"Shiek" - читать интересную книгу автора (Connie Mason)

"What manner of men are Berbers that they allow their women to keep their body hair?" Badria sniffed. "I will personally see that you appear before the sultan as smooth as a newborn babe."

In that respect, Zara knew Berbers and Arabs agreed. Berber men like their women smooth, hairless and clean, but Zara had found little time of late to groom herself properly. Besides, no man had ever seen her undressed. Not even Sayed. The proper time and place had never arrived for them to consummate their love.

Zara shrugged. "If you wish, for all the good it will do either of us. Never let it be said that Princess Zara met her death with an unclean body."

Zara was led to the pool, trying not to feel self-conscious as the sultan's wives and concubines watched with avid interest. She ignored them as Badria scooped soft soap from a jar and spread it over her body. Then the bath mistress took a flat tool and scraped off the lather, removing both dirt and soap at the same time. Next, her arms, legs and groin were spread with a pale pink substance that when rinsed off left her skin smooth and hairless as a babe's. Then she immersed herself in the pool, sighing with pleasure as the warm, scented water soothed her body.

Badria washed Zara's hair, scrubbing and rinsing several times before she was satisfied. When Zara emerged from the pool, Badria dried her hair with silk until it glistened and shone like the purest sunlight. Then Badria robed Zara in a diaphanous dressing gown and sat her on a cushion before a small table. Moments later a slave brought in a tray and placed it before Zara.

Zara ate heartily of couscous cooked with lamb, peeled green figs, newly made yogurt, fresh bread, grapes and oranges. The beverage maker came with his brazier, charcoal and kettles and brewed mint tea, which Zara drank in copious amounts. She ate her fill, then sat back, replete. After such a meal she was ready to face anything, even arrogant Sheik Jamal.





Jamal was taken to the Hall of the Sultanate, where Moulay Ishmail awaited his report. He made his obeisance and waited for the sultan to speak.

"I trust you met with success." It was a statement rather than a question. The sultan did not accept failure.

"The caravan will reach the city gates intact before sundown tomorrow. We met the Berbers and turned them back. I left men behind to gather the wounded and protect the caravan from further attack."

"What of that jackal Youssef? Have I seen the last of him?"

"Youssef escaped, my lord sultan."

Ishmail rose angrily from his ornate throne of carved ebony inlaid with gold and precious gems. "You failed? Surely not, Jamal. I've never known you to fail. I cannot tolerate failure. If what you say is true, then Youssef will continue his raids. He will strike again and again."

Jamal smiled, not at all intimidated by Ishmail's anger. Other men might quail in their boots, but not Jamal. The sultan had come to depend upon the plunder from Jamal's pirating.

"I hope you'll forgive me when you see the gift I've brought you. My gift will stop Youssef from raiding your caravans and keep his people in their mountain fortress."

Ishmail sat down, eager now to listen. "What game do you play, Jamal? I'm thoroughly sick of the Berber raids upon my caravans. What wondrous gift have you brought me?"

"Youssef's daughter."

Ishmail's face grew mottled with rage. "His daughter? His daughter?" he repeated shrilly. "Of what use is a daughter to a man like Youssef? Had you brought me his son I would have given you half my kingdom."

"Hear me out, mighty sultan. Youssef has no living sons. His daughter rides at his side and is as fierce as any son. Youssef highly values Princess Zara. Let her be your weapon against her father."

Somewhat mollified, Ishmail mulled over Jamal's words. "I would like to see this princess upon whom Youssef dotes. I will judge her worth for myself before determining her use to me." He turned to a guard standing nearby. "Tell Assad to bring the Berber wench to me."

Jamal felt his heart slam against his chest. He had known this moment had to arrive but now he felt an unreasonable fear. Zara wasn't a woman to hold her tongue, and the sultan wasn't a man to condone insolence in a woman. Fireworks were bound to occur when the two met face to face. A fierce protectiveness toward Zara welled up in him, one that both surprised and annoyed him. He prayed that Allah would take pity and strike Zara mute.





Zara knew the moment she saw Assad enter the harem that he had come for her. She had already donned her pantaloons, shirt and blue robes in anticipation of her summons and was waiting for him. She thanked Badria for her care and followed the plump eunuch through the lush interior of the women's quarters into the marble and mosaic hallways beyond the guarded entrance.