The women appreciated Emily’s ready wit, which, much to her relief, distracted them from her childlessness. There was a simple reason for that: small sponges, soaked in lemon juice, which she inserted into her vagina before lovemaking. Malika had told her this secret during her stay at Qasr el Bahia.
“Tell us about your first night!” Sabri’s youngest and still-unmarried sister begged, casting a furtive glance in her mother’s direction. But Haji Abdul’s first wife was too engrossed in a conversation with Sibylla, Eugenie, and Almaz to notice.
Emily looked dreamy and smiled. “It was terribly romantic. All the other passengers congratulated us. The sailors serenaded us and the captain let us have his quarters for the first night. But that’s all I’m going to share with you.”
Sabri’s youngest sister looked at her with deep disappointment.
“When you celebrate your own wedding, you’ll understand,” Emily consoled her. “The memory of our first night belongs to my husband and me. But I will tell you this: it sealed our love more profoundly than any wedding vow ever could.”
“And you lovebirds have had to live abstinently for a month now, oh dear, oh dear! You will have to be doubly careful not to be consumed by your own fire tomorrow night,” the eldest sister jested.
Almaz added with dignity, “May the fire of your love always be stronger than the wooden log that turns to ash, and may you, Emily, be the water for my son that keeps him from dying of thirst.”
Sibylla smiled to herself. Just one month earlier, Almaz would never have uttered such a wish, but ever since Benjamin had attempted to kill Emily, Sabri’s family had forgotten what remained of their reservations about the Christian bride and the wedding. Almaz and the first wife had even called Emily their beloved daughter. For his part, Haji Abdul had been very impressed with André’s bravery. He had Sabri describe to him again and again how André had grabbed Benjamin and thrown him through the banister. He would nod his head and ceremoniously announce, “The daughter of such a man shall bear strong and healthy sons. You made a wise choice, my son.”
Early on the morning of the tenth of Dhu al-Hijjah of the year 1278 after the Prophet’s departure from Mecca—June 8, 1862, in the Western calendar—music and singing enticed the inhabitants of the medina from their homes. A bevy of women, diaphanous muslin veils wafting around them like a silvery morning mist, danced through the alleyways to Sibylla’s house to collect the bride and adorn her for her great celebration.
Musicians played flutes and vihuelas, beat tambourines and plucked the lute. Young girls sang about the bride being sweeter than honey and lovelier than the full moon, and children scattered rose petals and jasmine blossoms along the path. Four sturdy eunuchs in baggy pants and multicolored turbans carried an empty palanquin on their shoulders. Next came the solemn bridegroom and his father, dressed in white djellabas, belts with decorative daggers set with precious stones at their hips, and red tarbooshes with black tassels atop their heads. They were followed by servants carrying baskets and boxes with the morning gift for the bride, then Sabri’s uncle, his brother-in-law, and his cousins.
Victoria, who had been watching the procession from the roof garden, ran to Emily’s bedroom and flung open the door. “They’re coming! Hurry up!”
“Did you see Sabri? How does he look?” Emily called from the edge of the bed. Malika was in the process of removing the muslin bandages that had protected the henna overnight.
There were loud knocks on the front door and voices calling, “Open up, we’ve come to collect the bride!”
“Are you happy?” Malika asked, while Victoria wanted to know, “Are you nervous?”
Emily’s eyes shone and her cheeks glowed rosily. “Of course I’m happy!”
The door opened again and Sibylla entered. She was wearing her best dress and a fringed shawl that shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow, and she looked every bit as excited as her daughter.
“Good morning, my little girl!” She kissed Emily. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the bin Ibrahim women are here. Nadira is giving them tea, but they’ll come to get you any minute. You’d better get dressed quickly unless you want to be carried through Mogador in your nightie.”
André received the gentlemen in the large salon with his three sons, as well as John, Thomas, and Oscar by his side. Sabri beamed from ear to ear and embraced everyone while his father looked on, bursting with pride. The uncles and cousins supervised the bearers as they unpacked Emily’s morning gift and placed the items on display in the middle of the room.
When the door swung open and Sibylla entered with Eugenie and Victoria, André’s heart skipped a beat. He thought that Sibylla, with her silvery hair and sparkling blue eyes, was the most impressive person in the room. He was beside himself with joy when she gave him a special smile before greeting everyone else.
“Assalamu alaikum, gentlemen! May I offer you some refreshment?”
She signaled Firyal, who had been waiting by the buffet, and who began pouring tea. A young boy who often helped out in the kitchen offered flatbread, fresh yogurt, dates, and plums.
Eugenie and Victoria fairly gaped at the gifts, Emily’s mahr. They picked up the precious gold jewelry, sniffed the valuable perfumes, fingered the bright fabrics, silk rugs, porcelain, and silver candlesticks. Haji Abdul really had spared no expense, even though, according to custom, he was responsible not only for the mahr, but also for the cost of the feast. André and Sibylla were not allowed to contribute, because that would have called into question the bride’s virtue. Their wedding gift was a house for the young couple. Consul Willshire and his wife were returning to England in a few weeks, and André had used his ties to Sultan Sidi Mohammed to enable him and Sibylla to buy the Willshires’ house.
But for now, Sabri and Emily had no idea.
After the guests had partaken of food and drink and André expressed his thanks effusively to Haji Abdul, Sabri and André left to go to the qadi to sign the marriage contract. Sibylla proceeded to the party tent on the beach in order to supervise the preparations there.
The tent held two hundred guests. It was turquoise like the sea, and with pennants and ribbons blowing in the wind it resembled a fairy-tale palace. It was filled with thick rugs, soft sofas, and leather floor cushions. Coal basins on low tables emitted the scents of frankincense and amber, cinnamon and cloves.