Page 23 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)
From then on Yusuf worries about my health, insisting that we travel only in the cool of the days and that I should sleep well at night, thus making our journey much longer, for we had been riding for many more hours each day than Yusuf will now allow.
The men grumble a little, in a good-natured way, about men becoming fathers for the first time and how they turn into old hens, fussing and clucking and wasting time over a healthy young woman who has been riding every day with no ill effects so far.
I agree with them and try to convince Yusuf to let me continue as before, for I feel well and happy, but he will have none of it.
So we travel only in the cool, and each day he ensures that I am delicately placed in my saddle and that I am well rested before we ride out each day.
The long hot days are spent in the shade, which means that we must find places of shelter or erect my tent, which wastes a great deal of time for it is large and not meant to be moved quite so frequently.
Ekon and Adeola erect and dismantle it almost every day, and they work hard, but they do not complain.
Adeola smiles at me and points at my still-flat belly and imitates how I will soon look, with a great round stomach like a giant melon, staggering along under the weight of my huge son, which makes me laugh until I see Amalu’s expression, his eyes full of pain.
In the heat of the day we sit, the men sometimes playing games with pebbles and bones, or praying with Yusuf.
Sometimes they will train, although the fierce heat is not conducive to this, and they drink so much water that the water bags need refilling repeatedly.
We always fill them whenever we have the chance to do so and when we make camp a few of the men will go and find water, for they know all the sources along our route, having travelled it once already.
In these quiet moments I sit with Adeola and spin wool or embroider cloth for clothes.
We cannot chatter to each other as she does not know enough words, but she can make herself understood through gestures and mimicry, and her speaking begins to improve.
Ekon is quiet, but he watches over us with interest and smiles sometimes when we laugh.
He takes our small flock of goats to find pasture when there is some to find, and milks them with great speed and skill, bringing the milk to us to cook with or sometimes for Adeola to churn by shaking it in a goatskin bag.
Our progress is certainly far slower than before, but we enjoy the journey more and it gives me time with Yusuf before I must relinquish him to his mission.
When he has finished praying or training or talking with his men, he will come and sit with me, and Adeola will move away a little so that we may sit close to one another.
He pats my belly. “My son,” he says. “Do you hear me?”
I laugh and make a tiny voice. “I hear you, Father,” I say.
“Are you well, son?”
“I am well,” I reply. “My mother’s womb is a fine dwelling place.”
Yusuf chuckles and begins to talk of his great plans for this unborn child while I lie back on my elbows in the shade of my hastily erected tent and listen lazily, warmed by more than by the sun.
***
The garrison camp is like nothing I could have ever dreamt of. No matter where I turn my eyes there are soldiers. Some are our own people, some paler, from the land across the sea to the north, Al-Andalus. Some are black skinned from the kingdoms in the south. All are fearsome to my eyes.
Not to Yusuf’s eyes, for they are like water to a dying man in the desert to him.
“At last, we are here,” he says when he sees the camp and I hear the smile in his voice.
We are surrounded in moments, his men chanting out his name, seeking to touch his shoulder or take his hand as he passes each of them.
“My cousin, we have missed you,” says Abu Bakr and they embrace as though they had thought never to see one another again.
“My wife,” Yusuf says, bringing me forward. “I believe you remember her,” he adds mischievously.
“You are welcome here, Kella,” says Abu Bakr. “You must have made quite an impression on Yusuf. No man could have stopped him in his mission and yet his gaze fell on you.”
The men tease Yusuf for his long absence but are kind to me, their smiles and nods courteous and welcoming.
In their eagerness to welcome me and show their devotion to their general our camels are quickly unloaded by many hands and my tent is erected in a quiet spot where I will be out of sight should I wish not to be seen.
Ekon and Adeola’s smaller tent is pitched alongside mine.
They have nothing to do but seek out water and turn our tents back into homes; Adeola beating the sand from the rugs and blankets and learning where to fetch water while Ekon finds places to graze our sheep and goats.
That night I eat alone for Yusuf has much to do, but I sleep well.
***
The next day I walk around the garrison. I have never seen such a sight, a whole army gathered in one place, ready for battle.
I cannot count how many men there are, but they are many, many hundreds. To see them pray together is awe-inspiring, rows upon rows of strong men on their knees to their God, praising His name together.
They eat sparingly: camel or goat’s meat, milk, dried fruits.
I smile when I see how they eat, for Yusuf likes to eat like this and now I see why.
Their diet is simple, but they are brothers, and they share the hardships of their life for the greater glory of God.
They dress in plain woollen robes and simple shoes.
They are of many skin colours and of all sizes, tall, short, thin or large, but all are heavily muscled, and all are ready to fight to the death.
I watch some of the training and am struck by the formations they use.
They move seamlessly into tight, closed ranks, with foot soldiers at the front, then the mounted soldiers behind them.
Most ride camels, for they are better mounts in the desert, but Yusuf has plans for more horses once they reach the other side of the Atlas Mountains.
The ground there is harder underfoot and horses are faster, able to turn more easily and quickly.
For now, though, there are hundreds of camels, and they are mostly bad-tempered and fast. Yusuf warns me to be careful of them, and I walk cautiously when I approach them, for they can bite or kick.
Unlike most camels chosen for riding, they are male camels, and they are less docile than females like my own Thiyya.
They fight amongst themselves, too, and sometimes the men must beat them with sticks to break them apart from one another when they are enraged.
I keep Thiyya well away, for she is of great interest to them all.
The closed ranks of the army are unlike any soldiers I have seen or heard tell of.
I thought armies used loose, long lines, which allow for greater flexibility in battle.
I mention this to Yusuf, but he explains to me that those long lines allow the enemy to attack one part, cutting men off from their fellow soldiers and leaving them to be slaughtered alone.
The Qur’an itself, Yusuf tells me, says that fighting should instead be done in these closed ranks, so that all the men are protected by their fellow soldiers.
He has studied closely how that might work, training his men for many months until they have mastered the technique.
He believes that this way of fighting will serve them best.
The training is an amazing sight. They practice daily with javelins, daggers and swords.
They have great shields covered with strong hides, many made of ostrich or antelope, some of other beasts; all thick, heavy and very strong, protecting the men from the deadly weapons of their enemies.
They have drummers, who beat a strong rhythm for the men to move to, but Yusuf wants even more drummers in the future.
He talks often of how the army might be made stronger, larger, better.
I cannot imagine it. It seems so vast to me already.
I see Amalu joining the men in their training, wielding a vicious-looking sword.
I feel guilty. He wanted a peaceful trading life and now he is learning to be a warrior.
He looks fierce but I am afraid it is only his anger at my marrying Yusuf instead of choosing him.
I feel responsible for him being here and my heart sinks at the idea that he may be harmed in battle, even killed.
It will be my fault if anything bad happens to him.
There is a camel fight one night, and I hear the shouts of the men, and the hard thumps of blows delivered to break up the camels. Yusuf goes out to investigate and when he returns, he tells me all is well and holds me softly in his arms as I drift back to sleep.
***
There are meetings among the leaders, made up of great men from the Sanhaja confederation of tribes – the Lamtuna, the Musaffa, the Djudalla.
These tribes have all contributed their men, weapons, and their support to Abu Bakr.
He presides over these meetings, his gruff good-natured manner easing any tensions and his firm belief in their success comforting any nervous doubters.
Meanwhile Yusuf will slip away from these meetings when they grow dull and endless, and come back to his men, training alongside them, urging them on, eating and praying with them.
They love him; he is their general. While they respect and obey Abu Bakr in all things, still they turn to Yusuf for their inspiration and to find their courage.
***
I take to watching the men training, for they are an awe-inspiring sight. No-one can fail to be inspired by their courage and fierce faces, they make me truly believe this great war may be a triumph, no matter what happened in the past.