The Stone Lions (12 page)

Ara peeked under the basket lid, and heaved a
sigh of relief that Suleiman was not harmed.

Fatima glowered at the fallen girl clutching
her basket and stood up to leave. “Well, I can’t dally anymore.
Zoriah has taken on a heavy load. She needs me, the daughter of my
daughter, whether she will admit it or not. I’m not one to shirk my
duty, you know.

“Don’t you go embarrassing us,” she said,
turning to Ara, who was picking herself up. “And just because you
can speak Castilian and French, don’t go getting above yourself,
young lady. Arabic was good enough for Mohammad, blessed be his
name, and it’s good enough for me.” She pursed her lips as if she
tasted something foul. “Allah loves a humble heart. Now brush the
dirt off your knees, you’re a mess.”

“Yes, Fatima. Allah be with you,” Ara
replied, bowing.

Chapter 17

Ara hadn’t been invited to attend the
procession. It was just as well, she thought. She needed some time
alone to think. The activity in the palace was almost frenzied.
Everyone was busy, rushing about to prepare for the visitors. She
and Layla had finally finished scrubbing the Lion Fountain two days
past. No more traces of red dye and the floor was as clean as two
girls, twelve servants and a lot of lemon juice could make it. Ara
had checked her lion once again, laying her hand on his mane and
speaking her fears in his ear. There was no response, just a girl’s
hopeful imagination.

The previous night, right after she and Layla
finished a board game with three of the concubines’ sons, the girls
made a quick trip to the Hall of the Two Sisters. After searching
three walls, they found a horizontal symmetry in gold and red and
blue. But it was perfect, not marred by the wazir’s magic.

Even so, Suleiman seemed pleased in his
snakelike way. He wriggled and complained less that night and all
the next morning. Ara looked longingly out of the window one last
time before leaving to begin the final preparations. Everything
that could be polished, waxed, shined or bathed had been, and
thoroughly. Su’ah had sewn a new outfit for her, muttering that no
child in her care would look less than regal.

“Ara, there you are. What are you doing up
here?” Su’ah said, breathing heavily as she climbed the staircase.
“There’s work to do. You need to get ready. I have your clothes all
laid out.”

“Sorry, Su’ah. I wanted a glimpse of the
procession.” Ara turned from the window.

“Guess who is asking for you?” Su’ah said as
she crossed the room. “The wazir.”

Ara felt her heart race.

“He was worried about you. I mentioned to one
of the guards how upset you were the day Suleiman left. Abd
al-Rahmid was there. I had him all wrong. I always thought him a
selfish, arrogant man, but he seemed truly interested. I told him I
would find you so he could speak with you himself.

“It’s good that your father has someone that
he can trust. These are hard times, and the wazir is a hard man. He
was so, even as a boy, but clever and never forgets a detail.”
Su’ah looked out the window before continuing.

“He, too, is concerned about Suleiman’s
whereabouts. Actually, I’m worried myself, exasperating as he is.
What errand could be taking this long? Ara, are you listening to me
or are you daydreaming again?”

Ara jerked herself out of her panic. “Yes,
I’m listening. Is Tahirah back yet? Do you know?”

“I heard she is expected back today. Don’t
know if that’s true or not. The house slaves were preparing her
rooms this morning. But you know how it is. Sufis move at no one’s
will but Allah’s.” She shook her head. “Eager to get out of your
sewing lessons, are you? Seems to me time spent learning to wield a
needle is of better use than any algebra or geometry or whatever,”
she rambled on. “Well, hurry up. It isn’t polite to keep people
waiting. The wazir’s a very busy man. He is meeting us in the Court
of the Lions. Zoriah and Maryam went to collect Layla.”

Ara spun around. “He’s going to talk with
Layla!”

“Stop dawdling, child, there is much to do.
The wazir only wants to ask if either of you’ve heard from
Suleiman. It’s nothing for you to be troubled about.”

Ara felt butterflies the size of birds in her
stomach. A whole flight of them. All the way to the Court of the
Lions she reminded herself that the wazir couldn’t possibly know
she had been in the mirrored room. He didn’t know Suleiman wasn’t a
lizard anymore. Why, oh why wasn’t Tahirah back?

Zoriah and Maryam stood in the courtyard
looking puzzled. Layla’s smile was uneasy, but she seemed calmer
than Ara felt.

Ara walked into the lion court with Su’ah,
her gaze flickering nervously about. The wazir was nowhere in
sight. Maryam, dressed in a sand-colored hijab, was speaking to
Zoriah. “He couldn’t wait a short while? After insisting he needed
to speak with my daughter and Ara, he just walked out? We dropped
everything and rushed here to accommodate his wishes.”

“This does seem odd,” Zoriah agreed. “He
suddenly looked distracted and pale. One moment he was pacing the
courtyard asking when you would arrive, not long after he stared at
the ground and abruptly rushed out.”

“I’ve got to get back to review tonight’s
preparation with the servants,” Maryam said, moving toward the
door. “Layla, you need to finish getting ready also.”

“Just a few moments, Mother. I need to speak
to Ara.”

“What happened?” Ara asked when the women
were well out of the room.

“I’m not really sure. I got here just before
he left. He was pacing, just as Zoriah said, but he stopped and
seemed glued in place. Then he turned and left, completely ignoring
me,” Layla said with a shrug.

“Did he see something or remember he had to
do something, do you think?” Ara asked, thankful she didn’t have to
face the evil wazir.

“He stopped when he was standing about four
paces from the lion fountain, where the bushes are.” She walked
over to the spot.

“I don’t see anything unusual, do you?” Ara
asked.

“Not really, just dirt and pebbles and
bushes,” she said, looking at the ground. “Wait, what is this?” She
pointed to a track pushed into the soft ground. Both girls stared
at a paw print, edged in red, from what looked like a very large
cat.

Ara waved her hand. “This is an enclosed
courtyard. Nothing gets in here. Besides, cats with paws the size
of my hand don’t exist. Except” —Ara turned slowly toward the stone
lions, her mouth open in wonder— “for them.”

Layla shuddered. “We must tell Tahirah.
She’ll know what it means. Maybe the lions want to help. I wanted
to be brave, but I was so frightened.”

“Me too,” Ara agreed, thinking of her flight
of butterflies. “But you looked unafraid. I think that’s all we
have to do.”

“What, we just have to
look
brave?”

Ara considered. “We just have to look,
well…not interested, sort of bored. The wazir doesn’t know we’re
tangled in this unless we tell him. Suleiman is always suspicious
when I look the least bit jumpy.”

Su’ah called from the arched doorway, “Ara
and Layla! The People of the Book are coming up the road right now.
You both need to bathe and dress. Ara, you know you have to help
with translating for the women. Come, hurry along!”

“Yes, Su’ah,” they replied as one.

Chapter 18

The evening started well enough. The wazir
must have busied himself with the sultan’s work and did not seek
out the two daughters of the harem.

Five of the strangers’ women and three of
their children joined them for the evening meal. One lad, a bit
younger than Ara with round cheeks, ginger curls and a surly
expression, sat arguing with his mother. The two younger boys,
dressed in velvet and silk, had the most amazing golden hair that
curled at their shoulders. Ara kept stealing looks at their hair,
unable to believe it was real, until Zoriah quietly pinched her and
whispered, “Stop staring.”

Ara looked elsewhere, glad for the reminder.
Layla leaned toward her, “A horizontal symmetry.” And there it was,
low to the ground near the floor, a flower pattern that almost
crawled across the wall.

Ara hugged her cousin and said so only Layla
could hear, “We’ll find the broken one soon. We have to.”

Ara’s father had introduced the foreign women
to his wives and female relatives and offered Ara as interpreter
before he left to join the men. They had strange names that were
hard to keep straight—Lady Anna, Lady Theresa, Lady Catalina,
Sister Mary and Sister Helena. The first three were married to
lords who were off discussing the trade treaty with the sultan. The
other two, wearing hijabs similar to Islamic women, said—or Ara
thought they said—they were sisters married to Christ. It seemed
unlikely, as he had been dead for some time. To make their point,
they showed Ara gifts of jewelry from Him. Rosaries, they said,
adorning their necks. The necklaces were made of rose petals rolled
into tight balls and strung like beads.

Ara had seen a similar necklace on Tahirah,
only it was called a
tasbih
. The Sisters
seemed to take great pleasure in theirs as they touched them often
during dinner.

The meal was served in the Mirador de
Lindaraja, a rectangular room off the Hall of the Two Sisters. It
was an elegant room with low, arched windows that looked out over
the countryside. Above was a stained glass ceiling that seemed to
twinkle as the light penetrated it.

The Christian women had difficulty attempting
to sit down to eat. Their garments, Lady Anna explained as she
tugged impatiently at her clothes, were unsuited to sitting on the
floor. After some contortions and rearranging of cushions, everyone
was seated and the meal was brought in.

Course after course arrived: figs and olives
to start, then doves in pomegranate sauce, chicken with salted
lemons, goat roasted with spices, eggplant sautéed and dotted with
sesame seeds, fava beans with olive oil drizzled on top, carrots
cooked with mint and cinnamon, and roasted almonds.

The ewers of water caused some confusion. One
of the women poured herself what she believed was watered wine. Ara
hastily translated for Zoriah that the water was to wash their
hands.

Although the guests seemed hesitant about
some of the dishes, the banquet was going well. They admired the
decorated ceramic plates on which food was served. Sister Mary
explained, delicately touching the plates, that normally they used
wooden trenchers and that the beauty of these surpassed any she had
seen. Ara promptly passed the compliment to Zoriah, who smiled with
pleasure.

Rabab was delighted with the gift of a cage
full of brightly colored birds—parakeets, they were called. Lady
Anna leaned over, pointing to one of the birds. It could talk, she
said, but not understand. The Arab women, in return, gifted the
Christians with a beautiful metal box inlaid with gold and silver
designs and two large ceramic serving bowls with an opaque white
glaze decorated in green and blue designs.

The ginger-haired boy, who had been
complaining steadily to his mother, spit out a piece of food. Ara
quickly glanced away.

All eyes drifted over to him, and all became
aware that he ate with his left hand. Maryam’s eyes widened.
Zoriah, after a double take, looked determinedly at her plate. Ara
looked anywhere but at him. Three or four servants stopped in their
tracks but caught themselves after a sharp glance from Zoriah.
Layla wrinkled her nose and carefully studied her food. As the
smallest child knew, the left hand was for cleaning after bodily
functions, never for eating. Ara thanked Allah she wasn’t sharing
her plate with him.

Rabab was filling her plate with an eggplant
dish until she too noticed the child scooping up food with his left
hand. Her mouth flew open and she blurted, “That’s disgusting.” The
foreign woman seated next to Ara smiled uncertainly and asked,
“What did she say?”