The Lioness of Morocco(11)

Rusa and Lalla Jasira nodded approvingly before making a counteroffer using flowery language. They eventually agreed on sixty benduqui.

Lalla Jasira clapped her hands and gave an order to a slave. The woman hurried back to the palace and quickly returned with two little leather sacks, which Lalla Jasira then ceremoniously placed in Sibylla’s hands. “Count it, Mrs. Hopkins; you get half now and the other half when the babouches arrive.”

Sibylla took a look into the little sacks. The idea of engaging in trade without the permission of her father or husband thrilled her. Back home in London, this would never have been allowed, yet somehow, here in a harem in Morocco, it was possible!

“For whom are the five hundred pairs of slippers intended?” she inquired.

“Princess Lalla Jasira is certain that the ladies in His Esteemed Majesty Sultan Abd al-Rahman’s harem will be interested in this fashion. She is acquainted with many of the ladies since she comes from one of the ruling houses of the Alaouites.”

Sibylla nodded slowly. Five hundred women for one man. Sara Willshire had been right in saying this place was very different from England.

She pulled herself together and said, “Nadira, please inform the ladies that I agree to their proposal. I shall make all the necessary arrangements.”



Benjamin was waiting for his wife in the reception courtyard of the governor’s palace as the muezzin called the faithful to afternoon prayers from the minaret of the mosque. The qaid, his relatives, and his translator had already taken their leave. Only Samuel Toledano remained.

“I don’t suppose you or those damned Moors have ever heard of fair play, or have you, Toledano?” Benjamin was in a filthy mood. “And don’t try to look so innocent. After all, it’s your fault that the governor is unwilling to sell me the exclusive rights to the leather trade. I saw how you signaled him to turn down my offer.”

The meeting had begun harmoniously enough. Qaid Hash-Hash had proudly shown his guest his weapons collection, his gyrfalcons, and his Arabian horses. But later, when they sat together over tea and Benjamin presented the contracts drawn up in England, Hash-Hash had rebuffed him.

“Toledano is quite capable of handling the leather trade. Furthermore, His Majesty’s decisions are sacrosanct. They need not be put in writing by a peddler,” Hash-Hash had declared with disdain.

Toledano had looked utterly innocent during that exchange, and at this moment too, the merchant appeared equanimous. “Do not give up so easily, Señor Hopkins. Here in the Orient, one seldom comes to an agreement after the first meeting. Come to see me at my home in the mellah, directly behind the souk. We will find a way for you to do profitable business as well.”

Benjamin made a face. Toledano was speaking to him in Spanish, a language Benjamin spoke well, having been responsible for Spencer & Son’s Caribbean trade, but this man’s archaic dialect irritated him. It did not matter that Nuri bin Kalil had tried to explain that the Moroccan Jews had retained the language of their Spanish origin since having fled from the Inquisition in the fifteenth century.

“I strongly suggest that you not waste your time dispensing advice,” Benjamin grumbled, thinking of his impatient father-in-law back in London.

Toledano remained friendly. “You are impatient, Señor Hopkins. If you want to do business in Morocco, remember this: you Europeans have clocks, but we in the Orient have time.”





Chapter Six

Mogador and Marrakesh, September 1836

“Please pardon me for being so frank, dear Sibylla, but your plan is pure foolhardiness!” Sara Willshire frowned with disapproval while threading a needle.

Sibylla folded the diaper she had just finished seaming. “No, it isn’t,” she declared. “We’ll be gone a mere twelve days, and I am still six weeks from giving birth. And besides, I’m feeling quite well!”

The two young women were sewing baby clothes in the interior courtyard of the Hopkins residence in the shade of an olive tree. It was warm and still with the soft scent of roses and mimosa flowers filling the air. Sibylla and Sara met almost daily and talked about everything and nothing while the mound of gowns, bonnets, and diapers in the basket at their feet grew. Sibylla had just told the consul’s wife that she planned to accompany her husband on his trip to Marrakesh. Sultan Abd al-Rahman had invited Mogador’s merchants for an audience.

Qaid Hash-Hash, who was accompanying the group, had explained that His Most Gracious Majesty wanted to assure himself that the infidels entrusted to his protection were not lacking for anything.

Sara shook her head. “Morocco is not England,” she warned. “We don’t travel on established roads in a comfortable stagecoach. We sit in the saddle and at night we sleep on the floor in a tent or, if we’re lucky, in a caravanserai! What’s more, the interior is hotter than the coast. Even in September, the temperature in Marrakesh is above eighty-five degrees. I have made the journey several times and, believe me, I don’t relish having to go again. We’ll be riding five consecutive days from morning till night! If the stress were to bring about premature labor pains, you would find no doctor or hospital.”

“I’m a good horsewoman,” Sibylla replied stubbornly. “And I’m not as fragile as all that. Besides, I’ll have Nadira with me.”

Just then, the servant appeared with a jug of orange-blossom water, glasses, and a plate with fresh figs. Sibylla smiled gratefully. Nadira had become indispensable to her in the four months since she had arrived in Mogador. During her many years in the service of foreigners, the young woman had developed a feel for their wishes. Sibylla spent far more time with Nadira than with anyone else. Thanks to her, she was learning everyday customs. During the last few weeks, she had even begun to learn Arabic. She would point at an object and her servant would tell her its name.

“Does your husband accept your desire to accompany him?” Sara asked.

The question angered Sibylla. It was her decision alone whether and where she traveled! “Of course. And why not? After all, we English are a sporting lot.”

Benjamin had, indeed, expressed the same concerns as Sara. But once he saw how irritated Sibylla was, he had quickly backed down. She rarely saw her husband anyhow. He was busy either in the port or at the customs station, meeting with ship captains or inspecting merchandise. He complained constantly that Arabs were unreliable business partners whose every move he personally had to monitor in order to avoid being swindled. Unlike Sibylla, he was making no attempt to acquaint himself with the habits of the people. Yet Richard sent long letters praising his engagement. And although Benjamin had not succeeded in obtaining exclusive rights to the leather trade, Toledano was supplying him with leather of outstanding quality from Fez in return for a commission. In addition, Benjamin was trading in gum arabic, crucial to the production of paints and medicine, and in grains from the fertile northern plains and the ancient royal city of Meknes.

“The baptismal water arrived yesterday,” Sibylla reported.

Consul Willshire, who conducted Bible readings at his residence on Sundays in lieu of church services and who was responsible for the salvation of the English souls in Mogador, was to baptize the baby.

“I have also received letters from home. My brother, Oscar, finished school last summer and Father has made him an apprentice clerk. My stepmother writes that he hates having to rise so early in the morning.” She smiled to herself, lost in thought for a moment. “I was determined to get out of London, but now I realize that I do miss my family. They are so very far away. Sometimes I yearn just to hear their voices.”

“Oh yes, and how I miss the shops!” Sara exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you just love to look through the sewing patterns at Debenhams or wander through Covent Garden?”

“I would rather attend the theater,” Sibylla replied. “I do find it strange that there is absolutely no public life here in Morocco, no theater or opera, no balls or sporting events.” She rummaged in a box until she found a small button and held it against a tiny white cotton gown to see how it looked.

“Social life takes place behind thick walls in this country. It took me a while to become accustomed to that as well,” Sara admitted.

“And that is precisely why I have to escape from this confinement for a few days!” Sibylla persisted. “I spend almost all day in this house with its tiny windows or else in the courtyard. When I go out walking, I reach the city walls within ten minutes at most. I’ve seen nothing of the countryside!”

“I do understand you, my dear Sibylla.” Sara said with a sigh. “But I think it is a very bad idea.”



The foreign merchants and their consuls from England, Spain, Portugal, France, the Netherlands, and Denmark had joined a caravan arranged by Samuel Toledano. It consisted of fifty heavily laden camels, five camel riders, and several assistants, who took care of the animals. Once in Marrakesh, they would join other caravans to become a giant caravan, consisting of several hundred animals, that would then head through the Western Sahara to the legendary city of Timbuktu. The caravans traveling south transported dates, oil, henna, salt, cotton cloth, glass beads, metal products, rugs, and ceramics. On their return, they brought ostrich feathers, ivory, gold, and, most important, slaves.