“She is a credit to your own training, Karim al Malina. Will you educate another girl soon?” the Caliph asked, curious.
“No, my lord, I will never train another girl again. That time in my life is over. I shall now sail to Eire to inform Donal Righ of your great pleasure, then I shall return home to Alcazaba Malina to marry as my family would have me do. I am the last of my father’s children to take a mate. My little sister wed just a few months ago.”
“It is important for a man to marry and sire children,” the caliph agreed. “A man can never have too big a family about him. Tell me, how old is Zaynab?”
“She is fifteen, my lord,” Karim responded, thinking, And much too young a flower for a man of your years. He swallowed hard. He must not allow his jealousy to show. Zaynab was not his. She never really had been. “Her birthdate is, I believe, in the early winter.”
“I will take good care of her, Karim al Malina,” the caliph said. Then he arose from his meal and held out his hand to the captain.
Taking it, Karim knelt and kissed the caliph’s great diamond ring. “Allah guard and guide you, my lord,” he said, then rising, left the potentate’s presence. He struggled to keep his steps measured even though he really wanted to run, to shake the dust of this place from his robes. In the courtyard he mounted the horse that had been brought for him, turning its head to the Cordoba road. They would sail with the afternoon tide. Farewell my heart. Farewell, my love, he silently whispered to her. Allah watch over you.
Chapter 11
Carrying a full load of freight in their holds, I’timad and Iniga sailed from Cordoba. They stopped at several ports along the Breton and Norman coast, selling part of their cargo, then traveled across the sea that separated the coast of Europe from that of England, where their luxury goods were welcomed by the inhabitants of that island on the edge of the known world. Finally, they charted a course around Land’s End for Eire, sailing up the Liffey one rainy midsummer’s morning.
Donal Righ greeted them eagerly, coming aboard I’timad himself. “A thousand welcomes, Karim al Malina!” he said jovially. “Do not keep me in suspense, I beg you, my young friend. My old heart will not stand it, I assure you. The caliph? He was pleased?”
“You have no heart, Donal Righ,” Karim said, “else you would not have sent that exquisite flower of youth into the frosty embrace of the caliph. To answer your question, Abd-al Rahman was very pleased by your gifts, but of course, most delighted by Zaynab. Within a single night she had gained his favor, he most volubly assured me. I have been told to tell you that he is now in your debt. Are you pleased? You should be, Donal Righ. I trained Zaynab to be a perfect device of desire. She will probably kill Abd-al Rahman with her unleashed passions.”
“If this is so, Karim al Malina, then I owe you an even greater debt than I anticipated,” Donal Righ said, delighted.
Although he would not admit to it, he understood the young man’s bitterness, however. Karim al Malina had obviously fallen in love with Zaynab. How could he not have? If I were a younger man, Donal Righ thought wistfully, I should have fallen in love with her. Perhaps I did a little. She was a lovely girl. “What will you do now, my friend?” he asked the younger man.
“Alaeddin and I will take what cargo you can give us and return home to Alcazaba Malina. I am to be married shortly. I will not go to sea again except occasionally.” Karim then went on to explain that he had purchased elephants for Donal Righ rather than the racing camels the merchant had wanted, and told how the enormous beasts had brought the great columns of green agate into the Hall of the Caliphate. “It was a very impressive procession, Donal Righ. It was my eldest brother, Ayyub, who thought to use the pachyderms.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” the Irishman enthused. “You have done me proud, Karim. I shall never be able to properly repay you.” Then he said, “You are to marry? Who is the bride?”
“Her name is Hatiba. Other than that, I know nothing of her. You know our ways, Donal Righ. I’ll never see the girl’s face until after the wedding, when she enters my house and my bedchamber. My mother says she is fair enough. I can only hope my mother is right. My father is ecstatic that I have agreed to wed and provide him with more grandchildren. The girl is suitable. I care not. I will do my duty by my family. Hatiba will be treated with respect as the mother of my sons.” He shrugged, his face a mask of indifference.
They remained in Eire but a short time. Karim refused to visit Donal Righ’s house. He needed no reminders of Zaynab. She would be in his heart forever. In that, Alaeddin ben Omar was in agreement. He had very much wanted to marry Oma. Zaynab had given her permission, for technically Oma was hers to dispose of as she wished. Oma herself had refused him.
“It is not that I do not love you,” she had told Alaeddin, “but I cannot leave my mistress alone and friendless in a strange land. It is she who saved me from a life of hardship and an early death. I owe her my allegiance.”
Zaynab had assured her young servant that it was perfectly all right if she chose to marry, but Oma could not be moved. She would not be parted from Zaynab. Alaeddin ben Omar had been forced to accept her decision. In Islam there was no marriage without the consent of both the bride and the groom. Oma’s firm refusal had put an end to the matter.
I’timad and Iniga departed Eire for Alcazaba Malina, encountering bad weather almost the entire way. Karim thought bitterly how different this trip was from last year’s voyage, with its smooth, perfect seas and blue skies. When they gained port at last, he saw to his cargoes before going to his father’s house. There both of his parents welcomed him warmly, delighted that he was safe.
“Your marriage is set for the new moon of the second month of Rabia,” his father told him. “Because Hussein ibn Hussein lives in the mountains, the ceremonies will be held here in Alcazaba Malina within our house. You will take your wife from here to your own home.”
“And we are going to be very traditional, are we not, my father? I shall not see my bride until she enters our nuptial chamber to reveal herself to me. Poor little girl, being married to a stranger so far from her own home and family. Must it be this way? Could not the girl and I at least meet beneath our mothers’ eyes before the wedding?” Karim said.
“Hussein ibn Hussein and his family will not enter the city until the day before your marriage is to be celebrated,” Habib told his son. “You may scoff at our traditions, Karim, but we follow them because they give an order and a meaning to our lives. You must begin to reconsider your attitudes, my son, as you are to become a married man. How can you guide your own children without traditions? Your carefree and irresponsible days of reckless abandon must cease now as you assume the new responsibilities as a husband and a father,” Habib concluded seriously.
Alone with his mother afterward, Karim said, “I remember why I stayed away all these years. I am not my father, I fear. It is obvious that the blood of your adventurous Norse ancestors flows hotly in my veins, Mother.” He kissed her cheek lovingly.
“Your grandfather was a farmer,” she sternly reminded him.
“But his brother, your uncle Olaf, went a-Viking. I remember you telling us that once when Ja’far and I were small,” Karim reminded her. “You said he hated farming, and there was not enough land for both your father and him, so he went to sea.”
“It has been many years,” Alimah said evasively, “since you were small, Karim. My memory is not what it used to be.”
“Your memory is better than ever, my mother. Perhaps I am making a mistake in taking a wife. Perhaps I am not meant for marriage.”
“Perhaps,” his mother said, “you have not forgotten Zaynab. The best way to rid oneself of an old love is to take a new love, my son. You were foolish to fall in love with the caliph’s property, and even if you shamed your family by going back on your word to wed Hatiba bat Hussein, you could still not have Zaynab for your own.” She took his hands in hers, looking into the azure eyes so like her own. “Karim, you must face the reality
of your situation. You have to accept your fate.”
“I hate my fate!” he said heatedly.
Alimah had not heard that tone in her youngest son’s voice in many years. It was the sound of pure unhappiness, of frustration, of anger against everything around him. She sighed with worry. He really was like her uncle Olaf, whom, despite her protestations to the contrary, she remembered quite well. He had loved a girl who chose another suitor. He had never really been happy after that. Some men were capable of loving only one woman. Uncle Olaf had been away at sea the day her parents were slain; the day she and her siblings had been carried off. She wondered if he had ever found happiness, or if her son Karim would find it.
“We cannot always have what we think we want from life,” she told him plainly. “You agreed to this marriage, Karim, and your father gave his word. Hatiba will not be Zaynab, but she will be your wife. You made the choice months ago. Neither your father nor I forced you to it. You made the choice. It is past time you were married. Perhaps when you have the responsibility of a wife and children, you will stop behaving like a spoiled child yourself. Now leave me! You have made me very angry. I must compose myself before I go to your father, lest Habib learn that you are not yet the man he believes you to be.”
Rising, he kissed both her hands, withdrawing his as he did so, and then departed from her presence. He smiled wryly to himself. She had given him quite a tongue-lashing. He could not remember the last time she had been so angry with him. She had always been his strongest defender as well as his harshest critic when he was growing up. He believed that of all her children, she loved him the best, although she would certainly never say such a thing. And as usual she was right. He was feeling sorry for himself, without any thought for the girl who was to be his wife. She was coming to the marriage filled with the kind of hope a young girl has, filled with excitement, and probably even a little fear. It was up to him as a man to reassure her, to make her welcome … to love her. Could he love her? Was his mother right? Was he being childish?
He went to see his sister, Iniga. She was already swollen with her first child. There was a glow about her, a happiness he had never before seen in her face. What had happened to the dear little girl he always seemed to remember when he thought of Iniga? He almost didn’t recognize this serene young woman.
“You are troubled, Karim,” she said, sounding much like their mother. “Your heart weeps for Zaynab, doesn’t it?” She touched his cheek. To his shock, he almost wept.
He nodded in answer to her query and then said, “I have an obligation to Hatiba bat Hussein. I must keep that obligation lest I besmirch our family’s honor, but what if I cannot love her, sister?”
“Perhaps you will not,” Iniga said honestly, “but the brother I know and adore will be a good husband, Karim. If you cannot love Hatiba, then I know you will at least be good to her. She will never feel neglected or ill-used by you. You will give her respect. Surely you do not imagine that Ayyub and Ja’far love all of their wives? Marriage is meant to further one’s own family, to build alliances with other families. You are such a romantic, Karim!”
“Does Ahmed love you?” he demanded of her.
“Yes, I believe he does, but in that we are fortunate. It will not, however, prevent him from falling in love with another woman one day and taking another wife,” Iniga said practically.
“Father loves Mother,” he countered.
“But he is only fond of Lady Muzna. That marriage was arranged by our grandfather, Malik ibn Ayyub,” Iniga said, checkmating him.
“In other words,” he said, “marriage is a game of chance, my sister? Sometimes one wins, and other times one loses.”
Iniga giggled. “Yes, Karim, that is exactly it,” she agreed, “but marriage will also be like a sea voyage. You do not know what is going to happen. If Hatiba is pretty, and amenable, your voyage will be pleasant and your sailing smooth.”
“And if she has a face like one of her father’s horses, and a disposition like a camel, it will be rough seas all around.” He chuckled. “I am not certain I find speaking with you at all reassuring, Iniga.”
“Mother says Hatiba is very pretty. She saw her when she and Father went to conclude the negotiations at Hussein ibn Hussein’s home in the mountains,” Iniga said. “She is dark-haired and light-eyed.”
“So Mother said, but then mothers are not often the best judge of one’s mate, little sister,” he replied.
“Shall I report to you after the bridal bath?” Iniga said mischievously. “Not that it will do you any good if she does have the face of a horse and the disposition of a camel. You’ll still be stuck.”
“You comfort me, Iniga,” he told her, and they both laughed. Then Karim said, “Will you tell me?”
“Of course,” she promised him with a chuckle.
Did it really matter if Hatiba were a pretty girl? he wondered. Well, mayhap it would make his life a little easier, he thought, but it didn’t necessarily mean that he would love her. Poor little girl. She was an innocent in all of this. It wasn’t her fault that he was in love with Zaynab. Perhaps what he really needed was an inexperienced virgin who would think he was wonderful because she did not know any better. That could be a blessing in disguise. If Hatiba had never known love, it was unlikely she would suffer from the fact that he would not love her.
His thoughts made him uncomfortable, for this attitude was dishonest, and Karim al Malina was not a dishonest man. Yet how could he erase from his heart and mind the memory of golden hair, aquamarine eyes, and a body that would render a strong man weak as a baby? He couldn’t. But Hatiba must not be made to suffer for his weakness of character.
The bridal bath took place the day before the wedding. The women of both families, and the bride’s few friends who had come to the city with her, gathered together for an afternoon of bathing, perfuming, and gossip. It was supposed to relax the nervous bride, to reassure her that she was among those who loved her, and always would be. Afterward Iniga made her way from the baths to her brother’s apartment in their father’s house.
“You have seen her?” Karim had been waiting impatiently all afternoon for the ritual to be completed.
Iniga nodded solemnly.
“And?” He was almost eager.
“She is very pretty, as Mother said,” Iniga began slowly, “but …” She paused, searching for the right words.
“But what?” Allah, what was the matter? Karim wondered.
“I found her sullen,” Iniga finally said bluntly. “She does not seem to be happy about this marriage, Karim. It is not nervousness, I’m certain. She hardly smiled the whole afternoon, but when she did, I saw that her teeth were good. At least that’s something.”
She was sullen, and her teeth were good. It was not particularly consoling. “She has agreed to the marriage,” he replied, “else it could not take place. Perhaps she is just afraid, Iniga. After all, tomorrow at this time she’ll be married to a complete stranger.”
“Yes,” Iniga answered him. “I never considered that. After all, I married someone I knew, and did not really leave my family. You are probably right, Karim. She is afraid, but you will reassure her once you are her husband. Then she will see she need not be fearful.” But Iniga did not believe her words for a moment. Hatiba had been sullen, like someone forced to do something she did not desire. She hoped Karim could help Hatiba overcome whatever it was that was troubling her. In doing so they might find a happiness of sorts together.
The wedding day was a clear, bright day. In that they were fortunate, for the rainy season was almost upon them. The male family members and friends went first to the baths and next to the mosque, where the imam examined the contract drawn up by the qadi weeks before. He asked if the dower had been paid, and satisfied that all parties were in agreement, performed the ceremony uniting Karim ibn Habib and Hatiba bat Hussein in marriage, although the bride herself was not present. Then the men returned to Habib ibn Malik’s gardens, where Hatiba, garbed in
her red and gold wedding garment, sat ensconced amid her gifts, awaiting her bridegroom.
Karim went to her, and raising the red veil drawn over the girl’s face and head, stared into a pair of cold gray eyes. There was no smile of welcome. Her age had been given as fifteen, but Karim had the feeling he was looking at an older girl, though perhaps it was the gravity of the occasion that made her look more mature. “I salute you, Hatiba, my wife,” he said courteously.
“I greet you, Karim ibn Habib,” she replied. Her voice was soft and well modulated, but it lacked emotion of any kind.
The men and the women separated, and the feasting began. Wine, cakes, fruits, and other sweets were being served. The traditional alt-female orchestra played. The women danced together in celebration. The men in their part of the garden were entertained by sinuous dancers.
“She’s pretty,” his brother Ja’far said as they stood watching the dancers. “Berber girls are nicely docile. After you get a son on her, you can find yourself some exotic little creature who has more spirit and begin your harem. Considering your field of expertise, your women should be the happiest women in Malina.” He chuckled, giving his younger brother a jovial poke.
“Her eyes are as cold as silver,” Karim replied. “I greeted her as my wife, but she did not address me as her husband. She is not willing, no matter what her father told the imam. My father-in-law was evidently greedy for the bride price I paid for the girl, but he shall not have it, for no matter, I will remain married to Hatiba.”
“Do not sound so grim,” his brother counseled. “She is just frightened like all virgins. You’ll have her warm and at ease by the sunrise, Karim. I do not have to instruct you on the seduction of pretty virgins, little brother.” He laughed. Then tipping his cup up, Ja’far drank down his wine, his gaze straying to the big-breasted dancer entertaining them.
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