Page 10 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

In the days that follow all is strange to me.

Servants rush to and fro, Myriam barely speaks to me except to tell me what I must do next, and all around us is chaos.

My mother disappears entirely and it is Hela who commands what must be done, as usual.

Clothes and jewels must made. I stand before the mirror for only a moment in each outfit, barely turning this way and that before they are folded away in great chests, household goods and animals bartered for then readied for the long journey which we will undertake.

One carpet after another is brought from my father’s workshops and added to the pile of goods I will be taking with me to my new husband’s home.

***

My husband! We have been married, but it has been so quick I do not even feel myself to be a wife and all the wild joy I felt at the news that I would marry this man who has consumed me has almost been thrown aside in all the hurry and the strangeness of the preparations.

The words were spoken, the prayers said over our two bowed heads, mine heavy from the golden headpiece that every bride wears.

There was even a feast, albeit a very minor one considering what it would have been like had the marriage not been so hasty.

I will not lie with him until we are in his home, so I am only a wife in name, not deed.

I am almost grateful for this. No matter how much I wished for his touch I was afraid too, and all was done so fast I should have trembled had he come to me that night.

But I am showered with good wishes and many young women of our city and their mothers smile at me most tenderly, for now I am married all those who once sought my hand may be inclined to look elsewhere.

***

The day of our departure has come. Prayers are said in almost-darkness and it is cold.

I am wrapped in layers of clothes that I can gradually remove without losing any modesty as the sun grows hotter.

Veils will cover my face from the heat of the day.

There is a whole caravan of camels ready to take me and my possessions to my new home – along with those other animals that will come with us – sheep and goats, their lambs and kids bouncing along merrily for now although they will surely be weary by the time we reach our destination.

As will we all. We will leave here now and join Yusuf’s caravan near the outskirts of the city, before our long journey together begins.

And it is only now, after four days of madness, that I realise that I am leaving my father’s home forever, and that I will live very, very far away. Only now that I look around me and realise that these familiar faces will be replaced by strangers and that I will be alone.

My mother is very pale. She kisses me and murmurs appropriate blessings, but she bites her lips repeatedly and steps back from me quickly.

Myriam is beside herself. It has been decided that I will not take servants, Yusuf will provide for me. My loving nursemaid weeps and weeps, her tears more than enough for a hundred mothers. We embrace tightly and my shoulders and cheeks are wet with tears, hers and mine.

She steps away only when my father approaches me, his face creased in a frown. “Are you truly happy, Zaynab? You have only to say the word and I will stop all of this.”

I am crying but manage to smile. It comes out as more of a grimace but I need him to know that I am happy, despite appearances. “I am so happy to marry Yusuf, Father, but so sorry to leave you.”

He nods and embraces me again, his voice warm against me.

“Dearest Zaynab. Dearest daughter. I wish you a lifetime of happiness and no sorrows to blight your days. I know that you marry for love and I pray Allah brings you nothing but love in your life. And she will be gone one day, so have no fears.”

I pull back to see his face, puzzled. “Who will be gone?”

He hushes me. “You are a beautiful girl. Young, warm-hearted. He has five healthy sons and now he will have you. In due course it will be as though they were your own sons and he will love you as you love him.”

My many layers of clothes are too hot. I step away from him and remove my heavy outer robe, blindly letting it drop, saved from the dust only by a quick-witted servant.

There is sweat springing up on my upper lip and under my eyes, running between my breasts and making my hands wet.

I clench and open my hands hoping for the cold morning air to dry them.

My throat, however, is already dry. When I speak my voice croaks. “Sons? He has a wife?”

My father opens his mouth to speak but already hands are lifting me onto a high wooden saddle, covered in soft cloths to make a comfortable seat.

I keep my face turned towards my father, who stands in silence.

I try to shape a question but my lips are too dry.

The camels turn and we begin to move. Myriam’s sobs grow louder and I look back to see my father and mother watching me as I leave.

Behind them, in the doorway of our house, Hela stands alone, a dark outline caught in the rays of the rising sun.