Angeline (13 page)

The Sultan stepped off his boat onto the land. There a white-robed man awaited him, holding a cup. The Sultan dipped his hands into it.

“He is mixing saffron and musk,” Zahra whispered. “To perfume and bless the waters.”

“Who is that man who holds the cup?” Angeline asked.

“He is the guardian of the Nilometer,” Zahra answered. “Watch now, see what he will do.”

The Sultan stepped back. A slave was at his side immediately with a cloth with which to wipe his hands. The white-robed guardian held the cup for a moment, then he walked to the water’s edge. Carefully holding the cup high, he walked into the water. Angeline held her breath as he went deeper and deeper. Finally, he was swimming.

“He will swim to the miqyas now,” Zahra said.

Incredibly, the guardian did so, still holding the cup high with one hand. He reached the Nilometer, climbed the steps up to it, and poured the contents of the cup into it.

A long sigh escaped the onlookers.

As evening approached, the servants lit wax torches on the Emir’s boat. All around them other torches were lit until the river was alive with dancing lights. The night brought a welcome coolness. Angeline had brought the soft woollen shawl that Zahra had given her and she was grateful for its warmth. The Emir’s servants came with platters of sweetmeats and fruits, andspread them out on carpets for the Emir and Zahra. Zahra pulled Angeline toward her and handed her tidbit after tidbit.

“Is she not lovely?” she asked the Emir more than once.

Angeline was thankful for the darkness that hid her flaming cheeks. There was no need for the rouge that Zahra had made her wear and she scrubbed at it furtively whenever Zahra was not looking. She could not understand why Zahra persisted in drawing the Emir’s attention to her. The Emir only laughed and never spoke to Angeline directly, but several times she caught him looking at her quizzically.

They crossed back to the Cairo riverbank, and stayed long into the night. On the shore musicians and singers performed. Men of learning recited from the Qur’an as well. When it was finally time to leave, Angeline stumbled down the plank after Zahra, half asleep. The Emir would remain to watch the breaking of the dam and pray in the nearby mosque, Zahra told her.

In the litter returning to the Emir’s house Angeline did sleep. She barely woke enough to follow Zahra back to her room and help her make ready for bed.

“It turned out very well, I think,” Zahra murmured as she blew out the wick and pulled a cover over her. “Just as I planned.”

Angeline puzzled over the words as she tumbled onto her own couch, but sleep overcame her the moment she laid her head down. By morning she had forgotten them.

Now it was Angeline’s turn to regale Stephen with her news.

“You sailed in the Emir’s own boat?” Stephen asked when she had finished.

Pleased that he was so impressed, Angeline hastened to assure him that it was so.

“He did not speak to me, but he smiled,” she said. Then she stopped. She caught her lip between her teeth and her brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Stephen asked. “What worries you?”

“Naught,” Angeline responded quickly. Butthere was an uneasiness in her mind that teased at her.

Stephen looked at her curiously, but did not press her further.

The weather cooled and winter was upon them once again. One morning Zahra gathered up the work that Angeline had done and smiled broadly.

“You are almost as good as I,” she said. “The Emir agrees. He is most pleased with your copying.”

Angeline felt her heart do a somersault within her chest.

“Is it good enough …” she began. “Do you think I could ask him if I could begin to work for my freedom?”

“I think you could,” Zahra answered. “It will not be long now before I have earned my release. It would be good if you could take over from me then.”

“But will you not stay here?” Angeline asked.

“No,” Zahra answered. “Once I have my freedom I will leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“I will take Aza, and we will find a place of ourown,” Zahra said. She stood and walked to the window. A pigeon cooed on the sill. Absent-mindedly, she picked up a piece of bread that had been left over from her breakfast and began shredding it. She tossed the crumbs onto the sill and the pigeon pecked at them greedily.

“I have been planning this for so long,” she said. Her voice took on a dreamlike quality. It sounded to Angeline almost as if she had forgotten that Angeline was there. As if she were speaking to herself.

“We will live by ourselves, Aza and I. I will set up as a copyist. Women make good livings for themselves that way. I will work for myself then, not for any master.”

She caught herself, as if she had suddenly awoken from her reverie. She threw the rest of the crumbs out the window and turned back to Angeline.

“As for your question, binty,” she said in her usual calm, brisk manner, “yes. I think you may speak to the Emir. I will arrange it.”

Angeline worked even harder over the next few days, but her mind was not on the copying. She was mulling over Zahra’s words. Perhaps this was something she could do as well when she had bought her own freedom.

But what of Stephen? The question that hadno answer. Did she really want her liberty so badly that she would leave him?

Angeline dared not mention the matter again, nor did Zahra speak of it. After a few days, she began to worry that Zahra had forgotten about it or had changed her mind. Then, one morning when Zahra came out of the Emir’s rooms, she smiled at Angeline.

“You may speak to Abd’al Haseeb now, binty,” she said.

“Now?” Angeline asked, aghast. “Go in to him now?”

“Yes,” Zahra replied and gave her a push. “Imshi.”
Off with you.
“He is waiting.”

Angeline tried desperately to smooth her hair and straighten out her shift. Why had Zahra not given her more warning? She was still mussed and bemused by sleep.

“I look like an unkempt urchin!” she exclaimed.

“You look delightful,” Zahra replied.

There was no arguing with her. Angeline pulled her fingers through her hair one last time, took a deep breath, and stepped through the doorway.

The Emir was reclining on pillows behind the low table when she entered. He was robed and dressed for the day. Angeline hesitated at the door. He beckoned to her.

“Come in,” he said. He was smiling, his voice light and pleasant.

Angeline tried to calm the turmoil in her belly.

“So,” the Emir said, “my Zahra tells me you wish to work to earn your freedom.”

“I do,” Angeline said. Her voice was thin and the words shook. “I do,” she repeated more strongly.

“She has shown me your work. You have learned well,” he said.

“Shukran, Maulaya,” she replied.
Thank you, Master.
A year ago those words would have stuck in her throat.

“And how much do you think you are worth?” the Emir asked.

She looked at him in surprise. She had no idea how much he had paid for her. She had not thought of that.

“Not much?” she asked hopefully.

The Emir burst into laughter.

“Perhaps more than would be at first apparent,” he said.

Angeline bit her lip and waited. She twisted her hands tightly together and willed her knees to stop shaking.

“Well, we shall see what you can do,” the Emir said. He tilted his head to one side and looked at her more closely. “I shall miss my Zahra when she leaves me,” he said.

Something in the tone of his voice sent an alarm jangling through Angeline. She was reminded of the way he had looked at her so appraisingly on the night of the Plenitude of the Nile, but he said no more, merely waved a hand at her in dismissal.

She backed out of the room, almost tripping over one cushion and treading awkwardly on another. In the hallway outside she fought to regain her composure.

The interview had unsettled her. She resolved not to mention it to Stephen when next she saw him, but when she entered the schoolroom, he was not there. Father Martin sat alone at the table. She paused for a moment, shocked at how wan his face was. He did not see her and, as she watched, passed a hand over his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

“Are you not well, Father?” Angeline asked. She sat down beside him. She had thought often of the priest since Stephen’s comment.

He straightened immediately.

“A small fever,” he said. “It is nothing. It will pass.”

She would have questioned him further but he forestalled her.

“Stephen will not be with us today. He has gone hunting with Habib and his father. But come, we will get on with your lessons.”

Angeline set to work, but it was not the same without Stephen. After a short time she threw down her quill.

“I am feeling poorly too, Father,” she said. “I think I will go now.”

“Just as well,” the priest replied. “You have made more mistakes today than you have in the past several weeks all put together. Go, then.”

Zahra was working when Angeline returned to her room. Aza was playing at her feet. The child greeted her joyously.

“You are early today,” Zahra said, looking up briefly.

“My head pains me,” Angeline replied.

“I will send Samah for a remedy,” Zahra said. She made as if to rise.

“No,” Angeline said quickly. “It will pass.”

“Play with me, then,” Aza urged. “I am making a beautiful necklace for my mother.” She grabbed a handful of beads from a basket and strew them on the floor before her.

Angeline sank down beside her. Absent-mindedly, she picked up some of the beads and began to string them on a cord. Zahra turned back to her work. Aza chattered without ceasing, but Angeline’s mind was far away. She was remembering a girl she had befriended on the crusade. A girl who had chosen to stay in Marseilles and not join them on their ill-fated sea voyage. At thetime she had felt sorry for Alys. Sorry that she would not be amongst the glorious few who had persevered and kept their faith. Who would be God’s chosen to set the Holy City free.

Where was Alys now, she wondered. The woman who had offered Alys a home was a kind person. Alys probably had a good life there. Was she wed? Angeline wondered. Did she have a babe of her own? At that thought, sadness stabbed through her.

Her head did pain her. Madame Lafontaine would have had herbs to soothe it. She knew much about illnesses and remedies. She had offered to keep Angeline as well, but Angeline knew that the offer had been made only out of the goodness of her heart—she had no need of two girls. Angeline had refused.

Besides, she would never have left Stephen then.

The next week, when she returned to Father Martin, Stephen was there. She stopped short when she saw that his arm was bandaged.

“What happened?” she asked.

Stephen clutched the arm, but the look he gave her was one of pride.

“A jackal attacked me,” he said. “I had to fight it off.”

“How did you do so?” Angeline gasped. Her heart gave such a lurch that for a moment she could not breathe.

“In truth, I did not do much,” Stephen admitted, but his eyes did not lose their glow. “I managed only to keep the beast away from Habib. It was Zeid who came to my aid. He slew the beast with his knife. But now the Emir has decreed that as Habib’s guardian I may go armed as well.” He dropped his hand to his belt and Angeline saw the dagger tucked into it.

Once her heart had settled back down, she could not help but delight in the sight of Stephen standing so tall and proud, but then her joy faded. The boy she had followed would have cast that knife aside, certain that his faith was all that he needed. Where was that faith now?

Angeline’s head was aching again when she accompanied Zahra to the harem the next morning. The slave girls were dancing. The music snaked behind her eyes this day and set off wiry tendrils of pain.

When they had finished, Heba sidled up to Angeline.

“You are looking poorly,” she said. She seemed pleased about it. She gave a flounce, setting the beads she had strung about her neck and waist to jingling. Her eyes were bright with satisfaction, her cheeks glowed from the exertion of the dance. She was beautiful—and looked as if she were well aware of it.

“I danced for the Emir again last night. He was enchanted with me. Zeid himself told me so.” She turned to go, but cast a glance back over her shoulder.

“It is almost certain that he will choose me as a concubine. I will have power then.” She smiled a catlike, smug smile. “Zahra will not always be here to protect you,” she said. “Perhaps when she leaves I will ask for you to be my own personal slave. I am sure the Emir will grant my every wish most willingly.” She laughed and tripped over to where Nabeela and the other two girls were waiting for her.

Angeline kept her head high. She forced a disdainful smile and a casual shrug but she could feel her insides shrivelling.

What
would
happen when Zahra left?

It was not something that she could talk to Zahra about. Nor could she speak to Stephen or Father Martin. It was a worm of worry that curled itself inside her head and that she alone would have to endure.

Then one morning Zahra emerged from the Emir’s rooms beaming.

“Come, binty. You are to start working for the Emir with me this very day!”

Angeline followed her to her room, her hopes rising. Surely, if she worked well enough andpleased the Emir well enough he would heed her wishes and not Heba’s.

But she will be a concubine and make herself dear to him,
a small voice insisted.
You will still be naught but a slave.
She silenced the voice. Enough! Time to worry about that later. For now she would work as hard as she could.

But when they reached her room, Zahra turned to her.

“I have even better news, binty. I did not want to tell you until we were alone. There are even greater things in store for you—the Emir has chosen you to be a concubine!”

Angeline gasped.

“But I thought Heba …?”

“So did she,” Zahra said with a laugh. “But she did not take me into account in her plans.” She looked as smug and as satisfied as had Heba. More so.

Suddenly all became clear.

“You planned this!” Angeline exclaimed. “That is why you insisted I come with you to the festivities on the Nile. Why you dressed me so beautifully, took such pains with me. You were showing me off to the Emir! You were planning that he should choose me as a concubine as well as a copyist! Was that so you could have your freedom all the sooner?”

“But of course,” Zahra said. “This will serve me well, binty, and it will also serve you.”

“I do not want this!” Angeline cried. “I cannot do it!”

Zahra’s smile dimmed. She looked astonished.

“Why ever not? It is a great compliment. Your life here will be much improved. And when I leave, you will fill my place. You could not wish for better fortune.”

“I
cannot!”
Angeline cried again.

Now Zahra frowned. “You must,” she said. “No one refuses the Emir. It would be unthinkable. Besides, it is the best thing that could happen to you. You would prefer that he choose Heba?” she asked. “Do you not realize what misery that girl could make for you? I thought you would be grateful!”

Angeline brought herself under control with difficulty, but inside she was seething. How could she have ever trusted this woman? She had been betrayed—sold again—and there was nothing she could do about it.

“When?” She could hardly bring the word out.

“Tonight,” Zahra answered. She seemed not to realize how angry Angeline was. “I will make you ready myself, with Samah’s help.” Her face softened. “Do not be afraid, binty. He is a kindman. He will treat you with courtesy. It is a great honour that he bestows upon you.”

Angeline could not answer. She spent the rest of the day in a daze. She was to go to Father Martin that afternoon. When the time came, she was too distraught to think of a reasonable excuse not to.

“What ails you, child?” Father Martin asked her when she failed to answer a question for the third time.

“Nothing,” she answered quickly. She looked over at Stephen, who was watching her with concern. What would he think when he found out?

She picked up her quill and drew a paper to her, but the writing on it blurred. To her horror, a tear dropped and the ink smeared. She rubbed at it with one hand, furtively wiping her eyes with the other.

Stephen was at her side in an instant.

“There
is
something amiss,” he said. He laid his hand upon her shoulder and would have gazed into her face but she would not look up at him. Could not.

“It is nothing,” she repeated. She took a deep breath and fought down the terror that was rising within her. Then she shook her head wildly and leaped to her feet, scattering quills, ink, and paper far and wide.

“Nothing!” she cried again. She shook off Stephen’s hand—met his eyes for one agonized moment, then turned and fled from the room. She heard him call after her but she did not stop.

The terror rose and rose within her. Her mind churned wildly with one impossible plan after another, but the evening came and she knew finally that there was no escape. She gave up. She stood as frozen as a statue and let Zahra and Samah dress her and fuss over her. She stared out the window at the darkening sky. Pigeons flew, free and joyous as if taunting her.

Never again, they seemed to be saying. Never again will you walk with even the limited freedom of a slave. She had chafed at
those
bonds—how much greater were the bonds that lay ahead of her now?

She should have told Stephen. She should have bade him farewell, for surely, surely, she would never see him again. But she had not had the courage. Could not have borne seeing the light that shone in his eyes now when he greeted her die and his face grow hard. He would despise her. How could he not?

As a concubine her life would be restricted to the harem except for one or two outings a yearsuch as she had accompanied Zahra on. She would never see Ibrahim and his family again. Would she even be allowed to see Father Martin? She did not know.

She tried not to think of the Emir. Of the night that lay ahead. Zahra dotted her special lotus flower perfume onto her neck and arms. The sweet, heavy smell of it sickened her. Samah fitted her feet into golden sandals. Then Zahra fastened a veil upon her hair and let it drop over her face.

“You will go veiled now, binty, when you are out of this room. As do I.”

She made it sound as if it were an honour. To Angeline, as the gauzy cloth dropped in front of her eyes, it felt as if it were a shroud.

She followed Samah through the familiar passageways. This time she did not remain outside the Emir’s room, but stepped through the door. This time it was she for whom Abd’al Haseeb waited. She, whom he rose to greet, hand outstretched.

The very same servants who had brought her choice morsels of food and patted her on the head as if she were a pet dog when she had slepton the cushions outside the Emir’s door treated her differently on the morning after she emerged from his room. They treated her with deference, as they had treated Zahra.

Now they deem me a person worthy of respect, Angeline thought bitterly.

She determined to go to the servants’ hamman before she returned to Zahra. She had need of time to herself and, this early in the morning, no one else would be there. She resolutely kept her mind from thinking about the Emir. About what her life with him would be like from now on. She had nothing to fear from him, she had learned that. He was, as Zahra said, kind and respectful, but how could she live this way? In spite of herself, pictures of the years ahead of her unfolded themselves in her mind. Now, truly, she was trapped.

She entered the hamman and let her gown drop to the floor. Gratefully, she sank down into the cool water. She let her head fall back against the side of the bath and closed her eyes.

When she heard the Salat al-Fajr, the morning call to prayer, she roused herself. It was time to return to Zahra and begin the day’s work. She could not bear the thought of facing the woman again, but she knew she must. Betrayed or not, she would have to keep learning from her if she ever wished to be free, and now she was moredetermined than ever to achieve liberty. She could not live this way for the rest of her life!

She walked up the steps out of the pool and dried herself with a cloth that hung nearby, then left the hamman and made her way to the staircase leading down to the kitchen. She would pick up Zahra’s morning meal on her way. Then she paused. Would she continue to serve Zahra? Probably not. That, at least, was a blessing. She probably should not even have gone to the servants’ hamman this morning. Would she go to the concubines’ bath now? Would
she
have a servant or slave? It was the last thing she wished.

At the top of the staircase she heard a noise behind her. She turned. Anka and Heba, closely followed by Nabeela and Raful, stepped out of a connecting passageway and confronted her.

“Very grand you think yourself, don’t you,” Heba sneered. Her face was contorted with rage. She reached out and gave Angeline a push.

“Zahra’s pet!” Anka jeered. She gave Angeline a prod as well.

Nabeela and Raful, encouraged by the other two, shoved her back a step.

“La’!” Angeline cried.
No!
“Leave me alone!”

Their only response was to encircle her and shove her harder, bumping her back and forth from one to another.

At that something seemed to break within her. She could bear no more. She hit out with one hand and slapped Heba hard on the face. It was more of a blow than a slap. Heba gasped and put a hand to her cheek. Anka flushed scarlet.

“You dare to hit us, you swinish Franj?” she cried.

All four girls swarmed upon her. Angeline stepped back, trying to get away from them. Her foot caught on a loose corner of the rug beneath her feet and, before she could save herself, she felt herself falling down the stone staircase. Frantically, she reached out for something to stop her fall, but her hands closed on air. She was vaguely aware of someone screaming and realized it must be she. Then she lost consciousness.

When she regained her senses she was lying on her bed in Zahra’s room. Faces peered down at her. Zahra and a man she could not recognize. What was a man doing in Zahra’s room? she thought stupidly. She tried to move, but pain shot through her like a blazing knife. She fell back and swooned once more.

When she woke, the window of Zahra’s room was dark. It must be night. Had she been unconscious for the whole day then? Again, she tried tosit up, but Zahra was beside her and she put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Be still, binty. Do not try to move,” she said. “You have hurt your leg badly. The doctor has encased it in plaster but you will have to lie here until it heals.” She cocked her head at Angeline. “The Emir’s third wife, Nusaybah, sent her own physician to tend you when she heard what had happened. You are a surprising child—how did you ever come to meet her?”

Angeline could not summon strength enough to answer her.

“Never mind. You will tell me of that later. For now, you must rest.”

Zahra laid a hand on Angeline’s forehead. It felt cool and soft. She was trying to smile, but her face was drained of colour and her eyes were big with worry.

“What is wrong with my leg?” Angeline asked. The effort of speaking was almost too much for her.

“The bones are broken,” Zahra answered.

“Bones?” Angeline asked. “More than one?”

Zahra caught her lip between her teeth, as if she had said more than she meant to.

“Yes,” she answered reluctantly.

Angeline craned her head to look down at her leg. The effort made her dizzy and she had to grit her teeth to avoid being sick. Her leg was encased in a glistening, damp, hard white binding from her ankle to her thigh. She tried to move it but could not. The effort made her cry out, and she fought down another wave of nausea.

“Will it heal?” she asked in a whisper.

“Of course it will,” Zahra answered quickly. Too quickly. “Of course it will.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” Zahra repeated. “Nusaybah’s physician is the most skilled in Cairo.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, but her face gave the lie to them. Angeline sank back.

A cripple.

She was to be crippled for life.