‌The Ten Thousand Horsemen

Azziza leant on her daughter’s shoulder for support. She closed her eyes and composed herself. Throughout her narration, she would keep her eyes closed, as if better to recall the dream.

It was a night when the moon was very bright, she began nervously. Nights like that are easy to remember. They hold the darkness at bay. We had taken refuge deep in the heart of the souks, under the shadow of a shopfront awning. Aisha was fast asleep beside me. The moon cast its beams through the slatted rooftop trellises. It reflected the passage of clouds on our blankets. The awning shone like white stone. It was quiet in the galleries.

Azziza paused for breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had gained in strength.

That day Aisha had adopted a puppy. At first I tried to prevent her from keeping it. Then I realized how much it meant to her. It was only a few weeks old. It was helpless, a wisp of a thing. Aisha slept with it pressed to her breast.

She made a gesture with her hands to show us how her daughter slept. She was about to go on when she was interrupted. Enough of this nonsense about puppies! a man called out brusquely. What about your dream?

Azziza flinched, her fragile confidence shattered.

My dream was simple, my master, she said falteringly. Biting her lips, she turned to me. Do you want me to continue?

Don’t mind the hecklers, I said, just carry on speaking.

Where was I? I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten…

You were in the souk with Aisha, I said encouragingly.

Perhaps I should go directly to the dream? she ventured, and paused, waiting for my assent. Then she said: What can I tell you, my masters? It was as if I had just woken from sleep. I was no longer in the souk, but in the middle of the Jemaa. I was alone; Aisha was no longer with me. I saw the Jemaa as a moonlit field. A vast silence cloaked everything. Never before had the medina appeared so empty. It was as if all life had drained out of it.

Filled with unease, I began to cross the square slowly. I sought the familiar shelter of the souks, but when I was less than a hundred paces away, a line of gravediggers walked out into the open. Clods of dirt fell from their shovels. One or two of them kicked at the clods and spat, but no sound escaped their lips and no one acknowledged my presence. Terrified, I watched as they filed past towards the tombs of the Saadi kings, my fear rendering me incapable of movement.

An eternity later, ten thousand horsemen entered the Jemaa. They came from the direction of the palace of Ahmed the Victorious. They were fearsome and magnificent, their flags filled with shadows, their armour shining like scales. I watched as they began to circle the Jemaa, at first trotting with great deliberation, then whipping their steeds to a frenzied pace until all that could be seen was a moving, glinting wall of black and steel.

One by one, they began to shoot arrows into the air. The arrows caught fire, they arched through the night like torches, and one of them pierced my chest. My eyesight blurred, and the Jemaa seemed to bend and curl out from beneath me in the shape of a woman. She was beautiful and imperious, with large black eyes that were lined with kohl, and a crown of desert winds. She rose into the air and walked away, and when I called out to her for help, she turned and put her fingers through my eyes and blinded me. I knew then that she was a jinn, an evil spirit. I woke from my dream with my fear choking me like a noose.

Azziza took a deep breath and adjusted the folds of her burnous with a shaky hand. She ran her eyes up and down the square before speaking again, her voice almost inaudible under the burden of her recollections.

Oh, my masters, only a couple of days later, I dreamt about those horsemen again! I dreamt that I was back in the Jemaa seeing those terrifying soldiers rise into the air, the strangest of sights! From the darkness of the square my eyes followed them as they rode through the sky, their standards streaming behind them. They straddled the horizon like mountains. I kept up with them until they came to a bridge between two banks of clouds, and that was when I knew I would have to lower my eyes and leave them to their crossing. I was glad for them, for who amongst us would not have liked to be in their place, on the threshold of paradise?

Azziza paused again, and I could not tell if she had finished or there was more to come. With her eyes closed and her head slightly raised, she stood alone in the centre of the circle and we had the impression that she had become one with her dream.

Finally, she opened her eyes.

That is all I have to tell you, she said, her voice trembling with emotion. I hope I have not disappointed you, my masters and mistresses.

It was Khadija who broke the silence.

On the contrary, child, she said in her deep and sonorous voice, you were able to convey the shape of your dream, its texture, its scenes and its manifold branches quite perfectly.

Azziza lowered her head and I sensed her smile sadly beneath her veil. I gazed at her demure form, covered from head to toe, and was moved to rise to my feet and greet her as an equal.

You narrated your dream beautifully, I said. You led us through that most difficult night, that most difficult dream, with grace and dignity. You did well.

She should take your place, Hassan, someone quipped.

Indeed, she should, I replied with a smile.

Azziza raised her hand to her head in a gesture of remorse.

But I wasn’t there the night the foreigners disappeared, she said.

I was not there that night, she repeated. I still had a life, a house, a husband, a small garden. I was not forced to seek shelter from the night. That night I was not in the square.

But I was, a man’s voice said.