Come Twilight (62 page)

“I see you are annoyed, and that you feel helpless now that your situation has changed.” He studied her for a long moment, then said, “Do consider coming with me when I leave to Toledom. It is not as elegant a place as this—war has made it rough and stalwart, not graceful—but there would be work for you.”

“Translating?” She tasted the word carefully.

“Yes,” he replied. “There are not many in Toledom who can read and write their own vulgate, let alone any other language. If you will learn Latin, you will never want for occupation there.”

“Toledom,” she said as if it were the farthest point in the world.

“Or other cities in the north.” He saw her doubt, and added, “You might go as far as Toulouza and find work, but you might also find your father.”

“I should probably do as you suggest,” said Lailie, her doubt making her remark a question.

“But?” he prompted.

“But I am worried that you will be unable to do as you say you will, and then I, too, will be a stranger in an unfamiliar place, away from my religion and my family, and who knows what will happen to me.” She met his dark eyes steadily. “This is too much to think about at once. Yet I have been waiting all day, gathering the courage to talk to you. I thought you would not listen to me.”

“Why should I not,” he responded.

She hesitated as if trying to sharpen her thoughts to answer him. “You are a stranger, and you were deceived by my father.”

“Yes,” he said, and let her go on.

“Many another would think that because you had been deceived, you had no reason to do anything for me, or my father’s wives,” Lailie declared.

“Yes,” Germanno said.

“Then why are you so ready to assume responsibility for us? We are obligations you did not have to accept, but you have.” Her voice rose with exasperation. “You have no reason to do anything for us.”

“Yes,” said Germanno. “I have reasons of my own.”

“Ah!” She pointed at him. “I
knew
it! You are making arrangements without consulting us.”

Germanno shook his head. “I understand that you are worried: you need not be. I will do nothing that any of you dislikes.” He wanted to touch her hand in reassurance but did not, aware that she would not be relieved of anxiety by such a gesture, “Nothing is settled yet but I am reasonably certain I have made suitable arrangements for your father’s two wives. You are a bit more . . . difficult.”

“Because of my birth,” she said, and this time there was bitterness in her voice.

He chuckled softly. “No, Lailie, because of your learning.” He saw her startled look, and explained. “I have found a very respectable family of considerable means in need of capable servants for the women’s quarters. It struck me that your father’s wives would be more comfortable there than left here on their own. It is what they have known all their lives, and what they expect. But you?” He shook his head. “No. I cannot see you living happily in such a setting, spending your days at sewing and bathing and tending to infants. That is why I suggested coming to Toledom with me, where you can put your education to use.”

“You mean that none of the Jews in Sevallis want their sons to marry a bastard daughter of a man who has fled the country.” She slapped the marble rim of the fountain.

“No one has told me so,” he said gently.

“Of course,” she said. “Do you think they will come right out and tell you that you have made an intolerable invitation, proposing any kind of match for me? My father tried to find me a husband and could not.”

“He told you about this, did he?” Germanno asked.

“Oh, yes; tearfully.” She began to pace away from the Comide. “He apologized more times than I care to recall, and always with such feeling that I would have believed him had I not listened to precisely the same apology so often. I could recite it along with him, had I wanted to.” Turning back toward Germanno, she shook her head. “I should not be telling you
any
of this.”

“I will keep your confidence,” said Germanno, knowing she meant something else.

Lailie slammed her hands together in frustration and glowered at Germanno. “I was a fool to talk to you. I should have kept to myself.”

“I do not think you foolish,” Germanno told her. “I think you are a very brave young woman who has had to deal with more than she can manage for some time, and I think you are afraid of what lies ahead.”

She walked directly up to him. “And you think it is wrong of me to fear this?”

“No. I hope it is unnecessary.” He saw her wince. “You want to have the life you used to have—and who can blame you for that?—but with your father gone, that is not possible. With your father gone you cannot remain here on your own, because the law would not allow it. You have no relatives who have offered to take you into their households. You have not found a husband to your liking, and admit you are not likely to find one. So what else is available to you here? Very little that you would like.”

“That is harsh,” she said in a small voice.

“Is it wrong?” The question was suspended between them as if it were a filament in the air.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Very well, then,” he said. “You are an intelligent woman. What are you going to do instead?”

“I am going to think for tonight, and tomorrow, what might be best to do, and then I am going to let you teach me Latin,” she said, squaring her shoulders and swallowing her grief. “There is no point to mourning what is lost.”

At another time he might have argued that point with her, but he saw how fragile her self-possession was, and did nothing to reduce it. “I have books and writing implements with me.”

“I have pens and vellum and ink,” she said, somewhat defensively.

“Very good” he approved. “Since you already know Greek, you will learn quickly.” His confidence in her capacity buoyed her spirits; she smiled and nodded. “You have something to look forward to.”

Lailie’s mouth quivered but she managed not to lose her smile. “Yes. Yes, I do. And I will tell Rabiah and Amine that they will not be beggars, if you will permit it.”

“Far better that they hear it from you than from me,” said Germanno. “I fear they would assume some deception if I told them; from what you have said tonight, they think me a monster.”

“Not a
monster,
exactly,” said Lailie, flushing a bit at the recollection of all she had told him. “A foreigner and a—”

“Man?” he suggested.

“Yes,” she conceded, and, growing bolder, said, “and an interloper.”

“Of course,” Germanno said without shock or condemnation. “All the more reason for you to tell them. I would be most grateful to you if you will do this for me.

Color spread through her cheeks again. “Certainly.”

“That is a kindness on your part and I thank you for it.” He inclined his head to her.

“I do not do it to be kind,” she admitted. “I wanted you to do something for all of us, and so I came to talk to you.” She licked her lower lip with inexpert provocation. “I would have done . . . more.”

“I realize that,” said Germanno, his voice low.

“I still will, if you want.” She looked at him hesitantly, expectation mingled with distress in her posture.

“You do not need to bribe me, Lailie,” he said, knowing how much he wanted her.

“I know how men are,” she said, tossing her head. “You do not need to fear that I would demand more of you than you have already granted.”

He sighed slowly. “You do not know me, Lailie,” he said to her at last. “There are many things about me that would not . . . suit you. If you are to be my student, it would be just as well if you were not more than that.”

“Why should I not be?” She turned to take hold of his arm.

“Because I am a foreigner and you are a bastard and neither of us are trusted.” He was deliberately blunt, and had the dubious satisfaction of seeing her blink in reaction. Taking advantage of her shock, he continued, “You could find yourself condemned and imprisoned, which neither you nor I would like. You could be deprived of a place to live because the tribunal confiscates Al Catraz. You could be made to accuse me of assaulting you in order to protect yourself from harlotry. You could be stoned for seducing me. If I were a follower of the Prophet, or your father were here to give countenance to what passes between us, then I would be glad to consider your offer. But as things are . . .” He lifted his free hand to show how constrained he was. “I am constantly under scrutiny. You and I both know that. So you must be watched as well. If you took me as your lover, you might be held in error by more than the Jews of Sevallis: the tribunal could decide that you had committed a crime, and I have no power to save you.”

“You could marry me,” she said defiantly.

“No, Lailie,” he said as gently as he was able, “I could not.”

“You may have more than one wife here. My father had three,” said Lailie, her attempts at seduction gone.

“That is not the issue.” He lowered his voice. “Your father has used you ill, leaving you as he has, with no adequate provision for your maintenance.”

“He had to do it,” said Lailie urgently. “He did not mean to put us in danger. You are not to speak against him.”

Germanno raised his hands in a sign of truce. “You misunderstand me; I do not question his decision; I know very little about the circumstances that led him to leave Sevallis,” he said, choosing his words carefully so that Lailie would not feel compelled to defend Rachmal ben Abbas. “I only say that because of what he had to do, you and his wives have borne the brunt of his necessity.”

“He wanted to handle our situation better, but he could not. He was not allowed to. Everything happened so quickly. The tribunal told our teachers that action had to be taken. There were questions being asked, and insinuations made.” She averted her eyes as if her next admission were too shameful to voice while looking at the Comide. “He had to depart sooner than he planned, without time to do all that he wanted to for us.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then said, “Sometimes I think he could have waited a day or two longer, just to put our situation right.”

Knowing that agreeing would be precarious, Germanno ventured, “Perhaps he was afraid that if he lingered, you might be at a greater disadvantage than if he left.” He doubted this was the case, but he could not deprive Lailie of the consolation of that possibility.

“Perhaps,” she said, a forlorn note entering her voice. She hit her thigh with her fist. “This is nothing like I had planned.”

“As is often the case in life,” said Germanno quietly.

She rounded on him. “You have been reasonable, and courteous,” she accused him. “You should be a barbarian, without conduct or compassion and you are
not!
You are not!”

In spite of himself, he laughed. “I must apologize for disappointing you, Lailie,” he said. “You have much to endure from me.”

“Well, I have,” she said, pouting and trying not to share in his amusement.

“I am not disagreeing,” he pointed out.

“If you would, I could remain angry,” she said, and managed a single chuckle. “Oh. I didn’t want to do that.”

“Of course not,” he said. “You need not cease being angry on my account.”

“That makes it worse; if you do not mind my anger, what is the point of having it?” she complained without heat. For a long moment she said nothing, then she glanced at him. “You’ll still teach me Latin?”

“I will,” he promised. “Beginning the day after tomorrow.”

“And you will take me to Toledom if you cannot find me a husband here?” She sounded a bit less confident now.

“Yes; I have said so,” he told her.

“Well. Since you are reasonable and unseduceable, I will wish you a pleasant night and return to the women’s quarters.” She walked away from him, her pale garments wraith-like in the night.

When he was sure she was gone, Germanno turned to the back of the garden and called softly, “You can come out now.”

The plants rustled, and then a thin man of middle height and middle-age stepped out of the cover of plants. “You knew I was there?”

“I knew
someone
was there. I did not know it was you, Antoninus,” said Germanno at his most affable.

The Greek merchant stared at him in amazement. “How did you guess—?”

“Your clothing is Byzantine and you are armed only with a dagger, a dagger with a Greek crucifix on the hilt. Whom else would you be?” He approached Antoninus, sizing up the Greek and mistrusting what he saw. “I have been expecting you.”

“Have you?” Antoninus said, raising his eyebrows to show his disbelief.

Germanno was not tempted to play at whatever Antoninus seemed to want to do. “Idelfonzuz said you would contact me. Why have you waited so long, and what possessed you to choose such a manner to make yourself known?”

“I was afraid we would be watched, and I knew if I approached you directly it might alert those whose business it is to know what foreigners like you and me do. This is the third night I have waited in your garden.” He pursed his lips in disapproval. “I did this for your benefit, you know.”

“Do you think so.” Germanno shook his head once, and indicated the sprawl of the great house at the other end of the garden. “In which case, we would do well to stay away from there. Slaves watch everyone.”

“They say you have sent away most of the slaves in the house and hired servants of your own,” said Antoninus, probing awkwardly.

“I do not like having slaves. I prefer to employ servants,” said Germanno. “Part of my foreign ways.”

“Um. Yes.” Antoninus coughed experimentally. “That is the sort of thing that sets tongues wagging, not having slaves.”

“So be it,” said Germanno. “Did you come to tell me gossip?”

“No, I did not. I came to tell you that word has come from Karmona that more soldiers are needed to defend the eastern front. This is urgent, not like the other summonses of the past. The fighting is getting worse there, and the Caliph’s forces have taken heavy losses. The soldiers of Castile and León drive from the west and the soldiers of Aragon drive from the north-east and the Moors are caught in the wedge. There will be a summoning of men to fight, and everyone in the city will be given an extra tax to pay for the soldiers.” He looked about in sudden apprehension, as if he expected officers of the tribunal to appear out of the garden.