‘We should go,’ Yusuf said as he grabbed John’s arm and pulled him away.
John followed Yusuf back down the path, cursing as he stumbled over a root. His mind was still back in the clearing, filled with images of long limbs, that perfectly shaped bottom and Zimat’s face. He was still thinking of her when they reached the road where Selim and the mamluks were waiting. John stopped short when he saw that Zimat and the other women were also there. Zimat had not dried thoroughly, and her caftan clung to her left side, revealing the outline of her breast. John stared dumbly at her, and she returned his gaze. He felt himself turning red.
‘It grows late,’ Yusuf said, giving John a hard look. ‘We must return to Baalbek.’
The party returned to the clearing, where Abaan and his men packed up their supplies. Yusuf helped Sa’ida into the saddle, and John hurried to help Zimat. As he took her foot and lifted her up, she leaned over and whispered, ‘Meet me tonight, in the stable loft.’
John lay in his small room and stared out of the open window at the night sky, strewn with innumerable stars. He had stayed awake, his mind busy with thoughts of Zimat, while one by one the sounds of the villa had faded. Now, only the song of the cicadas could be heard. John took a deep breath and threw off his blanket. He was fully dressed. He went to the door and opened it, wincing as the hinges creaked. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest, and peeked out. No one had stirred. Relieved, he slipped outside, carefully shutting the door behind him. He paused to cross himself, and then crept towards the stables, keeping to the dark shadows thrown by the wall.
One of the tall double-doors to the stable was slightly ajar. John slipped through the crack into the inky darkness. ‘Hello?’ he whispered. He listened, but heard only the hum of the cicadas and the nickering of a horse, lost in a dream. ‘Zimat?’ There was no reply.
John tiptoed forward, his hand held out before him as he groped his way towards the ladder that led to the loft. He found it and climbed up, pausing at the top. He saw only the dim outline of the piles of hay. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. ‘Zimat?’
‘John?’ It was her voice.
‘It’s me,’ John said as he clambered into the loft. Zimat moved towards him and in the darkness they collided, their foreheads knocking together with an audible crack.
‘Akh laa!’ Zimat cried out as she fell back.
‘Are you hurt?’ John whispered as he moved forward to comfort her, only to trip over her legs and fall on top of her. He quickly rolled off and began to apologize, then stopped as Zimat burst out laughing. Her mirth proved contagious, and John found himself laughing with her, laughing so hard that his eyes watered. Finally, they fell silent, sitting side by side and gasping for breath.
‘I am glad you asked me to come,’ John said when he had recovered his breath. ‘After our kiss, I did not think you wanted to see me again.’
Zimat glanced at him, then looked away. ‘I was afraid. I had never kissed a man before.’
‘And I had never kissed a woman.’
‘But what about the English girl?’
‘I lied.’
‘I guessed as much. I felt your knees shaking.’ Zimat turned to face him. ‘Tell me, John: what do you see when you look at me?’
John stared at Zimat, the outlines of her face only dimly visible, her eyes twin pools of darkness. ‘I see a beautiful woman, the most beautiful I have ever seen.’
Zimat turned away. ‘Is that all?’
‘No.’ John reached out and gently touched her chin, turning her face back towards him. ‘I see a generous heart; you are kind even to your slaves. And I see a proud woman, but also one who is afraid. You want more than your place in life offers, but you are afraid to take it.’
‘Yes.’ Zimat nodded emphatically. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I feel the same.’
Zimat moved closer, her side almost touching his. ‘I am not afraid now.’
‘Nor am I.’ John took her hand in his.
‘Your hands are rough.’
‘Yours are soft, like the petal of a rose.’ John raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Zimat giggled.
‘You missed the mark.’ She leaned close and kissed John. Her lips were moist and soft, her breath sweet.
John closed his eyes, his head spinning, then pulled away suddenly. ‘But I am a Frank. Are you sure?’
‘That is why I am sure. You see me as I am. No man of my people will ever do the same.’ Zimat reached out and pulled him back towards her. John kissed her hard, and she opened her mouth to his. His arms encircled her, pulling her close against him so that he could feel the soft curves of her breasts against his chest. His hands moved down her back, then grabbed one of her firm buttocks. She gasped.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I did not mean to-’
‘No, do not stop.’ Zimat took his hand and placed it on her breast. John kissed her hungrily, while with his other hand he reached behind her back and gently laid her down in the straw. He began to kiss her cheeks, then her neck. He pulled open the front of her caftan to reveal her breasts, the dark nipples hard and erect. He took one in his mouth, and Zimat moaned softly.
John grasped her thigh, and his hand moved up under her caftan, between her legs. She reached out to stop him.
‘I must remain a virgin.’
‘I-I understand,’ John replied, his voice choked with passion. He pulled away.
Zimat reached out and drew him back down to her. ‘But that does not mean you must stop. There are other things we can do.’
John lay asleep in the straw of the loft, Zimat in his arms and her head upon his chest. She shifted, pressing herself closer against him, and he smiled. Then, his eyes snapped open at the sound of a loud wail from outside the barn. Daylight filtered in through the thin cracks between the boards that made up the ceiling. ‘What was that?’ John wondered.
Zimat awoke and sat up, pulling her caftan around her bare shoulders. ‘Ya Allah! It is daylight. I must go.’ She pulled on her caftan and headed for the ladder, then froze as another horrible cry penetrated the barn.
‘Something is wrong,’ John said, rising and pulling on his own caftan. ‘I will check to make sure that you will not be seen.’
Zimat nodded, and John stepped past her and hurried down the ladder. He cracked open the barn door and peered out. Most of the household was crowded around the well, only twenty feet from the barn doors. Basimah was on her knees, her head in her hands. Ayub and Yusuf talked quietly beside her. Slaves and servants kept a respectful distance.
‘What has happened?’ Zimat asked as she joined him at the door and peeked out.
John shook his head. ‘I do not know.’ In the courtyard, Basimah began to wail again.
Zimat turned to face John. ‘If we leave together, we will be seen. You go first. I will come out when it is safe.’
‘Will I see you again?’
Zimat flashed him a brilliant smile. ‘Yes. Now go.’
John stepped out and almost ran into Turan, who was heading along the wall towards the well. ‘Watch where you are going, Frank!’ he roared, shoving John aside. Turan started to move on but then stopped and examined John more closely. He picked a piece of straw off John’s tunic and twisted it between his fingers. ‘What were you doing in the stables, slave?’
‘I-I sleep there sometimes,’ John lied. ‘It is cooler than my room.’
‘ Hmph, with the other animals.’ Turan headed on towards the well, and John followed.
‘It was dark last night,’ Ayub was saying to Yusuf as John and Turan approached. ‘Perhaps she did not see the well and fell in.’
‘Perhaps,’ Yusuf said. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Turan.
‘What has happened?’ Turan asked.
Ayub put his hand on Turan’s shoulder. ‘I am sorry, my son. It is your wife, Sa’ida. She is dead.’ At this,
