A Memory of Love (21 page)

The room was filled with men. The caliph was obviously hearing grievances and mediating disputes of one kind or another. The captives remained at the rear of the audience chamber for some time and then finally were beckoned forward. The Norman-speaking infidel brought them to stand before the caliph's throne.

“Kneel, dogs,” he hissed at them, shoving at Fulk.

“We kneel only to God and our king,” Rhonwyn said defiantly.

The Norman-speaking infidel merely glanced to the side, and at once there were guards forcing them to their knees before the caliph.

Their captor began speaking, but almost at once the caliph help up his hand. “Speak in their Frankish tongue so they may understand what it is you say, Farouk, and defend themselves, if indeed they can.”

“Yes, my lord” came the reply.

“Which one of them killed Prince Abdallah?” the caliph demanded.

“That one,” Farouk said, pointing to Rhonwyn, who knelt, her head bowed, as she strove to conceal her identity.

The caliph arose quickly and descended the dais. He stood before the kneeling knights. Suddenly his nostrils twitched quite visibly. He looked hard at the two kneeling figures. He sniffed softly once, twice. Then with a swift motion he reached out and pulled Rhonwyn's mail coif from her head. Yanking her to her feet, he stared in surprise a moment before he burst out laughing, even as her long gilt hair tumbled from the top of her head and spilled down her back.
“A woman!”
He roared with laughter. “A woman has killed that arrogant braggart who was my half brother?
This is the fiercest knight in all of Christendom, Farouk?
You make a jest, do you not?” His admiring gaze took in her fair beauty.

“My lord! Surely this is sorcery! It was a mounted and fierce knight who killed your brother and whom we took captive. I swear it to you, my lord caliph!
I swear it!
” Farouk's face was filled with fear.

“Take your hands off me, infidel!” Rhonwyn snapped, pulling away from the caliph. “Your cowering dog does not lie. I killed your brother. He was a careless swordsman and deserved to die for being so reckless in the heat of battle.”

“Ah,” the caliph breathed slowly, “you are right, woman. Abdallah was a feckless warrior. So much so that he could be killed by a mere female. Are you as ferocious in your lord's arms as you are on the battlefield? We shall see, you and I.” He prowled about her, reaching out to take a handful of her hair in his fist, raising it to his nostrils. “This is what I smelled. Your hair is perfumed, woman. The fragrance suits you. I have never smelled anything like it before.” Releasing his hold on her hair, he caught her face with his thumb and his forefinger, holding it in an iron grip. “You have skin the unsullied white of the moon, and your hair is like pure golden gilt. You are beautiful, but then you must know it. The emeralds you have for eyes are fiery with your anger, I can see. I shall call you Noor, which means light. I am Rashid al Ahmet, the caliph of Cinnebar, and you shall be the jewel of my harem, Noor.” He turned from her and spoke to a tall, distinguished black man. “Take her to the women's quarters, Baba Haroun. See she is properly bathed and well rested. Then bring her to me at moonrise. Find someone within the harem to act as her translator until she can learn our language.”

“Wait, my lord,” Rhonwyn said. “What is to happen to my companion?”

“Is he your lover?” the caliph asked her.

“Of course not!” she replied indignantly. “He is one of my husband's knights. His name is Sir Fulk Anthony.”

“Since he is not your lover I will be merciful and not kill him. I shall ransom him, or if I cannot, then I shall sell him into slavery,” the caliph responded. He was disappointed she was not a virgin, but then he hadn't really expected someone as beautiful as Noor would be. Still, these Frankish women were usually backward in the arts of love. He would enjoy teaching her, and there would be no difficulty with virginal fears, only her Christian virtue, which he would eventually overcome.

The tall black man, Baba Haroun, came to fetch her. “Fulk, go with God,” she cried out to him.

“And you also, my lady Rhonwyn!” he called as he was taken away in the opposite direction by two guards.

Rhonwyn shook the man's hand off her arm and glared at him indignantly. “I will follow you,” she said. “You do not have to drag me like some shivering creature.”

Baba Haroun stared at her angrily, but then the caliph spoke to him, and he chortled, nodding.

“He does not speak your Frankish tongue, Noor. I have told him you are to be respected and treated gently,” Rashid al Ahmet explained. “He is not used to women disobeying him.” The caliph smiled, then turned away to conduct the next business on his daily calendar.

She was dismissed, and so having no other choice, she turned and followed the tall man from the audience chamber. He led her across an open courtyard into another section of the palace. The guards at the entry stiffened to attention as they passed. Down a dimly lit and scented corridor she followed until finally they came through a gilded archway into a large room with a bubbling fountain. The room was filled with chattering women of all hues. Seeing Baba Haroun, they grew quickly silent. He smiled a superior smile at Rhonwyn as if to say, you see, I am a person of some importance.

“Where is the woman Nilak?” he demanded loudly in Arabic.

A small dignified female came from a corner where she had been seated. “Yes, my lord Haroun? How may I serve you?”

“Do you still have command of your Frankish tongue?” he demanded roughly of her.

“I do,” Nilak said politely.

“Then this woman is now in your charge by order of our most worthy master, the caliph Rashid al Ahmet, may his name be blessed. She is to be bathed and well rested, for he desires her presence at moonrise. Tell her, and also inform her that bad behavior and disobedience will be punished by a beating on the soles of her feet until she cannot walk, but must crawl.” He then shoved Rhonwyn toward Nilak.

The older woman caught the girl and said quickly in Norman, “Do not retaliate, child. The caliph's chief eunuch is a man who holds grudges. If you shame him before the other women, he will never forgive you, and no one, not even the caliph, will be able to protect you from his vengeance.”

Rhonwyn swallowed down her anger and nodded at Nilak.

“Good,” Nilak said softly. “Now, come with me and we will talk. You will tell me who you are, and I will answer all the questions I see bubbling upon your lips.” She took the younger woman by the hand and led her off into a quiet corner, speaking a few quick words to a passing slave girl as they went. “I have told her to bring us mint tea and gazelle-horn pastries,” she explained to Rhonwyn. “Sit, child.”

“Who are you,” Rhonwyn asked her, “and how do you know the tongue of the Normans?”

“I am called Nilak. It means
Lilacflower
in the Arabic tongue. My history is a simple one. My father was a merchant in Provence. The Moors raided the town in which I lived, and I was captured and sold into slavery. I was twelve then. I have now seen forty-two springs. I was brought to Cinnebar with a princess who was given to this caliph's father as a gift. She died giving birth to a daughter, the caliph's half sister. I raised the child until she was given in marriage. I am too old now to sell off, and so I am allowed to remain, being useful where I can be. Baba Haroun is glad to have me as a translator when girls speaking the Frankish tongue are brought here, as they occasionally are. Now tell me, child, who are you, and how came you here?”

Rhonwyn explained her adventures to the openmouthed woman.

“
You
killed Prince Abdallah?” Nilak said, awed.

“I did not know who he was,” Rhonwyn replied. “He was just an enemy in battle.” She shrugged, then asked, “Tell me about this Baba Haroun? Who is he?”

“The chief eunuch of the caliph's harem, child,” Nilak responded.

“I don't know what a eunuch is, nor a harem,” Rhonwyn said.

“A harem is where the caliph's women—his wives, his concubines, his sisters, and other assorted female rela-tions—live. No real man but the caliph is allowed in the women's quarters. A eunuch is a male who has been castrated so he may not function as a real man would,” Nilak explained. “Castration is usually done when young. All men within these quarters—the servants, the slaves, the guards—are eunuchs.”

“And this Baba Haroun is in charge of the caliph's harem?”

“Yes, my child, he is,” Nilak answered her. “Obey him, give him public respect and esteem, and you can make him your friend. If you are to succeed here, you will need his good will. Without it you are doomed to obscurity, and obscurity is a lonely place.”

“I do not intend to remain here,” Rhonwyn said. “I shall escape and return to the coast where the crusaders are preparing to move on to Acre. My husband must be very worried and very angry by now.”

Nilak's face became sympathetic. It was frequently this way with captives. They always wanted to flee, and that, of course, was not possible. “You cannot escape, my child,” she began patiently. “It is very unlikely that you will ever again see the world outside this place except when you are taken for your burial. Besides, would your husband now receive you back into his heart, his house, and his good graces after you have been captured by the infidels? You are so fortunate, my child. You might have been raped and killed, but instead you have been brought into paradise on earth, for that is what Cinnebar is. The caliph is a strong ruler and a good man. If you can win his favor, if you bear him a son, your fortune is made. What better fate is there for a woman in this world?”

“But I have a husband,” Rhonwyn repeated. For the first time in her life she was beginning to be frightened. Why had Fulk prevented her from escaping when they had the chance? All they had had to do was get back to the coastline and follow it to Carthage. She had seen the walls surrounding this palace. They were high and thick, and now she was trapped behind them. Forever, according to Nilak. It was a terrifying thought, and Rhonwyn began to shake with sudden fear.

Seeing it, Nilak put her arms about the girl. “There, child, it is all right. You will not be harmed, I promise you. Here, drink this,” she said, offering Rhonwyn a small cup of the steaming fragrant beverage she had earlier imbibed. “Mint tea is very good for the nerves.” She held the cup to Rhonwyn's lips, coaxing her gently. Then she turned to the slave girl who had brought the tea. “Go to Baba Haroun and tell him the girl is succumbing to shock. I will need a sleeping draught immediately if she is to be prevented from hysterics. And ask him if they have named her yet.” Nilak turned back to Rhonwyn, who was now even paler. “Try one of these little gazelle-horn pastries,” she said, offering it. “They are made with honey, raisins, and chopped almonds. I love them!” She picked up another and began to eat it. “Ummm, delicious!”

Struggling to gain control of herself, Rhonwyn took the pastry Nilak had offered her and began to chew it. It had no taste in her mouth. She swallowed, but put it back down upon the plate.

Nilak reached out and took the girl's cold hand in hers. “It will be all right, my child, I promise you. This is a good life.”

“I am Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, wife of Edward de Beaulie, lord of Haven Castle. I do not belong here.
They must let me go!
”

Nilak gathered Rhonwyn into her arms and held her tightly.

It was at that moment Baba Haroun hurried over to the two women. “What is happening to her?” he demanded. “She must be ready to go to the caliph tonight.”

“She is in shock, my lord Haroun. It is to be expected, after all. She may have come here as a warrior, but she is in reality only a young woman,” Nilak murmured softly. “If the caliph is already taken by her beauty, we must treat her gently so our lord and master is not disappointed in either you or me.”

“Your years have given you wisdom, Nilak,” he grudgingly agreed, reaching into his voluminous red, black, and yellow-striped robe. “Here is a gentle sleeping potion that will calm the girl.” He uncorked the little silver vial and poured it into Rhonwyn's cup.

Nilak put the cup to Rhonwyn's lips. “Drink, my child. We have put a mild dose of herbs into your tea to relax you. You need to sleep so you may face life as bravely now as you have always faced it in the past. Drink.”

Rhonwyn didn't argue, gulping down the fragrant brew as if she couldn't escape fast enough. She hated this loss of control over her own life. Within minutes her eyes grew heavy. She didn't protest as Nilak led her to a couch where she lay down and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

“What is she to be called?” Nilak asked the chief eunuch.

“Noor,” he answered her.

“How suitable,” Nilak remarked. “Will you help me get her out of these odd garments, Baba Haroun? I do not want to entrust her to the other women of the harem quite yet. Has the lady Alia been informed of this girl's arrival and the caliph's interest?”

He nodded, thinking as he did that Nilak was perhaps a more valuable slave woman than he had previously considered. The lady Alia was the caliph's favorite wife. She had been wed to him when she was thirteen, and while he had two other wives and several favored concubines, it was the lady Alia who was his friend and his confidante now that the first flush of passion had passed them both. It was her son who would follow his father as the next caliph. She was well liked, feared, and respected by all in the harem.

“I have warned my lady of this new threat,” Baba Haroun said. “She will come and see the girl as soon as we have gotten these clothes off of her.”

They worked together, removing Rhonwyn's leather boots, her mail leg coverings, the chausses; her hauberk with its metal shoulder pads. Beneath the knight's garb they unlaced her padded arming doublet, and took off her braies, her hose, her chemise. Rhonwyn lay naked before them, her slender frame sweating and dirty but lovely.

“Allah! She is absolutely beautiful,” Nilak said. “There has never been a woman here as fair, Baba Haroun.”

The chief eunuch stood silent for a long moment, studying Rhonwyn. Her body was utterly flawless but for that ugly bush of hair at the junction where her two thighs met. That would be removed immediately. The limbs, however, were shapely and firm. The breasts small but nicely rounded with pert nipples. Bathed and properly garbed, she would be truly worthy of his master's bed.