Corsair (42 page)

Hector’s mouth was dry, and though he already knew the answer, he murmured, ‘Of course.’

‘Your sister and the other women from the Irish raid were landed in Sallee. If she was young and desirable, she would have been sold into Moulay’s harem.’ Chabrillan dropped his voice and spoke slowly and distinctly, relishing every word as he added, ‘The thought that your sister is likely confined not so far from this cell is my consolation for the harm that you have done me. You would do well to reflect that once Moulay breeds on a woman, he casts her off like a used brood mare.’

H
ECTOR’S MOOD OF
appalled dismay stayed with him all the way back to the armoury. His meeting with Chabrillan had shocked him into acknowledging that he had avoided facing the reality of what might have happened to Elizabeth. Chabrillan’s malice had brought him face to face with the sordid possibilities.

Once again, it took Dan’s calm advice to produce a glimpse of hope. ‘You don’t know for sure that Elizabeth is in Moulay’s harem. She could have been sold to one of the kaids in Sallee and kept in his household. And don’t forget that Moulay promised to set your sister free if he got his castle smasher from us. We could yet think up another way of pleasing him.’

Sean Allen was more cautious. ‘Moulay may not honour that promise if it turns out that Hector’s sister is in his own harem. The Emperor is not known for being open-handed with his possessions.’ But the gun founder realised that he had been tactless, and quickly added, ‘Hector, your best course is to try to find out whether Elizabeth really is in Meknes, and that’s going to be difficult enough. The imperial harem is jealously protected. Every one of Moulay’s wives is accompanied at all times by a eunuch guard as well as a serving woman who reports back to Lala Zidana.’

‘Who’s Lala Zidana?’ Dan asked, for Hector was still sunk in dejected silence.

‘Moulay’s first wife and his most important one,’ the gun founder answered, ‘though the Lord knows why. She’s an enormous woman, black as night and big as a hippo according to report. Moulay bought her for sixty ducats when she was a domestic slave and she seems to have established some sort of hold over him. There are rumours that she practises witchcraft. Certainly she rules the harem, and she keeps Moulay sweet by supplying him with the choicest girls. That nasty young pup Ahmad for whom we adapted the guns, is Zidana’s son. His mother wants him to be Moulay’s heir and she always keeps the lad in the forefront so that he is under Moulay’s eye. That’s her real influence: as long as Ahmad is the Emperor’s favourite, the mother has direct contact with the throne.’

‘Then we should use her to find our way into the harem,’ suggested Dan. He earned a look of astonishment from the gun founder by asking, ‘Could you arrange for me to meet young Ahmad? You could send word that his two new muskets need to be checked over to see if they require adjustment or have new flints fitted. You could flatter the youngster by saying that you had heard of his brilliant marksmanship when he shot down the rowing master.’

Sean Allen shook his head in wonder. ‘Dan, you should be a full-time courtier. You’re devious enough. I’ll do as you suggest, although I don’t have the slightest idea of what you have in mind.’

O
NLY A FEW DAYS
later Dan casually announced to his friends that he had been commanded by Lala Zidana to call on her. The cries of astonishment which greeted this announcement were followed immediately by questions as to how he had achieved his invitation. ‘It wasn’t difficult,’ he said with a knowing grin. ‘I went to Ahmad’s quarters to work on the two muskets, just as Sean had arranged. Naturally the lad keeps the muskets close by him. They are his latest toys. He’s very proud of what he did to the rowing master and boasts about it constantly, and likes to show off the guns. For sheer cruelty he really is his father’s son. Sometimes he loads the guns and fires out of the window at passers-by. Luckily no one has been killed yet. When I arrived, he even grumbled that the guns no longer shoot straight, and complained that I should have come sooner to mend them.’

‘But how did you turn that into an invitation to meet Zidana?’ Diaz demanded.

‘There were several serving women hovering in the background in Ahmad’s rooms. I guessed that they were part of his mother’s household and keeping an eye on the youngster. Of course they were curious about what I was doing. They came over to look at the guns and I showed them the inlay work. It’s very ornate, you’ll remember, with lots of curls and curves done in mother of pearl, and there’s scroll work picked out in gold. I pretended that I had set the inlays myself and then, as if to prove it, I showed them this,’ and he slid back the sleeve of his shirt. On his forearm was an intricate pattern of leaves and flowers, painted in reddish brown and indigo, with here and there a touch of yellow. Dan glanced across at Hector. ‘My friend, maybe you’ve forgotten that I know how to do skin painting. At one time you were clever enough to put it to good use, and get me appointed to help colour Turgut Reis’s maps. This time I’ve been able to assist you.’

He slid his sleeve back down so the skin paintings disappeared before continuing, ‘Women who have little to do, love to primp and paint themselves. They’ll spend hours at it, and run after anything that’s new. Can you imagine the boredom in Moulay’s harem – dozens, if not hundreds, of women all cooped up together. One thing I was certain of when I left young Ahmad’s rooms was that those same servant women would carry word back to their mistress that there was someone newly arrived in Meknes who could beautify a woman’s skin. It’s taken less than twenty-four hours for my summons from Zidana to arrive. Hector can accompany me as my helper. When we meet the hippo, maybe I can put her into a good enough mood so that she’ll let Hector try to seek out his sister. From what Sean has said, I’ll have a broad enough surface for my paints.’

F
IRST WIFE
Zidana proved as daunting as her reputation. When Dan and Hector were ushered into her presence, she was sprawled on a vast yellow satin couch fringed with tassels and heaped with cushions. Nearby was a clutter of low tables, stools, more cushions, and several large trays laden with bowls of fruit and sweetmeats. Behind the couch stood two elderly eunuchs, and half a dozen female attendants busied themselves in various corners of the room. The female attendants, Hector noted, wore veils or kept a fold of cloth across their faces, but their hands and arms were bare and decorated with intricate dyed patterns. Zidana herself wore no veil. She had slightly bulging eyes in a broad, pudgy and heavy-set face, and her massive bulk was swathed in layer upon layer of a shimmery green gauze-like material. On her head she wore a strange cap made of flexible sheets of gold and silver which had been cut through so that they resembled lace. The fringes of this headgear swung and tinkled as she heaved herself into a more comfortable sitting position and regarded her visitors. Her bare feet, which now touched the thick carpet, were surprisingly small and delicate. Hector thought that her eyes glittered dangerously.

‘Which of you paints?’ she asked in a harsh voice. She spoke Turkish with a strong accent.

Dan inclined his head politely. Zidana focused her attention on him and demanded, ‘What country do you come from?’

‘From across the western ocean. My people are called Miskito.’

Zidana frowned. ‘Why is your skin dark? You look like the southern people from near the desert.’

‘All my people are this colour. It is said that some of our ancestors came from Ifriqya and they mixed with the native peoples whose skin is the colour of copper. So our skin is halfway between the two.’

‘Do your women guard their skin against the sun?’ The question was blunt.

‘No.’

Zidana turned towards one of her serving women and said, ‘You! Come over here. Show him your hands.’

The woman did as she was ordered, and Zidana demanded of Dan, ‘Can you do better?’

Dan looked at the patterns drawn on the servant’s skin and murmured, ‘They are well drawn but could be more striking and colourful.’

Zidana waved the servant aside and heaved her bulk closer to the edge of the couch. She extended her right arm and pulled back the silk sleeve. The arm was very fat. ‘Could you make good colours on my skin?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then proceed.’

‘First I must tell you that what I will paint is not permanent,’ Dan said. ‘The colours will last only a few days.’

‘That is not important. If I like your work, I will summon you again when the colours fade. You can paint them again or make different pictures for me. You will paint no one else.’ It was clear that Zidana was used to giving orders.

Dan opened the cloth satchel he had given Hector to carry, and took out several small clay pots and jars. Hector knew that his friend had found the necessary ingredients for his skin paints in the Meknes marketplace which sold all manner of brightly coloured spices and powders. He had mixed them with coloured minerals that Sean Allen used in his foundry work.

Carefully licking the end of a brush, Dan dipped it into one of the jars, advanced on the plump arm and began to draw on it carefully. Zidana looked on in critical fascination.

‘My assistant here,’ said Dan casually as if making light conversation, ‘believes he has a sister among the Emperor’s women. He has not seen her in a long time and, with your permission, would like to speak with her.’ He had drawn the outline of a flower on the pudgy arm, and was beginning to colour in the first of the petals.

‘What is the name of his sister?’ Zidana was so intrigued with the pictures appearing on her skin, that she hardly seemed to listen for the answer.

‘His sister is called Elizabeth, but she may have another name here.’

Zidana withdrew her fat arm and held it up in the air, turning it this way and that to admire the first pictures that Dan had drawn. The images gleamed brightly, the paints still wet. Abruptly Zidana called across to one of the eunuchs. She spoke rapidly in a dialect that Hector could not understand, and the man beckoned to him to follow. Leaving Dan to continue with his drawing and painting, Hector followed his guide through a door concealed behind a heavy velvet curtain, and down several empty corridors until he was brought into a plain unfurnished room with bare walls. The room had two windows, both screened with a fine lattice of stucco. The window facing him was already blank, shuttered from the far side. His escort crossed to the open window where the sunlight entered the room and closed its shutters. ‘Stay here,’ he said and left the room, leaving Hector in near-darkness.

Hector did not know how long he would have to wait. His heart was pounding in his ears, and the dense gloom and stifling airlessness of the room made him feel adrift from the real world. As the minutes dragged past, he slowly became aware that the shutter facing him had swung open. He heard a soft footfall behind him and he sensed that the eunuch had returned. A moment later he felt a hand guide him forward so that he stood with his face close to the lattice of the window in front of him. His eyes had grown used to the dim light, yet he could see nothing except the pattern of the stucco a few inches away. He shifted sideways, trying to squint through the gaps. As far as he could make out, the room on the far side was similar to the one where he now stood. It, too, was in darkness except for a small glimmer of light seeping under a door to one side. He could just distinguish a dark figure standing in the middle of the floor.