“Whatever are you doing?”
“I want to spend the morning in quiet prayer,” he explained. “I still feel keenly the temptations of the flesh and I must ask Allah to grant me respite.”
“Well, Mecca’s over there!” Aysha said. “You’re facing the wrong way.”
“Oh dear, how foolish of me!” Raoul muttered. He should have remembered that. “I fear I have not always been very devout.”
“Would you like me to pray with you?”
As he turned round to face the proper way, Raoul kept his head well down and let his hair fall forward.
“It would be lovely but I had better force myself to be alone – otherwise I might not seem truly sorry for my sins.”
She nodded gravely.
“I understand,” she said. “I have decided that at the end of my confinement I shall ask my husband to give me a child. Perhaps if I say that I want one, he will do it quickly and then it will all be over. What do you think, Forida?”
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
“Perhaps...perhaps you could explain to me again about what happens and what I’m supposed to do. I don’t mean now. But tonight, maybe. And then I can get used to the idea.”
“I could certainly do that, Aysha,” Raoul said, feeling extremely relieved that he would not be there to oblige her. That would indeed be a challenge to his powers of self-restraint.
After she had left him, Raoul stayed where he was. He wasn’t sure where she had gone and he didn’t want her coming near him again. Later, once the sun was almost overhead, she called to him from across the grass, this time telling him that she was going to eat her midday meal, and asking Forida join to her. Raoul called back that he would wait until evening, thus having spent a whole day in fasting and prayer. Of such self-sacrifice, surely, Allah would take note. Raoul wished it really would help to diminish his desire for her – but he doubted it. He was extremely hot and extremely uncomfortable crouching there in the sun. But it was his own stupid fault for tormenting himself last night with the thought of her, and then sleeping late this morning.
Later, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her entering the pavilion. She would be going for her afternoon sleep. He sat up, straightened his cramped limbs then got to his feet. The thin saffron tunic was drenched in sweat. Still, he only had to endure a few more hours of this torture. He crossed into the shade of the tree near the pavilion where she had been eating. He smiled wryly as he saw that she had left nothing but a few cherries: some had brown marks on them and a couple were not fully ripe. She would be all right now, he was sure. She certainly didn’t seem to be starving herself to death.
After what seemed like a reasonable delay, he peered into the pavilion through a window. She was already asleep, he saw with relief, and fully dressed this time, thank God. He took off his slippers and crept very quietly inside then went through the curtain into the bathing room. He would shave, take off the tunic and wash as best he could then he’d go out and take the tray to the gate, adding the white flower and watching what happened when it was found.
First, if only for five minutes, he would take off this wretched wig. When he had pulled it off, Raoul felt as if an iron band round his skull had been released. He scrubbed at his scalp with soapy hands and rinsed off the suds by dunking his head into the blissfully cool water of the pool. When he emerged, he felt a hundred times better. He eyed the wig balefully. He knew he should put in on first and then shave but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“What difference does it make?” he said aloud.
He got out his dagger, soaped his face, and looking in one of the large bright mirrors, began to draw the sharp blade down over his cheek. He finished one side and was about to begin the other when, in the mirror, he saw Aysha come through the curtain. She paused and her eyes widened in puzzled surprise.
“Forida?” she whispered. “What are you doing? What’s happened to your hair?” Her look of bewilderment changed to horror. “You’re not Forida Mufiz! You’re a man!”
Chapter Twenty Six
Aysha backed away from him, her eyes narrowed. “Or are you a eunuch, sent by my husband to tell me lies and spy on me?” Her voice was sharp, suspicious.
“No,” he said in his own voice. It seemed strange after so long. “You were right the first time. This is just padding.” He gestured to the top of his tunic. “My name is Raoul de Metz. I’m an envoy sent to Prince Unur by the Queen of France. To avoid capture I climbed into your garden and once I was here I had no means of getting away.”
Her face had drained of colour and she stared at him in horror.
“But you’ve been pretending to be a woman,” she said aghast.
“Yes.” Raoul gave a slight smile. “I was trying to meet the Emir in secret.”
“But you’ve seen my face! You’ve seen me naked! You’ve touched my body with your hands!”
“You didn’t really give me a lot of choice.”
“But my nurse told me! Men are dangerous! They’re animals, monsters! They hurt defenceless women! You must never let one see you!”
Knowing that if he took even a step towards her she would go off into screaming hysterics, Raoul turned back to the mirror and began to shave the rest of his face. She watched his every movement like a rabbit bewitched by a stoat. Once he had finished and wiped away the soap, he turned round again. She shrank away, pressing herself against the wall as if she hoped she could become part of it.
“Take this.” Raoul put his dagger across the palm of his hand and held it out to her. “Go on. Take it. If I try to touch you, you can stop me. It’s very sharp – look.”
He took the dagger and drew the blade across his finger tip – blood immediately welled up along the cut. Aysha simply stared at him.
“Very well. If you don’t want it.” He set it down on the shelf below the mirror. He pulled the diamond studs from his ear-lobes then began to remove the jewellery which hung round his neck and adorned his wrists.
“What are you doing?” Aysha whispered breathlessly.
“With your permission, my lady, I am going to bathe. As I’m sure you have noticed, I smell vile and there is now no reason to keep on these wretched clothes.”
“But if you take your clothes off you’ll be naked and then...and then...”
“Then what? Look, if I was going to hurt you I would have done it days ago. Just taking off my clothes isn’t going to turn me into a rapist!”
“But you were Forida, my friend.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Aysha, I still am your friend. Can’t you believe that? Everything that Forida said, Raoul could say just as well. It makes no difference.”
“But, it does, it does! Men are vicious beasts. I KNOW that! At least Khaliq is my husband. He has the right to see me and even to hurt me if he chooses.”
Raoul gave a snort of laughter.
“My word,” he said, “you’ve changed your tune! Put out a little white flower and summon your guards then, Aysha, if that’s how you feel. They’ll soon drag me away and cut off my head – then you can be happy. I’m sure that’s a most suitable punishment for daring to try and comfort you.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!” Angry colour flooded her cheeks. “You never did anything for me! It was all treachery and deceit! All you ever did was tell stupid, filthy stories and make up lies, yes, LIES about having babies. If you’re a man, what can you possibly know about -”
“Look, Aysha, I’ve no intention of arguing with you or trying to justify myself. If you want to help me bathe, please stay. I’d very much like you to be my bath-attendant – the oils are over there, you know, though I prefer sandalwood to lavender.”
“Oh!” She stamped her foot in fury.
“If you don’t want to help me, fine, off you go and summon the eunuchs. It’s a relief to know that at least I can die clean.”
Her eyes were still fixed on Raoul as he pulled off his tunic and the padded top benea
th it. He loosened the draw-string of the silk pantaloons and stepped out of them, then removed the belt and leather pouch which had been concealed underneath. It was only when he began to untie the fastening of his linen under-drawers that her hands flew to her mouth and with a muffled shriek, she ran from the room.
By the time Raoul had enjoyed a long luxurious soak and an invigorating cold plunge, the sun was starting to sink in the sky. He washed out Forida’s garments as best he could, leaving them draped over the marble slab to dry. For decency, although they were still wet, he put on the trousers again, strapping the belt with the pouch of letters round his waist and returning the dagger to its sheath.
When he emerged from the pavilion there was no sign of Aysha. The empty dishes still lay where she had left them at mid-day – which meant she had not yet made up her mind to summon her husband. Raoul supposed he should do it instead, as he had originally intended, but he was reluctant to do so. He was curious to see what Aysha would do. After such a long delay, another day or two could make no difference, after all. He resolved to wait and see what would happen – although, of course, he must be continuously on his guard. He piled the dishes onto the tray and returned them to the gate.
As he went back, he spotted her. She was sitting huddled up on a patch of lawn to the rear of the pavilion and as he drew closer he could see that she had draped a long veil over her head and shoulders. When she saw him, she pulled it right down over her face. Raoul said nothing. He simply walked straight past her, apparently without noticing.
Freed from the pretence of being Forida, Raoul could now at least take a little exercise. To the surprised consternation of the little cat who had stalked up to greet him, he turned a succession of somersaults, cartwheels, handstands and body-flips. It was a delight to find that he had not forgotten how to do them. To his amusement, he caught a glimpse of blue fabric behind one of the shady trees nearby. She was watching him, then. He redoubled his efforts, performing a complex sequence of turns, flips and springs, once the highlight of the mummers’ tumbling routine. Having executed his final, most athletic series of back-springs, he swept an elaborate bow in her direction. Predictably, there was silence. Raoul laughed and wiped the sweat from his brow.
By the time the sun set, he was ravenous. He waited behind the screen until the food had been brought – Aysha had still left no token on the tray although she’d had ample time to have done so – and then took it to their usual evening spot by the fountain.
“Aysha, where are you?” Raoul called to her. “Don’t you wish to eat?”
As he helped himself to a bowl of the usual aromatic delicacies, she appeared at a distance, still swathed in the long blue veil.
“You’ll find it pretty difficult to eat wearing that,” Raoul commented. “Would it be easier for you if I turned my back?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, have some fruit at least – there’s lovely ripe peaches. I know you like those.”
She muttered something inaudible and, moving warily, slipped by him and ran into the pavilion. He finished his meal, eating everything which had been provided apart from the fruit. This he set aside. He then piled the dishes up and took the tray back to the gate, taking his time before returning. Aysha had not emerged and the fruit still lay where he had left it. He picked it up and went inside.
It was very dark. The moon had not yet risen and she had lit none of the lamps. He could dimly distinguish her huddled shape lying, fully dressed, on the bed.
“I brought these for you,” he said, setting the fruit down beside her.
“Go away!” she muttered. “I don’t want it. It’s spoilt now you’ve had your filthy hands on it.”
“I’ll leave it there in case you change your mind. I’m going to go to bed. Good night.”
He went through to the closet, removed his belt and his only item of clothing then lay down naked on the mattress. His dagger was still in easy reach but he was safe enough for the moment. Feeling better than he had since he left Jerusalem, Raoul quickly sank into a deep untroubled sleep.
He was dreaming. A pretty girl who looked like Aysha but insisted that she was the Queen of France had taken his hand and was leading him to her bed chamber. There he would have to make love to her, just to prove that he was worthy of his new-found knightly status. He was assuring her of his willingness to oblige her and eagerly anticipating the pleasure to come.
“The same vile beastliness!”
The strident female voice cut through the pleasant fog of sleep and Raoul sat up in alarm, reaching instinctively for his dagger. Aysha was standing in the doorway, without her veil, a look of pained disgust on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
Raoul’s healthy morning state of arousal was rapidly subsiding under her accusing stare.
“I knew you were just like him really although the rest of you looks different. How vile! It’s disgusting.”
“Aysha, if you don’t like my body, no-one is asking you to look at it.”
He grabbed the saffron-coloured pantaloons and pulled them on.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Raoul de Metz.”
“That’s foreign, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s French. I told you. I’m an envoy to the Emir from Queen Eleanor.”
“What lies! I don’t believe a word of it. You came here because of me – to deceive me and torment me.”
Raoul sat down on the bed and reached for his pouch, detaching it from the belt.
“Look in there,” he said. “Then you’ll see.”
She looked at it for a moment without moving then snatched it from his hand and darted out through the curtain. Raoul followed her, standing just inside the door and watching her as she emptied the contents onto the bed. There were several gold coins and the little ornate bottle as well as the package of folded parchment.
“The seal bears the arms of France,” Raoul told her. “That’s called the Oriflamme.”
She turned it in her hands, ran a finger over the embossed seal and then setting it aside, she picked up a gold coin.
“This looks strange,” she said.
“It’s Byzantine. The coins were given to me because I saved a young girl called Kamala from a man who was trying to hurt her.”
Aysha shot him a look from under her lashes.
“What’s this?” She picked up the bottle.
“Medicine.”
She pulled out the stopper and raised the bottle to her lips. Raoul leaped across the room and snatched it from her. She started back in alarm.
“I’m sorry to frighten you, Aysha, but it’s very strong. I didn’t understand much Arabic when I got this but I think it’s really poison, not medicine at all. Is that what the word ‘samm’ means?”
“Samm is poison, yes.”
“The doctor warned me to be careful.”
“Why do you have it with you?”
“I thought it could be useful. Perhaps a few drops of this might be preferable to having my head chopped off – or other vile beastly parts of my anatomy which I would be extremely loath to spare. Give me the stopper, please.”
She regarded him angrily for a moment then threw the little cork at him, snatched up her veil and ran out of the pavilion into the dazzling morning sunlight.
Raoul returned the things to his pouch, went through to the closet and tucked it under the mattress. It was unnecessary now, he felt, to keep it with him constantly. Having done so he went out, collected the food from the gate, and offered the first choice of the dishes to Aysha. She still had not eaten the peaches he had left for her the previous night. Grudgingly, she accepted a few items and then watched warily as he made his own selection and sat down a few yards away where he began to eat.
“I am going to bathe now,” she announced when she had finished. She had lifted the veil after a few minutes of initial struggle and now simply wore it covering her hair. “If you come anywhere near the bathing room, if you eve
n lift one corner of the curtain I shall scream so loudly that they’ll hear me miles away. Do you understand?”
“Fine, Aysha. Go and enjoy yourself. Tell me when you’re done and I’ll take my turn.”
For a moment it looked as if she was going to speak but then she turned abruptly and walked away.
Raoul spent the rest of the day practising his acrobatics, bathing and lying in the warm sun. Aysha kept some distance from him but she watched him incessantly – even in the bathing-room he suspected she was spying on him. Raoul wondered what she was thinking and chuckled at her hypocrisy. She had left off the veil after her bath but had selected a relatively plain long-sleeved tunic made of violet silk which she wore with a pair of wide legged trousers rather than those which fastened at the ankles. In these clothes her body was certainly less visible than usual. Raoul now seemed to be the one who was displaying himself.
That evening, once they had eaten and it grew dark, Raoul began to sing. He chose a gentle romantic ballad, in Breton, which he sung softly and plaintively.
“I thought you said you had a voice like a crow,” Aysha said when he had finished.
“That was Forida, not me. I used to be a minstrel, years ago, and a tumbler.”
“And now you’re an intruder and a spy.”
“Now I’m a knight in the service of the beautiful Queen of France,” Raoul corrected her.
“Is she beautiful?”
“Extremely.”
“More beautiful than...” She broke off. “What’s she like?”
Raoul described the Queen and told Aysha how he had fought with the Turks to save Eleanor’s life. To his astonishment, the girl had never even heard of Crusaders – which was probably just as well, given their reputation with the Damascenes. Then he sang one of the songs he had composed while at the court in Jerusalem, afterwards translating the words for her. As he softly repeated each line, he made it sound as if the words were meant for Aysha, not for Queen Eleanor.
“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” she interrupted him abruptly after a while. “I am going to bed.”
The Rightful Heir Page 42