Page 12 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)
“Ten years ago, the Almoravid army captured the city of Sijilmasa in the north from the Zanata tribe and then went on to sack the trading city in the oasis of Awdaghast, in the south. In this way they controlled the two ends of one of the great trade roads. But when a few years later they tried to cross the High Atlas to fight the Barghawata tribe and take control of a wider part of the country, their leader Abdallah was killed and the Almoravids were forced to retreat. His general and second-in command, Abu-Bakr bin Umar, took over the leadership. Now Abu Bakr is ready to attempt the crossing of the High Atlas again. His army is far larger and stronger than it was before. They have had a few years to build up their strength and develop their plans. His cousin is Yusuf bin Tashfin, and he is now the second-in-command. A very strong and pious man, so they say – I have spoken more with Abu Bakr but have seen Yusuf also. Together they lead the army. I have met Abu Bakr over the years through my trading, and now they have asked me to help them plan their attack, as I have been to many of the trading cities across the High Atlas. They want to take Taroundannt and then the merchant city of Aghmat, which is very rich. Abu Bakr, Yusuf and some of their men will come here tomorrow, and we will talk. There may be young men from our camp who wish to join their army – many men from local tribes have joined them. My own sons wish to go but they cannot be spared for now – perhaps later they may join Abu Bakr and his men. Also,” he winks at Aunt Tizemt, “I do not believe my sons have the discipline to train and pray so hard whilst eating only meat, water and fruit as the Almoravids do – I think they are too fond of their aunt’s good cooking. ”
My aunt laughs. “I will feed up your boys while they are here. They will be able to taste their sister’s fine cooking, too. Tomorrow we will have a feast to honour our visitors when they arrive here. For now, it is very late and time for everyone to get some sleep.”
The camp disperses, although I can hear everyone talking long into the night, excited and curious about the news. The young men are probably dreaming of glory, their mothers hoping to persuade them to stay safely at home.
***
I wake at dawn, nudged into sleepy consciousness by Aunt Tizemt. We creep out of the tent, past my brothers and father sleeping just outside the tent. Wrapped in thick blankets they are indistinguishable from one another.
The goats are milked and herded away from the main camp for pasturing by the slaves before the men wake.
They rub the sleep from their eyes and drink hot tea and eat handfuls of fresh dates with bread from the night before.
The boys tease me when they see their breakfast. “What, no fresh breads with honey and butter? No soft porridge? No fine meats and stews cooked to perfection? We were promised fine cooking from our oh-so-grown-up sister!”
I laugh and chase them away. “Go and fill the water bags and pots. We are planning a great feast for tonight. This morning you eat leftovers. It will whet your appetite for later.”
My youngest brother makes a despairing face. “I am still a growing boy! I cannot survive on such meager fare!”
“Still growing?” I poke at him with my wool carders as I tidy the tent, looping up the sides to let the cool air flow through.
The sharp metal spikes make him squawk and leap out of my way.
“I think you are only growing fatter, brother, not taller! Now go with the others, I need plenty of water! When you return there are goat kids to be slaughtered so that I can begin to marinate the meat.”
When I step outside Amalu is waiting.
“Kella –”
“I cannot talk now, Amalu,” I say. “Aunt Tizemt will have plenty to say if she catches me loitering.”
“I asked you a question,” he says. He is rarely so serious.
“I know,” I say.
“And?”
“And I cannot think on it when I am being pulled every which way by work,” I tell him. “I need to think carefully before I answer you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I say.
He nods, his eyes a little sad. “Very well,” he says. “When there is a quiet moment, think on what I asked you.”
I nod, serious enough that he seems satisfied.
***
It is not until the afternoon that one of the children comes running to tell my father that our visitors have been spotted.
A party of twenty men, all on horseback, “And such horses! Not like ours but grey stallions, their legs so fine and such fast racers!” They are followed by another sixty men variously mounted on camels and horses.
The men gather to welcome the guests. The children peep from behind tents and the women cluster a little further back as they approach.
Abu Bakr, at their head, is a stocky man with a broad smile.
He slips quickly down from his horse and steps forward to take my father’s hands and exchange greetings. Next to dismount is his general.
“Yusuf bin Tashfin,” murmurs my aunt, always well informed. “They say he has an even greater vision for the future than Abu Bakr. The whole of the Maghreb united under one rule, a mighty empire.”
I watch. Suddenly the camp feels small and dull.
I had thought I had grown somewhat used to my life here, but these visitors, bold on their fine steeds with grand visions for the future, about to travel far away from our little camp, have already made me envious.
Something in me I thought had been tamed is tugging to be set free.