Page 38 of Do Not Awaken Love (The Moroccan Empire #3)

The watchmen that go about the city found me…

I f I thought that Yusuf’s time in Al-Andalus would be brief, now I learn my mistake.

The taifa kings cannot be relied upon, Yusuf leads them to one victory after another, and yet still they squabble amongst themselves, turn traitor on each other and on him, showing loyalty to Alphonso when they think to gain from him, returning to Yusuf when they need his help.

Yusuf is not a man to accept disloyalty.

The scholars of the Council are in agreement: the amirs of Al-Andalus have been shown to be impious libertines who care only for their own comforts and luxuries, corrupting their own people with their poor example and commanding illegal taxes, expressly forbidden by the Qu’ran.

After some debate, Yusuf agrees on a new strategy.

He will embark once again for Al-Andalus, but this time he will ignore the lying ways of the taifa kings.

He will fight his own war against Alphonso, and he is determined to win.

If he does, he will be able to claim the whole of Al-Andalus for himself and his kingdom will become an empire.

I am making my way home from the market when I realise I am being followed.

I take first one street and then another, circling my house, unwilling to lead the man, whoever he may be, into my world.

At last, in a narrow alleyway one street away from my home, I turn to face him.

He is dressed like a local, but his skin is fairer than most and when he speaks, I swallow.

His accent is like mine; I hear in it the notes of my childhood.

“May I speak with you?” he says.

“You are already speaking with me,” I say, wanting to hear him speak again, so that I can be certain of what I heard, so that I can hear again a voice from my past.

“I would like to speak with you in private,” says the man. He does not move forwards; he does not sound threatening.

“How do I know I can trust you?” I ask.

“I have not harmed you,” he says. “I have known who you are for some time and have brought no harm to you or your household.”

“My household?”

“A child, I believe,” he says. “And a handmaiden for many years, or companion, whatever she is. A Jewess.”

“Why would you need to know about me?” I ask.

“I am from Galicia, like yourself.”

“And what is that to me?” I ask.

“I could return you to your home,” he says. “The Convent of the Sacred Way, was it not?”

I have not heard its name for so long and yet in his mouth, I am suddenly there, in the silent cloisters, in the peace of my stillroom, tending to the sick along the pilgrims’ route, surrounded by my sisters in God, my fellow brides of Christ. The scent of my plants rises before me in the garden that I tended for so many years.

“How do you know its name?”

“That hardly matters,” he says. “But it is your home, and I have the means to return you there.”

“How?”

“In return for something,” he says.

Of course. There is always a price to be paid. “What do you want from me?” I ask.

“Not much,” he says. “May I enter your house?”

I take him away from curious gazes. I take him to an empty room, unwilling even to show him my study, wanting to share as little as possible with this man, this stranger, this person who knows so much about me.

I do not offer him a seat; I do not offer him refreshment.

I only take him to the room and turn to face him.

“What do you want from me?” I repeat.

“I believe you could do my master a great service,” he says.

“And who is your master?” I ask.

“Rodrigo del Diaz,” he says.

“I do not know this man,” I say.

“He is a great warrior in our homeland,” says the man. “But now he must face a vast and powerful army from a foreign land. He has need of knowledge.”

“What army?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

“The Almoravids,” he says. “Yusuf bin Tashfin intends to come against my master. And I believe you are in a position to find out when, and how, and other such knowledge as may benefit my master.”

“Yusuf bin Tashfin is my master,” I point out. “It would seem our masters are set against one another.”

“Perhaps we could share a master,” says the man.

“Meaning?”

“My master would gladly become your master,” says the man. “And would set you free in return for your service, would return you to your home at the convent, with a goodly sum of money to benefit your holy community.”

“You cannot promise such a thing,” I say.

“I can,” says the man. “It would not be impossible to take you away from here, to the sea, to have you set sail on a ship and be returned to our homeland. It can be arranged. For a price.”

“And what do you want to know?” I ask.

“Timings. Numbers of men. Locations.”

“I know nothing of these things. These are not things my master discusses with me.”

“But you could ask.”

“Then he would be suspicious.”

“I am sure a woman of your learning could find a way.”

“What makes you think I am disloyal to my master?”

“You are a slave,” he reminds me, “and a slave has little loyalty to a master who has not set them free.”

“He has given me a great deal,” I say. “He has treated me well.”

“But you are still a slave,” he says. “Or are you more to him than that?”

“That is not your business,” I say.

“Is the child yours?” he asks.

“He belongs to the Jewess,” I say.

“Does he?” says the man.

“Yes,” I say.

“I wonder,” says the man. “I wonder if I should look into his parentage.”

I stand in silence before him.

He waits, then nods his head. “You are not as eager to return to the convent as I expected,” he says. “I thought your vows were sacred.”

“I think you should leave now,” I say.

“Of course,” he says, and bows to me in the style of our country, which looks odd in the local robes he affects. “But think on what I have said. If you need to find me, you may tell the storyteller in the marketplace and he will know where to seek me out.”

“Leave,” I say.

“Think on it carefully,” he says, walking down the stairs, his voice drifting back to me. “Think on where your loyalties lie, Sister Juliana.”

I spend the rest of the day at prayer, shaken by the man’s visit, by his knowledge of my life before here, by the offer he has made, even the use of my old name.

I could leave here. I know that Yusuf would tell me enough that I could please the man’s master, that I could ask questions carefully, without arousing his suspicion.

I know that I could gather what has been asked for, and be stolen away from here in the night, travel far away before Yusuf finds out, sail across the sea and return to the convent, return to the life I once led.

I believe what the man offers, I know that such knowledge as he has asked for would be of sufficient value that it would be worth his while to honour his promise to me in return.

And have I not longed for the convent, all these years?

I could leave here, with Ali in Rebecca’s loving hands.

I am sure he would be safe enough. I could leave here, and sail away from the past years, from all my sins and failings, from all the temptations this world has offered me and have my slate wiped clean.

Begin again, anew, ask for forgiveness and receive absolution, for was I not sinned against?

Was I not taken by force and kept without my will by heathens?

I would be welcomed back with open arms; of this I am certain.

Years have passed, but my sisters will have remembered me, prayed for me, hoped that I might one day return, whilst grieving for my loss.

They will have thought me dead. If I returned, I would be a holy miracle, proof of God’s will and blessing.

It would be so easy. But I cannot.

Ali hugs me goodnight and I bid Rebecca farewell for the day as she returns to Daniel, before retreating to my prayer room.

And I lie to myself, as always. I know full well what keeps me here, and it is neither Aisha nor Rebecca, who now have their own families, nor Fatima, now a healer and grown woman.

In part it is Ali of course, although I know that he would be cared for in my absence.

But it is my own heart that I think of, not the hearts of others.

It is my own treacherous desire for Yusuf, and the knowledge that he is not just my master but my beloved, that means I cannot leave this place while he still lives, nor can I ever choose what I long for.

And now that I know this, why do I not give in?

Why do I not choose the life I long for, choose Yusuf?

Perhaps I cannot let go of the vows I once made, perhaps I am too much of a coward to knowingly pit myself against Zaynab, knowing what she is capable of, what I might have to face.

Or perhaps I am too afraid to open my heart more than a crack, that I cannot face what emotions I might feel, if I were to love Yusuf as I long to.

The next day I go to the market square and watch the storyteller.

I wonder if I could touch his arm and ask him under my breath where the man from Galicia is, to send him a message that the woman he spoke with wishes to speak with him again.

But I do not. So now I know where my loyalties lie.

I am going against my own homeland, my own king and his chosen warrior.

The man they call El Cid will not be my hero, will not be the man whose armies and banners I cheer on.

Instead, I send against my own countryman another man, a veiled warrior who carries my heart by his side.

I have forsworn my own people and cast in my lot with the heathen army that seeks to vanquish them, an army whose God is not my God.

Who am I then, who am I if I have forsworn my vows and the God to whom I made them? I kneel to pray but cannot find the answer.