Page 35 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)
This larger army and new city have rulers.
Yusuf is clearly the commander here, no matter where Abu Bakr might be at this moment.
Sat in a position of influence by his side, Zaynab is an imposing consort, a powerful and beautiful woman.
The men will remember the prophecy that Zaynab would marry the man who would rule all the land, and as they look at Yusuf sitting above them, they cannot help but wonder if he is indeed that man.
The reins of power are held in different hands from those they had thought, the wind changing the shape of the dunes before their very eyes.
There is a long pause, a silence while everyone waits for the first move to be made.
Yusuf waits long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, then rises to his feet.
At his side, Zaynab rises also, her dark silken robes fluttering in the breeze.
Together they come to the front of the platform, where Yusuf holds out his hands to the men.
“In the name of Allah, I welcome you back to Murakush, my brave and noble warriors.” His voice is calm and hospitable, his use of a possessive word to refer to the men smoothly uttered.
“Come eat with us, my brothers, for you must be tired and hungry.” He claps his hands and the slaves spring into action, fetching jugs of scented water to wash the hands of the guests.
The officers ascend the platform where they are warmly embraced by Yusuf while Zaynab turns her dazzling smile on them.
The common soldiers gather near to the platform.
Water is poured, then generous amounts of food are served to all.
I am helped up to the platform, to take my place near Yusuf.
The food is richer than the men have been used to, fighting rebel tribes in the desert and scrubland of the hot south, and they fall upon it, enjoying the rest and comfort so long denied them.
The rest of us eat less hungrily, still amazed at the spectacle Yusuf and Zaynab have created and wondering at what will happen next.
The feast over, Yusuf entertains the officers in Zaynab’s tent, which I avoid.
I am uneasy about what exactly Zaynab’s plans are, for I detect her hand in all of this, her smiling face hiding some secret plan.
I see the men emerge later, each one carrying noble gifts that Yusuf has showered on them.
Even the common men are given golden coins.
I wonder whether these gifts can so easily sway the men’s loyalty, but they are a small part of the greater impact that the homecoming is having on them.
These men have been away from loved ones, fighting and living hard.
Now they return to a place of nobility and riches, of bountifulness and kind words.
They are dazed, impressed, keen to be part of all that they had seen.
It becomes clear that Abu Bakr has sent these men on as a reconnaissance so that he may know how the land lies.
He himself, with a smaller number of men, is now based in Aghmat, which when he left had still been of some importance.
Anyone can now see that it is as nothing compared to the authority of Murakush.
He will have seen for himself how things have changed since he has been away.
Not all his men ride back to him. Only a handful of those who were sent out return to him and these are messengers. They are charged with telling him to meet with Yusuf on an appointed date, at a place between Aghmat and Murakush.
***
They ride out at dawn. Yusuf rides ahead, Zaynab at his side.
Behind them follow a party of people of importance.
I have been granted a place in this group, not by Yusuf’s side.
The black warriors come immediately behind the officers and tribal leaders, now Yusuf’s vassals and partners.
Then come all his men, in their full battle dress.
The place chosen for the meeting is an open plain, a good place to spot any troops approaching, but with nowhere to hide.
A small shelter has been set up to shield the negotiators from the heat of the day, and as we approach, we see that Abu Bakr has already arrived and set up a very small camp with his remaining men.
He sits under a shelter, a little older and grayer but still the stocky kindly-looking man that I remember.
His eyes take in the sight before him as we slowly come to a halt.
There are not just hundreds, but several thousand men gathered behind Yusuf, in tight fighting formations. A personal guard has formed around Yusuf and Zaynab, made up entirely of the black warriors, their height adding to their imposing battlewear.
On either side of Yusuf and slightly forward are guards who carry great chests.
These guards stop as we all draw to a halt, then gently put down their precious burden and step back, lifting the lids as they do so, displaying a fantastic array of gifts.
There are jewels, rolls of fine cloths, skins, gold, weapons, rich robes, fruits and much more, heaped up in glittering mounds.
There is a long silence. Yusuf should of course dismount and greet Abu Bakr, as Commander, his own cousin, his brother in arms. It is offensive not to do so, but still he waits.
Yusuf on a magnificent stallion with his queen by his side, Abu Bakr sitting on the ground on a plain rug beneath a simple shelter.
It is a great show of strength and power, riches and importance, a challenge without a challenge needing to be spoken out loud.
Abu Bakr is not a stupid man. He knows Yusuf well, but he also knows Zaynab and what a formidable opponent she can be, perhaps of greater value than any army.
No doubt he sees her hand in this. Besides, he is getting older.
Perhaps he does not relish the idea of commanding a greater and still greater army, of taking them across all our land and beyond, fighting, always fighting.
He does not have the ambitions of Yusuf, nor certainly those of Zaynab.
I see his broad gruff face sag slightly, a weariness stealing over him.
Then he straightens his back and his head comes up.
He smiles at Yusuf and his words come smoothly, for he has surely rehearsed them since he has learned of Yusuf’s change in status.
His eyes are kind, and his tone carries with it a sense of inevitability, as though he has waited all his life for this very moment.
“Will you join me, cousin?”
Yusuf waits a moment, while the men tighten their grips on their weapons.
Then he dismounts and slowly makes his way to the shelter, where he sits down.
They look at each other for a long moment before Abu Bakr speaks again, finishing what he has no choice but to say.
“My cousin Yusuf. My true brother before God. There can be no man more worthy than you to command this army of holy warriors and to undertake a holy war in the name of Allah.”
There is a palpable release of tension as he speaks. The men’s hands relax on their weapons, and I see Yusuf’s shoulders loosen. I see Zaynab nod, a small confidant gesture.
Abu Bakr continues. “I am a simple man, one who loves the desert, home of our families and seat of our power. I wish to return there with a small force of my own men. There we will continue our work, fighting back the rebel tribes and securing the trade routes for our own needs. Brother, I ask you to assume command in my name, and I will return to the desert quickly, for this is no longer my place.”
After that all goes as smoothly as Zaynab no doubt planned it.
A document is drawn up to transfer power.
Abu Bakr will retain his nominal power as Commander; but Yusuf is now officially the head of the army, the cities conquered so far and their mission in the future.
Witnesses and the tribal leaders watch while all is agreed and at the end of it all the two men embrace and set off back to their respective futures.
I look back over my shoulder and see Abu Bakr’s small group slowly making their way across the vast plain, never to see Murakush again.
The army comes back to the camp victorious.
Abu Bakr’s name will be inscribed on gold coins until the day he dies, but the true Commander is now Yusuf.
The army is his to command, Zaynab is his undisputed wife.
Murakush will remain under his rule, and Abu Bakr, his own leader and once-loved cousin, will retreat into obscurity.
I feel a grudging respect for Zaynab. She is no pampered queen consort; she is Yusuf’s right hand.
It is her skill that has brought this negotiation to a peaceful conclusion and heaped greatness on Yusuf.
My own plans for the trading routes seem simple in comparison with a woman who can think so vastly, so strategically.
The never-ending battles and negotiations for power tire me even to think of.
I wonder if the wars will ever end, but feel my baby stir within me and promise him that one day there will be peace.
***
As we reach the square I shake my head. She has done it again.
On the raised platform, food being prepared below her, lies Zaynab.
How she has managed to dismount, rid herself of her outer robes so fast and appear to have been here all along I do not know.
Perhaps she is truly a sorceress, able to fly like a bird, appear in one place and then another in the blink of an eye.
I am helped up onto the platform and Yusuf gives both Zaynab and I tiraout necklaces, heavy pectoral pendants, one large triangle with two smaller ones dangling beneath it, appropriate to this festive occasion. Certainly, she has earned hers a hundred times over.
Zaynab lies back on silken cushions, a beautiful woman, her smile warm towards all, but dazzling for Yusuf.
While I quietly take up a place towards the back of the platform, he takes her in his arms before the whole camp.
She lowers her eyes and waves him to a place beside her, then orders the food to be served.
As she does so, she makes a tiny gesture, smoothing her silk robes across her belly, where there is now a small but unmistakable curve.
The camp roars its approval. Danger has been averted.
They have a clear line of command. There has been no violence, no ugly scenes.
Yusuf is now their ruler, with the beautiful Zaynab by his side, and now all the camp knows she is expecting his child.
There is food, drink and the promise of a great future to come.
People eat, dance, laugh, tell stories and sing.
I watch all of this for a little while, then slip away to my own tent.
I sit on my bed and gently rub my own belly, sing an old lullaby to my tiny child.
I pray that he will be born safely into this dangerous life, where victory and defeat walk on the blade of a dagger, one twist of the handle turning the fate of many in one direction or another with no notice.
Into a world where the new commander of a great army is forever in debt to the woman who has made him so.