This is the story of Sara, a Dutch woman, who is captured by the Barbary pirates on her way to the Dutch East Indies. She is given as a present to the Bey, the ruler of Tunis.
The Tunisian sun was not burning yet this early on a morning in 16
th
century Tunisia. The bright morning glory was making the bay look azure blue and made all the flour particles in the air of the bakery shine like stars. Sara, however, was with unseeing eyes mixing dough. While normally baking cookies, after the baker was finished, was something she loved to do, as all the Dutch recipes remembered her of home, today she felt like in a daze.
Two days ago the first wife of her owner, the Bey of Tunis, had gone into labour. The woman had looked forward to having a baby on the verge of her old age. One chance for a son after her three daughters who were all already married. The kind grand lady and the lowly Dutch Christian slavewoman had forged a bond: their love for the Bey.
The next day passed without any reason to celebrate. The Bey's first wife was in labour but the baby was not coming. Around the second day her cries could be heard all over the palace and the midwives and the servants started to panic. Things did not seem well and they were afraid that if they decided wrongly and the baby or the mother would die, the Bey would punish them.
Sara had been married for many years to a doctor back in Holland. It was clear to her that help was needed but it might be in vain. While the palace was in chaos she had taken the liberty to send to eunuchs to Tunis. One to warn the Bey and the other to summer his palace physician.
Both had arrived some time ago. The wails had torn through her heart so she had hidden herself here in the bakery deep in the bowels of the fortress where she could not hear them.
The air was full of the smell of spices. Her cookies were less sticky and sweet as the local variety which were dipped in honey or rosewater. Hers were mixed with cinnamon or anise. At least the children in the palace would have something to keep them busy.
Her dress was dusted by the flour and her hands were deep in a bowl with dough. Tears were making her eyes sore but she could only try to wipe them away with the sleeve of her dress.
Suddenly she heard something at the door. Upon turning she noticed the Bey. A little bundle in his arms. Dusting off her hands on a rag she ran to the man.
"The baby! The baby is there!"
With only eyes for the child she looked into the cotton bundle. A small face was sleeping. A little hand jerking.
"Oh lord the baby is so beautiful. Is it a son or a daughter?"
She looked up suddenly realising how silent he was. To her horror she saw his face was wet with tears.
"Oh no. Oh no."
Forgetting he was the highest ranked person in the country and she a captured Christian woman who was given to him as a slave, she wrapped her arms around his torso, putting her head against his biceps, sharing his grief.
After a few moment he said: "His name is Azziz. He fought like a lion to live."
She looked up at his sad face. It broke her heart to see him so in pain.
"They could either cut him out and try to safe her, cut her open to let him be born like that Roman Ceasar or let them both go to Paradise together. She begged us to safe her child."
A fresh flow of tears dripped silently in his beard. She stood frozen realising the horror.
All of a sudden he held the baby out to her.
"He needs a mother Sara. He is all alone now. He needs someone to love him. To love him like her own baby."
Without thinking or hesitating her arms opened wide. He placed the bundle against her heart. She bowed her head and kissed the child.
"We both know Sara she respected you greatly. She would have agreed with my choice."
Sara nodded. She would have. And her heart seemed to break for that kind lady who had loved her husband so much she had told her a few days ago to tell this man she loved him.
"Lord I promise I will love him like my own. And I will tell him about his mother when he grows."
"Yes my sweet. I know you will. Come let us go and find that slave you bought. She will have to be wetnurse."
They both left the kitchen. Her cookies forgotten.
-8-8-
The Bey had gone back to Tunis to bury his lady with her parents and had stayed away for a whole month of mourning. He had not touched a women since his lady had died. Today he had gone back to his seashore residence. Spring had come and the trip on horseback had been uncommonly warm for this time of year.
He had greeted his two remaining wives and now wanted to see his youngest son. According to the reports he was receiving the child thrived.
Walking into the small room of his slave he was greeted by a vision. She was sitting on her bed. The cover over her legs but her chest bare in the opening of her nightdress. A little head with black curls was latched on one of those creamy breasts.
She looked up at him and a wide smile beamed on her face.
"My lord, you are back."
He walked over and sat on the bed. He could see how his son was drinking.
"Sara. What is happening? How can he drink from your breast?"
He saw her glance down at her son and he knew for certain how much she loved him already.
"Your physician told us we should make him feel bonded. Fatma was nursing him but even your third wife did as she still is nursing her babygirl. But the physician said I should as well so he would bond with his adopted mother."
"Even without milk?"
"Yes but the strange thing was I started to lactate. Not enough to feed a child on that alone I am afraid, but enough to make him happy when he cries during the night or just when we cuddle like now. The physician says my body sees him as my own baby and started to make milk."
He looked amazed at the blonde head and the white breast and his dark son. His hand started to stroke her leg.
"You do such a fine job my sweet."
The boy had fallen asleep with the nipple still in his mouth. She nodded to the crib in the corner and he held out his hand to put his son to bed. Upon turning he saw how tender her gaze was upon them. In two steps he was back at her side.
