Come Twilight (61 page)

“What do you think?” Ruthor asked as they made their way to the central square where fountains cooled the air and provided drink for man and beast.

“I think it will be a long day,” said Germanno as he pulled his second horse and the string of mules to order. He shouted suddenly as a youth attempted to pull one of the bales off the pack-saddle of the last mule; the youngster faltered, then bolted. “There will be more of that, I fear,” he said as he watched the would-be thief vanish into the crowd.

“I will watch them all,” said Ruthor.

“It would probably be better to pay a handful of coppers to one of the horse-minders to help you. He will know the real thieves by sight; we do not.” Germanno smiled quickly as they finally reached the genial chaos of the market square. “Look about for horse-minders.”

“There’s a likely looking group over there,” Ruthor said, pointing to a dozen young men, a few with horses already in their care. “What do you think?”

“I think it would be wise to speak to them,” said Germanno, dismounting and leading his horses and mules toward the group. He called out to them in their Moorish tongue, his accent old-fashioned but understandable. “Good minders! What will you charge a stranger to watch four horses and nine mules?”

One of the group looked around, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the man in black, red, and silver. “Three silver Mercifuls,” he said at once; they both knew it was an outrageous sum.

“Two, and a copper Wisdom for each animal at the end of the day if nothing has happened to them or their loads,” Germanno countered, knowing it was a generous offer and one the young man was not likely to turn down.

“Done,” said the young man, and spat in his hand to seal their bargain.

Germanno did the same. “Excellent. My manservant will remain with the animals; I trust you will not object.”

This time the young man scowled but gestured agreement. “Very good,” he said in a tone that meant the opposite.

Turning to Ruthor, who was still in the saddle. “You heard?”

“I did,” said Ruthor in the language of Persia. “I will be alert for thieves.”

“That would be appropriate,” said Germanno in the same language. “If I have not done these young men a disservice, they probably augment their earnings by pilfering from chests and bales.”

“So I thought,” said Ruthor as he climbed down from the saddle. When he spoke again, it was in Castilian. “I will be sure they are watered and fed, my master.”

“Thank you,” said Germanno in Castilian. “I will return from the tribunal as soon as I am allowed to leave.” He looked around and settled on the most impressive building next to the mosque as the likeliest place for the tribunal. “Let us hope this will not take all day.” As he started to walk away through the thickening crowd, he called back to Ruthor. “You may want to buy a chicken or two, for your supper.”

Ruthor waved to show he heard, and thought to himself that it was a far simpler matter to deal with an outcast leper than with a single city official.

Text of a letter from Antoninus the Greek at Sevallis to Idelfonzuz, King of Aragon and Navarre, son-in-law to Adelfonzuz of Castile and León; smuggled in the false bottom of a casket of saffron.

To the most excellent, most Christian King, Idelfonzuz of Aragon and Navarre and protector of Castile and León, the most devoted greetings from Antoninus, the Greek, trader in spices and oils, living in Sevallis.

Your man Germanno, Comide Ragoczy has arrived; I saw him myself on the last market-day. He spent most of the day closeted in the tribunal, but in the end, he was allowed to take up his residence at Al Catraz, with his servant and much property, carried here on mules; not so many that he roused envy, but enough to show he has substance. He went to Al Catraz at once, and made himself known to the household.

There is a difficulty in that regard that none of us had anticipated: Rachmael ben Abbas did not mention he left his second and third wife at Al Catraz, nor did he mention his irregular daughter, Lailie, a woman of sixteen, who is also living in the great house.

The tribunal has declared that Germanno must care for these women as if they were his own, and provide a living for them when he leaves the city. There was also a large bribe required of him. I have heard it said that it was supposed he would be unable to pay the whole of it, and there was surprise when he complied with the order.

I have not yet contacted him. I have much to report, but I do not want to draw attention to our dealings, for that would surely result in a scrutiny that would please none of us. In time, I will, as a spice merchant, visit him to learn of my old colleague, Rachmael ben Abbas. That will not be regarded as anything but good business.

When I call upon Germanno, I will try to find out what he intends to do with the two wives and the daughter. He must abide by the tribunal’s order, but that does not mean he must do more than what is spelled out for him to do. It is most unfortunate that my colleague should have decided to leave without including all of his household, but as Christians frown on more than one wife, he might have been wise to leave these behind. As to the daughter, she is without a dowry, and that may be a problem for her. To be sixteen and yet unmarried is most unusual.

There seems to be trouble brewing among the Moors. Apparently some of their people in Africa are at odds with those in power. It may come to nothing, or it may be only a rumor, or it may lead to more civil unrest, which may well weaken the Moors in Spain. When I know more, I will send you word of it.

May God speed your cause, great King, and give you the victory we all pray for day and night. For the sake of us all, hasten to deliver us.

This at sunset, by my own hand,

Your most humble servant,

Antoninus of Sevallis

on the 3
^rd
day of May in the blessed Christian calendar, in the 1117
^th
year of Christ’s Coming

“Why are gardens always so much sweeter at night?”

The sound of the young woman’s voice caught Germanno’s attention and he turned to face Lailie as she emerged from the women’s quarters into the cool of the walled garden of Al Catraz. “I did not mean to intrude,” he said, bowing to her.

“I am the intruder,” she said, smiling at him. “I am a guest in my father’s house. Because my father is no longer master here.” Her clothes were loose and pale, made of sheer cotton and suited for house-wear; they provided contrast to her dark hair and fine olive skin.

“Perhaps I should leave the garden to you,” he suggested. “If you think it would be advisable.”

She shook her head. “I am a Jew, not a Moslem. My father’s other wives would not come out here if they even suspected you were here.” She shrugged. “My mother was a Jew, but not my father’s wife.” Her stare was hard, as if she expected condemnation from him. “I should be more conciliating, shouldn’t I?”

“I am sorry you have had so . . . so difficult a time,” said Germanno, trying to read her mood, for she was at once sweet and angry.

“Why? It is not your fault that my father decided to leave us here. Or that he made no real provision for us beyond the most minimal. He said the sale of Al Catraz would give us money to live.” She picked up a pebble from the carefully groomed pathway and tossed it into the nearest of three fountains that sang their liquid songs to the warm spring night. “He could not afford to do more, he said. And then he left.”

“I know very little of his circumstances,” said Germanno. “I met him only once, to pay him for this house.” The darkness did not obscure her features to his eyes, and he sensed a deep sorrow within her, disguised as wrath. “He told me very little about Al Catraz.”

“Then why did you buy it?” This challenge was made without apology; she waited for his answer.

“It was available and it suited my needs,” he replied, knowing he was not to speak of Idelfonzuz’s involvement in the transaction.

“He said nothing about his wives, did he? He took his first wife and her children, but left us here.” She picked up another pebble and shied it into the largest of the fountains. “He should have said something.”

“Perhaps he was afraid of what the Church would say,” Germanno suggested gently.

“He is a Jew. What does it matter what the Church says?” she asked as she paused to pick a flower and pull it to bits.

“In the Christian kingdoms, the Church is as strong as the rule of Islam is here,” he said, resuming his ambling pace. “As the tribunal is tied to the mosque, so the law is tied to the Church.” While he spoke, he picked a five-petaled rose and held it out to her. “I am sorry that you should have to bear the brunt of this.”

“Why should you be sorry? What does it mean to you? You knew nothing about it, from what I have been told.” There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away with the back of her hand. She ignored the rose.

“It means that I have been made party to a fraud, and I dislike being in such a position.” He stared out over the garden, following the flight of a night bird.

She studied him for a moment, and then, as if making up her mind, she said, “My father did not deal well with you, either, keeping us unknown to you.”

“No, he did not,” Germanno said.

Lailie chuckled sadly. “He educated me. I can read Hebrew and Arabic and Greek. I can do sums and figures. If I had been a son, he would have taken me with him, even though I am illegitimate. Wouldn’t he?”

“It is possible,” said Germanno, who agreed that it was likely. Capable sons were not as hampered by bastardy as daughters were.

“He would have had to take me if he and my mother ever married,” she said, more sorrowfully than resentfully. “He thought that if my mother were pregnant, they would be allowed to marry. It had happened before. But this time they were refused. So, I am what I am and my father has left me behind.”

Germanno considered her, wishing he knew how to comfort her. “Your mother? What happened to her?”

“She died, oh, nine years ago now. She became listless and lost flesh, and no one could treat her.” Lailie walked on in silence for a bit; finally she said, “I had my studies to console me.”

“Did you also learn Latin?” Germanno asked, thinking that Lailie was not the only person who found succor in learning; it had sustained him many, many times in the past. Her knowledge would also stand her in good stead now: she might find acceptable employment knowing languages.

“No,” she said, downcast. “He said it might corrupt my faith if I knew Latin.”

“Now, why is that?” Germanno was truly perplexed.

“He said I would read Christian writings and lose my Jewishness,” she told him, ending on a hard, short sigh.

“That seems . . . unlikely,” he said. They had reached the third fountain and they stopped there to consider the night. “Would you like to learn? to read Latin?”

She looked up at him. “Are you mocking me?”

He answered softly. “No; not I. I want to know if you would like me to teach you Latin.”

It took her a long while to reply. “Yes. Please.”

His smile was quick and one-sided. “Very good,” he approved. “Shall we begin tomorrow? After the mid-day rest?”

Lailie thought about her answer. “Tomorrow? Can it not be the day after? I should explain this to my father’s wives, so they will not be too appalled.” She sensed his puzzlement, and went on, “I am an unmarried woman being given instruction by a man who is not a blood relation. They will be shocked. I will have to ease their minds. They are very frightened, for they are certain you are going to make them your concubines.”

“You may tell them they have nothing to fear from me.” He said it in a level tone and with no hint of duplicity.

“Then they will be afraid that you will turn them out to be beggars.” She held up her hands to show how useless it all seemed to her. “They are both without fathers and only Rabiah has a brother alive, and he is across the sea, with a household of his own and no place for her in it. Neither of them has uncles willing to take them in, or sisters’ husbands with room in their households.”

“No wonder they are frightened,” said Germanno.

“They fear they will have to become prostitutes in order to live,” said Lailie. “It is not a fate I would wish on anyone.” She looked at Germanno, as if expecting him to respond to her doubts.

“Though they are known to be without means, they will not suffer if I can prevent it,” said Germanno. “Abandoned wives are at the mercy of the city and that often makes them beggars. You may tell your father’s wives they need not turn to such a life, not while I am here. That would be a trifle . . . impractical, would you not agree?”

“Do you mean this? I know that you are in a position to mitigate their compromised position: I also know nothing compels you to do so.” She looked up at the stars. “If you would extend your protection, they would not fear you as they do, nor worry that they will be cast off.”

He reached out and took her hand, kissing it in form, as if she were a Frankish woman of high degree. “That will be attended to. All I ask is that you try to reduce their anxieties. Use your influence on them.”

“I? How could I influence them?” Lailie asked, not quite shocked by the suggestion. “I am no different than many other women in Sevallis.”

“Amen to that, Lailie,” said Germanno wryly, his eyes crinkling as he glanced of her. “All women in Sevallis speak several languages and—”

“No, they do not,” she interrupted with mild petulance. “You know what I mean.”

“I have some inkling,” he said, his demeanor conciliating. “But I think you may find the women will listen to you more than they would listen to me. I am a stranger, I am not of their country or religion, and it is known I will not remain here for very long. I do not blame them for distrusting me.”

“It isn’t as bad as all that,” said Lailie. “But they . . . they have good reason to worry, and they have not trusted anyone but my father in the past, for that was what they were taught. And you see what has come to pass on his account.” She let her fingers dangle in the cool water of the fountain.