Page 91 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

The oasis is beautiful in the light of the setting sun.

The heat of the day gives way to the welcome cool of the evening.

The palms are very tall but some of the boys risk the climb to pluck fresh ripe dates, pale gold in colour, crisply juicy within.

The oleander flowers range from palest white to dark purples.

The light makes the surrounding sands glow and the well’s water is fresh and sweet, with none of the promised taint of oleander poison detectable.

We sit, seven girls and five boys, eating the sweet dates and drinking the fresh water.

Amalu begins a soft beat on a small drum and a boisterous girl named Tanamart begins a comedy dance; a small palm tree her solid and dependable, if uninspired, dance partner.

We laugh and cheer her on. Tanamart winks and holds out her hands to me.

“Come now! The newest member of our ahal ! You must learn to dance. Come and dance with me.”

I demur, embarrassed, but am coaxed to my feet and hand in hand with Tanamart I learn my first dance steps, how to move my hands and sway my hips.

The sand is warm under my bare feet and the cool air caresses my arms as I move them.

I am conscious of Amalu’s smiling face and the beat of his drum that guides my steps.

The rest of the evening is spent teaching me more steps, with much laughter over my very poor attempt at playing my aunt’s instrument and applauding of the boys’ poems, which range from romantic to insulting depending on their intended recipient.

Amalu is quieter than usual, his friends teasing him for shyness in front of his lady-love but he only smiles and spends his time improvising rhythms on the drum for the others to dance or recite to.

It grows late and cold. Slowly we begin to depart. Amalu holds down his hand from his seat on his sand-coloured camel. “Will you ride back with me?”

I hesitate but the other girls nudge me forward, giggling.

I smile and hold out my hand to be helped up onto the camel.

He pulls me up to sit behind him. I try to settle myself.

I have not ridden behind anyone since I was a tiny child behind my father.

It feels strange not to hold the camel’s reins, not to see where we are going.

Instead, I hesitantly put my arms about Amalu’s waist and feel his warm hand cover mine.

The others clap and laugh. “We will accompany you home,” calls out Tanamart.

“You will do no such thing,” retorts Amalu and he spurs on the camel so that we quickly outstrip them. It is a strange feeling to be on the back of a camel galloping without having control over it and I hold Amalu more tightly.

Once we are comfortably ahead of the others, he slackens the reins and allows his camel to walk. We are all alone in the darkness and for a few moments I rest my head against his back and hear his heart beating, feel our bodies slowly rock together with the pace of the camel.

He peers round at me. “Have you nothing to say to me?”

“What would you like me to say?”

He sighs. “I would like you to say that your heart beats faster when you are close to me. That you like to ride together like this. That you would ride with me always.”

My heart beats a little faster. “Would you be a trader?”

“I would.”

“And I would travel with you?”

He laughs. “You would be here, in the camp. With our children.”

I am silent.

“I would come home often,” he assures me. “I would not be able to stay away from you for long. You are too lovely.”

I stay quiet and still.

He speaks again, more cautiously. “Would you not like that? Do you not favour me? I hoped you might look kindly on me.”

When I speak my voice is low. “I loved the trade routes and our life there. But most women must stay at home and weave and bear children.” I stop, for my voice is wavering.

“And you would not be happy to do so?” asks Amalu.

My voice is so low I am not sure he can hear me. “I want to travel the trade routes again.”

“Alone?”

My face is growing warm. “With a husband and my children,” I say. “I would be happy to travel alongside a husband, to trade together.”

Amalu is quiet. “It is not a life for a woman,” he says at last. “Women stay in the camp. Would you not be content, if you were my bride?”

I am silent. I feel the warmth of his back, think of his gentle way of speaking, of his good nature. I try to weigh what I feel for him against the desire to travel again, to trade. To be free. I was a trader once, but I am uncertain about this trade. I am not sure if it is weighted in my favour.

Amalu speaks again, very soft and low, his head tilted back towards me. “Will you be my bride, Kella?”

My heart is full, but I do not answer. I am distracted by the sight of the main camp.

The fires should be burning low, families finishing their evening meals and beginning to think about sleep.

But as we approach there is the sound of music, of people talking and laughing.

The fires are burning brightly and there is a smell of roasting meat.

The children are awake and excited. As soon as they catch sight of us, they run shrieking in our direction.

“They’re here! They’re here!”

Amalu looks up, startled. “Who is here?”

“Kella’s father and brothers! And they have such news!”

I let go of Amalu’s waist and slide quickly down from the camel, running towards the camp, leaving him alone.

My father looks up with a warm smile as I run towards him. My five noisy brothers whoop and leap up to hug me, before delivering me to my father’s side by the fire. All the camp is gathered to hear the news and see them after many months’ absence.

My father hugs me tightly and then leans back to get a good look at me. He speaks over my head to my aunt, who is beaming. “Tizemt, I congratulate you. I see a grown woman, not the half-man I brought you! She is most beautiful, and I am sure most accomplished. Can she weave? Sew? Cook?”

“All of that and much more besides.” My aunt is proud.

“I am in your debt, sister.”

I interrupt, tugging at his arm like a child. “They said you have news.”

My father nods. “I have, exciting news. Sit by me and I will tell you everything.”

The camp makes itself comfortable, the older children as keen to hear the whole story as the adults. The smaller children sit in their parent’s laps but doze, the words meaningless to them. My father waits until everyone is ready and then begins.

“Ten years ago, the Almoravid army captured the city of Sijilmasa in the north from the Zanata tribe and then went on to sack the trading city in the oasis of Awdaghast, in the south. In this way they controlled the two ends of one of the great trade roads. But when a few years later they tried to cross the High Atlas to fight the Barghawata tribe and take control of a wider part of the country, their leader Abdallah was killed and the Almoravids were forced to retreat. His general and second-in command, Abu-Bakr bin Umar, took over the leadership. Now Abu Bakr is ready to attempt the crossing of the High Atlas again. His army is far larger and stronger than it was before. They have had a few years to build up their strength and develop their plans. His cousin is Yusuf bin Tashfin, and he is now the second-in-command. A very strong and pious man, so they say – I have spoken more with Abu Bakr but have seen Yusuf also. Together they lead the army. I have met Abu Bakr over the years through my trading, and now they have asked me to help them plan their attack, as I have been to many of the trading cities across the High Atlas. They want to take Taroundannt and then the merchant city of Aghmat, which is very rich. Abu Bakr, Yusuf and some of their men will come here tomorrow, and we will talk. There may be young men from our camp who wish to join their army – many men from local tribes have joined them. My own sons wish to go but they cannot be spared for now – perhaps later they may join Abu Bakr and his men. Also,” he winks at Aunt Tizemt, “I do not believe my sons have the discipline to train and pray so hard whilst eating only meat, water and fruit as the Almoravids do – I think they are too fond of their aunt’s good cooking. ”

My aunt laughs. “I will feed up your boys while they are here. They will be able to taste their sister’s fine cooking, too. Tomorrow we will have a feast to honour our visitors when they arrive here. For now, it is very late and time for everyone to get some sleep.”

The camp disperses, although I can hear everyone talking long into the night, excited and curious about the news. The young men are probably dreaming of glory, their mothers hoping to persuade them to stay safely at home.

***

I wake at dawn, nudged into sleepy consciousness by Aunt Tizemt. We creep out of the tent, past my brothers and father sleeping just outside the tent. Wrapped in thick blankets they are indistinguishable from one another.

The goats are milked and herded away from the main camp for pasturing by the slaves before the men wake.

They rub the sleep from their eyes and drink hot tea and eat handfuls of fresh dates with bread from the night before.

The boys tease me when they see their breakfast. “What, no fresh breads with honey and butter? No soft porridge? No fine meats and stews cooked to perfection? We were promised fine cooking from our oh-so-grown-up sister!”

I laugh and chase them away. “Go and fill the water bags and pots. We are planning a great feast for tonight. This morning you eat leftovers. It will whet your appetite for later.”

My youngest brother makes a despairing face. “I am still a growing boy! I cannot survive on such meager fare!”

“Still growing?” I poke at him with my wool carders as I tidy the tent, looping up the sides to let the cool air flow through.

The sharp metal spikes make him squawk and leap out of my way.

“I think you are only growing fatter, brother, not taller! Now go with the others, I need plenty of water! When you return there are goat kids to be slaughtered so that I can begin to marinate the meat.”

When I step outside Amalu is waiting.

“Kella –”

“I cannot talk now, Amalu,” I say. “Aunt Tizemt will have plenty to say if she catches me loitering.”

“I asked you a question,” he says. He is rarely so serious.

“I know,” I say.

“And?”

“And I cannot think on it when I am being pulled every which way by work,” I tell him. “I need to think carefully before I answer you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I say.

He nods, his eyes a little sad. “Very well,” he says. “When there is a quiet moment, think on what I asked you.”

I nod, serious enough that he seems satisfied.

***

It is not until the afternoon that one of the children comes running to tell my father that our visitors have been spotted.

A party of twenty men, all on horseback, “And such horses! Not like ours but grey stallions, their legs so fine and such fast racers!” They are followed by another sixty men variously mounted on camels and horses.

The men gather to welcome the guests. The children peep from behind tents and the women cluster a little further back as they approach.

Abu Bakr, at their head, is a stocky man with a broad smile.

He slips quickly down from his horse and steps forward to take my father’s hands and exchange greetings. Next to dismount is his general.

“Yusuf bin Tashfin,” murmurs my aunt, always well informed. “They say he has an even greater vision for the future than Abu Bakr. The whole of the Maghreb united under one rule, a mighty empire.”

I watch. Suddenly the camp feels small and dull.

I had thought I had grown somewhat used to my life here, but these visitors, bold on their fine steeds with grand visions for the future, about to travel far away from our little camp, have already made me envious.

Something in me I thought had been tamed is tugging to be set free.

***

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