Lalla Jasira looked at her in surprise. “Did not your prophet Isa ibn Maryam, whom you call Jesus Christ, also preach love and forgiveness? I want to tell you how the story continues after the powerful man’s chief wife accepted that it was her fate never to bear children. She forgave herself and thus found peace. And in doing so, she regained the respect of the women in the harem as well as that of her lord. He did not take her to his bedchamber very often, but he valued her wisdom and her kind heart more than he had ever valued her body, and he sought her advice more and more frequently.”
“And that is the end?”
Lalla Jasira gave her a dreamy little smile. “The story of love and forgiveness never ends, does it, my honorable friend?”
“Good evening, Mother. Do forgive me for making you wait. I simply had so much to do. It wasn’t until Aladdin reminded me that I remembered my promise to pick you up.” John leaned forward to kiss Sibylla on the cheek.
“Not at all, darling. I had a wonderful afternoon.” She returned her son’s kiss.
He offered his mother his arm. As they walked through the dark alleyways, he told her about his day, of the two ships of theirs that had left the harbor. He also told her that he had spoken with several more people about the break-in, among them the harbormaster and Consul Willshire. But all claimed not to have noticed a thing amiss. There had been no other break-ins in the foreigners’ quarter. Whoever the intruder was, he seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.
“A very troubling notion.” Sibylla thought about the scattered dirt around the foundation of the sundial.
“Isn’t it, though? If he hadn’t left traces in our garden, one might think we’d imagined it all.”
“I wish we had,” she sighed.
“My lady! You’re back at last!” Hamid said, relief all over his face.
“Why? Has something happened?” Sibylla asked anxiously. “Another break-in?”
“No, my lady, no break-in, but—”
“My lady!” Nadira called. “Thank goodness you’re back!”
“What’s happened?” Sibylla scrutinized both of her servants.
Nadira took her coat. “You have a visitor from Qasr el Bahia. He is waiting in the drawing room.”
“I hope nothing has happened to Emily!” Sibylla took off running, followed by John. When she pushed open the door to the drawing room, the guest hastily rose from the divan and bowed awkwardly. Sibylla stopped dead on the threshold. “André?”
After a few confusing seconds, she realized that, although the young man looked like André, he did not look like the André she knew, but André as he must have looked as a very young man.
“Mrs. Hopkins?” The stranger looked at her uncertainly. “My name is Frédéric Rouston. Emily has sent me. She said that you would help us. Qasr el Bahia was attacked this morning!”
“Good Lord!” Sibylla felt her knees giving way. She felt John’s hand supporting her back and heard his voice as if from a distance. “I am Emily’s brother John. Please take a seat, Frédéric.”
Frédéric Rouston collapsed onto the divan and ran his fingers through his tousled black hair.
“Bring something to eat and drink for our guest,” Sibylla ordered Nadira, who was waiting by the door. When the servant returned with a tray, Frédéric reached for the water jug, poured himself a goblet, and drank greedily. “Please excuse me!” he said and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been riding nonstop since morning.”
Sibylla looked at him anew and took in the man’s exhaustion, his filthy, scraped-up hands, the crusted blood. “I am grateful that you found your way to us. Once you have eaten something, you will tell us what happened on the estate.”
Frédéric devoured the couscous, meat, and bread Nadira had brought. He washed it all down with two more goblets of water. Then he began gloomily, “It was terrible, it was just a stroke of good luck that they didn’t murder us all . . .”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Qasr el Bahia, the same morning
The first blue-gray light of day was shimmering across the peaks of the High Atlas when André stood in front of the big cedar in the middle of the courtyard and clapped his hands. “Today we are going to break our backs for the last time this season, and tomorrow we are going to celebrate the best saffron harvest in years!”
“Ay! So be it!” The sixty Ait Zelten men, women, and children sitting on rugs laughed and clapped in agreement. They had been camping in the courtyard in their khaimas, tents made of goat’s hair. They had just eaten breakfast with André and his family, as they did every day, and now it was time to go out into the fields. Even old Tamra was present. Frédéric and Christian had carried her in her armchair to a spot under the cedar tree, where Aynur had draped a woolen blanket over her to protect her from the cool morning air.
“I’ll take the teapots to the kitchen!” André Jr. eagerly ran over to the large fire pit in the middle of the camp, where several large brass pots were resting on the warm stones.
“I suppose I’ll start breaking my back as well, then.” Malika began stacking the empty couscous bowls. “What do we have here?” She held up one hand. A brown, spotted insect with long legs, round black eyes, and spiderweb-like wings was dangling between her forefinger and thumb.
“A locust! Eeeh!” Emily, who had been collecting the baskets with the remnants of flatbread, grimaced.
“What are you saying?” André crossed to Malika and looked at the insect for himself.
“Ugh! One has landed on my shoulder!” Emily shook herself. The locust fell to the ground and she stomped on it with her boot.
André stared at the dead insect for a few seconds and then looked out at the horizon. A rosy golden light above the High Atlas announced the sunrise. However, a thin dark-gray streak hung between the mountain peaks.
He strained his eyes, but could not make it out.
“Is everything all right?” Aynur looked at him quizzically.
“I’m not sure.” He showed her the locust.
Aynur’s eyes grew large. “The wind’s teeth, a bad omen.” She beat her breast with her fist. “On the day when the caller calls for evil occurrences, they will come from their graves. May God help us!”
“Stop that! Are you trying to frighten everyone?” André took hold of her. “We’d better see to it that the rest of the saffron is harvested as quickly as possible.”
“Frédéric!” He motioned to his eldest son. “Go open the gate with Christian. And then everybody off to the fields!”
He threw the locust to the ground and trod on it the way Emily had. “Don’t worry,” he reassured Aynur, who was watching wide-eyed. “You’re too superstitious, that’s all.” He put his arm around her. “Let’s go and see if the saffron we plucked yesterday has dried already.”
They went off to the barn where the saffron from the day before was being stored, untold numbers of tiny thin threads glowing orange in the light of the oil lamp.
He placed the lamp on the floor, leaned over the saffron, and inhaled that strong, aromatic scent of sun and earth. Gently, as though caressing a woman, he lifted a few of the thin threads, crushed them between his fingertips, and tasted them. The saffron tasted slightly bitter, slightly sweet, slightly like the pungent smoke of a wood fire.
“Wonderful!” he said with satisfaction. “I can’t wait for your roasted beef marrow bones with saffron gravy!”
“Then we can put the other threads together with the rest of the harvest in the tower?” Aynur asked eagerly.
“Yes. I’m riding to Mogador next week and I shall get a wonderful price for our red gold.” Out of sheer joy over the exceptionally good harvest, he grasped Aynur’s waist, lifted her up, and spun around with her. “What shall I bring from town for you? Indian silk for a new dress? Or a nice piece of jewelry?”
“Can I have both?” She smiled mischievously.
He set her down. “Anything you want. I know well that Qasr el Bahia would not be what it is today if it weren’t for you. Day in, day out, you see to it that everything gets taken care of.”
She smiled and felt flattered, but she knew that his praise was justified. Every morning, she went out to the terraced fields with the Ait Zelten and painstakingly picked thousands of lilac crocus blossoms until her back was so bent that she could hardly stand. Still, the harvest had to go quickly. For once the sun had risen over the fields and the blossoms opened up in its warmth, the hidden threads lost their precious aroma.
The most pleasant part of the harvest would begin later. They would all sit in the courtyard together, singing songs and telling stories while they deftly plucked the tender threads out of the blossoms. The children would mill around and pick up the empty blossoms to feed to the cows and goats later on. Aynur would see to it that there was an ample supply of fresh, sweet peppermint tea available and would watch with great vigilance to ensure that not a single one of the precious pistils surreptitiously disappeared in the women’s wide skirts.