Page 33 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)

N ow I know that I cannot trust Zaynab. I was wary of her before and jealous too, but now I understand that she will stop at nothing to ensure that my status with Yusuf will be lower than hers.

I have heard it whispered that she was a concubine to a minor vassal before she became queen of Aghmat.

She showed no remorse when her husband the king died, only sought to become Abu Bakr’s wife as quickly as possible.

When her status might have been in question as Abu Bakr left the camp to go south, she somehow obtained a divorce and married Yusuf, perhaps thinking that his life was in less danger than Abu Bakr’s, who would be in direct combat while Yusuf trained the troops and made plans.

This is a woman who is more ambitious than most men.

And she is fulfilling her ambitions in the only way open to her: through marriage.

I do not care about Zaynab’s ambitions. I am not interested in marrying higher and higher.

But I want a child. I want the child that was taken from me by a quick blow of a camel’s leg.

I want the child that I lost through eating what I thought was an innocent flavoursome herb, but which was turned into an evil brew by a crone who works for an ambitious sorceress.

Just as Zaynab will stop at nothing to hold her status as the wife of more and more important men, so I grow stubborn.

I will do whatever it takes to feel life stir within me again.

When I have a child I will live quietly.

Zaynab can have Yusuf every night. She can sit by his side in council.

She can follow her own dreams and leave me alone with my baby.

My child will be a symbol of the vision we shared: of what the Maghreb could be one day, when the blood has been shed, and the battles are over.

A son for Yusuf will be the beginning of a peaceful era.

When he sees his son, he will be reminded of how we were together and our plans.

***

I brace myself. I buy healing salves and drink herbal teas to encourage life within me. I buy them from the herb seller and when she sees what I ask for she adds other herbs.

“For a child,” she says, and I nod without replying. The kindness in her eyes threatens to undo me and I must be strong.

I order fine foods to be made and eat heartily. I buy new clothes and polish my jewellery. I obtain a sweet perfume and use it on the intimate parts of my body. I wash with fine rose-scented soaps and sit and brush my hair until it gleams. Then I send for Yusuf.

He comes to me, and I am kind. When Zaynab inevitably sends her drink for him, I let him drink it with a smile and then lie back and let him have his way with my body, although it hurts me and I long for his old gentleness.

The next day I use the salves. I make sure to eat well, drink and eat my fertile herbs. I pray.

Again and again, whenever my body is strong enough, I send for Yusuf.

Sometimes I manage to avoid him taking the drink or manage to spill a part of it.

Then he is gentler, and I know some pleasure.

But drink or no drink, bruises or no bruises, I call him back to me.

I want one thing from Yusuf, and then I will be satisfied and trouble Zaynab no more.

He still spends more nights with her, but I do not care about that. I need time for my bruises to fade between our nights, to eat and regain my strength.

I summon up my courage and dismiss Hela. “You may leave me,” I tell her. “I will not have a witch like you serve me.”

She looks at me for a long moment. “You should keep me by your side,” she says. “I know that you hate me, but I did not use magic on you, I took life when it was still early. There are worse ways to lose a child.”

“Are you threatening me?” I ask her, feeling my legs tremble although I try to sound strong.

She shakes her head. “I stood between the two of you,” she says. “You should be grateful Zaynab did not have her way.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say. “I believe you are a witch who works for a serpent.”

She does not answer, only gathers a small bag of her possessions and commands the two slaves to leave.

“Why do you work for her, Hela?” I ask. “What possible hold does she have over you that you would take a child’s life to make her happy?”

She pauses in the doorway, without looking back. “You would not understand,” she says, her face hidden.

I send word to Zaynab that I demand the return of Adeola and Ekon and they come back to me that very day. I embrace Adeola tightly and Ekon kisses my hand, holding my fingers in his large palm, all of us relieved at being back together.

***

I stand a little taller now, dress with care and wear my fine jewellery when I leave my tent.

I go about my days with light feet and a smile on my lips.

I sing when I weave or when I embroider cloth, laying out the symbols and shapes my Aunt Tizemt taught me, although my time with her seems so very long ago.

Sometimes I walk through the camp and sit where I can see the herb seller.

I see her answer the anxious questions of those who are unwell and her calm responses, her instructions of how to prepare a herbal tea or tincture, how many days they must eat or drink a herb to cure their ills.

She is precise, her voice quiet but firm.

Sometimes her eyes will flicker towards me, and she will meet my gaze for a moment.

I do not know what she thinks when she sees me watching her.

She cannot know that I find comfort in her presence even if I do not speak with her.

I think of Hela, using herbs against me rather than to cure those who have need of healing and I vow she will not come near me again.

Whatever her reasons, she has chosen to serve a woman who does not baulk at demanding the life of an unborn child and neither of them is to be trusted.

The sight of the herb seller reminds me that not all those with power or skills are evil, she makes me feel protected.

***

Zaynab leaves me alone for a time, perhaps lulled into a feeling of safety by the fact that Yusuf still goes more often to her tent than he comes to mine.

Besides this, she is widely acknowledged as his right hand.

Her days are spent in council with Yusuf and his leaders, for she is a clever woman and has contacts in many of the important cities to the north, which are important to Yusuf’s plans.

I wish a little that I could be a part of those meetings, for Yusuf to see me as an important strategist too, but I must admit that although I traded for years, I do not have the knowledge of the noble families that Zaynab can offer.

She has been queen of Aghmat, and can advise on the loyalties, strengths and weaknesses of many high-ranking tribal leaders across the land.

When she emerges from these meetings she is drained. I see it in her beautiful face when I catch a glimpse of her as she passes, but she hides it well, retiring to her tent for a few hours and then emerging fresh and calm, despite the stream of visitors she has received during that time.

She is visited constantly by people wanting orders.

Zaynab holds court from inside her great dark tent.

It is she who specifies how many and which men should stand guard, where new tents should be erected, what foods are to be prepared when there are big feasts.

She directs all the daily life of the camp.

There are those who do grumble, although quietly, that lady Zaynab has too much power in the camp.

But Yusuf does not deny her power, nor does he ever countermand her orders.

In truth, he has no interest in such day-to-day arrangements and is probably glad that Zaynab has taken such work off his shoulders.

He is too busy training his men and planning for the future.

Sometimes important leaders of tribes visit him, and then his council will sit long into the night.

***

Meanwhile I carry out my plan, and one morning when I open the tent flaps, I take a deep breath of the good stew Adeola is making and nearly vomit up all the milk porridge I have just eaten.

Hastily I retreat into my tent and drink water, then lie on my bed and loudly berate Adeola for having made bad food the night before, which has made me feel ill, all the while making a face at her which she understands.

I get up as soon as I can and walk about the camp until I feel better.

From then on, I cherish my secret and am careful to protect it from the camp.

I feel better this time, for after a few days I do not feel so sick when I smell food, only deeply desire fresh milk, which I drink in large quantities, refusing much other food under the pretext that it is too hot to eat much.

I see Hela watching me from Zaynab’s tent, but there is little she can report, for I keep my distance from her and so I escape her notice for a long time. But not long enough for my liking.

***

Zaynab sends a message to ask me to dine with herself and Yusuf in her tent.

This is an unusual request and one that makes me suspicious.

However, I dress well, order Adeola to prepare fine cakes as a gift for Zaynab and arrive as the sky grows dusky.

Flaming torches light up her tent, with smoking lamps inside.

A space has been made for a sumptuous meal, where Zaynab is waiting.

Yusuf joins us and Hela pours water for us to wash our hands.

As we eat, we exchange meaningless pleasantries.

The food is good and plentiful. There is a silence after we have washed our hands again.

It is broken by Zaynab, who reaches out and touched Yusuf’s hand.

He looks up at her and she smiles. It is the smile of a virtuous and beloved wife. I brace myself for whatever is to come.