Page 29 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

The council is in an uproar. There are tribes to the South who have dared to raise their voices against us, who challenge our rule.

We had thought the South well in hand, a safe place for us.

But this new challenge threatens our hold on the trade routes and this spells danger.

An army of this size must have access to the trade routes – to the taxes on merchants and traders, to the gold and slaves from the Dark Kingdom.

These are what sustains us, what pays for weapons and food.

There can be no rebellion. It must be crushed.

Abu Bakr has decided he will take men and deal with this himself.

No-one understands this. There are many who could be trusted to lead such a contingent.

Yusuf, for one. Or the third-in command, also a fine warrior and a man of honour.

But Abu Bakr will not listen. He has decided he will go himself and as Commander his word is law.

He holds up his hand and everyone falls silent. “I may be gone for much time,” he says.

The men shift and look uncomfortable. This means he is about to appoint a leader in his absence.

They are afraid he will pick a man who will make them build Murakush rather than go out and conquer new lands.

These men are warriors, they lead warriors.

They are tired of a peaceful life, it is dull to them.

They are longing for action, for battles.

“Yusuf bin Tashfin will lead the army in my absence.”

Uproar. There is much back-slapping and hugging.

Yusuf is buffeted about by his men’s proud congratulations.

He finds time to bow his head to Abu Bakr.

The council session finishes and the men whoop as they leave.

They are pleased. Abu Bakr will flatten the rebellion and meantime they are left with Yusuf to lead them.

He is a warrior, so there will be battles again.

They all but run to the training grounds. Yusuf, Abu Bakr and I are left alone.

I turn to Abu Bakr. “What about me?” I ask, laughing.

“Am I to be left with no husband?” I mean it as a joke – I will wait here just like any other wife for him to return, naturally – although I do not imagine Yusuf will want me in council.

My life may change a little but I have enough to do with the camp and Abu Bakr will be back soon enough.

A few rebel tribes are no match for his men.

Meanwhile I have Aisha for a friend. I like her bright eyes and her matter-of-fact acceptance of the strange twists and turns of fate. I will try to learn from her.

Abu Bakr though, is not laughing. “I have thought about what is best for you, Zaynab,” he says kindly.

I do not like his tone of voice. He sounds as though he has made a decision without my knowledge, a decision that will not be reversed. I fix my eyes on him and wait to hear what he has planned for me, which way my life is turning.

“The rebellion in the South is no minor matter,” he begins. “I may be away for a very long time. This is why it was necessary to formally appoint Yusuf as the army’s leader.”

I nod. I know this. We have discussed every part of this rebellion. I might as well saddle up a horse and go there myself to quash it, for I know all that has been planned.

“I have decided that Aisha will accompany me.”

I frown and open my mouth to object but he goes on before I can speak.

“We do not wish to be apart again for so long. She is used to a rough life, living in tents, as am I and all my men.”

My mouth moves again to say that I, too, have learnt to live in tents of late – has he not noticed this? Once again I do not speak quickly enough.

“I believe that with your understanding of the strategies we are preparing for our future conquests you should remain here. You will be of great help to Yusuf in his new position – ”

I cannot help it, I laugh out loud. I see Yusuf frown at me but really, does Abu Bakr think for one moment that Yusuf will accept my thoughts?

He has made it very clear what he thinks of me.

The light I search for in his eyes is reserved for the battleground alone: certainly it is not for me.

He will do nothing but scowl until Abu Bakr returns.

Abu Bakr smiles ruefully but he is set in his decision now and no one can turn him. May Allah give me strength, I am surrounded by stubborn men.

“Neither of you know the worth of the other,” he says. “But you will learn.”

He stands up with a grunt and leaves the tent.

Yusuf and I sit opposite one another for a few more moments.

I wait for him to declare himself – to either concede that we will have to make the best of this unwished-for situation or to make a stand and tell me he will turn his back on me as soon as Abu Bakr leaves and that I will have no other reason to exist than to wait for my absent husband to return.

He says nothing. I sigh and move onto my knees, so I may rise and leave the tent, when Abu Bakr reappears.

Half-crouched in the doorway of the tent he addresses us both.

“I have been thinking. My absence may be long – perhaps more than a year. Zaynab should not be left here without the protection of a husband and therefore – ”

I grin triumphantly at Yusuf. I will not be left here for him to crow over after all. I will go with Abu Bakr and Yusuf can think up his own strategies without me. If he can.

“– therefore I have decided that I will set Zaynab aside. After three months she may remarry and it is my wish, Yusuf, that you take her as your wife. In this way she will be protected and you will have a capable woman at your side. I will arrange for the divorce to take place as soon as possible.”

He ducks out of the tent and leaves us again.

My grin freezes on my face. Yusuf’s face is still, entirely without emotion. Slowly we each rise and leave the tent, one in one direction, one in another, in silence.

***

I try to object but Abu Bakr will have none of it.

He is kind but he does not listen. No, I cannot go with him.

No, I cannot wait for him for who knows how long.

No, I cannot remain here unmarried. No, there is no-one more suitable for me to marry than Yusuf.

The divorce takes only moments. I stand in my tent afterwards, speechless.

Hela is sitting by my bed, sewing. “He’s younger, at least.”

I turn to her, still agape from what has happened. “I don’t want him! I don’t care if he is younger than Abu Bakr!”

“You might have a real marriage,” she offers matter-of-factly.

“Allah save me! You mean not only will he glower at me all day but he has to come to my bed as well?”

“You might have a child. Would you like one?”

“I am too old for that.”

Hela sniffs. “Never too old,” she says.

“Enough of your potions!” I lie on my bed and kick my heels in frustration. “Abu Bakr might not have lain with me but he was kind! He cared for me! He respected me! I sat in the council, I was honoured.”

“You can still do that.”

“With a man who hates me?’

Hela does not answer, only goes about her business leaving me to punch my cushions in a fury.

***

I sit on the wall and watch this man. In only a few months he will be my husband.

If I thought that same light might shine in his eyes when he looked at me I might look forward to that event with more enthusiasm.

As it is I shake my head and climb back down, return to my tent and bid a mournful farewell to Abu Bakr and Aisha as they leave.

Aisha is all smiles. “Be of good cheer, Zaynab,” she whispers to me. “My husband has left you in his most trusted pair of hands. He would not see you unhappy.”

“I am unhappy,” I retort. “And I will miss you. So I am doubly unhappy.”

We embrace.

Abu Bakr comes to me. “I know you think I have wronged you, Zaynab,” he says. “But you must trust my judgement.”

I accept his embrace and do not argue. It is too late to argue now.

***

The camp feels strange, with tents missing here and there and a new leader in place. There is an unsettled feeling and I am more unsettled than anyone.

I cannot sleep tonight. I lie miserably awake, reliving every word or look Yusuf and I have exchanged.

None have been kind or even courteous. He will be my fourth husband.

I choke back a sobbing laugh. What is this torment of my life?

How many more husbands am I to have? How many more marriages that are not true marriages?

At least with Abu Bakr I felt safe and respected.

The image of Luqut rises before me. What will it be like to have a cruel husband again when I had thought myself protected?

I rise. Outside all is dark and peaceful. From the tents come soft sounds of snoring, of lovemaking, of babies whimpering for milk.

I walk. Through the maze of tents, to the parts of the walls as yet unfinished, where there is still no need for gates.

To one side of me, a high wall, to the other, nothing.

By my feet remnants of clay, buckets of water, tools.

I step past them all, walking until I am outside the camp, out on the plain where the animals graze.

I can see them, those that cluster nearby, some eating, some lying peacefully chewing the cud.

Those closest scatter as I walk by, those further away take no notice.

“Where do you think you are going?”

I almost scream as a man’s rough hand grabs my arm. In the darkness I cannot see who it is but when he speaks again I know his voice.

“What are you doing out here?’

“Yusuf!”

“Well?” He has let go of my arm now and we stand facing one another, though neither of us can make out much more than a shape in the darkness.

“I needed to walk,” I say. It sounds foolish.

“It is not safe,” he says instantly.

I bristle. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

I can hear the frown without even seeing it. “I am soon to be your husband.”

“Perhaps. But you are not my husband now.”

“No ‘perhaps’. I might as well be your husband now.”

Everything he says makes me want to challenge him. I draw myself up to my full height. When I do this we are the same height, for I am a tall woman.

“You will not be my husband until you lie with me,” I say sharply, and turn to walk away.

He moves faster than I would have thought possible. He takes my arm and pulls me round to face him. He is stronger than I thought and I am a little scared at how easily he moves me with only one hand. With his other hand he pulls at the wrap around his face and then his lips are pressed to mine.

I struggle in terror, for this treatment reminds me of Luqut but then I feel his arms about me and although he is strong he is also gentle.

He is not hurting me and his mouth is soft on mine.

I have not been kissed upon the mouth for many years now.

I stand still for a moment and then I tentatively place one hand on his arm before slowly returning his embrace.

I am not as passionate as he at first, but I feel desire growing in me and I grow more bold. My embrace tightens.

He pulls away. We stand in the darkness, our breathing a little fast in the silence and then he walks away from me, back inside the camp.

I cannot think quickly enough to follow, so I stand motionless in the cold air and breathe until my heart slows.

Then I make my way back to my tent. I see his tent close by but I dare not even think of entering.

My mind is confused with all that has happened tonight and sleep is long in coming.

***

In the bright daylight the darkness inside the council tent makes me blink.

I pause, for on stooping to enter I find that Yusuf is seated in Abu Bakr’s place.

My eyes flicker. Where should I sit? Abu Bakr welcomed me always to sit by his side, a place of honour and privilege.

Side by side we could see the same things, confirm our thoughts with a quick glance to one another.

Now I am facing Yusuf and I do not know where he will want me to sit.

Does he regret what passed between us last night?

Will he ignore me? Will he refuse to let me sit in council, even?

He had not wanted me to join the council in those early days and now that he leads this army it is his command that must be obeyed.

I brace myself, meet his gaze as steadily as I can.

He meets my eyes and then flickers them to one side. He gestures minutely with one hand to the empty place by his side. I am to sit in my usual place.

Carefully I lower myself to sit beside him. When I sat by Abu Bakr’s side I never thought about how my body might touch his. I would lean across him or against him, the better to indicate maps. When I spoke my hands flew in quick gestures and if they brushed against him I did not draw back.

Now I sit very still. No part of my robes or body touches any part of Yusuf’s.

We both sit upright, our backs straight.

We do not look to one another as Abu Bakr and I might do, laughing or challenging one another.

We look to others in this confined space, we debate without turning our heads to see one another’s eyes.

Once we both look to the right, where one of the men is speaking, and I feel Yusuf’s breath against my neck when, irritated with the point being made, he breathes out heavily.

I feel the quick heat on my skin followed by the slow heat of my desire rising as my cheeks grow flushed.

I shift my position, say loudly that this tent is stifling.

I call for water, fresh air. The servants hurry to bring cups and to tie back larger parts of the tent’s fabric that a breeze might be let in.

When the never-ending council session ends I am first on my feet, leaving the confined space before any of the men have slowly stretched to their full height.

I go back to my own tent where the servants scatter before my snappish demands and finally leave me alone with the tent fully closed, cold water and cloths by my side, my body naked beneath a thin linen sheet.

I cannot sleep. I toss and turn, my body too hot as the sun rises above. Even as the evening cool descends I am too hot.

I have been a wife three times and three times I have been no wife at all.

I am thirty-one years of age and I have been alone too long.

I had resigned myself to a celibate life as wife to Abu Bakr, had been grateful for kindness since nothing else was offered to me.

Now my fate has changed again and I have been given one more chance to feel love and desire for a man and to be loved and desired in turn.

It has been a long time since I have wanted a man so badly.

This time I will take him for my own and I will not share him.

***

Yusuf must be mine and mine alone.