“Come,” she said, taking his hand, leading him into his sleeping space. “I have had the women make you a new mattress, Ali Hassan. It is filled with fresh grass and sweet herbs. Lie down upon it, and I will administer to you.”
He lay upon his back, and to his surprise, she stood over him, straddling him, looking down on his prostrate form. Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her magnificent hair, and it tumbled down about her like a shining golden cloak. She fluffed it, smiling. Seductively she drew her nether lips apart, saying, “Do you see my little jewel, Ali Hassan?” and when he nodded openmouthed and wide-eyed, she continued. “Tonight I will teach you how to make it glow with happiness, and when I am happy, I shall make you very happy.” His heart hammered violently in his chest at the sight of the moist coral flesh, at her bold, suggestive words.
Now she squatted, crouching over him. He could scarcely breathe in his excitement. This was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and she was all his. A gasp ached in his burning throat as her pointed little tongue began to lick at his flesh. Fascinated, his eyes followed her as she carefully laved every inch of him from his straining throat down to his feet When she commanded him to roll over, he immediately did so. The warm wetness of the tongue bath was extremely exciting.
A little moan escaped him as she first licked at his buttocks, then nipped them. Hatiba had never been such a lover. Oh, she had done whatever he had desired of her, but it had certainly not been like this. He couldn’t even remember her face now. Hatiba had served her purpose even more than she realized. Had he not killed the unfaithful bitch, and all the others, the caliph would not have sent that ineffectual Hasdai ibn Shaprut to hunt him down, bringing Zaynab with him, Ali Hassan thought
She sat upon his buttocks now, the weight of her peach-shaped bottom pressing suggestively into him. Her nails raked slowly down his back over and over again. It felt exciting, and at the same time irritating. Then she lay stretched out atop him. He could feel the tenderness of her belly and her breasts. She pushed his legs wide with her own.
“Do you know what I’m doing?” she whispered in his ear, licking the interior, blowing softly, and then biting gently upon the fleshy lobe. “My right hand is seeking between my nether lips, Ali Hassan. Ahh, it has found what it desires. Ummmm. As I lie with my body covering yours, I shall pleasure myself. You cannot see me doing it. You can only feel the movements and imagine what is happening. Ohh, yess! Ohhhh! Ohhhh!” Her movements were becoming more frenzied atop him, and then she moaned low, “Ahhhhhhh, yes!”
“Bitch!” he snarled. “I’m going to fuck you now!”
“If you should even attempt it,” she shot back, “you will know nothing of the pleasures I can give you. You are behaving like a little child, Ali Hassan. Can you not be patient with me? I have had a whole seven days to plan the delights I shall share with you tonight. This is just the beginning.” He felt her weight removed from him. “Turn over once more,” she said.
When he had, she straddled him once again, but this time he could see her face, and her magnificent body. Leaning forward so that her breasts hung temptingly above his face, she reached out for something. His tongue snaked out to lick frantically at her nipples, and she giggled.
“You are a very naughty boy,” she told him archly. “Raise your hands above your head, Ali Hassan. I am going to lightly bind you. I know you aren’t afraid of me,” she said, seeing his slightly startled look even as he raised his arms above his head in response to her request. She tied his wrists together first, and then turning about so that her buttocks were facing him, she had him open his knees, and bound his ankles together. “If you find yourself becoming apprehensive, Ali Hassan, just tell me, and I will loose you,” she said, reversing herself again.
Her words touched his very masculinity. He was certainly not comfortable being so helpless, but he would have rather died than admitted it to anyone, let alone a woman. Instead he grinned up at her. “I eagerly await the special passion that only you can give me, Zaynab,” he said, but his chest was suddenly tight with his nervousness, and drawing breath was difficult. He shifted himself slightly, relieved to find that his bonds were not really secure. If he struggled hard, they would release.
Where in the name of Allah was Iniga? Zaynab wondered even as she sat herself high on Ali Hassan’s chest, leaning forward to slowly brush her full breasts across his face. “Inhale my special female scent,” she commanded him in a husky voice. Then moving a little farther up, she pressed her mont directly over his mouth, even as her hand reached back to grasp his shaft.
He was absolutely frozen with his excitement. The feel of her fleshy mont pressing down so intimately upon him, the touch of her hand on his manhood. She was doing nothing more now than holding him firmly; yet it sent the blood roaring into his head, which throbbed. When she murmured the words “Kiss me,” he could scarcely contain himself. His lips pressed themselves against her moist flesh as she rewarded him with a little murmur of what he was positively certain was pleasure. Emboldened, he pushed his tongue from his mouth, trying desperately to lick at her. In response she turned herself again so that he might have full access to her mont while she began to stimulate his manhood.
She was kindling emotions in him such as he had never before felt. Each time he thought himself ready to explode with his lust, she would ease back, her fingers brushing him delicately. His tongue worked feverishly to rouse her to the same plateau, but although she plainly enjoyed these attentions—at least the sounds she made implied that she did—she did not for a single moment lose her mastery of their situation. He was filled with admiration for her even as his hot lust was rising to the boiling point. She had both his manhood and his mouth so occupied he could scarcely bear it, and yet she knew that he did. When her lips closed over his throbbing shaft, he moaned. Reaching back, she placed her palm over his mouth. Frantically he licked at it with his tongue, desperate to taste her again.
She had found her rhythm now, and she did not allow it to abate. Several times she forced his hunger back, easing off, tightening him up with her mouth and tongue when he began to falter. Then she grasped him firmly in her hand again, using several quick strokes which she alternated with slow, teasing strokes. She felt the man beneath her aching in sweet frustration. She knew she was going to have to put him out of his misery before he tired and lost his desire. That would only anger him. Zaynab knew that Ali Hassan’s pride could be pushed just so far. Taking her hand from his mouth, she turned herself about. The man beneath her was pale, his face dappled with beads of perspiration.
Smiling down into his face, Zaynab lowered herself slowly upon his great shaft. His was the largest manhood she had ever taken in. He filled her full. When he was completely encased within her sheath, she pressed her muscles together, squeezing his shaft in her love grip. Ali Hassan’s black eyes actually bulged from his head. He opened his mouth and howled with the violent pleasure she was giving him. It was certain everyone in camp heard him.
Then suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head, there was a rattle of sound from his open mouth, and he collapsed beneath her. Zaynab was astounded, but at that same moment she heard cries of “Fire!” echoing through the camp. Zaynab leapt from her victim, yanked the cords from his wrists and ankles, then straddled him once again.
One of Ali Hassan’s men ran into the tent. Seeing his master thus, he flushed.
“Get out!” Zaynab commanded him. “My lord Ali Hassan says you should handle the situation, as he is otherwise engaged.” Then she leaned forward, kissing the man beneath her, wriggling her body and moaning, waiting as she listened for the underling to leave. When she was satisfied he had, she arose again, staring down at Ali Hassan. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Leaning over, she put her ear to his heart, and heard nothing. He was certainly dead. Carefully, she drew his arms down so that he would look more natural. Then she pulled a coverlet over him. Hopefully, with all the chaos outside, they would not discover him dead until the morning
, by which point the Nasi and his Saqalibah would have arrived. She dared not fire this tent now, else the bandits come running to rescue their master. Zaynab pulled her caftan on, dimmed the lamps, and slipped from the tent.
Outside she discovered that half the camp was well afire. Ali Hassan’s people were frantically running back and forth from the nearby stream in their desperate attempts to put out the flames. No one paid the least bit of attention to her as she sidled back into her own little tent.
“I did it!” Iniga’s blue eyes were triumphant.
“And very well too,” Zaynab responded, hugging her. “Ali Hassan is dead, Iniga. I think, perhaps, we had best put on our cloaks and slip away into the darkness while we can. The caliph’s men should be here sometime soon, but if we must wait until dawn, it would be better if we were hidden away from here. Ali Hassan’s men may discover him before the Nasi arrives, and hold me responsible.”
“You killed him? How?” Iniga’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“He killed himself with his overanticipation to possess me, I think,” Zaynab said. “I played an innocent little game with him, keeping him well occupied until you had completed your mission, but you took so long, Iniga. Finally I had no choice but to sheathe him within my body. His excitement was so great at that point that his black heart gave out. It was far too easy a death for such a terrible man.” She picked up her cloak. “Come, Iniga. We must flee now.” But as Iniga reached for her own cape, noises of a different sort came from outside their tent.
They heard the sound of horses’ hooves, the shouts of men, the screams of women, running feet, clanging weapons. The two young women looked at one another, and Iniga said fearfully, “What if the fire has attracted some other bandit, and not my brother?”
For a moment a band of fear wrapped itself about Zaynab’s heart, but then her common sense prevailed. “I doubt there is another bandit in these hills right now, Iniga. Remember, the caliph’s men have been searching for us almost two weeks.” She took her friend’s hand. “Let us step outside and see. We should welcome our rescuers.”
Karim saw her as she stepped from the little tent. He saw his sister by her side. Zaynab was safe! He called to two of his men to ride across the camp to protect the women from further harm.
Within a very brief time the Saqalibah finished mopping up the little resistance attempted by Ali Hassan’s men. The women and children in the camp were gathered together. They would be taken to Alcazaba Malina and sold in the slave market there. The remaining men would be publicly tortured and executed for the benefit of the citizens of Malina, so that the murder of Habib ibn Malik and his family could finally be put to rest.
The prince and the Nasi went into Ali Hassan’s tent. Zaynab and Iniga were brought to them.
“Where is Ali Hassan?” Hasdai ibn Shaprut asked them.
“He is dead,” Zaynab replied.
“How?” the Nasi said. “And when?”
“Just a short time ago, my lord. He died in the throes of passion, I regret to say. His lust killed him. It was too easy an end.”
Karim walked across the tent to the sleeping area, and pulling the diaphanous curtain aside, looked upon the man who had murdered his wife and family. This was the man Hatiba had professed to love. He saw the bath with all its accoutrements. He pulled back the coverlet and spotted the silken cords, saw the angle of one leg, saw the pearlescent trickle oozing from the deflated manhood. He knew how the man had died, and while glad for his death, he agreed with Zaynab. It had been too easy, and too pleasurable a death.
“I did not mean to kill him thusly,” Zaynab said quietly when he returned to where the others stood. “I merely wanted to keep him occupied while Iniga fired the camp. When we realized that Ali Hassan allowed no outdoor fires, we knew that was why you had not found us.”
“My sister fired the camp?” Karim’s gaze swung to Iniga, surprised. She stood silently, eyes lowered modestly.
“Iniga was very brave,” Zaynab told them.
Hasdai ibn Shaprut said nothing, but he listened, and he watched the interaction between Zaynab and Karim. They spoke as old friends, and she was protective of his sister. What was between them really? What had been between them? It was the one thing that she had refused to discuss with him. “You had no doubts that I would find you,” he finally said to her, and she smiled up at him.
“I am a Love Slave, my lord. I knew you would not leave me to Ali Hassan. How could you have explained my loss to the caliph who gave me to you?” Then she laughed, and touching his arm, looked into his face. “Can we please return to the city, my lord? I am ravenous for food that does not come in a wooden bowl, and I need a change of clothing. So does Iniga.”
At the mention of her name, Iniga finally looked up. Her gaze rested first on Zaynab, and lastly, with love, upon her brother. Then, swiftly drawing a dagger from her robes, Iniga drove the weapon into her frail body. The others stared, surprised, as Iniga’s legs gave way beneath her and she crumpled to the floor. Karim knelt, cradling his sister in his arms, tears sliding down his handsome face.
“Iniga, how can you leave me?” he pleaded with her. “If you go, my sister, I will have no one.”
“I am defiled, Karim. Zaynab will tell you,” Iniga said weakly.
Hasdai quickly knelt down and examined the wound, praying that it was superficial, but Iniga had struck herself a mortal blow. His sympathetic brown eyes met the prince’s blue ones, and he slowly shook his head. Then the Nasi rose to his feet and put his arms about Zaynab. She was shaking with shock and weeping silently.
“D-Do not g-grieve,” Iniga said to them, and then she sighed gustily, her gaze freezing.
“She is dead,” Karim said tonelessly. “My little sister is dead.” He arose, Iniga’s body still in his arms. “She will be buried with her family,” he said with finality.
In the camp they found a white burial shroud that someone had obviously put aside for themselves. They sewed the body of the young woman in it. By now dawn was already staining the skies. Karim, Hasdai, and their men fired the rest of Ali Hassan’s camp, and then driving their prisoners before them, they rode from the foothills of the mountains down into the city.
The day was well under way when they finally reached Alcazaba Malina, but as word of their arrival spread, the bustle of commerce ceased. The citizens came from their houses and shops to see evidence of the victory their prince had wrested from Ali Hassan, whose severed head upon a pike led their way back into the town.
Chapter 18
It was amazing, Zaynab thought as they returned to the city, that she and Karim had looked on one another for the first time in several years, yet spoke to each other as if they had never been parted. She loved him. Did he love her? He had not loved Hatiba, Mustafa said, but did he still love her? And what good if he did? She belonged to the Nasi. Another wife would be found for Karim, she knew. The caliph wanted him remarried, wanted Karim to have heirs who would continue their loyalty to the Umayyads while ruling Malina for him. It is hopeless, she thought, and she wept silently in the closed litter.
Her tears returned when Iniga was buried between her mother and her husband The girl’s in-laws, dressed in white, came with their grandson to help mourn his mother. Zaynab praised her friend’s bravery, and leapt to her defense when Iniga’s father-in-law said, “I am surprised she was still alive when you arrived at the camp of Ali Hassan, my lady Zaynab.” His voice, though kind, carried a faint tone of condemnation.
“She was alive,” Zaynab replied quietly, “because she believed Ali Hassan had little Malik in his possession. Each day they would show her a small boy across the encampment who waved to her. They told her it was her son. In fear for the child, she did their bidding. Only a loving mother would have sacrificed herself so.”
“Ahhh,” Iniga’s mother-in-law said, tears in her eyes, “she was always a good mother. We will see that Malik remembers her as such.”
No one asked anything further until that eveni
ng, when Karim came to the Nasi’s quarters. “I wish to speak with Zaynab,” he said, and Hasdai nodded his permission.
“Do you wish me to go?” he asked Karim politely.
“No, you may stay.” He settled himself across from Zaynab and asked, “Now tell me exactly what happened to Iniga. I know that you know.”
She sighed. “What difference does it make now, my lord Karim? Iniga is dead. Ali Hassan is dead. Nothing can change that, nor what went before it. Why do you wish to torture yourself?”
Her beautiful face, Hasdai noted, was concerned.
“Tell me what happened, Zaynab!” he said in a harsh voice. “I must know!”
“Why?” she demanded, but seeing there would be no arguing with him, Zaynab began her recitation in a flat voice. As she came to the end of her tale, tears began to slip down Zaynab’s beautiful face. “I thought that if I could keep her alive until you came, Karim, she would want to continue living; but as soon as she knew I would escape unscathed …” Zaynab could not go on, her sorrow being too great. Hiding her face from the two men, she wept bitterly into her two hands. She would never understand why Iniga chose suicide over life. To Zaynab life was precious, and when it hurt or disappointed you, you got up and moved on to a better time.
Oma, who had been sitting silently, crept to her mistress’s side, putting her arms about her. “There, there, lady, don’t grieve,” she murmured. “They have this code of honor here, and you couldn’t save her from it, lady. ’Twas her fate, I fear.”
“Are you satisfied now, my lord?” Hasdai coldly asked the prince. “I do not think Zaynab has anything else to say to you on the matter.” He was furious with himself for allowing Karim al Malina to distress her so. Zaynab had a kind heart. She had cared deeply for her friend.
Karim, stricken, arose and left them. He thought he had known what Zaynab would say, but the depth of the brutality visited upon his sister was more than he could bear.
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