A Memory of Love

'Do not scold me, lady, for listening. You know that my duty to you is paramount. Have I not been with you since you were but a child in your father's house? Lady Noor is wise to consider all the consequences of the caliph's desire. What, indeed, if the caliph loved a son of her body more than Prince Mohammed? She would not, I believe, encourage such a thing, for there is no malice in her, but we cannot control the caliph's feelings, as you and I know. A son of Noor's body could prove a catastrophe for Cinnebar. For us all, my lady Alia! Listen to the lady Noor.'

'Fate, my dear Baba Haroun, will take its course no matter what we do. The Jews have a saying: Man plans. God laughs,' Alia said quietly. 'If Rashid desires a child of Noor, then it is her duty to give him one. I am willing, however, as head of my lord's harem, to let her wait a little more before she must fulfill that duty.'

'It will be as my lady wills,' the chief eunuch said.

Rhonwyn bowed her head in obedience to the first wife, but afterward told Nilak of all that had happened.

'A child!' Nilak said excitedly. 'That would be wonderful, my dear lady. I knew you were fortunate the day I first laid eyes upon you. The lady Alia is correct when she says the caliph loves you. Many in the harem are very jealous of you, although you would not notice it, having no acquaintance with the other women.'

'The others bore me,' Rhonwyn said. 'They seem to do nothing but lay about beautifying themselves and hoping that the caliph will notice them. I far prefer Lady Alias company.'

'There is to be a special entertainment for the harem shortly,' Nilak told her mistress. 'A famous young musician who has been in the town entertaining at a tavern. He is to come to the palace in a few days and sing for us, it is said.'

'How is that possible, since we are not allowed to be seen by others?' Rhonwyn asked.

'The harem, but for the lady Alia and you, will be seated behind screens. You two, however, are permitted to sit at the caliph's feet, suitably veiled, of course. There are but a few invited guests. The vizier, the caliph's treasurer, the imam. No others. It is an informal event, my lady Noor.'

'I always enjoyed music,' Rhonwyn said, 'although our music is different than yours.'

'These musicians are foreigners. They sing and play in many languages, I am told. Perhaps even yours,' Nilak replied.

'I doubt it,' Rhonwyn said with a smile. 'Welsh is a difficult tongue. Almost as difficult as Arabic.'

'Which you now speak flawlessly and without even an accent,' Nilak praised the younger woman.

'When are we to hear these musicians?' Rhonwyn asked.

'Baba Haroun has not yet announced their coming' was the reply. 'It should be soon, though.'

The mere mention of an entertainment to which they were to be invited set the harem women abuzz with excitement. The mistress of the wardrobe was besieged with requests for clothing and jewelry. Gossip ran rife about what the lady Alia and the lady Noor would wear. The fact that they would be seated by the caliph and not behind the screens caused a great deal of jealousy.

'The wives always have more privileges, and why?' one girl whined as she braided pearls into her hair.

'Because they are wives and have children,' another more sensible and practical woman said.

'The lady Noor has no children,' the first replied.

'But she is easily the most beautiful woman in the world,' the practical woman answered, 'and besides, the caliph loves her.'

The other women nodded in agreement. It was certainly no secret that Rashid al Ahmet was utterly besotted by the beautiful Frankish woman. The lady Noor, to give her credit, however, seemed modest despite their master's grand passion. Even the lady Alia was her friend.

The date for the entertainment was announced, and the excitement grew to a fever pitch. The evening the musicians came, the harem was shepherded by Baba Haroun and his minions into the great hall of the caliph's palace. The veiled ladies sat behind the sheer fabric screens, their view visible but faintly obscured. Rashid al Ahmet sat upon a low-cushioned golden and bejeweled throne set upon a black marble dais. On his right his eldest son, Mohammed, was seated upon a low stool, his head only reaching the height of his father's hand. On the caliph's left his other son, Omar, was similarly ensconced. The ruler of Cinnebar was garbed in a black and gold brocaded silk robe. There was a small gold turban upon his dark head with a large ruby in its center. His two sons were dressed in simple white robes, but their heads were bare.

The lady Alia sat upon a scarlet silk cushion to the right of her husband and just one step below the dais. She wore a scarlet kaftan decorated with gold, which complemented her coloring. The lady Noor sat upon a cloth-of- silver cushion to the left of the caliph and two steps below the dais. Her simple kaftan was turquoise blue in color, trimmed in silver. Both women wore sheer matching veils over their heads and drawn across their faces for modesty's sake, although anyone looking closely could have seen their features. Still, no man in the room among the few guests would have been so rude.

A hush descended upon the hall as the three musicians entered and bowed low to the caliph. They were swathed in the white robes and burnooses of the land. The tallest of them stepped forward as the other two sat upon the floor, their instruments at the ready.

'My lord caliph, I shall first begin with a song native to my own land and sung in my own tongue,' he said.

Rhonwyn started. That voice!

The musicians began, and the tune was familiar to her.

'My sister, if you are among these women, you must contrive to sing back to me now so I may know it,' sang Glynn ap Llywelyn. 'I have sought long for you. Sing to me, my sweet sister.'

'You must not start at the sound of my voice, brother, but I am indeed here,' Rhonwyn's voice rang out. Then she turned to look up to the caliph. 'They sing a song native to my homeland in my own Welsh tongue. The singer invites all who understand him to join in, my lord. Please allow me to do so or at least explain if I may not.'

'Sing, my beautiful golden bird,' the caliph said generously. 'I was not aware of what a lovely voice you had. You will sing for me alone in the future, Noor.'

'Thank you, my lord,' Rhonwyn replied. Then turning back to the musicians, she sang, 'He says I may sing with you, for he does not know who you are, brother. Your song must be short else suspicions be aroused.'

'I have come to take you home, sister,' Glynn sang. 'My musicians are Oth and Dewi. Tell us, how we may accomplish the impossible?'

'Remain in Cinnebar, brother. Use whatever excuse you must, but remain. I will find a way to contact you. It will not be easy, but I will succeed in time. Be patient and do not leave me now that you have found me. Tis best we end our song now, sweet brother. How I long to embrace you once again,' Rhonwyn's voice soared sweetly.

'I shall do as you say, dearest sister. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you,' Glynn finished the song. Then he bowed to the caliph.

'Tell me the tale of your song, my minstrel friend,' the caliph said.

'It is a story about a widowed mother whose only son goes off to war. She fears for him in the ensuing months as she hears nought of him. Finally, when she has just about given up hope, her son returns, my lord. He promises never to leave her again. It is a simple tale, you understand. Now, however, I shall sing to you a song that is currently quite popular in Damascus. But would you first tell me who the lady was who sang with me?' He bowed again.

'My second wife,' the caliph answered. 'She is a student of languages.'

Rhonwyn could scarcely conceal her excitement, but she did. Glynn! Her little brother. How had he come to this place? It was a miracle, and now she needed another miracle.

For the next few days she considered her course of action, but finally had to admit to herself that only the chief eunuch, Baba Haroun, could help her. But would he? The tall black man held the power of life and death within the harem walls. Even Rashid al Ahmet did not have such total control as did his chief eunuch. Rhonwyn sent her serving woman Sadirah to request an audience with Baba Haroun. Sadirah returned, saying the eunuch would expect the lady Noor in his chambers within the hour.

'Why do you wish to speak to him?' Nilak probed none too subtly.