Page 37 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)
T he unending sickness of my pregnancy cripples me but my spirits lift at Yusuf’s new status. Abu Bakr’s name may remain on the gold coins but Yusuf is now leader of the Almoravids in all but name. And at last my belly swells and I feel life growing within me.
Now we can plan for greater conquests. The army is made vast by new recruits, each of them trained to Yusuf’s standards.
I watch them myself as they are drilled on the plain, over and over again.
Money for armour comes from taxes levied on Jews and the merchants who follow the now secured and safer trading routes.
I think of what Abu Bakr said, that to win without bloodshed is the greater victory.
The army is now so vast that I advise Yusuf to send out only a small part of it to Salé and the region quickly submits to his authority without fighting.
They know that should they choose to fight, Yusuf will simply send the whole of the army and they will be utterly crushed.
By offering their allegiance they will come under his protection, which is worth a great deal.
Having seen the success of our strategy against Salé, it becomes our way forward.
To each region, each leader, we offer a choice: submit to us, pledge allegiance and receive honour and protection, or face the might of an army the like of which has never been seen before.
Meknes falls, its amir moving out of the city and setting up a humble settlement in the region, leaving the city open at Yusuf’s command.
It is an important win for us, for it is close to Fes, which may be harder to take.
It will act as a provisioning ground for us, supporting any siege required.
While Yusuf builds the army, I build Murakush.
I command the builders to work harder, faster, longer.
The city’s walls and ramparts are complete.
Now they turn their attention to the homes and buildings that must rise within the walls.
Bakeries, hammams, a mosque. The mosque is large although not large enough for Yusuf’s liking, he will want a bigger one in due course.
Homes spring up. First a large and imposing palace for Yusuf and I.
He makes a face when he sees the plans for it.
“You are not in the desert now,” I tell him. “You are the leader of the Almoravids and you will receive fallen amirs, new leaders who must pledge allegiance to you. They will not do so in a tent when they have come from a castle.”
“I do not want splendour,” he says.
“You need splendour,” I retort.
And so the building is large, so that it can accommodate leaders and their entourages, the servants needed to offer feasts, the great chamber for council meetings.
But it is simpler than many leaders would have created.
I allow the craftsmen in but they must work to a difficult brief.
Carved plasterwork yes, but only using calligraphy praising Allah.
The paints and designs on the doors must be simple, none of the flourishes and elaborate designs they might usually offer for an amir.
Carved chests for our belongings, but again they must be simple in design, although I have them made from perfumed woods, the better to care for our clothes and other belongings.
The garden courtyard is lavishly planted but the pool is tiled with a simplicity that makes even the craftsmen look doubtful.
But I am right, for the courtyard becomes one of Yusuf’s favourite places, its simplicity and use of nature pleasing to him.
Sometimes he even takes a blanket and sleeps there, as though remembering the old days when he slept by his men’s side and ate only bread and meat.
He complains again when he sees the meals I order when we have visiting dignitaries staying.
“They are your honoured guests,” I say. “You cannot feed them only bread, meat and dates. They are not your men on the training ground.”
Reluctantly he allows me to order what is appropriate, although if we are alone then the servants know to bring only the simplest dishes.
Kella I place in her own house nearby. I do not want her too visible to Yusuf and by her face when I show her the new home I can see that she is relieved not to be too close to me.
I eye up her swelling belly, larger than mine, with fear.
I dare not ask when she is due, I am already afraid of what I will have to ask of Hela, of bringing my unborn child into the world too early, perhaps risking its life.
So I have her placed elsewhere but tell Hela and two other servants to keep a watchful eye on her, to let me know if anything strange happens in her household, if she seems to be near her time.
***
Murakush grows under my hand. One tent and then another is taken down, our city of cloth becoming a city of mud bricks, rising higher each day.
The people of wealth commission tilework and pools, painted wood and beaten metals to adorn their homes.
Craftsmen labour night and day, there is more work than they can keep up with.
The last tents fade away as even the common soldiers and their families have their own homes built.
Arches curve into shape, great gates are hung and painted or wrought in metal.
Different quarters spring up: the armour-makers, the metalworkers who create jugs and platters, handles, hinges and locks, their great hammers beating, beating.
The weavers’ workshops turn out fine cloth and rugs, vast carpets to soften the newly-built homes.
The leatherworkers, the vendors of street food, take up permanent positions rather than trading where they find themselves.
Fresh fruits and vegetables are brought to the markets from the huge gardens growing up around Murakush, for a great city has need of many farmers to feed it.
I have vast water tanks built, to save winter rains and melted ice from the mountains so that we will have water all year round and the gardens will be irrigated.
The people begin to grow proud of Murakush.
They belong to a great city, they are no longer making do in a garrison camp.
Now they crave finer clothes, better food.
They wear perfumes and choose elaborate scabbards for their swords.
Merchants seek out the city, it becomes a major point on the trade routes.
“You should be proud of what you have done,” Hela says.
“There is still so much to do,” I say.
She shakes her head. “You need to rest,” she says. “You are coming into your final month.”
I look down at my swollen belly, which sits oddly against my bony hands. Kella has grown plump, soft. Her cheeks are rounded, her hands have little dimples showing. She eats well and has not been sick since her very early days. I still struggle to keep food down.
“This baby has been grown on nothing but bread and water,” I say fearfully.
“All will be well,” says Hela. “But rest.”
“I must attend council,” I say.
In council we are entirely focused on Fes.
It is a strange city, made up of two cities side by side but with a wall between them, with two amirs, one for each part.
It will be like taking two cities at once.
The first move has been made: we have sent and asked the amirs to submit with grace, to pledge allegiance and give their cities to us without a battle. Both have refused.
“There will be a siege,” says Yusuf. Heads nod around the room.
I nod along with them. It is I who will provision the army, who must ensure Meknes will be ready to support the siege and act as a garrison for our men.
The order to take Fes is no small matter to me.
For a moment I envy Kella, no matter how much she has been put aside by Yusuf.
She has nothing to do with her days but eat and rest, to feel her growing child within her and triumph in the knowledge that it is due before mine.
Meanwhile I am racked with sickness and feel my body grow weak beneath its burden, yet I must continue, must plan strategies by Yusuf’s side and carry out feats of military planning that would put a man to shame.
If Fes falls it will not just be because Yusuf’s men are strong, well trained and vast in their numbers.
It will be because I moved thousands of men and animals there, because I ensured their weapons were fit for use.
It will be I who feeds them, ensures there is water for the men and their mounts, that there are fresh troops ready to relieve them from our garrison in Meknes, that the armourers are ready to make repairs at night while the men fight by day.
If Fes falls it will be I who will order the documents that will ensure peace, who will decide where and how the fallen amirs may live.
I shake my head. She may have a son. But I will have many more.
And if I can do her son harm, I will do it and I will not hold back.
Every time I see that life grows in her womb I will find a way to take it from her.
Before or after it is born, while I still live each one of her children will die.
I will not be usurped by some nobody, some girl who thinks she is entitled to give Yusuf an heir when I have been everything to him, have been his right hand and a better strategic mind than his best generals.
I will not have the baby of a foolish girl push my own children out of the way of inheriting Yusuf’s kingdom, for it is a kingdom I have created alongside him, it is as much mine as it is his.
“Her shutters have not been opened today,” reports a servant.
At once I am on my feet. Her time has come earlier than I thought. I have not had the time I needed.
“Leave her,” says Hela from the back of the room.