Even though this was the caliph's youngest daughter and therefore least important, the caliph spared no expense but for the quick notice. The palace was turned inside out to be decorated.
Julian supposed he didn't blame the caliph for rushing their wedding. He was beginning to get nervous jitters. Sometime that morning he had realized he didn't even know his bride-to-be's name yet, much less what she looked like. He would have asked Jasmine, but she was kept away from him all day, presumably to take care of her mistress. He wondered what she thought, cloistered in her nun's existence, soon to marry a foreigner. He might have reconsidered had it not been for the small note a page had pressed into his hand as the boy ran by.
It was two words, in a very familiar handwriting (his wife's handwriting, in twenty-four hours!) and it said simply "Thank you."
The day had dawned bright and clear. They gave him milk to drink and sweetmeats to eat and generally treated him like a king. He was washed by two older biddies who refused to hear anything he said and gently nudged him into the bath until he agreed. Then he was dressed carefully, by a valet.
First came a pure white cotton undershirt and shorts. Then came the silk pants, pajama-like, in white with gold embroidery. Over that was a long tunic which was open on the sides. This was also in white silk, and the arms and cuffs were heavily embroidered. The neck was open in a sort of U-shaped pattern and the border was also trimmed in gold.
Next came a silk sleeveless vest. The color was a rich plum, but the whole back of it was covered with a dragon stitched in the same gold thread. On the front he was pleased and surprised to notice on the right side his family's crest. On the left was the symbol of the family he would be joining.
Then came fine pointed slippers which were put onto his feet, also heavily embroidered. He was bade to sit, and a silk cloth was brought. The valet proceeded to wrap a turban around his head, with care and dexterity. The turban was the same plum color as his vest. In it was placed a single peacock feather, standing up straight.
He stood and looked at himself in the mirror. But for the green eyes and fair skin, he looked like a native.
They brought him back to the throne room and sat him amongst some other thrones, a little lower than the caliph. Other men began to arrive, swarthy and dark-haired. They nodded to him curtly, and he realized these were the other son-in-laws.
People began to arrive, and still no sign of his bride. Each person brought a gift and placed it at his feet, bowing. Expensive rings, jewelry for his bride, and silks were the majority of the gifts. One man brought twelve slave boys, however, and another brought sixteen camels.
The morning wore on, and it became ritual for Julian to stand, accept the gift and the sentiments, and seat himself again. At noon a bell tolled and everyone took their seats.
In the center of the room was a raised dais, about ten feet by ten feet. In the center was a small metal container. Its top was open and wider than the bottom, so the sides slanted outward. One on side was seated a priest, who began to chant and put things into the fire.
The other son-in-laws stood, and Julian took his cue from them and stood as well. A dignified butler type came up and gestured Julian forward, until he was standing in front of his throne, with his back to it. The far doors were opened.
In stepped a huge procession. First came jugglers, then dancing girls, servants, maids, all elegantly dressed.
Then in came four pavilion bearers carrying a plum colored silk-lined doli (pavilion) between them. They turned it sideways, so the open side was toward him, and stepped side.
A hand appeared at the edge of the curtain, and gently pulled it aside. The hand had henna on both sides, and gold hand jewelry on the back. A leg was extended and a small slippered foot was placed on the ground.
Out stepped a small figure, clad head to toe in jade green silk. There were embroidered flowers all over her brocade. Her head was covered by a red silk veil, and her lower face by another.
She stood a little over five feet tall. She walked toward him, and a few feet away she stopped, and knelt on the floor, her head bowed. Her herald stepped up next to her.
"Her Royal Highness, the Princess of this fair land, daughter of his most royal Caliph Fajlad, begs you to take her as wife!"
This was all protocol, and Julian had been instructed in it. He stepped forward and proclaimed in a loud voice, "I, Julian Alexander, son of Tiberius Alexander, do accept!" So saying, he bent to take her arm. She offered it to him, and as she rose he saw that she snuck a look at him from behind her lashes.
He could see nothing of her but her eyes but her eyes made him forget where he was for a moment. They were of the deepest emerald green, heavily framed by black lashes. They seem to be filled with their own luminescence. Heavily lined with kohl, they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
Their eyes met for the first time, and Julian felt a spark run through his body. He didn't have time to wonder if she felt it too, for the valet was already turning him toward the ceremony. They both continued to the platform and knelt there.
The wedding ceremony was two hours long and consisted of getting up, sitting down, walking nine times together around the fire (for each of the nine lifetimes they were to be together), putting various things in the fire as offerings, and repeating vows as instructed. She was very quiet but occasionally he would see a flash of green eyes. They remained in his mind even when she didn't look up, it seemed to him.
After the wedding, they were seated on matching thrones. For about two hours they received people's blessings.
Julian was having a hard time getting around the fact that they were married. It came home quickly enough when after two hours several maidservants came over, giggling, and took his new bride away. He knew they were taking her to the bedchamber. He also knew that the custom here was for the bride to keep her groom waiting as long as she desired on the wedding night. Perhaps it was the only bit of power she got. He wondered how long his new wife would make him wait. It would have to be at least half an hour, for modesty's sake.
The call did not actually come until an hour later. The same maidservants came back, giggling, and walked him down the hall and out of the throne room. Behind him he could hear the dancing and the drinking and the reveling beginning.
They took him to a decorated door and opened it and thrust him inside, still giggling.
The bower was dominated by a very large bed. This was covered with flowers, as was the custom, and hanging vines of flowers surrounded it. The entire room was decorated beautifully.
He advanced, glancing at the candles lighting the room and the customary glass of milk the wife was supposed offer her husband. Then he stopped, suddenly, as he heard a voice from behind him.
"Alexander sahaab?"
The voice held overtones of honey and milk, with a sweet, musical tone. It was young and slightly accented, and he knew instantly it was the voice of his bride.
He turned, and saw there was another doorway which he had missed seeing right away. It led into sort of a lounge room. In the doorway was standing a young...well, person. The person was dressed in black boys' clothes from head to toe. What little he could see of the face had been darkened by some sort of skin color, and there was a cloth across the lower part of the face. The person wore a black turban. But the eyes...the eyes were the same emerald, with flicks of gold, that he had seen on the marriage altar. This was his bride, and this was what she had been doing in the hour – getting dressed like this.
The girl stepped forward and bowed. "Alexander sahaab? Thank you for saving me from a truly terrible fate." Although she spoke without the haughty arrogance of her father, he thought this girl had steel in her. "I am sorry to rush you, my Lord. But you are in danger, and so am I. We must leave immediately, tonight."
He finally found his voice. "In danger? What do you mean, Rajkumari?" He called her the correct Arabic word for Princess.
She replied, "My...suitor...is furious with me for rejecting you. He means to kill me, so no man may have me. And my father wishes to have you killed in an accident, so he may say the son of the great Tiberius Alexander is still allied to him. Even after you die my father plans to use your name."
He nodded, gravely. Truthfully, the only thing he was surprised at was how blithely the girl spoke of her own death. "How do you plan to escape?"
"Jasmine and my tutor have agreed to help me. Your things have already been packed onto your horse by Jasmine. My tutor is waiting with the horse in a place not far from here. And here is your sword, my Lord."
He had to repress a smile at her thoroughness. "You sound like you have really planned this out, Rajkumari. Now how do we get out of this room?"
"First you must wear this over your clothing. You can put your turban into this bag," she said holding out a black cover-all and a burlap sack. He removed it carefully and walked up to her.
From this close he could smell her even with the strange clothes on. She smelled delightfully sweet and young, and rather exotic. He dropped his turban in the bag and took the cover-all, as well as a pair of black slippers. Their fingers brushed, and he realized she was wearing gloves.
She turned away politely, and went to the window. He began pulling it over his head, watching her. She cautiously peeked out of the window, then tugged on something. It took him a second to realize she was checking a rope which was tied to the window. He was lost in admiration for a moment. This girl was something else! Here she was, on her wedding night, preparing to sneak out of the window of her bridal chamber.
He realized she was watching him. By the slight crinkle in her eyes he knew she was smiling. He wondered what her smile looked like. Was she ugly? With eyes like that? He followed her gaze and realized she was smiling at his feet – he had put one of the new slippers on but the other was still the fancy silk one. He quickly changed them and dropped them both in the bag. The cover-all was very well made, thick and heavy yet not constricting.
She nodded, approvingly. "Come. We must go. Give me the bag so I may secure it to you." She dropped some small packages into the bag first. Smiling, she continued, "These are some of our wedding gifts, at least the portable smaller ones. I see no reason why we should leave them with my father." She took it from his fingers and deftly secured it over his shoulder and neck with a strap.
