The Storyteller's Granddaughter

by Margaret Redfern

  (My beloved has vowed true love to me)

  (Anon, c. 1300)

  The road tilted steeply down the mountain pass. They were away now from the edge of the tumbling river and the chaos of rocks and ravines, following the old road that had been repaired and strengthened more than once in its long life-time. One stretch was edged with big stones and had been surfaced with the lids of tombs so long ago that they were already grooved and furrowed with the coming and going of so many travellers. The roadside was littered with columns and shards of gleaming carved marble and ruined walls and mile after mile of tombs, the old Greek style, like stone coffins.

  ‘We are travelling through the land of the dead,’ Kazan thought. ‘I wonder if they feel our passing.’ She remembered Nene’s grave, and how she had made them lift the weighty slab of carved stone with its beaded edge and the cross enclosed in its circle; lift it and cover her grandmother’s grave. She remembered the carved angel with the broken wing. The grave is but a veil before the gathering in Paradise. Where were they now, Nene and Asperto and the nameless child? All these unknowns whose last resting places they passed by and trampled underfoot?

  She must have drifted into sleep for a while. She was comfortable enough pillowed against Blue’s bulk. They had fallen into the way of talking in a mixture of languages: Blue’s halting Turkish; scraps of Fenland words that Kazan had memorised; shared struggles with Italian. More than anything, the bonding that came with Edgar’s sharing of his story, and Blue’s own story, and now the great debt she owed him for rescuing her from the edge of the ravine. ‘You are truly a good pillow,’ she told him.

  He was shy of her at first, careful for her comfort. ‘Are yer right, lass?’ he asked, again and again. Later, falling into the rhythm of the horses, he was as caring in his actions, less careful in his speech. ‘Yer going good, little’un? Eh but yer were shockened.’

  Yes, she thought, but not only because of the earth falling and Asperto’s death. The reverberations of Dai’s story were with her still. Such a burden, such sadness, almost more than any man could bear. Her own loss was slight, compared with this. And perhaps, at journey’s end, there would be the grandfather who had been saved by Dai’s taid. But for Hatice, with Asperto’s death, what did the future hold for her? And for Niko? The mare Yıldız was just ahead of them, strong and steady for Hatice, who rode her, with Niko cradled protectively in her arms, the only one left to her now.

  ‘What will happen to Hatice and Niko?’

  ‘A doän’t know. She’s had a bad do and now her man’s deäd and gone. She wanted to make a hoäme for the boy but a woman aloäne? Well now, that’s hard.’

  ‘Sakoura says she is certain of work in his household. And you could help her, blue man.’

  ‘Me? How could A help her? Besides, doän’t seem doäble, Asperto just gone an’ all.’

  ‘But he would want you to take care of them. It is true what Dai said, though very hard to bear; he gave his life to save Niko. To save me, who he didn’t know.’

  ‘She’d nivver not have me.’

  She remembered the windmill and Niko’s delight and the woman’s rare smile. ‘I think she would. You are a good man.’

  ‘Oh aye? A drunk and a nowter and only tuts and coins to find my waäy?’

  ‘You are not a drunk unless you wish it so and you are no nowter.’ She spoke the word as he did but though it sounded quaint coming from her mouth, neither of them smiled. ‘You have money enough and can easily earn more. You are skilled in many crafts. You have travelled far enough, I think, and would like a family to love and be loved by them in return. You would be a good husband and father.’

  ‘She’s an eyeäble woman, right enough – and the bairn’s a brave soul. Bairn! He’s not had no chance to be a bairn, poor mite.’ She felt Blue’s chest heave against her in a deep sigh. ‘A thowt as A’d want nowt no more but to goä hoäme. Back to the Fens. Been thinking on it all the time we’ve been travelling. Hoäme to the Fens. Yer get weary for yer own plaäce. Different from here, Fustilugs.’ The old name came easily. ‘Not so grand as here but it’s hoäme. It’s where A coome from. A miss the big skies and the smell of the rain where it comes down straight from heaven. Pyewipes calling in the marshes and the crows scrawking ahind the plough and partridge wings skirring and owd heronsews crying and a snide wind biting through the reeds. Howry and dark some days but other times yer’d see the sun coome straight up ovver the land in the morning and straight down at night with the whole sky lit up and blaäzing. A wanted nowt so much but to see it agaan. but now… A wonder if A should stay, see her and the boy right.’

  ‘You would do this for them, blue man?’

  ‘A reckon so.’ He pulled a face. ‘But it doän’t mean she’d have me, do it, little blue brother.’

  ‘Listen to me, blue man. I am sure she would be glad if you stayed with her.’ She twisted in his hold and pulled gently on the straggly, blue-streaked beard. ‘But you must make yourself handsome for her first. You must,’ she searched her memory, ‘remble yersen. And no more drunkenness. And ask Dai to speak for you. He is the chief man of this tribe of ours and so it is fitting that you go to him first.’

  ‘’Appen yer right, Fustilugs. A moänt have no more aäle.’ He sighed and scratched thoughtfully at his beard. ‘Short, yer reckon, or wench-faäced like yersen?’

  ‘Short.’

  ‘Yer made a good boy.’

  ‘I liked being a boy,’ she said, wistfully. ‘I liked being with you all just as myself. Do you truly forgive me, blue man?’

  ‘Nowt to fergive,’ he said simply. ‘Plenty to be graäteful fer. Eh, all that talk of wenching and you red-faäced and ready to pop…’

  And they laughed together, at ease with each other and nothing more to say about her deception.

  They reached the han that was a day’s journey from Attaleia and where they were warmly welcomed and anxiously questioned about the road and their journey.

  She was glad to rest. Her head ached and her shoulder felt wrenched out of its socket, despite Blue’s care, but when Dai came stern-faced asking how she did she put up her chin and swore she was well enough after the long day’s ride. ‘Blue wishes to speak with you,’ she hurried on, ignoring Dai’s disbelieving frown. ‘It is of great importance.’

  ‘Oh aye? Been meddling again, Kazan?’ His smile was fleeting and warm. ‘Let’s get you to the han physician and after that Blue can tell me whatever he has on his mind.’

  Whatever they spoke of, Kazan never knew, nor what words passed between Dai and Hatice, but Blue whistled his way to the hamam and returned spruce and clean in fresh clothes and stroking a neatly trimmed beard, still wiry but with a surprising amount of red in it now the blue-black woad was cut away. He beamed at Tom’s raised eyebrow and Giles’ knowing grin and ruffled Edgar’s curls and hoisted Niko on to his broad shoulders so that the boy shrieked with alarm and excitement. Rémi grinned with pleasure. Rémi who had not been at all surprised by her change from boy to girl. Rémi who would not speak of what he knew, even if he could. Blue winked at Kazan but she saw under the swagger the bashfulness of a modest man who couldn’t believe his good fortune. She reached up and hugged him and kissed his new-smooth cheek and stroked his fine tunic. ‘Well rembled, blue man,’ she said. ‘Now we must call you by your true name.’

  ‘Eh, that yer mun’t.’

  ‘But you are Oswald,’ she said simply.

  He wriggled his big shoulders and rubbed his nose. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘If yer were to call me Oswald it puts me in mind of my fayther’s wife and thoöse troublous times and now them time’s is paäst. A’m a different man now from what A was then. A like to be called Blue. Like the woad magic, see? And the indigo.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, gravely.

  ‘A marriage broker, Dafydd? That’s unexpected of you. First Edgar and Agathi, now the Fen man and the slave woman.’ Tom pulled a face at Dai’s frown. ‘Blue and Hatice,’ he amended. Dai nodded.


  ‘Not what I had in mind when we set out, Twm, that’s for sure.’

  ‘He’s set on it then? I thought he was after going back to his own country.’ The Fen lands, he thought, waste and desolate, but the pull of a homeland – any homeland – was strong.

  ‘Seems he’ll give it up for the woman and the boy.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Don’t tell me it’s a love match?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, she’s not comely nor of child-bearing years. He’ll harness himself to a barren woman and a boy neither his own nor the woman’s son.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, again your disapproval, Dafydd.’ Tom sighed. ‘You are right,’ he said, ‘and I am very much in the wrong. If they can make a family out of these – shards – then that can only be good. I wish them well.’

  ‘That is more worthy of you, Thomas Archer.’

  Tom said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Much to be thought but nothing to be said.

  The girl, too, thought a long time about Hatice and Blue; about Edgar and Agathi. The two younger ones, children when they were thrust into lives neither wanted – both held captive, she thought, though one was in slavery, the other within the confines of a monastery – living with hopelessness and dread. Now they were free, and with freedom came the longing to spread their wings and fly like the birds in springtime but they had met and, with meeting, loved. Our eyes met. Just once, fleetingly, but it was enough. Nene’s words came back to her. That was how it had been with Edgar and Agathi, both.

  Hatice and Blue? That was a different story, a different love. There was affection and gratitude and an end to loneliness and who was to say that was a lesser love? She thought ruefully about herself and her foolish dreams and the dark handsome man with grey eyes smoky like hearth fires, and lashes thick and long like a girl’s. Beautiful eyes. But they had not met hers, not even fleetingly. Once, she could hardly bear to look at his beauty and now…now, it was different. When it had become different, she did not know, could not tell, could not remember. She only knew he was not Bamsi Beyrek of the Grey Horse. How could he be? Bamsi Beyrek was a dream-hero from the old stories, and she knew now heroes came in many forms. Like Edgar and Blue and Rémi; like Sakoura and Niko. Thomas Archer was a flesh-and-blood man. Just that: a good man, a brave man, a sad man with much on his mind and she wondered what his story might be. He was so very handsome, and his eyes were very beautiful, but they did not tear her heart and soul. What was it Nene had said? What was it, then, that tore my heart and soul? Who can tell, girl? When you feel this, then you will feel love and you will give your heart and soul and life for your beloved. But she had not and would not. She did not feel love like that for Thomas Archer, as he had no such love for her.

  Her thoughts drifted to the quiet brown man who had seemed dull and plain though his voice was soft as the threads of silk carpets, and had music wefted through it, though it could be cold and sharp as winter winds if he was displeased. Kara Kemal had sent Yıldız to him as a bride-gift. She wondered who the bride was. She wondered if their eyes had met, just for a fleeting moment that was long enough to feel the love that would give heart and soul and life for the beloved. Would there ever be such a moment for her? There was a great weight where her heart should be; the cold stone of envy for those who loved and who knew themselves loved in return. Such envy was a sin. There should be only gladness. She sank the stone deep inside her.

  It was unexpectedly a festive evening, this last before they reached Attaleia. There was a remembering of Asperto, and the child too young to know his name and who should never have been taken into slavery; but a well-wishing also for the couples whose futures were bound together, and Mehmi’s soft songs of love, and other songs that brought colour to the women’s cheeks and laughter to the men.

  ‘I shall take Agathi to England,’ Edgar said, a bold Edgar who was sure now of what was owed him. ‘First to my older brother and then to my father to ask his blessing. And if he does not give me his blessing – well, then…’ He shrugged, held his hands out in acceptance of what might be. ‘I shall have done my duty,’ he said. ‘But Brother Jerome, Agathi and I wish to make our betrothal promises to each other before you. If we are to travel together, it should be as man and wife.’

  ‘A handfasting?’

  ‘Yes, a handfasting.’

  ‘What about you, Blue? Are you for wedding and bedding?’ Giles grinned.

  ‘Nivver drempt as A should ever be.’ His look lingered on Hatice: a woman who had never been beautiful; a woman with a strong face and thick black brows and angular jaw. He was learning to read that face better than he could speak her tongue, knew that she was content to take him as husband and the boy as her own. ‘We’er not of the saäme faäith but it seems to me thaäy saäy the saäme, when all’s said an’ done.’

  ‘Love and tolerance,’ Tom said.

  ‘Always room for faith,’ murmured Mehmi.

  ‘If that’s what yer like to caäll it. It’s enough fer us.’

  ‘Satisfied?’ Dai asked Kazan later that evening.

  ‘Very.’ She smiled. ‘All shall be well…’

  ‘“…and all shall be well.” Maybe so, Kazan, maybe so. You’ll miss the boy when we leave Attaleia?’

  ‘Of course, but it is better for him to have a true family. They will take good care of him, those two, and find joy in each other. All of them have a great need of being loved.’

  ‘And you, Kazan?’

  ‘I was loved. Nene loved me and cared for me as did our tribe who took us in and made us one of them. To be unloved all your life,’ she shivered, ‘that is truly a great evil.’ She looked up at him, serious and intent. ‘You as well were much loved. Your taid loved you and, I think, your family. You suffered much, Welshman, but it seems to me it was all for love. The blue man has never been loved. Edgar had his brothers but he has forgotten how it is to be loved. Hatice and Agathi, it is the same for them. This is very good.’

  ‘Wise Kazan,’ he said. ‘As wise as your grandmother. There – is that better?’ He was adjusting the bandage. She sighed with relief.

  ‘Much better.’ She waited a moment. ‘Will you truly travel with me to the cold lands and help me to find my grandfather?’

  ‘I have said so.’ He tilted her head towards the light, examined the dark bruising. ‘Good. The swelling’s gone. No redness but bruising worthy of a warrior. Still painful?’

  ‘A little. Not so bad.’

  He smoothed a soothing salve on to the bruised temple. ‘We must travel first by ship to Venezia then overland to Ieper.’

  ‘Mm. That feels good. Health to your hands. To Heinrijc Mertens?’

  ‘That’s it. All that travelling will take a while, now, and then there’s the winter to come. Best wait out the winter with the old man, if you’re willing to wait, and I owe him some time. Travel on to England in the spring.’ She nodded. He thought of Edgar’s words: if we are to travel together, it should be as man and wife. He asked suddenly, ‘How do you like your women’s quarters?’

  ‘All rooms are prisons,’ she said. ‘I am yürük, after all.’ She chuckled. ‘It seems to me that women sleep more quietly than men. Men are noisy and smelly in their sleep with their snoring and farting and belching and mumbling.’

  ‘You alarm me. Am I like this?’

  ‘No. You lie very quiet, very still.’ But like an animal, ready to wake at the least threat of danger, she thought.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ He was smiling. ‘You curl up like a small cat.’

  ‘Do I snore?’

  ‘Not even a purr. Now away with you to bed, Kazan.’

  ‘Nos da, Welshman. See? I do know some of your strange language.’

  ‘So you do. Nos da, cariad.’

  Quarters full of the noisiness and smelliness of sleeping men, but she had grown used to it. It was the women’s quarters and company that seemed strange to her. Strange, as well, to have emptiness where there used to be the brown man
stretched out close to her in his quiet, tense sleep.

  25

  We have journeyed safely across

  these mountains and woods,

  these vineyards in our sight, glory to the Lord.

  (Yunus Emre, 14thC)

  The air grew warmer as they wound through the low steep hills and into the coastal plain. Now they were back into late summer. The ground was dusty. No rain here though clouds were building up over the sea and the far mountains beyond the sweeping bay. A thin haze divided one range from another. This was a world away from the high plateau and bitter wind and sleet over the lakes and mountains that lay behind them. Here were the gardens and gazebos of the Bey who governed Attaleia and its lands; here were the cherished, cultivated fields and fruit orchards, vineyards and olive groves; hives for the honey bees; wheat and pulses and sugar crops; all being harvested now. Precious water was channelled miles and all was carefully guarded all along the road to Attaleia. Men and women laboured in the afternoon sunshine, incurious about the travellers. So many came and went along these roads.

  ‘A paradise,’ Giles said irritably, ‘if it were not for these evil mosquitoes. Surely they are cousins of Edgar’s demons?’ He slapped again and again at his neck, his hand, his cheek.

  Tom grinned. ‘Nothing should go hungry,’ he pronounced then swore quietly and slapped at his own neck.

  Long before they arrived they could see the dust haze of other caravans, and the long smudged line that was the walls and towers. Attaleia was at last within reach, and the long caravan journey almost done. For the muleteers and cameleteers, they would be home at day’s end. Their employers had a sea journey yet to make to the strange sea-city of Venezia. Would the Venetian fleet still be at anchor in the harbour?

  Excitement and apprehension rippled through the caravan. One of the check-points was ahead, a round-domed stone building where all caravans must register on their way into and out of the city. As always, there was a queue and a tedious wait for slow-moving officials. Their own caravan was greeted with interest and more anxious questions about the mountain road to Eğridir. Was it true that there had been an earth tremor, a landslide, as the nomads who travelled through earlier claimed? That was calamity indeed! They were lucky to escape with so little damage though a life had been lost…and no caravan had followed after them?