Amongst Silk and Spice

by Camille Oster

  Sighing, Eloise cleared those heavy thoughts away, folded the note and wrote Malik's name and office on the back, handing it to the administrative clerk and paying for the service.

  Hugo was waiting outside, holding the reins of the two camels. "Ready?"

  "No," she said, knowing he wouldn't care less.

  He turned to walk down the street and Eloise considered grabbing something heavy and hitting him over the head. Although he would deserve it, she wasn't sure she could live with herself if she accidentally killed him—though likely he would have no qualms if the tables were turned.

  Reluctantly, Eloise followed as they moved toward the gate to the city's walls. The hot winds and glaring sun hit her as soon as they left the protection of the city's structures, walking down a bare road that led away from the river.

  The convoy was in the distance, but Hugo saw no need to catch up. Eloise suspected they would stay quite far from the main group, keeping them in sight to ensure they weren't wandering off, or worse, in circles. The desert claimed people, swallowed them up to never been seen again.

  They walked for a few hours in compete silence. Eloise had nothing to say to him and he seemed to have little to say on any topic. Eventually her legs grew tired and Hugo bid one of the camels to kneel for her, which then lurched violently when it rose again, with her clasping tightly onto the saddle.

  The eerie silence of the desert surrounded them. Only the wind could be heard as they headed out into complete nothingness, away from safety and civilization. Eloise wondered if this was what sailors felt when they headed out for a long voyage, alone and defenseless against the vast ocean, where there was no recourse if they ran into trouble. She didn't want to die in the company of Hugo Beauford. That would be too cruel a fate.

  Eloise listened to Hugo's and the camels’ footsteps, letting her thoughts wander, which returned to England and all the unpleasantness attached to her last days there. She would never forgive her father for forcing her back, but truthfully, it was what he'd done to her mother that she would truly never forgive. His annulment of the marriage was what kept her safe—otherwise, she was bound to do anything he told her to, not allowed choice in anything but her own thoughts.

  She watched Hugo as he walked ahead, still holding the reins of his camel, wondering what thoughts occupied his mind. She still couldn't get a grasp on him and what went on in his head, having no idea what concerned him, other than the perils of the desert. He was the consummate warrior, but there was also loss there—loss he kept well hidden.

  The days blended together. They slept in beds they made with blankets, ate the dried meat and meal. The fruit and vegetables started rotting, except for the lemons and honey, which both lasted. She was actually impressed Hugo had bought the strange fruits, but they were in the provisions bag, and she suspected he would have been given them on first crossing the desert.

  She still refused to talk to him and he remained silent as well. What was there to say? He knew her opinion of him and it hadn't changed.

  The desert grew more solitary, though, less scrubs and only sand, the wind singling as it lifted the sand off the dunes.

  They kept in sight of the convoy, but never made up the distance between them, until they reached the crescent lake monastery.

  The Mohammedeans had stopped, still watering their camels when Hugo and Eloise reached the lake. The camels went straight for the water, drinking their fill, before hunching down, settling in the sand and eating the grain Hugo placed in bowls in front of them. The monastery was Buddhist, but they welcomed all travelers to their tiny oasis in the middle of the desert. The sand went all the way to the edge of the lake, shaped in the crescent around the monastery, surrounded by a small oasis of lush trees and plants.

  The monks gave them food, which consisted of flavorful lentils and rice. It made for a wonderful change from the stodgy meal and dried meat, and Eloise sat down in the shade of a tree.

  She'd taken to wearing her shawl over her head like a veil. The red material was sheer enough to see through, but it kept the sun and biting sand off her face. Hugo's face was sparkling slightly with the thin layer of sand covering every exposed surface, and she watched as he walked to the water's edge and washed his hands and face, scooping the water over his head and through his hair.

  "You should cover your head from the sun," she said. Like her, his light skin could not take the brutal sun of the desert.

  "I know. I have purchased a length of materials off the idolaters," Hugo said, referring to the monks that lived and worshiped in this desolate place. "Although I don't know what kind of god they are finding out here."

  Eloise smiled, suspecting Hugo didn't understand their religion, and didn't want to. She wondered if he prayed. The Mohammedeans did. They had all unrolled small carpets and were kneeling down on them, silently chanting their prayers. Hugo sat down next to her and watched. "They do that five times a day, apparently."

  "Yes," Eloise said, thinking back on Malik and the things he did. He wasn't the most pious in his worship, but he performed the rituals demanded of him when he had the opportunity, particularly any time he felt troubled. "They are very structured in their ways."

  The Mohammedeans ignored their presence, although they were curious but wary of the Christian knight in their midst. It was not long ago they had warred, when the Christians had been pushed out of Acre and their last holds near Jerusalem—memories of those battles prevented many friendships.

  "You do not pray then?" she asked.

  "Before battle all men pray."

  Eloise turned to him, watching as his gaze scanned their surroundings. He was more on edge now that they were surrounded by what he likely saw as enemies, more so than when they were far away, keeping the convoy just in sight. His arms were wrapped around his knees, water drops still glistening in his blond hair.

  Truthfully, he seemed a much more foreign creature than the dark-skinned men around them—a warrior and a nobleman—two things completely incomprehensible to Eloise.

  "Why are you not married?" she asked, not quite sure herself where the question had come from.

  Hugo shrugged. "We are at war and there is no place for a wife in such times. Besides, the king is too distracted with other things to play matchmaker. He wants this war finished and with the French king's capture, he seeks to secure the throne."

  Eloise turned from him, bored with this never-ending war. She understood the politics and the economic gain from the fertile French soils, but it was still French soil and they were English, no matter their king's heritage. As with most nobles, both her and Hugo's families had French heritage, her more so as her mother had been French, but for most, their links with France spanned from the Norman Conquest, centuries ago, still the heredital relationship fleeted. Eloise wasn't sure the two people could ever be reconciled under one king, but Hugo would probably argue the point with her, so she kept silent.

  "I was for a short time," he said.

  "Married?"

  "The plague took them."

  "Them?"

  "There was a boy. I never met him." Hugo got up and walked away, and Eloise just stared after him, dumbfounded, trying to absorb what he'd just admitted. He'd been married and he'd lost his wife, and a child. Hugo's losses ran deeper than she'd recognized—his father, his brother and his own family. She felt guilty for being so insensitive now, for assuming there was nothing more to him than the brute she saw him as.

  Chapter 11:

  * * *

  Another few days walk and they reached a river, its water shining brightly as it meandered down the riverbed, which by its nature would seemingly swell at times. The river allowed for agriculture along its banks and Hugo saw date trees, fruit and grain crops. The river also made it seem as though they were heading toward something, instead of the endless sand, forming senseless patterns over the land.

  Hugo preferred walking. It felt like he was doing something, and today, she was walking as well. He'd long taken his
chainmail off, and the camel was carrying his sword as well, as there was no one in sight, and the convoy ahead of them were too far away to serve an immediate threat.

  The girl was introspect today, quiet, walking steadily without complaint. Her shoes were not going to last though. He should have thought of it, but it hadn't occurred to him. The next town or oasis they reached, he would have to find her something that would last the journey ahead of them.

  Looking over at her, she saw the silk shoes emerge from under her red gown as she walked. She wore a veil now, obscuring her face, but he could still see the outline of her features, her eyes on the horizon, lost in thought.

  Following the river, they reached caves, an endless number of caves carved into a sandy hill—another site for the idolatrous pilgrims. The sun was setting and Hugo could see the convoy stopping ahead, near what looked like some merchant stores. There was also the massive building he remembered from his first crossing, eight stories high, built into the hill behind it. It really was the largest building he'd ever come across, seemingly reaching into heaven. Not even castles were so high—churches maybe, but not with stories piled on each other. The roofs were of the green curved tiles the Cathayans used, and the structures painted white and red. There was a nice symmetry to the Cathayan buildings, but without the strength of stone. The Cathayans depended on their walls to keep them safe, while the structures inside were not built for defense.

  As the day cooled, Hugo considered pulling his mail on, feeling more wary with people around. The people were undisturbed by another set of travelers as this place catered predominantly to their general ilk, whether merchants traveling through or pilgrims here for worship.

  "We need to buy you some shoes," he said.

  "Yes," she concurred, without an argument for once. Normally, she seemed to disagree with everything he said on principle, and it made him wonder what was on her mind.

  Leading their camels into what functioned as the main street, they saw wares displayed along the edges of the street, selling everything from vegetables and meat from the surrounding region, to spice and tools. They reached a tent selling clothes and shoes, displayed on a rough wooden table and Hugo stopped his camel, taking Eloise's reins as she went to survey the goods, lifting her veil off her head and letting the light material flow down around her shoulders.

  Bypassing the beautiful pairs, she went for the sturdy leather and Hugo was relieved she had some sense. She dropped a pair to the ground and lifted her skirt, revealing the length of her ankle and calf, which was pale and shapely. Unwisely, Hugo felt himself react to the sight. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman, but it couldn't be this one. He'd noted her pleasant form, but he'd found her too annoying to truly notice her curves, or perhaps he'd forbidden himself from looking.

  She chose a pair of light brown, leather shoes with thick soles, which would keep the stones and the heat from assaulting her feet. The thin-soled silk shoes she wore would have done both. Placing her fine, silk shoes in the camel's saddle bag, she walked on in the new ones, while he paid the merchant.

  "Thank you," she said, when he caught up with her. He didn't say anything in reply, but it might be the first time she'd actually thanked him. "And for letting me send a note before we left. It means much to me knowing I can alleviate some of my friend's worries."

  Friend—not how he would refer to the man she'd been living with, which made him wonder how she saw the relationship. "Why would he not marry you?"

  Eloise frowned and didn't say anything for a while. "Several reasons, I suppose. He feels I should marry someone young. He will return to his home one day, and I suspect he believes my regard for him would not survive it."

  "Is he right?"

  She didn't answer, instead looked down at her new shoes, crunching the gravel of the road as they walked down the length of the hill with the countless caves. Her silence was answer enough.

  They would claim one of those caves tonight, but first they had to eat, and Hugo guided them toward a food seller with tables and chairs.

  "As I said, their lives are very structured, and admittedly, I am perhaps not well suited for it," she said after a while.

  "Perhaps all this travel has made you restless—unsuited to marriage and the life of a good wife."

  Surprisingly, she didn't argue, instead turning her attention to the food seller and tying up her camel to a tree next to the tent. They claimed one of the tables and Hugo waved at the man whose origin he couldn't determine to bring something over. Two bowls came with meat and vegetables in broth, accompanied with wooden spoons and sticks. As he watched, Eloise nimbly used the sticks to guide morsels into the spoon, but his fingers were too large and clumsy for the sticks.

  The sun was setting and a small lamp was hung from the center of the tent by the time they finished. The air cooled quickly with the setting of the sun and he could see Eloise shivering in her dress, which was never meant for the cold nights of the desert. "We should go," he said and again she didn't argue. Perhaps she had accepted the fact that she was returning to England.

  Sand was encroaching into one cave-opening set into the base of the hill and they tied up their camels and walked inside the pitch-black space. Taking the lamp and the bottle of oil out of his satchel, Hugo filled the lamp and ground a spark to ignite the wick. Defuse light from the lamp filled the cave, showing paintings of the idolater's god on the walls.

  The cave was cool and its floor covered with soft sand, which would make a nicer sleeping place than the hard stone of the other caves, making this uncared-for cave a better resting place for travelers.

  Eloise returned outside and unstrapped her blankets from the camel, while Hugo went farther and gathered firewood. He returned to light the fire, then tended to the camels, feeding and watering them for the night.

  Light shone out of the large monastery and a few of the caves, but darkness encompassed everything. But tonight they wouldn't be sleeping under the starts, which sparkled in their countless thousands in the clear sky of the desert.

  When he returned to the cave, Eloise was sitting by the fire on her blankets, her feet bare and crossed ahead of her. His attention was drawn to her shapely ankles again, white now in contrast to her deep red dress. It was still an unusual dress, made for warmer climes and a radically different culture. The arms were bare under the shawl and he could he could see the outline of the dress’ neckline underneath.

  "What does my father want with me?" she said, drawing his attention away from her exposed skin.

  Hugo shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Maybe he seeks an alliance by marrying you off." It was the only logical thing he could think of.

  "And what if you found me married already?"

  "I'm not sure he would recognize such a marriage—unless it was to an English nobleman."

  Eloise snorted. "He didn't recognize his own marriage, so why would he mine?" She rearranged her skirt, accidentally showing a bit more of her legs in the process. She seemed unaware of it. "I will not marry for him, and he cannot make me. I refuse to acknowledge his claim on me and if he presses the issue, I have legal gravity to my side."

  "You would defy your father?"

  "He's not my father. You remember the circumstances of that development, I recall. You were, after all, the one who initially informed me."

  Hugo sought out her eyes, seeing how much she disliked him—she always had. Her lips were set in a tight line and her head held high—exactly like she had been when she was twelve. He chuckled, then rose to place another few sticks of kindling on the fire. "He will likely see it as your duty to marry as he prescribes."

  "Then he is in for a surprise. Did you marry as you were told to?"

  "Yes," he said. "My father agreed with the king on the alliance."

  "Who was she?"

  "Lord Tiverton's daughter."

  "Did she have a name?"

  "Annette," he said.

  "What was she like?"

  "She had brown hai
r." Truthfully, he couldn't remember much more about her.

  "I'm sorry for your loss. It must be awful losing a wife and a child," Eloise said, the sharpness in her voice leaving her. "I could not imagine."

  "In all honesty, I didn't really know her. I met her at the altar and stayed with her for some weeks before returning to France. She was shy and didn't speak much."

  "Likely she was scared of you. And that is not the kind of marriage proposition I'll be willing to accept. How can you marry someone, choose to commit the rest of your life to someone you don't know?"

  "Duty," he said, remembering how ill at ease he'd been, marrying a girl he didn't know, or had even seen, from a neighboring district, but the alliance had brought land with it, and that was reward above anything else. Perhaps Eloise was right, though; she had some protection against her father's will due to the annulment, nor was she tied to the land and subject to the earl's will as her mother was French. Legally, he didn't have sway over her, but then courts weren't always interested in the rights of illegitimate women.

  They grew quiet for a moment and Hugo sat down again, along the oppose wall of the small cave, his sword next to him in case thieves or worse tried their luck during the night.

  "You look down on my marriage?" he said. "And your absence of marriage with a Saracen was better?"

  "At least I loved him, and he me."

  "A sin some would say," he stated back, knowing her point was valid. He hadn't known either his wife or the son resulting from their short time together. Their passing had been an abstract thing, not a loss keenly felt. It did bother him on some level that the passing of his family had been registered more with annoyance than with care. Love was not a thing he readily understood. He'd loved his brother and Ritchie's passing had cut him deeply, but to love someone not his family, like Eloise professed to love this Saracen, was incomprehensible. "You say you love him, but with a reluctance for permanence." Pursing her lips together, she watched him as the accusation stood. "Your love wavers."