisters are, all alone like that.” Frédéric pressed himself up from the divan although he was unsteady on his feet from exhaustion.

  Sibylla rose. “That’s not a good idea, Frédéric. You were very brave today, a hero. But now you must rest. Nadira has prepared a room for you.”

  He was about to protest when she placed her hand on his shoulder. “If I could, I would go immediately myself. But we’ll be of no use to anyone if we fall off our horses in the dark. I am certain that Emily and Malika have bolted the gate well after your departure. For tonight, the people inside the walls of the estate are safe. And tomorrow morning we shall ride to Qasr el Bahia together.”

  “I’m going to pack my things,” Sibylla announced after Frédéric had reluctantly withdrawn to the room that had been made ready for him. “We should also alert Thomas, as there are wounded on the estate. We may be gone for quite a while, so I’m afraid you will have to handle all the business for me in the meantime, John.”

  “Of course. Think nothing of it,” he assured her. “But under no circumstances can you ride to Qasr el Bahia alone. I’m convinced that those villains are lurking near the estate. I’ll ask the qaid to provide an escort.” He hastened to his study and returned a short while later with a sealed envelope. By then, Sibylla had fetched Hamid.

  “And as soon as you have a reply from the qaid, go to the doctor’s house and tell him to come here!” John directed the man, who nodded earnestly.

  “I’m so glad that you are here,” Sibylla confessed with relief. “There is so much going on, I can hardly think clearly.”

  “Anything you need, Mother,” John said as he embraced her.

  The door to the drawing room opened and Victoria entered carrying a tea tray. “Nadira told me what happened
. I hope Emily is all right,” she said as she poured.

  “A cup of tea is exactly what I need right now.” Sibylla gave her daughter-in-law a look of gratitude and Victoria blushed.

  She poured John a cup as well. Then she sat down on the divan and looked from one to the other. “I hope no one’s been seriously hurt.”

  John stirred his tea. “That’s what we’re all hoping.”

  Half an hour later, Hamid returned with the message that the qaid would have an armed escort waiting in front of the city wall shortly before sunrise.

  With the gatekeeper came not only Thomas but also Sabri. Both physicians inquired immediately about the number of wounded and what types of injuries had been sustained, but neither Sibylla nor John could tell them.

  “I’ll return to the maristan,” said Sabri, “and load a mule with medicine, bandages, and surgical instruments. That way you can stay with your family, Thomas. We’ll all meet by the city gate in the morning.”

  “You wish to accompany us?” Sibylla asked.

  “Of course,” Sabri answered, tormented with worry about Emily. “We have no idea what to expect. One doctor may not be enough.”

  Early the following evening, Sibylla, Frédéric, Thomas, and Sabri, together with the qaid’s six armed cavalrymen, arrived at the gates of Qasr el Bahia. Anxiety had hastened their journey. They had stayed in the saddle all day and paused only to let the horses have a drink of water. Both humans and animals were utterly exhausted.

  The closer the group got to its destination, the lower morale sank. Thomas and Sabri conferred softly about what sort of medical emergencies they might have to deal with. Frédéric’s expression was gloomy. Sibylla’s thoughts were with Emily and André. Still, she noticed how desolate the countryside they were traveling through looked. Swarms of crows and ravens were circling in the sky and devouring the locusts as though they were at a banquet. Sibylla had never seen so many insects and could not help but shudder at the sight. They were on the ground, in the shrubs and trees, buzzing through the air in swarms, and falling into her hair, into the folds of her clothing, and onto her increasingly unsettled horse. Two shepherds they met told them that this was merely a remnant of the huge swarm now on its way to the ocean, darkening the sky along its way. The bare landscape suggested an infestation of biblical proportions. The trees and shrubs were bare and leafless and there was not a single leaf of grass for the horses to eat. Fortunately, John had insisted on packing fodder for them.