Crusade (16 page)

Sitting with her back to the wall, Aisha felt herself relax as she watched the monkey eat. She still hadn’t given him a name. It had bothered her for a time, as if it might mean that he didn’t belong with her or that she didn’t really know him. But now she liked his namelessness. It gave him autonomy. He was his own free self and didn’t need a mark of ownership. The monkey made a warbling noise and she stroked his head. The earthquake had made him anxious. To her mother-in-law Nizam’s deep disgust, Aisha had kept him in her bed last night.

“You share a bed with my son,” Nizam had snapped, when she had seen the monkey crawling out from under the covers that morning, “not
vermin
!”

When she had first moved into the royal harem shortly after her marriage to Baraka, leaving her mother and the quiet harem that belonged to her father, Aisha had been grateful to Nizam. Baraka’s mother, an imperiously statuesque woman with sleek black hair and fierce eyes, ruled the harem and had taken Aisha into her care in the palace, where more than one hundred women lived together, some wives and concubines, most of them slaves. It was a place of rumors and vicious intrigue, where cliques and factions reigned and where, Aisha discovered through the gossiping of the younger girls, murders were not uncommon. The sultan’s four wives had personal food tasters to guard against poison. Baybars was not a particularly amorous sultan and many of the girls, gifts from various princes and governors who wanted to impress or please their ruler, had never even seen his bed. Competition for his affections between the wives and those women who wanted to elevate their status, perhaps becoming a favorite lover, even a wife when one of the four died, was brutal.

At first, Aisha, in a high position as wife of the future sultan, who was too young to have his own harem, elicited suspicious resentment from the younger women. She wore the most beautiful gowns made by the slaves, as instructed by Nizam. She was given two black eunuchs who were responsible for her daily needs: escorting her to the communal baths, fetching food and drinks and sweets whenever she desired. She was bathed and massaged daily by female slaves, as ordered by Nizam; her body hair, which had only recently started to appear and had caused her enormous embarrassment, was removed, painfully, with tweezers, and her skin was pumiced until it glowed. The attention made her feel awkward initially. She giggled uncontrollably during massages and protested vocally through the long plucking sessions. But eventually it had just grown tedious, and now it was simply excruciating.

Nizam had taken to overseeing her grooming, telling the slaves to use more soap, which stung her eyes, and to brush her hair until her scalp was raw. Since her wedding day, Aisha had been in Baraka’s bed only once, and she was well aware Nizam thought it her fault her
sweet
little son hadn’t summoned her again. The only blessing was that since she was no longer Nizam’s favorite, a few of the other girls had warmed to her. Only these blossoming friendships, her monkey and some of the lessons, namely poetry and dancing—she hated embroidery—kept her from despair. That and the private walks she took when Nizam was busy, managing to escape through a loose grille in one of the bath-houses.

Sometimes, she thought she might venture farther: leave the citadel, go down into the city. But she would be in such trouble if she were caught, and would bring such disgrace down upon her father, that she hadn’t dared to. She was also terrified of the chief eunuch, a colossal Nubian with ebony skin responsible for punishing the girls, by the whip or by execution, depending on the severity of the crime. Most of the male slaves were slow and stupid, castration causing their voices to be as high as a girl’s, their chins to be beardless and their bodies to grow flabby and lethargic. Aisha found them utterly intriguing and viscerally repulsive. They were not men, or women. In some ways they weren’t even people, just things that had been made, out of butter or soap, or something else soft and malleable that did what it was told. The chief eunuch was another matter. Perhaps his position gave him greater occasion to exercise his mind, or maybe his castration had been different—Aisha didn’t know. But he was quick and dangerous as a snake, and woebetide any girl who angered or insulted him.

Aisha rested her head against the wall, relishing the sense of freedom the silence gave her. At first she had been grateful when Baraka hadn’t called her back to his chambers, but recently she had found herself wondering why he hadn’t summoned her. Admittedly, the wedding night had been an ordeal that she didn’t think either of them would want to repeat, but she didn’t think that was her fault.

She had gone to him dressed in a gown of the barest silk, her face painted, jewels and gold clustering at her neck and wrists, leaving a trail of perfume behind her. She had been told what to do by Nizam and the women, and although her heart was thumping and her hands were clumsy and trembling, she tried. Baraka sat there for what seemed an age after she entered, not saying a word, pale-faced and sullen. They perched, side by side, on the foot of the bed, which was strewn with petals, in a silence so unbearable that Aisha finally turned to kiss him in desperation. Their teeth banged together as they opened their mouths, and she fought off an urge to giggle. The feel of his tongue in her mouth was strange, like a wet, wiggling fish, slimy and unpleasant. There was a brief moment of inept fumbling on his part, until, frustrated by his awkwardness, she lay back on the bed and pulled him onto her. He had lain torpidly on top of her for several long minutes, before finally rolling off and striding from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Aisha sighed and opened her eyes, wondering if she should send Baraka a message. They could just talk. Nizam wouldn’t know that they were just talking; she would be pleased, would stop crowding her. Maybe Baraka wanted a friend more than he wanted a wife? If it meant she could regularly escape the harem without fear of being caught, she could force herself to like him. She stiffened, hearing footsteps coming out of the gloom toward her. Holding the monkey’s leash tight in her fingers, she slid into the shadows, pulling her knees to her chest. The footsteps grew louder. Aisha froze, willing herself to become one with the darkness, as a tall figure swept past. He wore the uniform of a commander. She recognized him from her wedding day. Aisha loosened her hold on the monkey’s leash as the footsteps faded. She was about to move, when she heard another noise, this one, a soft
pad
,
pad
. She’d barely had time to register it before another man passed by. This one she knew by name, and reputation. Her breath caught in her throat as Khadir sloped past the recess, eyes glinting in the blue-gray light slanting through an arrow slit farther down.

Aisha waited a few moments, then rose to her feet and grabbed the pail. The passage had always been deserted, and she didn’t know why the two men had come through it, but she obviously couldn’t risk staying any longer. She was about to slip out, when she heard yet more footfalls, these ones heavy, stamping. Aisha recoiled against the wall of the recess, but, in doing so, she trapped the monkey’s tail. He let out a high-pitched cry. The footfalls stopped. Aisha stood stock-still, holding the leash as firmly as she could as the monkey scrabbled angrily at her shoulder. The footsteps came closer, slowly now. She wanted to run, but was too scared to move. The owner of the footsteps appeared. Aisha, who half-expected the chief eunuch, Baybars or Nizam to emerge, let out a small gasp of relief as she saw Baraka. The prince, for his part, looked more terrified than she did, his dark eyes widening under his thick fringe of curly hair. For a few seconds, they stared at each other.

Then, Aisha managed to summon a smile. “Hello.”

Baraka’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“I went for a walk. Your mother knows I’m here,” she added, then cursed herself for being so stupid; he only had to ask Nizam to find out it wasn’t true. He appeared even more suspicious now. She started to feel annoyance bubbling up inside her just looking at his brooding face. “What are
you
doing here?” she retorted.

“None of your business.”

Aisha heard a note of fear in his voice. “Were you with Khadir?” she asked, intrigued as to what had worried him.

“Why? What did you hear?” he demanded, coming toward her.

“What ... ?”

Baraka grabbed hold of Aisha’s arm. “What did you hear?”

“Let go of me!” Aisha struggled to free herself from his painful grip. The monkey screeched and darted from her shoulder, the leash slipping through her fingers into air. “I didn’t hear anything!” she shouted at Baraka, as the monkey raced out of the recess and away down the corridor. “Let me
go
!”

Baraka held her a few seconds longer, his fingers pinching cruelly into her skin. Then he released her and turned away.

Aisha glared after him, rubbing her arm, which would be bruised tomorrow. “Foolish boy,” she said beneath her breath.

Baraka whipped around and slapped her across the face, putting all his strength behind it.

Aisha stumbled into the wall with the shocking force of it and stayed there, unable to do anything but clutch her cheek and stare, unable even to stop the tears welling and falling. The small smile that curled up the corners of Baraka’s mouth as he saw them hurt her even more than the slap, hurt her deep down inside like a knife turning. Baraka walked out of the recess, leaving her alone.

Kalawun headed through the palace corridors, sifting through the papers he held. He greeted a man he passed by. “Amir Kamal, have you seen the sultan this afternoon?”

“He is visiting the al-Azhar mosque,” replied the governor. “He was worried that yesterday’s earthquake had damaged it.”

“Then I will find him on his return. Thank you.” Kalawun paused in the passage as the amir moved off, looking at the papers. The scouts in Cilicia had sent a fresh report that he was impatient to discuss with Baybars. The reports from the borders were good. It was timely news. The balance of power within the court was still unstable following the fraught war council. The sooner the Anatolian campaign was under way, the sooner the more rebellious governors would be compelled to fall in line. But if Baybars was at the mosque, he might be gone for some time.

Just recently, Baybars seemed to have become obsessed with the repairs. Kalawun thought he understood why. Rebuilding the mosque was simple. Up it went, brick by brick, until it became a complete structure. Building territory wasn’t so tangible. It was all points on a map, boundaries that moved and changed. The mosque just became. It was something Baybars could look at every morning and know he had helped create. His frequent visits had, however, attracted unwelcome attention. Only last week, he was attacked by a Shia Muslim: the opponents of the Sunni majority. The man flung stones at him, shouting the name of Ali, before running off into the crowds. Baybars wasn’t hurt and the Shia was caught shortly afterward and crucified. But the assault had unsettled the sultan. He had tried to conceal it, but Kalawun had known him for too long not to see it. It was one of many attacks on his person and position over the past months, and it was unlikely to be the last.

Kalawun was about to move off toward the officials’ quarters, when a gray shape came flying down the corridor. He gave a grunt of surprise as Aisha barreled into his arms. She was shaking, her whole body wracked with sobs. His surprise turned instantly to concern. Gripping her shoulders, he pushed her away from him so that he could look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen. Strands of hair had twisted free of her
hijab
and clung to her face, sticky with tears. Kalawun frowned and pushed them aside, seeing a scarlet mark on her cheek.

“What is this?” he asked her. “Aisha? Talk to me. What has happened?” The firmness of his tone seemed to settle her.

“I’ve lost him, F-father,” she stammered.

“Lost who?”

“My monkey. He ran away.”

“Does Nizam know that you are out of the harem?”

Aisha couldn’t meet his gaze.

Kalawun sighed sharply. “You must not leave it without her permission, Aisha. How many times must I tell you?” He escorted her through a door that led into a deserted chamber. Kalawun turned to face her, but his expression softened as he saw another tear slide down her cheek. He touched the red mark imprinted there. “What happened?”

“Baraka,” she said fiercely. “He
hit
me!”

“He did what?” said Kalawun, feeling something shoot through him, a cold, iron something that made his whole body rigid.

“He was in one of the passages at the northern enclosure’s walls. The ones near the broken tower.”

“You were together?”

Aisha shook her head. “He was there with Khadir, I think. There was a commander there too. I thought it was deserted.” She looked up at him miserably. “I only went there to play.”

Kalawun didn’t answer. He trolled quickly through the reasons Khadir and Baraka might be together. As far as he was aware, they rarely spoke. Khadir’s threats and insinuations from the other week came back to him, and he worried. “This commander? Do you know who it was?”

“He was wearing a yellow cloak. I saw him talking with you at the wedding, before I came to speak with you.”

“Mahmud,” said Kalawun at once, his frown deepening. “Come. I’ll escort you back to the harem, where you will apologize to Nizam.” Kalawun spoke on before Aisha could protest. “And then I am going to have some of my men find Fakir for you.”

Her eyes registered watery gratitude. “Thank you, Father,” she said, not bothering to remind him that Fakir wasn’t the monkey’s name anymore.

But there was no need for any search party, for when Aisha and Kalawun arrived at the harem palace they found the monkey sitting on Aisha’s bed, much to Nizam’s annoyance.

Leaving his daughter, Kalawun headed back toward the main buildings, his mind clouded with the image of that handprint on Aisha’s cheek. Forcing himself to focus, he raked over the reasons Baraka, Khadir and Mahmud might have for being in a deserted part of the palace, together or alone. He found no answers and didn’t like the uneasy feeling it gave him.