The Love Slave

by Bertrice Small

  “She once told me she had loved someone before she came to me,” the caliph said slowly. “Tell me, Hasdai, what makes you think it is the Prince of Malina whom Zaynab loves?”

  “My lord, who else could it be? There was no one in her homeland. When she was brought to the merchant Donal Righ, she had been violated twice by strangers. Then Donal Righ gave her into the keeping of the Passion Master to train for your pleasure. I think they fell in love, but neither of them would behave dishonorably. We Jews have a saying, my lord: Man plans. God laughs.

  “Karim al Malina educated Zaynab, as was his duty. Then he brought her to you as he had been instructed, but I suspect his heart broke to let her go. Zaynab understood her obligation to Donal Righ, who had given her such a fine opportunity instead of selling her to some primitive. Like the sensible woman she is, she put her past behind her, but deep in her heart she did not stop loving Karim al Malina.

  “Now, my lord, both of these people have been grievously hurt by the vicissitudes that life has visited upon them. Zaynab is willing her life away. Unless we can do something to help her, she will die. Both of us have profited by possessing her. I believe that we each owe her a debt that can be repaid by sending her as a bride to the prince.”

  “I loved her once,” the caliph said. “I thought she would be with me until I died. She gave me much joy, not just of a physical nature, but by her very existence. Do you love her, Hasdai?”

  “Not as you did, my lord,” the Nasi answered the caliph. “I have no time for that sort of love. If I did, I should marry, and make my father happy by siring a tribe of children for the house of ibn Shaprut. My greatest passion is in my service to you, my lord. Zaynab, however, is my friend. She has given me great physical pleasure. I have never known anyone like her. If she goes, I shall miss her, but I will quickly be involved in some mission or another for you, my lord, and it will not matter, particularly if I know she has gone to a man who will love her and get children on her. She is too intelligent a woman to sit idle. She needs a husband and little ones about her.”

  “Then send her to Karim al Malina,” the caliph said quietly.

  “No, my lord, I shall free her, but it is you who must send her back to the prince. He will not dare to refuse if the bride comes from Abd-al Rahman. Let me compose a letter to him in your name. You will say that on my recommendation you are sending him a bride that the line of ibn Malik, founder of Malina, not die, but live to serve the Umayyads forever.” Hasdai chuckled. “The prince will be most put out, until he sees who you have sent him.”

  “Say also,” the caliph replied, “that the lady is to be treated with the utmost courtesy and kindness; that she has my ear, and always will.” Then he chuckled. “You will provide a generous dowry for her, Hasdai. After all, she is your property at the moment.”

  The Nasi smiled at his master. “She will be dowered like a princess,” he promised the caliph. He could afford to be generous. He was a rich man, and Abd-al Rahman would be magnanimous to his devoted servant in return. He would lose nothing, but gain much in return for his generosity.

  The matter decided, Hasdai ibn Shaprut put his plan swiftly into motion. There was no time to waste. A letter was drafted, and approved that same night for the caliph’s signature. By morning the letter was on its way via royal messenger to Alcazaba Malina.

  Next, the Nasi had his agents begin scouring the slave markets of al-Andalus. Within a few days they found a young girl they believed came from Alba, and she was brought to Zaynab’s house.

  Hasdai aroused the Love Slave from her lethargy, saying, “I may have found a servant for you, my dear, but since no one else can speak the girl’s language, I am not certain. Will you see if you can communicate with her for me? If she suits you, I will buy her for you.”

  Zaynab looked at the girl. She was no beauty, with her freckles and carrot-red hair, but her amber eyes were intelligent, if a bit frightened. How had the poor creature ended up here? Zaynab remembered her own beginnings in al-Andalus, and had pity. “Are ye from Alba, lassie?” she asked the girl, whose eyes widened with relief.

  “Praise be to God Almighty and the blessed Virgin Mary!” she cried, and fell to her knees before Zaynab. “Aye, lady, I am from Alba. How knew ye that? The tongue ye speak is nae quite my own, but I understand ye. I canna but hope ye understand me. Ye hae the sound of a northerner.”

  “Once I was known as Regan MacDuff,” Zaynab told her. “This great lord, who is my master, would like to purchase ye to be my servant. I am called Zaynab, and I am a Love Slave. What is yer name, lassie?”

  “Margaret, lady. I hae nae other,” the girl told her.

  “Ye must answer to the name Rabi from now on, lassie,” Zaynab told her. “And ye must learn the tongue of these people, although we will speak our own tongue daily. It is a good thing to hae a language no one else understands when ye wish to speak in confidence. Ye will be safe wi’ me, little Rabi. I am a good mistress.”

  Rabi kissed Zaynab’s hem. “Bless ye, lady!” she said.

  “This brown man is called Naja,” Zaynab told her. “Go wi’ him now. He will take ye to the bath, where ye must wash. We wash twice daily, lassie. He will help ye. Dinna be afraid. He is nae a real man, and will nae hurt ye.” Then Zaynab turned to Naja and instructed him.

  When they had departed, Hasdai said, “Then you are pleased?”

  “If I die, take care of the poor creature,” Zaynab said to him. Then she fell back upon the pillows of her bed once more.

  “I will not let you die,” he said quietly to her. “I have this day freed you, my dear, with the caliph’s permission. You must regain your strength quickly, for in a few days’ time you are to return to Alcazaba Malina as the bride of Prince Karim, Zaynab.”

  “What?” She sat up, astonished. Her heart was pounding. She could not have heard him right.

  “How long have you loved Karim al Malina?” he asked her frankly.

  The denial died in her throat as she looked into his eyes. “How did you know?” she said softly.

  He smiled at her gently. “You never gave yourself away, Zaynab. You are probably one of the most perfect Love Slaves ever trained. It was the prince who first aroused my suspicions.”

  “Karim? How? He would not dishonor his trust,” she defended him. “He is above all else an honorable man, Hasdai.”

  “I know he is,” the Nasi agreed. “It was when we first came to Alcazaba Malina. I mentioned that you were with me. Weak from his ordeal, and still half in shock, he nonetheless roused himself from his stupor enough to ask after you with a degree of interest that I thought indicated more than simple curiosity. When I asked Alaeddin ben Omar what had been between you, he said I must ask you. It implied that my suspicions were grounded in truth. When you were held captive, Karim alternately worried over it and reassured me that you could survive because you were clever and brave. The entire time we sought for the camp of Ali Hassan, his mind and his heart were filled with you, my dear. I could see you in his eyes, hear his concern in his voice. The final proof of his love for you came the night before we left Alcazaba Malina. I am afraid I witnessed that little scene between the two of you in the gardens.”

  “I did not leave our sleeping chamber to meet him,” she said quickly. “I was restless and needed to walk. I did not know Karim would be there.”

  “I realize that,” the Nasi said, and then he laughed softly. “I could not hear what was said between you, for I remained in the shadows of the curtains, but I could certainly hear the slap you gave him, even from across the gardens. But then he kissed you, Zaynab, and you did not struggle to escape him that I could see. Indeed, you melted into his embrace as if you had finally come home after a long and trying journey. It was at that moment I realized that not only did Karim al Malina love you, but that you, Zaynab, loved him. The scene was so poignant that my heart broke for you both.”

  “I never betrayed you, Hasdai,” she told him.

  “I am aware of that, my dea
r,” he answered. “Indeed, both of you are filled with such a sense of decency and nobility that I cannot quite believe such goodness exists, despite the evidence of my own eyes. I have, I am afraid, become world-weary and cynical amid the superior civilization of al-Andalus and all its splendor, Zaynab. Such a simple thing as pure loyalty amazes me.” He took her hand in his, rubbing it to put the circulation back into it, for she was so cold. It was no wonder, he thought, considering the shock she had suffered.

  “I told you, Zaynab, that I would not allow you to will your life away, and I will not. If we had returned here to Cordoba, and all had been as we left it, I should have been content to leave things as they are, for frankly I enjoy not just your body, but your company. You are the perfect companion for me. Alas, fate has willed it otherwise.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot give you the things that you truly desire, Zaynab. While I realize that you will never forget Moraima, you need other children, a house to run, a husband to share your life with, and I cannot be that man. No one, I think, knows better than you do, my dear, where my loyalties lie.” When she smiled at his words, he felt hope for her again.

  “A great deal of work has piled up for me in the four months we were away. I must devote myself to it, for the sooner it is done, the sooner we will have our medical school here in Cordoba. I do not have time to coax you from your sorrow, and if I did, what would remain for you? Oma is married, and has left you. Your child is dead. You are forced by the conventions of society to stay cloistered in your home without anything to do, without anyone to care for, waiting for an overworked civil servant to visit you occasionally. Neither the caliph nor I wish that kind of life for the woman who has brought us both so much pleasure and happiness.

  “Since you love the Prince of Malina, and he loves you, the solution is quite simple. You are already a free woman, Zaynab, for I went to the chief rabbi of Cordoba before I returned to you today, and I signed the papers my secretary had prepared in his presence. As I am a Jew, and you belonged to me, the civil authority was Jewish in this case. The caliph has already sent a letter to Karim al Malina informing him that he has chosen a bride for him, who will be arriving shortly. I have dowered you quite generously, my dear. You had best take a firm grip upon life again, Zaynab, for you are quite obviously meant to live happily ever after, as the children’s stories say.”

  She had sat listening to him quietly, taking in his words with amazement Now he had ceased speaking, and her mind was awhirl. Karim! She was going to be Karim’s wife! It was unbelievable! Zaynab burst into tears, to the astonishment of Hasdai ibn Shaprut.

  “What is the matter?” he cried to her.

  “I am so happy,” she answered him, sniffling.

  “Ahhh,” he replied. He had seen his mother and sisters weep in this irrational manner. “Then you are content with the fate the caliph and I have arranged for you, my dear?”

  “Yes! Yes!” she told him, and then, “Ohh, Hasdai, how can I ever thank you for your unselfish kindness? I shall never be able to repay you, but I will always remember this wonderful thing you have done. I will never get over the blow of returning here to find my little daughter dead and buried, all trace of her gone from this house as if she had not ever existed. I miss Oma more than I had thought to miss her, even if I am happy she has her own life now. I tried to look forward, not backward, but all I could see stretching before me was years and years of loneliness, broken only by your visits. It is simply not enough for me, Hasdai! Thank you for understanding that.”

  “Do not make me into a hero, Zaynab, for I am not. I am a selfish man, wrapped in my work, and had your child survived her illness, I should have not let you go. You would have taught me pleasures of a sort I never thought to know. I shall miss you, and I shall miss them,” he said with a smile.

  “If you would let me, I could find you a beautiful slave girl, and educate her as to how to give you those pleasures,” Zaynab said.

  “No,” he responded. “No matter how skilled she would become, she would not be you, my dear. Remember, you are no ordinary concubine. You are a Love Slave, a creature of sensuality and intellect, unique among women.”

  “You must not go back to what you were before you first came to my bed,” Zaynab replied firmly. “You must not allow your love juices to be bottled up and fester. It is wrong, Hasdai!”

  “I am skilled enough now, thanks to you, my dear,” he said with a chuckle, “that I shall not be ashamed to visit Cordoba’s most skilled courtesans when the need arises.”

  “At least once a week, and better twice,” she said seriously.

  “When I can find the time,” he answered her.

  “Which means practically never,” she fumed. “You must have someone in your house, Hasdai, someone convenient, or you will never relax. If you do not want to own another slave girl, perhaps you could make an arrangement with some young courtesan to come to you twice weekly here in this house,” Zaynab suggested.

  “This house is yours,” he told her.

  “I give it to you,” she said with a smile. “You prefer living outside of the quarter, and this house is very secluded. It suits you. You can work here when you choose, and entertain with the utmost privacy, my lord. Give me the deed. I will sign it over to you. You will have to find your own cook, however. I intend to take Aida with me. No! I will find you a cook. If I leave it to you, it will never get done. I must leave you with everything running smoothly, Hasdai.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth one after another.

  “You are beginning to sound like my mother,” he grumbled at her, and then he laughed. “I told the caliph that you were really meant to be a wife, and a mother. I am happy to see my judgment proved correct.”

  Zaynab had a whole new lease on life. She sent Naja to the chief rabbi in the Jewish quarter with a polite note inquiring if he could recommend to her a respectable spinster or widow to housekeep and cook for a gentleman of the faith. Naja returned some time later in the company of a tall, spare woman who introduced herself as Mary am Ha-Levi. With her was her grandson, a boy of ten.

  “I am all he has, my lady,” Maryam Ha-Levi explained. “Would we be given house room here?”

  “Of course,” Zaynab told her, “the lad is welcome too. You must start immediately because I know you will want to set up the kitchens in a different manner than my own cook, Aida, has them. If this is not done before I go, and if you are not firmly established here, my lord will not know what to do. There will be confusion.”

  “I completely understand, my lady,” Maryam Ha-Levi replied “Men are not very practical or organized when it comes to the household. That is why the Lord God created women, I am certain. Is the master of this house to be its only occupant?”

  “Yes,” Zaynab replied, “although he may have guests from time to time. He will not always come home at proper mealtimes, I fear; or he will forget, and eat elsewhere. It will not be easy serving him, Maryam, but he is a good man. You must not scold him unless it is with kindness. His work absorbs him almost completely. Now, on each Wednesday and Saturday night, your master will be visited by a young courtesan from the city. He may forget that she is here, and be late; or possibly not come at all. Please see that the young woman is well fed no matter the circumstances.”

  “A courtesan?” Maryam Ha-Levi looked shocked. “Is this a respectable house, my lady? The reb said nothing about a courtesan. Whose house is this? I cannot bring my grandson into a house of ill repute.”

  “This is my house, and I am the lady Zaynab, once favorite to our gracious lord, Abd-al Rahman. Our daughter is buried in the garden of this house. Now I am to go to the kingdom of Malina in Ifriqiya to be married to its prince. I am giving the house to my friend, the Nasi Hasdai ibn Shaprut. He will be your employer, Maryam Ha-Levi. I think you will find him respectable enough. Like any unmarried man, he has needs that must be served.

  “My eunuch, Naja, has visited the Street of the Courtesans and personally selected a fine young woman to pleasure
the Nasi. If I did not do this for him, he would be too shy to seek out the comfort of a woman for himself,” Zaynab concluded.

  “He should find himself a good wife,” Maryam sniffed.

  “No wife would put up with him.” Zaynab laughed. “He is wed to his work and his duty to the caliph. He will tell you that himself.”

  “Well,” Maryam Ha-Levi considered, “a man like that needs to be taken care of, as you have said. The Nasi has a fine reputation for fairness. He will be a good master.” She was already considering the prestige she was about to gain in the quarter by being housekeeper and cook to Hasdai ibn Shaprut. “How many other servants are there?” she asked.

  “A kitchen helper for you, two maidservants who keep the house clean, the stableman, and a gardener,” Zaynab replied. “It is not a big house, and its one lone occupant needs little. Any more servants would be frivolous.”

  Maryam Ha-Levi nodded in agreement. “It’s enough to ensure that the food does not go to waste on the nights the master does not eat in his own house,” she said practically.

  “Naja will show you to your quarters, Maryam Ha-Levi. When your master asks you, tell him you have agreed to serve him for four gold dinars a month, plus food and housing for your grandson and yourself,” Zaynab said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Four dinars! It is too much, my lady,” Maryam protested, her innate honesty coming to the forefront.

  “The Nasi can well afford it,” Zaynab told her. “Besides, you will earn it. Your master is fair, but not easy. Also, you have the boy to think of, Maryam Ha-Levi. He must be educated, and will need gold to start a business one day so he may attract a well-dowered wife. One thing I ask of you, however. Will you place fresh flowers on my daughter’s grave each day? She is buried here in the arms of her nurse, Abra, one of your people. They died of the spotted fever several months ago. It is my one regret in leaving this house.”