Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [191]
The older man answered. ‘You may reply,’ said And-Agh-Muhammed, ‘but it is unlikely that the answer will reach him. From the south to the north are many hazards. Lord, are these matters settled? I wish to make water.’
‘They are settled,’ said the Timbuktu-Koy. ‘We propose to retire. We thank the imam and judges, and invite our guests and fellow-merchants to join us.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Nicholas said to And-Agh-Muhammed in a comradely way. ‘If you’ll show me the custom. Where are the ladies?’
‘They have gone to the harem,’ Umar said. ‘And-Agh-Muhammed will take you when you are both ready. I am glad that you have what you wanted.’
Nicholas stood still. ‘You meant the book for someone. Who?’
‘The imam,’ Umar said. ‘He knows, and does not regret it. Nicholas, it is a time for rejoicing.’
‘Now it is,’ Nicholas said. ‘And you have made it so.’
Gelis van Borselen, it had to be said, had withdrawn from the chamber under protest: it was with a great deal of displeasure that she found herself, with Bel, in another courtyard while the vital conference was still under way, and before she knew what was happening to Nicholas.
‘He’ll be fine,’ had said Bel obtusely. ‘Wabbit but fine. He’s got over these fevers before.’ Gelis, scowling, had marched after the large black men who had obstinately diverted them.
The courtyard they finally reached was in fact delightful, and the corridors of lustreware azulejos that led to it were better swept than the rest, and carried the word Baraka, divine grace, repeated over and over, for that, explained the hostess who welcomed them, was the motto, the soul of the city.
There seemed to be many hostesses. That is, the rooms adjoining the courtyard were full of women, from young children to crones bundled in veiling. All but the latter were nude, and most were beautiful. Among them was the young Negress who had so taken Diniz, the first day they had moved through the city.
The girl had stopped to speak to a man. It was one of those men who had led them here. With a start, Gelis saw there were many men present. She made a discovery. She said, ‘Bel, they’re eunuchs.’
‘Right,’ said Bel.
‘So we’re in a harem,’ Gelis said doubtfully.
‘Right,’ said Bel again. ‘And they want ye to take off your gown.’
‘Why?’ said Gelis.
‘So that you’ll be comfortable,’ said Bel of Cuthilgurdy. ‘And I don’t see why not, you’ve a nice shape to ye. I’m exempt. They let ye off if you’re old or you’re married.’
‘But they’re Muslims,’ Gelis said. ‘Muslims go about veiled, except to their fathers and husbands.’
‘The great thing about Islam,’ Bel remarked, ‘is that it’s adaptable. It got so flexible in Malian days that all the girls stayed the way they were born, including the King’s own unmarried daughters. Ye could say the Maghsharen are a little less lax, but they’re fairly easy. People say it makes for civilised conduct. If there’s cake on the plate all the time, ye don’t feel the urge to devour it. Are ye going to strip?’
‘How do you know all this?’ Gelis said. Someone was lifting the veil from her hair. She remembered the Senagana and the King’s wives plucking at Nicholas, and wanted to laugh. She remembered what she had learned about Nicholas and didn’t want to laugh after all. They were unfastening her gown.
‘Umar told me,’ Bel said. ‘It’s all right. The women don’t unless asked, and the men canna. They want to know if you’d like a steam bath. They’ve got a few jets to work.’
All the fountains were rusted, Gelis had noticed. She said, ‘I’ll go in if you do.’
Nudity had never concerned her. The waters were scented and warm; she emerged from them refreshed, and let them lead her into the garden, where the silken awnings floated yellow as honey, and divans had been set among the rioting flowers and beside the long, lilied pool with its impotent sprays. She lay on her side, her hair coiled like wax over her shoulders, and let her fingers fall among flowers. A child wafted a fan, and she shivered with pleasure.
They were all as she was, except for those who,