Chapter 5
A n hour later, they were in Fatima’s carriage and headed away from the new, European-style neighbourhood. Fatima’s carriage was significantly more comfortable than the one they had rented in Tangier. Still, Melody was far too on edge about their expedition to relax back into the velvet cushions. Apart from any nervousness she felt about their trip to the Medina, Rat was glaring at her for the entire journey. Melody had no idea what Alessandro had told him about why she was joining them, but it was evident that Rat was not happy at her inclusion in the party.
It was not a long drive to the outskirts of the Medina, and Melody spent most of it looking out of the window and trying to avoid catching Rat’s eye. Melody knew she had done nothing wrong and had no reason to feel guilty, but she also knew how insecure her brother was about his new role as a Secret Service Bureau operative. As much as he was grateful for her helping solve the investigation in Venice, the fact that he needed that help only helped feed his lack of confidence in his abilities.
When the carriage stopped, Alessandro explained that the streets were too narrow for it to continue and that they would have to walk the rest of the way.
Alessandro opened the carriage door, then paused, “Melody, no one will think any the less of you if you choose to remain in the carriage to wait for us. The Medina really is no place for a well-bred young Englishwoman.”
Melody bristled at his words. “Where exactly is the right place for such a young woman? Perhaps nowhere more exciting than a Mayfair drawing room where she can embroider and play the piano?”
Making no more reply to her challenge than to tilt his head in acknowledgement of her words, Alessandro descended from the carriage and then handed Melody out. Rat didn’t need to say anything; the waves of irritation emanating from him spoke volumes.
As soon as they entered the Medina, Melody felt transported to an entirely foreign place, and almost time, as her every sense was assaulted. The streets were extremely narrow and lined with vendors hawking everything from carpets to live chickens. One moment, the air was filled with an unpleasant smell as they passed a man using a large knife to cut up a huge fish. No sooner had they passed that stall than a far more pleasant, if unusual, scent permeated the air. It smelled exotic, and looking around for the source, Melody saw a man surrounded by brightly coloured barrels who was scooping what must be spices into pouches for customers.
As they moved past the spices, they encountered a man selling pastries and another sitting next to him selling brightly coloured shoes. The vendors were all men, but there were some heavily veiled women shopping.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, Alessandro explained, “Until quite recently, women were confined to their father’s home and then their husband’s. Most Moroccan women might only leave their homes two or three times in their lives. However, over the last few years, particularly since the French gained more influence here, it has become more common to see women out on the streets, though almost always accompanied by a brother, father, uncle or husband.”
Now that Melody knew this, she noticed that it was indeed the case that every woman had a man close by her side. She felt even more self-conscious and pulled her scarf more closely around her head. While there were glances directed her way, Melody didn’t feel that there was another meaning in the curious stares. Nevertheless, she had a little more understanding of why Alessandro had suggested she remain in the carriage.
Melody also realised why he had suggested that she join them for a visit to the Medina. He was confident that she would feel so uncomfortable that she would be deterred from any future interference in their mission. Knowing this steeled Melody’s spine. Channelling Granny as best she could, Melody threw back her shoulders and determined that she would not allow Alessandro to guess any of her nervousness.
Finally, just as Melody was wondering if Alessandro had managed to get them lost, he stopped in front of a large wooden door. He knocked, and a few moments later, it was opened by an old man who seemed to recognise Alessandro immediately. Again, it occurred to Melody that Alessandro must be more familiar with Morocco, or at least Casablanca, than she had realised. Under other circumstances, she would have liked to talk with him and learn about his previous visits and experiences. However, their detente was still too fresh and fragile for that kind of conversation.
“As-salamu alaykum, Sidi Alessandro,” the old man said in a very gravelly voice.
“Wa alaykum as-salum,” Alessandro replied with a slight bow of his head.
“Sidi Omar?” the old man said, and Alessandro answered with a nod. The old man moved aside and welcomed them into the abode.
Melody was intensely curious about the inside of a traditional Moroccan home. From the outside, all she had seen were windowless walls. Because of this, she had expected the house to be very dark and gloomy. However, as they were led through a vestibule, she saw an open-air courtyard that the house was built around and which had plenty of windows looking out on it. Inside the courtyard were plush couches and tables to which they were led. The old man indicated that they should be seated and then he disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a tray laden with refreshments.
After putting the tray down, the old man removed a plate of dates, another of little cakes, and a very ornate silver teapot, from which he poured tea into glass cups with silver bases. The man then said something else in Arabic to Alessandro before disappearing.
“Omar will join us in a moment. Meanwhile, we should partake of the refreshments.”
Melody couldn’t contain her curiosity any further. “You speak Arabic fluently?”
Alessandro laughed. “Hardly fluently. However, I know enough to manage when I have to. Omar has taught me some phrases over the years.”
So, he had previously spent time in Morocco. She did remember him mentioning Omar from 1905, but his familiarity implied more than one previous visit. Again, unable to stop herself, Melody asked, “Have you been to Morocco many times, then?”
His face immediately closing up, Alessandro merely nodded his head and said tersely, “Yes.”
Oh well, thought Melody. She knew that she should have kept her questions to herself.
“My friend! As-salamu alaykum,” a loud, cheerful voice boomed from the side of the courtyard.
Alessandro replied as he had to the old man. The owner of the booming voice was a man, perhaps in his mid to late fifties. He had a protruding stomach, a round, open face with a broad smile, and a large, bushy moustache. He was dressed in the traditional robes that all Moroccan men wore, but his head was bare. He approached Alessandro and enveloped him in a warm bear hug.
“It is good to see you, my friend. It has been too long.”
“It has been,” Alessandro agreed.
Omar, because this was who Melody assumed it was, turned towards Melody and Rat and greeted them. Rat introduced them both.
“You are welcome to Casablanca, Mr Sandworth and Miss Chesterton,” Omar said warmly.
“Please, call me Matthew,” Rat said.
“Then you must call me Omar,” the man replied.
Melody wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for an Arab man to address a woman he was not related to, so she did not offer her given name. She looked around at the windows surrounding the courtyard and noticed eyes looking down at them. Was this Omar’s wife? Or did he have multiple wives? She knew that polygamy was allowed in Islam. What must these women think of her sitting there with the men? Did they think she was brazen or lucky?
“Lalla Fatima sent word that you needed my services, but I know nothing more,” Omar said. “I assume you are here in an official capacity?”
Well, that was interesting, Melody thought. Did Omar know about Alessandro’s role in the Secret Service Bureau? Did Fatima? Could these people really be trusted? A glance at Rat’s face suggested that he shared a similar worry.
As if intuiting their concerns, Omar turned to them and said, “Long live the Queen! The British have long supported Moroccan sovereignty. In 1906, your government advocated against French dominance over my country.”
Well, that at least made some sense. Melody wasn’t sure that it assuaged all her fears, and exchanging a brief look with her brother, she guessed that he was similarly unsure. However, they were entirely in Alessandro’s hands in Morocco. Indeed, Melody didn’t even know what they were supposed to be doing there. She hoped that Rat at least had more of an idea.
“Despite signing the Entente Cordiale, the British Government is supportive of Moroccan independence from full European colonisation,” Alessandro assured Omar.
Melody didn’t say anything, but she wondered at how a country that happily colonised India and other countries could nevertheless stand in judgment of its European neighbour's similar ambitions in North Africa.
This question was answered at least somewhat a few moments later when Alessandro said, “Yes, while France is currently our friend, for the most part, Britain must ensure that they do not control the Straits of Gibraltar and, therefore, some of our major trade routes. It continues to be in both of our countries’ interests to maintain the balance of power in the region between France, Germany, and Spain.”
“Ah, yes, Spain,” Omar said. “I am not sure if you have heard, but a few days ago, in response to the French troops’ involvement in Fes, the Spanish government took over Omarrache and Ksar-el-Kebir. My contacts are watching the situation, and I will share more information as I get it.”
It was evident by Alessandro’s shocked expression that this was news to him. “The situation is even more alarming than I feared. If the Spanish reaction to this French overreach was so extreme, I am worried what the German response will be. It seems it is even more imperative that we do what we can behind the scenes to counter further French aggression, even if it is under the guise of support for the Sultan.”
Melody could barely follow the tangled political web that seemed to be the situation in Morocco. When they had been investigating in Venice there seemed little doubt who the enemy was: Austria-Hungary and its partner in the Triple Alliance, Germany. She had thought that France was Britain’s ally. Was that not the case? Because it now seemed as if Britain was more concerned about the ambitions of its so-called friend than its putative enemy. Well, perhaps enemy was currently too strong a word to describe Germany, but definitely not a friend. Perhaps an acquaintance of which one was highly suspicious and kept at arm's length whenever possible.
Of course, Melody had learned enough European history to know that Britain had an even more tortured history with France than it did with Germany over the centuries. Nevertheless, she had believed that in the current state of European affairs, France and Britain had one goal: to stand together against Austria-Hungary and Germany. But now it seemed that the situation was far more complicated than she believed. Perhaps if she had listened more closely on the trip from Tangier, she would understand more. Determined to make up for that lapse in attention, Melody decided to ask Rat for his insights at their next opportunity for a private conversation.
Even as she thought this, it occurred to Melody that Rat might not be inclined to educate her enough that she could then be a fly in the ointment of his nascent partnership with Alessandro. However, she knew her brother’s warm and generous spirit well enough to believe that he would help her understand, whatever his feelings about her involvement.
Listening to Alessandro and Omar's conversation, it became apparent that he was far more than a mere translator. It seemed as if the man had a network of informants throughout Morocco who all shared his enthusiasm for, one might even say, allegiance to, Britain. It did occur to Melody to wonder what their Sultan might think about some of his subjects aiding a foreign power.
In reply to Omar’s news about the Spanish escalation, Alessandro asked, “When was the last you heard from our friend in Fes?”
Omar shook his head and looked anxious at this question, “It has been too long. I believe it is the main reason you were summoned to Morocco. It is possible that he has been compromised. I have tried to gather what information I can through the network, but so far there has been no news. He was last seen almost a month ago.”
Alessandro seemed unsure how much to say in front of Melody but finally asked, “If I need to go to Fes, can I count on your company?”
“Of course, my friend,” Omar replied, his warm, wide smile replaced by a look of concern. Melody wanted to ask who their friend in Fes was and what might have happened to him. However, she suspected that even if Alessandro was inclined to reveal anything, this was not the time or place.
They didn’t stay for much longer, and just before they left, Omar gave Alessandro a package of what looked like two or three books wrapped in paper.
Seeing her look at the package, Alessandro explained, “Omar is a purveyor of rare Arabic texts. Ostensibly, our relationship is based on his ability to procure items for my library. In order to maintain this charade, it is important that I am seen to leave with books.”
“Do you think we are being watched?” Rat asked.
“I always assume I am being watched,” Alessandro explained. “It is a good habit to form,” he advised. Rat looked ashamed of his naivety, and yet again, Melody’s heart went out to her sensitive older brother.