Sheik (17 page)

He pinned Jamal with his dark, implacable gaze. “You are under arrest for treason, Sheik Jamal.”

“Are you mad?” Jamal sputtered.

“Seize him!” Hasdai ordered. Jamal was instantly surrounded.

Suddenly Hasdai noticed that Jamal’s men-at-arms were missing. “Where are your men?” Comprehension dawned. “You were wise to send them away, for they would share your fate. You betrayed us. You warned Youssef of our impending attack,” Hasdai accused. “You are under arrest. When we return to Meknes, the sultan will decide your fate. It grieves me to do this, my lord, but you’ve given me no choice.”

Resigned for the moment to his fate, Jamal asked, “Are we to return to Meknes immediately?”

Hasdai shook his head. “The sultan would be most displeased if I didn’t follow the fleeing Berbers. You will be returned to camp and remain under guard until my return. If Allah is with us, we can catch Youssef before he goes too deeply into the desert.”

“Your horses are no match for the Berbers’ superior
racing camels, born and bred in these harsh desert climes.”

“Enough!” Hasdai ordered. He was well aware of his chances of finding Youssef, but his loyalty to the sultan was unshakable. He issued crisp orders to his second in command, and soon Jamal was securely bound with leather strips, hoisted upon his horse and escorted to the campsite by a half-dozen burly Negro soldiers, who were to remain behind to guard him.

Zara regained her senses slowly, aware of the thick arms holding her securely to the saddle and the fast clip of the horse’s gait over the rocky plain. The hard chest supporting her was not Jamal’s—she knew that intuitively. The hand binding her was large and meaty, with thick fingers and blunt nails. Nothing like Jamal’s strong, aristocratic hands, which could be as gentle or as rough as the situation demanded.

“You are awake, lady. Good,” Haroun said when he felt Zara stir against him.

Zara turned her head to look at Haroun, and pain exploded in her jaw. She felt betrayed. “He hit me! Jamal struck me. Why, Haroun?”

“Jamal wanted to protect you. Since you wouldn’t leave of your own accord, he took matters into his own hands.”

“Where is he? Where are you taking me?”

“Jamal is still with the soldiers. I’m taking you to Paradise, where you will be safe.”

“My father is in danger! Jamal is going to attack my people.” She turned in the saddle, pounding
Haroun’s chest with her fists. “We must go back. I have to warn them.”

“I gave my word to see you safely to Paradise. Rest easy, lady, Jamal will see that no harm comes to your father.”

Zara went still. “He told you this?”

“No, he didn’t have to. I have known Jamal most of his life. I know how his mind works. He cares for you, lady, and would not want Youssef’s death to stand between you. He returned to your camp after placing you in my care. My guess is that he went to warn your father.”

“Can you be absolutely certain that is what Jamal did?”

“One can never be certain of anything save death, lady.”

“Then we must go back.”

“It is too late. We are nearing the village of Tinerhir. Jamal instructed me to purchase a horse for you. We can also buy food in the
souk
for the journey over the High Atlas.”

Zara said nothing but her mind worked furiously. Haroun was but one man and she was a clever woman. She wasn’t going anywhere until she knew the fate of her people. Besides, what Jamal had done to her was unforgivable. He didn’t seem the kind of man to strike a woman, yet he had done precisely that.

By the time they entered Tinerhir through the high, arched gate, Haroun had been lulled into complacency. Zara seemed subdued, and Haroun assumed he had convinced her that going to Paradise was in her best interests.

*        *        *

Jamal was released from his bonds to eat and relieve himself, and then he was promptly rebound. The six men Hasdai had left behind to guard him were aware of their responsibility and took no chances. If they let Sheik Jamal escape, the sultan would have their heads, but only after long and painful torture.

It seemed like forever, but in truth only seven days passed before a haggard Hasdai and his exhausted men returned to the campsite. They had followed Youssef as far as they dared. When they’d run out of water and food, they were forced to return. They had lost several horses due to dehydration, and half his men were suffering from heat stroke.

Hasdai rarely failed his sultan and was furious with Jamal. “I never thought you a traitor, my lord. Unlike you, I will never allow a woman to lead me around by my balls. Princess Zara must truly be amazing in bed for you to betray our master. Make no mistake, my lord, you will not escape punishment. Moulay Ishmail will know the full measure of your betrayal, and you will suffer for it.”

“I doubt it not, Hasdai,” Jamal said grimly.

Zara found the ideal opportunity to escape Haroun and seized it. Haroun was sleeping. He was rolled up in his blanket on the ground, his head resting on his saddle. He had bound Zara’s wrist to his with a length of leather cord and had fallen into a deep sleep. If she so much as moved he would feel the tug and awaken. The ritual was always the same. Each night Haroun bound Zara
to him with the cord. Though Zara appeared docile, he’d learned that most women were devious creatures and he was taking no chances.

Zara had doubled her fist when Haroun fastened the thong around it that night. Once the thong was in place, she relaxed her fist and was gratified to find the thong was now loose enough to manipulate around her slim wrist. While Haroun slept she worked on the knot, until she could slip her hand through.

She arose cautiously and crept to where her horse was tethered. Haroun had purchased a blooded Arabian mare for her in Tinerhir, and Zara was well pleased with the beautiful animal. Not bothering with the saddle, Zara led the mare through the darkness, away from the snoring Haroun. When she was several yards away, she leaped upon the mare’s bare back and sped off into the night.

Haroun awakened at dawn, saw that Zara had slipped her bonds and flew into a rage. He recalled his promise to Jamal and knew he had to go after her. He knew where Zara planned to go and had only to follow.

Jamal’s hands were tied, forcing him to control his stallion with his knees, no mean feat when traversing mountainous terrain. But Hasdai was no fool. Jamal was not left unbound for more than a few minutes at a time. They had left the campsite and were traveling on a heavily forested pass through the High Atlas now. It was cold, and patches of snow appeared in the crevices high above them. Escape seemed unlikely, but Jamal
remained alert nevertheless. It was a long way to Meknes.

Zara crouched behind a tree on a slope high above the retreating army. She had heard the pounding hooves and seen the trail of dust and thought it prudent to seek concealment. The route was routinely used by caravans, but she thought the riders were moving much too fast for a caravan. Her caution paid off when she saw the sultan’s soldiers retreating over the mountains. Then she saw Jamal and froze. His hands were bound behind him and he was surrounded by soldiers. Jamal was a prisoner! Her mouth opened in silent protest.

Her sharp mind sorted through the facts and quickly found the answer. Haroun hadn’t lied when he’d said Jamal had warned Youssef about the impending attack. Jamal’s absence from camp must have been noted, and now he was in serious trouble. Jamal had committed treason, an act that might very well mean his death.

Zara was so engrossed in the passing army, she failed to hear the almost silent footsteps behind her. She started violently as a hand clamped solidly over her mouth.

“’Tis the sultan’s army. Do not cry out.”

Haroun! How had he caught up with her so quickly? Zara nodded her head in vigorous agreement, and Haroun’s hand fell away. “Do you see what has happened, Haroun? Jamal is Hasdai’s prisoner. What does it mean?”

Haroun’s expression turned grim. “Captain Hasdai must have found out that Jamal warned
Youssef. My guess is that he’s being taken back to Meknes for execution.”

Zara stifled a cry. “No! Please, Allah, no! Is there nothing we can do? Where are Jamal’s men-at-arms?”

“Knowing Jamal as I do, I’d say he found some excuse to send them away before he was arrested. There are only two of us and more than a hundred of them, Zara,” he said dryly. “There isn’t much we can do to help him.”

Zara flushed. Of course Haroun was right. The odds were against them. Unless … Her mind worked furiously. “We must find my father. He will help us to save Jamal.”

“By now Youssef and his followers are deep in the Sahara. It’s the only place they could go where Hasdai wouldn’t follow.”

“If Captain Hasdai is returning to Meknes, I doubt Father will remain long in the desert,” Zara mused thoughtfully.

“Where else can he go?”

“Back to our walled village in the Rif mountains. Ishmail won’t think to look for him there. The women and children grow weary of wandering from place to place and long for their homes. Winter is approaching. The village can easily be defended against attack should Ishmail send his army back into the Rif mountains, though I doubt he will. We must ride like the wind, Haroun. If Allah wills, Father will help us save Jamal.”

Three weeks later, after crossing the High Atlas and bypassing Meknes, Zara and Haroun arrived at the Berber village where Zara was born. Youssef had beat them there by one day.

Chapter Sixteen

Youssef was stunned when he saw Zara enter the village. He had resigned himself to her loss and now here she was, pleading for his help to rescue the man who had enslaved her. Though Youssef believed that Jamal cared for Zara, he was reluctant to go to the sheik’s aid. Attempting to rescue a man who was likely to lose his head seemed like a lost cause.

“Please, Father,” Zara begged. “We owe our lives to Jamal. I don’t know precisely how Captain Hasdai learned of Jamal’s treasonous act, but somehow he did and it’s up to us to save Jamal.”

Youssef regarded his daughter’s earnest face. Despite his misgivings, he could not deny her request. But there were certain things he needed to know before committing his men to Jamal’s cause.

“Do you love the sheik, Zara? Is there no man in our tribe you would have?”

“I care deeply for Jamal, though Allah knows he doesn’t care for me in the same way. He is very possessive of me, but he is like that with everything he considers his.” She flushed and looked away. “There is no other man I want, Father.”

“Allah knows the match is an unlikely one,” Youssef said with a sigh. “Nevertheless, he risked his life and reputation to warn us and will pay a steep price for his betrayal.”

Zara’s chin rose stubbornly. “Not if I can help it. Will you help, Father? Haroun is waiting for your answer.”

“Just tell me one thing, daughter. If we succeed, you know Jamal must flee Morocco. There is nowhere in this country he can hide to escape the sultan’s wrath. Jamal knew the danger he faced when he came to warn us. My question is this: Will you go with Jamal when he leaves Morocco?”

Zara flushed and gently touched her stomach. She was certain she carried Jamal’s child, a child she already loved. She wanted it even if Jamal did not. “It would be difficult to leave you, Father. Besides, what makes you think Jamal wants me with him?”

“Jamal will not leave without you, of that I am certain.” When Zara started to protest, Youssef quickly added, “I strongly urge you to go with him. I want you out of harm’s way. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe that Jamal loves you.”

“Jamal has loved many women,” Zara scoffed. She wasn’t as certain of Jamal’s love as her father
appeared to be. “I’ll make that decision when the time comes. First we have to rescue Jamal while his head is still attached to his body.”

“Then let us make plans. Call Haroun to join us.”

Jamal saw the cone-shaped spires of the royal palace rising high above the city of Meknes and felt a curious kind of relief. After many weeks the arduous journey was ended, and he’d finally learn his fate. He wasn’t afraid to die. What he truly hated was dying before being granted one last glimpse of Zara’s beautiful face. At least she was safe, he thought gratefully. In all their years together Haroun had never failed him. Haroun would see that Zara reached his mother in England safely.

The narrow, winding streets of the
medina
were teeming with people, all staring with curiosity at the large contingent of armed soldiers riding toward the palace. Pressed against the walls to keep from being crushed by the horses, people speculated openly about the prisoner being escorted to the palace. Those who recognized Jamal were stunned, and the buzz on the street preceded Jamal all the way to the royal palace.

They rode through the gate, past the granary, the lush gardens and the barracks, finally entering the palace grounds. Weariness etched the faces of the soldiers as Hasdai dismissed them and they hurried toward the barracks. Not a man among them envied Hasdai the chore of informing the sultan that Youssef had escaped yet again.

“Dismount, Sheik,” Hasdai ordered. “The sultan
was informed the moment we entered the city and will summon us directly. There is little Ishmail doesn’t know. His network of spies is extensive.”

Jamal threw his leg over his horse and slid to the ground. He turned around and pushed his arms toward Hasdai. “Unbind me. I cannot escape now even if I wanted to.”

Hasdai wasn’t so certain. Jamal was as sly as a fox. After giving Jamal’s request careful thought, he unsheathed his knife and cut through the bindings.

The resulting pain was so intense, Jamal bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Blood rushed to his hands, and several minutes passed before he could speak. “Thank you.”

Hasdai’s reply, if any, was forestalled by the approach of a palace guard. The man halted before Hasdai, gave Jamal a cursory glance, and said, “The sultan is waiting for your report in the Hall of the Sultanate.”

Hasdai squared his shoulders and nudged Jamal forward. Hasdai wasn’t looking forward to this audience. Moulay Ishmail’s mood changes made him difficult to predict. If he become angry enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to order Hasdai’s death along with Jamal’s. Death he could face; it was the torture he feared.

The Hall of the Sultanate was packed with people. Evidently Jamal’s humiliation was to be made public. Few spectators dared to look Jamal in the eye for fear of earning Ishmail’s displeasure. Jamal strode forward, aware of his soiled clothing and disheveled appearance. He was exhausted,
dirty and worried about Zara. By now she should be close to Tangier, where his ship awaited to carry her to safety.

Jamal dropped to his knees beside Hasdai and made his obeisance to the sultan.

“Where are my enemies?” Ishmail thundered. “Since you have returned without them, am I to assume you let them escape? You may rise and explain.”

Hasdai looked uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. He’d seen the sultan in a rage before and knew what to expect. He glanced at Jamal and wished there was some way to avoid this. He’d always respected and admired the sheik, but he owed his loyalty to the sultan.

“I will explain, Hasdai,” Jamal said, taking pity on the man. He addressed the sultan directly. “Do not blame Captain Hasdai, great Ishmail. I am solely to blame for this failure.”

Ishmail’s beady black eyes settled disconcertingly on Jamal. “I eagerly await your explanation, Sheik Jamal. Was I wrong to trust you again? How have you betrayed me?”

Jamal dragged in a deep, steadying breath. “Call it what you will, but I confess to warning Youssef of the planned attack, thus allowing him time to flee.”

Ishmail leaped to his feet, his face mottled with rage. “Treason!” he bellowed, pointing a thick, beringed finger at Jamal. “Why did you betray me?” Jamal opened his mouth to speak but Ishmail jumped into the void. “Nay, do not say it. I already know. ’Tis the Berber princess. She has bewitched you. You’re a foolish man, Jamal. No
woman alive is worth a man’s life.” He gave Jamal a truly evil smile. “Your punishment must be equal to the crime. Torture first, I think, then a slow death. When the pain becomes unbearable, think of the fleeting pleasure the Berber wench gave you and curse her for bewitching you.”

“Let me remind you, great sultan, of how greatly you benefited from my pirating ventures. My loyalty never wavered, not once in all the years I served you. My only excuse is that I could not bear the thought of Zara’s death. I am guilty of loving too much. If nothing short of my death will appease you, then so be it.”

“You are guilty of loving unwisely,” Ishmail charged harshly. “You will die for your mistake. Nothing less will satisfy me, and well you know it.” He rubbed his bearded chin in a thoughtful manner. “But you are right. In the past you have served me faithfully and enriched my coffers, and for that I will grant you a boon. Before your torture begins, I will allow you two nights in which to make your peace with Allah. On the second night you may experience pleasure one last time with a woman. You seemed to enjoy my little Zinab. I will send her to you. After your death, all your property, including your ship and monies in your treasury, will be confiscated in my name.”

Two nights. He was to have but two nights in which to dream of Zara and what might have been. As for his property and wealth, it meant little to him. What mattered was Zara’s safety. Allah willing, she was well on her way to England.

Jamal was surprised to find himself incarcerated in the same small room in which he’d
been held the last time he’d been summoned under guard to the palace. He had access to the
hammam
and the small walled garden, neither of which offered any hope of escape. The walls were still too high to scale, and jagged pieces of glass imbedded in the top were an additional deterrent.

Jamal stared at the wall a very long time, wondering if he could fashion a rope of bedding long enough and strong enough to hold his weight. But there was no way to anchor the rope on either side of the wall. There were no trees in the garden, only flowers and shrubbery, and no trees on the other side of the wall. He sighed and returned to the room. At least it wasn’t the dungeon, Jamal thought as he stretched out on the narrow couch. He was tired. So very tired …

Jamal slept the entire night through. When he awakened the following morning he realized this would be his last day on earth.

Zara mingled with a group of women slaves at the fountain, listening to their chatter. She had arrived in Meknes with her father and Haroun just yesterday. Her eavesdropping was rewarded when she learned the women were from the royal palace. They all seemed eager to discuss Jamal’s torture and execution, scheduled for the following day.

“It’s so romantic,” sighed a small veiled woman with soft brown eyes. “’Tis said the sheik betrayed the sultan for a woman.”

“Were I that woman I would swoon with pleasure, Talia,” a second woman declared.

“You’ve been with him, Zinab. What is Sheik Jamal like?”

“He is very handsome,” Zinab said on a sigh, “and gallant. But he loves another. The sultan has ordered me to pleasure him on this, his last night on earth.”

“I would gladly trade places with you,” Talia sighed.

“Come, ’tis time to return,” Zinab said. “I must prepare myself for Jamal. ’Tis my wish that he will die a happy man.”

That produced titters among the women as they picked up their pitchers of water and turned away from the fountain. Zara followed, eavesdropping as the conversation continued.

“Will you pleasure the sheik in the dungeon, Zinab?” Talia asked, giving a delicate shudder. She’d never seen the dungeon, but she’d heard it was a horrible place.

“Sheik Jamal is not confined in the dungeon. He’s been given a small room in the palace. You know the one, it lies at the end of the east wing. The room has a
hammam
and opens into a small walled garden. The walls are too high to scale, and the room so small and sparcely furnished that ’tis little better than a dungeon.”

Zara had all the information she needed as she hurried away to tell her father where to have the horses waiting. The rest was up to her. She must not fail.

A few hours later Zara passed through the palace gate, pretending to be a slave carrying a jug of water. Her body concealed by a
djellaba
, her
face hidden behind a veil, she walked unchallenged into the palace through the women’s entrance.

Zara was well aware of the danger she faced but chose to ignore it. When she’d arrived in Meknes yesterday, gossip about the torture and execution of one of the sultan’s most trusted men was all the townspeople could talk about. Zara and her father had donned white robes instead of the distinctive blue ones that marked them as Berbers, so they could mingle freely with the townspeople without risk. If everything went as planned, Youssef and Haroun would be waiting with horses shortly after midnight beneath the east wall.

The sun was still high in the sky, but Zara had much to accomplish before dark if she was to save Jamal’s life. Success depended upon finding Zinab, the slave girl, and Zinab’s willingness to help her. Still carrying the jug of water, Zara found the kitchens.

“Pour the water into the kettle,” someone ordered. Zara followed orders, then turned to face a sharp-eyed woman stirring something in a pot over a brazier. “Lend a hand, girl. Turn and baste the lamb on the spit.” Zara hurried to do as she was bid.

That chore done, she asked casually, “Have you seen Zinab?”

“Zinab no longer works in the kitchen. You’ll find her in the harem. She’s been ordered to attend the condemned prisoner tonight.” The woman cackled gleefully. “At least he’ll die a happy man.”

Zara worked silently for a few minutes. When the kitchen slave’s back was turned, she slipped out the door. Praying she wouldn’t be recognized by Badria, the harem mistress, Zara hurried through the maze of hallways toward the women’s quarters. She was grateful that she had learned something of the palace layout during her brief stay as a captive, else she’d be hopelessly lost now.

“Lady, where do you go?”

Zara froze. Being hailed by a guard was the last thing she’d expected. Her eyes were lowered respectfully as she said, “I am new to the palace. I’ve been instructed to go to the
hammam
to attend the sultan’s concubines.”

“Go then,” the guard said gruffly, “and do not tarry.”

Zara scurried off without comment. She entered the harem as unobtrusively as possible. Though it was every bit as opulent as she recalled, Zara did not stop to gawk at the rich carpeting beneath her feet, the sumptuous couches covered in silks and brocades, or the bevy of fluttering, gossiping women dressed in colorful harem clothing. How was she supposed to find Zinab in this throng of beautiful concubines?

Trying to avoid Badria, Zara kept to the outer perimeter of the huge room as she made her way to the
hammam
. The bathing room was a beehive of activity. Zara scanned the room but could not pick Zinab out from any of the other lovely women, for she had been veiled at the fountain. She made a slow circle of the room, listening to snippets of conversation, hoping for a clue to
Zinab’s identity. Her perseverance paid off when she heard two women talking about Jamal.

“He is too young and handsome to die,” a willowy redhead said.

“I wish I had been chosen to make his last night on earth a memorable one,” a sloe-eyed Oriental woman said with a sigh.

“You know our master would not send one of his own concubines or wives to pleasure a traitor,” the first woman said haughtily. “Zinab is naught but a slave. Ishmail does the traitor no honor by sending Zinab to him. Look at her.” She pointed an elegant finger at a petite brunette. “Slaves shouldn’t be pampered and indulged like that.”