Amongst Silk and Spice

by Camille Oster

  They couldn’t outrun it, as it moved with the speed of the wind, although there was seemingly no wind right now, the air unnaturally still with only the sight of a wall of sand telling of something being very wrong. The camels were restless—they knew something bad was coming.

  "What are we going to do?" Eloise asked, panic heightening the pitch of her voice.

  The sand would come, clog their throats and noses. "We must bed down," he said. It was their only option. This storm was advancing no matter what, and they could do little but to weather it—try to survive.

  Tapping the camel's leg with the stick he held, the beast crouched down into the sand, groaning with displeasure. The animal was sniffing the air as if indication of this storm rode on the air ahead of it. Grabbing the reins of the second animal, Hugo led it around to flank the other. He could feel the tension in the animals as he urged hers to bow down to sitting. Eloise slid off the camel and stretched her aching back, nervously eyeing the approaching wall.

  "The camels will provide scant protection," she said.

  "It is all we have," Hugo said, hurriedly unstrapping the blankets and the water pouches and placing them between the camels. "We must protect ourselves from the air, else we suffocate."

  Ahead of the wall, the wind picked up, sending sand biting into Hugo’s face and hands. Before they knew it, they were enveloped in murky yellowness, the sun lost from the sky and visibility stretched only to the end of his arm. "Come," he said to her and spread out the blanket. "We must hide from the air."

  Eloise needed no encouragement and ducked under the blanket spread out between the camels and he tied the corner of it to one of the camels’ saddles. There was no light under the blanket, but the sandy air settled and they could breathe again. Eloise crouched under the blanket, tucking her knees under her chin, leaning against the camel's side. Hugo was too big and nowhere near flexible enough to tuck himself under the way she had, so he had to lay on his side with his upper body under the blanket and his legs outside.

  The camels groaned in displeasure, but they settled. "Will we lose the camels?" Eloise asked.

  "I hope not. Apparently they can weather these storms."

  Reaching up into the saddle bag, Hugo withdrew the oil lamp and earthenware bottle holding oil, placing it between them, pouring the oil and sparking the wick with the grinding stones. Pale light shone between them. Eloise's eyes were dark, deep pools of worry and fear.

  "We will be alright here, under this blanket. It will protect us from the worst of the sand."

  "I hope so. I really don't want to die here with you, Hugo Beauford. If I die because of you, I swear I will haunt you."

  "Where I'm going, you may not want to follow."

  "Have you given up on your soul's forgiveness, then?" she asked. Hugo couldn't stop a half smile forming. "I always knew you were a bad man, but I never realized you agreed with the assessment."

  "I have done my fair share of things. Battle is never a merciful or restorative affair. I'm not sure it's possible to be at war as long as I have and survive with a pristine soul." He smiled again. She, on the other hand, had a clear conscience, even if she had given her maidenhood away to a Saracen. "Do you not fear for your soul, having traded your favors away?"

  "I never traded my favors away. Anything I gave was for the sake of sharing with another person, expecting nothing in return."

  "Giving your most cherished possession to a heathen, no less."

  "As shocking as you will find it, Malik was not my first. And my memories are more cherished than some stupid notion that me being untouched is a worthy virtue. It might be to you, but I was loved by a wonderful man, and you would have a hard time convincing me it was either a sin or a threat to my value as a person. You might think lesser of me, but it could not matter less to me what you think."

  "Obviously," he said, "as you are willing to undress before me completely without shame."

  "Shame for what? Are you an innocent, Hugo Beauford? Have you never seen a woman undressed before? If so, I apologize. You must be one of those people who are damaged by the sight of a God-given form of another person, burdened with such delicate sensibilities. I will take more care in the future, lest I damage you further."

  "I think we both know that I am more familiar with the sport between men and women, even the Church-sanctioned kind."

  "Sanctioned effectively for two weeks. You don't even have anything to say about your wife other than her hair was brown. Did you know nothing else about her?"

  The accusation hit home. Unfortunately, it was true. He knew next to nothing about his wife—even the tupping had been unremarkable. And even worse with his son, his flesh and blood, about whom he knew nothing but his name, Berhnard. It hurt to know that her assessment of him was true. He was exactly like her harsh portrayal of him. "Watch your tongue," he warned.

  "Are you to threaten me now?"

  "Am I within my rights to someone who takes pleasure in ripping strips with their tongue?"

  She looked shocked at his counter-accusation. "I do not."

  "Really? Because it feels like pure spiteful malice from the receiving end."

  "I am not spiteful," she said earnestly. "Granted, I think you're the worst sort of man, but I do not rip strips for the pleasure of it."

  "I'm not sure I believe you, having been at the mercy of your tongue for over a month now."

  Eloise stared at him intently, shifting her focus between his eyes. Then she looked down at the light sitting between them. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I have been venting with the displeasure I feel at being dragged back across the world, against my will. I have made you the target of that anger, and I am sorry. We have never had the best of relations."

  She actually did look admonished and ashamed. He didn't know what to say now, never expecting to receive an apology.

  "I still really don't want to die here with you," she said after silence descended, returning her eyes to him with more of a teasing look in their depths.

  Hugo chuckled. "Reprieve over, then?"

  "I only say what's in my heart. It was not my place to comment on your family."

  "Perhaps I would not react so harshly if your accusations were not true. I knew nothing of the woman I married, and even less of our son." It hurt to admit it—something he'd pressed from his mind for a long time, but for some reason, his tongue was loose today as they lay here facing possible death from suffocation, or even the loss of their camels. Suffocation might be better than wandering through the desert on foot.

  "You were at war," she said, surprisingly defending his actions.

  "I am a father whose son lived and died without true note, representing nothing but an abstract concept. I never even met him." He was revealing what might in actuality be his greatest shame. Eloise sat quietly, letting him talk, and he would cleanse his soul here if he didn't watch himself. The truth was that he'd never loved his son, never had the chance to, and that fact hurt him more deeply than the actual loss of his son at the time.

  It would be so easy to confess the deepest secrets of his soul to her right now, but it could not be, even if she was prepared to receive them. Another thing that tore at him, the idea of a person he could confess those secrets to—the role a wife should play. He'd failed as a husband as well.

  Chapter 14:

  * * *

  The sandstorm passed and they were on their way again, following the Mohammedean merchants as before, aware that they'd lost half a day worth of water without getting closer to a new source. Water was everything in the desert, anything else was secondary.

  They trudged on for days through unchanging landscape, stopping at a tiny oasis town along the way, centered around a well, where they refilled their water pouches and went on their way. Finally, the landscape started to change, becoming more dramatic with snow-capped mountains in the far distance. The air was changing, growing cooler—close to freezing when the wind turned.

  Eloise felt excitement and drea
d compete inside her as she watched those mountains grow closer. Excitement because they were leaving the desert behind and dread because she was now on the other side of the great divide between Europe and Cathay, and returning to the mess she had fled from in England. She frowned when she thought of it and the upcoming confrontation with her father, but that was still far away. Now came the lands of the Mohammedean and they were heading toward Kashgar.

  Before long, there were huts and farms, and livestock as the desert path turned into a road. Carts and horses passed them. They were away from the dangers of the desert now, back to civilization, and a different set of perils.

  They would be walking into Kashgar the next day, where a proper meal awaited. Both of them could probably use with some fattening up after the month in the desert, living on grains, lentil and dried meat.

  The city of Kashgar was visible in the hazy distance, perched on top of a hill, built in the same material as its foundation. Minarets poked out of the roofline of the city and everything the eye could see was the color of sand, surrounded by snow-covered mountains in the background. They would be tackling those mountains after the city, making their way through to the Persian lands.

  Anticipation made her restless as the end of the constant trudging was in sight. Minutes stretched to hours until they finally walked through the guarded gate through the city wall. The Mongol empire stretched to here as well, but Eloise had heard that the Mongols’ hold on the western portion of their empire was tentative as well, and there were political rifts with the Eastern portion of the empire. Malik had talked at lengths about the state of the empire. A flash of sadness ripped through her. She would miss Malik, for his wisdom and his friendship, and all the things he had taught her. As well as for the Mongol empire, for her there were troubled times and probably change ahead.

  Kashgar's streets were narrow and filled with every creed. Eloise heard Arabic, Persian, Indian languages, as well as the harsh Northern languages. She saw travelers from Europe, preparing to head out into the desert and the journey she was just leaving behind. They, along with all European travellers, had to stay at a hostelier in the Jewish quarter, and they made their way through the crowded city down narrow streets lined with stores selling all manner of colorful things—silks, glass and shiny metal ware. After the desert and its calm, non-changing sights, Kashgar felt like an explosion in front of her eyes. There was so much to look at, she was having trouble taking it all in. Even the pungent smells were like an assault on her senses—too much to take in at once.

  Camels and horses crowded the streets and they walked into a market space, where Hugo sold the camels that had carried them through the desert, trying to haggle with the man in sign language. Even though Hugo knew that Eloise spoke passable Persian, he refused to seek her help. Stupid man, Eloise thought. If his arm was cut off, he still probably wouldn't ask for help.

  Walking away with a pouch of coins, they walked down the street, having said goodbye to the trusted animals that had safely seen them through the desert, particularly Magda, as Eloise had named hers, but then Magda was more interested in the grain given her as reward for her long journey.

  "Bathe or eat first?" Hugo asked.

  "Bathe," Eloise said, thinking it would be preferable to sit down to a meal without the grime of the desert covering her body. Hugo was one color, that of sand, and it covered every part of him from his surcoat to his face. His skin and hair were the exact same color and it made his eyes as blue as the sky.

  "Fine," he said, leading them down through a narrow alley. "But please don't make me chase you down through these streets. You wouldn't have enough time to get anywhere before I found you."

  Eloise gave him a pointed look as he stopped in front of a bath house, which had separate entrances for men and women, the genders completely segregated.

  A woman greeted her and showed her to a warmed room meant for disrobing, helping Eloise undress. The inside of the bathhouse was intricately decorated with white and blue tile, in the almost hypnotic geometric shapes the Persians liked. Every surface was covered and Eloise sat down on a stool in the center of the room.

  "We clean," the woman said in Arabic and left with Eloise's dress, returning to pour warmed water over Eloise's shoulders and hair. Her skin prickled with the warmth and the glorious feeling of running water over her dry skin. Her skin was rubbed down with soft clothes, while she closed her eyes and noted how heavenly it felt having the dust from the desert removed, particularly as the woman washed her hair, which was combed and oiled until it was clean and scented.

  Once rinsed, Eloise was left to enjoy the bath and she waded into the pool of water in the next room, which reached up to her waist. Laying back, she floated and closed her eyes. The gentle warmth seeped into her muscles, slowly undoing the knots in her shoulders. The bathhouse was quiet, even if she wasn't the only one there, and every sound echoed off the high, tiled ceiling.

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, Eloise considered what she was to do, if she should make an effort to try to escape, but then she also wasn't sure she needed to. Although she didn't particularly want to face her father, she didn't feel particularly distressed about it either. She hated him for the things he'd done and for taking her mother's life, by withdrawing his support if not for actually bringing about her demise. She'd actually like to know how he justified his actions. He was neither a good man, nor a good Christian.

  He'd questioned her parentage and she wholeheartedly agreed, feeling no desire to be sired by a cruel and heartless man. If he thought he had control of her, he would soon learn, because she didn't give a damn about his wishes, hoping her refusal actually left him worse off and she had no qualms letting him know that either.

  Maybe letting Hugo take her back to England wouldn't be such a bad thing, so she could prove to her father once and for all that she wanted nothing to do with him. There were actually a few harsh words she wanted to put to him and she was going to get her chance. He might be an earl, but his position didn't mean he was a worthy person, and she was going to put that to him as well.

  Finally the water grew cold to Eloise's skin and she decided to get out and dress. The woman returned with a large, white sheet, wrapping her in it to dry off before oiling every part of her body. Eloise could smell rose oil and something herbal, and it was lovely to be clean again, even if it was only temporary as they would likely be traveling again the following morning. Hugo was not one to stop and explore. He had his mission and precious little would stop him, even if the mad streets of Kashgar were fascinating to observe.

  She was actually quite cold by the time she left, her skin prickling, welcoming the sun outside. Hugo was waiting for her, clean and shaven. She'd almost forgot what he looked like underneath all the sand.

  "They beat me with switches," he said grumpily.

  Eloise smiled. "They rubbed me down with oil. It was heavenly. I think both of us got what we deserve."

  Hugo huffed half-heartedly and started walking. "Hungry?"

  "Famished," she said, feeling better about everything now that she'd made peace with this opportunity to see her father.

  They found an eatery covered with intricate, deep red rugs and pillows around low, lacquered tables with metal inlays. There were no chairs and they were supposed to sit on the carpet-covered floor.

  Bronze cups with tea were presented to them and Eloise drew in the delicate scent. It had been much too long since she'd had a cup of tea and the first sip coated her parched throat. These little pleasures were the joys in life and she took another sip of the glorious liquid, considering whether she could take some back to England.

  A plate of food arrived along with bread and rice, a spiced mutton dish that smelled divine. Eloise loved Persian food and took her fill, letting the spices tease her tongue and her nose, then sitting back against the cushions when she couldn't eat anymore.

  "Which way are we traveling?" she asked as she watched Hugo continue to eat, suspecting he enjoyed the spic
ed food more than he admitted to—English food being drab and flavorless in comparison. Although Hugo would probably defend it as preferable to deep and heady flavors of the Persian dishes, defending the indefensible.

  "Crossing the Black Sea is the fastest route. The Mamluks have taken over Acre, so there is no longer safe passage through the south."

  Eloise took more sips of the cooling tea. Crossing the Black Sea meant going through Constantinople, although she doubted Hugo would stop long enough for her to call on her friends in the city. "There isn't a great hurry, you know."

  Hugo wiped his fingers and sat back. "Keen to spend more time in my company?"

  "No," she said, not anticipating his response would take that direction. "But there are people I do want to see."

  "We will not be taking years to meander across the world, like you did. I have commitments to get back to and I wish to do so at the earliest opportunity."

  "You want to head back to fight the French?"

  "It is my duty."

  "Do you like war?" Eloise asked, knowing there were people who loved fighting and killing, and the horrible messiness. She hadn't quite picked him as one of those.

  "I like being a good servant for our king, and right now he needs us to finish this war."

  "Are you not the least bit curious of the things around us?"

  "What point does curiosity serve? Nothing in our lives will change. I will still head back to France, you will … " he didn't quite finish the statement, "probably fight whatever your father has intended for you, but both of our fates are set. The only hope is to finish this war."

  "My fate is in my own hands."

  "You might have shirked your duty by running away, but for all you have seen and done, it changes nothing. As from the day you are born, and as proven by your father's intent on retrieving you, you are destined to be a nobleman's wife."