Page 35 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

Yusuf kisses me each morning, a lingering kiss that has him hesitating before he leaves my tent but I let him go, certain that he will return to me even as darkness falls.

As he strides away I note with satisfaction that he does not even turn his head towards Kella’s tent.

Hela emerges from her own dwelling and comes towards me, her back warped from the night.

She may be able to cure others but her own bones begin to grow old and it seems she will not or cannot treat her own suffering.

She stands on my threshold and I am about to gesture her inside when I hear retching. I turn my head and catch Kella as she staggers against her slave woman, her face white as she gags again, as she catches my gaze. What can she offer when I have given him everything he might desire in a woman?

A child.

Of course. There had to be something.

***

“You did it for my mother!”

Hela will not even look at me. I have to kneel before her, sink low and twist my face to make her see me. She turns away. Her shoulders are slumped, her hands tightly held in her lap. She looks old, defeated.

“You did it for my mother. Do it for me.”

She tries to turn her face away. “I did nothing.”

I pull her shoulder to make her look at me. “You took the life from Imen’s womb!”

She shakes her head.

I will not let her forget. “Well who did, then? It was no accident. She was a healthy young woman. So who took the baby from her and left her to die in a river of blood?”

She answers but it is a mutter.

“Speak louder.”

Hela looks away as though she cannot meet my eye.

“I gave her a drink to put a child in her belly. I did it without your mother’s knowledge.

I thought if your father had a child from her he would no longer seek your mother’s company, that she would be left alone to live her own life while Imen bore the sons he wished for. ”

“Why would my mother wish to be put aside?”

Hela shakes her head. “It does not matter now.”

“Did you change your mind? Put a baby in her belly and then have a change of heart?”

Her voice is so low I have to lean towards her.

She speaks cheek to cheek with me, the words coming straight to my ear, her eyes wandering elsewhere, back to the past we have shared.

“Your mother tried to make a mixture that would take the baby from her and I stopped her, I told her she would kill Imen with the strength she had made. I tried to persuade her to leave Imen to bear children but she could not bear it. What she felt, it was so strong it tainted the cup. The next time Imen drank from it…” her voice grows thick with emotion, even after all this time.

“I could not save her. You loved Imen. You would do to this girl what was done to her?”

I think of that night, how Myriam and I prayed in the darkness long before the dawn call to prayer.

How the bright sun rose on Kairouan’s walls as Imen’s pale light left her.

I think of my tears and the silence that descended on our house after she was gone, broken only years later when my first husband laughed low in the darkness of our courtyard.

I think of Imen’s fluttering pale silks, her giggles.

I try to think of Imen with love but above the memory of her swelling belly I see the face of my new rival.

My face darkens and I turn back to Hela’s imploring gaze.

“Do it your way,” I say. “Or I will do it mine.”

***

Hela leaves my service for Kella’s and I wait, impatient.

“Tell me what you need,” I say when I see her. “Tell me what you need from your chests. I will have it brought to you. Whatever you need.”

She turns away.

“Do you need the cup?” I ask, my voice low so that Kella will not hear me.

She shakes her head, makes a gesture as though to push the thought away. “I will do it my way,” she tells me. “Do not interfere.”

I watch and wait. All I can see is that Hela serves Kella well.

She cooks for her, she cares for her as a devoted servant would.

I feel fear grow in me, that Hela has turned against me and will protect the child growing within her until it is too late.

But at last she comes to me one evening and her face tells me the news I have been waiting for.

“I will not forget what you have done for me,” I tell her.

“Neither will I,” she says and her voice cracks.

***

But I cannot dwell on what has been done in my name. I have a greater fear. Kella fell with child after one night with Yusuf. She is fertile.

“Give me a child,” I say to Hela.

“That gift lies with Allah,” she says, not looking at me.

“That gift lies with the cup,” I say. “Give me a child.”

“You have enough to do,” she says. “There are rumours that Abu Bakr has subdued the Southern rebellions. What if he returns?”

“I need a child in my belly before she falls with child again,” I say.

“Why must you always measure yourself against another woman?” asks Hela.

“You think no-one else does?” I ask. “You think if she bears Yusuf a son and I do not that everything else I do for him will count against a mewling babe? I could conquer the whole of the Maghreb for him and it would be forgotten against a son and heir.”

“Spoken like a woman who longs to be a mother,” says Hela.

I sigh. “Do it, Hela.”

She does not speak but later she brings me the cup. My hands shake as I take it.

“What if I am barren?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Is that what you are afraid of?” she asks.

“I have been married three times,” I say.

She shrugs. “Were you expecting to bear a child to one of your previous husbands?” she asks.

“I am old,” I say. “I am more than thirty and I have never yet born a child. She is barely twenty and she has fallen pregnant twice by Yusuf already.”

“Drink,” says Hela.

I drink and pray.

***

Hela sees my white face and nods.

“I am with child?” I gasp after I have vomited up everything I have eaten.

She nods again, her face unsmiling.

I beam. “I can tell Yusuf,” I say.

“Wait,” she counsels.

“Why?” I ask, touching my belly as though to ward off any ill luck.

“Too early to tell him,” she says.

I shake my head and tell a servant to ask Yusuf to eat with me tonight. I send another servant to Kella’s tent, inviting her also.

“Too soon,” warns Hela, but I ignore her.

I have been unable to eat all day. Great waves of nausea roll over me, the smell of any food is disgusting to me.

But I nod when the servants place great plates of food ready and swallow down the sharp bile that rises in my throat.

When Yusuf comes and then Kella I welcome them with a smile.

I pick at my food, trying to eat as little as possible, while they dine.

When they are done and we have washed our hands I turn to Yusuf, a smile spreading on my face.

“Dearest husband,” I say and my voice shakes a little. “I have been blessed.”

I feel Kella shift next to me. I meet her gaze and smile, my words directed more to her than Yusuf. “I am with child,” I say. “Allah has answered my prayers. Blessed is His kindness to this unworthy woman.”

At once Yusuf’s arms are about me. I am swept over with relief. I have beaten Kella. She has nothing to bring to Yusuf, I have given him everything.

But Kella is speaking and I pull away from Yusuf, unable to believe what I am hearing.

“I am also with child, blessed is Allah,” she says brightly and I want to strike her. Instead I must exclaim, I must embrace her once she has emerged from Yusuf’s arms. I put my arms stiffly about her, but as I am about to pull away I hear her whisper in my ear.

“My son will be born before yours.”

If it were not for Yusuf by my side I would strike her. How is it that everything I do is thrown back to me, poisoned?

***

“Do it again!”

Hela shakes her head. She will not look at me but her voice is clear. “I will not.”

“You did it the first time!”

“That was different.”

“How, different?”

Hela fixes her dark eyes on me. “It was early that time. It is too late now.”

I cannot stop myself pacing until she grabs me and forces me to sit down. Even so my legs pace, my feet tapping against the floor. “What can I do, then?”

Hela tries to soothe me. “Nothing. You must do nothing. You must rest and be well. You must think of your own child, not hers.”

Seeing my angry face she tries to make me see it in a different light. “They will be born close together,” she says. “They will be brothers.” She sees a brightness in my eyes and mistakes it for happiness. “You see,” she says, relieved, “it is a pleasing thought, no?”

I look at her and her smile fades.

“It is a race to be born,” I say, my jaw stiffening.

“No,” says Hela, trying to turn my thoughts.

“It is.”

She reaches out for me. “A child comes when it is ready. A child born too soon is a child weakened.”

I grasp her arm so hard I can feel my nails digging into her skin. She flinches.

“My son will be born first,” I say. “You will make it so.”

But I do not trust her, for Hela can be stubborn and I can see that she does not wish to bring the child early, that she will try to find ways to dissuade me.

And so I ask here and there and find that the slave herb seller is a healer.

She is from Al-Andalus but has lived here long enough to speak our language well enough.

I have her sent for when Hela is elsewhere.

She stands before me, her face still, as though she is adept at mastering her thoughts, at not allowing them to show to the outer world.

“You have knowledge of herbs? Of medicine?”

She nods.

I look her over. She limped when she entered the room, she stands a little crooked. I wonder whether she was born this way or whether something was done to her. Her face bears scars.

“Can you bring a child before its time?”

“Why would you wish to do that?

“I have my reasons,” I say.