Page 82 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)
A String of Silver Beads
Melissa Addey
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A woman seeking adventure. A bitter rivalry. The birth of an empire. Join the breathtaking saga about power struggles, love and journeys through history seen through a woman’s eyes.
11th century North Africa. Kella is a Berber girl disguised as a boy, travelling the trade routes and beating all comers in the camel races. When her true identity is revealed, she is sent home to the family desert camp to be taught women’s skills.
Bored with her restrictive life, Kella yearns for her freedom and the excitement of life on the road.
When a mighty army sets out on a holy mission, she risks marriage to its general, Yusuf, hoping to join him on a great adventure.
But while Yusuf conquers the whole of North Africa, Kella finds herself an unexpected rival to his infamous queen consort, Zaynab.
Can Kella protect herself from a powerful and jealous rival? Can she secure a future for her son in this newborn empire? And will she ever find the freedom she craves?
Become curious? We hope you enjoy the read sample!
***
Read sample
Tchirot – A Man’s Amulet
M y camel Thiyya can feel the growing excitement around us.
Foregoing her usual stance of elegant boredom, she shifts back and forth on the spot, even ignoring a tasty clump of foxtail grass nearby.
My knees grip the carved wood of my light racing saddle, the red leather trim slick with my sweat.
My face is veiled but my bare feet, resting on Thiyya’s long neck, give my nerves away, my toes curling into her short white fur.
“Kella! Not again!” The hissed exclamation below startles me and Thiyya’s head jerks up, but I steady her. Looking down at my eldest brother’s appalled face, I can’t help but laugh.
“Sister –”
His voice is too loud. I lean down towards him. “Shh! You’ll give me away.”
“Tell me why I should not!”
I tighten the veil to make sure my face is well hidden, but he can still hear my laughter when I answer.
“Because the rest of our brothers have already wagered on my success.” I look across at my youngest brother who is smirking at my eldest brother’s outrage.
“A dagger as the prize, wasn’t it? Very fine.
I saw it earlier on that young lout’s belt.
It will look most grand on you, I’m sure. When I win.”
My eldest brother sighs and absent-mindedly pats Thiyya when she nuzzles him.
“Don’t sigh like that. Haven’t I won you many fine things with my riding skills over these past few years? Where’s the harm in that?”
“Would you care to ask our father the same question?”
I shrug. My voice comes out sulky. “I don’t see why only men can race.”
He walks alongside the camel as we make our way towards the other riders.
He gives me his new lecture, the one he has learnt from our father.
He never used to be so priggish but having recently been wed he feels he is a grown man and must give guidance to us, his younger siblings.
Especially me. “Because, sister. Just because. It is not seemly. Women ride camels for great occasions. A wedding perhaps. And when they do, they have a woman’s saddle.
They do not ride here, there and everywhere for all to gawp at. And they do not race camels.”
“But I am the best rider. Five brothers and not one of you can beat me in a race! You must admit that.”
“I didn’t question your riding ability. I questioned its propriety.”
“Oh, who cares for propriety? I’m dressed like a boy all the time.
I ride camels all the time. I might as well enjoy winning the races.
Now move away, before the other riders wonder what you’re doing escorting me to the starting line.
They’ll think I’m not much of a man if I must be accompanied everywhere! ”
“And you are such a great man, I suppose?”
I giggle. “Oh, yes. I make a fine young man!”
He raises his hands in despair and turns away.
I call after him, my voice wavering a little now that I’m to be left alone. “Won’t you wish me luck?”
He turns back. “I thought you were such a great rider you’d have no need of luck!”
I nudge Thiyya closer so that I can reach out and touch his shoulder. “Everyone needs luck.”
My eldest brother is a good-hearted man and cannot stay cross with me for long. He reaches up and puts one broad hand over my smaller one. “May Allah keep the wind from rising and may your camel’s feet fly. May you win a great race, my brother .”
I grin. “Thank you. You may go now.”
My brother waves over his shoulder as he walks back to join the gathering crowds.
***
A big market draws people from a wide area and impromptu festivals spring up. The people come for the food, the trading, the songs and stories and of course for the races, which inevitably take place when the younger men want to show off their camels and their prowess in riding.
For the last few years, ever since I’ve been tall enough to pass for a young man in my all-encompassing indigo blue robes, I’ve been entering the camel races at these events and winning more and more often.
Now, at seventeen, I am an excellent rider.
My camel is a beautiful white beast with blue eyes, a great rarity and a prized gift from my over-generous father.
I trained her myself, starting when she was only a baby.
I would stand beside her issuing commands, while she peered at me in astonishment through long-lashed blue eyes, wondering who this child-master was.
It took a few years, for a camel’s training cannot be rushed, but now I have a magnificent beast as my mount, who half-believes she is my sister.
I named her Thiyya, ‘beautiful’, and no-one can argue with my choice of name.
I am forever being offered two, three, or even, on a memorable occasion, five camels if I will trade Thiyya for plainer and less speedy animals, but I always refuse.
My brothers occasionally race her, but she does not try as hard for them as she does for me.
From my high perch I scan the crowds, anxious to avoid my father.
My shoulders relax when I fail to spot him.
He must be conducting business somewhere.
There are traders who buy and sell only one kind of merchandise, such as salt or slaves, skins or jewellery.
Their lives are dull to my eyes, always travelling back and forth from the same places, then trading on to the smaller traders such as us.
Our family’s camels carry delicate perfumes and small packets of herbs or spices, precious metals and stones; some already transformed into glorious pieces rich with patterns and colours, some left unworked for local jewellers who are glad of new materials.
There are skins and furs, as well as fine cloths and rugs that are laid flat and then rolled up tightly to keep them smooth and safe from fading in the sun’s powerful rays.
As we journey, we add fresher items to our stock – oranges, dates, nuts – less costly but always desirable.
We visit the great trading posts and then go out amongst the little towns, the tiny villages, even to the nomad camps of the desert.
We move from dunes to cities and see all manner of people.
We are welcomed by all, for we bring news and excitement as well as goods from the greatest city to the most isolated desert tent.
***
The heat increases and the crowd grows thicker, bodies pressed tightly together.
The other camels sidle back and forth, some straining at their bridles, the odd one or two suddenly leaping forward into a run before the race has begun, their owners having to force them back to the start.
I wipe the sweat from under my eyes and shift my position to achieve a better balance.
There will be no such opportunity once the race has begun.
I look about me, waiting for the signal to begin.
The men in the crowd are laying last-minute bets, the younger women are giggling over certain names: the riders with the best camels, the best saddles, the best eyes…
my eyes fix on the race master, a burly man currently shoving a camel away who has come too close to him, overstepping its mark.
He shouts and for one brief instant the crowd is silent. Then his arm waves and I kick my legs hard into Thiyya’s sides. Her neck has already lengthened and now her usual swaying gait becomes a jolting run and then a smooth gallop.
The crowd roars as we leave them behind us.
The older women clap and cheer on their sons and laugh at their husbands’ wild yells, occasionally grabbing at a younger child and warning them to keep out of the way – the camels will be turning back in moments, and they might find themselves trampled by a whirl of long, strong legs.
A painful way to end your life, for sure.
I feel as though I am flying, like the desert spirits of the old times.
Thiyya’s neck reaches out ahead of her as though yearning for even greater speed.
Though the dust rises all around the riders we are too far ahead of the pack for it to reach us, faster than the very wind, faster than the swirls of sand.
“On! On!” I shout at Thiyya, though she does not need my command. I shout again and again, a wordless scream of joy and hunger for the win.