Page 28 of Do Not Awaken Love (The Moroccan Empire #3)

I think she is foolish, but I can hardly force her.

I give her bread and dried fruit and she eats both hungrily.

I give her more to take away with her, along with a blanket.

I think for a moment of offering her shelter in my house, but I am not sure that she would accept, nor whether it would be right for me to share a house with a Jewess.

Besides, the law says she must not live within the city walls.

I believe that she was taken by force, as she says, but I do not know enough of her not to be certain that she did not in some way encourage such an advance, if she is a woman of loose morals.

If she were, I most certainly could not have her near me.

She leaves me, sobbing her thanks, clutching the blankets and food to her.

I spend much of my night unable to sleep, wondering at the daily dangers she faces and what might come to me, too, as an unprotected woman in this city.

Yes, I am Yusuf’s slave, but few would know that by now, as I rarely see him.

Murakush swirls with rumours. Abu Bakr is returning, having subdued the unrest in the South.

He has sent messengers to announce his imminent arrival.

In his absence, Yusuf has been commander of the army, has married Zaynab, and is beloved by both the army and the people of this new, growing, city.

If Abu Bakr returns, is he to take back the leadership he left in Yusuf’s hands?

And if so, what is to become of Yusuf? Must he step down?

The people are unsettled; they are afraid of a fight for leadership.

I think of how Yusuf always spoke of Abu Bakr, with loyalty and family love, and I cannot imagine them fighting one another, yet neither can I imagine Yusuf stepping down.

But if he were to challenge Abu Bakr for leadership and fail, he could face execution for treason.

The response to Abu Bakr’s imminent arrival is twofold.

The messengers bearing the news, high-ranking officials and soldiers, are greeted as old friends, at a vast feast over which Yusuf and Zaynab preside, held in the central square.

They are fed and entertained, then taken into Zaynab’s own tent and offered gifts of honour.

After this, the more important men are kept within Murakush, by Yusuf’s side, whilst the mid-ranked men and common soldiers return to Abu Bakr to report back and issue an invitation to meet.

He will see from this that their numbers and loyalty have been diminished, that Yusuf has already issued a silent warning.

And sure enough, Abu Bakr agrees to meet away from Murakush, at a place closer to the humbled Aghmat, as though echoing his own possible future status.

The party that rides out to meet Abu Bakr is vast. At its head are Yusuf and Zaynab, side-by-side, powerful consorts, surrounded by Yusuf’s personal guards, including Imari.

They wear identical armour, carry giant matching shields, their black skin forming a dark shadow around the two leaders.

Behind them are carried vast chests, made in carved wood.

Each is filled with treasures: silver, gold and jewellery, skins and fine cloths as well as robes of honour, and of course weapons, always treasured by warriors.

Behind this offering, this all-but-bribe, ride several thousand soldiers of the army, men in full battle armour, a show of military strength and power, of leadership already held, which will not be released without a struggle.

I do not ride out with the party of course, I wait with the commoners of the city to know our fate, powerless to influence it.

I try to return to my own home, to tend my plants and pray as I should, but I find it impossible.

I find myself pacing the tiny courtyard, until I can bear it no longer and make my way to the central square, eager for news.

Little children balance on the growing city walls, looking out across the plains for a sighting of our army returning, their keen eyes ready to spot who leads it.

The midday sun burns down on us, yet none of us take shelter, nor eat.

There is talk, rumours. The general consensus seems to be that Zaynab is behind this show of strength, not wishing her husband to be demoted.

That it is she, rather than Yusuf, who has masterminded this meeting.

I find a part of the city walls onto which I can climb, make my way up it and sit on its broad top, looking out over the plain with the children.

Aisha finds me there, and, unwillingly, I climb back down and join her, wishing that I could stay in still silence, my eyes desperately searching the horizon for a glimpse of Yusuf.

“Imari thinks that Abu Bakr will not fight,” Aisha says, stroking her belly, which is growing again.

She is hopeful for a daughter. She must be fearful for Imari’s safety, placed as he is close to Yusuf, in the front line of any fighting that might occur.

If anything goes wrong with this plan, this child may end up fatherless, before it is even born.

“I am sure everything will be peaceful,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. I’m aware that my own hands tremble if they are not laid firmly in my lap, I clasp them together so as not to give away my nerves, not to make Aisha more worried than she already is.

“Kella is with child,” says Aisha.

“I am glad,” I say. I mean it. I am sorry for Yusuf’s first wife, who has found herself usurped by a woman who has no qualms when it comes to getting what she wants.

“Can you warn her against Hela?” I say. “She should not allow Hela to serve her; she should stay in her own home and only allow her own servants to care for her.”

“I think she has realised that for herself,” says Aisha. “She has barely been seen out of her house, and her belly already has a curve to it, perhaps she is far enough along that it would be hard to harm the child.”

I say nothing, but I think that if Zaynab and Hela were prepared to take a child from Kella’s womb, there is no knowing what they would do once a child is already born. I hope that Kella shows a stronger mettle than she has done so far, now that she knows what may be done to her.

“Still no sign?” asks Aisha, anxiously peering upwards to the top of the wall where the small children sit, shading their eyes from the sun, peering into the distance.

They shake their heads.

We wait. And wait. The sun is low in the sky when a shout alerts us that the army has been spotted, and it is not long before it is confirmed that Yusuf and Zaynab are still riding at the head of it.

There are screams of excitement and celebration, cheering and applauding as they make their way back into the city, where a raised platform has been built and a feast is ready to be eaten.

Zaynab, who recently appeared pale and tired, now seems to glow, her cheeks pink, her eyes dark ringed with kohl, something she has not worn for some time.

Both of Yusuf’s wives are present for the festivities, although Kella seats herself quietly to one side of the platform, while Zaynab reclines magnificently in the centre of the stage and lowers a hand to her belly, deliberately stroking the black silk enrobing her, showing off a tiny curve.

Beside me, I hear Aisha gasp before the whole square erupts with celebration, cheering Zaynab’s unexpected fertility at this most auspicious moment.

I chastise myself silently for the sudden bitter thoughts that perhaps she is only faking a pregnancy.

Deliberately, I bow my head and praise God for Yusuf’s triumph and bless his future children.

I watch as Yusuf speaks to the crowd, presents both his wives with magnificent pendant necklaces, offers gifts of honour to his generals.

I see his happiness and pride and am certain he does not think of me once, does not even search for my face in the crowd, unlike Imari, who, as soon as he is released from service, rushes to Aisha’s side and greets her with great tenderness, the two of them beaming at each other with love and relief.

I see their bond and must acknowledge to myself that Yusuf shares just such a bond with Zaynab, that she is the right mate for him, a consort queen to an ambitious warlord, matching his power and ambition with her own.

It would be best if I recalled who I really am: a discarded slave, property of a master who has forgotten me.

I increase my efforts to live as I once did.

I have enough money to last me some time, so I cease trading in herbs.

The market of Murakush has grown large enough by now that there are plenty of traders who can offer fresh fruits, vegetables and herbs.

There is no need for my work to continue.

I give over the little field to a family in need and retreat ever more into my own little world, seeking to know nothing of Yusuf’s family life.

I try to follow the timing of daily prayers as I would have done in the convent, I stop eating the food that they prepare here and instead eat as much as possible as I would have done at home in Galicia.

I stay within the four walls of my tiny home, except when I must go to buy food.

I wrap my hair tightly with a plain white cloth and seek out only dull colours for my robes.

I see Rebecca in the street, begging for alms. I look at her body and see that it has changed, she catches my eye and looks away, ashamed perhaps or sorry that she did not take my advice.

She is with child and I cannot imagine how she will face life on the streets with a baby in her arms. I tell myself that I must keep away from those I have known, they only distract me from the life I should be leading.

I have strayed too far already from the path I should have followed.