CRITICAL RACE THEORY: THE SPANISH PRINCESS Part One

Excerpts From A Novel By Eugene Stovall

Oakland, California January, 2023

?PROLOGUE

A drawn, gaunt Frank Yerby lay alone in the steel, bed crowded into a small hospital room with a solitary black crucifix decorating the bare white wall. Plants and flowers fill the room with rich, fragrant aromas, masking the smell of sanitizers, disinfectants and medicines that permeate the hospital. When Yerby first arrived, he would sit outside in the patio attached to his room. Hospital rooms with patios indicate a patient’s wealth and social prominence. Now bedridden, Yerby only gazes in the direction of the Mediterranean Sea, off of the coast of Spain, the fascist country that has become his adopted home.

The hospital door opens and in strides a young woman, dressed in white, with a little starched hat perched on the top of her curly, brown hair. “How are we feeling today, Se?or Yerby?” she asks. Days earlier, he and the nurse could hold interesting conversations. But now, with his body in its final decline, the author can only manage a little smile. Nevertheless, Yerby’s mind seethes. Is this all there is? the world-famous author wonders. After examining everything life has to offer___ love and hate, honor and treachery, good and evil ___ Yerby feels empty and insignificant. A sense of abandonment descends upon his spirit, as if there should be something more, a final sense of accomplishment. Yerby knows that his last books were failures with low sales attracting few readers ___ and it bothers him. He feels forgotten and fears that he is going out with a whimper and not a bang, Yerby, whose literary genius is exceeded only by his pride, fumes against this unkind fate. He believes that, somehow, his literary accomplishments should proceed him down that dark road to light his way, into immortality. Was he mistaken?

As Yerby wallows in his self-pity, a voice, deep in his mind, the same voice that has been annoying him for days, whispers, “Possibly you should seek forgiveness.”

“Why should I seek forgiveness?” Yerby snaps back. “I don’t need forgiveness.”

“You need to be forgiven for deserting your wife and children. You need forgiveness for deserting your country, forgiveness for deserting your race. You need to be forgiven for your damnable arrogance.”

“That was my path out of ?mediocrity into greatness,” Yerby tells the voice. “I rose from being a despised member of the Negro race in segregated, racist America to a respected citizen of the world here in Spain. Look what I accomplished. I wrote thirty-three novels; every one is a moving, passionate, engaging and brilliant depiction of Life. Why should I feel guilty?”

“You should feel guilty for abandoning your creation and damning your soul to a hell of your own making.”?The voice laughs. Then Yerby sees a dim trail of tobacco smoke rise lazily from behind a potted fern. Tracing the source of the smoke trail with his mind’s eye, Yerby sees a gentleman, dressed in a Prince Albert frock coat with a starched white shirt, the winged collar. crisp as a knife’s edge, framing an Ascot, held in place by a diamond stick pin. Lounging in a straight-back chair. the visitor stares at Yerby with a smug smile and unblinking eyes. Instantly, Yerby recognizes Pride Dawson, the central character of one of his better-known novels, Pride’s Castle. “Right you are, Frank.” Pride Dawson replies. “Right you are!” ?

“How did you get here and what do you want?” ?Yerby asks.

“They sent me to bring you back.”

“Bring me back? Back where?” Yerby asks in a less arrogant manner, “Who sent you? Why?”

“Your creation, your characters, want you to set things right. Come along.”

“You mean it’s my time ___?”

“Oh no, you’re not going to die. Not yet. You’ve still enough time to set things right, but you need to start, now.”

EPISODE ONE

Lady Sumayla stares at her reflection in the mirror. How little my son looks ?like me, she muses. Kamil looks like his father, the blond, green-eyed lord of the Goths, Alaric Teudisson. Nonetheless, the dark-skinned princess is pleased that she has, lost none of her enchanting, if subtle, charm. The more intelligent a woman is, Sumayla tells herself, the more charming she should appear.?And this Spanish princess enjoys a well-earned reputation for being both charming and intelligent. Anyone who rises from slavery to become a princess must be intelligent and anyone as black as Sumayla who seduces the prince of the Goths in Spain into giving her a child must have charm. Like the exotic fragrances she imports from all over the Muslim world that intoxicate everyone around her, charm oozes from every pore of Sumayla’s supple, yet voluptuous body. And now, quite possibly, Lady Sumayla’s charm and intelligence would assist her become the mother of Cordoba’s next emir, the sovereign ruler of Spain, North Africa and Egypt.

In the seventh century, the Moors, crossing the Straits of Gibraltar, wrested control of Spain from the Goths and the Romans. Now, two centuries, later, the people of Allah in obedience to the Holy Koran, rule from the Pyrenees Mountains, down the Iberian Peninsula, across North Africa into Egypt and Palestine, up and down to the Tigris and Euphrates rivers all the way to the subcontinent of India. Spain’s former lords, the Goths, pay taxes to the emir of Cordova and must obey the laws of Islam. However, under the Peace of the Prophet, Islamic rule is mild and Al-Rahman II, the current emir, allows the Goths to worship their Christian God in their own churches and retain their hereditary lands and chattels. The emir’s own police, the al-Khurs, protect the Goths’ castles and farms from roving bands of robbers and thieves and defend the Goth’s daughters and wives from molestation and assault as if they were the property of the emir, himself. The emir’s al-Khurs enforce Islamic law fairly and justly for all the emir’s subjects ___ ?Muslims, Christians and Jews, alike. Al-Rahman’s courts are fair and impartial and his cadis who administer the emirate’s affairs are knowledgeable and experienced. ?Al-Rahman does not tolerate corruption, brutality or violence by his officials. Anyone, including the lower classes, women and slaves, can bring charges and ask for justice. Nevertheless, even as Al-Rahman II works to achieve an advanced, civilized society where all classes, religions and races can thrive, the Goths watch and wait for their opportunity to reclaim control of the land and Christian priests plot to establish the primacy of their religion and return to torturing recalcitrants and burning infidels and heretics at the stake. And as she stares at her reflection, Lady Sumayla believes fate has chosen her to play a critical role in the Christian takeover of Spain.

Sumayla’s thoughts, returning to Kamil, she impatiently yanks the bell cord to summon her maid.

“Yazmin, has he arrived yet?” Sumayla asks the slave without turning her head.

“No, milady.” Yazmin, her face shriveled from her more than sixty seasons, replies almost before the question is asked. Sumayla detects a hint of impatience ?___ or is it impertinence? Sumayla treats her slaves well, but tolerates no disrespect.

“Prince Kamil should have arrived by now,” Sumayla snaps. Yazmin holds her tongue. “Was my message delivered?”

“Yes, mi ‘lady,” the crone replies deferentially, aware of her mistress’ displeasure. “I will bring Prince Kamil to your chambers as soon as he arrives.”

I must try to be more patient, Sumayla tells herself. But her plans to seize the throne for her son, Prince al-Kamil ibn Karim, master-minded by Nazr, Al-Rahman’s grand vizier, needs Kamil’s absolute cooperation.?If it is Allah’s will that I succeed and Kamil becomes emir, then I will deal with the scheming Christians in a way that they deserve, Sumayla tells herself. I will get Alaric to curb Christianity’s ambitions and control its greed. The thought of having Alaric completely under her control makes Sumayla tingle with pleasure. But now the Spanish princess suffers from a fit of pique. How is she going to control Alaric when she can’t even control her own son? Kamil is becoming surly and more unmanageable since taking residence in the Alcazar. Even Nazr has noticed the change. Samayla hasn’t even seen Kamil in a week. And now these terrible rumors about Kamil and the emir’s harem, circulating about the court, frighten her. Kamil’s indiscretions and Nazr’s ambitions are turning Sumayla’s power gambit into a more dangerous enterprise than she expected. Now the possibility that she and Nazr could lose this game of thrones is accompanied by the possibility that she and Kamil could lose their heads. "My son, my son, where are you?” Sumayla sighs. “Please come home.”

Before marrying the emir’s, uncle and living in a grand palace, Sumayla had been the slave of Horeth ibn al-Jatib, a bookseller and the owner of one of Cordoba’s many copy houses. As a child Sumayla displayed a prodigious memory, becoming fluent in the Romance, Latin and Greek languages. At fifteen, she could recite the Koran from memory making Sumayla Horeth’s most valuable and profitable slave. Sumayla recited the Koran to as many as twenty copyists at a time. When, by chance, a mean-spirited eunuch in the emir’s service, happened by Horeth’s book seller’s tent, everything changed for Sumayla. Nazr cultivated a relationship with the child prodigy that benefited both the Christian Goth and the Muslim slave. With Sumayla’s help, Nazr rose from being just one of the many hundreds of lowly administrators in the Alcazar to becoming Cordoba’s Grand Vizier. Sumayla’s rose from being a black marketplace slave to a Spanish princess, married into the royal family and living in her own opulent castle. Now Nazr has given Sumayla the foolish idea that her half breed son, Kamil, can become Córdoba’s next emir.

“MI ‘lady,” Yazmin intrudes into Sumayla’s thoughts.

“Yes?”

“There’s a strange person in the reception hall.”

“Well, why are you troubling me?” Yazmin is getting old, Sumayla tells herself. “Alert the palace guard! Must I tell you everything?”

“He’s a foreigner, milady. You told us to report the arrival of any foreigners,” Yazmin reminds Sumayla. “His dress is peculiar and no one saw him enter.”

“Is he armed?”

“No, mi ‘lady, he has no weapons. He just stands there, speaking a strange tongue. But he understands what I say to him. Should I have him thrown out?”

“No ... Leave him, undisturbed. I will attend to him.”

Sumayla finds the stranger in the palace reception hall, gaping about. His head is bare. his hair close-cropped and his clothing strange and ignoble. His open-faced shirt, leather jacket and Italian-cut trousers convey twentieth-century functionality. Despite his odd dress, a touch of grey sprinkled around his temples and beard gives the stranger a distinguished, even dashing, look. Sumayla judges him to be in his forties ___ and she knows exactly who he is. “Welcome, Frank Yerby. I was told to expect you.”?

EPISODE TWO

Yerby surveys the palace hall with its immense marble pillars supporting a high vaulted ceiling. Arabesques and carvings decorate the walls and a fountain sprays a fine stream of water into the air from cleverly designed fish that appear to leap into the air. Throughout the hall, cushions, ottomans, tables and chairs are arranged for a visitor’s comfort and platters piled high with fruit and sweetmeats line sideboards.

“Where am I?” Frank Yerby asks Sumayla, “Who are you?” Ordinarily, Frank Yerby would not have given a black woman, like Sumayla, a second look, let alone speak to her. Yet, her dusky skin color seems neither to detract from her stately presence nor obscure her subtle beauty. With Sumayla, Yerby feels none of his revulsion he harbors for most Negroes.

“You are in my home,” Lady Sumalya replies.

“And where exactly is that?”

“This is the palace of the Lady Sumayla, widow of the late Prince Abd al-Karim ibn al-Hixim, uncle to Abd al-Rahman II, Emir of Córdoba.”

“And who are you?” Yerby asks unable to control his sarcasm.

“I am the Lady Sumayla, Mr. Yerby, or shall I call you Frank? It’s so awkward speaking face to face with one’s creator.”

“Ah, Lady Sumayla of An Odor of Sanctity?” Yerby acknowledges. “You must be one of those who Pride Dawson told me about.”

“Very good, Frank,” the princess says. “Now let me get right to the point. Do you know why we sent for you?”

“Does it have something to do with me being remembered?” Yerby asks.

“We, your creations, want to be remembered,” Sumayla says looking into the face of their creator without reverence or awe. for Yerby, no awe ___ just curiosity. “I want my son to become Emir of Cordoba and I need your assistance.”

?“How can I help?” Yerby asks to the black woman, a minor character in An Odor Of Sanctity, his paean to white supremacy. In an effort to handle this extraordinary situation, Yerby tries to suspend his disbelief. Anyone can believe the volumes of propaganda that the religious and political authorities pass off as truth. But a literary character becoming real is far more difficult to believe.

“I need you to tell me the future,” Sumayla says demurely. “I want to know whether my plans for Kamil will be successful. No,” Sumayla retracts words. “No, I want you to tell me what I must do to make my plans for Kamil, successful.”

“If I may say so, Your Ladyship,” Yerby begins, shifting uncomfortably, “your request is impossible. I’m not a fortune-teller.”

“I’m not asking you to predict my future, Frank,” Sumayla tells him. “I’m asking your help in creating it.”

“How can I create the future?” Yerby scoffs.

“The same way I summoned you here.” Sumayla says. “You wouldn’t have been the first writer forced to bend to the superior will of his creation.”

“Superior will!” Yerby snorts. “How can a character in one of my books, a minor character at that, have a will superior to mine?”

“In the same way Sherlock Holmes demonstrated his superior will by forcing Arthur Conan Doyle to resurrect him after his death at Reichenbach Falls.”

Sumayla now appeals to Yerby’s vanity. “You believe you’ve had a successful career, don’t you, Frank?” Yerby nods. “How do you judge your success?”

“By the number of books, I’ve sold and the number of my readers.”

“Not by the excellence of your work ___ or its reality?”

“That too,” Yerby admits.

“Then what’s the matter with you, Frank? You’ve written some great stuff. Are you so lacking in pride and ambition that you would allow your life’s work to be ignored by future generations and consigned to obscurity? The greatest writers are read decades after their death. Cervantes was not even recognized until after his death. You have some work to do, my friend. Even your own children want to forget you. Soon it will be as if you never existed!” Yerby winces. “You think that you’re facing your death bravely, but, admit it, you’re scared.” Yerby remains silent. Sumayla comes close to his face and whispers. “You are here, despite your monumental arrogance, Mr. Frank Yerby, to learn?whether or not your creation can give you the immortality that you crave ___ are you not?” Yerby is undone. “You’re not compelled to give up your disbelief in God,” Sumayla continues. “You can be as before, keeping an open mind and learning from your experiences. But we need you to open up possibilities that didn’t exist before. You open up possibilities for us and we open up possibilities for you. Serve us, not as the arrogant fool you were, but as a person believing in your abilities. Allow us to develop your intelligence and we will give you the strength to face your death.”

“What do you want me do?” Yerby asks, quietly.

“See the future and guide my great work.”

At that moment, the servants begin to stir. A tall, muscular Negro strides into palace reception hall. He wears a heavily decorated robe of gold braid, encrusted with jewels and a gold medallion stamped with the symbol of his office suspended from a gold chain encircling his neck. However, despite all the glitter of gold and jewels, the most distinctive feature of this handsome, coppery colored young noble is his ?emerald green eyes. No one else in the emir’s court, including al-Rahman’s uncle, Sumayla’s husband, has green eyes other than Alaric Teudisson, announcing Kamil’s parentage to all.

“Kamil!” Lady Sumayla shouts racing to greet her son. “Where have you been?”

“Hello, Mother.” Kamil gives his mother a short bow before kissing her on both cheeks. His manner, reserved and arrogant, is typical of the bureaucrats who administer Al-Rahman’s emirate. It is also typical of a spoiled, only child.

“Kamil, why have you ignored me for so long? You know I worry about you.”

You worry more about Nazr’s plans for Cordova, I fear, mother, Kamil thinks to himself.

Outside of Damascus, Baghdad and Alexandria, Córdoba is the center of Islamic learning, culture and civilization. Córdoba boasts private residences and public baths serving ?over a million people. Córdoba’s workshops employ thousands of weavers, armorers, leatherers and in other trade workers. Merchants and farmers from all over Spain ___ from Galicia to Asturias, from Andalusia to Estremadura ____ ?sell their wares in Córdoba’s marketplaces. Everything from fruits and produce. meats, poultry and fish to clothing, furniture, art, jewelry, perfumes and books, everything imaginable can be found in Córdoba where early each morning, the many bakeries envelope the thriving capital in the aromas of freshly baked breads, cakes and pies. Goods bought and sold in Córdoba bustling marketplaces are crated and floated down the Guadalquivir River to Seville where the crates are loaded onto vessels and transported across the Mediterranean Sea to trading ports all over the world.

?

Tales of Córdoba’s wealth attract barbarians. Some want to engage in peaceful commerce; others seek plunder. Kamil wins fame and glory when Viking invaders, streaming from their ocean-going warships, attempt to destroy the Peace of the Prophet and plunder Cordoba. Engaging in desperate hand to hand combat with the bloodthirsty savages. fresh from their rape of other European cities, the half-blood prince saves the life of Al-Rahman’s son, al-Mundhir. As a reward, Al-Rahman recognizes Kamil as his royal cousin, a member of the royal family and a prince of the realm.

“You will regret recognizing this mongrel,” the emir’s brother warns. But Al-Rahman, by nature magnanimous, ignores the warning and gives Kamil a royal commissions as a secretary to the vizier of correspondence. Along with the commission, the emir gives Kamil an apartment in the palace of viziers, located in the Alcazar. In a court ceremony, attended by members of the royal family, Kamil’s legal father, Prince Abd al-Karim ibn al-Hixim, the emir’s uncle, as well as dignitaries from all over Islam, Al-Rahman bestows upon Kamil a tiraz, a gorgeous golden robe, embroidered with the symbols of rank and office. With the presentation of the tiraz, Al-Rahman II announces to all that he holds his cousin, Prince al-Kamil ibn Abd al-Karim ibn al-Hixim, in the highest esteem. But today, facing his mother, Kamil feels less like the emir’s esteemed cousin than like the mongrel dog that members of the royal family call him behind his back.

“I’ve been busy, mother,” Kamil explains. “There’s a lot happening at court. The Christians’ plots require me to read and reply to correspondence every night.”

“Yes,” Sumayla says, “we have heard that you have been quite busy at night.”

What does she know? Kamil wonders. It’s the second time that Kamil has been warned that his transgressions have been discovered. Only this morning, the Vizier of Correspondence pulled his young secretary aside. “My son,” the elderly Cadiz reminded Kamil, “the most important virtue that someone entrusted with carrying out the emir’s affairs can possess is discretion.”

“Yes, master,” Kamil responded knowing the vizier’s warning is already too late.

“Mother, my duties at the palace take up all my time,” Kamil says. “The emir did not appoint me so that I can come and go at your command. Besides Nazr ….”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about Nazr,” the princess sighs. “I know how he schemes. You just have to tolerate him, poor thing. Besides I owe Nazr my life.” ?Sometimes Sumayla feels sorry for Nazr, whose parents sold him into slavery. His castration fills the low-born Goth with hatred for everyone and everything. “But for him I would have remained a slave and you would never have seen life.”

Suddenly realizing that Yerby still watches and listens, Sumayla grabs her son’s arm and leads him over to her bemused visitor. “Kamil, let me introduce Frank Yerby. He has come to unlock the future for us.”

His mother’s accomplishments always astonish Kamil,?but this time, she exceeds herself. “You really did it, mother!” the young prince exclaims. “This is amazing! I would have never believed it possible, but you did it.” Then, addressing Yerby, Kamil says. “Welcome, milord. You have come to make me the emir?”

“That is what your mother desires.” Yerby beams at Kamil attracted to the half-breed green -eyed Negro.

“My mother doesn’t understand the complexities that the Christians impose upon our civilization. My real father is a Christian, so she believes that my becoming emir, will bring peace between Muslin and Christian.”

“What do you believe?”

“I pray the day that I become emir, Allah protect us, will never come.”

Yerby notices a tightening at the corners of Sumayla’s mouth. There’s still much that she hasn’t told him, Yerby observes.

“My mother believes that the Christians will not rest until they have conquered and enslaved all the Muslims in Spain,” Kamil continues. “And with the wonderful logic, known only to women, my mother believes that my becoming emir will save Cordoba from its fate.” Kamil goes over to the sideboard and chooses from a fruit platter. “She believes that, as emir, I could unite Christians, Jews and Muslims into one great religious faith.”

“Does she, now?” Yerby raises his eyebrows. This antagonism between mother and son, not so different from the one between Yerby and his children, amuses him.

“He scoffs,” Sumayla observes to Kamil, “but Arian Catholics are barbarians. They forbid intermarriage between themselves and anyone else, even other Christians. They swear to dominate or exterminate all others in Spain. They must not gain power. Someone good, someone like you, my son, must take charge.”

“Bloody dictators throughout history adopt your mother’s mantra to justify their crimes against humanity,” Yerby notes.

“The Christians have many forts and walled cities,” Kamil says. “As emir, I could do no more than al-Rahman is already doing.”

“I agree, with both of you,” Lady Sumayla replies, “but, the Christians are fanatics and will not live in peace. While the emir exercises tolerance and allows Christians to practice their own faith, they plot to destroy him.”

“I can’t believe that the Christians would allow the Peace of the Prophet to be destroyed,” Kamil says. “Did not my own father suffer from grievous wounds received from Viking invaders who sought to overthrow the Peace of the Prophet? If I became the emir, I would find a way for the Christians to have more say in the government and eliminate the religious disputes which serve neither Christian nor Muslim.” Yerby admires Kamil’s desire for a reconciliation with the Christians; it reflects his own views.

“Yet, young Master,” Yerby observes prophetically, “with their many forts and walled cities, the Christians surely do not intend to allow the Peace of the Prophet to remain in place, if they were to seize power.”

“But would their rule be so bad?” Kamil asks.

Sumayla breaks into the conversation. “Enough!” she says to Kamil. “Come and tell me everything you have seen and heard since last we talked.” She grabs her son’s arm and drags him towards her private chambers. Then turning back to Yerby, she claps her hands and a servant appears. “Khalid will show you to your rooms and see to your needs,” Sumayla tells her guest. Then, gazing deeply into Yerby’s eyes, the Spanish princess touches his forearm. Her fingers are warm on his skin ___ warm and reassuring. “Don ’t worry, Frank,” Sumayla says, “I will explain all to you, but, first, I must talk with Kamil.”

??

EPISODE THREE

Khalid Is a bent and wizened little fellow with the kind of round and protuberant potbelly characteristic of eunuchs. The rest of him is thin and wiry. “How long have you worked for the princess?” Yerby asks. Khalid flashes a toothless grin but says nothing as he leads Yerby from the reception hall through interconnecting corridors to one of the palace’s many apartments. Lady Sumayla’s castle is only somewhat less opulent than the palaces inside the Alcazar, the royal compound where the emir houses his harem. family and court. When Sumayla married the emir’s uncle, at Nazr’s urging, she begged her husband to build her a palace on the banks of the Guadalquivir River that flows outside the Alcazar. Nazr needed a meeting place safe from the prying eyes of the emir’s network of spies and his ever vigilant, al-Khurs. ?

“How long have you worked for the princess?” Yerby asks Khalid once again, this time a little louder. But again, Khalid does not respond. In frustration, Yerby reaches out, grabs the eunuch and whirls him completely around. “How long have you worked for the princess?” Yerby shouts.

The little man bows humbly and moves his lips, but no sound escapes his lips. He?makes several simple gestures with his hand to help Yerby understand that his ?tongue has been cut out. Once he is certain that Yerby understands, Khalid closes the apartment’s two massive doors and escorts the guest into a large circular vestibule, where great columns support an arched ceiling whose center is an opaque dome that allows the sun to drench the apartment in light. Archways, opening on opposite sides of the vestibule, lead to a sleeping chamber on one side and a tiled bathing area, with a great sunken bathing pool, on the other. The bathing room opens onto a patio with a private garden. Seeing containing decanters of bath salts, oils and fragrances on side tables and closets with neatly folded towels, robes and sponges, Yerby decides to take a bath. Afterwards Khalid brings refreshments to the vestibule and silently serves Yerby from silver plates and platters. When he departs, leaving Yerby to his thoughts, Khalid makes certain that his guest wants for nothing.

Meanwhile, in her private apartment, Sumayla focuses her full attention on Kamil. “What have I been hearing about you and the Lady Tarub?” Sumayla’s look tells Kamil that his mother is really upset.

“Well, mother, it’s really all your fault, you know.” Kamil’s face breaks into a broad grin.

“My fault? How am I responsible for you trying to get your head separated from your shoulders over the emir’s favorite wife?”

“If you had not trained me to be a linguist, like yourself,” Kamil replies with a straight face, “I would not have been involved with Lady Tarub.” Kamil’s playful banter does not calm his mother’s fears.

In al-Rahman’s court, the most prized females are blond, blue-eyed northern Europeans. The emir and his brothers value the milk-white skin, skinny hips and ponderous breasts of barbarian wenches far more than their own dusky-hued, almond eyed women. In?al-Rahman’s harem, the Lady Umm Walad Tarub is the most prized and cherished of all the emir’s wives. Kamil’s response angers his mother as much with herself as with him. She spoiled and indulged Kamil for all of his life, without regard for the consequences. Now she realizes that Kamil behaves like a spoiled child and it shocks her.

“I think you had better tell me the whole story,” Sumayla says, quietly. “From the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

“I don’t even know how it all started,” Kamil begins. “You know that I

love and admire the emir, not only because he recognizes me as his kinsman, but also because of the affection he shown me ever since I moved into the Alcazar. The rest of his family treats me with contempt.”

When al-Rahman brings Sumayla’s son into his court, Kamil serves faithfully. Kamil handles the stream of official court correspondence, confidently and discreetly, disclosing none of the court secrets neither to his mother nor to Nazr. His review of the court correspondence makes Kamil appreciate the emir’s efforts to eliminate corruption and injustice. Unlike his mother, Kamil’s only ambition is to serve the emir. His mother cannot make the half-blood prince feel worse about his dalliance with Al-Rahman’s favorite wife, than he already does. Nor does he need his master, the Vizier of Correspondence, to tell him that he has made a grave error in violating the emir’s trust. Guilt already weighs heavily on the young man for his involvement with Umm Walad Tarub. Muslim corsairs captured the daughter of a wealthy Venetian merchant, in a raid on a Christian merchant ship in the Mediterranean Sea and sold the Lady Tarub to al-Rahman II. Like any captive, Tarub looks for any opportunity to escape, but, since escape is impossible, her behavior is disruptive, calculated to cause as problems for her captors whenever and wherever the opportunity presents itself ___ especially when she is restless and bored, which is most of the time. The emir denies the Lady Tarub nothing; she always gets her way. The emir even allows his young wife to listen to his council meetings from a secret ante-chamber. None of the others enjoy this privilege.

On one occasion, the Lady Tarub remarks to the grand vizier,?“The one who reports on correspondence has a voice that stirs my soul.” The remark gives Nazr an idea.

“It all began innocently, enough,” Kamil explains. “Nazr told me that he wanted me to read to the emir’s harem.”

“Read to the emir’s wives?” Sumayla gasps. “Impossible! How?”

“Nazr said that he wanted to test a device invented in Alexandria. The device allowed me to read in one room and be heard in another.”

“Was the emir aware of this?”

“Nazr persuaded the emir that his wives would profit by hearing readings from the Koran and be entertained by readings of poetry and philosophy.”

“And the emir agreed?”

“The idea appealed to al-Rahman, not so much because he wanted to reduce the tedium of the harem, but because technical innovations intrigue the emir.”

“So how did the gossip about you and the emir’s wife begin?” \

When Kamil first enters the room separating him from the emir’s wives and reads into the curious speaking tube, the prince’s deep sensual voice enchants the women of the harm ___ none more aroused than Lady Tarub. Caring little for the readings, the harem buzzes about the reader. His voice, wondrously sensual, enchants them. The women talk of little else. Tarub decides she will meet the man behind the voice, which is exactly what Nazr wants.

“When do I meet the reader of the Koran, Nazr?” Tarub asks.

“This is not permitted, mi’ lady,” the Gothic eunuch replies with a sly smile.

?“What can be done for it to be permitted?”

“MI ‘lady knows that such an impiety would cost my head.”

“Would it not cost your head if I told the emir how you displeased me?”

“Yes, mi’ lady.”

“Then arrange it.”

In the darkness, Kamil sneaks through a secret tunnel that leads to the Alcazar’s royal gardens where the Lady Tarub awaits. Nazr is delighted. He makes it possible for the emir’s young blue-eyed, honey-blond wife to seduce his handsome green-eyed cousin. Kamil’s loyalty to the emir is overcome by his lust for the emir’s wife. It’s a magical time. ?The evening mist sheltering the two lovers from the sight of prying eyes, envelopes Cupid’s victims in its shadows or so they believe. But nothing inside the Alcazar, with its legions of slaves, servants and guards, remains unobserved. Tarub and Kamil reach out to touch one another. Kamil’s body burns with desire as his will fights against the urge to seize the Venetian beauty in a passionate embrace. But Kamil resists the ultimate impiety.

“Tarub,” Kamil whispers as his lover urges him on, “for the sake of Allah, please …” Kamil dares not go any further than he already has.

“Are you a coward?” Lady Tarub taunts him. “I was told that in the battle against the infidel Vikings, you surpassed all others in bravery. You even saved the life of the emir’s son. Are you so weak in the arms of a helpless woman?”

But what a woman is the Lady Umm Walad Tarub. Her flowing reddish blond hair frames her fair, sharply chiseled features with tiny freckles dancing on the tip of her nose. Deep blue eyes tantalized Kamil with their mocking gaze just above the filmy half veil that extends down a little below her chin. The veil, as transparent as spring water, makes subtle mockery of the Prophet’s command for female modesty. Her glistening ruby lips induce a delirium in Kamil’s brain. Tarub’s body, so perfectly shaped with legs that reach up to a tiny waist, is scantily clothed in a short-brocaded jacket, opened to reveal the fetching sight of twin mounds of flesh ___ their rouged tips dancing within easy reach of Kamil’s trembling hands. Tarub wears billowing silk trousers, over long, shapely legs and bejeweled ankles.

“Coward!” Tarub taunts him. “Come here and kiss me. I haven’t tasted those sweet lips for such a long time.” Incapable of resisting, Kamil draws her to him and slants his face downward so that their mouths can meet. Slowly he moves his lips to hers, touching her ever so gently. But sweeping her hands up behind his head, Tarub locks their lips together, her tongue darting serpent-like into his mouth as she grinds her body___ kindling a flame of desire that turns into an inferno burning down through his loins. And as Tarub arches up to feel the entire length of his muscular manliness, Kamil tries to ignore the terror that lurks in the soul of anyone who knows that he is destined to meet the ax man. Lost in forbidden passion, maddened by his inability resist Tarub’s charms, aware of the consequences of his terrible betrayal, Kamil finds himself the helpless victim of an unkind fate. ?

“I’m sorry,” Kamil says, finally gaining control of his passions.

“Don’t be,” Tarub says breathlessly, desire coursing through her veins like a flow of hot lava. “You’re the man I want! You’re the man I must have! I would let you do what you like right now, if I thought we had time.”

“By the Prophet’s beard,” Kamil whispers, “there is no one lovelier than you!”

“Kamil, my love?” Tarub purrs. “You must come to my chambers.”

“Your chambers!” the lovelorn prince cries out. How can I do that? Even now we are in great danger and must soon part.”

“I have a plan,” she replies “If it works, we will spend an entire night together. Do you not want to?”

“You know I do.”

“Well, the day of the Breaking of the Fast will be in two weeks,” she reminds him. “After the banquet, which you will attend, everyone will be exhausted.”

“But what if the emir wishes to visit you in your chambers?” Kamil asks.

“I will arrange for a sleeping potion to be given to the emir,” Tarub responds her eyes glowing with lust. “He will not want to visit me after the day’s ceremonies and festivities. Besides I will be ill and not able to leave my chamber.”

“One of the emir’s al-Khurs or one of the harem’s eunuchs is certain to discover us,” Kamil cautions. “They would suffer the most terrible torture and death, if they did not report what they see, immediately.”

“We can do it,” Tarub responds. “Nazr will help us.”

“Nazr!” Kamil exclaims. “Nazr cannot be trusted!”

Once again Tarub holds him in a passionate embrace, her hot breath blows against his bare throat. Breaking away, she whispers, “I must go. Remember, the night of the Breaking of the Fast, we will be together.”

“But Tarub …,” Kamil protests weakly.

“Is it not worth the risk, my love?” she asks, fondling him.

“By Allah, yes …” Kamil answers, “but …”

“Until then, my prince,” she says gaily. Slipping from his grasp, Tarub wraps a great grey cloak about her. Then al-Rahman’s conniving vixen skips away.

Remembering this last meeting. Kamil stares at his mother. He dares not reveal the depth of his betrayal, though he knows that he should. “I don’t know how all the gossip began,” Kamil lies. “You know how the servants talk. You can’t believe half of what they say.”

No one is more familiar with how gossip flies about the Alcazar or Cordoba’s marketplaces and baths than Kamil’s mother because many of the slaves who circulate Cordoba’s gossip, rumors and secrets are members of Sumayla’s own information network.?When Nazr first met Sumayla, Horeth’s black slave not only had an incredible intellect, her extensive network of slaves and servants informed her about everything happening in Cordoba. Aside from the emir’s own network of spies and al-Khurs and the Catholic bishops’ awesome store of intelligence accumulated from parish confessionals, no information source is more extensive than Sumayla’s network of friends, servants and slaves.

When Sumayla still read for Horeth, the book seller demanded that his copyists produce ten error-free texts each week. If a customer returned a book, demanding either a refund or an exchange because of an error, Horeth would fly into a rage and beat the offending copyist. At times, Horeth’s beatings would maim or, infrequently kill the hapless slave. Sumayla always assisted her copyists, often proofreading their work and even, when necessary, re-dictating the text. The copyists love Sumayla and confide in her, telling her everything ___ keeping Sumayla informed of all of Córdoba’s gossip. Even after Horeth sells a copyist, the slave often returns to tell Sumayla all the gossip about the new household. Nazr recognized the value of Sumayla’s intelligence network. Under the Christian Goth’s guidance, news about transactions in the marketplaces and the gossip titillating the bath houses become valuable in making the lowly court administrator the most sought-after advisor in the Alcazar. Armed with Sumayla’s information, Nazr gains a reputation for being the man to know in Al-Rahman’s court. Nazr knows what is profitable and what no one wants. He knows who is vulnerable to blackmail and who is about to eliminate a rival. He discovers secret plots and backs success of business ventures. Nazr displays his real genius when he brings Sumayla’s network of informants from the streets of Córdoba into the Alcazar, itself. Soon the majority of the female slaves and servants inside of the Alcazar’s palaces and the emir’s own household directly contribute information to Sumayla’s intelligence. In time, Nazr not only becomes the confidant of the highest officials in the emir’s court, he becomes a confidant of al-Rahman, himself. And it comes as a surprise to no one, when the emir appoints the Christian Goth his grand vizier. Having already been informed about Kamil’s affair with the Lady Tarub, Sumayla chooses her words, cautiously.

“You know how dangerous it is to have anything to do with the emir’s harem, my son?” Sumayla’s pulse races, but she tries to speaks calmly. “You must be careful, especially now.”

“Yes mother,” Kamil mutters. “I will be very careful.”

Sumayla decides that it is fruitless to question Kamil further and ?allows the matter to rest ____ for now.?

Nevertheless, the gossip about Kamil and Tarub circulates about the Alcazar like fireflies in a garden on a summer evening. It is just a matter of time before the rumors reach the emir and all of Córdoba, as well. But Sumayla knows how cleverly Nazr lays his plots. And when it comes to a power grab, Nazr never makes mistakes. That is how he became the Grand Vizier, Sumayla consoles herself. I just pray that Nazr knows what he is doing.????????????????

To be continued ...

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