Page 39 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)

F es. The word sweeps through the city. At long last, Yusuf is ready to attack Fes.

Fes is a twin city. Long ago, one city was built on one side of the river, then another on the opposite bank.

One city is inhabited by the descendants of refugees from Cordoba in Al-Andalus; the other by Kairouanis, from Tunisia.

The walls of the two cities are so close to one another that, to an outside observer, they appear as one city, but they are still in fact two cities, each with their own customs. It is known that neither of the two amirs who govern the two parts of the city will peaceably surrender as did the rulers of Meknes. There will have to be a siege.

Yusuf places the command of much of the army under a relative of his, Yahya bin Wasinu, and preparations for the siege begin.

There are troops already at Meknes who are well placed to go to Fes and begin the siege.

But more troops will be needed before they can begin.

Every day new men are recruited and more soldiers set out on the journey to reach Meknes, where they will be welcomed and provisioned to then make their way on towards Fes.

Yusuf wants both parts of Fes to fall to his men, for he has in mind to destroy the wall which separates the two parts of the city, thus making it into one single, larger, city.

Fes has been his dream for a long time, for with Fes as his base in the north and Murakush in the south, he can plan future campaigns to the north and the east of our land, as well as further into the south, with Abu Bakr’s help.

The stately dinners with leaders of tribes and cities are all but stopped, for Yusuf, always the warrior, only ever undertook them because he knows that negotiation and good relations with his new subjects is important.

Now that there is a battle to be fought, he sweeps all such events to one side.

The servants of his household are idle without the great feasts to prepare or the guests to care for.

Their master spends much time in training or poring over plans with his generals.

They calculate the number of people in Fes, how much food they may have within the walls, how best to attack when the time comes and the greatest threats to their own men.

Having two amirs each with their own soldiers will complicate matters.

They sit up talking all night and train men most of the day.

When I see Yusuf, he is always in a hurry, always surrounded by generals and of course his own personal guard who now go everywhere with him.

As for Zaynab, she has a child to care for, but she leaves him with nursemaids and is always by Yusuf’s side.

While the men train, she returns briefly to her own quarters where she will beat anyone who has allowed any harm, real or imagined, to come to her son.

She inspects him as though he were a prized object rather than her own flesh and blood, then goes to the outskirts of the city to watch the training, taking up a place in the shade and keeping her eyes narrowed against the sun.

Her dark eyes miss nothing. Later she will speak with Yusuf about men who held back, who have not shown courage, strength or stamina.

Those men will find themselves withdrawn from the troops riding towards Fes and made to train even harder until Zaynab’s lips stop speaking their name.

Sometimes I see her in the distance and wonder at her.

She does not hold her child and cover him with kisses as I yearn to do with my son.

Her eyes light up when she sees him, but the light in them is cold and hard, the eyes of a good trader when they spot a precious gem that they may use to make their fortune.

***

She uses a gem to attack me.

***

I come to my rooms one night as the siege of Fes begins and find on my bed a small casket.

Inside is a tiseguin , a large ring of silver topped off with a very small box, the lid to which is fastened by a tiny chain.

The lid of this box is made of carnelian, a stone known for its protective powers.

It is customary to fill such a box with kohl for the eyes or with perfume, so that a woman may have her favourite beautifiers carried with her wherever she goes.

I am puzzled by the gift and a little suspicious.

“Where did this come from?” I ask Adeola.

“A guard delivered it. He said it was from Yusuf for you.”

I open the tiny box and find it to contain a sweet perfume, very light and fresh.

It smells of flowers and fresh air and salt, such as one might smell close to the sea.

I smile to myself and rub the perfume where my pulse beats.

I wear the ring proudly, hoping to see Yusuf soon and have him smile at my delight in his gift.

***

The first day of the siege must be terrifying for the people of Fes.

They have heard of the great army, of course, but few have seen its full might, for until now Yusuf has never had the need to use all of it at one time.

Many cities and tribal leaders have simply surrendered when he has so demanded, seeking to avoid his wrath.

Those now looking out from the ramparts of Fes can see thousands upon thousands approaching them, their ranks tight and steady, the men approaching without hesitation, their great shields held high, their weapons glinting in the sun.

My head feels light, and my feet seem to float. I feel free. All my fears of Zaynab suddenly seem foolish. What harm can she do me, after all? I am alive and healthy. My son is also alive, even if I cannot hold him. Zaynab is fallible, she will not always win our battles.

I dress in my best, wear my jewellery and apply more of Yusuf’s perfume.

When evening comes, I sit by his side during the meal, laughing and joking, telling old stories from my days as a trader, when I was dressed as a boy.

I tell of all the scrapes I got into, the lies I told my father about my camel racing, the tricks I played on my oldest and most serious brother.

Yusuf looks surprised but pleased at my lightness of spirit and I make sure that he can see the ring he has given me.

When the drums are played, I clap my hands and tap my feet.

I smile at Zaynab, and she smiles back at me, her hands keeping my rhythm.

***

The drums are never silent; day or night their pulse beats, the inhabitants of Fes unable to sleep so that even their soldiers begin to feel fatigue without even fighting. Babies cry, children whimper, the men and women begin to feel a real fear.

I awake feeling strange. The colours of my rooms seem very bright and I think perhaps that I have slept late, for the rays of sunlight at the window hurt my eyes and make my rugs seem too bright.

I wear plainer clothes that day for none of my usual reds and oranges seem right.

I take some comfort and pleasure in my new perfume, which smells so fresh.

***

Yusuf’s army never comes forward when the enemy retreats, to avoid a false retreat, allowing the enemy to suddenly turn on them when they follow.

But neither do they fall back, staying always together, always facing the enemy.

The soldiers of Fes must come forward to be killed or escape back to the safety of the city walls to remain under siege while their water supplies and food dwindle, and the people grow ever more fearful.

I cannot stop thinking of Fes. I see our soldiers, blood running outside the walls of a great city, limbs and heads rolling helplessly away from their owners.

The weapons gleam so brightly that I shield my eyes even when they are tightly closed.

I rub the perfume into my skin and breath it deeply, hoping to wash away the smell of blood in my nostrils, the sound of drums and steel on steel, hurting my ears in my silent room.

There are camels, allowing our men to fight the foot soldiers from a great height, cutting off their heads with one quick stroke of a sword.

There are horses, who change direction at great speed, avoiding the enemy’s weapons and allowing the riders to chase after those who seek to escape their fate.

The great shields, tanned with ostrich eggs and camels’ milk, are like iron, protecting the men from any weapon wielded by the soldiers of Fes, such that their attempts to protect their city seem foolish.

I lie on my bed and moan, thinking I hear the men scream as they plunge to their death from the ramparts, the terrified howls of women and children as they see their fathers, brothers, husbands die.

I smell the perfume, but it does not seem to take away the sound, no matter how much of it I put on.

The little box is almost empty, and I want to ask Yusuf to bring me more of it, so that its sweet fresh smell might bring me comfort.

Still the siege continues. More lives are lost while the two amirs hide from the conquering army, coming closer every day as their own armies shrink.

I rub on the last of the perfume, feel the room seem to float about me. I think of my life, which seems full of bright colours and sensations.

My childhood, the thick dark indigo of the robes that my father, brothers and I had worn and the pure soft white of Thiyya.

The gold of oranges and the orange of gold, the pink rose buds of rich perfumes, the yellow of lion skins, their once-fearsome manes soft to the touch.

The choking dust and the blinding sand. The heat and the endless journeys, the flickering warmth of fires and the good smell of roasting kid.

My Aunt Tizemt. Her warm hard hugs, the sweetness of her cakes dripping with honey, her roars when she was angry and her grumbles when she was happy. The waterfall of gaspingly cold water as Tanemghurt prepared me for my wedding night.