Chapter 13
A s they sat and sipped tea, they chatted. Initially, the conversation was Casablanca gossip. It seemed that as a merchant, Askel regularly moved around the country and seemed quite familiar with the local politics and intrigue.
When his need to catch up on Casablanca society was satiated, Askel asked, “So, why are you making this trek, my cousin? And with such company?”
The question almost sounded rude to Melody’s ears, but she hoped that it was nothing more than Aksel’s command of the English language. Certainly, in every other way, he had been a very gracious host.
As Omar began to speak, Melody wondered just how much he would reveal. He seemed aware of Alessandro and Rat’s roles working for the Secret Service Bureau, but she was sure her brother would prefer that not be revealed widely.
“A man, a friend, who is British, has been arrested and is being taken to Fes for trial.”
Askel raised his eyebrows. “Taken to Fes rather than handed over to the British authorities. Is that not unusual?”
“Indeed,” his cousin answered. “The consul feels that passions are running high enough at the moment, and they don’t wish to interfere and make matters worse. The French asked him to allow the Pasha to handle the situation, and it seems that his response was to send my friend to Fes.”
“To the Sultan, may God bless him?” Aksel asked.
“That is what we believe, yes.”
Aksel stroked his magnificent moustache as he considered Omar’s words. Then he asked, “I am sure you have been travelling for many days. Did you hear about Spain’s actions?”
Spain? Melody thought that only France and Germany were vying for power in Morocco. What did Spain have to do with it? Then she remembered the conversation at Omar’s riad days ago.
Aksel continued, “It was a few days ago, but word only just reached me today.”
Omar replied, “Yes, we heard that our Spanish friends were so alarmed by Morocco’s French protectors’ rush to aid the Sultan that they have sent their army to occupy Larache and Ksar-el-Kebir, claiming it is to maintain order in the wake of the rebellion in Fes.”
“This will be viewed badly by Germany, I fear,” Omar continued, shaking his head.
“I do not understand,” Melody said. “Why will Germany care what Spain has done? Are they not competing with France rather than Spain for dominance here?”
Smiling in a rather annoying manner that suggested she was amused at Melody’s ignorance and naivety, Fatima explained, “It is very likely that Germany will view this as an alliance by France and Spain against it to assert de facto control over Morocco.”
“Is it?”
Fatima shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Does it matter? All that matters is that it is highly likely that this inflames tensions in Morocco even further. And that will not be good for Sandro.”
This time, Rat asked, “Why will this affect how Alessandro is treated? Doesn’t the Sultan have bigger issues to contend with?”
“That these foreign powers have solidified their positions in Morocco cannot reflect well on the Sultan, may God bless him. Our Berber brethren have made clear their displeasure with him and what they saw as his betrayal of his people as he increasingly relies on foreign advisors. That these foreign powers are now even more entrenched than they were before must make the Sultan’s position even more precarious,” Omar explained.
After their tea, Melody and Fatima were led to a lavish guest room, where they could bathe in rose-petal-scented water. Melody was so relieved to be able to wash off the grime and dust of their travels that she was tempted to linger in the water. However, the delicious smells coming from outside their room were even more alluring. Their clothes had been taken away to be laundered, and traditional robes were left for them to wear for the evening.
As Melody dressed, she asked Fatima, “Do you really believe that this latest move by the Spanish will make things go even more badly for Alessandro?”
The other woman was already dressed and was brushing her long, dark hair. She stopped her strokes of the brush and considered the question. “I believe that Alessandro has somehow become entangled in a web of intrigue between the various countries that seek to dominate Morocco, the Sultan, and the various Berber tribes who would loosen the foreigners' hold over this country. This latest move by Spain will surely escalate the tensions and make it even harder for the Sultan to justify excusing behaviour in a foreigner that would surely be fully prosecuted with a Moroccan suspect.”
Seeing that Melody was about to interrupt, Fatima put up her hand and said gently, “It is not fair, but it is how the situation is. I believe that nothing short of unequivocal proof that Sandro is not guilty of the murder will be sufficient to ensure his release.”
Melody shook her head in frustration. “We do not even know who the dead man is. How can we hope to prove Alessandro’s innocence without that basic knowledge? Perhaps we should have stayed in Casablanca. We are so far from the scene of the murder that it is hard to believe we will have any luck finding evidence in Alessandro’s favour in Fes.”
Fatime assured her that their travels to Fes was the right move. Her ability to get them an audience with the Sultan was a significant step towards getting Alessandro released. “As soon as the Pasha’s men took Sandro to Fes, we had no choice.”
Their conversation at an end, the two women descended to the courtyard. The table was already piled high with delicious-looking food and included three large tagine pots. Melody’s heart sank.
Melody had thought that she was sick of tagines, but as she tasted the delicious chicken version they were being served, flavoured with preserved lemons, olives, and spices, she realised that she was just ready for something other than khlii. This tagine was as far removed from the basic meal she had been eating for days as possible. It was served with the traditional flatbread, cooked over coals, but again, the one served at Aksel’s table was far superior to the rather dry, tough bread that Fatima’s men had cooked for every meal.
As she looked at the table set before them, laden with olives, roasted vegetables, couscous and various bowls filled with enticing-looking items, Melody found herself wishing, just for a moment, that their stay might be more than one night. She immediately berated herself for such selfishness. Alessandro might already be in Fes, rotting away in a dank prison, being fed who knows what maggot-infested food. How dare she wish to extend their trip by even an hour.
They all ate until they could not find room for even one more olive. Then, the mint tea was brought out, and Mansour performed his pouring ceremony again. As she sipped on the tea, Melody found that she could make room for a couple of dates after all. Having finished his tea-pouring duties, Mansour pulled a small pipe out of his robe and began playing for them. The tune was beautiful and soothing. So soothing that Melody found her eyelids becoming heavy as she struggled to stay awake. It didn’t help that the conversation had become rather boring as Aksel, Omar, and Fatima explained the rivalries and political tensions between the various Berber tribes in the region surrounding Fes. She knew that she should be paying attention. After all, it seemed that these tensions were at least tangentially relevant to why Alessandro was being held. Yet, Melody was too weary and the information too dry to hold her attention.
Eating at the low table while sitting on the cushions was surprisingly comfortable once one got used to it. Melody could only imagine what Granny would make of such a dining scenario. Unfortunately, the very comfortable cushions only added to Melody’s sleepiness. In an effort to stay awake, Melody looked around the courtyard. The riad was two storeys high. There were three doors surrounding the courtyard, with a corridor leading off from the fourth side. There were also shuttered windows that looked out onto the courtyard. Except one of these shutters was not entirely closed.
As Melody noticed this ajar shutter, she realised that someone was behind it, peering out at the courtyard. Now that she was paying attention, she realised that she could hear giggles coming from that direction. While various servants, male and female, had brought out the various dishes during their meal, as with Omar’s riad, none of Askel’s female relatives, wives, daughters, or even a mother had joined them. One fresh-faced young man of perhaps sixteen, introduced as one of Aksel’s sons, had been part of the dinner, but he had sat quietly next to his father, not participating in the conversation. Were the women of Aksel’s family sitting in the room adjacent to the courtyard observing the dinner?
When Melody finally fell onto her feather mattress later that evening, she was asleep almost immediately. The following day, she woke after one of the longest, deepest nights of sleep she had experienced since they left Venice. As much as she stood by her decision to force herself on Rat and Alessandro for their trip to Morocco, the deprivation of the comforts Melody was used to during their trip to Casablanca was in stark relief compared to the opulence of their time in Venice. She had thought the trip from Tangier to Casablanca difficult as they spent their night in a variety of guesthouses and inns that, while they were considered luxury accommodations by Moroccan standards, were quite basic in their facilities. However, these past nights camping had made those hard beds and lack of plumbing seem sumptuous by comparison. The riad’s comfortable bed and other luxuries had been a welcome reprieve.
Melody found her freshly laundered clothes at the end of her bed and gratefully put on a split skirt and shirtwaist that didn’t feel grimy.
After a quick breakfast, the group thanked their host heartily and left the riad. They then made their way back to the caravanserai, where Fatima’s men and Mustafa were waiting for them. The horses were refreshed and ready for the final leg of their journey.
As she was moving towards her horse, Mustafa came up alongside Melody and tugged on her sleeve.
“Lalla Melody,” the boy said in a whisper.
Melody looked around at the other men, but they were all too busy preparing the horses and packing their minimal possessions. She bent down to the boy’s height.
“Sidi Alessandro was brought through here the night before we arrived. The Pasha’s men stayed in this caravanserai with him,” the boy said in the same low voice.
Melody considered this information. Why hadn’t Fatima’s men mentioned anything? Come to that, why hadn’t Aksel? The village was small enough that it seemed unlikely that the Pasha’s men had come through and hadn’t been noticed. Fatima had said that she had chosen to bring men who were Berbers to help them navigate the complex tribal allegiances they would likely encounter along the way, but did those men have questionable fealties of their own?
Again, Melody came back to the question of where Fatima’s loyalties lay. While the two women had certainly moved past overt hostility to something perhaps even more than civility, could Fatima be trusted?
What was clear was that she couldn’t put her faith in anyone except Rat. As much as Alessandro had vouched for Omar, he was also Berber. She now realised that Morocco’s Berbers had complicated loyalties, and she shouldn’t make any assumptions about which side they were on. And what did “side” even mean? As Omar had pointed out, they couldn’t even be sure precisely what Britain was aiming for in Morocco. She had to find time to talk to Rat about her concerns, but he had hardly been open to her thoughts on Fatima’s trustworthiness previously.
One good thing about this trip was that Rat’s infatuation was, if not muted, at least far less on display during it. Of course, the hardships of horseback riding through the Atlas Mountains hardly lent itself to flirtations. The more she thought about it, the more Melody realised that the big difference was that Fatima had stopped preening for and flirting with Rat. Again, she wondered if the difference was that Alessandro was not present as an audience.
None of these thoughts were of any use now. Eyeing up her horse, Melody could hardly bear the thought of getting back on it. Omar had estimated that they had another two days of travel ahead of them and said it was unlikely they would spend that night in another village. Melody thought about her comfortable sleep the night before and steeled herself for at least one more night wrapped in a blanket in a tent after a long day in the saddle.