Odalisque (6 page)

‘Does that bother you?’

‘To take one of his children in his absence? It is up to the mother, I suppose.’

‘You will offer a high sum for the lighter-coloured child, of course,’ Jumo said, referring to the youngest girl.

‘We need to see her face first,’ Lazar answered and his tone rang with gathering anger. ‘Herezah might blame me for not selecting suitably but I know how her mind works—she’d punish the child to get to me. No, we’ve done well so far, even the Valide could not complain, but I’ll be damned if I’ll give her anything to gripe about. I’ve seen what she’s capable of and age is of no relevance to her.’

‘Let us see for ourselves, then. Come,’ Jumo replied. ‘It is getting late.’

Lazar sighed. He looked out from the foothills and through the hazy heat he could just see the whitish sprawl that was Percheron but the sea and the sky blended into a mass of bright blue. It made him wonder whether he should take a voyage. It had been a long time since he’d seen his parents and siblings. His mother might even have forgiven him by now, although he doubted it. She was carved from the same block as Herezah. His mother would never forgive.

‘You love the desert too much to leave it, master,’ Jumo said softly beside him, and their eyes met.

‘You frighten me the way you can read my mind.’

Jumo grinned. ‘I’ve just known you long enough to guess.’

Lazar thought otherwise. It was uncanny how often Jumo seemed to know his private thoughts. But he left it alone, as he always did. ‘Lead the
way,’ he said, and as he did so the younger of the two girls turned and looked directly at them. She did not seem troubled by their presence but the others were when she pointed, the mother gathering up her family around her and watching them wide-eyed, ready to flee like a startled animal.

Lazar pressed on doggedly down the incline, for even from this distance he could see the child was pleasant enough to look upon. Herezah would certainly have nothing to complain about.

‘Don’t be frightened, woman,’ Lazar assured the mother as the land flattened out and he was able to dismount. He made no move closer to them. ‘I am the Spur of Percheron; my name is Lazar. This,’ he said, nodding behind him, ‘is Jumo.’

The mother nodded at both of them. ‘What do you want?’

Lazar had already done this five times in the last few days but it never got easier. It was unlikely that anyone had brought these people news of the Zar’s death so it was not as though they could even guess at his purpose. How he hated this task.

‘May I know your name?’ he asked the mother.

‘Felluj,’ she said abruptly.

‘Well, I bring a proposal from the palace, Felluj.’

Felluj looked momentarily startled. ‘No-one in the palace knows us.’

Lazar cleared his throat. ‘That’s probably true. But I have offered this same proposal successfully to several families in the foothills in the last few days.’

‘You come for my girls, don’t you? My brother-in-law warned you might.’

There was no point in denying it or hedging around it. He nodded. ‘Not all of them.’

Her solemn expression did not change but he saw something flash in the dark eyes. ‘You can have only Ana.’

‘No, mother!’ the middle daughter cried and Lazar turned to her, despising himself for the pain he had caused to rack her features. She was dark like her mother, but it was her sister he was interested in. His gaze shifted to the small child whose hand she clutched and whose hair she had been brushing moments earlier.

‘Ana,’ he began, talking to the middle child.

‘That is not her,’ the mother interrupted, before turning to the daughter who held the rice bowl. ‘Fetch her.’

‘Uncle Horz said—’

‘Hush!’

‘But Father won’t—’

‘Do it!’ the mother ordered. They waited. ‘How much?’

Lazar was taken aback by the harsh exchange between mother and daughter. Felluj’s cold attitude also unsettled him. ‘Er, we need to see her first.’

‘Oh, she’ll suit your purposes but I won’t let her go cheaply.’

The two younger girls were weeping now to add to Lazar’s discomfort, but the boy continued to run in small circles, chasing insects and wholly oblivious to the transaction that was occurring.

The mother must have heard some movement because she called into the silence: ‘Don’t hide, Ana! Come here, girl.’

First came the eldest daughter, scowling, reluctantly pulling another girl who seemed unaffected by all the attention. Square shoulders tapered through a slender body. She looked like a young colt, with long legs beneath the loose-fitting sheath that clothed her. Despite the roomy garment there was the definite swell of a woman’s body beneath. In truth, only Jumo noticed the rest of the child; all Lazar could focus on was her face, oval and framed by darkly golden hair that fell carelessly to her shoulders and seemed to absorb the very sunlight. But it was her eyes, flanked by long dark lashes that dragged him completely into her spell. Lazar could not register their colour even though he was staring right into them, for they seemed to dominate him, to own him. There was a sense of drowning in those defiant pools.

‘Master?’ Jumo urged quietly.

Lazar pulled himself free of his suddenly muddled thoughts and saw that the girl’s eyes were a sea-green and that her mother was mocking him with her sly smile.

‘Good enough?’ she asked, unable to hide her sarcasm.

The Spur’s mouth felt so dry that he could not trust himself to speak immediately and his gaze was already back to the child who stared unerringly back.

‘How old is she?’ he finally asked.

‘I’m nearly fifteen summers,’ Ana replied.

‘She’s ripe for your purposes,’ the mother said matter-of-factly.

Lazar watched the eldest girl scowl again. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

‘I am Amys,’ she answered sullenly. ‘And my father will not agree to this.’

‘Hush!’ Felluj admonished. ‘I will make the decision. Come, masters, let us talk in private over kerrosh.’

Lazar could not refuse. Hospitality was the way of the desert people. Even the poorest family would slaughter its last goat to entertain a visitor. The brewing of the bitter kerrosh was high tradition in Percheron and among the harem women it was nothing short of an art form.

‘Where is your husband?’ he asked the woman when they were seated in the hut.

‘He is moving some of the goats. He has been away for several days.’

‘Why is your older daughter worried about her uncle? She’s also adamant that her father will object—is this true?’ It seemed a stupid question
even to him. Which father wouldn’t object to losing his daughter to a stranger?

Again Jumo seemed to listen in on his doubts. ‘The harem will take care of Ana and raise her in unrivalled splendour,’ he assured the mother, although it sounded to Lazar as though Jumo was saying this more for him.

‘She will be taught skills and she will read, write, dance. She will be given wealth and even status if she pleases her elders.’

‘How much are you prepared to pay for her?’ the mother demanded, ending Jumo’s gracious explanation.

‘You seem quite keen to be rid of Ana,’ Lazar commented.

Felluj shrugged. ‘She’s not my child.’ Lazar’s eyebrow raised itself in query. ‘She belongs to my husband,’ the woman explained.

‘She’s his daughter?’

The woman laid three glasses on the scrubbed table.

‘She’s not his either. He found her.’

‘Pardon?’

The woman poured a steaming glass of kerrosh before him. ‘I’ve put in one ball,’ she said, referring to the sticky mass of sugar favoured by most in the beverage.

‘Thank you. Please continue.’ He sipped his drink. It was good. Strong and sweet.

She passed Jumo his glass. ‘My husband found Ana as a newborn on the northern ridges. It was a
wild night previous. The Samazen had blown through and the next morning he went in search of the goats that had been pastured there. He’d lost his animals but found her instead. A useless exchange as far as I’m concerned. At least goats keep us fed, give us milk, provide yarn and skins.’

‘A baby survived the storm?’ Jumo voiced Lazar’s silent incredulity.

Again the woman shrugged. ‘I’m telling you what happened. You can believe me or not. He brought her home and raised her as his own. In truth, one more mouth didn’t matter so much then, but we’ve had two more children since. I’ve never felt about Ana the way my husband does.’

‘Your daughters show concern which you don’t,’ Lazar commented.

‘Pah! They’re just worried about their father’s feelings, but I worry about how we will feed and clothe ourselves. She’s another woman’s daughter! I have no feelings for her at all. I’m glad to see the back of her.’

‘Clearly,’ Lazar muttered as if he were tasting something bad. ‘This must be done properly, Felluj. I won’t be accused of stealing a child.’ There was derision in her laughter at these words and Lazar understood. Girls were often stolen from these tiny foothill families by bandits and sold into slavery.

‘I am not others,’ he qualified. ‘Your husband must—’

She interrupted him. ‘He will understand when he sees your coin.’

Lazar felt suddenly sickened by her attitude; it reminded him of Herezah. Two mothers, both using children to further their status. He knew what it was to live without a mother’s love. Perhaps a life of luxurious imprisonment was better for Ana than what was on offer here.

‘What price freedom?’ Jumo said, as though responding to Lazar’s silent thought.

‘You tell me,’ Felluj said, ‘and then I’ll tell you whether it’s enough to appease my husband.’

‘Twenty-five karels,’ Lazar offered, which was low. He hated Felluj’s greed.

She laughed. ‘Fifty and you can have her.’

He drained his glass. ‘Fifty?’ He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to capitulate and decrease her price.

‘She’s worth twice as much,’ Felluj said, not at all intimidated.

‘Not to us,’ Lazar said and stood. ‘Thank you for the kerrosh.’

She said nothing but he saw a slight hesitancy in her expression.

The children watched them wide-eyed as they emerged from the hut, squinting from the bright sun, and only Ana smiled. It was a spontaneous gesture. As she did so Lazar felt a sensation, one he hadn’t felt in such a long time he thought he had forgotten what it was like. There was a connection so strong he felt the jolt of it catch in his throat; the warmth in her innocent expression reached into his chest and touched a
cold heart that had not been warmed in years. How long had it been since he had felt anything for anyone? Oh, the friendship between himself and Jumo was indestructible, as was the curious affinity he felt for the strange dwarf, Pez; and he liked Boaz well enough. But love? Love was something Lazar did not possess in his life. Love had visited briefly in his youth and then been torn away. Since that time he had let no-one into his heart. Something about Ana’s simple smile stirred thoughts long buried and wounds he had healed through detachment and determination. It made him feel weak to experience such an awakening.

‘Farewell, sister,’ he said deliberately—it was meant for Felluj but it was towards Ana’s soft green gaze that he directed it.

No-one responded as the two men silently climbed onto their horses. Lazar gave one last look at Ana, who was now expressionless, and at her stepmother in whom he sensed growing disbelief. He turned his horse back towards the steep path and began counting. He would give it to fifty.

He had passed the count and was resigning himself to having read the situation wrongly when he heard a voice. It was Felluj; she had run swiftly up the incline at a sharper angle than they were traversing and was waiting for them at the top of the ridge. She was breathing hard and still looked defiant. There was no preamble or
pretence at dealing with honoured guests now. There was a bargain to be made and goods to be negotiated. He had seen it often enough in the slave markets—this was no different. ‘How much, then?’ she demanded.

‘I told you before,’ he said coldly. ‘Twenty-five.’

‘That is too low, Lazar, sir,’ she pleaded, her first display of courtesy since they had arrived, save the kerrosh.

‘It is fair,’ he replied and felt rather than saw Jumo’s unease. They both knew Ana was worth three, maybe four times as much and even Lazar couldn’t understand his reluctance to pay a premium for this stunning child.

‘My husband will grieve for her. She is his favourite and she’s not even of his own flesh.’ Felluj spat into the sandy soil of the ridge where only the narla weeds and gerra grasses grew to sustain the goats.

Ana arrived, clambering up the ridge. Lazar could see in those long-lashed eyes that this girl knew no affection existed for her in her stepmother’s heart. And it was this notion alone, this sense of pain on behalf of the girl—a pain he understood—that forced Lazar to relent.

‘I shall give you forty karels. Ask no more, woman, for you shall get not a zeraf extra from me.’

‘I shall take it,’ she replied instantly, ‘if you take her now. She has no possessions.’

‘Will she not want to wish her family farewell?’ Jumo asked.

‘Take her, I say!’ Felluj urged and pushed Ana towards them.

‘Give her to Jumo,’ Lazar ordered, reaching for a pouch at his side. He counted out the karels and said: ‘Hold out your apron.’

She did so and he dropped the silver from a height, not even bothering to reach down. One karel bounced out and Felluj went scrabbling after it.

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Ana said into the awkward silence as if she had only just grasped what was truly occurring here.

‘Hush, child,’ Jumo murmured. ‘You must come with us now.’

She did not struggle but began to weep softly, looking behind to wave pitifully to her brother and sisters below. All the purchases of young girls had been hard on Lazar but this one touched his heart, for in truth the other girls had been seduced by the idea of wealth and luxury. Ana was by far the most beautiful but he sensed no amount of riches or pampering would appease her, though why he felt this way, he could not say.

They departed with the sound of forty pieces of silver jangling in Felluj’s apron as she stomped back down the ridge to her family.