I must have looked utterly mystified for he wound the cord around the little tablet and slipped it back into his pocket, then said, ‘It will be easier to explain once we are at sea and under the great bowl of the heavens.’
*
On the morning before Sulaiman and his fellow captains were due to weigh anchor, Osric and I planned to walk to the harbour and make sure that there was to be no last-minute delay. But as we left our house, we came face to face with one of Jaffar’s servants. I recognized the senior steward I had last seen in the lamplight of Jaffar’s luxurious garden.
‘Nadim Jaffar sends his sincere apologies for keeping you waiting,’ said the steward after we had exchanged greetings. ‘He asked me to say that he is entrusting to you the most precious of all his flowering plants.’
My glance travelled over the steward’s shoulder to the small, veiled figure standing a few paces behind him. It took me a moment to grasp Jaffar’s pun. Zaynab was the name of a fragrant flowering plant. It was also a popular name given to girls.
‘Please come inside,’ I said, stepping back into the house. The two visitors followed Osric and me into the courtyard. Only after I had shut the door to the street, did the steward gesture at his companion to draw aside her veil. Sulaiman had already hinted that our woman interpreter was special, but I was completely unprepared for Zaynab’s good looks. She had dark lively eyes, a delicate mouth and a neat pointed chin. Her hair was still hidden beneath a shawl so I could only see her face, but it was her complexion that caught my attention. Her skin was the colour of the cinnamon that the Nomenculator had shown us all those months ago in Rome, and flawless.
I struggled to find something to say. Beside me Osric was equally speechless.
‘Nadim Jaffar sent me to be of assistance to you on your journey,’ she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was huskily melodious, and the way she phrased her remark confirmed that she was a slave.
I forced myself to stop staring. ‘I understand that you speak the languages of Zanj.’
‘Only some of them,’ she murmured. She stood with her small, neat hands clasped in front of her, utterly composed.
‘Our captain, Sulaiman, hopes you will also assist him in his trade negotiations.’
‘If that is what you wish.’
Jaffar’s steward caught my eye. ‘If I may have a word in private.’
‘Of course.’ I walked with him across the courtyard to the side room our host used as a counting house. Behind me I heard Osric strike up a polite conversation with our new interpreter.
‘Nadim Jaffar offers you Zaynab in obedience to the caliph’s direct command,’ the steward said to me once we were alone.
He hesitated for a moment as if unsure whether he was exceeding his instructions. ‘One of the Zanj chieftains sent Zaynab as a gift to the Commander of the Faithful.’
His statement brought to mind the wretched slaves I had seen in Kaupang. It required a great leap of the imagination to equate them with the beautiful woman in the courtyard.
‘My master was willing to pay almost any price to include Zaynab in his household. The caliph agreed to sell Zaynab for thirty thousand dirhem.’
I sensed that I was missing something. The steward’s gaze searched my face, waiting for me to understand what he was hinting at.
Then it struck me: this was the crown prince’s doing. Mohammed had suggested to his father that Jaffar despatch Zaynab to join the expedition. Jaffar was not only tutor but also the leading figure of his rival Abdallah’s circle. By forcing Jaffar to send away a favourite slave worth a small fortune, the crown prince was twisting the knife.
‘I shall make sure that Zaynab returns unharmed to Nadim Jaffar,’ I promised with a confidence I did not feel. My recent experiences had shown how easily the lives of travellers were put in danger. During the days in al-Ubullah I had thought long and hard about the succession of delays and mishaps we had experienced on the way from Aachen to Baghdad. I had now come to the conclusion that some, if not all, of these events had been deliberate attempts to wreck the mission, and I had a suspicion of who had been responsible, though the underlying motive was still unclear.
Chapter Seventeen
AFRICA
*
Sailing to Zanj had a marvellous, dream-like quality. Each day seemed to repeat as if time was turning back on itself. Dawn brought a horizon, sharp and clear and infinitely distant, from which the sun rose into a sky where a scattering of puffy white clouds were all moving in the same direction as our ships. Far below, our little company of half a dozen trade vessels ran across a sparkling sea of the deepest blue. A favourable wind, fine and steady from the north-east, filled the huge cotton sails and our crew scarcely needed to touch the ropes. The breeze tempered the heat of the noonday sun so the deck was never too hot to the touch, and the air retained its pleasant warmth long after dusk. Sunsets were dramatic. A tremendous golden-orange glow suffused the entire sky, changing to the colour of pale parchment that diminished and retreated as darkness spread in from the east. Then the moon rose and laid a silver-white path across the black undulating surface of the sea. Wherever one looked upward, the heavens were alive with a multitude of bright stars.
In such idyllic conditions I fell in love with Zaynab.
On the third morning of the voyage, not long after sunrise, I was standing near the mainmast with Walo and waiting for the cook to hand us our breakfast of dates, bread and water. There was a sudden light slap as something struck the sail and fell close to where Zaynab was seated on the foredeck where the anchors were stowed. There was flapping and wriggling on the planks. Walo ran forward and I watched as he picked up what seemed to be some sort of small fish. He turned to Zaynab and must have asked her a question for she pulled back the shawl that covered her head and leaned forward to look at what he was holding. As Zaynab would be unable to understand Walo’s Frankish, I walked across to interpret.
‘Is it a fish or a bird?’ Walo was asking her. I looked down at what he had in his grasp. The creature had a fish’s body, six or seven inches long. There was a fish tail and a fish head, with round startled eyes.
Walo gently took the fin on the side of the fish between his finger and thumb, and pulled. Out swung a wing.
‘Our name for it is “fish that flies”,’ said Zaynab.
Walo pulled open the second wing. The web between the bones was so fine and delicate that the light shone through it.
‘Is it in the book?’ he asked, turning to me.
‘I can check,’ I said uncertainly, my voice sounding odd in my ears. Zaynab’s shawl had slipped down around her shoulders. Her dark hair was long and lustrous, piled above her head and fixed with an ivory comb. She wore tiny diamond studs in her small, shell-like ears, and the curve of her slender neck was so soft and perfect that it made me want to reach out and stroke it.
‘What book is that?’ she asked me, looking up. Her eyes held mine for a moment, and I felt a tingling shock. Never before had I met with an expression of such gentle kindness framed with beauty, yet tinged with melancholy.
‘A Book of Beasts. It’s a list of animals . . . with their pictures,’ I blurted. Suddenly I wanted to keep the full attention of this remarkable young woman with the cinnamon-coloured skin. ‘I’ll show you.’
Light-headed, I hurried aft to collect the bestiary and brought it to her. With Walo looking on, I opened the cover and leafed through the pages. I made a deliberate effort to keep both my hand and voice steady.
‘Here’s a fish with wings!’ I announced, then read out, ‘ “The serra or saw fish. Also known as the flying fish. Named from the sawtooth crest on its back. It swims under a ship and cuts the ship in half . . .’ My voice faltered. The insignificant little fish in Walo’s hand was never likely to damage a ship’s hull. I felt foolish.