Karim taught her the history of al-Andalus, the rest of the known world, and its geography. An elderly eunuch was brought in to teach Zaynab music, for which she had quite a talent. Her voice was exquisite, and she learned to accompany herself upon three instruments: the rebec, which was played with a bow; a pear-shaped lute; and lastly, a qanun, a stringed instrument that was played by plucking.
Another old eunuch instructed her in Logic and Philosophy. A third educated her in the intricacies of Mathematics, Astronomy, and Astrology. A second woman of indeterminable age came to explain perfumes and their application, cosmetics, and the art of dress. Lastly, a stern young imam, the fiery light of religious dedication in his eyes, arrived to instruct her in Islam.
“You do not have to convert,” Karim told her, “but it will be easier for you if you do so, or like many, pretend to.”
“I have no beliefs,” Zaynab told him quietly.
“Are you not a Christian?” She had once again surprised him.
She thought a moment, and then said, “I know that I was baptized, but the priest at Ben MacDui died when I was very little. Sometimes a priest would come seeking shelter, and shrive us. The MacFhearghuis did have a priest, who drew up my sister’s marriage contracts and performed the marriage, but at Ben MacDui we went without the sacraments from one year to the next. I do not think it did us any harm. Do you believe in one God?”
“Yes, we do,” he told her.
She shrugged. “I am happy to learn about Islam. Surely it cannot harm me, my lord.”
“Then you will convert?”
“I will listen,” she responded, “and consider well on what the imam teaches me; but what is in my heart is mine alone. The small bit of religion I have is all that is left of what I once was. I am not certain I wish to relinquish it now, or ever, my lord Karim.”
He nodded his understanding. Just when he believed he had learned everything he might about her, she surprised him once again. What heights she might have attained if the caliph had been ten years younger than he was. The best she could hope for would be a child to cement her relationship with Abd-al Rahman and his family. The caliph was already the father of seven sons and eleven daughters, a relatively modest total considering his antecedents, most of whom had had between twenty-five and sixty children.
The autumn came, and with it the rains. They would fall throughout the winter months, Karim explained. The rest of the year was dry, which was why they needed irrigation from the river. The weather grew cool in comparison to the summer months, but it was still not nearly as cold as Alba had been.
Two months after Zaynab arrived, she had a visitor. The lady Alimah had promised her son that she would visit, but she had chosen her time carefully. Karim had departed on a short trip into the mountains to buy the horses he would take to Cordoba in Donal Righ’s name. He wanted several months to make certain that the beasts he purchased were sound of limb. It would not do for them to arrive at the caliph’s court only to be discovered to be broken-winded.
Karim’s mother arrived in the same litter that had brought Zaynab and Oma to the villa. Mustafa hurried to greet his master’s mother.
“Welcome, gracious lady! You should have sent word of your coming. My lord Karim is away at this time seeking fine horses.”
Alimah alighted from the litter. Her blond hair had darkened somewhat over the years. She wore it in a small coronet of braids atop her head topped by a veil of deep blue shot through with silver. Her warm gown was of quilted silk of a matching color. Its neckline was modestly round, its sleeves wide and long, trimmed in soft white fur. Beneath her gown she wore crimson silk pantaloons, the ankles of which were trimmed in bands of silver thread and gold beads. About her neck she wore a gold chain with a single round medallion studded with diamonds. Diamonds also hung from her ears, and upon her hands were several beautiful gold rings dotted with precious gem-stones. Upon her feet were gold and silver kid slippers.
“I know where my son is, Mustafa. It is the Love Slave I have come to see. Tell me now, what kind of a girl is she?” Alimah’s blue eyes filled with curiosity. “The truth now!”
“She is different, lady, from any of the others, but I like her,” Mustafa responded slowly, considering his words.
“Different? How is she different, Mustafa?” Alimah’s interest was even more piqued. Mustafa, unlike so many of these eunuchs, was usually a straight-spoken individual. It was not like him to beat about the bush like this. “Speak up!” she commanded him.
“She is obedient, lady, and yet I believe what she does is because she chooses to do it,” he told her. He shook his head. “I cannot quite explain it, lady, any better than that.”
“Will she bring honor to my son, and to Donal Righ, who is sending her to the caliph?” Alimah questioned him. Her gaze was sharp.
“Oh, yes, lady! The lady Zaynab is mannerly, and clever. She is probably the finest Love Slave my lord Karim has ever trained,” Mustafa enthused. “And her beauty! It is as the sun itself!”
“Very well then,” Alimah replied. “Take me to this paragon, my good Mustafa. Tell me, how does she amuse herself in Karim’s absence?”
“She studies, lady.”
“She is proficient in her studies?”
“Yes, lady. All her teachers are satisfied with her, even Imam Harun,” Mustafa responded as he led Alimah into the women’s quarters.
They found Zaynab seated by the pool in the day room, her qanun in her lap, plucking a tune and singing sweetly. Alimah waved the eunuch away and stood listening. The girl had a pure, sweet voice that would certainly please the caliph. She played her instrument nicely, and her voice was not simply adequate, it was excellent. Here was a piece of good luck. The caliph’s concubines were expected to be more than just beautiful and skilled in the erotic arts. They were expected to be clever in other ways. This girl had an outstanding talent that would stand her in good stead at the court.
“What song is it you sing?” Alimah asked Zaynab as she concluded her solitary recital.
The girl started, and almost dropped her qanun. “It is a song of my homeland,” Zaynab answered, rising politely, bowing to the handsome woman and putting her instrument aside. “It speaks of the beauties of the hills, the lakes, and the sky, lady. I like to practice some songs in my own language, for they will be unique at the caliph’s court, and hopefully will please him. It also helps me to recall my own tongue, which I wish to do.”
“I am the lady Alimah, Karim al Malina’s mother,” she told the young girl. Allah, this Zaynab was beautiful! The gilt hair, the aquamarine eyes, the pale skin. She would bring a fortune in the open market. Why, she was fairer than a Galacian!
“Would you take some mint tea with me, lady?” Zaynab inquired politely, offering her honored guest a chair. How beautiful Karim’s mother was!
“I would, child,” Alimah answered. “And some of those delightful little honey cakes with the chopped almonds, if they are available.”
Zaynab’s eyes twinkled. “I believe we do have them, lady. Oma, to me!” When the young girl answered her call, she instructed her in their wants.
Oma bowed politely. “Yes, my lady, I shall see to it at once.” She hurried from the apartments.
“You have your own servant?” Alimah was impressed in spite of herself. Well, Karim had said she was a noble’s child.
“Oma came with me from our homeland. We are from Alba, which is peopled by both Picts and those Celts called Scots,” Zaynab replied.
“My son says your history is an interesting one. Would you tell it to me, Zaynab?”
For a quick moment a shadow crossed Zaynab’s face, but then she began to speak, and Alimah was fascinated by the tale she told. “I far prefer this life to the one I led,” Zaynab finished.
“I too was once a captive,” Alimah told the younger woman. “My father was a wealthy farmer. One day the Danes came a-Viking up our fjord. They killed my parents and two older brothers. They carried off my three sisters,
my two little brothers, and me. How I fought them! I was taken, like you, to Dublin. There, a Moorish slaver bought me and one of my sisters. We were resold in the great market in Cordoba. I do not know what happened to Karen, for I was purchased first In al-Andalus it is the custom of the slave merchants to exhibit one girl at a time for sale. The others are kept behind a curtain. I was very fortunate, for my dear Habib, Karim’s father, bought me, took me for his second wife. I have borne him three children. I wish you such good fortune, my child, when you go to Cordoba. May you catch the caliph’s eye, keep it, and give him a fine son.”
“You are kind, lady. I thank you for your good wishes,” Zaynab replied. “Ahh, here are the refreshments!”
“What think you of Ifriqiya?” Alimah asked, biting into a small honey-nut cake. The sweetness trickled down her throat, tickling it, and she coughed delicately.
“I have seen little of it, lady, for I am kept busy with my lessons. I must be accomplished if I am to succeed in Cordoba, and succeed I will, bringing honor to both Donal Righ, who has sent me, and my lord Karim, who educates me.” She sipped the mint tea.
What was wrong? The thought filtered through Alimah’s consciousness before she could even catch it. How foolish, she thought. Nothing was wrong. The girl was beautiful. Indeed, she appeared perfect in every way. She would be Karim’s crowning achievement. Independent! That was it! Zaynab was independent. Mustafa was not used to such a woman, which was why he could not fathom her. I was once like that, Alimah recalled, but the love of my husband changed everything for me. If Zaynab could be loved, she would lose that air of self-containment, the older woman felt.
“Would you like a visitor closer to your own age?” Alimah inquired. “Karim’s sister, Iniga, desires to meet you. She is a year older than you, but I believe you would like each other. She is to be wed in the spring to an old friend of the family. Have you learned to play chess yet? It is a very clever game played upon a board. Have Iniga teach you, and then challenge my son. He is a fine player. If you play well, he will be pleased.”
“I thank you, lady, for your good advice,” Zaynab said.
Alimah arose. She had seen what she had come to see. She had learned what she had come to learn. She bid the Love Slave farewell and departed her son’s villa.
“I can see where our lord Karim gets his fine looks,” Oma noted when the good lady had gone. “I am astounded that she has borne three children, and one as old as the captain. She does not look worn by it at all.”
“I think this life an easier one than that we lived in Alba. The women of the rich are pampered. They do no hard work as do our women, rich or poor, but rather they spend their time preparing to please their lords. Now that I see it, I am sorry for my sister, Gruoch. She will be old before her time.”
Karim returned from the mountains, where he had purchased ten fine Arabians—nine mares and a single stallion—to take to Cordoba. The horses would spend the winter months in his pastures and stables being fattened and groomed to perfection. The breeders had a tendency to keep their animals too lean. The elephants had already been bought for him by an agent of his brother Ayyub. They were being kept by their previous owner until the spring, when they would be brought north to Alcazaba Malina for transport to Cordoba.
While Karim had been in the mountains, Alaeddin ben Omar had been overseeing the building of the new ship. It would be a duplicate of I’timad and was to be called Iniga, after Karim’s sister. The young girl was thrilled by the honor.
“He has always been the best brother in the whole world,” she enthusiastically told Zaynab. “Not at all like Ja’far or Ayyub. They couldn’t be bothered with a little sister, but Karim never felt that way.” Iniga had arrived for her first visit with Zaynab just two days after Alimah’s initial visit. The three young women, for Oma was included, had immediately become friends.
Iniga taught both girls how to play chess. “My brothers,” she told them, “think they play better than anyone else. They are always having games, but I can beat them. Mother says I must not, for men’s pride is so easily hurt by such trivial things, so I pretend to be beaten by them, and they are happy.”
Zaynab laughed. Though she was younger in years than Iniga, her experiences had made her more mature. “Your mother is correct, Iniga,” she told her friend. “Women are indeed stronger. I believe that is why Allah designated them the life-givers. Can you imagine a man having a baby?” She chuckled.
“Have you seen a baby born?” Iniga’s eyes were wide.
She must be careful here, Zaynab thought Iniga was the virgin daughter of a rich family. It was likely she knew little of what transpired between a man and a woman. “My twin sister and I were the eldest of our mother’s children,” she told the girl. “Mother had many children after us. By the time we were five, there was little Gruoch and I did not know about birthing babies. The houses of the rich in Alba are not at all like the houses of the rich here. We lived in a stone tower with a single large room upon each floor. There was little privacy for any of us. It was always cold, and frequently rainy and damp. I was used to it, but now I could never go back. I love the sunlight and the warmth of this land. Is Cordoba like this?”
Iniga nodded, her curiosity satisfied for the moment “Aye, and the caliph’s palace is, I am told, the wonder of the world. They say when he travels between Madinat al-Zahra and Cordoba, carpets are laid upon the road between the two places. And the road is lit at night by lamps upon posts! It takes six lamplighters, they say, to keep all the lamps lit upon that road! Imagine, a lighted road! I wish I could see it, but I shall probably spend all my days here in Alcazaba Malina. Once I am wed, it is my duty to produce children for my husband; but then,” she said with a smile and a shrug, “what else is there for a woman to do? I think I envy you just a little going to the caliph’s court, Zaynab.” Iniga sighed “You really are an extravagantly beautiful girl. I think the caliph will be ravished by you, and the other women of his harem will be jealous. You must be careful of those women, you know. Trust no one but Oma, and make certain that the eunuch they give you is loyal to you alone. You can always buy a eunuch’s loyalty. You must be certain those more powerful than you don’t control your servants. You are wise, and you should be able to fathom whom you can trust”
“Who are you to marry?” Zaynab asked Iniga.
“His name is Ahmed ibn Omar. He is a nephew of the lady Muzna, her sister’s eldest son. I have known him my entire life. It was always assumed that we would marry. He has black hair that is like a raven’s wing, and lovely brown eyes.”
“Do you love him?” Zaynab wondered.
Iniga thought a long moment, and then she said, “I suppose I do. I have never thought of being with anyone else. Ahmed is kind and funny. They say he never gets angry. I am content with the arrangement that my parents have made.”
In a sense, Zaynab envied the girl. Love was a painful emotion, she was discovering. It was probably better, she considered, to be content like Iniga. There was no hurt in being content. Her mother had never been content, certainly. For all Sorcha MacDuff’s vehement anger against the MacFhearghuis, she had loved him in her strange way, and he had loved her. It had been a bitter thing for them both. Love was definitely not a desirable emotion to feel, Zaynab decided, but how did one stop loving a man?
Pleased with the progress she was making in all the areas of her studies, Karim al Malina took his pupil a step further in the erotic arts. Joining her one evening, he brought with him a delicately woven gold basket. “This is for you,” he said, handing it to her.
She lifted the peach silk covering from the basket and gazed, puzzled, at its contents.
“They are a collection of love toys,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “They can be used by your master or by you.”
Slowly Zaynab removed each item and set it carefully on the little ebony table by the bed. There was a crystal flask with a silver stopper that was filled with a clear liquid, and an alabaster flask conta
ining a blush-colored creamy liquid that smelled of gardenias. There were two golden bracelets, separated by a short golden chain. The bracelets were lined in lamb’s wool. There were two items encased in purple velvet bags. She opened the smaller of the two and a pair of silver balls rolled into her palm.
“Why do they feel so odd?” she questioned him.
“There is a tiny drop of mercury in one of them, and a wee silver tongue in the other of them,” he explained.
“What are they for?” she asked.
“Pleasure,” he responded. “I will show you shortly, but first open the other bag, Zaynab.”
She obeyed, and drew forth an object that brought a blush to her cheek. “What is it, my lord? It looks like a manhood, and yet …”
He laughed softly. “It is called a dildo. This one is an exact replica of Abd-al Rahman’s manhood. It is carved from ivory, and perfect in its detail. You will note that its handle is gold and bejeweled as befits your lord. If you long for your master, and he is not there to pleasure you, you can use the dildo. It may please him to see you use it before him.
“For now I will use it to initiate you into another form of love play. You have a second maidenhead, but I will not take it myself. I will use the dildo to prepare you for your master’s taking of that maidenhead By right his must be the first manhood you take into that other orifice, but you will need to be readied for it We will use the dildo for that purpose.”
She nodded, not quite certain what he meant, but she knew he would elucidate further when the time came. She uncorked the crystal stopper and sniffed. It had a rose fragrance to it. “What is it?”
“It is a special liquor. Oma will be given its recipe. It is used to stimulate passions that are perhaps a bit slow. The caliph is not a youth, Zaynab. There is a small cup in the basket. Take it out and pour yourself a draught You will not need it as a rule, but I want you to understand how it will affect your lover.” When she had obeyed him, he said, “Now take the last item from the basket.”
The Love Slave Page 17
