Page 44 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

***

I sit alone, thinking of the many, many hundreds of pairs of eyes I claim as my spies.

Men, of course, who serve their lords near and far but bring me word of their foibles, allowing me to be certain of their loyalties.

Women, too, for women hear and see what men pass over.

They know unspoken secrets as well as those passed off as mere gossip yet which contain a kernel of truth.

I even claim children. They come and go, are forgotten when voices are lowered, see things left behind, understand far more than their elders would ever suspect or wish them to.

I think of the hundreds of men and women whom I have had followed and watched.

I curse myself that I allowed Isabella’s service to me during my pregnancies, the relief her remedy brought, to let her refusal to serve me go too easily.

I know that had it been a spy who had reported to me I would have demanded more, that I would have required they enter Isabella’s home and tell me every detail of what they saw.

But because I took on the task myself, because I saw peeling paint and an ill-favoured serving girl I saw what I wanted to see and turned away, believing there was nothing else to be seen. Now I curse myself for that failure.

But most of all I think of Yusuf.

I have trusted few people in my life. I have had eyes watching so many people around me, yet I never thought to have them watch Yusuf.

Certainly, when the slave girls were mentioned as mothers to his bastards I had them watched long enough to know that they were of no concern to me.

But Yusuf himself I did not watch. And yet there is something between him and Isabella, I saw it at once, any fool would have spotted it.

How long has it been going on? I try to tell myself it is only gratitude to the woman who raised his son to safety, but I am not stupid enough to believe my own soothing.

She has been living in that house for many years, since Kella had been gone only a year or so.

Did Yusuf know where his son was all this time?

Has he been watching me to see if I will harm the child?

Surely not. He was shaken to know Ali had been found and yet all this time he has known Isabella, has cared for her enough to give her such a house?

I wander Murakush for the rest of the day, not returning to the palace until I can be certain the banquet is complete and everyone has gone.

I cannot face seeing Isabella sat at Yusuf’s side, the looks between them.

I had thought such fears long behind me, lost in my first marriages and yet here they are again, rearing up before me.

Such love I felt and now it is swept away in lies and secrets.

My stomach churns and from time to time tears well up in my eyes, I am carried on a swirling storm of emotions.

I wander the streets without a plan, without a path before me.

But after a while the storm within me begins to subside.

I look at the towering mosque, the bakeries, the hammams. I see the people going about their business, busy, proud of belonging to such a great city, I see the respect with which they greet me.

I have made this city, I think. I have made this kingdom what it is.

I have made it even into an empire. My children will govern after me.

Ali is nothing to me. If I should not have trusted Yusuf, so be it.

I should not have trusted any man. But even he cannot take away what I have done, what has been achieved at my hand.

My children will come after me. I will be known as the mother of this dynasty.

***

When I see Yusuf the next morning I manage to hold my tongue about Isabella.

She is a slave woman, not as important as the empire and dynasty we have created together.

Ali may be Yusuf’s son but he is clearly not suited even to take on such positions of power as our sons already have.

He is a quiet, peaceable man, a man who enjoy study and the company of scholars.

Perhaps he can be a scholar and advise on matters of faith.

Yusuf might be pleased to have a man of God for a son. But I must secure Abu Tahir’s place.

“You should announce the name of your heir,” I say. “An empire needs stability.”

He nods. “You are right,” he says. “It shall be done. I will announce it today, in council.”

I feel the tension in me drain away. We are still a formidable partnership. My legacy is whole. I smile at him. “It is a great day,” I say. “Praise be to Allah for all we have accomplished in His name.”

When Yusuf leaves I summon Abu Tahir.

“I have asked Yusuf to name his heir,” I tell him.

I see him glow with the knowledge. His day has come at last. “When?”

“Today.”

***

Abu Tahir and I are the first to arrive in the council chambers.

My other sons and daughters nod to us when they arrive.

They know that today is a momentous occasion, that even as Abu Tahir’s name is announced their own future status is assured, that they will swear fealty to him, stand by him throughout the years to come as our dynasty is known throughout the world.

The empire we have created may well expand further through marriage or battle, giving each of them ever-greater opportunities for glory.

The scholars and warriors, the governors and chieftains who make up our council and court bow with greater deference as they greet Abu Tahir and myself, acknowledging what is to come.

The room rustles with excitement. I even manage to nod to Ali, sitting amongst my sons and daughters.

I know that Isabella is also among us but I do not look for her.

She is nothing to me. Today she will understand that no-one can take my place, for I have earned it a thousand times over.

I have earned the name of heir for my son.

Yusuf stands. “Today I will declare my heir,” he announces. “Now that I command an empire, it must have a named heir, that there can be no doubt over its future, nor any disruption when my time to leave this world comes.”

I smile. I look to Abu Tahir, seated at my side, who nods to me, his hand on his sword hilt, the very image of a young amir.

He is ready to stand, to bow his head to Yusuf’s announcement, to speak words of fealty and power.

I feel such pride in him. Whatever sadness my husbands have brought me in all these years, my son has been faithful to me, a blessing to me.

He will be a great ruler one day, the head of a fearsome dynasty ready for glory.

All of us turn our faces towards Yusuf, waiting for Abu Tahir’s name to be spoken.

“Ali will be my heir,” says Yusuf.

I do not move. My eyes slide sideways. Abu Tahir’s face has drained white.

He does not look at me, will not meet my gaze.

I watch as Ali stands before his father then kneels for his blessing, his mouth opening and closing as he acknowledges Yusuf’s command and swears to rule over the empire as his successor.

I cannot hear him, it is as though he is making a dumb show.

I look around the council and catch the faces of those who are not quick-witted enough courtiers, who have not yet smiled and nodded, who have not yet hailed Ali.

These look to me, waiting for me to speak, to protest. But I keep my face stonelike, there is nothing to be seen.

Quickly their faces accept the news even as Abu Tahir leaves the council, his siblings’ faces frozen in silent disbelief.

“There will be a ceremony of allegiance,” says Yusuf. “Here and in Cordoba. Each governor will make a pledge of loyalty to Ali.” He does not look at me.

***

One by one the council members leave the room, filing past me in silence. They dare not look at me, they dare not speak to me.

I find Abu Tahir in his rooms, seated before a mirror, his back to me.

I see myself standing behind him, both our faces rigid with rage and grief.

His features are mine. I see in him the man I would have been, powerful and strong, destined to be a ruler and yet cast aside on the whim of a man.

I want to tell him that I understand, that the whole of my life I have felt as he does now.

“Did you know?” he asks me and his teeth are so tightly ground together I barely understand him when he speaks.

“No!” I say. “How can you think so?”

“You should have spoken for me.”

I gape at him. “You cannot blame me! I did not know what Yusuf was about to say!”

He snorts as though he does not believe me. “You two are as one, everyone knows that.”

“I did not even know Ali was alive,” I say.

“What, you who know everything, even the future?” he says, his voice full of spite. “Do you not converse with djinns as everyone whispers, did you not have a great vision? Did your spirits not tell you this day would come?”

“Abu Tahir,” I begin, but he stands and pushes past me to the door. I make to grasp his arm but he shoves me away from him and I find myself on the floor. Slowly I rise and see myself reflected in the mirror, all alone. For a long time I stand and stare at myself.

It seems the world cannot trust a woman who knows so much, who can hold a vision of the future in her bosom and bring it to fruition.

Men look away when I meet their eye. Once they desired me because I was beautiful.

Now they fear me because I am powerful, more powerful than any woman they have encountered in their lives and it makes them uncomfortable.

Oh certainly, they still kneel to me, they still speak to me with courtesy, but the truth is they would rather I was not there.

It humbles them to know a woman stands behind their leader and makes him stronger than he would be alone.

Men do not like to be humbled. And even a great warrior like Yusuf would rather choose an heir for the sake of sentiment, for the long-lost memory of some old love or even for a new love than for the good of the empire.

He will pass over my son, the son of a woman who has been the power behind his throne.

Abu Tahir has been raised to be the amir after his father.

He is a great warrior, a man of power and strength, a man raised in my own image as much as his father’s.

He is the man who should lead the Almoravid dynasty forwards and yet Yusuf has chosen what amounts to a boy, a man who has not yet been tried on the battlefields, who knows nothing of the empire we now hold, who has been raised by a Christian, of all things.

For all I know she may have raised him as a traitor, he may join forces with Alphonso and restore Al-Andalus to a Christian rule, taking the Maghreb with it, reversing all we have done over decades in moments, should Yusuf die.

***

I am not sure how much time passes, only that the shadows of the sun have moved and still I gaze at myself in the mirror, unable to answer the questions in my mind.

What am I, if I am not the founder of this dynasty?

Have I created an empire from the dust only for my name to be forgotten, for my achievements to be gifted to another woman’s son?

Have I been punished by Allah for declaring a false vision all those years ago, a vision which has come true beyond anyone’s wildest expectations? No, I do not believe that.

At last I stand up. I am done. I have spent my life forcing myself into one shape and then another: into every shape permitted to a woman and still it has not been enough.

I have been a daughter, bride, concubine, queen, widow, wife, seductress, rival, murderess, spy, mother.

Now I am a crone, an old and fearsome woman.

I make my servants and spies tremble when they must be in the same room as me, for they are fools and believe everything they hear, that I speak with spirits and have visions of what is still to come.

They do not, cannot, believe that a woman can shape her own life to achieve what she most desires.

And I cannot believe that all my work has come to nothing.

I have been more than any woman is allowed to be.

I should be remembered as an amir, as Commander, as Yusuf’s right hand.

Instead I will be remembered for my youthful beauty.

They will make up stories about me and call me a magician.

They will not see my network of spies, my insights, my endless hard work and military strategies, for they will not credit that to a woman, no, it must come from djinns and spirits.

At last I leave my son’s rooms and walk down long corridors to my own chambers.

***

I am done.