Chapter Four The Doctor Princess Jazirah Shalabuniya, al-Andalus or Salobrena, Andalusia 9 Safar 757 AH / February 12 AD 1356 / 10th of Adar, 5116 Deep, even breaths slowed the furious beating of her heart. Even in their diminished states, her father and Lubna would need only one look before they realized something had occurred. She could not burden them. She had to find a way out of this mess of her own making. A quiet hush filled the hallway as she stepped out and crept to her father’s cell. Inside, Lubna rested on a clean bed of straw Jazirah had scattered below the wall. Her father kept to his usual spot near the window, where he shivered and murmured in a deep torpor. She knelt by his side and stared hard at his chest area, willing it to rise and fall beneath the blanket. He shuddered despite the brazier placed between the window and his position. Each shallow breath required all of his energy. Abundant bumps on his face had crusted over and white fluid seeped from them. A cough wracked his body and his head lolled toward the adjacent wall. She reached for him with gloved hands. As she altered his position, tears gathered. If he should die at any moment, his head should face the Qiblah, the direction of prayer to Makkah. She sat back on her heels beside Lubna who opened her eyes. A cluster of red bumps obscured her features. Jazirah bowed her head and tried to stifle her sobs. Soon the edges of the linen clung to her cheeks. “Don’t… cry.” Lubna’s thin, pale lips had cracked and peeled. “Your father?” “He is still with us,” Jazirah whispered, her voice muffled. ‘He will… live. Help… will come.” Courage had departed Jazirah, but she would not squash Lubna’s hopes. *** The doctor whom Harun had summoned arrived in the midst of Salat al-Zuhr. When the jailor brought him, Jazirah welcomed the interruption to her noonday prayer time. Harun said, “We are fortunate Pharez ben Abraham ben Zarzar remains in Shalabuniya after his daughter’s wedding. All of Gharnatah knows his reputation and that of Abraham ben Zarzar in the royal madina as skilled physicians.” Jazirah had never heard of either man. She stared at the doctor’s black hood, which encompassed all but a few grizzled curls falling around his shoulders. His whimsical smile, almost hidden behind a drooping moustache and full beard, perplexed her more than his presence. Still, a Jewish physician in attendance to one Muslim patient and his stricken Christian slave would be better than no care. Jazirah donned her gloves and the linen for her face, before she led the doctor into the adjacent cell. He took methodical care in setting down a small casket borne by leather straps. With deep-veined hands, he bent and opened the box. A strong odor of mint filled the room. Glass vials clinked as he inspected and rattled a few filled with dried herbs and powders. He returned two to the box and replaced them with others. He had yet to look at the patients. Instead, he hummed or muttered to himself. Just when Jazirah could bear no more of his inattention, he straightened with a grunt and rubbed the middle of his back. He flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Let’s see what we have here. Mm. Ah.” He shuffled to Ismail’s side, gave a cursory glance, and then shook his head. What did that mean? Then he moved to Lubna. The same worrisome gesture did not follow, which set Jazirah’s heart racing. Was Lubna on the mend with hope fading for Ismail? “Can you help them, doctor?” Pharez wiggled a gnarled finger at her. “Patience is required, mm. Patience and time.” She rolled her eyes. Given his aged appearance, he might not have the luxury of time. Then she eyed Harun. Where had he scrounged up this relic? The warden gripped the doorpost, perched like a black vulture eyeing a carcass. Transfixed by the sight of her, his lips parted as if he intended to speak, but Jazirah turned and ignored him. His possessive gaze bored into her back. Would he allow her father to recover before exposing his absurd intentions? Likely, he savored the anticipation of disclosure as much as his murderous acts. Her father would refuse his consent, of course, but terrible consequences would ensue. No one thwarted Harun and lived. A reminder Jazirah did not need. The possibility of a union with the vile man loomed closer, a nightmare from which she had to find an escape. She breathed deeply and composed herself. There would be a chance to break free of his trap. Her father groaned and his head lolled toward the wall again. Jazirah moved toward him, but Pharez stopped her. “I pray, leave him be. The light disturbs him. A common response in cases such as these.” “Then you know what ails him? Please, can you help?” The doctor did not answer. Instead, he looked beyond her. “Jailor, have you a large piece of colored cloth, mm? Preferably dyed red. Linen or cotton would do.” Before Harun could answer, Jazirah asked, “What will you do with it?” Pharez shook his head. His lips tightened beneath the bushy moustache. “Ah, I remember youthful curiosity, wanting to know everything all at once. I can see mastery of the spirit will be difficult for you—” Jazirah’s chest tightened and her nails dug into her palm. Her muscles quivered as she restrained herself from slapping the man for his insolence. “You know nothing of who I am. Do not speak above your station again.” The physician lifted his tufted eyebrows and offered her a conciliatory nod, before his mouth relaxed again into a warm, wide smile. “Ah, as you say. The cloth is a covering for the window. I’ll need two poles to hang the material. Jailor, if you please.” Behind Jazirah, Harun sucked his teeth. “I’ll see what I can do.” His footfalls thundered down the hall and faded as he retreated. Jazirah breathed a sigh and pressed against the wall behind her.
Posted on: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 00:32:34 +0000
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