The Love Slave (53 page)

“Now,” Hasdai said with a smile, “your next duty is to find a young wife, and sire another generation of descendants of ibn Malik.”

Karim shook his head. “I will not marry again,” he said quietly. “My sister’s son shall be my heir.”

“But surely you want a wife, a harem of lovelies?” the Nasi pressed.

“I once fell in love with a woman that I could not have,” Karim told him. “Then I married the girl my father chose because I wanted to please him and for once be a dutiful son. Hatiba had been promised to Ali Hassan. She loved him as I loved someone else. Even had my family’s tragedy not
occurred, I learned that a marriage without love is a hollow thing, Hasdai. No, I shall not marry again.”

“What if you fell in love?” the Nasi asked.

Karim’s eyes fastened onto Hasdai’s. “I shall not love again,” he said firmly. “How could I love another after my beloved …” Then he laughed ruefully. “Besides, Hasdai, I have certainly had my fill of women, have I not?”

The Nasi laughed. “Indeed, my lord, yes, yet a soft body beneath a man is truly paradise. I do not think I should want to be celibate.”

“Obviously, Zaynab pleases you,” Karim said abruptly, then wondered why on earth he had said it. Did he really want to know from the Nasi’s mouth of the pleasure she could give a man?
He already knew
. Why did he continue to torment himself?

“She does,” Hasdai said shortly, and then, “I should not have been so fortunate as to possess her for my own had not my lord, the caliph, had no way of putting the lady Zahra aside without causing confusion regarding the succession. The caliph adored Zaynab, and she him.”

“A pity,” Karim responded coolly, and then he said, “I think I shall retire, Hasdai. I shall see you in the morning before you depart.”

Dismissed, the Nasi returned to his own quarters, where Zaynab was already asleep. He wanted to ask her about Karim, but he did not wake her. When the prince had said he loved a woman he could not have, Hasdai wondered if that woman was Zaynab. There was obviously something between them, although Zaynab had never given him any cause to doubt her loyalty. He had promised himself he would ask her, but not until they were back in Cordoba. He would keep that vow. She might be his property, but even so, Hasdai wondered if he had the right to question her about her innermost heart.

They departed in the early morning before the sun was too hot. Karim came to bid them farewell. Hasdai watched as he approached Zaynab, but the prince merely wished her a safe
trip, and Zaynab thanked him in impersonal tones. Oma arrived with the vizier, and the two women hugged one another.

“I nae thought when we were taken from the convent that it would end like this,” Oma said in their native tongue. “God, Allah, whatever ye want to call the deity, go wi’ ye and keep ye safe, lady. I wish we dinna hae to part I wish ye were remaining here. Could ye nae ask the Nasi? He would free ye if ye asked him, I know.”

Zaynab hugged Oma. “Nay, lassie, he wouldna. He canna throw away the caliph’s gift so lightly. Besides, he enjoys me.” She smiled, and patted Oma’s hand. “And there is Moraima. I canna leave my wee bairn, Oma. Ye’ll understand when ye’ve borne yer own. Send word to me when it comes, lassie. I’ll want to know yer safe.” Then, after kissing her friend on both cheeks, Zaynab entered her litter.

Their caravan, accompanied by the caliph’s one hundred Saqalibah, traveled a road that paralleled the ocean. It was a wide, well-kept road built hundreds of years ago by the Rumi. There were other travelers upon the road, some going the distance to Tanja, others merely moving from village to village. Every ten miles there were caravan stops: government-run inns with primitive but clean sleeping accommodations and food for both man and beast.

They traveled one-third of the distance they had to go the first day. Although they sheltered at a caravan stop, they had their own tents. Zaynab was irritated because she could not bathe until the following morning, before they left. The public bath belonging to the inn was, like all public baths in al-Andalus, open to women only until noon each day. After the noon hour it became the province of men.

Hasdai returned to their tent, refreshed from his ablutions. He was well fed, relaxed with good wine, and ready for love. “I have missed you,” he said softly, reaching out for her. “It has been too long since we have been together, my dear.”

Zaynab glared at him. “I am tired, my lord. My head aches from the heat and the dust of the road. I am filthy, and covered with grime.” She moved away from him. “All I want to do is sleep. I do not like disappointing you, but I cannot be at my
best under the circumstances. The innkeeper may have a whore for hire. If she is clean, I will not mind if you use her, my lord.”

He looked at her, appalled. “I am capable of restraining my lust, Zaynab. I do not want a whore. I want you, but I will wait.”

She flung herself on her mattress and slept She was annoyed with him. He was always so reasonable. She wondered if he ever lost his temper. Certainly she had never seen him do so.

He shook her awake before dawn. “Go and bathe,” he commanded her in a tight voice. “I have not had you in over a week, and I do not intend to wait until we return to Cordoba to do so.”

Zaynab was astounded, but she obediently arose, and found her oils, soaps, and toweling. “What if the bath is not open yet?” she whispered to him. She drew on her all-enveloping cloak.

“It is open now,” he said. “I asked the innkeeper last night.”

She left the tent and hurried across the compound to the bathhouse. It was strange being without Oma. She paid the bath mistress her stipend and then stepped into the warm water. She debated about washing her hair, but she had done so before they left Alcazaba Malina. It could wait until Tanja as long as she kept the dust brushed out of it.

Returning to the tent, she slipped beneath the coverlet, and Hasdai immediately gathered her into his arms. “You are delicious,” he murmured into her soft tresses, and his hand sought, found, and tenderly caressed a plump breast. “No games,” he said. “I would simply be a man with you, my dear. Would another woman rouse me as you do, Zaynab? I wonder about it sometimes.” He delicately pinched a nipple.

“You cannot know the answer to that question, my lord, unless you take another woman,” she answered him. Her little hand stroked the back of his neck, and she felt the prickle of gooseflesh that her touch raised on his nape. “Would you like another woman?”

“No,” he growled in her ear, and then the tip of his tongue insinuated itself into the shell of it, swirling about teasingly. He blew softly into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “I
want only you, Zaynab.” Then he was kissing her, his mouth pressing hard upon her mouth, his tongue infiltrating between her lips to play with her tongue. His lips traveled over her face and throat, working their way down to her breasts.

“Ummmmm,” she purred with pleasure as he kissed her and fondled her. “Ahhhhh,” she moaned as his mouth fastened upon first one nipple, then the other, drawing hard upon the flesh, stoking her rising excitement He bit gently down on a nipple, sending a tiny jolt of sweet pain through her. Zaynab’s fingers wrapped themselves in his dark hair, kneading his scalp as his hand moved down her belly to caress her mont

“Unfortunately,” he whispered to her, “there is no time for subtlety, my dear. If there were, I should pleasure you as you did me a few days back. When we get home,” he told her as he mounted her, “I shall bind you to our bed, spread wide for my delight Then I shall play with you until you beg for mercy, and your love juices will flow as copiously as they have ever flowed.” He pushed himself slowly into her. “I will make you cry out with your happiness, Zaynab.” Then he began to move energetically upon her, covering her mouth when she moaned with pleasure, for he did not want the entire place to hear her. She bit his palm, and he laughed, even as his own love juices exploded from his now satisfied manhood, filling her with his loving tribute.

Afterward he held her in his arms, the sounds of the caravan stop awakening in their ears. “We should start every day this way,” he teased her, and then she laughed, snuggling against him.

“I shall look forward to our return to Cordoba, my lord,” she told him. “I see now that you enjoy games, so we shall have to play some.”

On the third day they reached Tanja. It was not a very impressive place, a clutter of low white buildings, and narrow winding alleys that passed for streets. There had, it seemed, always been some sort of settlement on the site since the time of the Ancients. It had even been there during the height of the Rumi empire. The city was set on a beautiful small bay of the Strait of Jabal-Taraq. Across the water the famed rock rose up from
the sea. The view was utterly spectacular. The Nasi and his party were courteously welcomed by the caliph’s governor, who housed them in his own small palace.

The following morning they were ferried across the strait, finally setting foot back upon the soil of al-Andalus that same day. Reorganized, their caravan wended its way to the mouth of the Guadalquivir, where their ship was awaiting them. They sailed up the river to Cordoba

Zaynab did not choose to stop at Seville. She was too anxious now to see her child; but when at last they reached her home, it stood quiet. Hearing them in the courtyard, Naja ran from the house. His brown eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, lady!” he cried. “The princess is dead!”

Cha
p
ter 19

Z
aynab collapsed where she stood, crumbling into a heap as Naja’s words pierced her to the heart. When she regained consciousness, which she fought strongly against doing, for she did not think she could bear any more pain, she was back in her own apartment. She moaned and closed her eyes, but Hasdai’s voice forced her back.

“No, Zaynab, do not retreat from me,” he commanded her sharply. “You must accept this terrible tragedy with the same strength with which you faced your friend Iniga’s death. Open your eyes and look at me, Zaynab!”

“Tell me Naja lied,” she begged him. “Tell me that I did not hear those terrible words I thought he spoke. Where is Moraima?
Bring me my daughter!
”

“Moraima is dead,” he said quietly, “and Abra too, I fear.”

“How?” Zaynab whimpered. “
How?
”

“There was an outbreak of spotted fever in Cordoba. Abra took Moraima to visit the caliph. Then, because it was growing late, she remained with the child at a cousin’s house in the quarter. It was there, undoubtedly, that they became infected, although the disease was not in the cousin’s home at the time. Several days later both of them came down with the sickness. Your servants fled. The caliph had his Saqalibah return to Madinat al-Zahra temporarily in order to protect their health. Only Naja and your cook, Aida, remained with Abra and the princess. Fortunately, neither of them caught the disease. Moraima and Abra died within hours of each other, my dear.”

“Where is she?” Zaynab sobbed. “Where is my baby?”

“The caliph ordered her buried with Abra here in your garden,”
Hasdai said. “The house was then fumigated, and everything Moraima and Abra had was burned. Your servants were found and punished. They have been sold off. The caliph has sent new slaves to take their place.”

“It does not matter,” Zaynab said wearily. Nothing mattered anymore. She had been away with Hasdai, on a trip she need not have taken, and her baby had died, motherless, alone. What kind of a mother was she to have left her child while she traveled with her lover? Zaynab wept uncontrollably. Nothing Hasdai could do could make her cease, for her grief and her guilt were too deep. Finally, in desperation, he gave her a sleeping draught, that she might at least rest and regain her strength. Leaving Naja to watch over her, Hasdai departed for Madinat al-Zahra to render to the caliph his personal report on the state of affairs in Malina.

“You have done well, Hasdai,” the caliph said when he had heard all the Nasi had to say. “I am astounded by Zaynab’s bravery while captive to Ali Hassan, and while watching the torture and executions. It is a side of her I have never seen, nor could have even imagined.” He paused, and then asked, “How is she? Moraima’s death must have come as a terrible surprise to her. Is she all right?”

“She is in shock, my lord, and totally devastated. Before I left her, I gave her a sleeping draught, for she could not stop weeping. Naja is with her. She has no one else. It seems that Oma was in love with a man called Alaeddin ben Omar, who is now the prince’s vizier. He had wanted to marry Oma before Zaynab was first brought to you. When they met again, their love for one another had not changed. This time Zaynab convinced Oma to marry. She freed her. The timing is unfortunate. She desperately needs Oma now.”

“Could we not send for the woman?” Abd-al Rahman said, concerned.

“Oma is already breeding, my lord. It would not be advisable for a woman in her condition to travel so great a distance,” the Nasi replied. “I will have the slave markets scoured for an Alban girl to replace Oma. It is the best we will be able to do.”