A Memory of Love (31 page)

“I must think on it,” the caliph repeated, but both Alia and Baba Haroun knew that he had already made up his mind. He wanted a child from Noor and would not be satisfied until he had one.

“My lord, of interest to you, perhaps,” Baba Haroun said, “there is a young poet in the city—the foreigners call him a minstrel. His songs are drawing many to the tavern of Akram Yasir. I have gone myself and heard him. He sings in both our language and the many languages of the world. Perhaps before he goes on his way we should have him to the palace to entertain. He is pleasant to look upon and nicely spoken. I believe the harem ladies and the children would enjoy him, as I am certain would you, my lord.”

“Very well,” the caliph said, “you may issue my invitation.”

The chief eunuch bowed low and hurried off.

The caliph left his first wife, and Alia sent one of her women to ask the lady Noor if she would come and join her. Rhonwyn came willingly, for she liked Alia and enjoyed her company. When the first wife dismissed all of her women so that they were alone, Rhonwyn knew that something important was about to happen.

“What is it?” she asked Alia.

“Do you love Rashid?” Alia said softly.

“I respect him and I love his passion,” Rhonwyn replied carefully.

“But do you love him?”
Alia persisted.

Rhonwyn shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “My memories of Edward de Beaulie are yet strong in my head. Perhaps one day they will not be, and I will love Rashid. Allah only knows he has been patient and kind. You arouse guilt within me by asking such a question, Alia. Why is it you do so? Surely you do not think I mean Rashid any harm?”

“No, no!” Alia replied. “I ask because of something he has said. He wants a child from you, Noor. Do you want a child?”

Rhonwyn looked astounded. “
A child?
I had not thought of having a child. A child would bind me to Rashid. With Edward …” She paused, and then said, “You know how it was with Edward, my friend. We were just beginning to explore our love when I was snatched away from him. Thinking on it, I know now that I should have liked to have borne Edward's children. Why does Rashid want a child of my body? He has children to follow him. I am his plaything, his latest passion. I am certainly nothing more to him than that, Alia.”

“He loves you, Noor. Do you not realize it? Rashid is in love with you. That is why he wants a child of your body.” The caliph's first wife looked deeply into the eyes of her beautiful companion. “Oh, my poor Noor,” she said. “You have been awakened to passion, but you know nought of love, do you?”

“I love Edward!” Rhonwyn cried.

“I wonder if you really did, my dear. I wonder if he truly loved you. You did not know each other long enough, and your relationship, from what you have told me, was quite adversarial most of the time you were together. You were yet a child, playing at your games of war with your weapons. You were careless and heedless of what would happen to you, else you would not have rushed off to join a battle and be captured. You would have withdrawn to your sick husband's side at the first alarm of trouble, Noor. But you did not. You thought only of yourself, not of Edward de beaulie, didn't you? I say these things not to distress you, my friend, but to waken you.

“You are loved by a good and powerful man. Open yourself to that love. Passion shared between two people who love one another is far more potent than passion merely shared between a man and a woman, my Noor. This I know from my own experience. A child born of such a love is a most fortunate child,” Alia concluded.

Rhonwyn's hand had gone to her mouth in startled realization as Alia had spoken to her. She had been a child. Selfish and determined to have her own way in everything. What a disservice she had done Edward. And ap Gruffydd as well. But despite Alia's words, Rhonwyn knew she could not love Rashid al Ahmet as Alia did. More than ever now she wished she could return to Edward de Beaulie and tell him of all she had learned. Not just of passion but of herself. She wanted them to begin again, but it was impossible. She would have to go through life bearing the guilt for thoughtlessly abandoning him for her own pleasure. And she had an added guilt in the caliph who loved her.

“You look so stricken,” Alia said. “I did not mean to make you unhappy, Noor.” She reached out and patted her friend's arm.

“Nay,” Rhonwyn said. “You have but made me face myself for the first time in my life, Alia. I am not certain I like what I see. I wonder if I understand what love is at all.”

“Let Rashid teach you!” Alia pleaded.

“How can you say that to me when it is obvious that you love him with all your heart? How can you so willingly share him, Alia?”

“
Because
I love him, and
because
it is our way,” the older woman said. “It is not possible for one woman to satisfy a man. A man is like a honeybee and needs many flowers to keep him happy.”

Rhonwyn shook her head in despair. “Four years ago,” she said, “I lived in a border fortress with my brother and a garrison of rough men who had raised me. I knew nothing of being a woman. I didn't even know God, Alia. My brain aches with all I have learned in these last years.” She sighed. “I will try to love Rashid, I promise you, but why would you encourage me to have a child? What if it is another son? My son could rival your son. Do you want that?”

“Mohammed will follow his father and will be years older than any son you bear our lord,” Alia said assuredly.

“Is it custom that the eldest son follows his father here in Cinnebar?” Rhonwyn asked Alia.

“No,” Alia answered, “but everyone knows Mohammed is to follow his father onto the throne of Cinnebar.”

“What if I bear the caliph a son? What if the caliph does not go to his reward in Paradise until that son is twenty years of age? What if he loves my son better than yours because of the love he has for me? And loving my son better, he names him the next caliph? How would you feel about that, Alia?” Rhonwyn asked her friend.

Alia's face was a mask of her conflicting emotions, but then she answered honestly, “I should not like that, Noor.”

“And therein lies the danger,” Rhonwyn replied. “I would rather have your friendship, Alia, than bear a son to rival yours.”

“But you might have a daughter,” Alia said, “and he truly desires a daughter from you. He has already fathered two sons and two daughters. You could have a daughter, Noor.”

“His passion is hot and potent for me, Alia. His seed is copious when he releases it into my hidden garden.
I could have a son.
I know what is done to prevent conception here in the harem, for Nilak has explained it to me. Please, give me a little more time before you withdraw that special brew from me. I need to think. So do you. He need never know. I care not if he thinks me barren, Alia. He will not stop loving me or gaining pleasure from my body. Perhaps I can even learn to love him a little bit to add to his delight,” Rhonwyn said.

“She speaks more sense than I would have thought,” Baba Haroun said, stepping from behind a wall hanging. “Do not scold me, lady, for listening. You know that my duty to you is paramount. Have I not been with you since you were but a child in your father's house? Lady Noor is wise to consider all the consequences of the caliph's desire. What, indeed, if the caliph loved a son of her body more than Prince Mohammed? She would not, I believe, encourage such a thing, for there is no malice in her, but we cannot control the caliph's feelings, as you and I know. A son of Noor's body could prove a catastrophe for Cinnebar. For us all, my lady Alia! Listen to the lady Noor.”

“Fate, my dear Baba Haroun, will take its course no matter what we do. The Jews have a saying:
Man plans. God laughs,
” Alia said quietly. “If Rashid desires a child of Noor, then it is her duty to give him one. I am willing, however, as head of my lord's harem, to let her wait a little more before she must fulfill that duty.”

“It will be as my lady wills,” the chief eunuch said.

Rhonwyn bowed her head in obedience to the first wife, but afterward told Nilak of all that had happened.

“A child!” Nilak said excitedly. “That would be wonderful, my dear lady. I knew you were fortunate the day I first laid eyes upon you. The lady Alia is correct when she says the caliph loves you. Many in the harem are very jealous of you, although you would not notice it, having no acquaintance with the other women.”

“The others bore me,” Rhonwyn said. “They seem to do nothing but lay about beautifying themselves and hoping that the caliph will notice them. I far prefer Lady Alia's company.”

“There is to be a special entertainment for the harem shortly,” Nilak told her mistress. “A famous young musician who has been in the town entertaining at a tavern. He is to come to the palace in a few days and sing for us, it is said.”

“How is that possible, since we are not allowed to be seen by others?” Rhonwyn asked.

“The harem, but for the lady Alia and you, will be seated behind screens. You two, however, are permitted to sit at the caliph's feet, suitably veiled, of course. There are but a few invited guests. The vizier, the caliph's treasurer, the imam. No others. It is an informal event, my lady Noor.”

“I always enjoyed music,” Rhonwyn said, “although our music is different than yours.”

“These musicians are foreigners. They sing and play in many languages, I am told. Perhaps even yours,” Nilak replied.

“I doubt it,” Rhonwyn said with a smile. “Welsh is a difficult tongue. Almost as difficult as Arabic.”

“Which you now speak flawlessly and without even an accent,” Nilak praised the younger woman.

“When are we to hear these musicians?” Rhonwyn asked.

“Baba Haroun has not yet announced their coming” was the reply. “It should be soon, though.”

The mere mention of an entertainment to which they were to be invited set the harem women abuzz with excitement. The mistress of the wardrobe was besieged with requests for clothing and jewelry. Gossip ran rife about what the lady Alia and the lady Noor would wear. The fact that they would be seated by the caliph and not behind the screens caused a great deal of jealousy.

“The wives always have more privileges, and why?” one girl whined as she braided pearls into her hair.

“Because they are wives and have children,” another more sensible and practical woman said.

“The lady Noor has no children,” the first replied.

“But she is easily the most beautiful woman in the world,” the practical woman answered, “and besides, the caliph loves her.”

The other women nodded in agreement. It was certainly no secret that Rashid al Ahmet was utterly besotted by the beautiful Frankish woman. The lady Noor, to give her credit, however, seemed modest despite their master's grand passion. Even the lady Alia was her friend.

The date for the entertainment was announced, and the excitement grew to a fever pitch. The evening the musicians came, the harem was shepherded by Baba Haroun and his minions into the great hall of the caliph's palace. The veiled ladies sat behind the sheer fabric screens, their view visible but faintly obscured. Rashid al Ahmet sat upon a low-cushioned golden and bejeweled throne set upon a black marble dais. On his right his eldest son, Mohammed, was seated upon a low stool, his head only reaching the height of his father's hand. On the caliph's left his other son, Omar, was similarly ensconced. The ruler of Cinnebar was garbed in a black and gold brocaded silk robe. There was a small gold turban upon his dark head with a large ruby in its center. His two sons were dressed in simple white robes, but their heads were bare.

The lady Alia sat upon a scarlet silk cushion to the right of her husband and just one step below the dais. She wore a scarlet kaftan decorated with gold, which complemented her coloring. The lady Noor sat upon a cloth-of-silver cushion to the left of the caliph and two steps below the dais. Her simple kaftan was turquoise blue in color, trimmed in silver. Both women wore sheer matching veils over their heads and drawn across their faces for modesty's sake, although anyone looking closely could have seen their features. Still, no man in the room among the few guests would have been so rude.

A hush descended upon the hall as the three musicians entered and bowed low to the caliph. They were swathed in the white robes and burnooses of the land. The tallest of them stepped forward as the other two sat upon the floor, their instruments at the ready.

“My lord caliph, I shall first begin with a song native to my own land and sung in my own tongue,” he said.

Rhonwyn started.
That voice!

The musicians began, and the tune was familiar to her.

“My sister, if you are among these women, you must contrive to sing back to me now so I may know it,” sang Glynn ap Llywelyn. “I have sought long for you. Sing to me, my sweet sister.”

“You must not start at the sound of my voice, brother, but I am indeed here,” Rhonwyn's voice rang out. Then she turned to look up to the caliph. “They sing a song native to my homeland in my own Welsh tongue. The singer invites all who understand him to join in, my lord. Please allow me to do so or at least explain if I may not.”

“Sing, my beautiful golden bird,” the caliph said generously. “I was not aware of what a lovely voice you had. You will sing for me alone in the future, Noor.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Rhonwyn replied. Then turning back to the musicians, she sang, “He says I may sing with you, for he does not know who you are, brother. Your song must be short else suspicions be aroused.”

“I have come to take you home, sister,” Glynn sang. “My musicians are Oth and Dewi. Tell us, how we may accomplish the impossible?”

“Remain in Cinnebar, brother. Use whatever excuse you must, but remain. I will find a way to contact you. It will not be easy, but I will succeed in time. Be patient and do not leave me now that you have found me. 'Tis best we end our song now, sweet brother. How I long to embrace you once again,” Rhonwyn's voice soared sweetly.

“I shall do as you say, dearest sister. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you,” Glynn finished the song. Then he bowed to the caliph.