The Love Slave Part 22

"Give me back my baby!" she shrieked at him.

"You are becoming irrational," he said calmly. He ducked as another missile flew in his direction, this one better aimed, he thought wryly. "Did you ever show your temper to the caliph?" he asked her. "This is not, I believe, correct behavior for a Love Slave, Zaynab. You are not supposed to kill your master, except with pa.s.sion, I was given to understand." His brown-gold eyes were twinkling as he attempted to turn her fury.

"How would you know that, my lord?" she demanded scathingly. "You have never once attempted to arouse my pa.s.sions." Then she ran from the room so he would not see her angry tears.

"I have never seen her like that, my lord," Oma said.

"Mother love is very strong," Hasdai answered the girl. "I will make an effort this day to find a suitable slave woman to nurse and care for the little princess. Your mistress is a good mother."

"My lord," Oma said boldly, "will you permit me to speak frankly?"

He nodded, wondering what the girl had to say that would be of import.

"You must address my mistress's other needs as well, my lord. She is too young to live without pa.s.sion, having been trained in it The caliph gave her to you because he believed you would protect her and make her happy."

Hasdai ibn Shaprut was astounded by her speech, although his face remained a pleasant mask. He had thought only Jewish women were so outspoken. Obviously he had been wrong. "Your mistress is still not well enough for activities of an excitable nature. In time, of course, she will be, I realize," he said. Then, with a bow in Oma's direction, he departed.

Oma thought nothing more of it, for she had had her say. The physician would certainly, when Zaynab was well enough, become her lover. In the meantime they had to get settled into this new dwelling. It was located two miles outside the city of Cordoba, off the main road, behind whitewashed walls and down a narrow lane. There was a gatehouse kept by a gatekeeper.

The house itself was built in traditional style about a courtyard with a tiled floor. In the courtyard's center was a tiered fountain that drizzled its water into a pool of water lilies and goldfish. Fat, squat vases were set about the portico of the courtyard. They were filled with gardenias whose heavy scent would, in warm weather, perfume the air. Beyond the courtyard and the house was an orchard that spread away to the low bluff overlooking the river. Next to it on either side was a vineyard.

The house was s.p.a.cious. The ground floor consisted of day rooms, servant's quarters, a library, and the kitchens. The second floor of the dwelling consisted of several sleeping chambers and a large bath that was completely tiled and had gold fixtures. Throughout, it was beautifully and quite familiarly furnished, with carpets on the polished wood floors and tapestries on the walls. In fact, all of Zaynab's furnis.h.i.+ngs had been transported here from the Court of the Green Columns. The caliph had made certain that his beloved Zaynab would always be comfortable. She did not know it yet, but Abd-al Rahman had deposited in her name fifty thousand gold dinars with Hasdai ibn Shaprut's third cousin, who was a goldsmith.

Hasdai ibn Shaprut came every day to monitor Zaynab's health, but other than that, he seemed to have no interest in her. For the moment, Zaynab did not care. Her main focus was the return of her daughter. Finally, when she had been separated from the child for almost a month, the physician arrived one afternoon with Moraima and a plain-faced girl he introduced as Abra.

"Her husband was killed in an accident, and her child was born dead She has suffered, but Rebekah has a.s.sured me that she is healthy, obedient, and of sound mind."

"Why did her child die?" Zaynab demanded, her main concern for her own baby.

"It was strangled with its own cord," he said bluntly. "It was an otherwise healthy boy. Abra has been nursing the princess for a week now. As you can see, she is healthy and thriving."

Zaynab took her daughter from the nursemaid. Cradling the baby in her arms, she smiled down into its little face and crooned in her native tongue. "There's a fine bairn, she is, my wee sweetheart. Yer da has sent us away, but I hae ye back now. We'll manage, Oma, and yer mam, and ye, my wee Moraima." Tears sprang quickly to her eyes as her daughter reached up and grasped the finger with which she had been stroking the little pink cheek. "Ohh, she remembers me!" the happy mother cried.

"What language did you speak to her?" he asked. "I have studied many languages, but I did not recognize any of your words, Zaynab," Hasdai ibn Shaprut asked.

"It is the Celtic tongue of my homeland," she explained. "Oma and I use it when we don't want anyone to know what we are talking about. It served us quite well in the harem at Madinat al-Zahra. I want Moraima to learn it from birth. When she is old enough, I shall find her a slave girl her own age from Alba to be her confidante."

"You are a clever woman, Zaynab," he remarked.

"So the caliph said," she responded, and then she handed the baby to her nursemaid. "You are welcome in this house, Abra. I thank you for the nourishment with which you will provide the princess. Oma will show you to my daughter's quarters."

Abra nodded her acknowledgment. She was a big girl with dark braids, black eyes, and a pillowy bosom. She would be paid for her services because she was a free woman. She followed Oma from her new mistress's apartments, holding Moraima quite competently in her arms.

"Moraima's return has made you bloom," Hasdai ibn Shaprut noted. "I am pleased to see you so well, Zaynab. I know you will be happy now."

"When do you mean to lie with me?" she asked him suddenly.

He swallowed hard. "You are not well enough," he told her, a flush coming to his cheeks.

"I have never felt better, my lord," she murmured. "I am well rested, and content but for one thing. Are you shocked? Do the women in your family hide their l.u.s.t for their men?"

He was fascinated by her; the pale golden hair loose about her shoulders, the direct gaze of her aquamarine eyes, the creaminess of her fair skin. Her caftan was white, embroidered with seed pearls. He could see the steady beat of the tiny pulse in her throat. He could feel the heat of her body as she leaned toward him, and the scent of her gardenia fragrance was intoxicating. He could not, for the life of him, however, answer her question.

"Do you not desire me, my lord?" Zaynab asked him. Then a strange look came over her face. "Are you a man who prefers boy lovers perhaps?" she queried. "I did hear of such men in the harem."

"N-No," he managed to gasp. "I am not a lover of boys." He arose quickly. "I must leave you now," he said, and was gone before she might pursue further this line of questioning.

Zaynab was completely puzzled, and her puzzlement but grew during the next few days. Abra, her initial shyness over, was a delightful, burbling font of information regarding Hasdai ibn Shaprut, the Jews, and Jewish history. The plump girl with her currant eyes nursed her little charge while chattering merrily.

"We call him Nasi in the Jewish quarter, lady," she said.

"What does it mean?" Zaynab asked.

"Prince, lady. Hasdai ben Isaac ibn Shaprut, Prince of the Jews. His family is very distinguished, even before Nasi's success at the caliph's court. He is the despair of every mother with an eligible daughter, not to mention his own parents. He will not marry."

"I wonder why," Zaynab said, and then, "Is it forbidden for a Jew to have a concubine, Abra?"

"Once, in ancient times, the men of our race took more than one wife and kept concubines. Now, however, it is frowned upon, but that does not mean it is not done, lady. Besides, the Nasi is not a married man. Do you wish to be his concubine?"

"I was given to him for that purpose by the caliph," Zaynab answered her, amused. Abra would have some fine gossip to impart when she went home to the quarter for a visit. She wondered if it would enhance or detract from Hasdai ibn Shaprut's reputation.

"We might as well be back in old Mother Eubh's convent," Oma grumbled when, after another month had pa.s.sed, there was no further visit from Hasdai ibn Shaprut. "Here you are, the most perfectly trained Love Slave, and yet you live like a nun. I thought the caliph meant for you to be happy, my lady. What kind of a man is the physician? Is he a man at all?"

"Hasdai ibn Shaprut is not meant for my sole amus.e.m.e.nt, Oma," Zaynab said calmly. "He has many important duties within the court. He will come when he can spare the time."

"The caliph rules al-Andalus himself, yet he always had time to devote to his harem, my lady," Oma pointed out. "This man has not once taken a moment to enjoy your favors. It's a disgrace!"

Zaynab did not disagree with her serving woman, but she would say nothing further on the matter. For better or for worse, Hasdai ibn Shaprut was her master. If he did not shower her with his attentions, at least they were comfortable, and safe from Zahra's murderous intent. Abd-al Rahman had thought carefully before giving her to this man. Zaynab knew that the caliph had truly loved her. He would want her happiness even if they could not be together. She was content to wait.

Finally the physician came once again. Zaynab welcomed him in a cool, correct manner. She invited him to play a game of chess, and then when the refreshments were served, she told him that she had sent Abra into the quarter to fetch a separate set of dishes that would be used only for his visits. The food offered him was not only delicious, but consisted of all his favorites. He did not bother to tell her that it should be prepared in vessels separate from those of the rest of the household. When he ate at the palace, he was not treated with as much courtesy. Besides, he thought some of the dietary rules foolish and unnecessary.

"Why have you come to see me?" she finally asked him.

"The Byzantine delegation arrived from Constantinople," he said. "I have been very busy preparing for the translation of an important book they brought to the caliph."

"What kind of a book?" She leaned toward him a bit.

"It is called De Materia Medica. Unfortunately, it is in Greek. Although I speak Romance, Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin, I do not either speak or read Greek. The emperor Leon sent a translator along with the book. He will translate it from the Greek into Latin, and I will translate it from the Latin into Arabic." He seemed very excited, and did not even notice when she put her little hand upon his arm.

"Why?" she demanded, looking up into his handsome face.

"Why? Zaynab, this is the premier book of medicine!" he said enthusiastically. "There is a volume of it in Baghdad, but the government there will not allow us to copy it. That means that every time one of our young men wants to become a physician, he must go to Baghdad to study. It is ridiculous that we should have to go so far, and many are discouraged from doing it When I have translated De Materia Medica, we will found our own university for medicine right here in Cordoba! The caliph has wanted one for years."

"How wonderful!" she told him. "It will be very hard work, my lord, I can see. You will need to learn how to enjoy your leisure time better. My lord, the caliph always said he worked better, and his mind was sharper, for the time he spent at his ease with me." She looked up into the physician's face. He really was very handsome, and his mouth was most sensuous. It seemed to fit his long face, with its high cheekbones. Reaching up, she ran a teasing finger along his mouth.

His wonderful dark eyes widened with surprise.

"I will teach you how to enjoy your repose, my lord," she said, enveloping him with a melting glance. She moved closer to him, a half smile upon her lips. Then she caressed his face gently with her hand. "Why are you smooth-shaven?" she asked him, her fingers trailing along the line of his jaw. "Most men are bearded here, I have noted."

"I ... I b-but follow the example of the c-caliph," he stammered.

"Do you follow the example of the caliph in all matters, Hasdai ibn Shaprut?" she lightly teased him, moving closer to him amid the pillows about the chessboard. Her eyes were twinkling.

He scrambled to his feet. "I must leave you now, lady. I am happy to find you so well," he said. He was considered the most sophisticated man at Abd-al Rahman's court, and yet this slip of a girl with her tempting body and seductive ways made him feel like a little boy. His heart was hammering. He could not rid his nostrils of her scent.

Zaynab jumped to her feet. "If you leave me before the morning, Hasdai ibn Shaprut," she said grimly, "I shall send to the caliph! I should rather take my chances with Zahra in the harem than live without love! Abra tells me there is no reason you cannot have me for your concubine, and you yourself have sworn to me that you are not a lover of men. Why will you not use me as you should? Do I displease you so?"

"Displease me? You would not displease the G.o.ds," he groaned. "You are the most beautiful and enticing creature that I have ever beheld, Zaynab, but our lord, the caliph, erred in his judgment when he gave you to me. I am not the correct master for you." He looked very unhappy.

"Why not?" she demanded of him.

"Do not ask it of me, I beg you," he pleaded with her. Oh, G.o.d! Why was this happening? She tempted him as no woman ever had tempted him, but ...

Just then Zaynab had an incredible revelation. When it burst upon her, she knew that it could be the only reason he had not made love to her, and sought excuses to escape her company whenever the situation began to become exciting. "You have never had a woman, have you? That is it! You have never had a woman!"

A deep flush crept up his neck and suffused his face. "You really are too clever," he said low. "No, Zaynab, I have never known the pleasure of a woman's body. It is not that I did not want to, I simply never had any time. As my father's eldest son-and for ten years I was his only son-it was up to me to excel. I was sent to Baghdad when I was just fourteen to become a physician. When I returned, I practiced my craft in the quarter, but I also wanted to find the universal remedy for common poisons.

"It was originally called Mithradatum, after a king of Pontus who first discovered it. Two hundred years later a physician at the court of a Rumi emperor improved upon it by adding additional ingredients, including the chopped meat of venomous snakes. That gave the formula its new name, theriaca, meaning wild beast. Unfortunately, the formula was lost, until, using my linguistic skills, I deciphered some old scrolls and rediscovered it. The caliph was so delighted, he made me Director of Customs for al-Andalus as well as governor of the quarter, and ombudsman for all the Jews of al-Andalus."

"And in all that time you never had a moment for a pretty girl?" she said, disbelieving.

He laughed. "I was only just discovering girls when I was sent off to Baghdad. There, I lived in the house of an elderly relative, whose greatest fear was that something should happen to the scion of the house of Shaprut while in his charge. I was escorted to the university by guards and brought back after my cla.s.ses the same way. My studies were difficult and all-consuming. There was no time for leisure. Besides, the old cousin knew only old men.

"When I returned home, my family wanted to make a match for me, but I put them off until I was certain I could support a wife without my father's aid. And then I began my research, and translation, and I could not quite find the time for a wife, or any woman. When the caliph heaped me with honors," he sighed, "I seemed to have even less time for myself. I felt that the entire weight of the Jews of al-Andalus was upon my shoulders, Zaynab. I have a duty to them."

"Do you like women?" she demanded of him.

"Yes," he said.

"Then you cannot remain a virgin the rest of your life, my lord. It is, I believe, unhealthy for a man not to release his love juices regularly. Surely you will poison yourself, and no amount of theriaca will restore you. If you choose not to take the responsibility of a wife, and father children, that is one thing. But to deny yourself the sweet communion of joining your body to a woman's is a terrible thing."

"Tomorrow I meet with the translator from Byzantium," he said weakly. "I need my sleep, Zaynab."

In response she pulled her caftan off, saying, "You will sleep better after I have pleasured you, my lord. If you refuse me, I shall expose your secret to the caliph. He will be very disappointed to think he gave his most precious possession to a man who does not appreciate her." Zaynab reached up, and pulling the pins from her hair, let it fall loose about her. "Touch it," she commanded him.

Hasdai reached out and fingered her soft tresses. "I am not certain what-" He stopped, embarra.s.sed.

"I am," she replied softly. "Trust me, my lord, and you will soon feel foolish that you ever feared this pleasure." She moved close to him. "I think you will be a wonderful lover, Hasdai. Now, put your arms about me, and I will teach you how to kiss properly." She slipped her slender arms up about his neck and drew his head down. He was tall, and she had to stand upon her tiptoes. Zaynab brushed her mouth lightly over his with the most delicate of touches.

His eyes closed and he sighed deeply. Her mouth was so sweet. She tasted like summer fruit. Her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed against his broad chest. "Zaynab," he murmured, caught up in the magic of her.

"Very nice, my lord," she purred at him.

His eyes flew open, the spell broken at the sound of her voice.

She smiled at him warmly. "You have a delicious mouth, Hasdai, but the embroidery on your clothing is wreaking havoc with my sensitive flesh." Reaching up, she divested him of his wide-sleeved tunic. Her fingers expertly unlaced his s.h.i.+rt, pus.h.i.+ng it off his shoulders. Her hands moved to the belt that held up his baggy trousers. She removed it, dropping it to the floor with his other garments, and slowly, slowly, drew his pantaloons down over his narrow hips, letting them slide the rest of the way to the carpet. Then she ran her hands up his smooth, broad chest. "There," she said, "isn't that much better?"

Without a word he kicked off his slippers and stepped from his trousers. His eyes met hers. "I have never been naked before anyone since my childhood," he told her.

Stepping back, she swept her eyes over his form. "You are not just fair of face, my lord," she said honestly, "you are also fair of form, and your manhood," she brushed it with quick fingers, "shows much promise. We will give each other great pleasure."

He couldn't take his eyes from her. She was like a young, primitive G.o.ddess, vital and exciting. He wanted to touch her, and to his surprise, she seemed to sense it.

"Come," she said, and turned about so that her back was to him. Reaching down, she drew his arms around her. His hands cupped her marvelous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. For a moment he was frozen, and then she murmured, "Fondle them, my lord. They are meant to be played with by a lover. Gently, though, for they can be tender. Use your thumb and your forefinger to tease at the nipples. Ahhh, yess, that's it! You are going to be an excellent pupil, Hasdai." She rotated her bottom into his groin. "Hummmmm," she purred.

Her flesh was so exciting, pliant, yet soft as silk. He felt more aware than he had ever been in his entire life. Her fragrant hair tickled his nose. The tight little nubs of her nipples speared into his palms. His whole body was tingling, and the core of the sensation seemed to be focused between his legs.

Then she was taking his hands from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and running them down her torso. His fingers molded her waist, her hips. She took one hand and pressed it against her mont. Without instruction he pushed a single finger between her nether lips. She was moist as he rubbed her.

"Your instincts are good," she approved his actions. "Take your hand away now. In time I will show you that little hidden jewel of mine, and how to make it s.h.i.+ne." She revolved so that she was facing him once more. Standing on tiptoes again, she drew his head back down to hers. The tip of her tongue ran slowly over his fleshy mouth, first the top lip, and then the bottom. "Open your mouth and give me your tongue," she commanded him. When he did, she taught him how two tongues might dance together. "Isn't that nice, my lord?" she asked him afterward, and then she nibbled on his bottom lip.

He could both hear and feel the blood pulsing through his body. The tingling sensation was growing stronger. His vision seemed a little blurred, and he wasn't certain that he was breathing properly. "As a physician," he said slowly, "I know what transpires between a man and a woman. At this moment I want to fling you to the floor and push myself into you as far as I can go, Zaynab. You are a temptress!"

"It will be better if you have patience, Hasdai, my lord," she promised him, and leading him by the hand, brought him to the bed. "At least three times this night," she said, "I shall draw your love juices from your body. You will have an overabundance of them because of your abstinence. Now lie back, and I will minister to your body."

He positioned himself in the center of the bed, and she crouched by his body. Beginning with his forehead and moving down, she began to cover his handsome body with little feathery kisses. When she licked at his nipples, his head spun with the delightful sensation. He watched, fascinated, as her golden head moved lower and lower, and suddenly she was grasping his manhood. Her lips pressed hot kisses on the hard shaft, and when she ran her tongue about the ruby k.n.o.b, he cried out, unable to help himself. Her mouth closed over him, and he groaned as she drew once, twice, and finally a third time upon him before releasing him. "I am close to spending," he moaned.

"Not yet," she cautioned him, and swung herself over his body. "Concentrate upon my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and not the randy fellow between your legs, Hasdai. That's it," she encouraged him as he reached out to fondle the ivory orbs once more. Then positioning herself carefully, she lowered her supple body, absorbing his love pillar slowly, slowly, until he was fully encased within her. The look on his face was one of disbelief and wonder. He was close to weeping.

He could feel the walls of her sheath closing about him, squeezing him gently but firmly. He crushed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, struggling not to lose the small control that he had. She rose up off him, but before he might protest, she was pus.h.i.+ng down again, and again, and again. Her thighs held him in a sensuous grip as she rode him. He wanted it to go on forever, but he could feel himself swelling, throbbing, bursting as his love juices exploded from their long captivity to flood her secret garden with his life's essence. Above him her body arched, head thrown back, and then she collapsed upon him. His arms closed about her tightly.

They lay silent for some time, and he wondered if perhaps she had fallen asleep, but then she stirred. Arising from the bed, she busied herself heating water over a charcoal brazier, pouring it into a silver ewer, mixing a little bit of her fragrance in the water. She brought the basin to the bed, setting it on the little table, which was piled high with neat squares of soft cotton. Taking one, she dipped it in the water and wrung it out. Then she tenderly bathed his now subdued member. He felt more relaxed than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was a totally new feeling, quite unfamiliar to him.

When Zaynab was content that he was properly cared for, she cleansed herself. Then she disposed of the water and the used love cloths, wiping the basin out carefully, setting an earthenware pitcher upon the charcoal brazier and filling it with fresh water to heat. Returning to the bed, she reached into her little gold basket and drew forth the cup and the bottle of restorative. She poured him a draught and encouraged him to drink it down.

"You will not normally need this," she explained, "but as it is your first time, I thought perhaps it would revive you."

"You were wonderful," he said admiringly, having downed the contents of the cup in a large swallow. "In my wildest dreams I never imagined that a woman could be ... could feel ... You were wonderful, Zaynab!"

"Every man says that to his first woman, I am told, and every woman says it of her first man." She laughed. "I have pleased you, then?"

"Is there any doubt in your mind? I shall be forever grateful to you, my beautiful friend," he told her sincerely.

"Perhaps now you will please your family and take a wife," she teased him.

"I have no time," he protested. "It will be all I can do to serve my lord, the caliph, and my exquisite Love Slave, Zaynab." He reached up and pulled her down onto the bed with him. "Teach me more, Zaynab. I know that was but the beginning of pa.s.sion."

"I but live to serve you, lord," she said with mock humility.

"Is it permitted to beat one's Love Slave?" he asked seriously, but his warm eyes were twinkling.

"If the pain can bring pleasure," she replied, and leaning forward, bit his earlobe. She followed the nip with a lick and a kiss, blowing softly into the sh.e.l.l of his ear.

He responded by rolling her beneath him and biting softly upon her nipple. Then he licked and kissed the tender flesh, asking, "Like that, Zaynab?"

"Indeed, my lord learns swiftly," she praised him. Then she leaned over him again, bending forward to take the defeated bud of his manhood, and its sac, completely into her mouth. Slowly, gently, she worked him with her tongue and lips, carefully rousing him until he was throbbing with a desire he had not believed could be brought forth again so quickly. Finally, he gripped her hair and drew her up again.

"Enough," he said. "Now answer me this, Zaynab. Can I do the same to you? Can a man taste of a woman too?"