At moonrise exactly, the chief mullah of Algiers performed the simple ceremony uniting Khalid el Bey in marriage with Skye, who became known from that moment as Skye muna el Khalid-Skye, the desired of Khalid. Then the groom and his guests returned to his house through the winding lantern-lit streets of the upper city, led by dancing, cavorting musicians whose reedy pipes and thumping drums pierced the dark velvet of the night.
The groom wore white silk pantaloons with silver-and-deep-blue- embroidered bands that stopped at the knee. His feet were shod in silver-colored leather boots. His shirt was also of white silk, open at the neck, with full sleeves and tight cuffs, over which he wore a white vest, embroidered in silver and blue. It was all topped by a long white satin cape lined in dark blue. His dark head was bare, his short black beard had been well barbered.
Behind the closed shutters along his route, maidens and matrons alike peeped out and sighed with longing. The legendary Whore- master of Algiers was a fairy-tale prince.
Behind Khalid el Bey walked the Turkish commandant of the Casbah fortress, Capitan Jamil. As tall as the bey, he was heavier set, and to the spying female eyes that watched, as sinisterly handsome as the bey was kindly. His face was long, as was.his nose. His eyes were black and unfathomable, his mouth thin and cruel below a slim mustache. He was known to be cruel, even brutal, in his handling of fractious prisoners. Now, however, he strode along with his host and the other guests, chatting amiably.
“I understand your bride is a captive.”
“Was,” came the reply, “I bought her. Now she is legally free. And my wife.”
“I had heard you were training her for the House of Felicity. She must be quite good at whatever she does if you have decided to marry her.”
Khalid el Bey laughed lightly but he burned inwardly. “Skye has no memory of her past,” he said. “At first I thought that to train a women such as she might prove amusing. But she is actually far too innocent for such a life. I had been considering marrying and siring sons for some time now. But what respectable father would allow his daughter to wed the great Whoremaster? Skye is obviously of the upper class, wherever she comes from, and she is beautiful. Is that not an ideal choice for my purposes?”
“I am eager to meet your bride. Khalid.”
They had reached the house now, and entered through the wide doors into the square hall where the bey’s majordomo awaited. ’Felicitations, my lord! Long life and many sons!” he cried, ushering hem through into the banquet hall. Waiting slaves took the men’s cloaks, and brought silver-chased basins of rose water and soft linen towels so they might bathe their hands and faces. Refreshed, they ;at down upon the large plump cushions strewn about the table.
“Gentlemen,” said Khalid el Bey, sitting at the head of the table, it gives me great pleasure that you are here to share this moment with me. I would share my happiness with you, and so I present, to each of you, for your many nights of pleasure, a virgin who has been trained in my own House of Felicity.” He clapped his hands and the six girls, all dressed in their butterfly colors, entered and moved swiftly to the gentlemen for whom they were intended.
“By Allah!” swore Capitan Jamil, “you do things with style, Khalid! Even in Constantinople I never saw such a display of elegant manners. I shall write the Sultan tomorrow telling him.”
“Many thanks,” said Khalid carelessly. He was more pleased by he reactions of his other guests. The head of the merchant’s guild and the banker were pleasantly overcome by the two little blondes. And Jean was rendered momentarily speechless by the pretty girl who shyly greeted him not only in his own tongue, but in the dialect peculiar to Brittany alone. The chief mullah actually had a smile on lis face-the first time Khalid had ever seen that phenomenon! And Osman was obviously quite taken by his maiden.
Capitan Jamil paused in his careful inspection of his “gift” to unquire, “And your bride, Khalid? Where is she?”
As if in answer, the banquet-hall doors opened and four black laves in red silk breechcloths entered bearing a litter. They carefully set it down and the majordomo handed out the veiled occupant and led her forward to sit by the bey.
Her fine silk pantaloons were the soft lavender of early wisteria, but low. A wide band of deep violet flowers on a gold background rose to just below her navel. She wore gold slippers embroidered with pearl violets. Her sleeveless bodice was violet velvet trimmed In gold braid with floral embroidery done in gold and seed pearls. he wore thin gold bracelets. A single long rope of pearls dangled from her neck, and great matching pearl tears bobbed in her ears. Her midnight-black hair was loose, and spinkled with gold dust. A small mauve veil obscured her face below those marvelous eyes shadowed in blue kohl.
“Gentlemen, my wife, the lady Skye muna el Khalid,” said Khalid Bey as he reached up and undid her veil.
They were momentarily stunned into silence. Everything about her-her flawless skin, her dark blue eyes, the full red lips, the delicate, slightly upturned nose-everything was exquisite. Finally the banker found his voice.
“Khalid, my friend, I have four wives. If you put all of their beauty together, it would not equal half of your wife’s loveliness. You are a most damnably fortunate man!”
Khalid el Bey laughed happily. ‘Thank you. Memhet! Your praise is received with joy.”
Now the servants began bringing in steaming dishes; the gold goblets were filled with icy juices; musicians played discreetly from behind a carved screen. A whole baby lamb had been roasted, and was served now on a mixture of saffroned rice with onions, green peppers, and tomatoes. There were bowls of yogurt, purple, green, and black olives, and shelled pistachio nuts. The slaves passed hot loaves of bread, and placed upon each guest’s plate a small whole roasted pigeon in a nest of watercress. As the fermented fruit juices began to relax the guests they became a bit noisier and freer, the men feeding choice morsels from their lips to the lips of their giggling companions.
The mullah sat on Khalid’s right, Skye on her husband’s left. Next to her sat Capitan Jamil, who had been unable to take his eyes off the bride. “What a pity,” he murmured softly so that only she might hear him, “that Khalid decided to keep you for himself, my lovely. He could have made a fortune selling your charms. I would have paid a king’s ransom to possess you first. Still, it is good to know the great Whoremaster of Algiers has a weakness.”
A hot flush stole up her neck and cheeks but she said nothing. He laughed low. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, bride of Khalid el Bey. Your skin glows like mother-of-pearl. I shall dream for many nights of your long legs and perfect little breasts, which are like tender fruits. How I hunger to taste of those sweet young fruits.” He leaned close to her as he reached for a handful of olives and his upper arm deliberately rubbed against her.
“How dare you accost me in such a manner!” she hissed angrily. ”Have you no respect for my husband, who is your host? Or are Turks totally without honor?”
He drew his breath in sharply. “Someday, my beauty, I shall have you completely at my mercy. And when I do you will pay dearly for that insult.”
To his annoyance, Skye did not appear frightened. She merely signaled the servants to clear the table and serve the next course. The coffeemaker, kneeling at his little table, began to grind the beans and boil the water. The slaves placed upon the board colored crystal bowls filled with figs, raisins, oranges, green grapes, candied dates, and rose petals. Silver plates of small honeyed cakes, with matching tiny bowls of sugared almonds, were put before each guest. Goblets rere refilled with sweet liquid fruit sherbet chilled by snow brought from the nearby Atlas Mountains. The bey leaned over to kiss his rife. “You have planned everything perfectly, my Skye. It is as if you had been born to the duties of the chatelaine.”