Their host served them himself. Watching Jafar in order to emulate him, Alysson took a sip of the drink she had been given, and promptly gave a gasp. She hadn't expected it to burn her throat so.
"It is called arrack," Jafar said. "The honey of the date tree. Do you not care for it?"
"Yes, it is fine. I just wasn't prepared."
Warned now, she took another cautious sip of the fiery native drink. It was both sweet and tart, and highly potent. "I did not think Muslims drank spirits," she commented.
Jafar smiled. "The strict rules of Islam are relaxed on the borders of the Sahara. Moreover, Berbers are not as religious as Arabs in general." When she appeared inter-
ested, he expounded. "We think nothing of eating wild boar's flesh or other animals branded as impure by the Koran. The wearing of tattoos is expressly forbidden by the Koran, yet it is a custom which prevails among our tribes. Indeed, we have many customs that are not shared by Arabs. We drink arrack and fig brandy . . . we break our fast at Ramadan . . . we are more superstitious . . . we pay our Saints more reverence . . . we do not despise Jews . . . our celebrations are far wilder."
Though fascinated, Alysson regarded Jafar curiously, wondering why he was telling her about his people and their customs. "Mahmoud said a festival was in progress today."
"Yes, a traditional Muslim observance—the Feast of Bairam. It honors Abraham's obedience to God in sending his son Ishmael into the desert."
The first courses of the meal came then, and they truly were a feast. With the lamb and chicken was served an incredible array of vegetables—roasted eggplant, turnips, carrots, and hazelnuts, to name a few. Then came a delicious couscous, eaten with chunks of lamb cooked in chopped onion and nuts.
For dessert there was fruit, dates and melons and tangerines, followed by rich strong coffee.
Then came the dancers, women with tattooed foreheads, painted cheeks, and henna-red palms.
The first to perform had jet-black hair and proud beautiful features, with a light, slightly olive complexion and enigmatic eyes. Her regal robes were accented by a golden crown of peacock feathers, while broad bracelets, chains of gold, and heavy earrings adorned her arms, neck, and ears.
When the music struck up, she began to dance in a slow sinuous rhythm, all the while throwing Jafar languorous looks from half-closed eyes. The come-hither glances held a familiarity that Alysson could not misinterpret.
"Do you know her?" she asked Jafar, surprised at the sharp emotion she felt; it was jealousy, hot and stinging and unmistakable.
"Her name is Fatum."
His oblique answer did not at all satisfy Alysson. She slanted Jafar a glance, her eyebrow raised expectantly.
“The women of the Ouled Nail tribe range all over Barbary," he explained. "Their dances are famous in every city."
"I would not have thought their men would approve of them dancing in public," Alysson murmured, recalling how protective the Arabs were of the female gender.
"Their men not only approve, but encourage them." Jafar smiled when Alysson's eyes widened. "These women are courtesans, Ehuresh. They make their living dancing and selling their . . . ah, charms to the other tribes of the kingdom for a handsome price. In fact, their men think nothing of selling their wives and daughters for the money they bring."
They were prostitutes, Alysson thought weakly. "How barbaric," she managed to reply.
"On the contrary. It is all quite civilized. They provide a valuable service, and in exchange, earn money to bring home to their husbands, or collect enough for a dowry so they may marry."
Disturbed, Alysson turned back to watch Fatum dance, yet as the slow expressive movements changed into a flaming, sensual frenzy, she couldn't help but wonder precisely what the dancer's relationship was to Jafar. She was grateful when Fatum finally finished.
Fatum was replaced by a second woman with the same thin aquiline nose and fiery eyes, the same jet-black hair. This dancer, however, wore chalwar—full pantaloons of scarlet satin brocade—along with a fringed sash and a black velvet bolero embroidered with gold thread. On her head was a small black cap, and on her feet were red suede slippers. She also sported gold anklets in addition to the excessive amount of heavy gold jewelry similar to that which Fatum had worn.
The new dancer's long black hair swirled around her body as she twisted her ample curves in an age-old pantomime of desire, showing to advantage her savagely beautiful and graceful figure.
"I suppose you know her as well," Alysson murmured, unable to keep the waspish note from her voice.
Turning, Jafar raised an eyebrow at her, observing her curiously. There might also have been a hint of amusement in his eyes as he replied, "Her name is Barca."
He deftly changed the subject then, explaining the meanings of the various ritual dances. While Fatum had performed the Dance of the Handkerchief, this was the Dance of the Sword. Next an entire group of half-wild women of the Ouled Nail tribe came out to dance and sing of heroism and love.
Then Fatum and Barca returned to dance more of the burning dances of the desert, sinuously undulating their firm young bodies, emitting a violent and savage sensuality. That, as well as their alluring glances at Jafar, Alysson found profoundly disturbing. If they had not yet known the ecstasy of Jafar's bed, they were certainly amenable now.
Perhaps, Alysson thought, pressing her lips together, Jafar hadn't been lying when he claimed to have no concubines. With beauties like these at his beck and call, Jafar would have little need for a permanent stable of mistresses.
Other than an appreciative interest in the artistry of the dance, however, Jafar paid little attention to the women posturing and swaying before him. And he paid no attention at all to the alluring glances cast by Fatum and Barca. Whatever erotic thoughts he had were solely focused on the young woman sitting beside him. Whatever arousal he felt was due entirely to Alysson Vickery.