The Love Slave Part 20

She laughed softly. "You l.u.s.ted after me that day," she accused.

He laughed back. "I did," he admitted, "but I loved you then too. Not as I love you now, Zaynab, but I did love you."

His eyes told her that he spoke the truth. He did love her, or at least he believed he did. More, she comprehended that she cared for him. She sighed as his hands began to caress her. This was all that mattered now.

He turned her about, and began to fondle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "They are like young pomegranates, ripe and bursting with their sweetness," he whispered in her ear. His thumbs rubbed her sensitive nipples. "And these are like the little cherries that come to al-Andalus from Provence in early summer."

She reached up and wrapped her arms about his neck, allowing him free access to her entire body. He put an arm about her waist, drawing her as close to him as possible. She laid her head back upon his shoulder as his lips moved hotly over her neck and up to her ear. He nibbled delicately upon the lobe, then swirled his tongue about the whorled interior. A hand kneaded her breast. Rubbing herself provocatively against him, she felt his maleness pressing into her flesh. His hands crushed her hips in a fierce grip. Removing those hands, she turned about and led him to the double couch, pus.h.i.+ng him down upon his back.

Kneeling next to the couch, she began to caress him with her hands. He sighed, deeply affected by her tender touches. Zaynab slid herself up on the couch to join him. Crouching over him, she pressed teasing little kisses over his whole body. Her long golden hair brushed his naked body with such a sensual touch that he s.h.i.+vered with delight. It formed a curtain s.h.i.+elding her from his view as she grasped his manroot in a firm grip. Slowly and with long, leisurely strokes she licked its length again and again. She took its tip between her lips and applied a firm pressure. He shuddered with pleasure. Deliberately and with great care she took him in her mouth and suckled upon him until she tasted the first sweet drop of his love juices.

And while she pleasured him, he reached out and found her plump Venus mont. His fingers insinuated themselves between her nether lips, stroking, stroking, seeking out the tiny badge of her s.e.x, finding it. He teased at it for a time, and then when she whimpered softly, even as her tongue encircled the ruby head of his manroot, he pushed two fingers into her eager body, moving them back and forth until her own love juices sprinkled his fingertips with a generous effusion.

Zaynab drew away from him and then mounted her lover, sheathing his length in a single graceful motion. His hands reached up to touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again. She closed her eyes, leaning back slightly, and felt the hardness within her throbbing hotly with pa.s.sion. She rode him for a short time, but then he rolled her over so that he became the dominant one. Holding her legs open and back, he pushed into her again.

It is so sweet, she thought lazily as he moved hungrily upon her, pistoning her with his l.u.s.t. She tingled from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, her body shuddering as she reached the first plateau, and then the second, and finally a third. With a cry she dug her nails into his shoulders, raking them down his back. She gasped for breath, sensing his expansion and then feeling the explosion of his seed as it thundered into her waiting, eager body. Then she swooned, the pleasure overtaking her like a wave hitting the beach.

Afterward they lay happily together upon their backs, sated for the moment. Above them the water device cascaded down over the gla.s.s dome; a night bird called sweetly, poignantly, to its mate, and the moonlight silvered their fevered bodies with its light.

Chapter 13.

"She is with child," Zahra said grimly to Tarub. Her face was pinched with her anxiety. She had not slept decently in days.

"You must stop it!" Tarub spoke sharply. "Our lord Abd-al Rahman has fathered eighteen children already. This will be but another."

"What if it is a son?" Zahra said, a desperate tone to her voice. "What if she convinces him to displace Hakam for her son?"

Tarub could not believe what she was hearing. Zahra had always been sensible, clever, and practical. Now she was behaving like a madwoman. "Zahra! Zahra! Get a hold of yourself," Tarub begged her friend. "Our lord will never replace Hakam as his heir. He loves Hakam above all his children. The caliph is not a young man any longer. He would not supplant Hakam, a grown man, with an unborn infant. It would be too dangerous. It could destroy the Caliphate! Besides, Zaynab might have a daughter."

"I had not thought of that," Zahra said tonelessly.

"She is very happy," Tarub told her companion.

"You have been to see her?" Zahra was surprised. Why had Tarub been to see her? Was Zaynab making a new and influential friend? Tarub, she suspected, had always been secretly ambitious for her children, and now for her grandchildren. Tarub had never really been her friend. I have no friends, Zahra thought.

"She would welcome you if you would but come," Tarub said, unaware of her companion's speculations. "You have never taken the time to know her, Zahra. You have built her up in your mind as some dreadful villainess, and she really is not. She is a simple girl who wants nothing more than a man to love her, and to bear that man's child. I like her."

"You like her?" Zahra's look was incredulous, and then it turned angry. "You like her?" she spat. "It is not Zaynab who is simple, Tarub, it is you! She has bewitched your already addled wits. You are a fool! A fat, stupid fool!"

Tarub's eyes filled with tears. "You have no cause to be cruel to me, Zahra. I have always been your friend. I have been loyal and stayed by your side all these years; swallowing your insults, putting up with your arrogance, and excusing it to others whom you have offended. You have no cause to dislike Zaynab. You do not even really know her, and your irrational suspicions of her are unfounded! Yes, I like her. I like her!

"If you loved Abd-al Rahman as you have always claimed, you would be glad that he is happy with this new love; but all you care about is your high position; the fact that a city was named for you; and that your son will follow his father one day. You do not truly love our lord! I suspect that you never have. You are only afraid that you will lose your vaunted place to Zaynab. I hope you do."

And so saying, Tarub heaved her plump form up from the cus.h.i.+ons where she had been sitting. Her orange silk skirts swaying indignantly, she stamped from the lady Zahra's apartments.

This display of anger, so uncustomary for fat, amenable Tarub, caused Zahra's sense of proportion to be somewhat restored. She was allowing her unreasonable hatred of Zaynab to blossom out of control. She would draw attention to herself, and make herself a laughingstock within the harem. She knew there were many who had always been envious of her, and of the caliph's affections for her. They would be delighted to see her fall. It was ridiculous that she be jealous of Zaynab simply because she was young and beautiful. With every pa.s.sing day she grew older. Her beauty would eventually fade. She had no real power over anything.

And power, Zahra knew, was the real key to happiness. Without power you became a victim. If Zaynab was honestly content to simply make Abd-al Rahman happy, happy to bear his children, then Zaynab was really a victim; a victim of her own success and lack of personal ambition, for the caliph would certainly lose interest in her as she grew swollen with the child. And after her brat was born, would Zaynab still hold his interest? Would she be able to regain it? Or would she be like so many of the other women Abd-al Rahman had loved-forgotten?

Let Tarub run daily to the Court of the Green Columns to pay homage to Zaynab, the soon-to-be-forgotten concubine. They were two of a kind. Silly and weak. Their children would amount to nothing. Let Zaynab think by Tarub's befriending her, that she herself would shortly extend her favor. She remembered the boldness of the girl in the baths in her early days at Madinat al-Zahra, asking for her favor, trying to wheedle her with a smile. I will never give her my favor, Zahra thought darkly. In fact I will ignore her entirely. She is nothing to me, and soon she will be nothing to the caliph.

But the caliph was delighted that his favorite was expecting his child. He knew it had been conceived in that last pa.s.sionate night they had spent in the summerhouse at al-Rusafa. The child would be born next summer. When Zaynab's symptoms became unmistakable, he had called upon Hasdai ibn Shaprut to be certain that Zaynab was healthy and that the child would come to term. It would have been a scandal, had the doctor not been brought into the harem in secret. He came accompanied by his female a.s.sistant, Rebekah, and the caliph himself.

"You are with child," he said to Zaynab. It was not a question.

"So I believe, my lord doctor," she answered.

"Tell me the signs that indicate this to you," he said.

"My link with the moon has been broken," she began. "I am nauseous much of the time. Strong smells, particularly that of food cooking, give me a headache. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are beginning to ache all the time, and the nipples are very, very tender; so much so that my lord cannot touch them any longer without giving me pain."

Hasdai nodded to himself, and Rebekah handed Zaynab a small gla.s.s bowl. "You must pee into it," she instructed the patient. "My lord Hasdai needs to examine your urine."

Zaynab went behind a screen, with Oma holding the bowl. A few moments later Oma emerged and handed the bowl to the doctor. Zaynab came back and settled herself into a comfortable chair with a wide leather seat, watching.

Hasdai ibn Shaprut held up the deep crystal bowl and peered closely at it. "Her urine is almost perfectly clear, my lord," he said, "but you will note the faint, almost imperceptible cloudiness beginning." Lowering his head, he sniffed strongly. "Healthy," he commented. Then dipping his finger into the gla.s.s bowl, he tasted it. "Healthy," he said. "A faint sweetness, but healthy." Turning to the caliph, he said, "I would like your permission to examine her briefly, my lord."

The caliph nodded. "You may touch her, Hasdai. I know that you are not l.u.s.tful."

The physician acknowledged his master's words, saying to Zaynab, "Hold out your hands for me, lady," and when she did, he looked carefully at them. "Her hands are not swollen, a good sign," he told them. "Her nails are healthy, not blue, the little moons white, as they should be." Then he said, "I must ask you to come out and lie down, lady." When she did so, he gently palpated her belly. Satisfied, he thanked her and then said to the caliph, "She is positively with child, my lord, and healthy, in my opinion. She is broad in the hips and should give birth easily."

"I am not broad in the hips!" Zaynab said indignantly, sitting up again. "I am a slender girl, as my lord can attest."

"I chose the words badly, my lady," Hasdai said. "The s.p.a.ce between your hipbones is not narrow, which is a good sign."

"Indeed," Zaynab replied irritably.

"You are slim as a young nymph," the caliph told her indulgently, an amused smile upon his face.

"You mock me!" Zaynab cried, and burst into tears.

"Irrational behavior, another sign that a woman is breeding," Hasdai ibn Shaprut said dryly. "Emotions run high at a time like this."

"See my learned physician friend and his a.s.sistant out, Naja," the caliph said solemnly, struggling to keep his laughter in check. He enfolded his beloved in his arms. "There, my love, do not weep. I adore you, Zaynab, and we shall have the most beautiful child. I pray Allah will bless us with a daughter who is as beautiful as her beautiful mother. We shall call her Moraima."

"We will?" She sniffled against his shoulder. His strong arms were comforting, and she nestled against him.

"Yes, we will, my love," he said quietly, kissing her soft lips.

The door closed behind the others.

Lifting her up, the caliph laid her upon her bed. Kneeling next to her, he undid the b.u.t.tons upon her caftan and stroked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You are so beautiful, Zaynab," he told her tenderly, kissing her faintly rounded belly. "I love you, and I love our child."

Winter came, to be followed by a bright spring and early summer. Zaynab's belly grew swollen with her child. To everyone's surprise, the caliph did not lose interest in his beautiful concubine. Indeed, his pa.s.sion for her seemed to deepen with each pa.s.sing day.

"I believe he will make her his third wife," Tarub said to Zahra. They were barely speaking, but with uncharacteristic meanness, Tarub wanted to hurt Zahra. She had not forgotten the other woman's cruelty. "He is more interested in this child than any of the others he has had."

"She could perish in childbirth," Zahra said coldly. "She is small-boned and undoubtedly weak. Or," she smiled cruelly, "the child could die shortly after its birth."

"The caliph would not like to hear you threatening either his beloved or their child," Tarub replied, smiling back at Zahra. "It is careless of you to do so in the presence of someone Abd-al Rahman would believe, Zahra. Your unreasonable jealousy makes you incautious."

"He will never take her as his wife," Zahra said, though she was less than certain.

Tarub laughed mockingly, and left Zahra to her black thoughts.

Midway through the month of Muharram, which in Christian Europe would have been the end of July, Zaynab went into labor. The birthing chair, gilded and bejeweled, was brought into the Court of the Green Columns. Although they were not allowed inside, many harem women gathered in the courtyard to await word. Tarub came in the company of the caliph's concubines Qumar and Bacea, who were also mothers of Abd-al Rahman's children, to attend Zaynab. Naja admitted them, bowing respectfully. Qumar was a Persian, known for her healthy progeny. Bacea was a red-haired Galacian, mother of the caliph's youngest son, Murad. Both concubines were in their mid-twenties.

"Are your pains hard yet?" Tarub's motherly face showed her concern.

"She looks strong," Qumar said cheerfully. "She will birth her child well, I can tell."

"You must not be afraid," Bacea told the younger girl. "Birth is a natural function of the female body. We will be with you to help you. I have a son and a daughter, and Qumar has a son and two daughters. Do you want more children after this one?"

"What a question to ask a woman in labor!" Qumar laughed. "Bacea is a pretty girl, but Galacians are not too intelligent."

"And Persians are?" Bacea shot back. "You didn't even know you were with child the first time." She laughed, and then said, "I will admit the timing of my question is poor, however."

"Be silent, the two of you," Tarub scolded them. "You chatter like magpies. We must help Zaynab to birth her baby successfully."

The subject of their concern gasped as a strong pain swept over her. "Allah!" she cried.

"That is good!" Tarub said piously. "Call upon G.o.d, and He will deliver you, and your child."

The two concubines swallowed their laughter, their eyes meeting Zaynab's. It had been a long time since Tarub had birthed anything. She had obviously forgotten that the laboring woman's cry was more an imprecation than a prayer.

"This is the price we pay for all that sweetness," Bacea said, a twinkle in her hazel eyes, and Zaynab was forced to grin.

"I will know better next time." She giggled, and then groaned again as pain washed over her.

For the next several hours they alternately cajoled and encouraged her in her labor. Qumar, being more supple than Tarub, knelt and spread a layer of cloth beneath the birthing chair where Zaynab now sat. Outside her bedchamber the caliph waited in the company of Hasdai ibn Shaprut, whom he had called in case of any emergency. The physician was not needed, however. A cry was heard from within, and shortly thereafter Tarub, her face wreathed in smiles, came forth from the chamber, a swaddled bundle in her arms.

"My lord husband," she said, "here is your daughter, the princess Moraima. Zaynab is well, and hopes you are pleased."

Qumar and Bacea now joined Tarub, each smiling and cooing over the child.

The caliph took his new daughter in the presence of his wife, his two concubines, and Hasdai ibn Shaprut. Cradling the baby gently, he looked down upon her. To his delight, the infant gazed back solemnly at him from serious blue eyes. The down upon her head was her mother's pale gold in color. "I accept this child as my own blood, my daughter," Abd-al Rahman said in a strong voice to his witnesses. Then carrying the baby, he entered Zaynab's bedchamber. He knelt by her bedside. "You have done well, my dearest love," he told the exhausted girl. "I have formally recognized our daughter before witnesses. Now none will doubt her paternity, and none shall have her to wife but the finest prince, when she is old enough," he told Zaynab. "Sleep now."

Rising, he handed the baby to Oma and left his favorite's apartments.

Zaynab lay exhausted, yet awake. She had a daughter, and the child was a princess. She wondered whether Gruoch had borne a son or a daughter, and if there had been other children since. Wouldn't her twin be amazed to know that the sister she had known as Regan was not moldering away in a convent, but the pampered concubine of a great ruler, and the mother of a princess. And Karim ... Why on earth had she thought of him? She had kept him successfully from her mind these past months, but now suddenly he was there. Would he learn she had borne the caliph a daughter? Was he a father himself, by the wife he had returned to Malina to wed? Of course he was. What would her life have been like had she been that bride instead of Abd-al Rahman's Love Slave? It was useless to think such thoughts. She would sleep, and when she awoke, it would be all the same. She would be the caliph's adored favorite, the mother of his daughter, and Karim al Malina would be but a memory. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She would never love Abd-al Rahman, but she would honor and respect the caliph, and he would never know her true feelings. Turning her face to the wall, she willed herself into a slumber.

"She could only give him a puny daughter," Zahra sneered when she later met Tarub in the baths.

"They wanted a daughter," Tarub said sweetly. "They had her named months ago. They never even considered a son. It should please you, Zahra. Now you do not have to worry that Zaynab's child will supplant Hakam." Laughing, she went on her way.

Despite Zahra's dislike of Zaynab, the caliph's goodwill meant more to the women of the harem than the first wife's ire. They sensed Zahra's star was finally waning. They flocked to the Court of the Green Columns, bringing their gifts to the new princess, who was admired by all and praised mightily. Even Prince Hakam came to visit his new sister, bringing a small silver ball that was filled with bells to amuse the baby.

"I have no children of my own," he explained to Zaynab, "but I do remember having a toy like this one when I was small. I loved it." He smiled warmly at her, and when she smiled back at him, giving him her thanks, Hakam understood why his father loved her. He pitied his poor mother. Zahra might have been the love of Abd-al Rahman's youth, but there was no doubt in the prince's mind that Zaynab was the love of his sire's later years. She was a delightful girl. "My sister Moraima will always have my affection, and the security of my protection, lady," he told her.

Tarub, of course, rubbed salt into Zahra's wounds by telling her former friend of the prince's visit. "I believe Hakam is as charmed by Zaynab as is the caliph," she said with a false smile. "The whole harem is, you know."

Zahra said nothing, but she was amazed at the depth of Tarub's venom. She had always thought the second wife a simple plump fool, but it was obvious that she was not. She was a very dangerous b.i.t.c.h. If the caliph made Zaynab his third wife, as was rumored throughout the harem, then together the two of them would become a force to be reckoned with. Tarub's son, Abdallah, was Abd-al Rahman's second son. What if these two women worked in concert to supplant Hakam? She had no proof of such a scheme, but she did not need it. It would have been what she would have done had her position and Tarub's been reversed.

The new favorite suddenly sickened, as did her child and her waiting woman. Normally the baby would have been sent to a baby farm to be nursed, so that the Love Slave could again serve her master, but such a thing was anathema to Zaynab. The women of Alba, even the highborn women, did not farm their infants out as a general rule. She had begged the caliph to be allowed to keep Moraima with her for a few months before a wet nurse would be brought into the Court of the Green Columns. It had pleased Abd-al Rahman to grant her request. He liked sitting by her side as she nursed their child It made him feel like an ordinary man, if only for a short time. But now Zaynab, Moraima, and Oma were sickening.

Hasdai ibn Shaprut was called in, for poison was immediately suspected. The only two members of the favorite's household not to grow ill were Naja and Aida, the cook, which naturally set the suspicion upon them. The physician, however, gained some measure of Zaynab's favor by immediately ruling out the poor eunuch, who was terrified by the turn of events, and Aida, whose loyalty was simply too strong.

"Too obvious," the physician said. "It is something that the lady Zaynab and Oma alone share. The little princess is being poisoned through her mother's milk. She must be sent away if she is to be saved."

Weeping, Zaynab gave her daughter over to the physician's a.s.sistant, Rebekah. "Do not fear, great lady," Rebekah said. She was a mother herself, and Zaynab's devotion to her child had already gained her approval. "I have an excellent wet nurse in the Jewish quarter. She is a big, healthy girl with more milk than her own child can consume. She will care for our little princess as if she were her own child, and you may see her any time you so desire."

"Why can this woman not come here?" Zaynab sobbed.

"Because," Hasdai ibn Shaprut explained patiently to her, "whatever is causing you and Oma to sicken could cause the wet nurse to sicken also. Until I find the cause, we must protect your child."

"Yes, yes!" Zaynab agreed, and turned to the caliph. "Oh, my dear lord, do not let anything happen to our child! She is all I have, and I will die if anything should take her from me forever!"

"Hasdai will find the answer," the caliph promised his beloved, enfolding her in his loving embrace, which caused Zaynab to weep all the harder.

It was poison without a doubt. Within just a few days the baby was healthy again, but her mother and Oma sickened further. How was it being administered to the favorite and Oma, the physician wondered, yet not to Naja and Aida? Their clothing was removed and replaced, but there was still no change. Hasdai examined all the foods being prepared by Aida, but the food was fresh, and they all ate from the same pots. What was it? What? What did Zaynab and Oma do that the others did not? Then Hasdai knew.

It came to him like a bolt from the blue. They bathed together! They bathed twice daily in Zaynab's private bath. Immediately the physician ordered a sample of the water to be brought. He forbade Zaynab and Oma to enter the bath again until he was certain. Testing it, his suspicions were confirmed. The water flowing into Zaynab's private bath had been poisoned! The poison was being absorbed through their skin, and slowly killing the two girls. He prayed his discovery was in time, and began administering theriaca.

The caliph was told, and he knew without a doubt who was behind this attempt on Zaynab's life, and probably the first attempt as well. There was only one person in his harem who had the kind of power to arrange such harm. He set a trap, and sprang it.

"I found the slave who poured the daily dose of poison into the cistern serving Zaynab's bath," he told Hasdai ibn Shaprut. "I had two of my most loyal guards wait in the shadows until she came. She needed little persuasion to tell me that the lady Zahra was behind it. They strangled the slave afterward."

"What will you do, my lord?" Hasdai asked.

The caliph sighed as deeply as a man in pain. "I cannot protect Zaynab from Zahra, Hasdai. In order to do so I must cast Zahra off publicly. She is the mother of my heir, and should I divorce her, I will cause a wedge between either Hakam and his mother or my son and me. I cannot do it. I decided years ago that Hakam would follow me as caliph. Because I did not vacillate in my choice, I have built the loyalty of his brothers and uncles, and his male cousins. There is no doubt, no confusion, nor has there ever been. Hakam is the heir.

"If I repudiate Hakam's mother, there are those who will be convinced it is but the first step to renouncing my eldest son. There will be nothing that I can say that will induce them to believe otherwise. Factions will form about my other sons. Four of them are, as you are well aware, old enough to be encouraged to sedition. Power is the greatest tempter of all, Hasdai. Gold, victory in battle, beautiful women; they all fade before the specter of ultimate power. My father was murdered by a brother who could not accept my grandfather's decision in the matter of the succession. I cannot even remember my father, but my grandfather chose me over his other sons to replace him, and then lived long enough to raise me to an age where I might grasp the reins of al-Andalus strongly.

"I have ruled this land for over thirty years now, and we have been at peace most of the time. Peace encourages prosperity. Al-Andalus is the most powerful and prosperous country in the world today. It will remain that way, my friend, because I will not permit any dissension to form that I cannot personally control. Sadly, I cannot control a war within my harem without it going beyond the walls of my gardens. Twice Zahra has attempted to murder my beloved Zaynab. To prevent any further attempt, I must either rid myself of Zahra or send Zaynab from me in order to protect both her and our child. I have no other choice in the matter."

"Will you free her, then, my lord?" the physician asked. He didn't like the way Abd-al Rahman looked at the moment. The caliph was pale, and his skin was s.h.i.+ny with sweat. He was obviously very distressed by this situation.

"I cannot free her, Hasdai," the caliph said. "Even though women are permitted under Islam to own their own property, a woman without the protection of a man, or a family, is helpless and in danger. No, Hasdai, I will not free Zaynab. I am giving her to you. You have no wife to object, and I shall be very generous. She will have her own house on the river outside of Cordoba, and her servants, and an income to support her, and our child; but she belongs to you from this moment on, Hasdai ibn Shaprut."

The physician was astounded. He could not quite believe what the caliph was saying to him. "You will visit her, of course," he ventured.