ZIGGURAT

All night I had been kept awake by my attendants, cosseted, pampered, massaged with fragrant oils and fed delicious fruits and syrups. The lutist had played for hours, the most beautiful music and the story teller had recited tales of princesses and journeys, all the beautiful things. But I was so tired. Every time I curled up on my cushions I was woken, bathed again, massaged again, sung to again, fed again.

When I asked what all this was for I was told that I was to meet my lord in the morning and must be ready for him. This made me tingle with fear, and joy. This was what I had been preparing for my whole life.

‘Tell me of my lord?’ I asked of Sadia, my favourite attendant. ‘What is he like?’

‘How should I know mistress? When would someone like me come into the presence of someone like him?’ There was something odd about the way she said this, not the words but the way her eyes shifted and her voice cracked. I took it for emotion and asked, ‘Does this mean that you will not be with me any more?’

‘Yes,’ she answered in that strange voice. ‘We will no longer be together.’

At this I wept, for she had served me well since birth.

At the hour before sunrise I was dressed in the finest embroidered silks, and hung with gold jewellery. I was then given a sherbet made from rose petals and told to ready myself. I was taken out into the dim light and the priest took my hand and lead me up the steps which became taller and taller and narrower and narrower until I was panting with breathlessness and my head was swimming.

At last we reached the highest point and I was guided to stand on the very edge so I could see the sun peaking over the Atlas Mountains. At the very moment that the sun’s first rays touched my face, I heard a sound like rushing feet behind me and I took flight.