“It is a gazelle from Jannat al Ferdaws, who are ever young and sweet, like the blossoms of the Tuba-tree,” replied the slave-dealer volubly.
“If she were a virgin thy comparison would pass, but she has been somebody’s love, and must have seen at least thirty Ramazans,” observed the holy connoisseur of the fair sex.
“She will see thirty more years and yet be more beautiful than one of twenty. She is worth her weight in gold,” asserted the slave-dealer.
“Will a pound of gold-sand buy her?” asked the scion of the Prophet.
“One hundred doubloons will take Naïma,” cried the master of the slave.
“Naïma!” echoed a voice nearby. “Naïma—is that thy slave’s name?” asked Omeyya eagerly, who had been a witness of the progressing transaction.
“That is her name, Cid, as sweet as herself,” returned the cunning dealer.
“I will pay the price if thou canst satisfy me as to her place of birth, her pedigree, and her antecedents,” promised Omeyya without hesitation.
“What thou askest of me I cannot do. We buy and exchange slaves as we trade in other things, never bothering our heads as to whence they come, or who they are. What matters it? I traded for Naïma in Tenduf; she might have come thither from Timbuctu by Tandeng, an oasis in the desert, rich in salt, and fertilized by wholesome springs,” said the merchant hypothetically.
“She is mine; let the taleb write out the legal transfer,” said Omeyya, without so much as a look at the object of his purchase. A murmur of surprise passed around among the onlookers. The saint of the green caftan departed in disgust. In a few minutes the document was produced and signed, the price paid, and Omeyya, trembling all over, led off the slave, whom he felt must be his mother. Brought to his tent, he caused her to remove her kaik or face cover, made her sit on a pillow, threw himself on his knees before her, looked into her beautiful countenance, then kissed her hands and spoke: “Let thy first answer to my first question be plain and brief.—If thy father’s name was Moadh of Timbuctu; if thy husband was Sofian the son of Abu Thaleb of the same city; if thy friend was the owl-witch Kadijah; if a child was born to thee in her cave and his name was Omeyya,—then speak the word that I may praise Allah’s great mercy.”