Page 18 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

The first time, I screamed. I begged and cried for mercy. I tried to escape and found the doors barred. I had not known such cruelty existed, nor such men.

The second time I tried to avoid his sport by offering my own proficiency.

Those skills I had learnt out of love and yearning for Yusuf I laid at the amir’s feet to save myself.

I hoped he might be enchanted and turn from his own path, but I was wrong.

He laughed at my gentle offerings and continued along his own way, dragging me behind him, humbled in the midst of finery.

That first night Hela watched from the shadows. I do not know how he did not see her, but she has a way of melding with her surroundings. She saw it all. Not that this shamed me. I was beyond shame by then. Shame is for those who have been treated with tenderness.

Afterwards she did not commiserate with me, nor soothe me.

She used her creams on me again and her touch was careful.

That was all. But when the amir next announced his intention to visit my chambers, Hela dismissed the servants and made all preparations herself.

She did everything without any mistakes, as though she had made such preparations all her life.

Then she went to her own belongings and brought out her little pouches and a cup.

I stared. The lamps flickered and the cool breeze of the early night grew cold across my naked body. Reddish marks were etched into the worn wood. I found my voice although it came out as a croak.

“Where did you get that cup?”

Hela did not look up at me. She took pinches of substances, first from one pouch, then another, and combined them in the cup. Then she began to work them with a small silver pestle. The scraping noise made the hairs on my body raise.

“Is that Imen’s cup?”

She shook her head. “It is mine. It has always been mine.”

I shivered and wrapped my bare arms about my naked body as though their coldness might somehow warm me. “I have only ever seen it in Imen’s hands.”

She nodded.

“You gave it to her?”

“I gave her what was in it.”

I felt my legs tremble. I tried to stop my voice from doing the same.

I was feeling my way through a story whose ending I already knew.

I was unsure whether I wanted to know where I would be taken, how much I truly wished to know.

I tried again, hoping to hear that I was mistaken. “It put a child in her womb.”

She nodded.

“And then…” I hesitated. She did not.

“Took it away again,” she said. She stood and fetched water, a little of which she added to the cup.

I persisted, my teeth chattering. “The same mixture cannot have done both.”

She looked up at me, frowned. “Of course not.”

“So you gave her something that put life in her womb. And she was grateful to you. She thought you were helping her. Even though you were my mother’s handmaiden.”

She kept her eyes down. “Imen was a foolish girl. A trusting girl.”

I turned away from her. A shadow moved opposite me and I gasped, then saw myself in the great mirror that dominates my chamber’s wall, my body hunched with cold. I watched my face as she spoke behind me, her voice very low.

“She slipped away so fast there was no time for anyone to save her.”

I whirled on her and cried out as I did so. “What is in that cup? What are you making? And for whom?”

She raised her face to me and her eyes did not flicker away from my fearful gaze. “I served your mother, body and soul, until she died. Now I will serve you until I die. You need not fear me. Only those who harm you need fear me.”

I shook my head. “I forbid you to use that cup for anyone, Hela. I forbid it. He may harm me but I cannot kill someone. I cannot!”

She raised the cup. “Why would I kill him? Without him you would be in danger. How many other lords would seek to steal this city and the title of amir? How many men who heard of your vision would grasp this opportunity to take you as a bride?” She shook her head at me.

“He made you queen of Aghmat. You have unimaginable privilege because of that position. You would be a fool to lose what you have for what you have to bear.”

“You think what I bear is nothing? You who have seen?”

She raised the cup higher. “This will end your troubles.”

“Without killing him?”

She nodded.

“How?”

She turned away, towards the door. “Trust me.”

She left me then. Soon Luqut came for me. He had been at dinner. His eyes gleamed as he surveyed the room with all its apparatus and myself, standing alone in the midst of it, naked and defenceless. I bowed my head and braced myself for a long night of pain.

It lasted but a few moments.

No sooner had he begun than he was finished, his climax coming on him so suddenly, when he had barely touched my tender flesh with his instruments, that he was taken by surprise.

He, who had always needed many hours to be satiated, was fulfilled so quickly that he gazed at me as though I might be expected to provide an answer to this mystery.

But I only gazed back at him in silence and bewilderment, and he left me then.

He came often for a while, as though to wipe out that one time, but over and over again he was fulfilled with the merest touch, until he began to avoid me, seeking his pleasure elsewhere.

I heard servants’ whispers and once I heard a woman scream in another part of the palace, but I was tormented no longer.

Hela’s cup had done its work and I was free.

True, I had to attend events with the him, maintain always the demeanour of a queen in public and still I had to endure his visits, but their intensity was so greatly diminished that I could feel once more that I was human rather than a beast.

***

That night was more than eleven years ago.

I bore one year of marriage to Luqut alone, and these last years have been bearable only because of Hela.

Without her I would surely have found a way to end my life, such as it is.

My life is not happy now, but it is bearable.

I survive. For what, I am not sure. In my secret heart I hope perhaps that Luqut will die.

But this is an idle hope. He is older than I of course, but he has many years left to him.

He is strong and healthy and he has me at his side.

Zaynab, the promised consort of a great man, as foretold in a vision. What could bring him down?

This, then, is my life now. I am twenty-nine years old, and queen of Aghmat, have been so for over twelve years.

I have no friends here, for my husband would not like that, nor can I take any servants save Hela into my confidence, for I know they may all be spies for my husband.

I am childless, which might be shameful in another woman, but no-one cares about that.

I was brought here for glory, not for childrearing, and certainly Aghmat basks in its glory.

It is a rich city. We are an important stop along the trade routes, and so we see the caravans come and go, swaying in and out of our gates from far away.

Each trader might have a hundred or more camels, and their burdens comprise every wondrous thing that men might wish for, every good thing for which they are willing to pay.

Rich cloths are spread out to catch the sun’s rays.

Wool and linen of course but also finer cloths, silks and those which have been decorated with shining discs of silver or twisted threads of gold.

Delicate silken threads have been used for embroidering every manner of beauty upon the cloths –flowers and intricate patterns, even delicate script to spell out holy words.

There are sturdy iron utensils, plates or jugs of bright shining copper and twisted beaten precious metals studded with fine jewels, pearls and precious woods. More delicate than jewels is glass, heated and moulded in fantastical shapes, seeming lighter than air and yet safely holding water.

The smells of trade fill the air. The stench of camels and their long-travelled owners, the spices that enrich the foods cooked in the houses and at the market stalls, and the heady perfumes brought from far away to anoint the women of Aghmat.

There is the dark smell of slaves too, unwashed, saddened and angry with their lot.

I think I too would smell like this were my servants not forever washing and perfuming me to hide the smell of my sadness and anger.

There are sweets to tempt our tongues. Oranges, spices, sugar cane.

Children beg for a little piece that they suck on all day long, chewing the soft spongy centre, strips of green fibre getting caught between their teeth.

For the rich there is no need for such inconvenience.

My own cooks will squeeze out all the sweetness and make rich dishes to tempt the amir and I.