“At least the People of the Book leave today,” Ara said to lift their mood. “I’ll be happy to see that ginger-haired boy go. I do like Lady Anna though. She is nice and smells of lavender.”
“Me too. Have you heard how the talks are going? Mother says a treaty could help keep the peace between us and the Christians.”
“Father is still angry with me. I haven’t seen him at all.” Ara missed the comfort of her father’s smile. “In any case, we need to prevent the wazir from undoing the Alhambra’s magic. Treaty or no treaty, the Castile King might claim Granada.”
“Couldn’t Tahirah do some magic to stop him? Turn him into a toad or something?”
“A Sufi’s magic is in learning and knowledge. Because she is a Sufi, she can do good, but she can’t harm others. That would be evil in the eyes of Allah,” Ara said, remembering a discussion from her teachers. “Though I wondered about that slingshot breaking just as she came into the room, didn’t you?”
Chapter 21
Maryam hurried toward them as the cousins headed back up the stairs. They had bathed and dressed and felt ready to face the outsiders once again.
“I’ve been looking for you two. The sultan needs you to join us for breakfast. The Christians are leaving this morning. Not soon enough for me, but soon. Lady Anna asked your father if you would translate for her again.” A small smile escaped Maryam otherwise serious expression. “I have been told that Lady Theresa’s son will not be dining with us today. He has been afflicted with some slight ailment, one that makes it difficult for him to sit. Nothing catching, I understand.” She winked.
Ara groaned. She had hoped to avoid their guests. Layla gave her mother a crooked smile. “I’m to go also?”
“Yes, the foreign women were embarrassed by yesterday’s incident, and they wish to make amends. It would be a courtesy if you allowed them that opportunity,” Maryam said. “I was pleased with the way both of you handled yourselves last night. You two helped prevent a dispute between us and the foreigners.”
She grabbed her hijab and slid it over her head. “Come, we must go to the Kings’ Hall and join our company.”
At the look from the girls, she explained, “Many men will be attending, and I don’t want to feel naked before them. Soon you also will wear a hijab, but that time is not yet.”
Maryam’s eyes developed an impish twinkle. “I hesitate to mention this, but recently that embroidery basket is always with you. I never see the two of you without it. Ara, don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become fascinated with embroidery?”
Both girls looked at one another and then the basket. Ara was the first to recover. “Zoriah is concerned with my skill at sewing. Layla’s been helping me to work on my stitches. Her basket has more room in it to carry things.”
Maryam looked at the two girls and raised an eyebrow.
Ara thought the basket on her arm must shine like a beacon, drawing unwanted attention as they walked along. She and Layla tried to act casually, not looking at the basket. Instead, she forced herself to stare at the arched doorway coming up. A broken horizontal symmetry leapt out at her, and it writhed before her eyes, healing. A chorus of roars reverberated through the Alhambra. Ara stopped to listen, but before she could identify where the noise came from, the basket jerked. A rousing thump and a squeak came from inside it. Maryam looked at the basket and then at the girls.
“I…I have to go outside,” Ara stammered.
Layla edged toward the gardens. “I’ll go with her. We’ll be right back.”
“I think that might be best,” Maryam agreed with an amused smile. “And before you return, make sure any animals that might be in the basket are released outside.”
The girls turned and ran.
“What happened?” Layla asked. “I thought we were trying not to find the broken symmetry until we were alone.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ara explained, hurrying out the door. “It was just there! Now what are we going to do? Your mother knows we have something in the basket. She thinks we’re going to let it go, and we can’t.”
“We’ll have to carry him without the basket,” Layla said. She raised her eyes toward Allah. “Please, let him be cute and cuddly this time.”
They carefully lifted the lid of the basket and peered inside. Layla jumped and then wrinkled her nose as she always did when displeased.
“Oh, no.” Ara sighed. “Well, at least he’s small.”
A plain brown, rather chubby mouse stared up at them. “I’m hungry,” he squeaked.
“Not now, Suleiman,” Ara said. “We have to go to the Kings’ Hall. We’ll feed you later. Here, climb onto my hand and you can hide in my sleeve. We can’t hide you in my basket anymore—Layla’s mother is suspicious. Just don’t move around. I’m ticklish.”
“Rice,” Suleiman squeaked as he scrabbled onto Ara’s outstretched palm.
“What?” the girls said together.
“That’s what I eat,” he announced, sitting straight up and staring determinedly at Ara. “You didn’t feed me the whole time I was a snake,” he added, a bit of anger in his tiny voice.
Ara brought her hand up to eye level and carefully stroked the mouse across the head with the tip of her finger. “Suleiman, you’ve got to be patient. We must go back to my aunt now. She’s waiting for us. Food has to wait.”
“But I hunger,” his slightly muffled squeak insisted again as Ara pushed him up her sleeve until he was hidden in the folds of her caftan.
He disappeared without further protest, and Layla sighed in relief. “We can figure out where to keep him as soon as the Northerners leave. I hope it’s soon.”
Ara turned in a small circle. “Did you hear that sound before? I thought I heard lions roaring.”
“No, nothing. Could it have been voices echoing from outside?”
“Perhaps.”
They hurried back inside, where Layla’s mother waited. “I assume you girls have resolved the basket problem.”
“Yes, Mother. I don’t think it will be a problem again,” Layla said, blushing slightly. Ara said nothing, struggling to remain still despite the tickling whiskers at her elbow.
“Then let us go.” Maryam urged the girls ahead with her hands as she walked. “We are late.”
The murals adorning the ceiling of the Hall of the Kings always fascinated Ara. No geometric shapes above them. She wondered who had painted these pictures so unlike the art in the rest of the palace. Pictures of kings and their court looked down from above them. Knights and damsels moved above in lifelike splendor. A wild-eyed man, clearly crazy, decorated one panel. He stood frozen, forever holding a bloodied sword. Ara deliberated on that picture, trembling at how much he reminded her of the wazir. The room was crowded: women in tightly fitted, low cut dresses and funny pointed hats; women unseen inside their hijabs with dark eyes shining out. Men wearing turbans and long beards, and men bareheaded with tightly trimmed beards. Seeing people of both cultures mixed together shook her, a replica of the ceiling. She blinked and refocused.
Breakfast was being cleared from the long low table. The wazir stood behind her father, a vexed expression upon his face. Her father sat surrounded by his advisors and two of the Christian ambassadors. Papers for the trade agreement were laid out before them. A discussion seemed to be going on. Her father glanced up at her from his chair as she entered. At a flick of his fingers, a servant rushed to her side. “His Eminence, may Allah protect him, has requested that you sit by the Lady Anna.”
“Tell my father that I am honored. Alhamdulillah,” Ara replied formally as she joined the others at the table. Layla and her mother sat next to Zoriah, farther down.
“Ara.” Lady Anna smiled up at her. “I hoped you would join us this morning. Would you care for something before all the food is removed, or have you already eaten?”
“I’m not very hungry.” A nip on her elbow startled her. “Oh, wait, maybe a little food would be nice.”
Ara tucked her feet under he
r as she sat next to Lady Anna. Tahirah, dressed in her white woolen cloak, was caught up in an animated discussion with the sisters who were Christ’s wives. She looked over at Ara for an instant before refocusing on her conversation.
Lady Anna fidgeted uneasily, then, “I wanted to thank you for your kindnesses last night and assure you that Enrique has been firmly reprimanded. I was much relieved that your lovely cousin was not harmed. Enrique was showing off for the other boys, and it got a little out of control.”
“It was my honor and privilege,” Ara replied, embarrassed at how eagerly she had wished for them to leave. Another sharp nip reminded her of her hidden companion. A tray of pilaf sat an arm’s length away. She scooped some onto a plate and ate unhurriedly, “accidentally” dropping a few grains of rice into her lap. Her left arm rested unseen beneath the table. Suleiman began inching his way out of her sleeve, trying to reach a grain of rice just beyond his grasp.
The sultan stood, and all attention turned to him. “This has been a great moment in history. Our cultures have come together to establish mutually beneficial trade agreements and resolve crucial boundary issues. We have worked to dismiss age-old conflicts and start anew. As an outcome of this meeting, Christians and Muslims and Jews shall continue to live in peace and prosperity, inshallah.”
The Aragon ambassador stood. Before speaking, he bowed politely to the sultan and thanked him for his hospitality, expressing his desire for peace and prosperity. Several other Northern dignitaries came forward and bowed, trotting out their own speeches. But Ara watched others. Not everyone was pleased. The wazir and the Castilian liaison huddled together, words whispered between them.
Finally, the meeting was over. The Northerners bowed once again before turning to leave. The wazir hurried to the sultan’s side, attaching himself like a leech. Ara dug her fingernails into her hands with worry. He was up to something. Something with the Castilians.
Zoriah tapped her shoulder, and Ara jerked upright. She rapidly translated, summarizing the speeches for the women.
Finally, it was over. Lady Anna thanked Ara, holding her hand tightly before she stood and signaled her companions that it was time to depart.
Ara, after furtively pushing Suleiman back inside her sleeve, rose to her feet. A small squeak of dismay came from that sleeve.
Lady Anna looked at Ara in surprise. “Did you say something?”
“No, just a burp of pleasure,” Ara said, blushing furiously as she walked with their guests. Servants and slaves of both Christians and Muslims gathered, helping to move luggage and boxes onto the waiting carts.
Ara watched them depart, waving to the Lady Anna as she disappeared through the Gate of Justice. The sultan retired to his private rooms. The wazir remained outside.
The women of the harem celebrated with an ululating call, and Layla danced around in glee that the meeting had gone well and was over. Suleiman hung onto the inside of Ara's sleeve, his tiny feet scrambling to stay hidden within her garment. She moved to the window, watching the wazir and wondering what he was plotting.
As they left the Hall, Tahirah walked alongside Zoriah, “Now that I have returned, I would like to continue the girls’ lessons. I hope they are available later this day.”
Zoriah raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You just returned. Surely you are exhausted from your journey. The children can wait. Your well-being is more important.” As an afterthought, she added, “Are the girls badgering you? I know they missed you, but I don’t want them imposing on your kind nature.”
Tahirah laughed. “No, not at all. I agreed to see to their lessons, and then I set them adrift. I enjoy these two. Their company has been Allah’s gift to me.”
“What are you teaching them?” Zoriah asked after a short pause in the conversation.
“We are exploring mathematics and science. With students as bright and attentive as Ara and Layla, education almost plots its own course.”
“Interesting,” Zoriah said with a perplexed tone and look. “You’re certainly welcome to start the girls’ lessons any time you wish. The sultan is pleased that they are getting so remarkable an instructor. I’ll tell Su’ah to send them to your rooms, but let me know if you change your mind and want some peace and quiet.”
Tahirah smiled. “I believe the girls and I will do quite well together, inshallah.”
Chapter 22
“Where is Suleiman?” Layla asked as Ara struggled to remove her caftan.
“He’s in here somewhere. He moved up my sleeve and won’t stay still.” Angrily, Ara reached behind her head. “I’m going to grab him by his tail and…” A loud, prolonged squeak came from behind her.
“You’re squooshing me,” the mouse shrieked, wriggling deeper into her hair. Layla gently tried to remove the mouse from the tangle.
“Stop being a baby,” Ara yelled back, flapping her hands at the back of her head. “You should have stayed where I put you—ouch, that hurt!”
“Ara, be still,” Layla said as she disentangled the upset mouse from the equally upset girl. “He keeps wiggling and you keep wiggling. Stop it. You’re both making it worse.” Ara held her hands at her side while Layla worked.
“There!” Layla triumphantly cupped the mouse in her hand. “He’s free.”
“Girls, what’s all that racket?” Su’ah called as she shambled into the room. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Ara, what did you do to your hair? I had it so neatly braided. I don’t understand how you get messy so quickly.” She went over to the girls, hairbrush in hand. “It looks like a rat’s nest. What have you done this time?” Evaluating the devastation, she added, “Even for you, this is remarkable.”
Layla and Ara looked at one another. Layla placed the palmed mouse in her sleeve and, smiling sheepishly, began, “We were in a hurry and Ara, um, Ara—” she began.
“I thought I felt a bee in my hair,” Ara finished.
“You were in a hurry, and you felt a bee in your hair,” Su’ah repeated, slowly looking from girl to girl. There was silence while she mulled over their story, a frown on her face while she tugged the brush through Ara’s long black hair with well-practiced strokes, stopping to unsnarl each knot. “Well, I suppose that’s as believable as many of your stories. Tahirah wants you in her rooms. You’d better get a move on. Her servants are waiting outside for you.”
“Allah be praised,” Ara muttered and started to pull away, but Su’ah pulled back.
“Not this moment,” she amended. “Let me finish braiding your hair. At least you’ll start out tidy. Bees, hmm.” She yanked Ara’s braid a bit harder than seemed necessary.
As soon as Su’ah was satisfied that Ara was presentable once again, the girls rushed out of the room. Tahirah’s servants were hard put to keep up with them in their eagerness to tell her of Suleiman’s latest transformation.
“We only have five and one-quarter days from when he changed into a mouse,” whispered Layla. “What is the next pattern of symmetry we have to find?”
Tahirah was crouched, working with something on the floor when they entered. A servant followed behind them bringing in steaming lemon tea. “Thank you,” Tahirah said to the woman, who bowed and left.
“We have much work to do,” Tahirah said over her shoulder to the girls, “and little time. I felt a healing in the fabric of the Alhambra this morning. You must have found a horizontal symmetry, the broken one.”
Ara nodded and came closer, saying excitedly, “Look, Suleiman’s changed into a mouse.” Layla carefully set the rodent on Tahirah’s shoulder.
The mathemagician tensed and slowly turned her head to stare as the mouse busily cleaned his whiskers and smoothed down his fur. “I am grateful the spell is unraveling,” she said slowly, “but there are other animals I would have been more pleased to see.” There was a long pause before Tahirah finished flatly, “Mice bring back very bad memories for me.”
“But I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” Layla burst out and quickly cupped the mouse into
her hand.
“Everyone is afraid of something. Some more than others,” Tahirah said slowly, still watching the mouse. “Most of my family died from the Black Death. The plague came, and whole villages died.” Her eyes had a faraway look. “It isn’t a pleasant death. Some said it was Allah’s will, but I knew it was not. Allah is joy and beauty. There was neither joy nor beauty in this.
“I was very young, a year or so younger than the two of you, and just learning the power of mathemagics. The plague passed me by, but I was unable to save my family.
“Thousands of people died that year. No one was safe, from the lowest of the low to sultans in their walled palaces. All died. And always, the rats and mice were there, hundreds and thousands of them, crawling over everything. They died too. Everything died.” She shuddered and took a breath.
The girls stood transfixed, unsure how to react, while Tahirah continued to wrestle her memories.
Suleiman looked up from polishing his whiskers. “What?” he asked. His sharp black eyes alighted on the tray of flat bread, fruit and olives. “Is that bread? I’m very hungry.”
Tahirah rubbed her hand across her forehead, and slowly her expression changed. “Suleiman, I say to you what I say to others, ‘whithersoever ye turn, there is the Face of God.’ Once again, Allah shows me the folly of my ways. I accept and learn. Food you may have and the support of my hand and heart, may I ever be Allah’s vessel, inshallah.”
Ara leapt in. “He’s really little, and he won’t hurt anyone. I’m sorry about your family, truly I am, Tahirah.”
“Child, that was ages ago. I thought I had put it far behind me. This has reminded me that goodness comes in all shapes, not just the ones I like.” She took one last calming breath. “Time for us to continue. Suleiman, please sup. You must be hungry. Then you and I will teach the next symmetry pattern,” she added firmly, pulling herself together.
The mouse leapt off Layla’s arm and scampered over to the bread. Tahirah and the girls sat down to their tea. The girls sipped from their cups, quieter than usual, afraid to disturb their friend and teacher. Suleiman, after muttering a polite bismillah, ate some bread, then exclaimed in delight upon finding a ripe fig. He devoured a large mouse-mouthful and then several more.
The Stone Lions Page 10
