At the beginning of August, André was standing on one of the newly planted fields, surveying his land. On the southern slope, several terraced areas were still untilled. He would wait until the following spring to plant orange trees there. But soon he would be able to plant the saffron crocus bulbs his friend Udad bin Aziki was sending to him.
First thing the following morning, the sultan’s workmen would leave Qasr el Bahia. Only one gardener, a cook, and a stable boy would remain. With the help of the sultan’s workmen, André had transformed Abd al-Rahman’s dilapidated and overgrown weekend palace into a halfway-livable property. True, there was still much to be done, but the roofs were newly covered, the stables repaired, broken door and window hinges fixed, broken wall tiles and floor mosaics replaced, and the hearths cleaned.
They had toiled from dawn till dusk for six weeks. Six weeks without Sibylla. André could hardly wait to see her again. Early tomorrow, he would ride to Mogador at last, and by afternoon, he would hold her in his arms.
“You wished to speak to me?” The Berber girl’s servant stood behind him.
He cleared his throat. He had assiduously avoided his “gift” for the last six weeks. Aynur had withdrawn with her servant to the former harem quarters, where he had not set foot even once. At the very beginning, he had asked Feradge if the two women had everything they needed and when the eunuch had nodded sadly, he had banished Aynur from his thoughts.
“Pack your mistress’s belongings. You are both leaving Qasr el Bahia tomorrow morning. You are returning to Aghmat. Sheikh Udad bin Aziki of the Chiadma Berbers will accompany you.”
“But, Sayyid—” The old woman looked at him with fear.
“Go! Tell your mistress to get ready!”
“Very well, master.” She scurried away.
“You cannot return to Aghmat, Sayyida! You know your father will punish you!” Tamra, Aynur’s servant, anxiously paced the floor of the small room in which the two women had slept these last six weeks.
“But what am I to do?” Aynur stood at the window and stared into the inner courtyard, then pushed away from the windowsill, making her bangles jingle. “He does not want me. He has not looked at me even once!”
She had been seven years old when her father sent her to the sultan’s harem in Marrakesh.
“My little flower, you are more beautiful than the full moon when it rises over the top of the Atlas Mountains,” he had told her. “Make sure that your beauty catches the sultan’s eye. Then he will follow you like a little dog follows its mistress, and he will do whatever you wish—for the benefit of our family.”
During the following ten years, Aynur had received a thorough education. She could recite poems by Al-Jahiz, as well as the fables of Ibn Al-Muqaffa and the erotic verses of the Persian poet Hafez. She played the lute and sang. She was fleet-footed as she danced to the flute and the riq. She could prepare traditional spiced coffee and serve it gracefully, and it was while doing so that she finally caught the ruler’s attention. Just as her father had predicted, the sultan was enchanted. That very evening, she was bathed, made up, bedecked with jewels and pearls, and sent to Abd al-Rahman’s bedroom, smelling of precious oils. As soon as he started to touch her, she had hidden behind the bed like a frightened kitten and, when he had yanked her onto the cushions and pawed her with his greedy fingers, she had fought him with all her might.
After this unsuccessful night, she had been ostracized at court. All the women of the harem, from the favorite concubine to the lowliest of slaves, had laughed at her. Abd al-Rahman had issued an order prohibiting her from ever coming into his sight again. Her family, fearing that the entire clan had now fallen from the ruler’s favor, shunned her.
The foreigner, her new lord, represented her last chance. This man was no longer very young either, but he was handsome and well built. He appealed to her. But even more appealing was the idea of becoming the mistress of Qasr el Bahia.
“He has not even looked at me,” she repeated, perplexed. “And I don’t have crooked teeth or warts on my face, and I am a virgin!”
“There must be another woman who has captured his heart,” Tamra explained. “We have to make him forget this woman. There is no other way for you.” She studied Aynur. “Where are you in your menstrual cycle?”
Aynur did a quick calculation. “The moon is full in two weeks. That is when it begins again.”
“That means you are now ready for his seed!” the servant said with excitement. “You must lure him into your bed this evening. Remember: you have this one night to save your life!”
Aynur lit up as Tamra’s words sank in.
“Go to the foreigner and tell him I want to prepare a farewell dinner for him.” Aynur ran to a chest of drawers on which stood a small carved wooden box. She opened it, took out a pea-sized ball covered in gold leaf, and held it between her thumb and forefinger. “I will season his food with the nectar of paradise. And then I will tear the other woman out of his heart.”
Tamra nodded ceremoniously. “Inshallah. Let it be so.”
“Please, my lord, taste this!” Aynur kneeled gracefully on the floor before André and offered him a silver tray.
He propped himself up on the cushions and looked at the appetizing morsels. “Stop calling me that. I am neither your lord nor your master. What is this?”
The aroma was enticing. He had accepted Aynur’s invitation out of guilt. After all, he had hardly been very accommodating since her arrival at Qasr el Bahia. He had ignored her and, tomorrow, he would send her away like a misdelivered package. Dining with her this evening was the least he could do. But if he was truly honest with himself, he was also curious to find out who the veiled little person with the mysterious dark eyes really was.
Her servant had come to fetch him when the sun began to disappear behind the top of the Atlas Mountains. Since then, he had been lying on a mountain of cushions in a small room. Aynur floated like a shadow in the almost-dark room lit with an oil lamp and served him one temptation after another. Her arm and ankle bracelets jingled softly in harmony with her caressing voice as she offered him the little mouthfuls, each one a new surprise for his palate. He had long forgotten his resolution to stay only a short while. He sprawled lazily on the cushions and his thoughts were as blurred as if he’d had many glasses of red wine. At one point, the thought crossed his mind that she might have drugged his food. After each successive bite, he felt more relaxed and content.
He watched as Aynur balanced the tray on her knees. Her round breasts were visible through the gossamer garment. Was he mistaken or had she colored her nipples?
“It is steamed quince, stuffed with couscous. They should really contain lamb as well, but since you do not own any livestock yet . . .” With a little smile, she took one of the round, stuffed fruits and placed it between his lips.
“Mon Dieu, that’s spicy!”