To the Victor

by Samantha M. Derr

  "Sir Dustin just passed by you again," Charlotte whispered out of the corner of her mouth. She wore a gray dress the exact same shade as Alfaro's livery, and I suspected she had made them both. "That makes three times. He wishes to steal you away from Sir Amir, I think."

  "He should keep wishing."

  Amir rode out to cheers and applause. He'd established himself as a crowd favorite, despite being a foreigner, with his flashy riding style and numerous wins. The village children loved covering their clothes in reddish-brown mud and playing jousting games as him, which certainly caused a fair amount of ire to those in charge of the wash.

  "Final match! Names on the board!"

  I watched as Amir's name was entered, and then another I was unfamiliar with. I figured it was probably one of the royals' sparring partners. Amir had already won the tournament due to sheer number of wins alone; this was a celebratory match to send it out with a bang.

  "Lances at the ready. TILT!"

  Marfa galloped towards the other horse, throwing her head back as her neck and leg muscles surged with power. The other man wore standard silver iron, and his body swayed as Amir thrust his lance into him. He remained seated.

  "Good show!" The audience clapped wildly, whooping and yelling with glee. No one wanted an easy match for the last one.

  Each participant circled back around, preparing to strike again.

  "TILT!"

  The silver knight struck Amir this time, his lance connecting with his shoulder.

  "Amir!" I leapt to my feet, hands pressed against my mouth. It looked like a hit, but in jousting, you could never really know. He rode towards me, one hand waving in my direction, before looping back to the starting point.

  "He's all right, milady." Charlotte tugged me to my seat.

  They careened towards each other a final time, and Amir plowed his lance into his opponent's stomach. He unseated the other rider, who didn't fall as spectacularly as Dustin had on the day we met, but nonetheless landed on the ground with a hard thud. Amir climbed down from the saddle and helped the other man to his feet with a firm handshake.

  "The winner, and tournament champion: Sir Amir Ibáñez of Italy!"

  The crowd roared. Amir removed his helmet and waved, and I noticed a few women swooning in the stands. He received his trophy and monetary prize, and then rode into the back of the stables.

  "Wait here," I told Charlotte. "I want to congratulate him."

  I dashed out of my seat and over to Amir before she had a chance to respond. Alfaro was wiping down Marfa as I approached, and, as before, Amir was dousing his head in water.

  "Congratulations, good sir!" I curtsied deeply. "Another win for the Italian Ibáñez."

  He turned towards me, a crestfallen look on his face. I took a step back.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Alfaro," he called. After a reassuring pat on the mare, Alfaro approached. He wordlessly held up a piece of parchment that had been crumpled in his right hand, and after drying his hands, Amir took it.

  "I am required to return to Italy for a few months. His Royal Highness has sent word that in order for me to stay in England, he wishes for me to attend court and finish arranging everything with my fief first." He looked as grim as death itself.

  "But is that not good news?" I asked. "He wishes to release you, no? Or is something else wrong?"

  "Excuse us, Alfaro." Tying Marfa to a post, Alfaro disappeared without another word. Amir took me by the hand and led me to the furthest corner of the stable, where our words were muffled by hay and the sounds of the animals. He kneeled in front of me, head bowed and voice dropped to a whisper.

  "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to return before the masquerade. But since I must go, I feel there is something I have to tell you. I only ask that you do not reveal this information to anyone, not even Charlotte. If you wish for me not to return after you learn the truth, I will understand and remain in Italy."

  I felt a cold, creeping fear begin to wind its way around my spine.

  "You are betrothed?"

  "I swore to you that I didn't have a wife."

  "Betrothed is not the same as wed," I said in a chilly voice. "Is she in Italy?"

  "Miryam. I'm not betrothed."

  "What is it, then?"

  "I—I was born a maiden."

  "You… what? I do not understand."

  "How do I explain?" He gave a frustrated snarl. "I was proclaimed female as a babe. I was then christened a maiden, and baptized as one."

  "You're—you're a woman?" I had never felt such confusion. The person standing before me was so clearly a man that it emanated from every inch of his being.

  "I'm not!" He paced back and forth, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, before kneeling at my feet again. "I am a man. I don't know why God put me in this body. If God even exists."

  I quickly crossed myself. "Don't say such things."

  "You don't know what it's like. Your parents called you 'Miryam'—a girl child. Mine called me 'Amina.' But it never stood. I swore I was a boy, and insisted everyone call me 'Amir.' I demanded my hair be cut short at only seven years of age. As I grew, I had the temper of a man. The priest was convinced I had a man's soul in a woman's body. And I was the last born after five brothers; the townspeople speculated that my mother so wanted a girl child that she castrated me as a baby."

  "They believed you to be a eunuch?" I asked in surprise. "But you are so obviously a man!"

  He looked at me carefully. "You don't recoil?"

  I spoke slowly. "I am only confused, not disgusted." Biting down on my lower lip, I tasted cinnamon and apples. "So you are like Appollinaria."

  "Who?"

  "Saint Appollinaria. As Appollinaria, she fled her family to serve our Lord. Dressed as a man and lived as a monk named Dorotheos. He died known only as Dorotheos." Searching through my memory for the book I had read days earlier, I found more names.

  "Saint Eugenia, of Rome. After running away from home, Eugenia was baptized by Helenus as a man and later became an abbot. Theodora, who dressed as a man and joined a monastery in Thebaid, where he was accused of illegitimately fathering a child. Matrona, Hildegund—no, Hildegund became known as Joseph. Papula." I strained to remember the words of Gregory of Tours. "'For Papula was like a man among men, and no one knew of her gender.'"

  Amir stared at me, mouth agape. "How do you know of this?"

  I shrugged. "I like to read. There is much knowledge to be found in books, that of our own worlds, and of others. Gregory of Tours' written account of Papula the monk is especially fascinating. I still have it in the library, if you ever wish to read it. They wished to make Papula the abbot, but he refused. I tried to tell Charlotte that monastery life is interesting." I shrugged again. "There are many accounts of saints who were born women, yet only found God as men."

  "Perhaps there is a God, after all."

  "My parents used to say that God was in everything." I held out my hand. "In the sun on your skin. In the wind, in the trees. In a blade of grass. In the horses."

  "I feel them when I'm riding. They weren't Catholic, you know. They had me baptized and sent away to school only to secure my place in society. Especially as a Moorish woman," I added. "They thought it best."

  "As-salāmu ʿalaykum."

  I smiled. "Yes, peace unto them. And you." Reaching down to where he knelt at my feet, I raised his chin. Cupping his face with my hands, I looked deeply into his eyes. The question in their amber depths stunned me.

  "I see only a man here. A brave knight."

  "I never thought I would meet anyone like you."

  "I could say the same." I shook my head. "Many have attempted to court me, with no success. Yet you duel me and go into business with me, and here we are." He snorted with laughter.

  "I will miss you while I am away."

  "And I, you." As I said the words, I knew they were true. I had come to expect to see him, and talk with him. To laugh with him. He knew about my parents, and my love for
books, and Charlotte, and the business. He knew me, as no one had known me in a long time. And he was allowing me to truly know him.

  I could feel myself falling.

  *~*~*

  "They send word!"

  Charlotte burst through the door, panting with delight. She opened her hand to reveal a tiny note nestled gingerly in her left palm. I couldn't help but notice that unlike the heavy vellum suitors like Lord Dustin preferred, this envelope was composed of the lightest papyrus, dyed a pale yellow. An intricate butterfly had been inked on the front.

  "Come, sit down and show me!" Amir and Alfaro had been gone two months. Charlotte moped around the house like a lovesick schoolgirl, despite the fact that Alfaro wrote Charlotte a letter for every day he was away, and I had thrown myself into the business. All six ships were currently out on voyages.

  "This one is from Amir," she added. "I already opened the letter from Alfaro." Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "Oh, Miryam, I miss him so. I dream of him nightly, the last time I saw him. I held his hand in the rain, and it was almost like..."

  "Go on," I gently prodded.

  "It was almost like I was holding the hand of a maiden." She blushed. "We kissed only once, and his lips were as soft as dew. I dream of that, too. The fishermen's sons all have hands that are rough and calloused. But Alfaro—he speaks to me, touches me, as he does the horses. Gently."

  I dreamt of Amir, as well. Different dreams, every night: things we had done, like dueling in the hallway or talking in the chancery, and things we had not, like sailing on the high sea. I dreamed of the last time I saw him, and the precious secret he'd revealed to me, which made me cherish him even more. And sometimes, erotic fantasies so vivid I woke up gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. I missed him, and I dreamed of him, and so I said the only thing to Charlotte that I knew to be true.

  "You are in love with him."

  "No, no." She shook her head firmly. "Only enamored is all."

  I brushed my hand across her face, wiping the tears away. "If you two wished to marry when they return, I could speak to Sir Amir about his releasing the boy from service."

  "You'll do no such thing! Alfaro loves his master as I love you, my Lady. He says that had they not found each other, they both would probably be dead. That there are things… others wouldn't understand. He swore to tell me his secret at some point, but said that Sir Amir's burdens are his own to bear or reveal."

  "Well, we all have them, don't we?" I replied softly. I couldn't reveal Amir's secret to Charlotte, and so I changed the subject. "The letter?"

  "Yes! In Alfaro's note, he revealed Sir Amir inked the butterfly himself!" She handed it to me. "Hurry, open it and tell me what it says."

  "Did your dear Alfaro not tell you that, too?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "No. The scamp."

  I giggled as I gently tore open the envelope and lifted out the note. It was made of the same thin papyrus, and dark ink sprawled across the page in a carefully written hand.

  My Dearest Lady Miryam,

  It was such a pleasure seeing you at the last joust. I apologize for the delay in sending you this correspondence, but I have good news: I have secured six Italian merchants that wish to utilize your shipping services. His Royal Highness has also agreed to release me from service. By the time this reaches you, I will be on a ship to England with thoughts only of seeing you again. I have been told there is a most beauteous meeting place by a brook behind your manor. Please send word if you may grace me with your presence there on the first of next month.

  Anxiously awaiting your response,

  Amir

  I read and reread the words, my heart pounding against my ribcage so hard I thought it might break. This was it.

  "Well?"

  "He's on his way back! They're on their way back!"

  Charlotte went so pale I thought she might be about to drop dead. "And?"

  "His Highness has released him from service."

  She let out a screech so loud Sophia came running into the parlor where we sat. "What's wrong?!" she demanded.

  "Alfaro returns!" Charlotte sang, tears streaming down her face. "And… Amir, of course," she added sheepishly.

  Sophia breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Now the two of you can perk up. I feared Charlotte might never smile again."

  "As did I," I chimed in.

  "I said the two of you. You were no better, locking yourself in the chancery as if the business would make you forget him. Next time, the two of you may as well go to Italy yourselves." She wandered out of the room, muttering under her breath.

  "There won't be a next time," I said. "There won't be a next time." Amir was released. He could stay in England. I couldn't believe it. My mind was whirring with possibilities, all of them brighter than the last. And he had even lined up six merchants for possible trade? I shook my head. It all felt like a dream.

  "Are you all right, milady?" Charlotte asked. "You look a bit peaked."

  *~*~*

  The horse surged forward underneath me.

  "Faster, Harith!"

  Pressing my knees gently against the flanks of the chestnut mare, she leapt over a fallen log in our path. Her mane streamed out behind her like a pennant as she picked up speed. It almost felt like we were flying, her hooves skimming across the ground, kicking up great clods of dirt behind us. The paths behind the manor crisscrossed in and out of the woods, each as well-worn as the other. I knew them all by heart.

  This one would diverge by a stream, and I yelped with excitement as I saw it come into view ahead. The water was slow and clear, winding around a dense wooden thicket and a glorious meadow flush with summer wildflowers. It was a most popular meeting place for lovers, young and old.

  "Whoa, girl," I said. "Here we are."

  She came to a halt, and I jumped down, attempting to rearrange my skirts before Amir arrived. They rose up when riding astride, but I refused to ride sidesaddle. I could also feel the frizzy flyaway hairs that had escaped from my coif; cursing myself for riding too fast, I removed the pins, feeling the heavy braids fall to my waist. Charlotte had spent all morning on that updo, and Amir wouldn't even get to see it. He'd arrived only five days after his letter, and sent word immediately via Alfaro—who'd barely dropped the note in my hand before disappearing with Charlotte. We agreed to meet the next day.

  Oh, well, I thought. Tousled skirts and unkempt hair were the best I could do at the moment.

  I briefly dropped onto my hands and knees, taking a sip from the cool water before rising to tend to Harith. Pulling a heavy brush out of my bag, I began to gently rub her side. She whinnied happily as she lowered her head to the water.

  "Good girl," I said softly. "Papa would be amazed at how strong you've gotten. You were but a skittish filly when he bought you. Now look at you." She snorted and tossed her mane haughtily. "Vain beast." I giggled. "Hunting season is almost upon us. Just wait until we show those Lords how it's really done."

  "Some men might think a woman mad who talked to a horse in such a manner."

  A low, melodic voice sounded behind me, and I recognized the lilting cadence immediately. It sounded like music.

  "Some men might," I spoke lightly, without turning around. The brush caught on a tangle in Harith's mane, and I worked to get it out as I said my next words. "Are you such a man, Sir Amir?"

  He let out a peal of laughter and I felt my stomach clench in response. Could I be granted the ability to spend the rest of my life making him laugh? I thought. I wanted nothing more in that moment.

  I turned, prepared to give yet another boisterous remark, then nearly swallowed my tongue at the sight of him. Although he wore black riding breeches and a simple tunic, he appeared as noble as a king in the finest garb. Feeling warmth flood my cheeks, I pulled a fan from my bag and hid my face behind it, peeking over the top.

  "Did you miss me?"

  So much I couldn't stand it.

  "A bit."

  "Might I assist you?" He reached out one
hand, and I realized he meant for me to place the fan in it. I handed it over, and then stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek as he still sat atop Marfa His skin was so warm.

  "Thank you, my Lady. I missed you, as well." I closed my eyes as he gently began to swirl the air around my face with the fan. A faint scent reached my nostrils. It was the sweetest perfume of apples.

  "I believe I can smell you," I said without opening my eyes.

  "And what, pray tell, do you smell? Not the privy, I hope."

  It was my turn to laugh. "No, no. You smell like apples and… cinnamon." I breathed deeply. "The first time you came to the manor, for the morning meal? You smelled like fresh hay."

  "I carry fragrance sachets in my pockets," he said. "You have a very keen nose, my lady."

  "My mother thought so, too. Claimed I could smell pastries baking before they were even mixed."

  He chuckled again. "Do you have a fondness for sweets?"

  "'Fondness' is too gentle a word."

  I opened my eyes to see that he was standing directly in front of me, the entirety of him filling my vision. We stood nearly toe-to-toe, so close that I was looking directly into his eyes. If either of us were to take even the smallest step forward, our noses would touch.

  "You are nearly my exact height," I whispered. "I've always been tall for a woman."

  "You're the perfect size," he replied. "And it bodes rather well for what I'm about to do."

  He placed his lips on mine so delicately that it took me a moment to realize he was kissing me. Surprising myself, I slipped my tongue inside of his mouth. He tasted of apples and cinnamon.

  "Mmmm," I murmured. "You taste like a sweet." Reaching up, I buried my fingers in his silky hair, pulling him closer to me. I wanted to feel every inch of him. He pressed his body against mine, ravaging my mouth while my hands roamed over his velveteen jacket. I slipped them under the lining.