Page 22 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)
We move off, twisting back to wave at all the people of the camp, gathered to bid us farewell. My brothers, father and aunt wave to us until we are out of sight.
I did not know then that I would never see any of them again.
***
We travel for many days, and I am now sure that I am carrying Yusuf’s child, although I do not tell him yet, for it is still very early.
But my bleeding should have come many days ago, and it is not yet here.
I hold my secret to me as I sway along on Thiyya’s back, and I walk gently when I am set down.
I am not entirely certain how I feel about a child.
I meant to be free, to be a right hand to Yusuf, to help him build a peaceful future and I am nervous that a baby will mean that I am kept back, for my safety and that of our child, that I will be kept out of decision-making.
But I comfort myself that Yusuf married me because he liked my vision for the future, that he wanted a child.
And I think that perhaps a child coming so quickly is a blessing from Allah on our marriage and mission, that it points the way to a time of peace and plenty.
I will have a baby. Yusuf will leave me reluctantly and only for a short while and then he will send for me.
I will join him with a healthy infant in my arms and we will have our own little family.
I hum as we ride, and Yusuf teases me for singing lullabies and asks whether I think he is a little child that needs to be sung to in order to travel quietly.
I only laugh back at him and try to sing other songs, although the lullabies return to me day after day.
***
And so we travel onwards. I have only rare moments alone with Yusuf and I begin to realise the reality of his life, which now is my own.
He comes to my tent, but often it is so late that I have fallen asleep, and I wake for dawn prayers to find he has already left the tent and gone to pray or is training or making plans with some of his men, earnestly discussing tactics, weapons or which animals will make better mounts in the heat of battle.
The camels allow the rider to see far but provide an all-too-easy target for the enemy to cut down mid-battle.
The swift horses can come closer to the foot soldiers in the enemy’s ranks, allowing the rider to strike them from a vantage point.
But their swift hooves can also slip at a crucial moment and a tumble would be fatal.
Occasionally I catch sight of Amalu, but he never speaks to me. Sometimes I catch him looking my way but when I face him, he turns his gaze away and will not meet my eye.
I also hear about the cities they plan to attack.
The most important will be Aghmat, a rich trading city, well-guarded by walls and mercenaries as well as the amir’s own guards.
It is a fine city, with a busy souk through which many treasures pass from trader to trader, hot bath houses that all can visit, and water brought by canals to the very heart of the city itself.
Aghmat has become the capital of the Sous region under the leadership of the Idrisids.
The amir of the city now is the leader of the Maghrawa tribe.
Luqut al-Maghrawi is a noble man, so they say, and a fierce warrior.
It will be a challenge to take Aghmat, for the amir and his men will defend it to the death and the Maghrawa are not to be taken lightly.
But it must be done if the army is to take the region and stand a chance of continuing their progress throughout the rest of the country, heading north.
The Almoravids’s holy war will come to a stumbling halt if they cannot take key cities, and Aghmat is the first of these that they will encounter.
To take Aghmat will be to send a strong message to all the tribes that here is a force to be reckoned with, that a new era is coming.
I hear their words in the still heat of the day or blown to me on the cooling wind of the evenings.
Talk of weapons, mounts, men, training, the cities they hope to take easily, those that are better fortified.
Sometimes I listen intently, desirous of knowing everything about what the future holds for my husband and therefore for me also, as though knowing every detail will make their plans successful.
Often, though, I turn my head away and watch the soft sand sinking under the camels’ feet, see horned vipers slide away at our approach, or fat green lizards clinging to rocks.
I close my eyes to enjoy what little breeze blows across my face.
I still cannot believe that I have left the camp, that I am journeying again.
The sense of freedom it brings me is a joyous thing, my mouth stretches into a smile without my even realising.
***
Sometimes I seek Yusuf out, looking for a glimpse of his rarely seen humour and mischievous side, which he shows only when we are alone.
Travelling with the men he has been serious again, intent on the plans and the many things to be done at the main camp before they will be ready to face their first real battles.
Abu Bakr will be impatient for his arrival, for together they are a formidable pair, their strengths complementing one another.
Together they will be able to make plans, to see that all is ready, to encourage the men before the real hardships began.
Their training will have prepared them for war, of course, strengthening their muscles and bringing bravery to their hearts, but no training can truly take the place of war.
No man who has not fought against a man who wishes him dead can say that he is ready for a battle.
Most of the men until now will have fought only each other, where the weapons are handled with caution and no real harm will come to them.
I catch sight of Amalu one day and hurry towards him. “Amalu.”
“Kella,” he says without emotion.
“I wish you would return home,” I tell him. “I am afraid for you.”
“You doubt I can fight?”
I sigh. “I do not doubt your manliness, Amalu. I doubt your desire to be a soldier.”
“That is no longer your concern,” he says and walks away.
***
I sit with Yusuf one evening, sharing a few dates together, away from the others so that we can be alone.
We talk of small things only; the jackals we heard the night before and whether they will be bold enough to approach again tonight, the shapes of clouds, our camels’ demeanour.
But after a while the talk drifts to his plans, as it always does.
He wants to have drummers with him when they go into battle, as their strong rhythm will not only give courage to his own men and unite them but bring fear to their opponents, for only a confident army can have drums beating for them in the thick of battle.
He describes the heat of a battle, how they will keep tight formations, no falling back, nor even advancing, allowing the enemy to come to them and then realize their error when they find out how strong the army is, how well-trained its men and beasts, how they can be caught up in the fervour of drums and be merciless in their fighting, leading inevitably to success.
I grip Yusuf’s arm, unable to keep my fears to myself. “What if you are not successful? What if your men fail, and you are driven back?”
He strokes my hair. “It is a risk that we must take,” he says simply. “We cannot succeed if we do not fight. God is with us; I feel His hand upon us, and we cannot fail if it is His will.”
I cannot let it rest so simply. “And if it is not His will?”
He smiles sadly at my anxious face. “Then we will die.”
“You cannot die!” My voice grows louder, and Yusuf puts one finger gently against my lips. I push his hand away and go on, unthinking. “How can I raise a child with no father?”
He looks closely at me. “What?”
I shake my head and lower my eyes. “Nothing. I only meant…” I am suddenly crushed into a breathtaking hug.
“You are with child!”
I cannot deny his hope. I lower my eyes, suddenly shy. “I believe I have your child within me,” I say softly.
His face is full of great joy, and he holds me very tenderly. We had been about to sleep, but now he is wide awake. “He will be called Ali,” he says firmly. “He will be a brave and noble warrior, and he will follow me to war in God’s name.”
I shake my head. “There will be no need for war when he is grown. For his father will have won all the wars there are to win. My son will live in peace, caring for his father’s people and building a new country.”
Yusuf likes this idea. “Yes,” he says eagerly, pulling me close to him as we settle into our blankets to sleep.
“He will build a great mosque, to honour God. He will ensure that the people of our land live by His word and that they are fairly treated. There will be no unlawful taxes, there will be great cities built, and all will be done to praise His name.” He continues to talk in this vein, while I fall asleep, happy in his arms, the murmurings of my son’s great future still being whispered in my sleeping ears.
***