“You must not be afraid,” Bacea told the younger girl. “Birth is a natural function of the female body. We will be with you to help you. I have a son and a daughter, and Qumar has a son and two daughters. Do you want more children after this one?”
“What a question to ask a woman in labor!” Qumar laughed. “Bacea is a pretty girl, but Galacians are not too intelligent.”
“And Persians are?” Bacea shot back. “You didn’t even know you were with child the first time.” She laughed, and then said, “I will admit the timing of my question is poor, however.”
“Be silent, the two of you,” Tarub scolded them. “You chatter like magpies. We must help Zaynab to birth her baby successfully.”
The subject of their concern gasped as a strong pain swept over her. “Allah!” she cried.
“That is good!” Tarub said piously. “Call upon God, and He will deliver you, and your child.”
The two concubines swallowed their laughter, their eyes meeting Zaynab’s. It had been a long time since Tarub had birthed anything. She had obviously forgotten that the laboring woman’s cry was more an imprecation than a prayer.
“This is the price we pay for all that sweetness,” Bacea said, a twinkle in her hazel eyes, and Zaynab was forced to grin.
“I will know better next time.” She giggled, and then groaned again as pain washed over her.
For the next several hours they alternately cajoled and encouraged her in her labor. Qumar, being more supple than Tarub, knelt and spread a layer of cloth beneath the birthing chair where Zaynab now sat. Outside her bedchamber the caliph waited in the company of Hasdai ibn Shaprut, whom he had called in case of any emergency. The physician was not needed, however. A cry was heard from within, and shortly thereafter Tarub, her face wreathed in smiles, came forth from the chamber, a swaddled bundle in her arms.
“My lord husband,” she said, “here is your daughter, the princess Moraima. Zaynab is well, and hopes you are pleased.”
Qumar and Bacea now joined Tarub, each smiling and cooing over the child.
The caliph took his new daughter in the presence of his wife, his two concubines, and Hasdai ibn Shaprut. Cradling the baby gently, he looked down upon her. To his delight, the infant gazed back solemnly at him from serious blue eyes. The down upon her head was her mother’s pale gold in color. “I accept this child as my own blood, my daughter,” Abd-al Rahman said in a strong voice to his witnesses. Then carrying the baby, he entered Zaynab’s bedchamber. He knelt by her bedside. “You have done well, my dearest love,” he told the exhausted girl. “I have formally recognized our daughter before witnesses. Now none will doubt her paternity, and none shall have her to wife but the finest prince, when she is old enough,” he told Zaynab. “Sleep now.”
Rising, he handed the baby to Oma and left his favorite’s apartments.
Zaynab lay exhausted, yet awake. She had a daughter, and the child was a princess. She wondered whether Gruoch had borne a son or a daughter, and if there had been other children since. Wouldn’t her twin be amazed to know that the sister she had known as Regan was not moldering away in a convent, but the pampered concubine of a great ruler, and the mother of a princess. And Karim … Why on earth had she thought of him? She had kept him successfully from her mind these past months, but now suddenly he was there. Would he learn she had borne the caliph a daughter? Was he a father himself, by the wife he had returned to Malina to wed? Of course he was. What would her life have been like had she been that bride instead of Abd-al Rahman’s Love Slave? It was useless to think such thoughts. She would sleep, and when she awoke, it would be all the same. She would be the caliph’s adored favorite, the mother of his daughter, and Karim al Malina would be but a memory. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She would never love Abd-al Rahman, but she would honor and respect the caliph, and he would never know her true feelings. Turning her face to the wall, she willed herself into a slumber.
“She could only give him a puny daughter,” Zahra sneered when she later met Tarub in the baths.
“They wanted a daughter,” Tarub said sweetly. “They had her named months ago. They never even considered a son. It should please you, Zahra. Now you do not have to worry that Zaynab’s child will supplant Hakam.” Laughing, she went on her way.
Despite Zahra’s dislike of Zaynab, the caliph’s goodwill meant more to the women of the harem than the first wife’s ire. They sensed Zahra’s star was finally waning. They flocked to the Court of the Green Columns, bringing their gifts to the new princess, who was admired by all and praised mightily. Even Prince Hakam came to visit his new sister, bringing a small silver ball that was filled with bells to amuse the baby.
“I have no children of my own,” he explained to Zaynab, “but I do remember having a toy like this one when I was small. I loved it.” He smiled warmly at her, and when she smiled back at him, giving him her thanks, Hakam understood why his father loved her. He pitied his poor mother. Zahra might have been the love of Abd-al Rahman’s youth, but there was no doubt in the prince’s mind that Zaynab was the love of his sire’s later years. She was a delightful girl. “My sister Moraima will always have my affection, and the security of my protection, lady,” he told her.
Tarub, of course, rubbed salt into Zahra’s wounds by telling her former friend of the prince’s visit. “I believe Hakam is as charmed by Zaynab as is the caliph,” she said with a false smile. “The whole harem is, you know.”
Zahra said nothing, but she was amazed at the depth of Tarub’s venom. She had always thought the second wife a simple plump fool, but it was obvious that she was not. She was a very dangerous bitch. If the caliph made Zaynab his third wife, as was rumored throughout the harem, then together the two of them would become a force to be reckoned with. Tarub’s son, Abdallah, was Abd-al Rahman’s second son. What if these two women worked in concert to supplant Hakam? She had no proof of such a scheme, but she did not need it. It would have been what she would have done had her position and Tarub’s been reversed.
The new favorite suddenly sickened, as did her child and her waiting woman. Normally the baby would have been sent to a baby farm to be nursed, so that the Love Slave could again serve her master, but such a thing was anathema to Zaynab. The women of Alba, even the highborn women, did not farm their infants out as a general rule. She had begged the caliph to be allowed to keep Moraima with her for a few months before a wet nurse would be brought into the Court of the Green Columns. It had pleased Abd-al Rahman to grant her request. He liked sitting by her side as she nursed their child It made him feel like an ordinary man, if only for a short time. But now Zaynab, Moraima, and Oma were sickening.
Hasdai ibn Shaprut was called in, for poison was immediately suspected. The only two members of the favorite’s household not to grow ill were Naja and Aida, the cook, which naturally set the suspicion upon them. The physician, however, gained some measure of Zaynab’s favor by immediately ruling out the poor eunuch, who was terrified by the turn of events, and Aida, whose loyalty was simply too strong.
“Too obvious,” the physician said. “It is something that the lady Zaynab and Oma alone share. The little princess is being poisoned through her mother’s milk. She must be sent away if she is to be saved.”
Weeping, Zaynab gave her daughter over to the physician’s assistant, Rebekah. “Do not fear, great lady,” Rebekah said. She was a mother herself, and Zaynab’s devotion to her child had already gained her approval. “I have an excellent wet nurse in the Jewish quarter. She is a big, healthy girl with more milk than her own child can consume. She will care for our little princess as if she were her own child, and you may see her any time you so desire.”
“Why can this woman not come here?” Zaynab sobbed.
“Because,” Hasdai ibn Shaprut explained patiently to her, “whatever is causing you and Oma to sicken could cause the wet nurse to sicken also. Until I find the cause, we must protect your child.”
“Yes, yes!” Zaynab agreed, and turned
to the caliph. “Oh, my dear lord, do not let anything happen to our child! She is all I have, and I will die if anything should take her from me forever!”
“Hasdai will find the answer,” the caliph promised his beloved, enfolding her in his loving embrace, which caused Zaynab to weep all the harder.
It was poison without a doubt. Within just a few days the baby was healthy again, but her mother and Oma sickened further. How was it being administered to the favorite and Oma, the physician wondered, yet not to Naja and Aida? Their clothing was removed and replaced, but there was still no change. Hasdai examined all the foods being prepared by Aida, but the food was fresh, and they all ate from the same pots. What was it? What? What did Zaynab and Oma do that the others did not? Then Hasdai knew.
It came to him like a bolt from the blue. They bathed together! They bathed twice daily in Zaynab’s private bath. Immediately the physician ordered a sample of the water to be brought. He forbade Zaynab and Oma to enter the bath again until he was certain. Testing it, his suspicions were confirmed. The water flowing into Zaynab’s private bath had been poisoned! The poison was being absorbed through their skin, and slowly killing the two girls. He prayed his discovery was in time, and began administering theriaca.
The caliph was told, and he knew without a doubt who was behind this attempt on Zaynab’s life, and probably the first attempt as well. There was only one person in his harem who had the kind of power to arrange such harm. He set a trap, and sprang it.
“I found the slave who poured the daily dose of poison into the cistern serving Zaynab’s bath,” he told Hasdai ibn Shaprut. “I had two of my most loyal guards wait in the shadows until she came. She needed little persuasion to tell me that the lady Zahra was behind it. They strangled the slave afterward.”
“What will you do, my lord?” Hasdai asked.
The caliph sighed as deeply as a man in pain. “I cannot protect Zaynab from Zahra, Hasdai. In order to do so I must cast Zahra off publicly. She is the mother of my heir, and should I divorce her, I will cause a wedge between either Hakam and his mother or my son and me. I cannot do it. I decided years ago that Hakam would follow me as caliph. Because I did not vacillate in my choice, I have built the loyalty of his brothers and uncles, and his male cousins. There is no doubt, no confusion, nor has there ever been. Hakam is the heir.
“If I repudiate Hakam’s mother, there are those who will be convinced it is but the first step to renouncing my eldest son. There will be nothing that I can say that will induce them to believe otherwise. Factions will form about my other sons. Four of them are, as you are well aware, old enough to be encouraged to sedition. Power is the greatest tempter of all, Hasdai. Gold, victory in battle, beautiful women; they all fade before the specter of ultimate power. My father was murdered by a brother who could not accept my grandfather’s decision in the matter of the succession. I cannot even remember my father, but my grandfather chose me over his other sons to replace him, and then lived long enough to raise me to an age where I might grasp the reins of al-Andalus strongly.
“I have ruled this land for over thirty years now, and we have been at peace most of the time. Peace encourages prosperity. Al-Andalus is the most powerful and prosperous country in the world today. It will remain that way, my friend, because I will not permit any dissension to form that I cannot personally control. Sadly, I cannot control a war within my harem without it going beyond the walls of my gardens. Twice Zahra has attempted to murder my beloved Zaynab. To prevent any further attempt, I must either rid myself of Zahra or send Zaynab from me in order to protect both her and our child. I have no other choice in the matter.”
“Will you free her, then, my lord?” the physician asked. He didn’t like the way Abd-al Rahman looked at the moment. The caliph was pale, and his skin was shiny with sweat. He was obviously very distressed by this situation.
“I cannot free her, Hasdai,” the caliph said. “Even though women are permitted under Islam to own their own property, a woman without the protection of a man, or a family, is helpless and in danger. No, Hasdai, I will not free Zaynab. I am giving her to you. You have no wife to object, and I shall be very generous. She will have her own house on the river outside of Cordoba, and her servants, and an income to support her, and our child; but she belongs to you from this moment on, Hasdai ibn Shaprut.”
The physician was astounded. He could not quite believe what the caliph was saying to him. “You will visit her, of course,” he ventured.
Abd-al Rahman shook his head. “Once she leaves Madinat al-Zahra, I shall never see her again. She will no longer be mine.”
Hasdai’s head was spinning with the implications of what the caliph was saying. “What of the little princess?”
A spasm crossed the caliph’s face. “I will, of course, want to see my daughter from time to time,” he said. Then he staggered.
“Sit down, my lord,” the doctor said, reaching for the caliph’s wrist and checking his pulse. It was fast and erratic. Reaching into his robes, he drew forth a tiny gilded pill. “Put this beneath your tongue, my lord. It will ease the pain in your chest.”
Abd-al Rahman did not ask Hasdai ibn Shaprut how he knew of the pain in his chest He simply took the pill and followed his instructions. Finally, when the ache began to subside, he said, “How am I to tell her, Hasdai? How am I to tell this girl I love that I will never see her again?” His deep blue eyes were moist.
“Let us move her from the Court of the Green Columns today, my lord,” the physician said quietly. “We will tell her nothing except that it is for her safety. In a few days, when she and Oma are well again, you will come to her and tell her, but not today. You need time to regain your strength.”
The caliph nodded slowly. “No one must know where she is, Hasdai. It will be enough for Zahra that she is gone. I will speak to her myself. You will be good to Zaynab?”
“My lord, I will respect her greatly,” was the reply.
“Respect her if you will, Hasdai, but you must love her, too,” Abd-al Rahman said. “She needs to be loved, and she will give you great pleasure, my friend.”
To the caliph’s amazement, Hasdai ibn Shaprut blushed. “My lord,” he said, “I have little experience in matters of the heart. I have spent my life in the pursuit of learning, that I might be of value to my country. The delegation from Byzantium is expected any day. They are bringing the De Materia Medica for translation, so we may soon have our medical school in Cordoba. My time must be spent with their Greek translators. I will have time for little else. This is why, to the despair of my father, I have never taken a wife.”
The physician’s words cheered the caliph, for he realized that after her disappointment lessened, Zaynab would eventually want to be loved again. Hasdai ibn Shaprut had little chance against her seductive wiles.
“You will do your best by Zaynab, I know,” Abd-al Rahman said, thinking, and she will do her best by you. “I will give orders to have her removed with all her possessions this day. Then I will go to see the lady Zahra. Accompany Zaynab, my friend.”
The physician bowed low. His patient’s color was better now. “Do not allow the lady Zahra to upset you again, my lord.”
The caliph nodded, and departed from the Court of the Green Columns. He would have it torn down and destroyed when she was gone. No woman should ever inhabit it again. Like Zaynab, it would be but a sweet memory. Finding the Mistress of the Women and the Chief Eunuch, he gave them his instructions concerning Zaynab.
“I warn you both,” he said grimly, “that should you speak of this to anyone, I will know it, and your tongues will be torn from your heads. You will be of little use, Walladah, to the lady Zahra then. As for you, Nasr, remember your first loyalty is to me, and not to the lady Zahra. I rule in all of al-Andalus, especially in this harem, not she.”
He left them amazed by his hard words, and found his way to his first wife’s chambers. Entering it, he dismissed her maids, all of whom were startled to see him in these enviro
ns, which he had not entered in years.
Zahra looked up, her face bland and smooth. “How may I serve you, dear lord?” she asked him.
“I know what you have done,” he said harshly. “I caught your slave. She needed little persuasion to tell me the truth before she died. You are a wicked woman, Zahra!”
“If I have done something wrong,” Zahra said sweetly, “then it is up to you, my lord, to correct and chastise me.” She smiled at him.
“You might have killed Moraima too,” he said.
“You have other daughters,” she responded coldly, all pretense gone. Her eyes were icy. He had never known her like this. He suddenly realized he was really seeing her for the first time. “Did you think I would let you replace my son? Supplant Hakam with one of her brats? I will die first, my lord! I will die!” she shrieked.
“I wish you would die,” he said brutally. “Hakam, I know, has no part in your treachery, Zahra. For his sake, for the sake of our country, I will not divorce you. I know there is nothing I can say that will convince you that Zaynab and her daughter are no threat to you. To preserve peace in al-Andalus, I have sent the woman I love and our child from Madinat al-Zahra. I shall never see her again, for I know I cannot protect her from you if I do. For Hakam’s sake, and for al-Andalus, I have deprived myself of happiness in my last years. It is, Zahra, the greatest sacrifice I have ever made, and I will never forgive you for having forced me to it.”
“Ohh, my dear lord, you have done this for me!” The pinched look was suddenly gone from her face.
“For you? Do you not listen, Zahra? I have done nothing for you, nor will I ever again. I held you in my high esteem. I named a city for you, but you have, in your selfishness and pride, destroyed any feeling I might have had left for you. If you truly loved me, you would have wanted my happiness. All that concerned you was your position. I never want to see your face again. To ensure that, you will be confined to diese rooms and your garden for the rest of your days. You will go to the baths at night when all are sleeping, so you may not contaminate any of my other women. You will be treated with deference, and you may have guests, but your reign is over, my wife.”
The Love Slave Page 29
