"Thank you for telling me, Don Valentin. I assure you I have no desire to watch men being hurt, but if it is Paco's wish I watch him fight, then I will."
"And if he loses, no doubt you will challenge the victor," Valentin mocked.
His remark brought to mind his words of the previous evening. Somehow she forced herself to meet his searching gaze. "Last night you called me a savage. Why?"
"A golden savage. Like a wild horse you have yet to be broken. The man who tames you will gain himself a great prize, but I fear there are no men capable of such a task at the court of Alfonso." As Madelon sat with cheeks flaming, he bowed low before her and was gone before she could think of anything to say in answer.
***
The dress Rebecca brought for Madelon was of pale yellow material. It had the feel of silk and was pleasantly cool on her skin. A tasselled belt accentuated her tiny waist. Madelon stood regarding herself in the gilt-framed mirror suspended from one of the silken walls. She could see no sign of a savage in the reflection facing her, in fact the reverse seemed to apply more aptly. She looked paler than usual and the long days of travelling had caused her hair to lose its usual lustre.
"Am I really beautiful, Rebecca?"
The Jewish girl nodded, smiling at her uncertainty. They had known each other only a short while, but already they were friends.
"Valentin tells me you will be leaving soon. I was hoping we would be able to spend more time together. I don't see many other girls of my own age, not that I can talk to as you and I have talked, you understand."
"Don Valentin is taking us to his castle." Madelon began to braid her hair into one thick plait, which hung forward over her shoulder. "I would like us to remain friends too, Rebecca, but I hate it here. I can't wait to get away."
"Valentin realizes this, that's why he has made other arrangements," Rebecca answered. "He doesn't want you to worry over what happened."
"How can I help it? I shall see the faces of those horrible men in my dreams until the day I die. How can you live with them?"
"I understand them," the girl replied simply. "To you some of their ways may seem barbaric, but I don't find them any crueller than the men and women who burnt my home and stoned my mother to death." Rebecca placed an arm around Madelon's shoulders, and smiled at her. "Try to forget it. Come and see your brother, he is conscious now."
CHAPTER THREE
The Jewish doctor Abraham ben Canaan was with Madelon's brother when she slipped into the tent.
"Good morning, Dona Madelon, you are looking better this morning. You obviously slept well."
"Don Valentin had no right to drug me," Madelon protested. The effects of the sleeping potion were wearing off now and she was remembering, with apprehension, Valentin Maratin's intention to take her and Paco to his home and wondering why she had not questioned it.
"Come now, it has done you no harm - far from it. You speak of him drugging you as if you think he had designs on your person. Believe me, nothing was further from his mind. He gave you a drug to help you sleep, a strong one I admit, but you were in great distress. I prepared it myself and one for your brother too and as you can see he is greatly improved this morning."
Madelon moved closer to where Paco lay and saw his eyes were open and he was trying weakly to smile at her. His face, although still pale, had lost that awful greyish tint which had caused her so much alarm earlier.
"Please forgive my foolishness," Madelon said contritely. "I know you mean us no harm."
"You should direct your apology to Valentin, my dear child. Not only did he rescue you, but he sent men after the unfortunate women taken by Mahmud's raiders. Why you seem to think he is an ogre with two heads, I don't know."
"I question his being here in this encampment," Madelon said, aware her brother was taking in every word of the conversation. The smile had vanished from his features and she wondered if he had connected the name Valentin with anyone he knew.
"Do you question my being here?" Abraham ben Canaan asked with a frown.
"No. Rebecca told me something of your past troubles."
"And that Yusuf gave us a home when everyone else spat in our faces?"
"Yes but I understand that. The faith of Jews and Moslems is not unalike."
The lector's small brown eyes studied Madelon with new interest.
"A woman of learning," he exclaimed with a smile. "You and I must have a long talk sometime. You are right, the two faiths are similar but whereas the Christians refuse to accept the existence of any form of worship other than their own, the Moslems are more liberal. They not only acknowledge other faiths, but allow men and women to live in peace and go their own way."
"How can you say that when Moorish hordes incessantly cross the borders of both Leon and Castile to plunder and kill the Christian 'dogs' they hate so much. Is this the acknowledgement of other faiths you speak of?"
"That is no question for someone of your obvious intelligence," Abraham ben Canaan chided softly. "Iberians, Phoenicians and Celts, of course, Romans and Visigoths have all lived in Spain and given something of themselves to the country whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. In a.d. 711, it is your calendar I am referring to of course, not my own, the Saracens under Tank came in thousands and conquered Spain. The Jews made peace with these newcomers who did not want to persecute them as the ecclesiastical councils of the Visigoths had done. Spaniards everywhere were allowed a freedom they had never known before - even marriages between the races was allowed; How many of the great Christian families today have a hint of Moorish blood in them? By and large I should say the population prospered and could have gone on doing so."
"I can't agree with you there," Madelon interposed.
"Are we better off now?" the doctor challenged. "On the throne of Castile we have Sancho, while ruling Leon is his brother Alfonso. Their greed drove them to imprison their younger brother and divide up his kingdom of Galicia between them. That wasn't enough and now they seek to take each other's - and enlist the help of the very men they have sworn to destroy to try and achieve this."
"I don't understand their reasoning either," Madelon had to confess.
"There will be much you don't understand in this world, Dona Madelon - much you will seek to learn, only to find the answers unsatisfactory. Your mind thirsts after knowledge, that much I have learned from our little talk."
Madelon wondered if Rebecca had told him of her life in the convent, but if so, he was obviously not going to mention it.
"I once had a great deal of time with nothing to do," she said smiling. "I used to sit in my room looking at the bare walls or sewing. One day I realized if I had to go on like that much longer I would go mad. My thirst for knowledge as you call it, began that day, I suppose. I have had several learned men as tutors. One was a Jew, like yourself - a philosopher. He too had lived many years among the Moslems. I don't profess to understand all the things he told me, he was much too wise and I was only seventeen, but he did teach me their language which I found fascinating and not as difficult as he said it would be. And then there was Father Lucien from Navarre. He taught me Latin and French and how to grow flowers. When plague came to a nearby village, he was one of the first to go and nurse the sick. He caught it almost immediately and was dead within a week. His last wish was to be buried in the garden we both loved and when I last saw his grave, it was covered with the most beautiful flowers. I think he must be very happy living amid such splendour."
Abraham ben Canaan stared thoughtfully at the whimsical smile on Madelon's face, puzzled by this girl who spoke with such feeling for mere tutors, yet had not once mentioned her father or mother.
"Water - I'm thirsty." Paco's rude tones brought their conversation to an abrupt end.
Madelon saw the annoyance in the doctor's expression at the deliberate interruption and also resentment.
"I will leave you to talk to your brother alone," he said, "but for a few minutes only. If he is to make the journey to the Castle de
Aguilas he will need all his strength."
Madelon nodded understandingly. The slave girl who always seemed to be hovering at Paco's side followed the doctor out of the tent.
"How are you feeling now, Paco, you look much better," Madelon said, bending over him.
"So your three years were not so lonely as you let me believe, or as wasted. No wonder our surroundings don't seem to bother you. What have you been doing since we were brought here - being cordial to our enemies?"
Madelon bit back the angry retort which rose to her lips. He was jealous again because she had shared a few moments with someone else and she could not reproach him.
"If by our enemies you mean the doctor whose skill and attention has saved your life, yes I was being cordial."
"What was that he said about my needing my strength?"
"We are leaving tomorrow for the home of Valentin Maratin in the mountains. Rebecca the doctor's daughter thinks he feels we will be more comfortable there and not feel so-so ..."
"Trapped," Paco said grimly, "because that's what we are. Maratin did you say? What is the name of the other man who brought us here?"
"Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar."
"Sancho's men - his best. Cut-throats both of them."
"You are being unfair," Madelon protested.
"You don't know them as I do," Paco growled. "Rodrigo Diaz killed our father. Did he tell you that?"
"Yes. He didn't try to hide the fact."
"I'll wager he wasn't sorry either," her brother answered bleakly.
"He helped to save our lives. We are in his debt."
"I'd rather be dead than owe him anything." Paco pulled himself up on one elbow and motioned to their surroundings with a sweep of his arm that made him wince in pain. "What kind of men live like this - with Moorish heathen - and enjoy their way of life - have Moorish mistresses?"
Madelon thought of Rebecca and of the close relationship she shared with the two men. She was no Moslem, but was she the mistress of Valentin Maratin or perhaps Rodriguez, who wanted so much to take her to court? No, somehow she could not believe k of her new found friend,
"You have no right to say such a thing," she said fiercely. "You have no proof."
Paco's eyes narrowed as he saw the colour rising in her cheeks. Harshly he said, "Valentin Maratin spent a year tracking down a Moorish girl - his mistress who was captured by the king's men on a raid into one of their border villages. The Moors had been crossing into Leon, pillaging and burning and carrying off our women as is their usual practice. This Castilian, you defend, challenged the officer to combat and killed him. The girl had been abused, I admit, but no more than Christian women in the same circumstances. He took the girl with him, in the process of which he murdered another three men. The girl was apparently wounded and it's rumoured she died soon afterwards. The Lord of the Eagles never lacks a woman by his side. He's planning to marry his ward, I believe. He'll probably use her money to buy a Moorish army, like his friend Diaz."
Madelon stood in a shocked silence until Paco demanded, "Well, do you still defend him?"
"I was doing nothing of the kind. I merely pointed out he and Rodrigo Diaz saved our lives. Whatever they have done in the past, no matter how they chose to five or what women they five with, we are in their debt."
"You disappoint me, Madelon."
"Perhaps you would have preferred to see me stripped naked and paraded on the auction block in some slave market for men to inspect and gloat over, while you were being led away to spend the rest of your life chained to an oar in a galley ship. Not that you would have lived long. The doctor said you would have died from loss of blood if he had not stopped the bleeding."
Paco lay back with a grimace. Then reaching out his hand he caught one of Madelon's and squeezed it.
"Remind me not to argue with you again, little sister. Your learned tutors instructed you well. Did they also give you that sharp edge to your tongue? It wasn't there as a child."
"The hatred of a man put it there. Fm going to use it on any man in the future who thinks because I am a woman I have no mind of my own, no opinions to voice, no will but the one men assert so forcefully over the weaker sex."
"My God, weaker did you say? Carry on like this, and I'll find a suit of armour for you and you can fight alongside me," her brother chuckled.
Madelon drew away from him, embarrassed she had allowed herself to give way to some of her most secret thoughts.
"I must let you rest."
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my tent. Try to sleep and don't worry."
As she pushed aside the entrance and stepped out into the hot mid-day sun, the slave girl slipped past her, carrying the drink Paco had demanded, and resumed her position at the foot of his bed. There was no denying her brother was well cared for, she mused.
No one took much notice of her as she wandered through the encampment. It was too hot to return to her tent and she was driven by a curiosity to see more of the Moors for herself. The doctor had aroused her interest more than he cared to admit. Groups of men clustered around fires talking, broke off their conversations to watch her pass by, but no one made any attempt to detain her. At a nearby stream veiled women were busy washing clothes. Madelon had not been watching them long when a cold voice behind her demanded.
"Have you taken leave of your senses, Dona Madelon? What are you doing wandering around alone?"
Madelon turned and looked up into the angry face of Valentin Maratin.
"Are these people not your friends?" she asked quietly. "Come now, Don Valentin, what possible harm could they do me without arousing the anger of their own leader. Unless of course, you are not what you seem and my brother and I are prisoners after all - as he is inclined to believe."
Her companion stood regarding her with his hands on his hips, an amused smile playing around his lean mouth. The white burnous he wore billowed out behind him in the wind. He was much taller than Madelon - the top of her head barely came up to his shoulders and his arrogant stance made her feel like a child in his presence.
"It is customary for women to be veiled outside the harem - only prostitutes leave their faces uncovered," Valentin said casting a quick glance over her flushed cheeks. "As you are a guest here, your conduct may be overlooked, but not forgiven. You may have those lovely eyes scratched out by one of Yusuf's women."
"Does he have many slaves in his harem?" Madelon asked in a low voice. Now she looked more closely at the women about her she did catch sight of enmity, even hatred blazing out of some of the eyes just visible above the flimsy veils.
"Slaves no. Women he has purchased in the markets and who now live a life of ease and comfort - yes, around fifty or sixty, I believe. They are all Moslems, I assure you," he added as he saw the questioning look in her eyes.
"And you call this man your friend?" she asked in amazement.
"More than that, he is like a brother to me. Come, I will escort you back to your tent."
Madelon walked with him in silence for a few yards, then plucking up her courage, she said suddenly, "I have been speaking to Rebecca and it seems I may have misjudged you, Don Valentin. In fact I made rather a fool of myself yesterday, didn't I?"
"What woman doesn't when faced with circumstances she can't talk her way out of," Valentin answered in a dry tone. "I've seen tears before and I take little notice of them. I thank God the women in my family are not prone to such dramatics."
Madelon caught her breath in anger. Here she was trying to make peace between them and in return he was insulting her again.
"I'm trying to apologize," she said.
"And as you have made the effort, the least I can do is accept, although I assure you it wasn't necessary. I would have done the same for any woman."
"Moorish women as well?" Madelon asked with iced sweetness.
The remark shot home and she saw his green eyes gleam with sudden malice.
"So you've heard that story, have you? Well, ifs true. Now I suppose
I have confirmed the unpleasant opinion you have of me?"
"And you really killed four men over - over a Moorish girl?"
The look of anger which crossed Valentin's face was so frightening, Madelon stepped back in alarm, beginning to wish she had never mentioned the subject.
"Who gave you the right to stand in judgement over me? Perhaps if you had been violated with the same brutality as Yasmin, you'd have more understanding and compassion. But then you are only a child and in need of a good thrashing at that. She was no slave girl, Dona Madelon, but a princess in her own right ..." he broke off with a fierce expletive. "Why should I bother to explain to you?"
He strode off and Madelon followed, oddly disturbed by the depth of the emotions she had unwittingly aroused in him. He must have loved her very much, she thought. Yasmin, it was a pretty name and conjured to mind a dark-eyed girl, beautiful - proud - and seductive enough to have captured the stony heart of Valentin Maratin, Lord of the Eagles.
Valentin had reached her tent and was waiting for her to catch up with him.
"You are to be Yusuf's guest at dinner this evening," he said as she drew level. "Please have the goodness to be ready when I send for you."
"I have no intention of being put on show to amuse your heathen friends," Madelon said stiffly and brushed past him. He did not follow and chose to ignore the way she sat down on the divan with her back deliberately towards him as if to signal their conversation was at an end.
"To refuse the hospitality of your host will be the worst of insults. Must I remind you your brother would be dead but for the help of Yusuf's doctor. You are obligated to him whether you like it or not."
"It is an obligation I refuse to accept," Madelon retorted. "I refuse to stir from this tent until Paco and I leave with you in the morning."
She expected further argument, but when she turned around, Valentin Maratin had gone.
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