“ ‘You have betrayed me, Hatiba,’ he told her.
“ ‘You did not love me enough to fight for me when my father gave me to my lord Karim as a wife,’ she answered him bravely. ‘It is my duty to bear my husband’s children, Ali Hassan.’
“My lady Zaynab, her words seemed to drive him into a frenzy of unbridled fury. He tore her away from the lady Iniga, wrapped her hair about his hand, and slit her throat in a single motion. The blood spurted out, staining the lady Iniga’s robes, and the robes of Ali Hassan as well. The poor girl was frozen with her terror, having been forced to watch the murder of her husband, her mother, her family. She stood helpless, unable to even scream, as that devil tore her clothing from her, then carried her off, along with the few young female slaves who had not been killed. I waited for what seemed an eternity in my cabinet, the lady Iniga’s little son clutched to my breast. I could hear them going through the house, stealing what they could, but then it was all silent. Still I remained hidden.
“Finally I crept from my place. The child had fallen asleep, praise Allah, and did not see the carnage all about us as we made our way from the harem. Ali Hassan and his men at last were gone. They had made their escape upon horses from the prince’s stables. They took only the finest animals, I might add. I ran, with little Malik still in my arms, to the house of the head of the city council, and told my tale. His women took the child from me, and I returned with the entire council to this house.
“At the sight that greeted them, their cries of lamentation could be heard throughout the entire city. A messenger was sent overland to Sebta to bring my lord Karim back. We had already buried his family by the time of his return, and cleansed their blood away. We could not, however, get it out of the stones in the courtyard where the first few poor souls were slaughtered.
“When the prince was told the scope of the tragedy, he fell into a state of torpor from which we have not been able to rouse him. He will not eat. He barely sleeps. He simply sits and stares,” Mustafa concluded.
“So the council sent to the caliph,” Zaynab said softly. She could barely comprehend the scale of the tragedy that had befallen Karim. “Have they found Iniga, Mustafa?” she asked him. “Surely they sent after Ali Hassan to punish him.”
“The destruction of Prince Karim’s family was not the first of its kind carried out by Ali Hassan. He had already murdered Hussein ibn Hussein and his family. He has become very powerful, and very feared among the mountain clans. We have no army in Malina. There has not, until recently, been any need for an army. There is peace in al-Andalus.”
Even now Zaynab could see that poor Mustafa was still suffering from the tragedy he had witnessed. The dead had not been Ali Hassan’s only victims. “Has no one rescued Iniga, or paid a ransom?” she asked him once again. If Iniga had been alive when Ali Hassan carried her off, she might be alive still. She had to be found, and rescued.
“They will not seek after her, my lady,” the eunuch said sadly. “When Ali Hassan carried her off, he was certain to violate her. She is disgraced now, and better left wherever she is, if she yet lives.”
“What are you saying?” Zaynab said angrily. “Iniga has a child who survived this catastrophe. Little Malik has lost his father. Must he lose his mother too? Karim would not let that happen!”
“Malik ibn Ahmed has gone to his father’s family, where he belongs. They will raise him properly. He is so young that he will never remember his parents. How can he lose what he will never recall possessing?”
“Do ye think this place be haunted, lady?” Oma said in their own tongue. “I dinna know if I can be comfortable in a place where so much death and violence happened.” She shivered. “I can almost hear the screams of the women.”
“I agree,” Zaynab told her servant, and then turning to the eunuch, she said, “We will not stay here, Mustafa. Both Oma and I can sense the terror in these rooms. I know that you were not expecting us, but surely there is somewhere else that we may stay.”
He nodded, understanding, and replied, “I will take you to your master’s apartments. I am certain he will not mind sharing his rooms with you, my lady Zaynab.”
Hasdai ibn Shaprut had already been brought to see his patient, Karim ibn Habib, the Prince of Malina. The young man sat in a comfortable chair upon a portico overlooking the large garden belonging to the house. His manner was lethargic, his color pale. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and he appeared to have lost weight since Hasdai had last seen him in Cordoba.
“My lord,” the vizier said, “I have brought you the caliph’s representative.”
Karim looked up, disinterested, at the tall man who bowed politely to him. Then he looked away.
There had been comprehension in those blue eyes, Hasdai saw. This prince was not mad. He was simply coping with his pain as best he could. There was hope. “My lord, I am the Nasi, Hasdai ibn Shaprut. While I advise the caliph in many capacities, I am also a physician. I would help you heal yourself so you may rule effectively here in Malina for our master, Abd-al Rahman. Your family, I am told, founded this city and have governed for the Umayyads for over two hundred years.”
“They are all dead,” Karim said low. “All but my sister’s child, but he is not of my family. Malik-belongs to his father’s people.”
“Your sister, I am told, was carried off,” Hasdai continued.
“My wife was killed,” Karim replied. “She was with child.”
“But your sister may live,” Hasdai said.
“If she does, it were better if she were dead,” he answered.
“Why?” the Nasi probed. “She has a son. The child needs her, my lord.”
“She is disgraced, shamed forever,” Karim said stonily. “Do you not realize what has happened to my sweet little sister? They will have raped Iniga. Perhaps only Ali Hassan, but mayhap others. My brother-in-law’s family has my nephew. They would not let Iniga have him back even if we found her and brought her back. She is lost to me even as the rest of them are lost to me.”
“If that is so, my lord, it is a sadness that will remain with you always,” Hasdai said honestly. “It cannot be changed, but the people of Malina need you to be strong now. There is no more time left to you for mourning. You must lead! You must seek out the bandit, Ali Hassan, and destroy him so that his power will not cause further chaos in the caliph’s land.”
“I am the youngest son,” Karim cried plaintively, the pain in his voice cutting. “It was not meant that I rule. It was to have been Ayyub, or if he had not lived as long as our father, then Ja’far. I know naught of ruling, Hasdai ibn Shaprut. Leave me to mourn in peace, I beg you!”
“I have brought with me one hundred Saqalibah. Your vizier tells me that you found fifty healthy, strong northerners in Sebta, who have since been brought back to Alcazaba Malina. In a month’s time my men can have your men trained well enough for us to go after Ali Hassan. The caliph has ordered that he be caught and punished. Will you sit here like an old woman, when you could be revenging yourself upon the man who brought about all this unhappiness to you, to your people? Will you permit this Ali Hassan to swagger his way among the mountain clans, inciting them to further violence and eventual rebellion against the caliph? This is not the loyalty that I was told to expect from you, Karim ibn Habib,” the Nasi finished, the scorn in his voice plain to hear.
“And when I have revenged myself, and the people of Malina,” Karim shot back, his voice stronger than Alaeddin had heard it in weeks, “what is left for me? I have nothing!”
“You must take another wife, and sire a new generation for Malina, my lord,” the Nasi said. “Your ancestor was but one man when he came to this place and built a city.”
“I will not marry again without love,” Karim said. “I did not love my poor Hatiba, for I loved someone else I could not have. I thought my devotion and respect would be enough. Perhaps if she had not died as she did, it would have been, but I am racked with guilt now when I remember.”
&
nbsp; “Love is not always an advisable virtue, my lord,” the Nasi replied. “Ali Hassan loved Hatiba, and because of it she and your family died. Think on it when you choose another wife.”
“A marriage without love is like an empty sky, Hasdai ibn Shaprut. It stretches out forever in loneliness,” the prince answered.
The Nasi acknowledged the wisdom of Karim’s words with a tilt of his dark head. “Your point is well taken, my lord,” he said with a faint smile. This prince who for days had sat overwhelmed with lassitude by his pain was beginning to come to life again. It had just taken a little conversation, a challenge, a tweak of his pride. Hasdai suspected that no one had even considered such a thing, for they were all too busy encouraging Karim’s mourning. They had been digging this poor prince a deep pit from which he would have never escaped.
“I have brought someone with me whom you will know,” the Nasi told Karim. “Her name is Zaynab, and I am told that it was you who trained her. If that is so, then you have my undying gratitude, my lord. She is perfection.”
“Zaynab? She is here?” The excitement in Karim’s voice was barely masked. “How did you obtain her? She was given to the caliph.”
“I will let her tell you herself in a few days’ time, when you are stronger physically,” Hasdai said. “I can see that you have not been eating. I am going to prescribe a diet for you that will help you regain your strength. Your vizier will work with the captain of my Saqalibah to plan a training schedule for your northerners. Ali Hassan’s days are numbered, my lord prince, are they not?”
Karim looked up at the Nasi. “Yes,” was all he said, but there was a grim determination in his voice that neither Alaeddin ben Omar nor Hasdai ibn Shaprut could miss.
Afterward, the vizier thanked the Nasi. “You have reached him, my lord, when the rest of us could not. It is going to be all right now. I can see it!”
“It was the mention of Zaynab that touched him most, my friend,” Hasdai said quietly. “Nothing else I said influenced him as much as the mere mention of her name. Why? Tell me.”
Alaeddin ben Omar shook his head. “It is not my place to speak of them, my lord Nasi. You must ask either Zaynab or the prince, but do not ask me.”
“Very well,” Hasdai said. “I will ask Zaynab.”
Chapter 16
“How is the prince?” she asked him after they had made love that night. “Will he survive?”
“Yes,” Hasdai replied. He had heard nothing in her voice that indicated to him how she might feel about Karim ibn Habib. He asked himself if he really cared, and knew that he did. It wasn’t that he loved her. He wasn’t even certain he was capable of such an emotion. But she had become his friend, and he enjoyed their shared passion. He somehow knew it would not be the same with another woman. There was more to Zaynab than just a skillful concubine, and he didn’t want to lose her.
“The eunuch Mustafa told me what happened,” she said. “It is horrific. We must learn if the prince’s sister, Iniga, is still alive. If she is, she must be rescued, my lord Hasdai.” She put her head on his shoulder. “Iniga is the sweetest girl.”
“The prince says she might as well be dead, for she has been shamed and defiled,” Hasdai told her. “There is a strong code of morality here in Ifriqiya. While I may not always approve it, I do understand. If this poor girl has been violated—and it is possible that she has—no respectable man will want her for his wife. Ali Hassan might as well have killed her. That he did not bespeaks to me a man of vast cruelty.”
“Is my friend then to be left to her fate?” Zaynab said furiously. She sat up and, crossing her legs, looked seriously at the Nasi. “Tell me you will rescue her, Hasdai. I will take her home with me, and at least she may live her life out in peace. Do not leave her to that beast, Ali Hassan, if she yet lives. Please!”
“The prince bought fifty northern warriors in Sebta. They will be trained by our own Saqalibah. In a month’s time we will go into the mountains after Ali Hassan. Prince Karim must lead his soldiers. He is not strong enough yet to do so,” he told her.
“So Iniga must languish further? At least send a spy to ascertain if she is alive or dead, my lord. I know you must send out spies to reconnoiter theterritory held by Ali Hassan and determine his support among the mountain clans.”
“How would you know such a thing?” he asked her, amused, yet surprised. She was always astonishing him when he least expected it
“I grew up in a land of clan feuds, my lord. Such a strategy is commonplace among my people. If you do not know your enemy’s strength, you can easily lose your castle, or your land, or your cattle,” Zaynab explained in matter-of-fact tones. “There is nothing surprising there.”
“Our chief objective is to destroy Ali Hassan and his influence,” her lover replied. “If the lady Iniga can be found alive, then we will determine what to do with her.” He reached out for her, but Zaynab drew back, her beautiful face angry.
“Iniga has become a victim of evil, my lord. That in itself is horrendous. Why must she suffer further among her own kind for what has happened to her? Why is she suddenly disreputable? The shame should not be hers, but rather those who have harmed her. I am a concubine, my lord. Am I not as disreputable?”
“Zaynab,” he said patiently to her, “you must understand. I know that you are intelligent enough to do so. Iniga was the daughter of Malina’s prince. She was a wife. A mother. Once she was carried off by Ali Hassan, her mantle of respectability was stripped away from her because of her carnal knowledge of another man, or men. You, however, are a concubine. It is your place to be seductive. It is your place to know men carnally. You have a cloak of respectability of a different sort, my dear.”
“And if it had been me who was carried off by Ali Hassan and violated, would I not be as disreputable as you claim poor Iniga now has become?” she demanded.
“Of course not,” he responded to her. “You are a concubine.”
“That,” Zaynab said scathingly, “is absurd reasoning, my lord.”
“I have never known you to be this way,” he said to her, and indeed he was surprised by the depth of her feelings in this matter.
“I have had two close women friends in my life, Hasdai, and one of them is Iniga. I was not born a slave, but my slavery has been a benign captivity. I have been pampered and adored. Not so my poor friend. She was forced to watch as her family was slaughtered before her eyes, kidnapped, and most certainly violated. Until now Iniga was sheltered, and loved by all who knew her. She has a child. She does not deserve this, and I will do all I can to see she is rescued! I cannot stand idly by while you men debate the issue of her lost virtue. It is ridiculous! What has Iniga’s virtue to do with any of you? It is her life that is in danger!”
“I promise you, my dear,” he said, taking her hands in his, his amber eyes sympathetic, “that those who scout Ah Hassan’s territory for us will seek word of Iniga. For now it is all I can do, Zaynab. Come now, and kiss me. I am hungry again for your lips.”
Stretching out, she drew his head down to hers, but her mind was far away as she automatically elicited sighs of rapture from him with her kisses. She was somewhat appalled at herself to realize how perfunctory her actions had become. She wished it could be otherwise, but it was not. She might have felt guilty had she not known he did not love her. Instead she thought of Karim, who was in this very place as she lay in the arms of another man. Did he know she was here? Did he think of her?
He did. He wondered as he lay alone in his bed how she had come to be the property of Hasdai ibn Shaprut. The Nasi was young and handsome, and looked virile. Did he please Zaynab? Karim sighed. Was she happy? Why in the name of Allah had she been brought back to him when he could not have her? Was his pain not great enough? Alaeddin had promised him that Oma would answer all their questions in the morning.
Karim couldn’t sleep, nor did he want to sleep. The caliph’s representative had forced him by his sharp words to face the fact that he was now responsible for
Malina and its people. He could not, would not, disgrace his father and those others who had come before him. They had founded this city, and brought it to its current prosperity. He could not allow their efforts to be for naught because of the terrible tragedy that had taken place.
When the dawn came he was still awake. A servant came with a tray of food. Karim looked at it and wrinkled his nose. The servant, an old woman who had known him since he was a child, said sharply, “The physician said this is what I was to bring you, and this is what you must eat, my lord. You have not the strength of a baby right now, but you must grow strong again so you may seek out and destroy Ali Hassan!” She plunked the tray on the table before him. “Eat it all, my lord!” Then she shuffled off.
Karim gazed down at the bowl of hot millet cereal, and with a sigh began to spoon it into his mouth. When he had finished it, he peeled himself a hard-boiled egg and ate it, then nibbled upon the slice of sweet melon upon the plate. There was a small goblet of wine for him to drink, and a slice of bread with a slab of goat’s cheese, but he could not finish that. Still, he did feel better for the meal, he thought, as the slaves removed the tray.
Alaeddin came, bringing Oma with him, and the girl explained to Karim why Zaynab was now in the possession of Hasdai ibn Shaprut.
“Does she love him?” he asked Oma.
“Of course not, nor he her,” Oma replied. “She was fond of the caliph, I know, but she and the Nasi are but friends.”
“And she has a child?” Karim’s eyes were wistful.
“A daughter, Moraima,” Oma said. “The caliph loves the little one and is very good to her. My lady would not bring her with us for she feared that travel could prove a danger to the little princess.”
* * *
Afterward, when Oma was back with her mistress, she said, “He asked if you loved the Nasi, my lady. I think he still cares for you. When I spoke of your child, he was very sad.”
The Love Slave Page 34
