Authors: Bertrice Small
The voyage had been filled with lessons of a different kind than she had been used to receiving from him. Each day he had spent two hours with both young women, teaching them to speak Arabic. To everyone’s surprise, it was Oma who seemed to have the knack for learning another language. Zaynab struggled with the intricacies of the foreign tongue, and with Oma’s help finally mastered it. She found Romance, the second of the new idioms she must learn, far easier.
It was the dawn of a new day when they finally reached Alcazaba Malina. The wind had practically died away entirely, and the seas about the vessel were dark and calm. The rising sun gilded the pure white marble city, slipping across the buildings, banishing the dark shadows with pure light. Alcazaba Malina was surrounded entirely by walls, including its harbor area, a natural deep-water port in the shape of a crescent moon. On each side of the bay there were lighthouses. It was the job of the keepers not only to indicate the entrance to the harbor with their lights but also to raise and lower the chain-mail net that was stretched across its entry as a first line of defense.
Zaynab and Oma stood openmouthed at the ship’s rail. They had been at sea for several long weeks, but nothing, not even what
Karim al Malina and Alaeddin ben Omar had told them, prepared them for the sight that now appeared before their eyes.
“If Dublin was a city, then what be this?” Zaynab asked, awed. She spoke in Arabic now. Both girls did, for it was, they had discovered, the only way to really learn the difficult language. Only one hour each day did they revert to their own Celtic tongue, in order not to forget it. Zaynab felt it would be a way of communicating in the harem impossible for anyone else to understand. Such an asset would be invaluable.
“It is a magic place, I think,” Oma answered her mistress, eyes wide. “I never thought to see such a place.”
“I never even imagined such a place existed,” Zaynab rejoined. “They surely would not believe it back at Ben MacDui.”
Karim al Malina came to stand between them. “The city was founded over one hundred and fifty years ago by an Arab warrior, Karim ibn Malik, who was loyal to the Umayyad caliph in Damascus. Sixty-five years afterward, the Umayyads were driven out of Syria, the family massacred, exterminated in a wholesale slaughter but for one prince who escaped. He was Abd-al Rahman, the first of that name,” Karim told them. “The rulers of this city have always been loyal to the Umayyads, but I shall teach you their history later on, Zaynab.”
“Will we live in this beautiful place?” she asked him, her face turned up to his.
Tonight, he thought. Tonight I shall possess her again. It has been too long. “Nay. My father has a home in the city, but my home is out in the countryside. I prefer it to the city.”
“May Oma and I see the wonders of this place, for surely it is wondrous?” she queried him.
“When you are rested from your journey I will bring you both to see the sights. I can well imagine how exciting Alcazaba Malina must seem to you. Still, it is but a tiny town when compared to Cordoba, where you will eventually make your home, my flower.”
She was astounded. “Cordoba is larger?” It was difficult to even envision such a thing.
“Alcazaba Malina is like an olive is to Cordoba’s melon,” he told her with a smile.
“What is an olive? What is a melon?” she demanded of him.
He laughed aloud, realizing what was ordinary in his life was unknown to this girl from her barbaric northern land. “I will show you both when we reach our destination,” he promised her. “First, however, I must see to the docking of
I’timad
. You will remain on board, in the cabin, while I first pay my respects to my father, and arrange for a litter to take you to my villa.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said in a dutiful little voice. He was so handsome. She had missed his passion. Would he share it with her tonight, or would he expect her to rest from their long journey? I am not that tired, she thought rebelliously. I want him to make love to me! Then she was struck by a sudden, unpleasant thought “Are you married, Karim al Malina?” she asked him.
He was startled. “Nay,” he replied. Then seeing a look in her eyes that made him uncomfortable, he continued, “But I will have my father arrange a marriage for me, to take place after I have delivered you to the caliph in Cordoba. It is past time I settled down.”
She smiled up at him with her small, even, white teeth. “But you have no wife now? Or a harem?”
“Nay,” he said nervously.
“Gooood,” she almost purred, her blue eyes glittering.
“A Love Slave,” he said sternly, “does not allow her emotions to become entangled with
any
man, Zaynab. Remember, you are not my property, but rather the property of the Caliph of Cordoba. My interest in you will never be more than that of pupil and teacher.”
She turned quickly away from him, but not before he had seen the glint of tears in her eyes. “He hae no heart,” Zaynab murmured softly to Oma as he walked away from them.
“He be a man of honor, my lady,” the younger girt replied. There was nothing else she could say that would comfort her mistress. She had seen Zaynab’s gaze soften at the sound of Karim al Malina’s voice. She had noted how Zaynab’s eyes followed him secretively when he came into her view. Her poor mistress was falling in love with Karim al Malina, and she must not There was no future for Zaynab with the captain, Oma
thought sadly, and therefore she herself had no future with Alaeddin ben Omar. She sighed deeply.
I’timad
was made fast to her dock and the gangplank run up. The ship’s master debarked, disappearing quickly into the early morning crowds upon the wharf, even as Alaeddin ben Omar shepherded the two women back to the privacy of the cabin, away from prying eyes.
“What is a melon?” Zaynab asked him. She must put her mind on other things, she realized, not Karim al Malina.
“It is a large, round, sweet fruit,” Alaeddin answered.
“And an olive, please?”
“A small fruit, black, purple, sometimes green, and very salty because they are preserved in brine,” he explained.
“Karim says this city is like an olive to Cordoba’s melon,” Zaynab said. “I did not know what olives and melons were.”
The first mate smiled, his white teeth flashing in his bronzed face. “ ’Tis a good description. Aye, Cordoba’s a big place compared to Alcazaba Malina, but I prefer the smaller town myself. Besides it’s unlikely, lady, that you will live in Cordoba itself. It’s true, there is a royal palace in the city, next to the Grand Mosque, where the caliph used to live much of the year. In the summer months he would decamp to al-Rusafa, his summer palace to the northeast of the city, but now he has built Madinat al-Zahra, northwest of Cordoba.”
“The city of Zahra? That is his wife, isn’t it?” Zaynab asked.
“His favorite wife, mother of his heir,” came the answer.
“And I am supposed to attract the affections of a man who has built a city for this woman? She must be a marvelous lady. ’Tis impossible!” the girl declared.
Alaeddin ben Omar laughed heartily. It was a deep, booming laugh. “We Moors are not like you northerners,” he told her. “We enjoy everything of beauty that Allah has created for us. We do not limit ourselves to simply one woman. The caliph may respect and admire the lady Zahra. He may even build a city for her. But it does not mean he cannot admire, respect, and love other women too. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, my lady Zaynab. If you are clever, and I believe you can be, the caliph will fall madly in love with you.”
“Am
I
beautiful?” Oma said coyly.
He chuckled “You, my pigeon, do not have to be beautiful,” he replied, “but,” he amended, seeing her black look, “you are beautiful enough for me. If you were any fairer, the caliph might want you for himself too. Then poor old Alaeddin’s heart would be broken.” He pinched her cheek, chortling as she smacked his hand. What a girl! he thought. What a fine wife she would make a man.
“I must go, and begin giving orders,” he told them. “Open the shutters if you wish, but do not go out upon the decks.”
When he had gone, the two girls opened the shutters and gazed out upon the harbor. The day was bright and sunny, the air hotter than they had ever known. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. Its salty tang tickled their nostrils. They could not see the town now, for the stem of the vessel faced the water, not the land; but they could smell its smells.
“I wonder how long we will have to remain in this stuffy old cabin,” Oma said. “I have only been able to bear the voyage because we were not completely penned up in here. Sometimes I miss the hills and fields outside the convent where I used to play as a child. Do you miss Alba, my lady?”
Zaynab shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “The only thing I miss is my sister Gruoch, but she was lost to me the day she wed. There is nothing for me at Ben MacDui any longer. I like the warmth of this place. I wonder if the sun shines all the time, Oma. We’ve seen no rain since we left Eire. Do you think it ever rains here?”
“It must,” her servant replied. “I saw trees as we came into the harbor this morning, and flowers. They need rain to grow.”
“Aye, they do.” Zaynab’s countenance was thoughtful. She wondered when Karim would return to the ship; when they would be allowed to leave it; if they would see Alcazaba Malina today, or another time. Where had he gone? Ahh, yes. To see his father, he had said. She imagined his father was a merchant too. Karim had obviously gone to report to him on the voyage just completed. She wondered what Karim’s family was like. He always spoke of them so lovingly. How different, she thought, from her own family.
* * *
Karim al Malina made his way through the winding streets of his city. Finally he stopped before a small gate in a long white wall. Reaching into the voluminous white robes he was wearing, he drew out a small brass key with a round head, fitted it into the gate’s lock, opened it, and entered a fine, large garden. The gate swung shut behind him with an audible click, causing a gardener working amid the rosebushes to look up.
“My lord Karim! Welcome home,” the gardener said, smiling.
“Thank you, Yussef,” the captain replied, and hurried toward the building on the far side of the garden. As he went, servants seeing him smiled and added their voices to Yussef’s welcome. He greeted them all by name, with courtesy. Finally he entered the building, going directly to his father’s apartments.
The old man was already awake. Coming forward, he embraced his son and smiled broadly. “
I’timad
rides low in the water, my son. You have obviously brought home a fine cargo. Welcome!” He was a tall man with piercing dark eyes and snow-white hair.
“I have brought home a fine profit, Father, but not necessarily a cargo,” Karim told him, drawing a heavy pouch from his robes and placing it on the table before them. “The cargo I carry is not for sale. Donal Righ hired the ship to bring gifts to the caliph in Cordoba.”
“Why did you not go to Cordoba first?” his father inquired.
“Because one of those gifts is the most beautiful girl you have ever seen in all of your life. I am schooling her to be a Love Slave for the caliph. When I have delivered her, and all of the other gifts that Donal Righ has packed my ship with, I shall come home to Alcazaba Malina for good, as you have always wanted. You will find me a pretty wife, and I will endeavor to add to your cache of grandchildren.”
A broad smile lit up Habib ibn Malik’s handsome old face, and he once again embraced his youngest son. “Praise be to Allah the most merciful, for He has answered the prayer nearest to my heart,” the father cried. He brushed away the tears that had sprung into his eyes. “I am becoming an old fool,” he
said, “but I love you, Karim, and I enjoy having my family about me. Your mother will be equally delighted.”
“Why will I be delighted?” A tall, slender woman entered the room. “
Karim!
” She hurried toward him, arms outstretched. “When did you arrive, my son?” She hugged him hard. “I had feared that you meant to winter in Ere with that old reprobate Donal Righ.”
“That old reprobate has sent you a fine strand of pearls, my mother, and one for the lady Muzna too,” Karim told her with a smile. “I have only just arrived, lest you scold me for not coming to see you.”
The lady Alimah turned and said to an attending slave, “Why do you stand there, fool? Bring food for us! Hurry!” Then she sat down upon a small chair. “Now, Karim, tell us of this voyage. Habib, seat yourself, my love.” Her azure eyes caught those of another attending slave. “Wait, Karim.” Then she said to the slave, “Fetch the lady Muzna and the lords Ja’far and Ayyub, and my daughter, Iniga.” She turned back to her son. “Muzna always asks questions I can’t answer, and your brothers too. You might as well tell us all at once.”
The two men laughed at her. She once was a captive his father had seen in the slave market in Cordoba many years ago. She was Norse, and it was from her Karim had inherited his blue eyes and fair skin. Habib ibn Malik had fallen hopelessly in love with the captive girl. With the permission of his first wife, Muzna, he had taken Alimah, as she was called, to be his second wife. She had borne him first Ja’far, Karim’s older brother, then Karim, and finally a daughter, Iniga. The oldest of Habib ibn Malik’s children was his son, Ayyub, the lady Muzna’s only child. By kind fortune the two women were good friends.
The lady Muzna was an Arab of good family. Neither the house nor the children interested her in the least. She was sweet-natured and kind, and she preferred writing exquisite poetry to other, more mundane pursuits. She was delighted to welcome Alimah, who quickly took over the household, the slaves, and the major burden of childbearing while Muzna wrote her beautiful verses, accepting her place as Habib ibn
Malik’s first wife. It was, she thought, a most satisfactory situation.
The family arrived before the food. Muzna entered the room, her black hair liberally silvered, her brown eyes bright with excitement Kissing her smooth soft cheek, Karim thought to himself that she did not ever appear to age, although she was past fifty. His sister, Iniga, her hair as sunshine-blond as his mother’s had once been, threw herself at him with a shriek of delight.