Sheik

by Mason, Connie

  Haroun’s expression turned grim. “Captain Hasdai must have found out that Jamal warned Youssef. My guess is that he’s being taken back to Meknes for execution.”

  Zara stifled a cry. “No! Please, Allah, no! Is there nothing we can do? Where are Jamal’s men-at-arms?”

  “Knowing Jamal as I do, I’d say he found some excuse to send them away before he was arrested. There are only two of us and more than a hundred of them, Zara,” he said dryly. “There isn’t much we can do to help him.”

  Zara flushed. Of course Haroun was right. The odds were against them. Unless … Her mind worked furiously. “We must find my father. He will help us to save Jamal.”

  “By now Youssef and his followers are deep in the Sahara. It’s the only place they could go where Hasdai wouldn’t follow.”

  “If Captain Hasdai is returning to Meknes, I doubt Father will remain long in the desert,” Zara mused thoughtfully.

  “Where else can he go?”

  “Back to our walled village in the Rif mountains. Ishmail won’t think to look for him there. The women and children grow weary of wandering from place to place and long for their homes. Winter is approaching. The village can easily be defended against attack should Ishmail send his army back into the Rif mountains, though I doubt he will. We must ride like the wind, Haroun. If Allah wills, Father will help us save Jamal.”

  Three weeks later, after crossing the High Atlas and bypassing Meknes, Zara and Haroun arrived at the Berber village where Zara was born. Youssef had beat them there by one day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Youssef was stunned when he saw Zara enter the village. He had resigned himself to her loss and now here she was, pleading for his help to rescue the man who had enslaved her. Though Youssef believed that Jamal cared for Zara, he was reluctant to go to the sheik’s aid. Attempting to rescue a man who was likely to lose his head seemed like a lost cause.

  “Please, Father,” Zara begged. “We owe our lives to Jamal. I don’t know precisely how Captain Hasdai learned of Jamal’s treasonous act, but somehow he did and it’s up to us to save Jamal.”

  Youssef regarded his daughter’s earnest face. Despite his misgivings, he could not deny her request. But there were certain things he needed to know before committing his men to Jamal’s cause.

  “Do you love the sheik, Zara? Is there no man in our tribe you would have?”

  “I care deeply for Jamal, though Allah knows he doesn’t care for me in the same way. He is very possessive of me, but he is like that with everything he considers his.” She flushed and looked away. “There is no other man I want, Father.”

  “Allah knows the match is an unlikely one,” Youssef said with a sigh. “Nevertheless, he risked his life and reputation to warn us and will pay a steep price for his betrayal.”

  Zara’s chin rose stubbornly. “Not if I can help it. Will you help, Father? Haroun is waiting for your answer.”

  “Just tell me one thing, daughter. If we succeed, you know Jamal must flee Morocco. There is nowhere in this country he can hide to escape the sultan’s wrath. Jamal knew the danger he faced when he came to warn us. My question is this: Will you go with Jamal when he leaves Morocco?”

  Zara flushed and gently touched her stomach. She was certain she carried Jamal’s child, a child she already loved. She wanted it even if Jamal did not. “It would be difficult to leave you, Father. Besides, what makes you think Jamal wants me with him?”

  “Jamal will not leave without you, of that I am certain.” When Zara started to protest, Youssef quickly added, “I strongly urge you to go with him. I want you out of harm’s way. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe that Jamal loves you.”

  “Jamal has loved many women,” Zara scoffed. She wasn’t as certain of Jamal’s love as her father appeared to be. “I’ll make that decision when the time comes. First we have to rescue Jamal while his head is still attached to his body.”

  “Then let us make plans. Call Haroun to join us.”

  Jamal saw the cone-shaped spires of the royal palace rising high above the city of Meknes and felt a curious kind of relief. After many weeks the arduous journey was ended, and he’d finally learn his fate. He wasn’t afraid to die. What he truly hated was dying before being granted one last glimpse of Zara’s beautiful face. At least she was safe, he thought gratefully. In all their years together Haroun had never failed him. Haroun would see that Zara reached his mother in England safely.

  The narrow, winding streets of the medina were teeming with people, all staring with curiosity at the large contingent of armed soldiers riding toward the palace. Pressed against the walls to keep from being crushed by the horses, people speculated openly about the prisoner being escorted to the palace. Those who recognized Jamal were stunned, and the buzz on the street preceded Jamal all the way to the royal palace.

  They rode through the gate, past the granary, the lush gardens and the barracks, finally entering the palace grounds. Weariness etched the faces of the soldiers as Hasdai dismissed them and they hurried toward the barracks. Not a man among them envied Hasdai the chore of informing the sultan that Youssef had escaped yet again.

  “Dismount, Sheik,” Hasdai ordered. “The sultan was informed the moment we entered the city and will summon us directly. There is little Ishmail doesn’t know. His network of spies is extensive.”

  Jamal threw his leg over his horse and slid to the ground. He turned around and pushed his arms toward Hasdai. “Unbind me. I cannot escape now even if I wanted to.”

  Hasdai wasn’t so certain. Jamal was as sly as a fox. After giving Jamal’s request careful thought, he unsheathed his knife and cut through the bindings.

  The resulting pain was so intense, Jamal bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Blood rushed to his hands, and several minutes passed before he could speak. “Thank you.”

  Hasdai’s reply, if any, was forestalled by the approach of a palace guard. The man halted before Hasdai, gave Jamal a cursory glance, and said, “The sultan is waiting for your report in the Hall of the Sultanate.”

  Hasdai squared his shoulders and nudged Jamal forward. Hasdai wasn’t looking forward to this audience. Moulay Ishmail’s mood changes made him difficult to predict. If he become angry enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to order Hasdai’s death along with Jamal’s. Death he could face; it was the torture he feared.

  The Hall of the Sultanate was packed with people. Evidently Jamal’s humiliation was to be made public. Few spectators dared to look Jamal in the eye for fear of earning Ishmail’s displeasure. Jamal strode forward, aware of his soiled clothing and disheveled appearance. He was exhausted, dirty and worried about Zara. By now she should be close to Tangier, where his ship awaited to carry her to safety.

  Jamal dropped to his knees beside Hasdai and made his obeisance to the sultan.

  “Where are my enemies?” Ishmail thundered. “Since you have returned without them, am I to assume you let them escape? You may rise and explain.”

  Hasdai looked uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. He’d seen the sultan in a rage before and knew what to expect. He glanced at Jamal and wished there was some way to avoid this. He’d always respected and admired the sheik, but he owed his loyalty to the sultan.

  “I will explain, Hasdai,” Jamal said, taking pity on the man. He addressed the sultan directly. “Do not blame Captain Hasdai, great Ishmail. I am solely to blame for this failure.”

  Ishmail’s beady black eyes settled disconcertingly on Jamal. “I eagerly await your explanation, Sheik Jamal. Was I wrong to trust you again? How have you betrayed me?”

  Jamal dragged in a deep, steadying breath. “Call it what you will, but I confess to warning Youssef of the planned attack, thus allowing him time to flee.”

  Ishmail leaped to his feet, his face mottled with rage. “Treason!” he bellowed, pointing a thick, beringed finger at Jamal. “Why did you betray me?” Jamal opened his mouth to speak but Ishmail jumped into the void. “Nay, do not say it. I alre
ady know. ’Tis the Berber princess. She has bewitched you. You’re a foolish man, Jamal. No woman alive is worth a man’s life.” He gave Jamal a truly evil smile. “Your punishment must be equal to the crime. Torture first, I think, then a slow death. When the pain becomes unbearable, think of the fleeting pleasure the Berber wench gave you and curse her for bewitching you.”

  “Let me remind you, great sultan, of how greatly you benefited from my pirating ventures. My loyalty never wavered, not once in all the years I served you. My only excuse is that I could not bear the thought of Zara’s death. I am guilty of loving too much. If nothing short of my death will appease you, then so be it.”

  “You are guilty of loving unwisely,” Ishmail charged harshly. “You will die for your mistake. Nothing less will satisfy me, and well you know it.” He rubbed his bearded chin in a thoughtful manner. “But you are right. In the past you have served me faithfully and enriched my coffers, and for that I will grant you a boon. Before your torture begins, I will allow you two nights in which to make your peace with Allah. On the second night you may experience pleasure one last time with a woman. You seemed to enjoy my little Zinab. I will send her to you. After your death, all your property, including your ship and monies in your treasury, will be confiscated in my name.”

  Two nights. He was to have but two nights in which to dream of Zara and what might have been. As for his property and wealth, it meant little to him. What mattered was Zara’s safety. Allah willing, she was well on her way to England.

  Jamal was surprised to find himself incarcerated in the same small room in which he’d been held the last time he’d been summoned under guard to the palace. He had access to the hammam and the small walled garden, neither of which offered any hope of escape. The walls were still too high to scale, and jagged pieces of glass imbedded in the top were an additional deterrent.

  Jamal stared at the wall a very long time, wondering if he could fashion a rope of bedding long enough and strong enough to hold his weight. But there was no way to anchor the rope on either side of the wall. There were no trees in the garden, only flowers and shrubbery, and no trees on the other side of the wall. He sighed and returned to the room. At least it wasn’t the dungeon, Jamal thought as he stretched out on the narrow couch. He was tired. So very tired …

  Jamal slept the entire night through. When he awakened the following morning he realized this would be his last day on earth.

  Zara mingled with a group of women slaves at the fountain, listening to their chatter. She had arrived in Meknes with her father and Haroun just yesterday. Her eavesdropping was rewarded when she learned the women were from the royal palace. They all seemed eager to discuss Jamal’s torture and execution, scheduled for the following day.

  “It’s so romantic,” sighed a small veiled woman with soft brown eyes. “’Tis said the sheik betrayed the sultan for a woman.”

  “Were I that woman I would swoon with pleasure, Talia,” a second woman declared.

  “You’ve been with him, Zinab. What is Sheik Jamal like?”

  “He is very handsome,” Zinab said on a sigh, “and gallant. But he loves another. The sultan has ordered me to pleasure him on this, his last night on earth.”

  “I would gladly trade places with you,” Talia sighed.

  “Come, ’tis time to return,” Zinab said. “I must prepare myself for Jamal. ’Tis my wish that he will die a happy man.”

  That produced titters among the women as they picked up their pitchers of water and turned away from the fountain. Zara followed, eavesdropping as the conversation continued.

  “Will you pleasure the sheik in the dungeon, Zinab?” Talia asked, giving a delicate shudder. She’d never seen the dungeon, but she’d heard it was a horrible place.

  “Sheik Jamal is not confined in the dungeon. He’s been given a small room in the palace. You know the one, it lies at the end of the east wing. The room has a hammam and opens into a small walled garden. The walls are too high to scale, and the room so small and sparcely furnished that ’tis little better than a dungeon.”

  Zara had all the information she needed as she hurried away to tell her father where to have the horses waiting. The rest was up to her. She must not fail.

  A few hours later Zara passed through the palace gate, pretending to be a slave carrying a jug of water. Her body concealed by a djellaba, her face hidden behind a veil, she walked unchallenged into the palace through the women’s entrance.

  Zara was well aware of the danger she faced but chose to ignore it. When she’d arrived in Meknes yesterday, gossip about the torture and execution of one of the sultan’s most trusted men was all the townspeople could talk about. Zara and her father had donned white robes instead of the distinctive blue ones that marked them as Berbers, so they could mingle freely with the townspeople without risk. If everything went as planned, Youssef and Haroun would be waiting with horses shortly after midnight beneath the east wall.

  The sun was still high in the sky, but Zara had much to accomplish before dark if she was to save Jamal’s life. Success depended upon finding Zinab, the slave girl, and Zinab’s willingness to help her. Still carrying the jug of water, Zara found the kitchens.

  “Pour the water into the kettle,” someone ordered. Zara followed orders, then turned to face a sharp-eyed woman stirring something in a pot over a brazier. “Lend a hand, girl. Turn and baste the lamb on the spit.” Zara hurried to do as she was bid.

  That chore done, she asked casually, “Have you seen Zinab?”

  “Zinab no longer works in the kitchen. You’ll find her in the harem. She’s been ordered to attend the condemned prisoner tonight.” The woman cackled gleefully. “At least he’ll die a happy man.”

  Zara worked silently for a few minutes. When the kitchen slave’s back was turned, she slipped out the door. Praying she wouldn’t be recognized by Badria, the harem mistress, Zara hurried through the maze of hallways toward the women’s quarters. She was grateful that she had learned something of the palace layout during her brief stay as a captive, else she’d be hopelessly lost now.

  “Lady, where do you go?”

  Zara froze. Being hailed by a guard was the last thing she’d expected. Her eyes were lowered respectfully as she said, “I am new to the palace. I’ve been instructed to go to the hammam to attend the sultan’s concubines.”

  “Go then,” the guard said gruffly, “and do not tarry.”

  Zara scurried off without comment. She entered the harem as unobtrusively as possible. Though it was every bit as opulent as she recalled, Zara did not stop to gawk at the rich carpeting beneath her feet, the sumptuous couches covered in silks and brocades, or the bevy of fluttering, gossiping women dressed in colorful harem clothing. How was she supposed to find Zinab in this throng of beautiful concubines?

  Trying to avoid Badria, Zara kept to the outer perimeter of the huge room as she made her way to the hammam. The bathing room was a beehive of activity. Zara scanned the room but could not pick Zinab out from any of the other lovely women, for she had been veiled at the fountain. She made a slow circle of the room, listening to snippets of conversation, hoping for a clue to Zinab’s identity. Her perseverance paid off when she heard two women talking about Jamal.

  “He is too young and handsome to die,” a willowy redhead said.

  “I wish I had been chosen to make his last night on earth a memorable one,” a sloe-eyed Oriental woman said with a sigh.

  “You know our master would not send one of his own concubines or wives to pleasure a traitor,” the first woman said haughtily. “Zinab is naught but a slave. Ishmail does the traitor no honor by sending Zinab to him. Look at her.” She pointed an elegant finger at a petite brunette. “Slaves shouldn’t be pampered and indulged like that.”

  Zara turned her gaze to the woman in question. Not a woman, Zara decided. Zinab was still a child, albeit a sensual one. Her sultry black eyes held a sexual knowledge far beyond her tender years. A silken curtain of shiny black hair only p
artially hid full breasts crested with large dusky peaks. Zara’s visual inspection ended when Zinab moved to a massage table and lay down.

  Since no attendant was nearby, Zara hurried over to the table, her heart pounding excitedly. “Lie still, Zinab,” Zara said in a soothing tone as she dipped her fingers into a jar of cream and spread it over Zinab’s back and thighs. Then she began to massage the cream into the slave girl’s smooth, golden skin.

  “You are the envy of all the sultan’s women,” Zara said in a low voice. “They dream of taking your place in the sheik’s bed.”

  “’Tis a sad thing,” Zinab remarked. “I cannot believe Sheik Jamal committed treason. He is such an honorable man.”

  “You know him well?” Zara asked, surprised.

  Zinab’s eyes grew misty. “Well enough to know he would not commit treason without a good reason. You see,” she said, lowering her voice in a confidential manner, “Jamal loves a woman so much he is willing to die for her. ’Tis rumored he committed treason so that his Berber princess and her father could escape the sultan’s soldiers. Tonight I hope to give him so much pleasure, he will forget his true love.”

  As Zara’s hands pummeled Zinab’s soft flesh, her mind worked furiously. What she intended was dangerous, and she could lose her own life in the bargain, but saving Jamal was worth the risk.

  Zara put her mouth close to Zinab’s ear. “Listen closely, Zinab. I beg you, do not betray me. I am Zara, the Berber princess whose life Jamal saved.”

  “You are the woman the sheik loves?” She glanced furtively at the bath mistress and eunuchs serving the concubines, noting with relief that their attention was elsewhere. “You are brave but very foolish to come here like this.”

  “Jamal risked his life for me. I can do no less for him.”

  “Why are you here? You’re in grave danger.”

  “I cannot let Jamal die.” Zara’s answer was simple yet moving.

  “You love him,” Zinab said.