The Love Slave (43 page)

“I know,” he answered her, “that you have the means to prevent such a child, and I hope that you will use it, my dear. But if you had my child, it would not, under Jewish law, belong to me. In my world a child belongs to its mother. Such a child could not bear my name nor inherit my estate. When the caliph gave you to me, he naturally assumed that we would become lovers, but I do not think he ever considered that you would have another child. As long as your only child is his, he will not forget you, or Moraima. Become the mother of several other children by another man, and you will quickly lose his interest. He might even forget the daughter you share. As long as Moraima is your only child, you yet have a hold on Abd-al Rahman.”

“Checkmate!” she said, moving her king in a manner he had not anticipated, and she smiled mischievously at him. “You need not fear that I will have a child, Hasdai. I do not want another one. I desired Moraima because I cared for Abd-al Rahman, and I knew his child would help me retain his affections, or so I
had been told. I could not have anticipated the lady Zahra’s delusions.”

“Do you love me?” he wondered aloud, curious as to her feelings for him. She was usually so careful about revealing anything of herself that he could not help but wonder.

“
Do you love me?
” she countered.

He laughed. “You have checked me again, Zaynab,” he said.

“You are my friend, Hasdai, and I am glad of it,” she told him. “You are my lover, and I am glad of that also, but at this moment in time, no, I do not love you.”

“I’ve never been in love,” he said. “What is it like?”

“You will know if it ever happens to you,” Zaynab told him. “I cannot really explain it. I doubt that anyone can.”

Their lives settled into a pattern that seemed to please them both. She was there for him, and he seemed to spend all his leisure hours with her now. So much so that his father complained that their family never saw him anymore. He did not tell Isaac ibn Shaprut that the caliph had given him a Love Slave. His father would not have understood it. He would have said that if Hasdai would only take a wife, he would have no need for this concubine. Instead Hasdai apologized, and visited his parents with lavish gifts for them both. Then he returned to Zaynab.

The months went by. Hasdai ibn Shaprut was deeply involved in the translation of
De Materia Medica
. Sometimes he would come home so exhausted that he fell into bed and slept for ten hours. I may not be his wife, Zaynab thought wryly one evening as she picked up the clothes he had scattered about the room, but would my life be any different if I were?

Her life
. She was pampered and had no worries, but had it not been for her daughter, she would have been totally bored. Watching Moraima grow was fascinating. She had her mother’s coloring, but she looked like her father right down to her imperious little hawk nose. Even if no one had told her, and even if Moraima did not understand, she was a little princess in her behavior.

Although Zaynab had not been fond of the city since her
removal from the caliph’s court, she would occasionally venture out into Cordoba on the days that Moraima visited her father at the old imperial palace next to the Grand Mosque. Abra would take her to Abd-al Rahman, while Oma and Zaynab, accompanied by Naja, would visit the market, or a silk embroiderer’s workshop, or a silversmith’s. Sometimes they simply walked through the narrow, winding streets exploring the city. They never knew what would be around the next corner.

One day they came upon a tiny square, surrounded by the white, faceless walls of the houses. The square had a stone fountain in its center. About the fountain’s rims were set pots of bright flowers. There were several open gardens between the houses and the street. They were filled with Damascus roses, orange trees, and shiny green myrtle. Even on such a hot day, this little hidden square seemed cool, and very peaceful.

One day they even visited the Grand Mosque itself, leaving their slippers outside, walking about beneath the soaring arches with their dowels of red and yellow. The fragrance of aloe and amber permeated the air, and added mystery to the quiet of the holy place. Zaynab realized she had never been in a real church before.

Moraima was already toddling. Her first birthday had come and gone. She knew exactly who was who in her small world. The caliph, who according to Abra adored her, was
Baba
. Zaynab was
Maa
. Oma became 0, and her nursemaid was
Ahh
. Abd-al Rahman had given his daughter a fluffy white kitten, and the two were rarely apart. Zaynab named the kitten Snow.

On a bright spring day Hasdai arrived at the villa in mid-afternoon, which was odd, for the translation kept him so busy he did not usually come until late in the evening. “I must make a journey for the caliph, my dear,” he told her. “I may be gone several months.”

“Where do you go, my lord?” she asked him, signaling to her servants for refreshments.

“To Alcazaba Malina,” he answered. “There has been a tragedy of horrendous proportions in that little kingdom. The
prince and his whole family, but for one member, were slaughtered in some sort of tribal feud. The new Prince of Malina is suffering deeply from the loss of his kin. I am being sent to see if he can be cured of his melancholy so he may continue to rule for the Umayyads, as his family has these last centuries, or if he must be replaced by a governor of the caliph’s choice. It is a terrible situation. The city is in chaos over the massacre. Its council is holding the peace by sheer force of will. I will be leaving in a very few days’ time.” He gratefully accepted the chilled wine offered him. The day was warm, and he had ridden all the way from Madinat al-Zahra.

“Let me come with you,” Zaynab suggested. “I am bored here, and without you, Hasdai, I shall be even more bored.”

“I do not know,” he said, contemplating her proposal. The thought of being away from her delightful charms for so many weeks was not one he relished. She had become as addictive to him as sweets to a sweet tooth. “I am not certain that the caliph would approve, Zaynab.”

“I do not belong to the caliph,” she said mildly. “I belong to you, my lord. Why should you not take me? This is not a secret mission. I was trained in Malina. Its city is a lovely one, and Oma’s sweetheart is there. He wanted to marry her, but she insisted on coming with me to al-Andalus despite the fact that I know she loves him. Perhaps he will still want her. Seeing how safe and happy and well-cared-for I am, she may change her mind if she sees Alaeddin again. She has been so loyal to me, Hasdai. I want her to have a little happiness too.”

“What of Moraima?” he asked her. “I think she is too young for such a journey. I would not expose the caliph’s daughter to danger.”

“You are correct, my lord. Moraima will remain here with Abra, continuing to see her father on a regular basis. I do not want to disrupt her life. She will be quite safe. We will tell the caliph I am going with you, and ask him to send a contingent of his guards to protect his daughter while we are away,” Zaynab said sensibly. Then she leaned over and slipped her arms around his neck. “You do not really want to leave me behind, do you, my lord?”

He slipped one arm about her supple waist, his other hand sliding into her caftan to cup a breast. Her mouth was tempting, and he succumbed, kissing her slowly, their tongues intertwining sensuously. “No,” he murmured against her mouth. “I do not want to leave you, my beautiful Zaynab.” His fingers pinched her nipple, and she hummed softly.

If Hasdai ibn Shaprut had believed in witchcraft, he would have said Zaynab was a sorceress. But he did not believe in it, even if the Love Slave had the ability to intoxicate his senses to the point where nothing else mattered but her kiss, her caress. Nonetheless, he was a loyal servant of the caliph before he was Zaynab’s lover. The next day he spoke with Abd-al Rahman in a private chamber at Madinat al-Zahra.

“Would you object if I took Zaynab with me to Malina?” he asked his lord. “She would like to accompany me, my lord.”

“Why?” the caliph wondered aloud, more curious than forbidding.

“She says she is bored, my lord,” Hasdai answered truthfully.

Abd-al Rahman chuckled. “The curse of an intelligent woman, my friend. Passion is not enough for her. My Aisha used to tell me if I wanted peace in my house, I would choose women who were interested only in themselves. The others, she warned, are never content with their lot. They know there is more to life, and this, I fear, is Zaynab’s burden. Of course you may take her, Hasdai. She is yours to do with as you wish. My only concern is for my daughter.”

“Zaynab feels she is too young to travel. She will leave the princess behind with her nurse, Abra. She does, however, request that you post a guard about the child’s dwelling while we are not there to watch over her ourselves,” Hasdai said.

“Agreed!” the caliph replied. “She is a good mother, my friend. Why do you not have a child with her? Perhaps with more offspring to worry over, she would become less restless.”

“My lord, the laws of my faith would not allow me to accept any children Zaynab bore me. They would have no legal standing. You know the importance of family in this world. We
have agreed, she and I, that there will be no children,” Hasdai ibn Shaprut told him.

Abd-al Rahman nodded. He had not thought about such a thing when he had given Zaynab to Hasdai. His first concern had been for her safety and the safety of their child. He had wanted them near that he might see his youngest child as she grew. Was Zaynab still as beautiful as she had been? He wanted to ask Hasdai, but he did not. It would have been impolite. He knew the answer at any rate. He wondered if she loved Hasdai, or if her affection for him had waned when he had given her away. Those were questions he could also not ask. He would never know the answers. They would haunt him the rest of his days. He silently cursed Zahra for her vicious jealousy, which had brought him to this unhappy state.

He shook himself from his reverie.

“The reports I have of the Prince of Malina are confused, Hasdai,” he said. “He was away when the family was murdered. When he was sought after and told of the tragedy, he fell into a stupor for several days. He was finally roused, but they found him incapable of making any decisions. He could only mourn, poor fellow.

“The family physician believes it is a temporary state of affairs. He says it is the prince’s way of dealing with the loss of his family. I want to know what you think, Hasdai. Can the prince be cured? Or must I replace him with a governor, and if I do, should that governor come from al-Andalus proper, or from among the council of Malina? I want the truth of this matter, and I need it quickly. You are the one man within my government I can trust completely, Hasdai. I am singularly fortunate in having you in my service.”

“What of the assassin, my lord? Do you want him caught, and is it up to me to administer your justice on this man?” Hasdai asked.

“Absolutely!” Abd-al Rahman said firmly. “I cannot allow murderous bandits like this one to run loose within even the farthest reaches of my kingdom. If you allow one to get away, then others spring up like so many weeds in a field of grain. Find this man, and punish him, my friend. He must not be
allowed to roam unchecked. Make his punishment a particularly unpleasant one. Use public torture, and draw it out for as long as you can. Discipline the underlings first, and save their leader for last. Be as cruel as you wish. It will offer solace to the people of Malina, and give their prince even greater status that I sent you to administrate the caliph’s own justice. You will sail in one of my own ships, and have a troop of one hundred Saqalibah to help you dispense my law, Hasdai.”

The doctor nodded, and bowed to his master. “It will be as you desire, my lord Caliph,” he promised. “When are we to leave?”

“Can you be ready in three days’ time, Hasdai?”

“We can, my lord,” was the dutiful reply.

“I will send ten Saqalibah to the villa tomorrow. They will remain until you return,” the caliph said. “They will have their orders from my mouth, and no other. Moraima will be perfectly safe.”

By the time Zaynab and Hasdai were ready to leave, the caliph’s guard had been fully integrated into the household. Aida was delighted to have a group of men to cook for, and little Moraima had already wrapped the captain of the Saqalibah about her tiny finger. Abra was utterly devoted to the child. Zaynab was content that her daughter would be secure and well guarded during her absence. She did not bother to explain in great detail to her child that she would be gone for several months. Moraima would not have understood. She simply told her that Mama would be away, but she would come back. To her pique, Moraima was not in the least affected by the news.

“Maa come back?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Zaynab reassured her, tears in her eyes.

“See Baba?” the little one wondered.

“Of course you’ll see your father,” Zaynab replied.

“Good!” said Moraima, and turned her attention to Snow.

“I do not think she cares one bit that I am leaving her,” Zaynab said, weeping in Hasdai’s arms. “She is like my mother! Heartless!”

“She is not quite two,” he explained, “and she does not really understand what you have told her, my love. It is better that way. You don’t want her crying when you leave, do you?”

“No,” Zaynab admitted, “I really do not. I just want her to be safe and happy.”

“And so she shall be in her own home,” he replied.

They sailed from Cordoba on a ship larger than any Zaynab had seen before. She and Hasdai had a huge airy cabin above deck, while belowdecks the one hundred Saqalibah were housed, if not not as luxuriously, at least comfortably. Even Oma had her own tiny cabin next to her mistress.

They made good time down the many miles of the Guadalquivir. It was late spring, and everything was in bloom, the orchards pink, white, and yellow with blossoms; the fields of grain already greening up. The second day they passed between fields of red anemones and white daisies blowing in the afternoon breeze.