“While I am entertaining our friend, you will creep behind several of the tents, carrying hot coals with you to set those tents afire. It will take a few minutes for the tents to begin to burn. You will have time to come back here. Who will suspect you? They believe you frightened and completely in their power. Be careful, and you will not be seen in the darkness, Iniga.
“When the alarm is raised and Ali Hassan rushes out to find mass confusion, I will set his tent afire by knocking over the brazier in his sleeping area Then I will run out after him screaming that our tent is also afire. He will think it is some sort of attack. The flames should draw the Nasi and the Saqalibah to the encampment, for if Allah favors us, the fires will be almost impossible to put out in time to prevent our location from being discovered,” Zaynab concluded triumphantly.
“I do not know if I can help you, Zaynab,” Iniga said honestly.
“You must help me,” Zaynab told her. “I have no one else to rely upon, Iniga. Once the sun sets on this camp, everyone shelters in his own tent. There is no fellowship among the people here, because any sounds of revelry would carry in the night and draw attackers down upon them. You will be perfectly safe. I promise you that on that night in particular, Ali Hassan will want perfect silence so his mastery of me—the cries he believes I will utter—will be heard by all his people. He is, I suspect, even now bragging to his men about his prowess and how I will howl with delight from his lusty attentions.”
“I am so afraid.” Iniga wept, clutching herself to still her trembling.
“While Ali Hassan is away, we will creep about the camp in the night together,” Zaynab suggested, refusing to accept her friend’s fears. “That way you will become familiar with what you must do and where you must go. You will see there is nothing to be afraid of, Iniga. My task is far more dangerous and onerous than yours. I must amuse that pig of a bandit long enough to give you the time you’ll need. I will have to convince him of his great desirability, and that my lust matches his. You certainly would not like to do that.”
“Nay,” Iniga admitted, “I would not. Ohh, Zaynab, I am so afraid for you! He is a cruel monster when he couples with a woman! He is enormous! Far bigger than Ahmed was. He hurt me dreadfully. Ahmed never did the things to me that Ali Hassan did. He even forced himself into my fundament, laughing when I screamed. I am not brave enough, but I wish I could kill him. I hate him so!” Her pretty face was flushed.
“It’s all right, Iniga,” Zaynab comforted her friend, putting her arms about the terrified girl. “I was taught to accept a man in more ways than you can even imagine. Ali Hassan cannot hurt me because I know exactly how to prevent him from doing me an injury. It is unlikely he will even get to breach me at all if you do your part.”
“I will try,” Iniga promised Zaynab earnestly. “I want my brother to find you. I want Karim to kill Ali Hassan!”
“You will succeed,” Zaynab told her seriously. “Both of our lives depend upon your succeeding, Iniga.”
The encampment remained quiet for the next week. Each night, the two young women slipped out in the pitch-darkness of the night to move silently like wraiths about the camp until Iniga was completely familiar with it.
“Why can we not simply flee this place?” Iniga asked Zaynab one evening as they waited to begin their nightly foray.
“Can you find your way out of these mountains?” Zaynab asked her. “I tried to memorize the landscape as we came here from the city, but once in these hills, I realized that it all looked the same to me. There is no road or trail. We took many twists and turns. Even if we tried to escape, we could as easily run into Ali Hassan as find the Nasi and your brother. And if we were fortunate enough to actually elude the bandits and show the Saqalibah the way back here, Ali Hassan would be long gone.
“I want him punished, Iniga, for what happened to your family. The caliph wants him punished so others will not emulate him or his bad behavior. It is far better for us to remain here as bait. As long as Ali Hassan believes he may possess my body, he will return to this camp,” Zaynab concluded with assurance.
The seven days passed far too quickly for Iniga. With a cool demeanor that awed her, Zaynab went about the business of preparing for Ali Hassan’s return. Boldly, she marshaled the women of the encampment to clean their leader’s large tent, which was a pigsty. She even had them wash all his garments in the nearby stream. She cajoled them into making him a new mattress, which they filled with fresh hay and sweet herbs.
“I do not need to be bitten by bedbugs,”she told Iniga.
She discovered a barrel maker amongst the old men. Giving him one of the small rings she wore, she wheedled him sweetly into making her a large wooden tub, which she had placed in Ali Hassan’s tent. Holding up another little gold ring with garnets on it, she offered to give it to the woman who could bring her matching soap and sweet oil. To Iniga’s surprise, the Love Slave had a choice of fragrances from which to choose. Most of the women in camp had these items secreted away. She picked a heavy rose scent, knowing that it would appeal to her captor. Ali Hassan was not, she had already noted, a subtle man.
There were several young boys left behind in the camp. “I want the largest kettle you can find on the boil when your master returns,” she told them. “As soon as he enters the camp, begin bringing buckets of hot water to his tent to fill the tub. I will see you are well rewarded,” she promised.
“Ali Hassan is not known to be generous,” one boy said daringly.
“He will be after he has spent a night with me,” she said archly, and the boys laughed uproariously, poking at one another, their exchanged looks heavy with meaning.
She walked back into her own tent, where Iniga waited. “Now remember, this will be our only opportunity to help the Nasi to find us. Where is your container? Are the tongs with it?” she asked.
Iniga silently showed her the little brass dish they had made into a carrier for live coals. They had woven a handle for it from grass, reinforced with bits of wire they had taken from Iniga’s earrings. She would use the tongs from the tent’s brazier to transfer the coals into her basket, and remove the coals with them in order to start the fires. The previous night they had taken small piles of dried grass and set them partly beneath the rear flaps of the tents they meant to fire.
“Remember to begin on the far side of the encampment,” Zaynab reminded her friend. “That way when the first fires break out, you’ll be near enough to our tent to pop right back inside.”
“I’m so afraid,” Iniga said softly. “I pray I can do this for you, Zaynab. I want to be brave like you.”
Zaynab grasped Iniga by her shoulders and stared hard into her face. “If you do not help me, Iniga, I will have to sacrifice myself to Ali Hassan. I cannot hold him at bay any longer. Mind you, I do not fear coupling with this monster, but I should rather not do it if I can avoid it. Besides, unless we set the camp on fire, how can we guide your brother and the Nasi here to take their vengeance?
“Why are you still afraid, Iniga? What have you left to lose? Ali Hassan has taken everything from you that you held dear. Your family. Your husband. Your little son. You tell me that all that is left for you is a quick death. I do not understand you, but I will not argue with you on this point. However, before you depart this life, I would think you would want revenge on the man who is responsible for destroying you. If I were in your place, I would!”
Iniga’s soft blue eyes filled with tears. “You are hard,” she whispered, then wept softly.
Zaynab shook her head, her grip on Iniga loosening. “I am not hard,” she said quietly, “but I am strong. I have had to be. Your mother was strong too. Listen to me, Iniga, you are no less staunch than the lady Alimah was. While I doubt your mother ever spoke of it, I am certain the Vikings who took her and her sisters from their family farm used them well before they sold them as slaves. To survive such harsh treatment, your mother had to be strong. You can be, too, Iniga. You must be, else they all died in vain.”
Iniga shuddered. She was more a delicate Arab princess than she was a Viking girl’s daughter. When this was finally over, she knew that she would die. She wanted to die, for there was nothing left for her to live for; but Zaynab was correct. She had to be strong now, if only for a brief time, if they were to succeed in punishing Ali Hassan. He must not escape or be allowed to continue disrupting the caliph’s peace. “I will do what I must,” she said low. “I will not fail you, Zaynab. I swear it!”
Her words were scarcely out of her mouth when they heard the rumble of horses’ hooves as Ali Hassan and his men swept back into the encampment with a great shout.
“The sun is about to set,” Zaynab said to Iniga. “The moon is already in the skies. When it disappears behind the hills, go out from here and set the tents afire. Then come back and wait. I will return to you, and we will hide until the Nasi comes.”
“What of Ali Hassan?” Iniga said.
“His passion should be cooled by the disaster,” Zaynab answered. “He will be too busy trying to put out the fires to bother with either of us.” She patted Iniga encouragingly, and then hurried from their tent to the large tent beside them. Ali Hassan was still swaggering about outside with his men, giving orders. The boys she had spoken with earlier were running in and out with buckets brimming with hot water, pouring them into the tub, which was just about filled. “ ’Tis enough,” she told them, waving them away. Then she began to pour the heavy rose fragrance into the water. The perfumed steam rose to fill the tent with its aromatic odor. The clump of boots outside alerted her, and she swung about as the bandit came into his tent.
“Welcome home, Ali Hassan,” Zaynab said with a smile. She hurried to take his long cloak from him, laying it aside.
“It smells like a rose garden in here,” he said, sniffing, not certain if he approved.
“I am going to bathe you,” she said firmly. “Any man out raiding for a week reeks of himself and his horse, Ali Hassan. I’m not making love to you until you’re as sweet as a flower.”
He roared with laughter. His mood was very good suddenly. For a week he had been short-tempered and vicious with anyone in his vicinity. He could not get Zaynab from his mind, despite the fact that he had raped at least three women in that time to cool his ardor. It hadn’t worked. He didn’t want them. He wanted his Love Slave. So he had returned, determined to have her, to force her if he had to, but he wanted no more delays. And here she was waiting for hint. He was absolutely delighted.
“So I’m to have a bath, am I?” He chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time I had a real bath. Where did you get that fine tub?”
“I bribed one of the old men who is a barrel maker. And I bribed the women to bring forth their oils and soaps,” Zaynab told him with a grin. Then she unlaced his shirt, pulling it off. “Whew, that stinks!” she said, dropping it to the floor.
“You’re a resourceful woman,” he growled at her.
“Aye,” she agreed calmly, and taking his hand, led him over to a chair. “Sit down, Ali Hassan. We need to get your boots off.” Turning about, she took one foot, lifted it up, put it between her own legs, then grasping it, commanded him, “Push my bottom with your other foot.” With another chuckle he complied, and she removed the first boot. The process was repeated, and the second boot was withdrawn. Turning about, Zaynab said, “Stand up, and let’s get those trousers off, Ali Hassan. Allah! They’re filthy. These clothes of yours should be burned!” Her fingers moved to unfasten his belt buckle. Pulling the belt off, she yanked the trousers down with a swift motion. “Now into the tub with you, Ali Hassan,” Zaynab commanded him.
“I am completely in your hands,” he said as, kicking his pantaloons aside, he climbed into the bath, settling himself comfortably upon the bath stool. His dark eyes widened as she casually pulled off the lavender caftan she had been wearing since her capture. “What are you doing?” he asked her in a half-choked voice.
“You cannot expect me to bathe you from outside the tub, Ali Hassan,” she told him impatiently. “I must get in with you. Unfortunately, this is the only garment I currently possess. Besides, it is not my custom, as you know, to bathe wearing a garment.” Zaynab climbed into the tub with him. “Now, remember, Ali Hassan, that I must control our passion tonight. Later, when you have learned what possessing a Love Slave is really about, you may direct us, but not tonight. If you behave like some unruly beast, I cannot offer you the delights I was trained to give. Do you understand me, and will you comply? I am proud of my talents. I would tender you the greatest pleasure possible.”
His dark eyes were excited. The thought of a woman dominating him was unfamiliar to him, but he nodded. “Whatever you desire, Zaynab. I am clay in your supple fingers. Do what you will, but give me that legendary pleasure only a Love Slave can impart to a man! I have longed for you these seven days past!”
“Tonight,” she promised him with a seductive purr, “will be like no other that you have ever experienced, Ali Hassan.”
His eyes glazed over with her words.
“Open your mouth,” she commanded him, and when he did, she scrubbed his teeth with a rough cloth. Then she handed him a small silver cup. “Take it all into your mouth, Ali Hassan, rinse well, and then spit it back into the cup. No lover would accost his lady with bad breath,” she told him as he obeyed her simple instruction. “I have cleaned your teeth with a mixture of pumice and mint. What you are rinsing with is a combination of mint and ground clove, with wine.”
He did as she bid him, returning the cup to her. Zaynab set it back on the tub’s rim. His heart hammered in his chest when she gave him a warm kiss.
“Ahh, that’s better,” she approved, smacking her lips. “A lover should always taste good. Now, Ali Hassan, let us get the dust out of your hair.” She quickly but expertly washed his short, dark hair. It had a curl to it, but it was rough in texture, unlike the hair of the other men she knew. Finished, she toweled his head damp dry. Taking up a fresh clean cloth, she now washed his face, amazed at the dirt she rinsed away. “Did you not wash the entire time you were gone?” she asked him, rubbing his neck and cleaning his ears.
The warm water was beginning to relax his muscles. He was enjoying all the attention she was giving him. “There is little time to wash or even sleep when a man’s ahorse,” he said. “Do you treat your lover like this every time he comes to you, Zaynab?”
“My former lovers were men of breeding and culture,” she answered him bluntly. “They did not come to my bed with foul breath and dirty faces.”
“We will bathe together every day from now on,” he promised her. “And when I capture Alcazaba Malina, you will live in a palace, as I have already promised you. I will fill your bath with sweet oils of all fragrances, which we will enjoy together.”
Zaynab said nothing, but she did favor him with a small smile. She concentrated upon bathing him. She wanted to draw out the process for as long as she could. Surely the moon must be close to dropping behind the hills by now. Slowly, deliberately, she took up her cloth, lavishly spread soap upon it, and washed his barrel-like chest with its tangle of matted black hair. The soap foamed amid the wiry growth, and his nipples seemed to glow a deep rose. Carefully, she rinsed the soap away. She washed an arm, a hand, and pared his nails. She laundered his other arm and hand, trimming its nails. Turning him about, she gently scrubbed his hairy back, rinsing the soap scum from him with her cloth and generous amounts of water that she splashed on him.
“You must stand upon the bath stool, Ali Hassan, for I must wash what you now hide beneath the water in this tub.”
With a deep chuckle he moved to obey her. She would get a surprise when he climbed upon the stool. His member was already well roused, and hard as a rock.
Zaynab ignored the obscene length of flesh as it bobbed out of the water. She slathered soap up one leg, scrubbing diligently, and pressed gently at a spot behind his knee, watching with hidden amusement as his manhood shriveled away. This was something Kar
im had taught her long ago; something she had never thought she would have need for, until now. She continued to work quietly, bathing his other leg, his buttocks, his belly, his groin.
Boldly she cupped the twin orbs within his pouch. “ ’Tis a fine pair you possess, Ali Hassan,” she told him. “They’ll be well milked by the time we’re through.” She had noted that he enjoyed it when she spoke boldly to him. Her little hand soaped his rod teasingly, holding him lightly, stroking him up and down. She could feel him beginning to harden once more. Quickly she rinsed him, managing to reach around and press the secret spot again in order to deflate his lust.
“Now,” she said, “you are clean, and must wash me, Ali Hassan, before we exit our bath. Here is a clean cloth for you to use.”
He worked carefully to mimic her motions while she instructed him gently. He could not tear his eyes from her lovely breasts as he washed them. He couldn’t help biting at her neck, nibbling on her earlobes. His hand could not restrain rubbing itself most suggestively between the twin halves of her bottom. His fingers found themselves pushing into her tight passage.
She scolded him with a mixture of amusement and scorn. “Are you a little boy that you cannot be patient, Ali Hassan?” She led him from the tub and handed him a piece of toweling. “Dry me quickly so I may attend properly to you,” she said. “I will have no silliness, Ali Hassan, else I become angry with you. Then I shall be unable to concentrate upon all the delights that only a Love Slave may give to her lover.”
Chastened, he dried her without further provocation.
Where in the name of the seven djinns was Iniga, Zaynab thought as she took up a fresh towel and began to dry him off. It seemed ages since she had entered Ali Hassan’s tent. She had lingered over his bath, trying to make the time go by. If Iniga didn’t fire the tents soon, Zaynab realized, she would have no choice but to couple with this man. Well, at least he was clean now, and dry. She could procrastinate no longer.
The Love Slave Page 37
