The Love Slave (35 page)

It was more a walled town than a city. The site chosen was on a slope of the Sierra Morena overlooking the Guadalquivir River, to the northwest of Cordoba. It had been begun almost ten years ago, and was still not finished. There were three levels, the first of which was completed and held the royal palace. Ten thousand laborers were used in the city’s construction as well as fifteen hundred beasts of burden—mules, donkeys, and camels. Six thousand stones were hewn to fit the buildings and walls each day. The roof tiles were covered in gold and silver leaf. The city was a full mile wide east to west, and half a mile north to south.

Each of the three levels planned for the city was set high enough to allow the level below it a clear view. Beneath the royal residence was a level consisting entirely of gardens, orchards, a zoo for the caliph’s exotic creatures, and an aviary filled with wonderful birds. The bottom level of the town held the government offices, residences of those important people attached to the court, public baths, workshops, armories, the mint, barracks for the vast royal guard, and a mosque.

Although Zahra had joined the caliph on his expeditions to the construction site in the early years of its building, he gave her a marvelous surprise the day he moved the inhabitants of the royal palace there from Cordoba. As they approached the entry gate, he had advised her to look up. When she did, she saw a marble bust of her own head over the entrance to the city. Wordlessly she looked at him, and he told her that the city’s new name would be Madinat al-Zahra, the city of Zahra.

“But should it not be Madinat al-Aisha in honor of your old
friend, whose vast funds provided the wherewithal for the city?” she asked him, heart beating excitedly. She knew he would refuse, for he did love her above all women. In deference to Aisha, however, she felt she should at least ask him. Allah! Had any woman ever been so honored?

Now, however, Abd-al Rahman had a new interest in life. The Love Slave, Zaynab, consumed him entirely, it seemed. Zahra sighed She was working herself into a jealous fit again. Was Tarub right? Tarub was not a woman to lie, even to herself. She was kind and practical and honest to a fault.

Still, each time Zahra looked at Zaynab, she felt uncontrollable anger. She could not seem to help it. What right had this girl to take the caliph from her? And what if Zaynab had a child? Not that she really expected any child of any of her husband’s women to supplant her own son, Hakam. Abd-al Rahman had always made it quite clear that Hakam was to follow him as caliph. But what if he changed his mind? What if he came to love Zaynab more? She laughed shakily. Why was she so upset? There was no danger to her high position or to her son. Yet she did not know that for certain. An older man in love with a young girl might act foolishly.

Her choler was not improved by the knowledge that Zaynab and her servants were to be moved to al-Rusafa. “From whom is she in such danger here that he must move her?” she said bitterly to Tarub. “It is ridiculous! Simply ridiculous!” Zahra’s color was high.

Tarub attempted to soothe her friend, her warm brown eyes brimming with sympathy. “Do not fret yourself, Zahra. The caliph plays at being the concerned lover with Zaynab. He merely wishes to be alone with her for a time. It is natural. Do you not remember how we used to sneak off to the summer palace with him? When she is recovered, he will bring her back. With al-Rusafa to the northeast of Cordoba, and Madinat al-Zahra to the northwest, he will spend more time on his horse than in Zaynab’s arms.” Tarub chuckled. “She is young, and probably frightened by what happened. Whatever the caliph may have told her, Zaynab is not stupid. She knows the chances of finding who poisoned her are small at best. By
taking her to al-Rusafa he merely reassures her, and eases her fears.”

But Zaynab was not frightened. She was angry that someone would have tried to kill her. To her knowledge, she had no enemies. It was therefore some silly girl who actually believed that by killing the caliph’s Love Slave she could win his attention herself. It was unlikely she would ever know who had done it, but she certainly intended to be on her guard from now on. She watched, furious, as her clothing was carefully removed for burning as per Hasdai ibn Shaprut’s instructions.

“It is ludicrous that all of my clothing must be destroyed,” she fumed. “It could not all be poisoned! And my jewelry will be ruined, being boiled in a vinegar solution! Damn that meddling physician!”

“He saved your life, lady,” Oma said sharply. “Surely that is worth a few garments and trinkets. Besides, the caliph has promised to outfit you like a young queen. The twenty bolts of silk that Donal Righ gave him have all been allocated for your use.”

“How do you know that?” Zaynab demanded of her.

“Naja told me,” Oma said, “and you know he knows everything that goes on in this palace. He even knows that the lady Zahra is jealous of you. He’s friends with one of the girls in the favorite wife’s apartments.”

“Do you think she is the one who poisoned me?” Zaynab wondered.

“Anything is possible,” Oma said, shaking her head, “but I would not think so. Even though the chances of being caught are slim, if the culprit is caught, it would mean her life. I do not think the lady Zahra would endanger her position simply because she is jealous and feeling her years. Nay, it was probably someone insignificant.”

They left for al-Rusafa, traveling with the caliph down the carpeted highway between Madinat al-Zahra and Cordoba. Zaynab was astounded by the size of the capital city, and begged to be allowed to see it.

“You may go with Naja and a suitable guard,” Abd-al
Rahman told her. “If I appear on the streets, we will be mobbed. By keeping a respectable distance from the people, I ensure their respect.”

“Tell me the city’s history,” she begged him, and he laughed.

“Any other woman I know would want directions to the nearest marketplace so she might buy herself something. You, however, want to know Cordoba’s history. Very well, my funny love, I shall tell you. It was founded by a race of people called Carthaginians, and captured by the Rumi in the days of their great empire. The next to hold sway here were the Visigoths, and we captured it from them over two hundred years ago. Over a million people live here. We have six hundred mosques, eighty schools of higher learning, and a public library with over six hundred thousand volumes. Hasdai would like a medical school built here, and eventually he will have one, for I agree with him. Now, all of our physicians have to travel to Baghdad to be trained.”

“There is no such number as six hundred thousand, let alone a million,” she said disbelievingly, and he laughed again.

Zaynab went out into the city with Oma and Naja, ensconced within a litter, surrounded by a suitable guard, and muffled to her eyes. She didn’t know where to look next. Everything was so exciting, so interesting, so busy! When they had arrived in Cordoba aboard Karim’s ship, she had been transferred to a barge that transported her up the river to Madinat al-Zahra. She had had no chance to really see the larger city.

Everywhere they went, commerce flourished. The city was famous for its leatherwork, its silversmiths, and the women who did silk embroidery. There were people from all the known world walking through Cordoba’s streets. The different faces and clothing fascinated Zaynab. The caliph assigned fully one-third of the state budget, more than six million dinars yearly, to building and maintaining the canals of the city, its irrigation systems, and its public structures, Naja informed them proudly. “Cordoba,” he assured them, “is the finest city in all of the world, and it is the most prosperous.”

“What do you think of the city?” the caliph asked Zaynab when they returned to the Alcazar palace that afternoon.

“It’s wonderful,” she told him, “but much too big a place for me to Uve in, my lord. It makes Madinat al-Zahra seem small by comparison. I have never seen so many different people!”

They traveled on to al-Rusafa the next day. Once the summer palace for the rulers of al-Andalus, it had fallen out of favor after the construction of Madinat al-Zahra. It was a very romantic place, set among wonderful gardens by the riverside. It had been built by the first Abd-al Rahman, re-created from the original al-Rusafa, which had been erected by Caliph Hisham along the banks of the Euphrates River outside of Baghdad. These gardens were irrigated by the river just as the original gardens had been. Zaynab was enchanted by it all.

She settled into a small marble house in the middle of the gardens, by a little lake that had been artificially created by the waters of the river. In the center of the lake was a wonderful summerhouse that the caliph promised Zaynab they would visit She loved her new house. It had a spacious bright day room where they might while away the hours playing chess or singing together as she played her rebec. There was a bedchamber for her, with a bath that opened off it, two smaller chambers for Oma and Naja, and a room where Naja would prepare their meals. Zaynab clapped her hands gleefully when she saw it.

“I do not have to share any of it with anyone!” she chortled.

“Do you dislike the harem so?” he asked her, his hand smoothing her fair hair. “Do you not enjoy the company of other women?”

“My lord, if you knew how I was raised, you would understand,” Zaynab explained. “Other than two female servants, my mother, my sister, and I were the only women at Ben MacDui. My mother favored my sister, and I spent more time alone than with them. Oma is the first real friend I’ve ever had of my own sex. I am not certain that I like other women. They gossip too much and can be cruel. I am more interested in the world about me than in spending hours beautifying myself. The women in the harem are mostly an idle lot.

“My world before al-Andalus was so narrow, my lord. Here there is so much to see and to learn! I was trained to be a Love Slave, to know nothing but the giving and receiving of pleasure, but it is an unnatural life for me now that my eyes have been opened to the wonders of your world! I hope I do not disappoint you, my dear lord, for I should not like to do so.” She nestled into his arms. “You are so good to me.”

She is a miracle, he thought to himself, lying by her side in their bed. She had begun by being the most erotic woman he had ever known. There was still nothing he desired of her physically that she would not give him; but there was so much more to this girl-woman who was his possession. Not a day went by that he did not find himself amazed and delighted by her. That she should have come to him now in the late afternoon of his life was the pity. Had they only come together in his youth, they would have bred a race of giants!

“You will never disappoint me, Zaynab,” he told her sincerely. Then he said, “I have heard of a game that Love Slaves are taught. It is called the Rose in Bondage. Did Karim al Malina school you in this entertainment, my beauty?” His deep blue eyes looked directly at her.

Zaynab nodded slowly. It was a game of unbearably sweet sexual torture. She was not certain the caliph was up to such a game, despite his vigorous health. “I will play it with you only, my lord, if you allow me to direct our game. It can be dangerous, you understand. Have you played it before?”

“In my youth,” he said, “and I agree to your terms.”

“I shall gather what we need, then,” she said, rising from the bed. “Very shortly, my lord, I shall be at your complete mercy.”

He watched her through half-closed eyes as she returned to him carrying a basket containing the silver love balls, four silken cords, a narrow band of white silk, a large fluffy plume, and a long, sharply pointed egret’s feather. Setting the basket next to him, she lay upon the bed, spread-eagled, and smiling, said, “I am at your mercy, my lord. Once you have rendered me helpless, you may have your way with me, and I shall not be free to protest.”

His eyes widened just the tiniest bit. She had never refused him
anything
, yet he had never felt he was in complete possession of her, body and soul. That invisible independence fretted him the way a grain of sand might fret an oyster. She was his slave, and he wanted some acknowledgment from her that he held the power of life and death over her. To his amazement, he had actually fallen in love with her, and if she did not love him, she would at least admit to his mastery of her by the time they were through. Kneeling, he drew the twisted silken cords from the basket, then firmly but gently bound her to the four corners of their bed. Making four loops, he slipped them over the short carved bedposts that decorated the dais. The four matching loops he slipped about her slender wrists and ankles.

“Struggle,” he commanded her. “I want to ascertain that you are bound fast, yet comfortably, my beauty.”

“Who taught you this game?” Zaynab asked him. She tested her bonds. She was quite helpless. “They are fastened well, my lord,” she assured him with a small smile.

“Years ago when I was but a young prince,” he told her, “a friend’s father possessed a Love Slave. One day my friend and I went hunting. When we returned, I spent the night. His father loaned me the girl in a gesture of great hospitality.” He looked at Zaynab’s breasts thrusting upward, her torso tightening as she strained at the silken bonds, and grew very excited.

She watched the play of emotions across his face. How like little boys men were, but then had not Karim told her that some men enjoyed playing these sensual games? She was fortunate the caliph was not a man who enjoyed inflicting pain as some men did.

“I am going to gag you, but only for a short time,” he told her. “I will soon have a better use for your mouth.” Gently, he tied the silk band around her mouth. “Can you breathe properly?” he inquired solicitously, peering down at her.

Zaynab nodded. The trick to this was to remain calm, to allow yourself to trust your partner totally and completely.

The caliph reached for the pouch that held the silver love balls, spilled them into his palm, and then slowly, slowly, pushed each of the perfect little orbs into her love channel. Sitting back
on his heels, for some long moments he contemplated his beautiful captive. She was totally and utterly at his mercy. The realization excited him. Soon her exquisite body would ache with his delicious torture.