The Mer- Lion (83 page)

"If all is well, I contact the girl's mother within two days and suggest the marriage. No answer is given immediately. The girl's father must be consulted. Two days later, the girl's mother comes to visit me with her answer, which, if affirmative, paves the way for actual wedding plans." Ramlah smiled at the picture she'd painted in her own mind, then turned to Aisha. "Well, what do you think?"

"It sounds like fun." Now it was Aisha's turn to hug her mother. "And I agree, I think you'd make a truly proper Arab mother-in-law."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so!" Aisha assured her mother. "Tell Ali ben Zaid that in case he ever decides to marry properly, I'll act as his mother." "I'm sure he'd be delighted."

"I'm not. But enough of that. What I am is a Berber mother. Mother of the most beautiful daughter in the world. Tonight, our Berber relatives expect us. Let's not keep them waiting any longer, shall we?" Aisha shook her head. Then the two women left the bathhouse and entered their litters to be borne to the tent of Aisha's grandfather.

The man who came out to meet their litters was the selfsame desert chieftain who had spoken to de Wynter earlier that day: Sheikh Zaid ben Sadr. Lovingly, this fierce-looking man greeted the two women: "My tent is your tent."

"And mine yours," Ramlah said.

He then led them into the tent, across thick carpets to low divans, piled high with cushions, brass trays arranged before them upon carved stands. Once the guests were seated, introductions were made ceremonially, although Ramlah and Aisha had known these men all of their lives. Then, the first servers rushed in carrying hooded wicker baskets to keep the soup hot. Following the soup, which was drunk from handleless cups, came a pastry of eggs and chicken. Each pastry arrived on its own large dish and was predivided into five or six portions—the sugar mounded in the center was to be sprinkled at the diner's discretion upon his portion. Pigeons stuffed with pistachios and rice came next from more covered baskets
...
and chickens stuffed with two kinds of nuts
...
and, as they were Berbers, a whole roasted lamb. Crisp on the outside, juicy within. No feast would be complete without couscous, but Ramlah, as hostess, served it near last so that the guests might feast on the delicacies first. After that came the sweets! Among them a confection of ground almonds, dates, and pistachio nuts, dribbled with oil, shaped into balls and dusted with pounded sugar. Within one of
them
was
hidden one whole almond. He who got that, by
tradition,
would give the next wedding feast for relatives.

Finally came the hot and cold: ices to refresh the palate
...
thick, black coffee and sweetened syrupy tea to refresh the mind. Now Ramlah basked in the compliments of her
male
relatives on the quality of the house she ran, the foods
she presented. Although such
compliments were traditional, she knew from the way her guests ate and ate, licking fingers to get the last drop, that her cooks had done her proud. As well they might, for they had been cooking for over a week.

While they waited for the entertainment to begin, Ramlah, her daughter, and the sheikh talked. Actually, the sheikh talked and Ramlah responded.

"My daughter, let me compliment you on your daughter, she will be a lovely bride."

"My
father
,
she wishes only to bring honor on her house."

"My daughter, let me compliment your daughter on the horses of her breeding."

"My father, she wishes only to continue the bloodlines established by her house."

"My daughter, what of her house's own bloodlines? Have the games produced candidates worthy of adding to our house?"

Ramlah suspected Ali had been talking to his father. "My father, she is aware of her obligations to her own line. As t
o candidates, the games are not over yet
."

The sheikh continued his relentless questioning. Aisha, for once, did not regret that she must keep silent unless spoken to direcUy and let Ramlah answer her grandfather.

At last, the sheikh spoke his mind. "Today I saw one that , impressed me much
...
as he has my son. The one known as the
jamad ja'da.
I should be pleased to welcome sons of his loins into my tent."

Ramlah and Aisha exchanged glances. They had not expected the old man to state a preference so early. Particularly a preference for a man the women had not chosen. Ramlah cleared her throat. "My father?"

The sheikh held his cup out for more boiling hot coffee. "Yes, my daughter?"

"My father, there is another. One you did not see today. A giant of a man worthy of your attention."

The sheikh only harumphed, then slurped from his cup noisily, cooling the coffee as he did. Finally, he turned to his daughter and inclined his head graciously. "My daughter, I shall look for him on the morrow. I promise you that. But the silver-haired one, I am sure, is
ajmal!
If she chooses the other, so be it; I have another granddaughter. Your sister Khadija's child."

There was no more conversation. The fire-eater had arrived with his band of musicians. To the banging of metal rods on metal strips, the man stuffed candles and coals and burning twigs in his mouth. Lastly, he produced an enormous candle—a long, thick, black one that burned, when lit, with a sputtering, flaring flame. This one, too, after suitable build-up, he swallowed, but when he removed the candle, the flame had transferred to his mouth. Blowing flames, he relit the candle, then swallowed it again. Again the flame left the candle for his mouth. This time he lit handkerchiefs, dung chips, and wood splinters; the whole while the guests, especially the women lining the walls of the tent, sitting or squatting behind their menfolk, oohed and ahhed.

The fire-eater was followed by a troop of acrobats, who walked on their hands
...
on one foot and one hand
...
upside down on all fours
...
like a human wheel, spinning across the floor. Their act was cut short, however, when they built a human pyramid that fell. However, the guests clapped heartily for them, even after the fall.

After the acrobats, a young lad entered leading the old man who had told stories to Aisha the other night. The blind one leaned heavily on his staff but more so on the shoulder of the dark-haired beauty. Aisha cynically guessed from the looks he received that this lad supported his grandfather in more ways than one.

Carefully, the lad seated the old man upon a thick cushion placed upon the edge of the rug; the staff he placed across the blind man's lap. Then, he squatted behind his grandfather.

Aisha looked at her mother quizzically. Story-tellers could drag out their entertainment for hours, eating and drinking their fill at their hosts' expense. Naturally, the longer the tale, the greater the
tajziya
they received. However, Aisha consoled herself that the man had not taken overlong with his tale of the marriage of Adam and

Eve. With the very first words out of his mouth, she wished he'd embarked, on the longest and most boring tale he knew:

"Come, Aisha, fill the goblet up.

Reach round the rosy wine,

Think not that we will take the cup

From any hand but thine.''

To Aisha's dismay, her guests expected that she do ju
st th
at. Servers were handing out goblets, others stood by with ewers, waiting for her to hand round the rosy wine. Gracefully she did what was necessary to do.

"A draught like this 'twere vain to seek,

No grape can such supply:

It steals its tint from Aisha's cheek,

Its brightness from her eye."

And this was only the beginning. All of the man's poems were addressed to Aisha. It was an age-old tradition that not only Ramlah had known, but every other woman in the room as well: to temper the poetry and make the selections to honor or tease the bride. Of course, the groom, too, at the traditional wedding would have come in for his share of fun. Tonight, he, whoever he was, received his in absentia.

Aisha, with too successful art,

Has spread for me love's wicked snare;

And now, having caught my heart,

She laughs
...
and leaves me in despair.

Thus the poor sparrow pants for breath,

Held captive by a playful she

And while her heedless hand deals death

The thoughtless child looks on with glee!"

Aisha had no choice but to smile, to look pleased, to playact in response to the old man's poems, which went on and on, as did her guests' teasings. After a while, her face mindlessly reflected the
proper mood of joy or pride or whatever. The only thing it refused to do, while Aisha's thoughts were elsewhere, was blush.

She was dunking on her grandfather's remark, "I have another granddaughter
..."
Aisha knew the girl.
Fat, fatuous, flabby Fatima, aptl
y named. Not an intelligent thought in her head, not a brave bone in her body. Aisha was determined that that girl would never have the
jamad ja'da.
Not if she had to marry him herself first. Aisha's eyes widened as she realized what she'd just said to herself. Then she blushed. And just in time, for the old man had launched into still another poem.

Aisha had heard enough. She needed to get to her tent and think through her strange thoughts about the
jamad ja'da.
She knew he was not the wise choice; the tractable, good-natured giant was. That one she could wind about her finger, throw him a crumb or two, and have a slave for life. The white-haired one, on the other hand, would be a challenge she was not sure she wanted to accept
...
nor one she would win! Why, then, she asked herself, did she even consider it. Was she mad and would this feast never end?

Fortunately for her, the grandfather, too, wished the evening over; the poetry had awakened fires within him that had not been stoked in weeks. Hot-blooded Ramlah was not averse to leaving early, before her passions awoke too far and couldn't be controlled the usual way. Thus the feast of the relatives ended quite early, as such feasts go.

CHAPTER
38

24 January
a. d
. 1533/ 16 Jamad II
a.h
. 939. The sixth day

Day dawned magnificently. Rays of light misted the African night. The desert clothed itself with a rose red hue. The tents in the city loomed larger and yet softer than ever. Then, suddenly, the sun seemed to surge forth into the sky. But the competitors in the city had no eyes for the sky. Nor did they taste the food they ate, nor notice the macabre remains they passed by. Today all was right with Ithe world. Today was the sixth day. The last day. And for those twenty men the adrenaline flowed, for today the prize was in reach.

Fear may be a powerful incentive, reward even stronger, but the two pale when~compared with freedom. So it was that the sadness of the seven slaves was replaced by determination. To survive this final day. To win their freedom. They never dreamed such a freedom was as illusory as the mirages that people the desert. Only the thought of freedom had brought them this far. They needed it as a reluctant horse needs spurs—to keep them going.

The nineteen contestants who had survived yesterday's wild stallion event, plus Fionn, gathered for one last time in the room of the
gladiators. Twenty out of 180. The rest? Known or presumed dead, courtesy of the Moulay Hassan.

Looking about them, the seven slaves had to admit the cream had risen to the top; the best had made it to the end. All except Eulj Ali, of course, who was either the luckiest man there or had friends in high places. Everyone avoided looking at the poor man who'd roped the zebra. If yesterday afternoon had been frustrating for those working with the stallions, for him it had been futile. He knew, as the others did, that in capturing the zebra, he had merely postponed the inevitable. However, the others on entering the arena suddenly had qualms as to their accomplishments the previous day. After a night of rest, would the stallions be wild again? Another thing: the stallions had been removed en masse. If they returned the same way, how would they match up horse and owner? Or would they? Perhaps all of the hard work in each breaking his own animal might benefit someone else. The corollary, of course, was that each might get a horse that someone else had only half-broken, or worse. Questions tumbled through the minds of all. Only time
, or the judges, could answer th
em. Thus, when the judges entered the arena, the contestants crowded as close as possible in their eagerness to find out what was happening.

Ibn al-Hudaij, the head judge, spoke first. "My congratulations to all of you who have qualified for the events of the final day. The blessings of Allah have indeed been with you. May His face continue to shine upon you, for by the end of today, one of you shall be named consort to the Amira Aisha, daughter of the
rafi as'sa'n,
the Moulay Hassan—may Allah look upon him with favor.