The Gates of Wisdom

The Gates of Wisdom
Sequel to The Tomb of Seth
By Suzette

Ardeth returns now to the village to face this joining. His pregnant American wife, Dr. Caroline Bennett Bay, has remained in Cairo for the 20-day “honeymoon” during which Ardeth must remain with the second wife. His strongest allies in the village are his siblings, Jehan, his sister who studies to become he first female Medjai warrior in 300 years, and his half-brother Ibrahim, whose birthright has only recently been legitimized.

Disclaimer: I did not create Ardeth Bay or any of the other characters from The Mummy or The Mummy Returns. The other characters are mine.

The Gates of Wisdom - Chapter 1

Ibrahim impassively surveyed the row of Medjai novitiates arrayed at attention before him: it was the day for reviewing those in training. He had seen his brother do this many times: both as a warrior standing in the ranks and later, as he rose to stand beside his brother, as the second in command. He had lead the men into battle and was comfortable doing so. He did not, however, on this day, relish taking The Lion’s place. He did not enjoy standing in his brother’s place….ever….it reminded him of the fragility of life and how easily those few people he loved could be taken from him.

The unrelenting wind whipped his black robes around him despite the cliffs that protected the village from the worst of the desert’s fury. He knew his brother and sister were making the dangerous crossing in this storm. That in itself was a worry. He had lived most of his life without what one could call family. Ardeth and Jehan had become this to him. His life had not included many close ties to others and he guarded the few he had.

Ardeth was his commander, but so much more, of course. Before they knew they were brothers they had felt it. They had bonded as boys, when Ibrahim was an orphan with no paternal name.

Ibrahim didn’t know the great Kasim Bay was his father. He had no idea who either of his parents were, only that they were dead. It was not uncommon for Medjai children to be orphaned. As in Ibrahim’s case, other families took the orphans in and raised them. Both of Ibrahim’s birth parents were Medjai, so when he came of age, he began his training. His foster father was his first master, and Ibrahim showed great potential. He went with his master to spar before the mighty Kasim Bay. He did well, but no one expected the great leader to ask to continue the boy’s training himself.

And so Ibrahim came to live in the tent of the man he would later learn was his father.

The family that raised Ibrahim from infancy treated him kindly. They saw to his needs and training and treated him almost as their own son. Ibrahim was grateful to them and, of course, respectful, but he never felt he belonged with them. It was not until he met Ardeth that he knew where he should be: at Ardeth’s side: and it was something he knew almost from the first day the boys were together.

He would not know the truth of his paternity until after Kasim’s murder, when Ardeth took him into the desert for several days, just the two of them. Ardeth was barely 18, and had taken his father’s place as chieftain of the tribe. Ibrahim was 13 and was already devoted to the older boy. The new chieftain’s first act, after the necessary funerary functions for his father, was to tell Ibrahim of his true heritage. Ardeth didn’t have the ability to legitimize Ibrahim's birth, but he wished the boy to know the truth. He did not reveal the identity of the mother, as his promise to Najima still bound him.

Kasim had told Ardeth a year prior of Ibrahim’s true parentage, including the identity of his mother: a woman Ardeth knew well from his visits to her brothel. Kasim had promised Ameera Bay to not recognize his other son, and he had honored that. Except for this, Ameera had allowed Kasim to treat the boy as he wished and had taken him into her home without bitterness. She simply wished no harm to come to her own son and did not want it known that there was a second son of Kasim Bay’s. The slaughter of Kasim’s second wife and her children had made Ameera afraid for her own children’s lives. If it had been known another male heir of the line existed; it would have endangered Ardeth’s life.

Ameera held regret for the price the younger son of Kasim had paid for her forcing the denial of his paternity during Kasim’s life. She knew the greatest sorrow in her husband’s life had been his promise to her to treat this boy as an orphan – as the son of another man. The recent recognition of Ibrahim’s parentage allowed her to honor Kasim’s wish that Ibrahim have full rights as issue of his body.

Truth be told, Ameera had always liked Ibrahim, despite his being the son of her husband’s “other woman”. The shy, polite boy who came to live in her tent had been so like his older brother – so like her own son – that it was easy to find for him a place in her heart. He had an endearing quietness about him, and Ameera often found herself defending the young boy from the biting tongues of the gossiping women who called him a nameless bastard.

Ameera had offered to sit beside Ibrahim as family in the negotiations for his upcoming joining to Safi as well as for Ardeth’s taking of a second. Ameera did not have to do this, and Ibrahim had been deeply honored to have her at his side. Her council in arranging Ardeth’s second marriage had been invaluable.

Ibrahim thought now of his own joining. Safi had loved him when he was an orphan with no family or rank, and her parents, despite their initial displeasure that their only daughter desired a man with no house, had come to accept him as a son. His abilities had advanced him through the ranks of the men until he rode at the right hand of the great Ardeth Bay. There were then many other women who desired he consider them for marriage. Suddenly the titleless orphan they would not look upon a few years prior had become attractive.

By that time, however, his heart was pledged to Safi. She had always been kind to him, even when they were children and she would play with Jehan on the floor of the chieftain’s tent. She hadn’t cared that he had no house of his own, or title to offer her as his wife. Neither had his quiet nature and shyness deterred her: she had fallen in love with him as deeply as he with her. She had been 14…and he 19 when they secretly pledged their hearts to each other.

Only Ardeth knew of Ibrahim’s affections, and spoke on his behalf to Safi’s parents: not as brother, for he could not acknowledge it at that time, but as friend and commander. The marriage was agreed upon when she was 16, but then Safi heard the call to service and she selected to enter one of the Cairo houses. The thought he would be separated from her with no contact for two years was excruciating to Ibrahim. Ardeth again interceded, seeing that she was placed with Najima, so he could watch over her during the time she was forbidden any contact with Ibrahim.

Always he had been there, his brother, to help him, Ibrahim reflected. The older boy quickly became the protector of the younger, daring the bullies who implied Ibrahim’s parentage wasn’t pure to say these words to Ardeth’s face instead of his back. Even was a youth, Ardeth’s skill with a blade was remarkable, and none would take up the challenge. Soon, as Ibrahim learned the blade from Kasim and sparred with Ardeth, his own prowess closed the mouths of those who would disparage him. He raised an eyebrow in irony: many of those who mocked him now bowed their heads to him in respect: indeed many were under his command.

Anyone with eyes could saw the similarities between the two as they grew into men. Many had whispered that Ibrahim was another son of Kasim Bay. They were different in personality, however, with Ibrahim being very quiet and introspective. Ardeth had been shy, particularly with women, as a youth, but had overcome it quickly. Ibrahim remained ….uncomfortable…around women….all except Safi.

Ibrahim remembered the day Ardeth took him to a brothel in Cairo. It was the house his Safi would later serve. The one night allowed a betrothed couple before the woman left for her years of service approached and Ardeth knew his brother had no understanding of the ways between a man and woman. Ibrahim desired no woman save Safi and had not availed himself of the sexual alternatives allowed him: he had no lover among the widows in the village and had never set foot inside any of the houses, even when accompanying Ardeth to Cairo,

“My brother,” Ardeth had advised him. “You take to your bed the woman you love. Shouldn’t you know how to please her?” When Ibrahim argued he needed no tutelage in loving Safi, Ardeth had laughed heartily, remembering his own first fumbling attempts at sex, and likened spending time with the women in the brothel to learning the scimitar from great swordmasters.

Ibrahim relented and stood in silent mortification as Ardeth introduced him to several beautiful women who were obviously well acquainted with the elder son of Kasim Bay: this was when Ardeth still frequented the brothel for the carnal delights found within its walls. The madam, a handsome woman named Najima had taken Ardeth aside and was quite irritated with him. Ibrahim had only seen a few people dare speak to his brother in such a manner. They spoke quietly but intently, of what Ibrahim never knew, and the woman returned with a kind smile and a suggestion Ibrahim simply be shown a room for the night: he needed rest, certainly, and a hot bath. To Ibrahim’s surprise, Ardeth agreed, a slight smile upon his lips.

Ibrahim was relieved to hear this: the sight of the scantily clad women suggestively touching his brother had embarrassed him. He was much more reserved than Ardeth and could not imagine allowing a woman to be so bold with him.

The room he was given was palatial by the desert standards Ibrahim knew. He had never bathed in a tub before, nor enjoyed such soft towels. He was accustomed to sleeping on a hard pallet on a floor, and quickly found the soft bed lulled him into a deep sleep. He thought he was dreaming at first when he felt the woman beside him. She was like an angel: quiet and gentle, and her hands and lips brought him not embarrassment but pleasure. He quickly found his own arousal quite undeniable and she guided him into her supple, welcoming body. She taught him most tenderly the ways to please a woman at first slowly and then, as the night continued, with more passion. She stayed with him until the morning, showing him all the ways of things between a man and woman

The soft dawn light showed her to be a young, lovely woman of grace and elegance: not unlike his own Safi. She was obviously a noblewoman from a good Medjai family. He had felt then very shy before her, ashamed really: and asked her forgiveness for how he had dishonored her.

She had bowed respectfully before leaving him, telling him he should feel no shame as what she offered was a gift from one soldier to another. She was not dishonored: his reputation as a leader of their people had proceeded him and it had been indeed great honor to be the first to lay with him. She bestowed Allah’s blessings upon him and his beloved, then she was gone: he never saw her again and didn’t even know her name. Her words remained with him: his own reputation. It did not matter that he could not claim Kasim Bay as his father, nor any other Medjai leader…he had made his own name. This noblewoman treated him as a Medjai lord, not as an orphan of unknown blood, and it was as precious a lesson as what she had taught him in bed.

Ardeth and the woman Najima greeted him at the breakfast table: neither revealing they knew what had happened in his room over night. Certainly they must know, Ibrahim reasoned, but there was never a word spoken of it until years later, when Ibrahim thanked his brother for the gift of knowledge exchanged that night.

The true gift was from Najima, however. It had been the first time she had looked upon her son since the day of his birth. She knew who he was as soon as he stepped into her house and scolded Ardeth for bringing him so near to her. When Ardeth explained the reason, Najima softened, and herself selected the woman to visit her son’s room. It was a something she could give to the man she was not allowed to touch, or hold or kiss. The son she had so happily given Kasim and so longingly missed.

“My liege…all is ready.” Tariq’s voice intruded on Ibrahim’s memories. Ibrahim turned to the man who spoke. Tariq: whom Ibrahim was certain knew more than he was telling of the plot against the house of Bay. A lifetime as an outsider honed within Ibrahim a great skill for reading people and almost seeing into their hearts: Tariq stood very close to the evil: Ibrahim could see this. He could also see great conflict in him. He was definitely not to be trusted.

Tariq’s skill with a sword had brought him into a place close to Ardeth and Ibrahim in the ranks: he was directly involved in training the novice Medjais. It was this that would be tested today on this windswept morning. Ibrahim spoke quietly as was his way. “We shall see how well you serve the Loin, Tariq, in how well your students fight.”

“They will fight well enough.” Tariq spoke, then realized his impertinence. “Forgive me, my lord, I spoke out of pride.” Tariq had not expected either son of the house of Bay to treat him with respect, despite his skills as a swordsman: he had been told the Bays respected only fortune and social rank.

Ibrahim replied looking at him. “It is good to have confidence in your men, Tariq. Let us hope they do not disappoint you….or me.” He raised his arm, signaling the sparring to begin.

Tariq had trained other swordsmen – although not Medjai. He spent several years in a Bedouin camp and the Bedouin commanders would have struck him for speaking as he just had to Ibrahim. Tariq had found neither of the two sons of Kasim Bay behaved as he had expected: as he had been told they would. Neither had the cruelty of their father. Tariq had begun to wonder if the stories of the sons were untrue how accurate were those of the father? Yet Kasim Bay had destroyed Tariq’s family. He had heard this all his life. That had been the one constant thing in his life….the hate those who raised him had for Kasim Bay and his house.

“Yes, Liege.” Tariq nodded. “The one best with the sword is not there.” He was thinking of the slender woman who wore the same features as the man standing next to him: the third child of Kasim Bay: the daughter Jehan. “Her masters have taught her well.”

“My sister is gifted with the scimitar. We shall see how she fairs with the rest of training.” Like Ardeth, Ibrahim was concerned about Jehan’s temper and lack of discipline.

“My lord, if I may, she has been trained by you and your brother. Perhaps it would be better if another continued through the final few weeks?” He did not look from the skirmishes before them, noting which boys needed more practice and which would simply not be ready to take their oath at the end to this final month of training.

“This is true. You have a recommendation?” Of course he did…Ibrahim knew the words Tariq would say before they left his lips.

“Your interest in her as a bride is not unknown to me, Tariq. Why would I approve you be with her unescorted as the training requires?” Ibrahim stifled a smile. “You would be wise to honor her as the sister of the Lion before you train her as a warrior.”

“I am not unmindful of her family, my lord.” Indeed not…that was the entire reason he was in the village, if the truth were known.

“Or of the penalty we will extract if she is dishonored in any way?” Ibrahim’s voice was quiet but the promise of great violence was clear.

“Yes my liege, of course.” Tariq nodded respectfully. Part of Tariq hated the deception he now deployed: he respected Ibrahim, perhaps even more than he did Ardeth. Tariq was also an orphan and had also been raised by strangers: he knew the difficulties Ibrahim had overcome to become the leader he now was.

“That one – do not waste any further training on him.” Ibrahim pointed to a boy who had badly defended himself.

“That is of no consequence. The boy is not a warrior. There are other ways to serve. Send the father to me if he argues.” Sparring continued, but Ibrahim had seen enough. “ The rest are…acceptable. They are still rough. I will consider your …proposal…. regarding my sister.” He dismissed the man with a nod of his head. Tariq left to rejoin the novices.

There were many other things the younger son of Kasim Bay needed to see to that morning. The tent he prepared for his joining to Safi was nearly complete, as was that for his brother’s second wife.

Ibrahim scowled thinking of the woman his brother was forced to take as a second. She was not like the doctor, and she did not see how Ardeth would find anything but toil upon her body. Certainly there was no sweetness in her.

Her caravan arrived a few days after Ardeth left. The woman, Zubida, was accompanied by her grandfather, Masoud, as well as her father, who was married to one of Masoud’s many daughters. In addition to the necessary guards, she brought along her own house servants, and a small woman who remained close to the bride at all times, at least every time Ibrahim had seen her.

The bride’s father was annoyed Ardeth Bay himself hadn’t been available to greet them personally upon their arrival, but between Ibrahim and Ameera, the visitors were mollified. Ameera Bay was a great noblewoman and to have her greet the contingent herself had been an honor. Ibrahim had been thankful for her presence: it had diffused an explosive situation.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes remembering the scenes created by this new bride. He could not comprehend how Ardeth could tolerate the domestic quarrels he as chieftain must adjudicate. It was far easier to command an army than regulate screaming civilians.

At first there was consternation Zubida would not take her place in the chieftain’s tent: it was expected as she was of pure blood she would become the primary wife, reclaiming the spot from the western usurper, but it became very clear, very quickly that Zubida would occupy another tent. It was nearly as large as the chieftain’s tent…but it was NOT the chieftain’s tent and therein lay the insult: obviously the westerner was the preferred wife.

Ibrahim kept his silence over this. He watched the antics of this new bride and contrasted them to Caroline’s behavior. Ibrahim did not share his brother’s comfort with outsiders and had initially found Caroline grating – as he did all westerners, particularly the women. She had earned his respect…and love as a sister, however. Caroline brought his brother a contentment he had long lacked: she had brought him love.

The younger son of Kasim Bay sighed deeply thinking of the woman his brother was now expected to bed.

Two nights previous he sat at a table mediating over the tent. Ibrahim listened to the bickering of the father, the bride, and the grandfather…back and forth, with Ameera attempting to negotiate an agreement that would please them. Ibrahim listened impassively: quietly, while the anger within him rose with each volley of demands and insults. All things came back to the tent and how Zubida would not agree to the joining unless she dwelt in the chieftain’s tent. Finally he brought his fist down hard on the table. “Enough” he barked, sounding very unlike the quiet man they all knew him to be. “She shall accept the tent prepared for her or my brother shall exist with only one wife.”

All silently gazed at Ibrahim: none had expected the brother of the Lion to suddenly bring forth his own roar. He was in charge of the village while Ardeth was away and his word was law. Ameera and Masoud exchanged knowing looks: they both saw in Ibrahim the temper of his father. Zubida and her father sat like stones. The father then dared call the chieftain’s wife the “American whore.” Ibrahim stared impassively at the man and simply drew his scimitar, laying it down broadside on the top of the table. The message was clear: another such word and Ibrahim would not resheath the blade until it tasted blood. Ibrahim was well known as one of the most skilled swordsmen in the Twelve Tribes.

His challenge ended the argument. Zubida and her father had no choice but to submit and accept the tent prepared for her.

How different were the preparations for his own joining. Safi’s parents, who had accepted him when he was no one, now found their daughter marrying into the most powerful family with in the tribe. They had already come to look upon Ibrahim as a son, and now the joining would make him truly part of their family.

Their joining would be simple – they were already one in their hearts and the marriage cloth from their one night together already hung proudly in the tent he had prepared for her. He would receive her and make love to her as he had ached to for so very long

Safi – gentle, brave Safi, who had nearly given her life for her people, had healed completely from her injuries and Ibrahim ached to have her body next to his again. He had not laid with another since the night with her, and dreams of her nubile form next to his filled his nights. Often he awoke fully erect, quite large in his need. He yearned for the night when she would come to him as his bride and they would be joined as one.

That time was now very near: it would be the day after his brother returned – which would be soon. The day after that, Ardeth would take Zubida as his second. Two joinings in the same family in two days: Ibrahim was only sorry his brother’s would not be joyful.

He walked now through the village, accepting the nods that greeted him. Again the irony: many of those so respectful of him now had once scorned him as a fatherless orphan. Allah was indeed mysterious.

“My liege…my liege…” a small boy ran up to him, clutching at his cloak: obviously not knowing he should not touch him in this way. His mother ran towards him: concern on her face.

“There is no harm.” He calmly told her. He knelt down to the boy’s level. “What is it child?”

“Riders my lord…we saw them from the caverns – two riders approach…” The child pointed to the cliff that guarded the village from outsiders.

Ibrahim’s dark eyes focused on the gateway: indeed two horses descended slowly on the switchbacks: both looked exhausted, as did the riders. The black horse in front could be none other than Osirus.

The Medjai smiled at the boy. “You have done well with your sharp eyes. Go now…tell the rest of the guard you send a message from me that the commander has returned.”

The commander’s body was exhausted past sensation: he simply hung onto the saddle by sheer will: balancing by instinct. He knew his sister was barely staying awake as her stallion followed his down the steep trail. They had not stopped on their drive across the desert and both were spent.

They had traveled as warriors: resting only to refresh the horses. Ardeth was more practiced at this, but Jehan had soon found exhaustion a good teacher: on the second day she had tied herself to her stallion by her sash and let herself fall into a stupor. The half-sleep at least allowed her body some rest. She had not complained, despite her brother’s harsh manner. He was not himself, she knew…and as a novice it was not her place to comment upon this.

His eyes surveyed the green valley below them. Many times the view of the village from the cliff gateway brought joy to Ardeth’s heart. It meant he was returning home, usually from some bloody battle. Now, the sight of the green oasis cradled between the cliffs meant the beginning of a war more costly than any he had yet known. It meant the taking of a woman to bed he did not desire, did not know, and already resented.

His thoughts went to the woman he had left behind in Cairo: the one he wished to find in his tent. The one whose absence he felt in his heart like a dagger. Caroline. The image of her in the cold dawn, her head turned from him, her eyes glistening with tears as she sent him from her…was raw in his mind. He had wished to pull her to him, comforting her sorrow with his kisses, but he knew she spoke truly: the time to leave had come and he had to turn from her. May Allah protect her.

As often happened, a fragment of a poem glimmered in his mind. It rose through his crushingly tired brain like a shimmering bubble through murky water.

He remembered the golden morning in Najima’s when she had awoken him with her sensual kisses, her eyes alit with playfulness.

He saw his wife again, as she had come to him on their wedding night...at the moment he slipped her robe from her and saw her naked body for the first time.

He closed his eyes and softly called her name. “Caroline.” For a brief moment the wind mimicked the soft moans she made when his body entered hers. Then the wind became simply the wind again, and he saw the village before him.

They were close enough now that the first few fleet-footed children ran to them, greeting them in the traditional way: it was always a celebration when Medjai returned from the desert passage. Their hands reached up to touch him and his sister, their voices raised in the song of welcome. It was a joyous return: there had been no battles to create new widows.

This was the first time Jehan had received such a greeting: in the past she had been among those racing to great the men, rushing forward, throwing her arms around her brother’s neck, ecstatic he had survived once again. Now she looked down at the little girls who gazed up at her in wonder: they all knew of the woman who trained to be a warrior. It was all she had energy to think of.

Ardeth stopped his weary horse and turned to his sister. She had done well on this crossing, although he knew it had been hard on her. He looked at the young girls clambering around the horses and remembered when Jehan was among them. He hated seeing the faces of the wives of the dead when returning from a campaign. They waited, hopefully, fearfully, looking for a familiar horse…straining to hear a beloved voice. He had dreaded Jehan becoming such a widow: it did not seem her nature. Now his sister wore the black robes of a warrior and he believed this was her true destiny.

Jehan pulled her stallion abreast of her brother’s and looked at him questioningly. She would not speak before him.

“See to the animals, and move what you need into my tent: you will dwell there until the trial is over. I will send Caroline’s serving girl to our mother while you are with me. ”

Each novitiate lived in the tent of an unmarried Medjai for the final month of training. Jehan was a woman, and it was inappropriate for her to do this. Ardeth determined the only choice was to have her move into the chieftain’s tent for this time. He would not be there: he would be in the tent of the Other, and so the chieftain’s tent would essentially be that of an unmarried man.

He saw now the tent erected for the purpose of his joining to the girl chosen to destroy him. Caroline’s words to him – those of his dead father’s spirit had plagued him as he rode across the desert. How could he…do what the spirit said he must? How could he pretend to care for this woman they forced him to bed? Yet to prevail: to save his family: he would have to find a way.

He dismounted: handing the reins to Jehan. She still had hours of toil before finding her rest. Ardeth watched her disappear on the trail to the stables “Be strong, my sister” he silently prayed.

Ibrahim smiled grimly “No brother, although there are those whom I would enjoy seeing carried off in a whirlwind.”

“Do not apologize, Ibrahim. I need your truthful council. All is ready for both joinings?”

Ardeth looked at his brother this time, an amused smile cracking the crusted dirt on his face. “And you are not?”

Ibrahim laughed. The moment he had Safi again in his bed could not come too soon. “We have waited two years. I can not tolerate any more seconds than necessary.”

“You shall be joined at sundown tomorrow. Allah’s blessings upon you. Safi is a treasure, my brother.” His smile faded. “I shall wed Zubida the following day.”

“She has always liked you as a boy, and she now honors you as a man. It is as it should be.”

The younger man appreciated these words. “Thank you…brother. Jehan’s training is progressing?” Ibrahim would not yet tell his brother of Tariq’s suggestion. There would be time to decide this in the coming days.

“She did well on the passage. She will complete her training from my tent. We will speak of this later. Now I must attend to other matters.”

Ibrahim nodded his farewell as the chieftain entered his tent. Ardeth would bathe the grime from his body, visit his mother, see to his sister’s relocation, then put on paper the words his heart ached to say: he would write his first letter to Caroline. When that was done, he would receive Masoud’s contingent: including his new bride.

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“My lady…he returns”. The young maid, her face flushed, ran into Zubida’s tent. “The Lion returns. Truly he is as handsome as they say.”

It mattered not how handsome he was, Zubida thought coldly. He could look like a baboon’s ass and it would change nothing. She understood her purpose here. She was the heifer brought to the bull. Her mother had explained what would pass between them: it was like the animals in the fields and it disgusted her. She was to let him take her body, labor upon it until he emptied his seed into her and become pregnant with his male issue. She already placed within her vault herbs to ensure she would conceive a son: upon his birth she would poison the father and her role would be done.

She hoped she became pregnant quickly: a woman with child could refuse her husband’s lustful demands and she intended to do so.

“Tell my father and grandfather: they will meet with the chieftain later tonight to finalize the agreement.” She ordered the maid. Zubida would also have to be there: it would be the first time she would see the man to whom she was mated. She had heard of him, of course. He was a legend, even those who feared him and the loyalty he commanded would not begrudge him his abilities in battle or as a leader of their people. Her grandfather considered him a friend, as he had the father, Kasim Bay, but Zubida did not know her mother’s father well and felt no loyalty to the old man or his alliances. She had made her own: ones with far more power than any held by her grandfather.

Ardeth Bay was said to be dark, brooding, ruthless, yet many women found him handsome and quite desirable. He had shunned all attempts at marriage until recently. He had taken an outsider, an American, as his wife only a month earlier and had forced the elders to accept her. Zubida knew all this.

She knew, too, the chieftain had left his blond slut in Cairo – at a place as yet unknown. Zubida’s instructions were also to murder this woman before she became with child, but to do so in such a way no suspicion was raised: it must look accidental. It was difficult, but not impossible. Not once the American returned to the village. Accidents were common in he desert and she was confident the outsider would be easily eliminated.

The young girl hurried from the tent, as ordered. Another woman, one never far from Zubida, leaned close to the bride’s ear. “All is ready, my lady. Do not forget your place.” Her voice was more authoritarian than any maid’s, and indeed Zubida nodded obediently, albeit resentfully.

“There is need to remind you, my lady, lest you fail and all is lost.” The small woman hissed. “You must not be swayed if you find pleasure with him.”

“My mother has explained these ways to me: I do not relish his body taking mine. I will not enjoy being the vessel into which he pumps his vile seed..”

“Your mother is stupid: she has neglected to tell you there is enjoyment to be found with a man…and a skillful man can change the mind of the most determined woman.”

“What would you know of these ways, Sutha? You are unmarried….” Zubida’s tone left no doubt she despised this one who gave her orders.

“I am no silly virgin, my fine lady.” Sutha’s voice was hard and mocking. “I am not ashamed of the knowledge I have gained from laying with foolish men who talk to much when their need is great.”

Sutha became silent as he other maid darted into the tent, bowing respectfully. “Your father says the chieftain will receive you in his tent in an hour my lady.”

“I shall be ready for the chieftain.” Zubida looked poisonously at Sutha. “Of that have no doubt.”

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The Gates of Wisdom - Chapter 1