Page 24 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)

One morning my path is blocked by a group of camels.

I skirt around them but as I watch the men training, I forget about them and do not notice when they move closer.

One sniffs at my hair and I, startled, turn and cry out, which makes the beast panic.

In a moment all is chaos. The group begins to fight, biting and roaring at each other, and I, seeking to escape that frightening place, suddenly receive a kick in the belly and find myself lying on the ground, crying out with pain.

I hear men come running and Adeola’s shrieks.

I hear a howl of rage from Yusuf’s voice though I barely recognise his voice, for I have never heard him truly angry.

I lie very still and clasp my belly. When I open my eyes for one moment, I see a glint of metal before a spray of red blood appears on my sleeve.

I hear a dying groan from the camel who kicked me as Yusuf slits its throat.

I close my eyes and am lifted tenderly by strong hands and taken to my tent.

Inside Adeola, her face tight with worry, sits with me. She tries to feed me broth and sweet dates, but I turn my face away.

“All be well,” she says, over and over again, as though it is a charm. “All be well.”

But my belly cramps. I slip a hand beneath the blankets and pull it back covered in blood.

Adeola repeats her charm faster and faster, but even she must admit defeat when she sees the blood trickling steadily down my legs.

Her eyes fill with tears as I begin to sob.

When she has done all she can for me she dispatches Ekon to Yusuf and then sits with me, her small, calloused hand tightly clutching mine.

***

Adeola never leaves my side, but it takes three days before Yusuf comes to me.

I grow sad – and then angry – at his absence from me, but Adeola whispers in her broken way that Yusuf has been beside himself, that he ranted and raved about our loss and that even his strongest and most-trusted men dared not approach him.

He spent the past three days sat alone, not eating or drinking, until Abu Bakr went to him and spoke softly.

Now he comes to me, his face full of misery.

I know he killed the camel to try and assuage some of our grief, so I take his hands and thank him for it, although one camel or another means nothing to me, for I have lost my baby and nothing else matters.

Then I hold Yusuf while he sobs. I had not thought I wanted a baby so much, after all it would have curtailed the freedom I craved, but now that it is gone, I am crushed.

Is it an ill omen? Will Yusuf think he should not have married me at all, that this is a punishment for delaying his mission?

“It is Allah’s will, and we do not question His will,” says Yusuf, although his eyes say otherwise. “We will be blessed again if He looks on us with favour. In the meantime, it is my fault that you were hurt.”

I open my mouth to argue but he gestures that I should be quiet so curtly that I stay silent. I know from his voice that I have no say in this matter. He is my husband, and he has made a decision.

“I will not argue this with you, Kella,” he says.

“I should not have kept you here at all,” he says.

“An army is no place for a woman. In a few days we will leave this place to begin our journey across the mountains. I will leave behind only a small base camp. You will remain here, and I will send for you when we have crossed the mountains and secured a safe city for you to come to.”

I weep, for I do not want to leave Yusuf.

How to explain that such an accident could have happened anywhere?

That if he leaves, he may never return, never send for me at all?

But I have no choice. I spend time recovering, during which I am forbidden to leave my tent, although Yusuf comes to me often.

The men are sorrowful, for behind their mighty shields and their great muscles are kind hearts and they mourn their general’s loss of a son.

***

One tent after another is packed away. The weapons are sharpened and repaired.

The great garrison is now nothing but a small base camp made up of a couple of dozen older men and their slaves, a few wives.

The men left behind are grumpy at being left out of the adventure and excitement ahead, however dangerous it may be.

When I come out of my tent and see what is to be left, I am horrified.

It is a tiny, dull camp, I would have been better off staying with Aunt Tizemt.

***

The night before they leave, Yusuf takes my hand and leads me away from the camp, lifts me onto a camel with him and rides a little way off, far enough that we can no longer see or hear the men.

In the still-warm sand Yusuf lets the camel wander off a little way in search of tasty shrubs and we sit together watching the dying sun.

Yusuf has brought some water, dates and flat stale bread, but it feels good to eat together, alone, without being surrounded by an army of fighting men.

Although we have no fine food or a comfortable tent and furs, sitting together in the bare sand has about it a tenderness that I will miss.

I am afraid for Yusuf, of course. Tomorrow, he will leave me and go to fight his holy war.

Holy or not, I am afraid. The last time the Almoravids tried to cross the High Atlas their leader was killed, and they were forced to retreat to the desert.

Now I try to speak of my fears to Yusuf, but he hushes me.

“Now is not the time to talk of fear, my jewel.” He puts one arm around my shoulders as we sit and turns his head to smile comfortingly at me.

“What will be will be. We are but Allah’s servants and we win or lose according to His wisdom.

” He sees me begin to object and kisses me gently to stop the words in my mouth. Then he searches in his robes.

“I have a gift for you.”

I cannot help smiling. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes and tell me.”

I close my eyes and feel something cold and hard in my hands, dangling from above. It is jewellery, I can tell, and my smile broadens. “You have given me so many jewels, what more is there to give?”

He laughs. “A woman can never have too many jewels nor kind words, so a wise man once told me.”

I laugh again and give up guessing, opening my eyes. “A khomeissa !”

The thick silver pendant is a triangle with an additional part below which has five parts to it, making it akin to the ‘Hand of Fatima’, giving the wearer protection against the evil eye.

I slip it round my neck, feeling happy that Yusuf’s protective gift will be with me even when he leaves me the next day.

He smiles mischievously. “I hear that women will rather go naked than without a khomeissa , is that true?”

I laugh. “Perhaps.”

“A good thing I gave you it, then. I would not have you be naked when I am not there to enioy it!”

We lie together under the stars and later tears come to me again for my lost child, but Yusuf holds me close and whispers kind words.

Eventually I fall asleep in his arms and wake in the pale cold dawn to join him in prayer.

Afterwards we sit together for a little while on our last day together, perhaps forever.

“You will join me soon,” he promises. “Very soon.”

“When?” I ask, wanting an answer that I know cannot be given.

Who knows what the future holds? They may all be killed, driven back to the desert like their leader was ten years earlier.

Or they may sweep victorious throughout the Maghreb, praising the word of God as they go.

Only Allah knows, and He will reveal His plans when the time is right and not before.

Yusuf does not try to give me the answer I want to hear, only the answer that is true. “When it is safe for you to be by my side I will call you to me,” he says simply. “I would give my own life willingly, but I will not risk yours.”

He strokes my hair and face and looks at me for a long moment before he wraps his veil around his face and disappears beneath it.

Only his eyes show, hiding the man I know and becoming once more a warrior and leader of men.

I know I will not see his face again for a long time and I fight to not let my tears fall.

I want him to remember my smile and to miss it so badly that he will call me to him quickly, danger or no danger.

I wrap my arms around him as we stand and hold him close to me, enjoying his warmth against me.

“Perhaps I am with child again,” I say hopefully. “I was with child so quickly after we were married, perhaps when you call me to you, I will bring you a child!”

Yusuf smiles tenderly at me. It is unlikely, and we both know it, but he nods, ready to believe in my tentative hopes for happiness.

“When I send word for you, I shall say to my men, ‘Bring my beautiful jewel to me. And her little gemstone must come with her also, for he must meet his great rock-father at last.’”

I giggle at his make-believe family of rocks and embrace him again. Then we ride slowly back to the camp together.

***

I stand and watch Yusuf and his men as they leave the camp.

I try to speak with Amalu, to tell him to be careful, but he does not ride close enough to me, whether on purpose or not I do not know.

I wait to wave, but neither he nor Yusuf look back.

Slowly their shapes disappear into the shimmering heat.