The Emperor's Elephant(107)

I decided it was time to turn the subject back to the practical arrangements for our voyage. ‘How far beyond Zanj are you prepared to take us?’

‘I have given my word to Nadim Jaffar that I will not turn back until my ship is as far south of Zanj as Basra is from Baghdad,’ he said.

‘And how will you know that?’ I asked. ‘I had understood that these are uncharted waters.’

The shipmaster reached into the pocket of his grubby gown and pulled a small, thin rectangle of wood, about an inch by two, with a cord through its centre. ‘When this tells me so.’

He put the end of the cord between his lips, held out the tablet at arm’s length to stretch the cord, and closed one eye. He held the position for a moment, then spat out the cord and grinned at me, showing worn brown teeth. ‘Beyond Zanj I will have to find a different star, of course, probably Farqadan.’

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.