I knew, even as we touched, that I had never wanted anything more in all my life. All my crabbed cravings were as a cupful of pondwater beside the vast ocean of longing I felt surging through me. My head swam; my eyes blurred. I burned from inside out as if my blood and bones were consumed with liquid fire.
It was only later, after she had gone, that the awesome implications of what I had done struck me. How could this be? I could not possibly marry her. Even if I wanted to-did I?-would the amir allow it? I, a slave of undetermined rank in his house, was in no position to marry a woman of his tribe. What is more, I was a Christian and she a Muslim. The thing could not be.
I would, I decided, undo what had been done. Tomorrow, when she came with my tray, I would explain to her that it could not be, that I was wrong to suggest such a thing as marriage. It had been but the folly of the moment; I had not been thinking clearly. No doubt she felt the same; she would agree. We had both been careless, perhaps confused. It was only a tiny lapse, after all. Kazimain was intelligent; Kazimain was wise. She would not fail to see how wrong we were, how foolish we had been to imagine what could not be.
"She will understand," I told myself. "She must."
52
When Kazimain appeared the next morning, I was amazed and distressed to watch my late-night resolve crumble and melt away like a clump of sand overswept by a sea wave. One look at her and the desire I felt at our kiss rekindled instantly, and flared brighter and hotter than before. The glance of Kazimain's dark eyes as she came into my arms let me know she felt the same.
I clasped her to me and breathed her perfumed essence deep into my lungs, as if I would inhale her into my being. I wanted only to have her, to hold her, forever. The raw force of this feeling struck me with such intensity that it made me weak. I could only stop my limbs trembling by clutching her more tightly. I fell back on the bed and pulled her onto me. We lay there for a time, our bodies shaking with passion. She lay her head against my chest and entwined her arms around me. I felt her gentle weight upon me, and marvelled that I could have existed so long without knowing this simple pleasure and indulging it every moment of every day.
We might have remained like this all day-indeed, I would have been content to remain so for the rest of my life-but the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside roused us. Kazimain smoothed her clothes and we hastily adopted the pretence that we had simply been talking to one another as I broke my fast.
I took up a bit of bread, tore it, and began eating, swallowing my first bite as Faysal stepped into the room. His eyes flicked to Kazimain, who was pouring water from the jar into one of the cups. "Greetings," he said, "I have come to tell you that Lord Sadiq is returning. He arrives in Ja'fariya in two days' time."
"Greetings, Faysal; it is good to see you again. Please," I urged, "Sit down and eat with me. I would hear what news you bring."
He smiled to hear me speaking Arabic so well. "It would be a pleasure," he said, inclining his head. As Faysal folded himself upon a cushion beside the tray, Kazimain poured him some of the sweetened lemon water, and then, rising, made a small bow of deference and left the room, taking my heart with her.
Faysal and I ate together and he told me that the amir and Abu Ahmad had indeed spent many long hours in council, trying to decide what best to do in light of Komes Nikos's treachery. "And did they reach a decision?" I asked.
"It is not for me to say," Faysal replied. "I think, however, my Lord Sadiq will be most anxious to speak to you upon his return."
We talked of other things then-the heat and dust of desert travel, the remarkable abilities of camels in this regard, and the interminable southern rebellion. At mention of Abu's campaign, Faysal shook his head. "Word is not good, my friend," he said. "The revolt has quickly become a war and the khalifa's forces have not been able to contain it as they hoped. Many have been killed on both sides, but the rebels are growing in strength, while Abu's numbers decline."
Although Faysal did not say it, I reckoned by this that the peace with Byzantium was more important to the Arabs than ever before. The rebellion was taxing the caliphate heavily; the Arabs could not fight two different wars on two such faraway fronts and hope to survive, much less win the conflict. I understood very well the predicament the Arabs faced.
After Faysal had gone, I sat and contemplated the curious opportunity this information had created for me. As I sat thinking, it came into my mind that I was in a rare and privileged position: perhaps only one other person in all Byzantium possessed the knowledge that I possessed. And that person was the traitor Nikos, and perhaps even he did not guess how much the Arabs needed the peace treaty. Certainly, no one in Byzantium knew of both Nikos's treachery and the Arabs' need. This knowledge gave me power. True, I would have to return to Constantinople to realize this power-a detail which imposed its own difficulties.
But that aside, if I were to reach the emperor and inform him that an attack on the Sarazens just now would win back in one campaign all that the empire had lost to the Arab predation over the years, how long would Basil the Macedonian hesitate? To crush an enemy that has for generations bedevilled the empire would be too sweet a victory to resist. The reward would be mine to name. But could I do it? Could I betray the amir and his people-those who had saved my life-just to satisty my bloodlust?
Oh, there was power here; I could feel it. Where power exists, danger lies close at hand. I did not cozen myself with illusions that the Sarazens would leave anyone alive who could, with a word, destroy them. I would have to act quickly to protect myself.
When Mahmoud came for me a little while later, I told him that I did not want to go into the city with him today. "Instead," I said, "I want you to tell me about the customs of marriage observed by the Arabs."
His smile was quick, and his reply suitably oblique. Glancing at my new sandals, he said, "Would this knowledge have for you a practical application, my friend?"
"I am ever curious, Mahmoud, as you know."
"Then I will enlighten you," he said, and made to sit down.
"Not here," I told him quickly. "Come, let us go to the roof garden and enjoy the day before it grows too hot."
Once on the roof, I led the way along the more secluded pathways so that we would not be overheard. As we walked in the shade of small, fan-leafed palms and flowering creepers, Mahmoud began to instruct me in the marriage customs of his race. "It may surprise you," he said, "but there is no single practice which all Arab peoples observe. We are a nation of tribes, you see; each tribe will hold to its own particular rites in such matters."
"Then let us take the amir's tribe-for example."
"Very well," he agreed, "the people of the amir's tribe, for example, come from the southwest where more primitive customs even now prevail. The marriage rite itself is exceedingly simple: a man and woman make vows before their kindred and the woman goes to live with the man in his house. There the marriage is consummated in the usual way, a great celebration ensues, and the two families concerned are ever after united-a unity which is further enhanced by the exchange of gifts."
"What sort of gifts?" I wondered.
"Any sort at all," he answered. "The gifts can vary greatly, depending on the wealth of the respective tribes: horses and camels, for the wealthy, in addition to gold and silver; or, if the young people have no riches they may exchange tokens only." He paused, regarding me critically. "It may serve you to know that to this very day, many of the desert tribes hold to an ancient belief in the chieftain's right to grant or withhold the marriage of his kinswomen. For this reason, the prudent man always seeks to win the tribal leader's approval. Sometimes, he acquires this approval even before asking the young woman. Sometimes, this permission is granted without the bride's consent. The practice remains the same, whether a man has one wife, or many."