Page 22 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

I allow her to begin dressing me. “I have nothing to offer him except my body and the empty promise of a false vision.”

Hela sighs. “Forget about the amir. Forget about Yusuf. They are gone and you are alone. You have only me by your side. You need a powerful man to protect you. All women need this. You have one chance to secure him. You will go to him dressed as a queen. If he takes you as his wife he will have a beautiful woman in his bed, the promise of greatness in the future, a symbol of Aghmat fallen at his feet and the treasures of Aghmat at his disposal to pay for more men and more weapons. You are a prize and nothing more – a glittering prize which they can hold up to show their might. You need to be the legend that they can tell to their men and their enemies. But you will be safe if you do as I tell you.”

And then she tells me what she has planned. What I must do.

***

I walk through the gardens and courtyards of the palace.

Flowers bloom, fountains play in the sunshine that grows in strength and heat with every moment that passes as it approaches its zenith.

All is peaceful. But if I turn my head as I walk I see glimpses through windows and gates to the city beyond.

It is ruined. There is rubble in the streets, broken pots and animals wandering without their masters.

Many doors are splintered yet all are firmly closed.

It seems the curfew goes on, or else the people are simply too afraid to walk the streets.

I glimpse tall figures wrapped in thick blue robes carrying unsheathed swords.

These are our new masters, the Almoravid soldiers.

Their faces are mostly hidden although one or two catch the movement of my robes and glance towards me through gaps in the walls.

They will know who I am, of course. Hela was right: my clothing, for now, is my protection.

Any other woman would be shouted at, sent back to her house.

The grandeur of my robes marks me out as the legendary Zaynab, until three days ago queen of Aghmat, now of as yet undetermined status.

I pass my servants, who serve new rulers now.

Those I see are carrying food and drink, scurrying back and forth, cowed but knowing that, like myself, if they please these new masters they may yet keep their status.

They see me pass but look away quickly, unsure what to do were I to command them – would obeying me be seen as a punishable offence under this new regime?

Or if they refused to obey and then found my status unchanged – what then?

Either way they risk punishment and so they avoid my gaze, hurrying onwards with their given tasks, hoping to avoid an error of judgement that might cost them dearly.

I come close to the great state chambers. There is only one guard, who bears a shield almost his own height and carries a sword. His robes are thick, dark and heavy, covering every part of his face but his eyes. He does not acknowledge me, only lets me past without hindrance.

I pause outside the door to the council room.

I will have to face a room full of men now.

Soldiers, the conquerors of this city, the murderers of the amir and of my long-lost husband.

But I cannot accuse them, nor can I weep.

I must hold my head high and charm them, make their leader believe that marrying me would enhance his status and ensure his claim to Aghmat is upheld.

I lift my hand and steady my trembling, push the heavy door. It opens slowly and without sound.

The room is empty. The soft thick rugs on the floor and the bright glittering wall hangings have gone.

There are no silk cushions on which to recline.

The great jugs of shining copper and brass, which were used to hold many cups of sweet drinks and cool water for feasts and council meetings, have been taken away.

It feels cold, as though the doors and windows have been open all night.

The blue morning light enters the room, which is now decorated only with the white plaster carvings on the walls and the carvings on the doors.

Below my feet the detailed tiles are still there, but they look strangely out of place now, overly gaudy in their newly-stripped surroundings.

I was expecting a room full of heavily armoured men, wrapped in their thick robes. Men ready to observe me, to pass judgement on me. There is no-one here.

“My lady Zaynab.”

I nearly scream. I turn quickly and see a man framed in the doorway through which I have just come. He wears heavy robes, carries a shield and a sword. The guard I just passed.

“Who are you? And where is your leader?”

He rests his shield and sword against the doorway and pulls the door shut behind him as he enters the room. He discards his outer cloak and unwinds some, though not all, of the wool from his face so that I can see him better.

“I am Abu Bakr bin Umar, leader of the Almoravids. Praise be to Allah for His guidance, I am now also the new amir of Aghmat.”

He is a short and stocky man, with a full beard as gray as his hair.

He must be much older than I, perhaps as old as my father would have been by now were he still alive.

He moves slowly, calmly, as though he has a great deal of time at his disposal.

He does not stand in front of me, nor examine me as I feared he might.

Instead he walks around the room, looking out into the courtyard with its sweet-scented gardens and splashing fountains.

“You have a very grand palace here, lady Zaynab.”

“You have stripped it bare.” It comes out too quickly, without my thinking. I bite on my lip, thinking that I must be silent. I must charm, not accuse.

He turns to me and smiles. He does not look angry. “It is not good to build up so much wealth, to live in splendour whilst others live in poverty. Allah says all men are equal – why then should some have so much and others have so little? A king should live as his people do.”

I try to hold the words in but I cannot. How dare he come here and take my city, kill my people and then lecture me on how my life should or should not be lived? “Do you live as your men do?”

“I am happy in a simple tent, as they are. I pray with them, eat with them. We wear the same clothes.” His mouth twists in a grin. “You thought I was a guard. You asked me where my leader was.”

I blush and lift my shoulders in a gesture of resignation.

He grows serious. “And now? What is to become of you now?”

This is my moment. I should do as Hela told me.

I do nothing. I stand still. My life will change now, from one breath to the next.

I tried once before to change the course of my life and it took me to a dark place.

I allowed Hela to decide for me how to escape that place and that resulted only in the pain and death of others.

I will let Allah decide now. I am unfit to make such choices.

Let this man take my life into his own hands and make of it what he wills.

His choices can be no worse than mine. His army has been given victory by Allah, who smiles on his endeavours.

Perhaps if he chooses my life’s path it will be smoother. I wait in silence.

He watches me for a moment and when he sees that I will not plead my case, that I will not choose to shape my destiny he comes closer to me.

“I have heard much about you,” he says softly.

I risk a look at his face and see that he is smiling. He looks like a father speaking to a favoured child. He reaches out his hands and puts them on my shoulders and speaks directly to me.

“I have heard that you married a man who had a first wife. That you appeared unhappy in his household despite this husband having been your own choice, despite his first wife not treating you ill. It seemed that you could not find your place within that household.” He pauses. “And then you had… a vision.”

My eyes flicker and drop. I raise them again with difficulty and he nods as though I had confirmed something to him that he already knew.

“You had a vision that your husband would be the greatest in the Maghreb and beyond. And then something strange happened.”

I chew at my lip.

“Instead of your husband keeping you by his side and reaching out for this promised greatness, as most men would have done, he divorced you, and gave you as queen to the amir of Aghmat.”

His head tilts as he studies me. His voice is low and kind but his eyes miss nothing.

I squirm under his gaze.

“A man not known for his tenderness with women.”

I feel tears well up but if I close my eyelids now they will surely fall on my cheeks. I open my eyes wider and meet his gaze, lifting my chin.

He steps away from me suddenly, paces down the room.

His tone changes, becoming brisker. “Praise Allah for His mercy and favour, we have taken Taroundannt and Aghmat. Now we will reach out for more cities, more lands in His name. This is our intention. But we must have a place to call our own, a city that holds our strength as we march onwards. And we must have more men, more camels and horses, more weapons. And all must be fed. For this we need much gold.”

He turns to face me and runs his hand through his grey hair. He looks older than he is, his mind on many things at once. He grins ruefully.

“So is this the time for me to be distracted by beautiful women, no matter what their promise of greatness? Why should I marry you, Zaynab? I know you need my protection but my men will whisper that I am allowing your beauty to blind me to the work there is ahead of us.” He spreads his hands.

“Give me a reason I can give my men, Zaynab. I am not an unkind man, I will be a gentle husband to you if that is what you need. But I cannot have my men wavering now. They have braved the desert and the mountains in the name of the most Almighty and I cannot let their faith turn to dust now that we are in the fertile plains.”