Angeline (12 page)

She had not thought of this—that she would be questioned by Ibrahim’s mother! What if the woman disapproved of her? What if she disapproved of Ibrahim’s friendship with a slave so much that she forbade him to see her again?

“And my father might be there, as well,” Ibrahim went on, deepening Angeline’s foreboding.

Perhaps this was not a good idea after all. Angeline caught Stephen’s eye.

“Perhaps this is not wise …” Stephen began, echoing her thoughts.

“Of course it is,” Ibrahim hastened to reassure him. “I am always wise,” he said with mock arrogance. Then he sobered. “Truly, my parents are good people. They will welcome you, you need not fear.”

“They welcome slaves?” Stephen asked. He could not keep the gall from his voice.

“They will not think of you as slaves,” Ibrahim replied. “We do not keep any. It is not our way. They will welcome you as fellow Christians.” Then he spoiled the reassurance somewhat by adding, “Even if you are Franj.”

Angeline’s misgivings only increased, however, when she saw the house into which Ibrahim was leading them. Almost as imposing as the Emir’s, it was a tall, many-storeyed stone building, surrounded by a high mud brick wall. As soon as they passed through the gate, they were encircled by a lush, fragrant, flower-filled garden. Doors opened off the garden on three sides. Ibrahim led the way to one of them. A servant appeared and bowed low.

“Nicula, will you tell my mother that I bring friends?” Ibrahim ordered.

The servant scurried off. Angeline saw two others hurry to meet him and hear his message.

Slaves they may not keep, Angeline thought,now thoroughly dismayed, but servants they certainly have aplenty. She was beginning to think that coming here was a mistake, indeed. There was naught to do but follow Ibrahim as he showed them into the house, however.

Ibrahim took them into a large, airy room that opened onto the courtyard. Tapestries hung on the walls, rich carpets covered flagstone floors, but a full-sized table stood in the middle, surrounded by benches. A woman rose from a couch to greet them. She was dressed in a light, filmy cotton gown. Her jet-black hair was drawn back and fastened with a golden clip. It tumbled down past her shoulders, nearly to her waist. The woman was almost the same age as Angeline’s mother had been. Darker of skin than her mother, but there was something in her smile that was so like Marithe’s that it snatched Angeline’s breath away.

Ibrahim spoke a few words to her in their own Coptic language, then introduced her to Stephen and Angeline.

“This is my mother, Mariam,” he said. His voice held much affection.

Mariam reached to give him a quick hug, then held out a hand to Angeline.

“Welcome, my child,” she said. “How good it is to meet you. Ibrahim has spoken so much of you.”

Angeline took her hand. It felt so like her own mother’s that for one mad moment she felt like throwing herself into this woman’s arms and pressing her head to her breast as she had done so often with Marithe. Her throat constricted; she could make no answer.

Ibrahim’s mother gave her hand a squeeze, then turned to Stephen.

“And you are welcome here as well, Stephen,” she said. “We have heard somewhat of your troubles. Perhaps you will find some peace here.”

Caught unawares, Stephen’s face softened. For one moment Angeline even thought she saw a glint of tears, then he lifted his chin and shook back the lock of hair that always fell in his eyes. Angeline was stunned. It was the same gesture he had used to make before beginning to preach.

“I thank you,” he said.

“You will join us for our noon meal? Ibrahim’s father will not be here, but I fear his brothers and sisters will. You will bear with them, I hope. They are most noisy and undisciplined.” Her smile belied the criticism.

Angeline heaved a sigh of relief. She felt comfortable with Mariam; she would much rather not meet Ibrahim’s father. Not yet, anyway.

No sooner had Mariam finished speaking than what seemed like a horde of laughing, boisterouschildren spilled into the room. There were only four, two girls and two boys, but true to their mother’s warning, they made enough noise for an army. They surrounded Angeline and Stephen, bursting with questions.

“Enough!” Mariam commanded. “Seat yourselves and remember your manners!”

She showed Angeline and Stephen to chairs at one end of the table on either side of her. The children calmed and took their places as well. Mariam spoke a few words of blessing, then the servants brought in bowls of rice and beans, platters of smoking lamb and chicken, bread, cheese, and baskets of fruit. There were goblets of hibiscus juice as well.

Stephen spooned rice onto his plate while fending off questions from the boy—a smaller version of Ibrahim—who sat beside him and rattled queries off without pause for breath. Stephen seemed amused by the child.

Angeline watched him, then added a silent prayer of her own before she reached for the nearest bowl.

Thank you, dear Lord, for leading us to this house. For giving us Ibrahim as a friend.

For the rest of the summer, Angeline and Stephen visited Ibrahim’s house whenever they could—mostly on Fridays, whenever Zahra gave Angeline leave and Father Martin could be persuaded to let Stephen off. They met Ibrahim’s father, Yousef. To Angeline’s relief he was as kindly as Mariam. He seemed to take pleasure in talking with them, especially with Stephen.

“Yousef says our priests have the wrong idea about the Coptic religion,” Stephen told her one day as they walked back to the Emir’s house. “He says that they worship our Lord as do we—that they have been misunderstood. He would like to talk with Father Martin some time.”

“Father Martin would never consent,” Angeline said.

“I know. I would not even ask him,” Stephen replied. “Still, it is a shame. Father Martin is lonely here.”

Father Martin lonely? Angeline had not ever considered that. Indeed, she realized that she had not thought overly much about Father Martin at all. He was a priest—she had supposed that God was comfort enough for him.

On another day, some weeks later, Angeline stood watching Stephen and Ibrahim scuffling with Ibramin’s two little brothers in their courtyard. The two boys had wrestled Stephen to the ground and were sitting on him, crowing with triumph. Stephen was groaning in mock surrender while Ibrahim tried to pull them off. The sight warmed her heart and brought a smile to her face. She looked up as Yousef came to stand beside her.

“Stephen begins to heal, I believe,” he said.

Angeline could only nod. “That is what I pray for,” she said.

“He tells me that you work with the concubine, Zahra, copying the great books from the Emir’s library.”

“Stephen told you that?” Angeline asked.

“Yes,” Yousef answered. “He is very proud of you.”

Angeline looked at him, startled.

“I am most interested,” he went on, not seeming to notice her surprise. “I am fortunate enough to know Sultan al-Adil well, and I have had many opportunities to read the books in the palace library. It is a wondrous collection. There are many great works there. It must give you much pleasure to copy them. Tell me, can you read them as well?”

“At first I could not,” Angeline answered. “But I am learning,” she hastened to add.

“Good,” he said, nodding his head. “It is worthy work that you do.”

As they made their way home that day, Angeline kept darting curious looks at Stephen out of the corner of her eye. He was proud of her work! Could it be that he was not jealous of it after all? That he did not condemn her for it? She almost summoned up nerve enough to ask him, but not quite.

The summer wore on. Then Angeline realized that it was the month of September. The Muslims kept their own reckoning, but Father Martin insisted on keeping careful track of thedays according to the Christian calendar. He celebrated all the Christian feast days and holidays, and would not let Angeline and Stephen forget them.

September!

They had been in Egypt for a year.

Neither Stephen nor Father Martin mentioned it, so she did not either, but Angeline could not help looking back and remembering. How terrified she had been on that day when Samah had dragged her away from Stephen and Father Martin and up to Zahra’s room. How much had changed since then. She still knew not what the future held for her, but it no longer seemed as hopeless as it had then. She had something to look forward to now—her freedom.

September was an important month for Ibrahim as well.

“It is the beginning of the Coptic New Year,” he announced that Friday when they met him at the church. “Thout, we call it. We used to celebrate Nawruz at this time. It was a very rowdy celebration and often got out of hand, so it has been forbidden now, but we still light bonfires and make merry around them. Will you come and join us?”

There was no possible way that Angeline would be allowed to visit Ibrahim’s house during the evening, but Stephen was under no suchrestriction. When, to her surprise, he accepted the invitation, he was given permission to go. Even though she was pleased to see him do so, Angeline could not help a small, niggling feeling of resentment. After all, Ibrahim had been her friend first. She had come to feel at home in his family; she wanted to be part of their celebration, too. She did not dare to go so far as to complain to Zahra, but Zahra realized that she was sulking and soon wormed the reason out of her. Far from being annoyed, however, Zahra only laughed.

“Do not worry, binty,” Zahra reassured her. “We have a great celebration of our own this month. It is the wafa an-Nil,
the Plenitude of the Nile
—the time when the Nile has reached its highest. This year it is especially full and the rejoicings will be great. I may have a special treat for you, you will see.”

As was her wont, Zahra would say no more for the time being. She loved her secrets. Angeline hardly paid heed in any case, so envious was she of Stephen’s liberty. She was even more envious when Stephen returned from Ibrahim’s family celebration and described the bonfire and the feast that had followed it in great detail.

Then one morning Zahra came out of the Emir’s rooms bursting with excitement.

“I have something to tell you,” she said to Angeline. “But after my bath. I will tell you when we are settled to work. It is great news.”

Angeline was consumed with curiosity, but she knew well enough to hold her tongue as she followed Zahra to the hamman. Several other concubines were there. Zahra lolled in the water for an exceptionally long time. The others chattered away as usual, but Zahra lay silent, a small, secret smile on her lips. The other women noticed and cast glances at her out of the corners of their eyes, obviously as curious as was Angeline, but Zahra was enjoying her mystery. Only when they had returned to Zahra’s room and settled down to work did she speak.

Angeline had taken up her quill, but Zahra stopped her.

“I have news for you, binty,” she said. “Listen, now.”

Angeline put the quill down.

“I took some pages of your work in to show the Emir last night. He was most impressed.”

Angeline held her breath.

“He would like to see more.”

Angeline reached for her quill eagerly. This
was
wonderful news indeed. But Zahra interrupted her yet again.

“That is not all, binty. Remember I told you that we celebrate the wafa an-Nil this month? Well, we are going to do so on the morrow. The Nile has risen to sixteen cubits. Every year a dam is constructed to hold the waters back until they are certain that there is enough to irrigate the land. When this happens there is a great celebration and then the dam is broken and the waters are free to run to the sea. The Sultan himself will perform the takhliq al-miqyas. He crosses by boat to the Island of Rawda where the Nilometer is situated, and there he perfumes the waters as a ritual of good omen and gratitude. Only the most important of his Emirs are invited to escort him in their boats.” She paused.

“Only the
most
important,” she repeated. “Abd’al Haseeb will be one of them and
I
will accompany him!” She let out a peal of laughter. “The other concubines will writhe with envy. It took me most of the night to persuade him,” she added. “It was difficult, but I can be very persuasive when I wish.”

“That will be exciting for you,” Angeline said. She was a little confused.

“But you do not know the rest of it,” Zahra exclaimed. “When the Emir was so impressed with your work, I suggested that you come along, too. You could attend me and he could see you for himself.”

“He agreed?” Angeline gasped. The words came out in a kind of squeak.

“He did,” Zahra answered smugly.

“I am going on the Emir’s boat?” Angeline squeaked again.

Zahra laughed. “You are, binty.”

The next morning was a haze of confusion. Zahra bathed, and then bathed again. When Samah brought Aza to her she waved the child away with such curtness that Aza dissolved into a flood of tears. Angeline did her best to console her, but Zahra was so unreasonably anxious that Aza was given no time. Zahra tried on one gown after another. She rejected every one of them. She threw each in turn on the floor until the carpet was awash in brilliantly coloured silk. Finally, she determined upon one that shone with gold. She would be veiled, of course, but she darkened her eyes with kuhl and oiled her lashes.

Angeline had become expert at helping her, but when she had finished, to Angeline’s surprise, Zahra turned to her.

“Your eyes, binty. Paint your eyes. And rouge your cheeks, too. You are Christian. You are allowed, and you will not need to be veiled. Let all see how pretty you are.”

Angeline demurred, but there was no gainsaying Zahra.

Then, to her further astonishment, Zahra chose a deep blue gown from among the many on the floor and handed it to her.

“Wear this,” she said. “It will suit your colouring. I want all to see how lovely my little slave is.”

Angeline bridled at the word and made no move to accept the gown.

“Wear it, binty,” Zahra said. It was a command.

They set off in the early afternoon. Zahra led the way down through the house and out the gate in the back garden. Angeline slunk self-consciously behind her. She felt awkward and out of place in such fine clothes. Why had Zahra been so insistent? She had had to take the skirt up in the girdle at her waist, but it was still too long for her. Again, a litter borne by slaves awaited them. But there was no procession this time.

“The Emir has already gone ahead,” Zahra explained.

Angeline made to open the curtains once the slaves had hoisted the litter up and set out at a brisk trot, but Zahra restrained her.

“I do not wish us to be looked upon,” she said.

Angeline sank back, disappointed. The airinside the heavily curtained litter quickly became hot and stuffy. Zahra took no notice of it, but it was becoming unbearable to Angeline.

“I am so hot,” she said finally. “I am sweating. I will be a grievous mess by the time we reach the river.”

Zahra frowned at her. She, of course, was showing no signs of the heat at all.

“Very well,” she agreed, but reluctantly. “Part the curtains at your side just a little. Do not lean out!” she added sharply as Angeline yanked the drapes open and took a deep breath.

It was not a good notion. A barrage of noise and smells assaulted her. They were going through the street of the meat sellers—a man was slaughtering a lamb in front of a stall as they passed. The blood spurted out in a sudden gush and spattered the side of the litter. Angeline drew back quickly.

There was no breeze even with the curtains partly open, no lessening of the heat. A camel brushed past. It glared at Angeline out of the corner of one eye, then swished its tail so close to her nose that she put up a hand to ward it off.

“How can those beasts stink so?” she muttered.

Zahra merely raised an eyebrow.

“You were the one who wanted fresh air, binty. Not I.”

Angeline drew the curtains shut again. She closed her eyes and tried to think of snow.

She felt the slaves set the litter down with a gentle bump. Angeline followed Zahra out, then stopped and stared, dumbfounded at the sight that greeted her. The river was crowded with boats, but not small boats such as the ones in which she had travelled before. These were large, brilliantly painted vessels flying scarlet, blue, and gold banners that whipped and snapped in the fitful breeze coming off the water. A multitude of richly dressed people thronged the bank.

Zahra gave her a sharp jab.

“Come along,” she said.

The slaves pushed ahead of them, thrusting through the crowds and opening a path. Zahra walked tall and proud, looking neither to one side nor the other, but Angeline trotted behind her, head swivelling, trying at once to take everything in and not trip on her long skirt. They reached the riverbank. Awaiting them there was the Emir’s boat, but this was not the boat in which Angeline and Stephen had been brought up to Cairo. It was far bigger. Eight men sat poised between four pairs of oars. Another white-clad boatman stood at the stern, rudder in hand. The deep crimson sails were furled. Scarlet and gold streamers flew from the mast. Theboat itself gleamed deeply blue, so glossy that it reflected back glints of light from the water.

Zahra allowed herself to be guided up the plank that extended from the shore to the boat, and Angeline followed her gingerly. Hands reached for her and helped her down. They were escorted to the bow, where thick rugs had been spread and cushions piled in luxurious heaps. The Emir was seated there, dressed in the most formal of robes, one elbow draped over the railing. He was talking to another richly dressed man in an equally splendid boat that was tied up beside them. He smiled when he saw Zahra and beckoned her to come and sit beside him. She did so, then patted the cushions on her other side for Angeline. Angeline settled herself down, making a kind of nest for herself in the pillows and rugs, and waited to see what would happen.

Everyone, it seemed, was waiting. Servants brought juice and water. In the still heat of the afternoon, Angeline almost dozed. Zahra and the Emir conversed in low tones, but Angeline made no effort to hear what they were saying. There was enough breeze to keep the insects at bay, and the soft, gentle rocking of the boat was soothing. Then a murmur began from farther upriver and it travelled like a wave down to them.

A boat appeared. At first Angeline thought itwas a vision. It came into view shining with a brilliance that was almost unbearable to look at without shielding her eyes. As it drew nearer, she saw that the entire hull was plated with gold. The sun struck it and reflected off it in glinting rays. Angeline had thought the Emir’s craft to be big, but this boat was more than ten times the size. It drew closer. Crimson sails billowed and caught the wind, but no less than sixty oars helped it speed on. A figure stood braced in the bow, clad in raiment that gleamed as brightly as the boat itself.

“Dhahabiyya,” Zahra whispered.
The golden.
The boat of the Sultan himself.

The rowers took up their oars. All around them the others were doing the same. The boats of the Emirs sped to meet and usher the Sultan in. They all crossed to the bank of the Island of Rawda and there let down their anchors. The Emir rose to his feet and drew Zahra up beside him. Angeline, too, stood up and grasped the railing for support. She craned her neck to see what was happening.