Page 21 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)
T radition dictates that we should now live in my own camp for at least a year before leaving to go to my new husband’s camp.
But tradition cannot be obeyed. Yusuf is anxious to get back to Abu Bakr and the army of men, who are only waiting for our wedding rituals to be completed before they can begin their first great challenge: crossing the High Atlas Mountains.
It will be an exhausting journey, but the men have been well trained and are strong.
They will fare better than most travellers who attempt to cross the steep and rocky mountain paths, where a simple misstep can result in immediate death.
Their strength and stamina will be tested however and once over the Atlas Mountains they may be called on to fight at any moment.
This will prove a harsh test for men who have only just scaled a mountain range and come safely down the other side, carrying heavy weapons and leading their mounts.
Yusuf suggests to me that I should stay at the camp, and he will send for me later.
“I did not marry you to stay at home!”
He laughs out loud at my appalled face. “I would keep you safe,” he says.
“I did not run away with your men in disguise because I valued my safety,” I say.
He nods. “Very well. I should not allow it, but I know it is not in your nature to stay here. If I refuse to take you, no doubt I will find you at my side in the heat of battle, wielding a sword.”
I have to laugh. “You would indeed,” I tell him with mock fierceness.
“It is agreed then,” he says. “Tell your slaves to pack your belongings.”
***
I must decide what to take with me. Thiyya, of course.
I must have my tent and its contents to provide us with a home.
My father says I need slaves to accompany me, but I am reluctant to take too many with me.
At last, we agree that I will have only two.
I can have more later when we are more settled and know where we will be based.
My father offers me two young slaves, hardworking and healthy as a gift, and I agree gladly.
But that evening, as I oversee the cooking, the slave woman Adeola comes to me and asks me to come to one side, by my tent. Here I find her man Ekon. When he sees me arrive, he kneels before me, as does Adeola.
“What is the meaning of this?” I ask. “Do you have a boon to ask of me?”
They nod, and Adeola speaks, for she has learnt more of our tongue than her man, although her words are still slow and careful. “We want… be your slaves.”
I frown. “You are already my family’s slaves.”
They shake their heads together. “We be your slaves, your father’s… gift. We go with you when you leave with husband.” They both look at me earnestly, waiting for my reply.
“Are you not well treated here that you wish to leave?”
Again, they shake their heads. Adeola tries to explain herself more clearly. “You bought us. We would have been…” she struggles for the word.
“Separated.” I give her the word and she nods.
I am moved by their loyalty to me for an action from what feels like a long time ago, something which I had chosen to do on the spur of the moment, yet which has meant so much to their lives.
Now they want to come with me, to serve me themselves, out of this devotion. I try to dissuade them.
“There will be long travels over rough ground, through the mountains. There will be much work, for I will have only two slaves, perhaps for a long time. It will be hard. And we will be part of an army. There may be danger.”
They look up at me and then Ekon speaks.
I am unaccustomed to hear his voice, for he is a quiet man.
“We are not afraid. We work hard. We come.” It is not a request; it is a simple fact.
I hear the finality of his tone and smile at them both.
I know that I could not have two more loyal slaves with me.
My father will understand my reasons for taking them.
“Then you had better plan what you will take with you. You will each ride a camel, and you will have one camel for your tent and your possessions. We leave in a few days.”
***
Too soon everything is ready. The camels are saddled, and most are piled high with my belongings.
Yusuf’s men are already mounted, as are my two slaves.
Only Yusuf’s camel and Thiyya stand without riders, each slowly chewing and enjoying their last few moments of freedom as Yusuf and I make our farewells.
Tanemghurt says little, giving me a few spices and herbs, then touches my cheek and smiles before walking slowly back to her own tent, with no superfluous tears or words.
I notice that she moves a little more slowly than usual and wonder how much longer she will walk in this world.
The children cluster around, full of questions for Yusuf. They cannot wait for the day when they too can be bold warriors and they fight amongst each other now to stand closer to him, touching his weapons with awe.
Aunt Tizemt pours out a string of instructions for my future life as a married woman, everything that is to come and which she will be unable to tell me when the time comes.
Foods to please a man’s upset stomach, how to bathe a baby, the proper way to dress my hair now that I am married, how to address the grandfather of my children, what gifts to give to my mother-in-law, should I ever meet her.
The list goes on and on and becomes more broken and confused as she begins to cry, an unheard-of weakness from my fearsome aunt.
She is devastated to be losing me now. Only the day before I confided to her that I have not bled, and that perhaps I am carrying Yusuf’s child, which made her very happy until she remembered that I was about to leave her and go away and that she is unlikely to see any child of mine for a very long time, if ever.
I cannot put together the words to thank her for all she has done for me.
Instead, I embrace her tightly and bury my face in her shoulder.
She smells of all her womanly skills – wool, good food and woodsmoke.
I inhale her scent and force back the tears that sting my eyes.
My father speaks mostly with Yusuf, but when he turns to me there are tears standing in his eyes and his voice is a little hoarse as he gives me his blessing and promises he will see me very soon.
It is time to get into the saddle. For the first time in my life I will ride on a woman’s saddle, a giant throne of twisted cloth laid over the leather and wooden harness.
I will sit in this like some great queen, my feet resting on Thiyya’s neck straight ahead of me.
Thiyya screws up her nose at the ungainly weight, so different from the racing saddles she has been used to.
It will be more comfortable for me for long journeys, but it feels strange to sit there so lazily, as though I am not in full command of my own mount, and the saddle rules out any racing across the dunes for my balance will not be as good; the saddle sways more than the ones I am used to.
Thiyya is made to kneel. I climb into my new seat. As she rises to her feet the saddle sways perilously and I can do nothing but cling to the arms of my throne and hope for the best.
Now my brothers gather round me. Each of them brings out from behind his back a trik , a small silver ornament for Thiyya’s harness.
They attach these to the harness and reins and tears spill from my eyes as I see that each of them bears a letter denoting my brother’s names amongst the other symbols etched on them.
The symbols are for fertility, long life, good luck and many other blessings.
When they are all attached, I shake the reins and the triks tinkle softly together. My brothers are delighted.
“Ah, see sister, you will not miss us now, for listen to all that noise – it will be as if we are by your side at all times.”
“That noise is as the sound of a flower bending in the breeze compared to the noise you boys make,” I retort, laughing through my tears.
The camels shift beneath us, made impatient by all these drawn-out farewells. I look at the crowd of men whom I am about to join, Adeola and I the only women. I frown when I catch sight of Amalu, mounted and armed. I guide Thiyya towards him.
“What are you doing?”
“Joining the Almoravid army,” he says, looking ahead, away from me.
I move Thiyya so that I am almost face-to-face with him. “Joining the army? Have you gone mad? You never wanted to be a warrior.”
“I wanted you,” he says.
I lower my voice. “I am married,” I remind him.
“And it will go wrong,” he says.
“Are you cursing my marriage?” I ask, offended.
He shakes his head.
“Well then?”
“You do not know this man,” he says. “All you wanted was your freedom.”
He is uncomfortably near the truth, but I fight back anyway. “He and I see what the future could be,” I say.
“And I will be there when it goes wrong,” he says.
“It will not go wrong,” I say, angry now.
He turns his face away.
“Amalu!”
He looks back at me. “You do not know what love is yet,” he says more quietly. “When you do, I will be waiting.”
“And if I never come to you?”
“Then I will be happy for you,” he says. “Because I love you.”
“You could die,” I warn him.
Amalu shrugs. “We all of us will die one day,” he says. “Better to die for love than cowardice.”
I want to say something else, but while I try to think how to dissuade him Yusuf rides up to us.
“Are you ready?” he asks me.
I nod.
He makes a gesture with his arm and the men fall in behind us, Amalu swept into the crowd where I can no longer see him. Instead, I look back to my family, to their waving arms and try not to let sudden tears fall.
Our journey will take us first to the garrison basecamp where the men are being trained, in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, ready to cross the mountains and begin their planned conquest.