‘Welcome back, Muhammad ibn Muhammad. I am only sorry my husband is not here to greet you. As you can see, the weather is really bad and I think he will not arrive till tomorrow. The messenger who brought the news said that the Amir insisted you not leave for Palermo without seeing him.’
Idrisi bowed politely. ‘I’m touched by your hospitality. If the storm carries on like this I doubt I will be able to leave in the morning. I will wait till the Amir returns. I, too, have things I wish to discuss with him.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of your daughter’s death. Were you close to her?’
‘No and that makes me feel guilty. But let us not talk about sad things this evening. I was looking forward to seeing Mayya and Elinore. Why did you let them depart?’
‘It was Elinore who insisted.’
For a while they ate in silence.
‘Balkis, I have been wondering. You and Mayya don’t look like sisters. Did you have different mothers?’
Balkis smiled and said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, ‘No. Different fathers.’
‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.’
‘Should I tell you the whole story?’
‘Please do.’
While he was listening, a serving woman cleared the table, and another placed little bowls of herb infusions in front of them. So enraptured by Balkis was Idrisi that he sipped his without noticing the shahdanaj al-barr* and honey. Its effects were not immediate, but even as he listened he felt a light-headedness emboldening him in the way he looked at her.
Abruptly he asked, ‘Why did you decide to wear this unbearable red dress? The colour does not suit your complexion. Was it deliberate?’
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Take it off and…’
Her laughter interrupted him. He was relieved it was not a stupid or a malicious laugh, but delicate and careful without being precious. There was no movement of the hand to conceal her lips, a gesture he disliked in women.
He returned to her story. ‘Did Mayya know?’
‘She knew for a long time but only told me the entire truth a few weeks ago. Ibn Muhammad, would you ever kill a woman who betrayed you?’
The reply was instantaneous. ‘No.’
‘And now it’s your turn for a story. Mayya told me about the strange island of Julian, but she was not sure if it was real or imagined.’
Another bowl of the potent brew was placed before him. He accepted it eagerly. Then shut his eyes in silent appreciation. He told the story of Julian’s island, not sparing her a single detail. He recounted the night of passion and the different ruses the high priestess had used to excite and revive him after they had made love the first time. Idrisi was so engrossed in his story that he did not notice her blushes. He had succeeded in physically exciting her without a single touch. She rose from the table and suggested they retire for the night.
When he returned to his room, Idrisi opened the shutters to watch the storm. No stars were visible in the pitch black sky, only flashes of lightning and hard rain. He undressed and fell on the bed. A little later an apparition — or so he thought — floated into the room, dressed in white. It was… no it couldn’t be… yes it was… he was sure… it must be the high priestess from Julian’s island.
‘Is it you?’ he whispered in Greek.
‘Yes.’
Idrisi fell on his knees before the keeper of Aphrodite’s flame and slowly worked his way upwards till she, like him, was naked.
‘The storm outside, it frightens me.’
She went to the window and closed the shutters.
He took her by the hand and led her to his bed. ‘It is the storm inside that frightens me.’
What followed was a night of pure passion. Balkis had heard his story well and she mimicked each and every incident that he had described. Idrisi barely opened his eyes. He felt he was being washed in waves of bliss as he explored the mounds and crevices of her body.
She wanted to whisper in his ear: ‘I’m Balkis, I’m not your stupid high priestess. It’s my body you’re pleasuring. Mine. And I want your child.’ But her part of the bargain could not be broken. She had promised her sister that she would not reveal her identity. If Idrisi recognised her, she had another carefully prepared story. After they had made love for the third time her exhausted lover fell into a deep sleep. As he turned over to make himself comfortable, he broke wind noisily, like a thunder-clap. It was the only time that night she was reminded of her husband.
She left the chamber. Safe in her own rooms, Balkis could smell him on her and her body tingled with delight. I hope it didn’t work tonight, she thought. Anyway, how could one tell? We will have to do it again just to make sure. Thank Allah she had not refused to learn Greek when she was a child. What if he decides to leave before nightfall? I will stop him. I will send a secret message from the priestess. I will do anything I have to in order to keep him here for just one more night. Just one more. And if necessary I will accompany him to Palermo to see Mayya. She’ll kill me, I know, but I refuse to let him go. She shared Rujari with Allah knows how many other women. Why couldn’t she share Muhammad with only me, a sister who loves her? What if Mayya and I are both pregnant? With this thought in mind she finally fell asleep.
And Idrisi? Perhaps it was the herbs. Perhaps the passion. Perhaps both. He had not slept as comfortably as this for a long time. He did not wake till he heard the muezzin early next morning.
He shivered slightly as he remembered the erotic dream of last night, Ishq khumari. Bacchic love. Then he smelt her perfume and her body on his. Had it been real after all? He sniffed his arms like a dog. Then he went on all fours and sniffed the sheets. Delicious scents invaded his nostrils. He lay back perplexed, but happy. There was no mistake. A woman had been here last night. They had made love. It was no dream, but how could it be the high priestess exactly as she had been all those years ago? Was that possible? And then he remembered the herbal infusion he had drunk. It was not dissimilar to what he and his men were given on Julian’s island all those years ago.
The more he thought, the more agitated he became. Only one person could have wanted to test him. Mayya. But who played the part of the high priestess? The moment he posed the question he knew the answer. Balkis. The vulgar red dress was designed to distract him from what she would wear later on that evening. Ibn Hazm had argued that it was permitted to look at a woman once, but not the second time. He had looked at Balkis the whole evening and she had drugged him as well. And the reason now became obvious. It was he who had suggested to Mayya that in a storm many seeds begin to fly.
Three courses of action were open to him. The storm had died and the sea appeared calm again: he could leave for Palermo without saying a word. He could confront her, demand an explanation, and then leave. Or he could spend another night here. The thought of seeing her again — but this time as herself — began to excite him. His breakfast had been laid on the terrace and as he sat down he saw her on the neighbouring terrace, looking in the direction of the sea.
‘Allah be praised, the sea is calm this morning, sister Balkis.’
She was startled, but only for a moment. She had been waiting over an hour for him to come out.
‘Did you sleep well, Ibn Muhammad?’
‘Better than I have done for many years. I can’t imagine why.’
Her tranquillity shaken, she turned away from him. He stepped over the wall separating them.