“Skaal!” Gunnar Bloodaxe returned, doing the same even as he pocketed the silver.
“May ye have good seas for yer return home,” Donal Righ said, dismissing the Viking, who, realizing there was nothing left to say, thanked his host and departed. As he walked back through the town toward the docks, he wondered a moment about the beauteous Regan MacDuff. Then seeing Thor Strongbow coming toward him, Gunnar Bloodaxe hailed his mate and together they continued on their way back to the ship.
Chapter 3
“What manner of place is this?” Regan asked the old woman called Erda.
“Why, child, it is a bathhouse,” she replied “Have ye ne’er seen a bathhouse before? This is my domain. I am mistress here. It is my task to see that all of Donal Righ’s expensive slaves are washed and cosseted so that they may be shown to their best advantage.”
“At home we washed in the loch,” Regan replied.
“Ye will like this,” Erda promised. She turned to Morag. “Ye’ll wash too, lassie, but watch what I do for ’twill be yer task in the future to see to yer mistress’s bath. Slaves such as the lady Regan are sold into the eastern countries, and there bathing is an art.”
Abu had brought them from Donal Righ’s chamber to this square stone building, where he had left them in the care of the plump old lady now attending them. At her direction they removed their clothes, a trifle surprised to see Erda removing hers as well. They were shocked to discover that she had no hair upon her body.
She saw them exchange looks, and chuckled. “The Moors like their ladies, both young and old, as smooth as silk,” she told them. “The master’s mother was a Moorish lady. I served her as a girl. In practices conducive to cleanliness, Donal Righ prefers the eastern ways. He says they are healthier.”
“Why has Righ been added to his name?” Regan asked. “He is not a real king, is he?” The room in which they were now standing was filled with steam, and very hot. She had never been so warm in her entire life.
“He was the only child, alas, that my mistress ever bore her good lord. She called him the king of her heart when he was a babe and small lad. Eventually everyone began to call him Donal Righ.” Erda ladled some water from a bucket over a pit of steaming stones, and immediately a foggy vapor arose with a sizzle and a hiss.
“I am going to die in this heat,” Morag complained.
“Ye’ll get used to it, lassie,” Erda said with a chuckle.
“Why do we do this?” Regan asked her.
“The steam makes yer body sweat, aiding in the removal of dirt and poisons from yer skin, lady,” Erda explained. Once the girls were oozing sweat, she took up a silver scraping tool and drew it lightly down their bodies in a steady motion. “See,” she finally said, “the dirt is swept away. Now if ye will follow me, we will go to the bathing chamber itself.”
In the next room they found a square pool filled with scented water. Erda took them into a corner where a small fountain flowed. There, upon a shelf, were several alabaster jars. The old lady scooped a handful of soap from one and rubbed it briskly over Regan’s body. The soft soap lathered and gave off a fragrance of lavender. She next washed Regan’s hair while encouraging Morag to wash herself in the same manner. When both girls were soaped, she filled a basin with water from the fountain, pouring it over them until they were free of the scented cleaning substance.
“Now,” she told them, “yer ready to be denuded of all that unsightly hair upon yer pretty bodies.” Her hand sought another jar upon the shelf, and dipping into it, she smeared a pink paste over Regan’s legs and pubic area. “Go on, lassie,” she said to Morag, and held out the jar. “Though ye’ll ne’er be the beauty yer mistress is, yer a pretty girl, and will catch the eye of some guardsman, I’m certain.”
Morag giggled, and following the old lady’s instructions, smeared the pink paste over her own haired body parts.
After a few minutes Erda took a cloth and began removing the paste. As it disappeared, Regan’s fair skin beneath was revealed smooth and flawless. Erda nodded, satisfied. She resoaped and rinsed the girl; Morag followed her lead. When both girls had been washed once again, she led them to the bathing pool and instructed them to enter it.
“Why?” Regan questioned her once more even as she stepped down into the warm, fragrant waters of the pool.
“Because, lady, it is pleasant and relaxing,” Erda explained. Then she turned away to see to her own ablutions.
“I could get used to this,” Morag admitted to Regan as they moved about the pool. “I nae knew such lovely things existed.”
“Aye,” Regan agreed with her friend. “ ’Tis verra pleasing indeed.”
Overhearing them, Erda chuckled as she entered the pool herself. “This is just the beginning, lassies,” she told them as she paddled about. “The world ye will enter is beyond yer imaginings.”
“How would ye know?” Regan said.
“Did I not say I was a servant to the master’s mother? Twice I went with her to her homeland. It is a city called Cordoba, in a place the Moors call al-Andalus. Never have I seen such a magnificent city! Nor such a wondrous place!”
“How can you know that we will go there?” Regan questioned.
Erda grinned, showing toothless gums. “I know everything that goes on in this household, and everything that is going to happen,” she boasted to them. “For over a year now my master has been looking for a particularly beautiful slave woman whom he plans to send to the ruler of Cordoba. Ye see, he is in the caliph’s debt.” She climbed slowly up the steps from the pool, shaking herself free of water.
“What is a caliph?” Regan demanded.
“The caliph is the tide of the ruler of Cordoba,” Erda explained to them. “Ye are, my beauty, the very one Donal Righ has waited to find. Ye’ll see Cordoba before the year is gone, mark my words. Come now, and let us attend to the rest of your grooming.”
She led the two young women from the bathing room into another chamber, which was furnished with marble benches. There she instructed Morag in the art of massage, showing her the proper oils to use. She taught the girl how to carefully pare Regan’s finger- and toenails. Lastly they dried Regan’s long golden hair, combing just the tiniest bit of scented oil through it, and finally polishing it with a pure silk rag until it positively gleamed in the flickering lamps. While Morag had dried her own hair, Erda went to a chest, drawing forth fresh, clean garments for the two girls to wear. For Morag there was a soft, cotton chemise, a navy-blue undertunic, and a scarlet outertunic of fine linen. For Regan there was a silk chemise coupled with a natural-colored undertunic topped with an outertunic of pale blue satin embroidered in gold-thread windflowers.
Regan’s hand fingered the embroidery atop the silk. “I hae nae anything so fine,” she said in a soft voice.
“ ’Tis just the beginning, lassie,” Erda counseled her. “Yer a beautiful young girl. Once yer properly trained, ye’ll please the caliph well. He’ll surely fall in love with ye. If ye have his sons, yer fortune will be made. Of course, ye’ll have to watch out for the other women in his favor. They’ll be a fierce lot, each trying to retain the caliph’s attention, devotion, and favor. The harem is a cruel place. My mistress said it many times, and was grateful to be wed to my lord Fergus. She did not like the climate here, but she said it was worth it to escape the harem. Still, the harem is a grand place to be for a beautiful young thing such as yerself,” Erda continued. Then she led the two speechless girls back to Donal Righ’s chamber.
He sat at his supper, but seeing them, he smiled and beckoned them forward. “Ahhh,” he said, pleasure written all over his round face, “Erda has done well by ye, I can see. She’s a treasure, are ye not, old woman? Were she not, I should have found her a husband long ago. Some randy young sailor who’d keep her up all night, eh, eh?” His laughter boomed.
Erda cackled toothlessly. “Ye’ll ne’er get rid of me, master,” she said. “I love ye much too much.”
He grinned, pleased. She was a re
lic from his youth, but for his late mother’s sake he kept her. “Take the serving wench, what’s yer name, lass?” She told him and he nodded, saying, “Take Morag to the cook house and see she is fed, Erda. I’ll call ye both when I need ye. Sit down, Regan, and join me at my supper. Pour yerself some wine, girl!” He passed her a platter of broiled rabbit.
Regan took a trencher of fresh bread, a joint from the rabbit, and a silver goblet of wine. She ate delicately, desperately trying to remember what little manners she had been taught. The wine, however, she could not help but quaff lustily. It was sweet and potent, and seemed to breathe new life into her veins.
“Cheese?” He offered her a wedge upon the end of his knife.
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, taking it and biting into it, chewing more slowly now. As she finished she was startled to find Abu at her elbow. She hadn’t even noticed that he was in the room. He held out a basin of warm, perfumed water to her. She looked to Donal Righ.
“Wash yer hands in it,” he instructed her. “Ye don’t want to ruin that pretty tunic dress of yers, do ye? ’Tis a custom of the Moors.”
“ ’Tis a custom I like,” she answered him, rinsing her fingers free of the greasy rabbit and cheese crumbs.
“I suppose old Erda has told ye that I intend to send ye to my friend the Caliph of Cordoba, and don’t deny it. The old woman knows things in this house even before I do. She’s not loath to share her information with any who’ll listen.”
Regan laughed. “I like the old lady. She’s kind, my lord, in a world where few are. Aye, she told me, and then she explained what a caliph was; but what I dinna understand is what a harem is, and why I must be trained properly. What is wrong wi’ me?”
“A harem,” he said, “is a place where a Moor keeps all his women—his wives, his daughters, his female relations, his concubines.”
“Wives, daughters, and female relations I comprehend, but I hae nae heard the word concubine before. What manner of creature is it, my lord?” Her puzzlement was honest.
“A concubine,” he said, phrasing it carefully, “is a woman who pleases her master both physically and in a variety of other ways, Regan. He may enjoy her music, or dancing, or even discussing matters with her that trouble him. She can become his friend, and if she gives him children, her value is increased in his sight.”
“I see,” she said softly, now fully understanding.
“The Caliph of Cordoba is a powerful man,” Donal Righ went on. “His household is large. In order to attract his interest, and to retain it, Regan, you must be trained to both give and receive pleasure as no other woman can. I would not just send Abd-al Rahman a beautiful woman for his harem, I would send him a Love Slave. To become a Love Slave, you will have to study the erotic arts and the craft of seduction with a man who is a master of those arts.
“There is only one such man to whom I would entrust you. He is the younger son of a friend of mine. He captains a vessel that sails between Eire, al-Andalus, and his own home in the city of al-Malina on the North African coast. He will be arriving in Dublin shortly on his summer visit. I intend that you go with him when he leaves. When he feels you have attained the highest level that a Love Slave can, he will present you to the caliph in my name. Until he comes, I would have you rest and regain yer strength. Ye have not had an easy time of it, Regan MacDuff, but know now that ye are prized and ye are valued above all women,” he concluded with a warm smile that extended all the way to his eyes.
“I dinna know if I can become what ye want me to, my lord,” she said slowly. “I dinna know how to give, or if it is even possible for me to receive this pleasure ye speak of with such certainty. I hae found no pleasure in coupling wi’ a man, yet ye say I must find pleasure in it, and make the man find pleasure as well. I dinna understand how it can be done, Donal Righ. Perhaps ye would be better served to sell me to some Celtic chieftain for a servant. I can work hard, I promise ye, and my Morag too. If I disappoint ye, then it would reflect badly upon ye, and ye hae been good to me.”
Reaching out, Donal Righ gently patted her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “I do not want ye to fret over this, Regan MacDuff,” he told her. “Yer experience with the physical side of passion has been very limited, and of the worst kind. Yer sister’s husband was obviously not a man who knew how to make love to a woman. His own pleasure was his only concern. A clever man knows that the more the woman enjoys her pleasure, the greater his own will be. He therefore strives to give her that delight. As for Gunnar Bloodaxe, he too sought only to take his own enjoyment, and to ascertain that you did not lie to him. He did not care how you felt. No man has yet touched your heart and spirit. You have no idea how sweet love can be, but trust me, my beauty, you soon will.”
She did not believe him, of course. She knew he but sought to ease her terrible fears. She was surprised by his kindness. She had never received such patient indulgence from anyone. She could only hope it would continue, at least until he realized that she could not be made to enjoy lovemaking. She sighed sadly, for the first time in her life feeling truly heavyhearted. What would become of her? Of little Morag?
Her depression, however, could not sustain itself. She was clean, warm, and better fed than she had ever been in her entire life. She had a real friend in Morag, who would forever be grateful that Regan had saved her from the common slave market. Morag had learned from listening to the other women aboard ship that the slave market in Dublin could lead at best to a household position, and at the worst to one of the waterfront brothels where most women died within a year or two.
Donal Righ kindly allowed them a measure of freedom within his house. He did not lock them away. They strolled in his private garden, a carefully tended enclosure with two neatly raked gravel paths in the shape of a cross, interspersed with small marble benches. There was a wonderful rose of Damascus, its many pink blossoms now in bloom, their heady fragrance filling the air. The old rosebush climbed up the stones and over the wall into the street below. There was a fountain at the center of the cross that bubbled up from a little round stone pool.
The girls walked atop the house’s walls, watching the harbor traffic as the many and varied ships came and went. They saw small coastal freighters, larger freighters of all descriptions, passenger vessels and fishing boats, and little cockles that bobbed dangerously across the waters of the Liffey. Each day old Erda shepherded them to her domain, and they bathed. Regan had never realized that her skin could be so clean, or so very soft. Sometimes she thought about Gruoch, and wished that her twin sister could know so delicious a luxury, but Gruoch, she sensed, was not thinking of her. Gruoch was lost to her forever.
One day as they walked upon the walls of Donal Righ’s house, looking toward the sea, they saw a large, beautiful ship entering the harbor of Dublin town. It was a graceful vessel, fully two hundred ten feet in length. It was lateen-rigged, and its sail was striped in cloth-of-gold and bright green silk. It swept up the river to the main dock, nestling alongside the wooden pier, its weathered lines binding it fast to the wharf. Both girls were goggle-eyed.
“I hae nae seen anything so beautiful before,” Regan said.
Morag echoed her sentiment. “ ’Tis a braw ship to be sure.”
Old Erda had joined them, and saw the direction in which their interest lay. “ ’Tis I’timad, the ship of Karim al Malina, the master’s good friend. We have been told to expect him.”
“What does I’timad mean?” Regan asked Erda.
“Reliance,” came the answer. Then she said, “I had best see my baths are ready for the lord. He is a man who likes the baths, a true Moor. He will have been at sea for many weeks now, and be eager for sweet water and fragrant oils. Stay upon the walls, my chicks. You will see Karim al Malina as he comes up the street. More than likely he will be in the company of his first mate and best friend, Alaeddin.” She chuckled. “There’s a right charming devil, that Alaeddin!” Then she hurried off to see to her duties, for Erda took pride
in her office.
They sat upon the wall, watching the street below, chattering about nothing in particular, enjoying the early summer’s day. Then the two men, garbed in long white robes, came walking up from the harbor. As they reached Donal Righ’s house, one of them looked up and grinned raffishly at the two girls. Regan turned away shyly, but Morag grinned back at the black-bearded man with the twinkling dark eyes. Then she giggled as he blew a kiss at her.
“Ohh, he’s a bold one,” she said to Regan. “And a wicked one wi’ the ladies, I can tell.”
“How can ye tell?” Regan asked. “Ye’ve spent all yer life behind the convent walls. What would ye know of men?”
“Mother Una said she thought me more suited to marriage than the convent,” Morag said frankly. “She was going to make a match for me wi’ one of the local shepherd’s sons. I was to hae a silver coin for every three years of my life for a dowry, and linens too. Mother Una said fifteen was a good time for me to wed, but then she grew ill, and Mother Eubh would nae hear of it. She said that the five silver pieces could be better spent, the old bitch!”
“Mother Una spoke to ye of what transpires between a man and a woman?” Regan probed.
“Aye, she said ’twas no mystery, for if God made it so, where was the evil in it?” Morag explained. “She let me roam outside the convent walls on pretty days. I met several young lads who took my eye, but I nae strayed from virtue’s path, though once or twice I will admit to being tempted,” she finished with a chuckle.
Regan was amazed. Morag could be no older than thirteen, and yet she had no fears about being with a man. Of course she was still a virgin. She could not know the degradation and pain involved in experiencing a man’s lust, or the feelings of total helplessness a woman suffered. Regan wondered if she should tell her. Nay. Why frighten the lass? It was unlikely she would ever have to know the humiliation of submitting to a man’s perverted desires. As the servant of a slave of high rank, she would be protected from such debauchery and brutality. She need never know, Regan decided.
The Love Slave Page 7
