Beloved Pilgrim

by Christopher Hawthorne Moss

  The older man reassured him, “One gets used to it. Take the smoke into your lungs and hold it there for a while. That hastens the effect.”

  “And what is that effect?” Elias asked, taking in a deep breath and holding it longer.

  “Not unlike inebriation, and like inebriation, its impact depends on the quantity you take in.”

  The servants came in with platters and bowls of what seemed as rich a variety of delicacies as the basileus’s great reception. Andronikos had them put the dishes on a low table in front of them. “Have some oysters,” the eunuch suggested.

  Elias reached into the plate, picked out an oyster that simmered in a rich garlicky sauce, and popped it into his mouth. Andronikos did the same, looking into his face as he bit his oyster in half, ate the rest, and sensually licked the sauce from his lips.

  “I thank you, your Excellency, for your generosity in providing me and my squire such a magnificent lodging.”

  Andronikos proffered different bowls and platters and asked, “And you are being served well, my lord, by my own servants?”

  Elias nodded vigorously. Around a mouthful of rice and fruit that had been cooked in a dark-green leaf, he said, “Indeed, most satisfactory.”

  “And the girl. She pleases you?”

  Elias looked up sharply. Blushing, he said, “Maliha? Well enough, my lord. I have not had much for her to do. She is willing enough.”

  The older man looked down, as if trying to think how to say something. “You do not take her to your bed?”

  Elias reddened further. Telling himself it might be a proper question for a host in this part of the world, he counseled himself to calm. “M-my lord, no. It is not necessary. I have no need of that… her.”

  A pleased smile spirited across the eunuch’s lips. “If there is anything at all you require, my lord, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “I did ask the young woman to make herself known and wait for invitation to enter the chamber. I should like all the servants to do the same,” he asserted.

  “I shall make it known. Never fear. Now let us enjoy this modest fare so we can relax and… talk… after.”

  The meal was pleasing but did not leave one overfull. Andronikos continued to press wine and the hookah on Elias. Though the air in the tent was not hot, it was warm and fragrant. Elias took his cup and leaned back on the cushions, feeling more than a little somnolent.

  “My lord, may I call you Elias? I insist you call me by my given name,” the eunuch said softly.

  “But of course, Andronikos,” he replied and toasted him with wine.

  Andronikos smiled and gazed up at the roof of the tent. The sun was creeping behind a thick tree, muting the light within. “In Germany, in your home, did you have a betrothed?”

  “I did. I left… ah, her behind.”

  “Did you have anyone… special? Besides her, of course.”

  Elias thought about his brother. “There was one… fellow, like a brother to me, really.”

  “A brother?”

  “Yes, very much like a brother. He is no longer with us.”

  “You mean he left the pilgrimage?”

  “No….” Elias’s voice trailed off. “He passed on. He died.”

  Andronikos lifted himself on his elbow and leaned closer. “Oh, my dear, how sad. I grieve for his loss, for your loss.”

  Elias smiled gratefully. “I miss him terribly. So does Albre… so does my squire.”

  Andronikos’s eyebrows lifted. “So?”

  Elias closed his eyes. A languor had stolen over him. He thought he might drift off but lacked the volition to fight it. He felt Andronikos shift on the cushions. All at once, the eunuch was lying lightly on him, his arms on the cushions on either side of Elias’s waist. Elias’s eyes shot open to find Andronikos’s face inches from his own. His eyes were so full of desire that it took his breath away.

  “Andronikos!” he breathed when he could speak again. The languor, the sensuality of the food, the drink, the scented air, the muted light and soft pillows made him want to let Andronikos sink down into him.

  “My sweet, do not fear. I know the truth, your secret. It is safe with me.” He lifted his hand and stroked Elias’s cheek. “So soft, so smooth.”

  “You know? How can you know?”

  Andronikos reached for his throat and caressed it, letting his finger slip under the collar of his tunic. “I sense it. If you know what to look for, it is easy to see.”

  Elias glanced down at his tunic to see if his breasts were defying the cloth that bound them. “Ah,” he sighed.

  Andronikos let his lips just brush Elias’s. “So sweet. So fair. I have never seen a man so seductively soft yet fully a man.” He stopped, astonished, as Elias jerked and pushed him away.

  “No, no, you don’t understand. I am not… you are not… I can’t!” He lifted one knee to push himself up with his heel and barely missed kneeing Andronikos in his groin. He felt the stiffness there. “I am sorry. You are such a good-looking man. It’s just….”

  Andronikos, his eyes lowered and a regretful smile on his lips, pulled himself to a sitting position. “No, no, my lord, do not apologize. It is for me to do so. I misread the signals. I am sorry. I hope you will not despise me now.”

  Elias sat up and shifted to his knees. His head was still fuzzy, but the sudden awareness was bringing him back to his senses. “No, no, I shall not despise you. I never would. Love is love. Pleasure is pleasure. I don’t care what anyone says. It’s just that you and I are not….”

  Andronikos’s chin lifted and he smiled ruefully. “Meant to be?” he suggested.

  Elias gazed at him. “That’s it. We were not meant to be. But….” He smiled. “It is not without some regret, your Excellency.”

  His host’s eyes reflected relief and gratitude. He started to his feet. “I thank you, young lord, for your excellent company. Now I must beg your leave. I am afraid I have an appointment.”

  Elias sprang to his own feet and bowed. “I understand. Thank you as well for this lovely afternoon and the succulent supper.” He backed away while Andronikos looked wistfully after him.

  Outside the pavilion, the eunuch’s servant gave him one wondering look, then fell back into inscrutability. Elias glanced at him, mumbled something, and made his way quickly into the villa.

  FOR THE rest of that day and much of the next, Elias had little time to dwell on the awkwardness of any encounters with Andronikos.

  The honey-eyed woman did not appear that same evening, nor in the morning. Elias realized he had not seen her anywhere. He found himself looking for Maliha as he moved through the house, longing to catch a glimpse of her.

  “Where is the woman who was serving me, you know, Maliha?” he finally asked the man who seemed to be a sort of chamberlain to Andronikos.

  “Who, my lord? Oh, the half-Turkish woman? We let her go. She was not working out in the house.”

  “You did what?” Elias cried. “Why?”

  The man looked annoyed. Pulling himself up to his full height, he replied in a dignified way, “She did not fit. She had no understanding of what was required of her. You yourself said—”

  “I said nothing of the kind. Where did she go?” Elias was frantic. He felt responsible for the young woman’s departure. “Where does she live?”

  The man pressed his thin lips tight together. “I am sure I do not know.”

  Growing ever angrier and more frustrated, Elias put his hand to where his sword would normally be. The fact that it was in his chamber fueled his irritation. He glanced about. “I shall speak to your master about your insolence!”

  The manservant’s face paled. “Please, my lord, do not. I can only tell you that the girl must live outside the city walls. Turks are not allowed to live within unless they have some employment with a Greek household.”

  “But she’s only half Turkish!”

  The man’s lips curled almost imperceptibly. “Is she? That is what they all claim.”

&nbs
p; Elias moved close to the man to use his superior height to intimidate him. “Has it ever occurred to you that there are lots of children in this city who are the product of Greek cocks not caring where they leave their seed?” He stood glaring and breathing hard on the man, whose face was still pale and averted. “Where do I find the Turkish sector?”

  The man tried to ease away. Elias stepped forward to keep his face above him. “Your Excellency, you should go to the gate of St. Romanus and ask there. It is just outside. Ask for the street of the laundresses.”

  “And where might that gate be?” he demanded.

  “North and west. On the other side of the city. Ask anyone on the street. But, my lord, you will have to go through some rough sectors. Stay on the main avenue.”

  His lower lip thrust out menacingly, Elias stared into the chamberlain’s face a few moments, then stepped back. Without another glance or sound, he spun on his heel and dashed to his own chamber.

  When he arrived, he remembered that Albrecht was out arranging for provisions. He would have to go alone. He found his coat of chain mail and his belt, sheath, and sword. He struggled into the coat and belted his sword atop his crusader’s tabard. Without a word to anyone, he hurried out of the house, then stood looking up and down the wide street with its rows of villas and turned to the west.

  Elias’s long strides helped to make up for the fact that he was unsure how to get to the gate. That and the sight of chain mail and a sword on a knight who looked fit to kill opened a path before him as he went. He did not look at the buildings as he threaded his way, so he did not notice the change from marble halls to modest flats to rickety wooden tenements. Instead of more or less clean cobbled streets, the way was muddy. During the first part of his journey, people he passed wore various dress, from elegant to modest but neat. Gradually the people he passed were ragged and dirty and their demeanor hostile. He did not know how close he came to being pounced upon by a gang of youths. It was only his determination that made them fall back, that and the guards at the gate.

  One of those let his spear slant away from his armored body to block Elias’s way.

  “Stand aside. I have business without,” Elias demanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Not so fast, my lord. You must state your business,” the man demanded, equally firm. He spoke in Frankish, just understandable to Elias.

  He pulled his sword out of its sheath an inch but thought better of it. Letting it slide back home, he relaxed. “I seek a woman in the Turkish sector.”

  The guard’s eyebrow shot up. “If you desire a woman, there are cleaner women in the city.”

  “I don’t desire a woman. I seek one woman in particular. Her name is Maliha.”

  Grinning, the man scoffed, “I don’t know their names!”

  Elias remembered what the manservant had said. “Show me to the street of the laundresses.” He felt in his pouch for a coin. Of the three he found, he proffered the silver one.

  The guard stared at him for a few moments. He nodded slowly, took the coin, and walked him to the wicket in the gate. “I will need your name, my lord.”

  “The Ritter Elias von Winterkirche,” he stated haughtily.

  The guard made him repeat it twice, then as he went through the open gate called after him, “Be careful. These hellspawn would just as soon slit your gullet as look at you.”

  Elias did not look back, but headed in the direction the man had pointed. If the slum in the city was bad, the makeshift shanties were foul. There was barely room for one person to pass down the streets. Naked children, many with sores, stood with huge bellies, staring empty-eyed at him as he went by. Their lassitude was such that they did not even stretch out their arms to beg. He strode down the passageways, keeping his eyes moving from straight ahead to dart up and over to guard against ambush. He heard women’s voices up ahead and the splashing of water and slap of wet cloth. He all but ran the rest of the way.

  When he emerged into a small, wide area with a circular well surrounded by women who were themselves soaked with dirty water, he stopped and looked around. One woman dropped a heavy pile of wet clothing in the mud and screamed. The others whirled, and seeing a Frankish knight in their midst, they too began to scream, to snatch up children, and to back away.

  “Where can I find Maliha?” Elias shouted.

  The women stood clumped together, staring, some weeping.

  Elias frantically surveyed them. “Maliha? Where can I find Maliha?”

  “I am here,” came a familiar voice from the door to a slanting shack. “What the hell do you think, coming here?”

  Elias shot his eyes toward the sound. “Maliha! There you are! I came to find you!”

  “Why? What would you want with me?”

  The honey-colored eyes glared at his, full of affronted pride. If Elias had despised their meekness and subservience, his heart pounded at the defiance and fire in them now. His jaw dropped, and he felt heat rise in his body, starting in his belly and creeping up. He strode to the woman. “Where can we be alone?” he spat through his teeth.

  The honey eyes burned into his dark, angry ones. They darted to the other women, who were now chattering among themselves. “Come in here, away from those hens.” Maliha led him through the flap over the entry and into darkness.

  As Maliha turned to face Elias, he clasped her arms. He cut off her cry of protest as his lips found hers in the darkness and pressed hard. Elias’s tongue forced its way into her mouth.

  She bit it.

  Elias jumped back, putting his hand to his mouth and tasting blood. “Why did you do that?”

  “Why do you think? Do you think I should want you to force your way into my home and rape me?” Maliha punched him square in the chest. “You wanted me to stop being meek. Well, does this please you, Excellency?” she said with a sneer in her voice. She hauled off and slugged Elias in the chest with both fists.

  Elias could not help but smile as he saw Maliha rubbing her knuckles where they made contact with the chain mail under his tabard. “As you see, I am armed against attack.”

  Maliha had gone still. Elias’s eyes were adjusting, and he could see the woman’s head covering had slipped askew, letting the long black hair loose on the right side of her head. His impulse was to reach toward Maliha and take her into his arms. But instead the dark beauty came forward and placed herself there, tilting his chin up and parting his lips. With widened eyes, Elias lowered his head and sank into a kiss of such poignant sweetness he thought he would swoon.

  He was mystified when he realized her hands had gone to his chest. She was pressing the area of his breasts, kneading the swell. Maliha raised her arms and put them around his neck. Elias slowly snaked his own mailed arms around the soft, yielding body in his arms. He felt Maliha press her body along his own. He could not think to wonder what had changed. Their tongues met in each other’s mouths and sweetly slid across and under each other. Maliha’s tongue slid between his teeth. He felt as if the juices in his most private place were flowing out of him and down his britches.

  Just as her delicious attention to his breasts started to coalesce in Elias’s mind, suggesting an explanation, a shrill voice came from the doorway. Maliha jumped back and spun. She screamed something angry in Turkish. An older woman, who had a small child in her arms, returned vituperation for vituperation.

  Elias stood, stunned, unable to understand a word. The exchange continued with growing heat. Finally, Maliha snatched the child out of the woman’s arms, turned to Elias, and, grabbing his elbow, pushed him out a back doorway.

  Outside, the three were not alone. Women and several children squatted in the mud at various activities.

  “Get out of here!” Maliha shouted and gave Elias a shove that nearly knocked him over.

  “Maliha, Come back with me! I am going to get your position back in Andronikos’s house. It was my fault they let you go.”

  Maliha stood holding the child on her hip. Her face changed to an expr
ession of revelation. “I wondered if you had gotten me sacked. Why did you do that?”

  The shrill voice came from within the shack. Maliha’s face turned in the voice’s direction. “You have to go. Yes, please try to get my position back. See if you can get them to let me bring my son.”

  “Your son?” Elias was astonished. The voice shrilled again. “Yes, yes, I will do that. Come to the house tomorrow. I will see to it that—”

  “Just go! You are putting us in danger already. I will be there.”

  Elias turned and dashed away. When he got to the gate and saw the smirk on the guard’s face, he hauled off and slugged him as hard as he could in the mouth. “Don’t you say a single word. Not a breath!” he growled, then passed him and strode away up the miserable street of the slum.

  ELIAS SLIPPED into Andronikos’s villa and went straight to his chamber. He slammed the door shut, went to his bed, and threw himself on it, chain mail, sword, and all. He was miserable. And he had a dilemma. He would beg the eunuch to take back Maliha and let her bring the boy, but then what? How would he break the news to Maliha that he possessed the same female body as she? Would she make a scene and tell everyone? He kept playing the image in his head, over and over, of a horrified pair of honey-colored eyes and a voice screaming at him, “Unnatural! Abomination!”

  He heard the door slide open and shut quietly. “I thought I said to ask first!” he spat.

  After a pause, Albrecht spoke. “May I come in, my lord?”

  Elias sat up on the edge of the bed. He swiped across his eyes with a corner of the counterpane. Albrecht stood and stared at him. Elias had wept before him in the past, but nothing like this. He looked him up and down. “My lord! You are bleeding! What happened?” He dashed to him and knelt to examine the blood on his britches. “Are you cut?”

  Elias looked down and saw the spots of blood on his britches. He jumped up and turned around. Seeing the stain on the counterpane, he wailed. “Damn it, I suppose everyone in Constantinople saw the bloodstains down my legs as I went through the streets. I have my flux, that’s all. But a man doesn’t get the flux, not this kind.”