Madelon

by Valentina Luellen

  Madelon found her brother was asleep. His colour was steadily improving and after questioning the slave girl at his side and assuring herself he had improved since her last visit, she left him.

  Walking slowly back through the camp to her own tent, Madelon was seized with a desire to stay in the Moorish camp until her brother was fully recovered. If only Yusuf had not taken a liking to her. The Moors could be kind, she reasoned, and she had been treated with respect and courtesy, more so than by her Christian rescuers. The camp was quiet. Most of the fires had been quenched except for one some way in front of her and she found it easy to forget many soldiers had died and the poor Elvira and her serving women had been dragged off into slavery by these people. Men, women and children slept in the tents on either side of her, ordinary human beings - a dog ran across her path barking noisily - somewhere a baby was crying. Life went on here the same as in Christian villages. Were the two peoples so vastly different after all?

  A scream pierced the stillness of the night - an agonizing cry for mercy which was abruptly curtailed by ... she did not know what. She stopped and quickly crossed herself, demanding of Diya, "What was that?"

  "Alas, I fear it was Aiya," the Persian girl replied calmly.

  "Do you mean the dancing girl?"

  "Yes, mistress."

  "In heaven's name what is happening to her?" Madelon's eyes searched the darkened tents surrounding her and came to rest on one where a fire still burned. She could see a light flickering inside and started towards it. Diya gave a wail and hung on to her arm.

  "No, stay here. You must not interfere. She must be punished for what she did."

  Madelon shook her off and headed determinedly in the direction of the fire.

  "She did nothing except show a little jealousy," she retorted.

  There was no guard outside the tent. With Diya continually lamenting the fearful consequences which would befall her mistress if she interfered, Madelon flung aside the entrance. The scene within kept her transfixed in horror on the threshold.

  In the centre of the tent stood a brazier with glowing coals filling it to the brim. The heat was so intense it made her cringe, and the fumes were suffocating. Her eyes widened at the sight of a curved sabre embedded in the flaming coals. Beside the brazier stood the negro who had pursued Diya into Madelon's tent - Bula - the executioner. He was naked except for a piece of cloth tied around his loins and in the intense heat the sweat ran in rivulets down his black body. He looked like something from another world.

  Steeling herself to look further, Madelon switched her gaze to the far side of the tent. There, chained to a large wooden post was the slave girl Aiya. Her wrists were shackled above her head and she had obviously been beaten by the state of the skin on her back.

  Madelon brushed aside Diya's frightened warning and stepped inside, her eyes fastening scornfully on the tall, impassive-faced Moor standing at Aiya's side.

  "Order her to be released this instant."

  Yusuf's face broke into a sardonic smile, but realizing she was serious, the smile was replaced by a look of intense anger.

  "Unless you wish to see how I deal with ungrateful slaves, I suggest you return to your tent," he said coldly.

  "Yes, mistress, please come away," Diya begged plucking at Madelon's arm with nerveless fingers.

  "You showed me kindness when I expected almost anything, including rape and torture," Madelon said, holding her ground. "Your own doctor tends my brother, but for him Paco would have died. You have treated me as an honoured guest and shown me Moslems and Christians can be friends and when I begin to trust you, you do this ... " she motioned to the whipped girl who was staring at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. Did she think she had come to gloat, Madelon wondered, and hoped Aiya could understand a little of what was being said. "What kind of nam can stand by and watch a woman being treated like this? She must mean something to you, if you have chosen her as your favourite."

  "Your heart is too soft, she would have scratched out your eyes," Yusuf interrupted. 'This lesson will prove to her it is she who is the slave, not I. Will you return to your tent, Dona Madelon, or must I summon men to have you taken there by force?"

  Instead of suppressing Madelon's wild desire to help the unfortunate slave girl, his words gave her fresh courage.

  Yusuf was amazed to see her advance closer to where he stood, with eyes blazing and defiance written all over her face. The flames from the brazier made the gold of her dress glitter so much it hurt his eyes to look at her, but painful as it was he could not drag them away. She was magnificent - truly a golden savage. Only now did he realize how accurate Valentin's description of her had been. The ice had melted and he was confronted by a woman such as he had never known before, and the upsurge of admiration helped to quell the anger of being told what to do by a mere woman. There was fire in her eyes, her face, her heart. She would no more bend to his will than she would accept his faith and for the first time, Yusuf, Prince of Telhan, Shadow of Allah, bowed to the wishes of a woman.

  "Go and fetch some women to take care of Aiya," he ordered Diya. The little Persian was gone before the words were all out of his mouth. She had been standing in the background trembling, certain not only her mistress, but she herself, would end up in a slave market for daring to interfere.

  "As much as I enjoy your company - and admire your Spirit, Dona Madelon. I hope you will not make a practice of interfering in my affairs. The next time you might find yourself in Aiya's place with me administering the lashes." He came around the brazier to where she stood, unable to believe; she had really won. "No, perhaps a whipping would not break you, but there are other ways. Some of them you would find most unpleasant."

  Madelon followed him outside into the refreshing night air, her cheeks flaming.

  "What will happen to Aiya now?"

  "She will not give way to her feelings so foolishly again. I have forgiven her. When she is well she will take her place in my favour again. I am really quite fond of the girl."

  Madelon almost choked at the indifference in his voice.

  Half a dozen heavily veiled women passed them and went into the tent where Aiya was chained. Madelon could hear sobbing and moaning as she hurried back to her tent. She had left Yusuf without a word, but the proprieties of their host and guest relationship had suddenly become farcical. She realized now he looked on her as another acquisition to his harem and only the presence of Valentin Maratin and his friend kept him from asserting his authority over her. She did not like her rescuers, but at least they had saved her from the unwelcome attentions of this arrogant Moor.

  A shadowy figure loomed up out of the darkness as she reached her tent. For a moment she thought Yusuf had followed her and was panic stricken, then in the bright moonlight she recognized the Lord of the Eagles.

  "I thought you were tired, Dona Madelon?"

  At any other time the sarcasm in his voice would have aroused Madelon's fighting instinct, but at the moment she was far too weary to be bothered by it,

  "Yes, I am. If you will please allow me to pass."

  His tall frame blocked her way and she saw he was looking over her shoulder to where Yusuf stood watching Aiya being carried to the harem enclosure.

  "So your curiosity got the better of you, did it? Well, did you enjoy seeing the poor girl suffer because of you?"

  Madelon fell back with a soft cry.

  "What are you saying? I am not to blame - Diya said it was not my fault."

  "Diva's a woman, I should expect her to side with one of her own," came the angry retort. "Of course you were to blame. I told you to wear a veil, but you preferred to flaunt yourself like a shameless whore before everyone. You knew how Yusuf would react, you counted on it, didn't you?" When Madelon did not answer he caught her by the wrist and dragged her against him until her face almost touched his. "That's why you are in this part of the country, isn't it? Alfonso and Urraca's two little spies, You fool, did you think the promise of your b
ody would make Yusuf change sides? I'd already told him what to expect"

  "You told .... " Madelon searched in vain for the right words but none came. Perhaps he was drunk, or was she going mad? She cried out as he released her, only to seize her by the shoulders, holding her so tightly the pain made her feel faint.

  "If it's a man you want, Dona Madelon, what's wrong with a Christian one? Me!"

  Madelon had never been kissed before. In her dreams she had always imagined it would be something wonderful - a tender moment to cherish for the rest of her fife. Valentin Maratin rudely shattered the illusion. His mouth on hers was unbelievably cruel, bruising her soft lips while she writhed and twisted in his arms in a desperate, unsuccessful attempt to free herself. Helpless, she was forced to endure the torturous embrace until he chose to release her. Madelon swayed back from him, panting heavily, her eyes dilated, almost on the verge of fainting. Was this what she would have had to endure at the hands of the man her father had wanted her to marry? The convent had been a blessed sanctuary after all.

  "When you next see your cousin Urraca, tell her her pupil is in need of further instruction. A great deal more," Valentin said scornfully.

  Madelon fled into the tent and flung herself across the huge canopied bed, convulsed with sobs. With a contemptuous gesture, the man dropped the silken entrance into place and turned away. A few long strides took him to where Rebecca stood. How long she had been there he did not know or care. He had taught Madelon del Rivas y Montevides a well-deserved lesson and it gave him great satisfaction to know she was crying her heart out. A child had set out to entrap a man, he thought. God! She acted as if she had never been kissed before.

  "How is Aiya?" he asked.

  "Father is giving her a sleeping potion." Rebecca looked past him to Madelon's tent, puzzled by the incident she had hist witnessed. She had left the women tending Aiya, who had told her what had happened and had come to thank Madelon for her intervention. Until she saw her run into the tent in obvious distress, she thought Valentin had preceded her.

  "Forget what you saw," Valentin growled, glancing behind him. "She'll not cause any more trouble."

  In a flash Rebecca understood. With a sigh she took Valentin by the hand.

  "Come with me. I have something to tell you."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Madelon was awakened the following morning, as she had been the previous day, by the sound of great activity going on outside her tent. She lay for a while in her luxurious surroundings allowing her mind to go back over the incidents which had taken place since her arrival at the Moorish camp. She knew in Rebecca she had found not only a friend, but a staunch ally to whom she would always be able to turn to in times of need. Abraham ben Canaan, her father she surmised, was also another good friend, despite his disapproval of her attitude at the disastrous dinner.

  Yusuf, the Moorish leader, she suspected, should the opportunity arise, would take great pleasure in revenging himself on her for obtaining Aiya's release. He had given in too easily as if confident their paths would cross again and the next time she would not have as many advantages. Somewhat against her will she liked him, with the same kind of reluctance with which she liked Rodrigo Diaz. The latter had, after all, saved Paco's life and her own and he had behaved well towards her.

  Rolling over on to her side Madelon saw Diya had brought her a light breakfast. While she ate, the maid repacked her mistress's dresses into a trunk, after a suitable one had been chosen to wear on the journey, and then waited patiently beside the bed to help Madelon to dress.

  Madelon's head ached abominably and her throat was very dry, probably from too much wine, she thought ruefully. However after a wash in crystal-clear spring water which Diya had fetched earlier from the other side of the camp, she began to improve. Attired in a pale blue travelling dress with long, full sleeves reaching almost to her wrists and a cowl to tuck her hair inside, Madelon inspected herself for the last time in the gilt-framed mirror. Despite hours of crying her eyes were no longer red and her mouth, although it felt bruised and swollen, did not look it. She was merely a little pale.

  Behind her, Diya gave a heavy sigh and Madelon turned and looked at her in surprise.

  "What is it? Why do you sigh like that?"

  "Alas, my lady, I wish I was coming with you."

  "But aren't you? I thought the lord Yusuf had given you to me?"

  "Only for the duration of your stay here." Diya's face began to brighten. "Oh, my lady, would you take me with you? I will be no trouble. I will be so silent you will not notice my presence."

  "I doubt that very much," Madelon laughed, "but you are competent and I have no servants to attend me until I reach court. I will speak with the lord Yusuf."

  When she left the tent, Madelon found a band of horsemen assembled outside, among them Rodrigo Diaz on a velvety black stallion and Valentin Maratin mounted on a white charger, issuing orders to the three men busy fixing a Utter between two mules. On a bed of cushions, apparently unconscious, Madelon glimpsed her brother's white face and ran to him

  "He is under heavy sedation," Abraham ben Canaan assured her as she called his name in vain. "When he awakes he will be in a comfortable bed, none the worse for the journey. I, myself, will be riding one of these mules so I shall be close to him at all times. Don't look so worried, dear child, he is mending nicely."

  "The good doctor is right, Dona Madelon," Rodrigo called out cheerfully and Madelon moved back, convinced.

  A boy brought a docile white-stockinged bay for her and helped her to mount. As she did so, Yusuf came striding through the crowd of onlookers towards them, Rebecca running to keep up with him. He touched his forehead, mouth and chest with his fingertips as he bowed before the two Castilians, while the Jewish girl went to say her farewells to her friends.

  "Goodbye, my friends, may Allah guide your footsteps to the Castle of the Eagles. Let me know how you fare at Golpejerra, Valentin."

  Valentin Maratin nodded. There was no answering smile on his face as he turned his horse about to draw level with Madelon and she was struck by the graveness of his expression. He merely nodded in her direction, acknowledging her presence, nothing more. After their stormy encounter the previous evening, she had expected at least one insult.

  "He's feeling rather ashamed of himself," Rebecca whispered gleefully, leaning up on tip-toe so that her words did not carry beyond her friend. "I told him how mistaken he was about you. Don't be surprised if he apologizes."

  "I don't want his beastly apologies, I hate him," Madelon said fiercely.

  "Nonsense. Once you get to know him, he's really very sweet."

  Madelon did not answer. No matter how "sweet" he was to her, she could never forgive the terrible humiliation he had forced her to endure. The memory of the way he had kissed her was still so vivid in her mind, she dared not look at him lest the colour in her cheeks gave away her thoughts.

  "Dona Madelon, I am in your debt."

  Yusuf was standing beside her horse, staring up at her with his black eyes dancing with wicked lights. Madelon blinked at Him dazedly. Had she heard aright?

  "My - my lord?" she stammered.

  "Aiya is with child. Had I continued with her punishment, she would have lost it. Last night I was angry with you. Today I call upon Allah to pour down his blessings on your head. Will you accept this barbarian's good wishes for your journey?"

  Madelon smiled and nodded.

  "Thank you, my lord. May Allah in his infinite mercy grant you a son," she said quietly.

  Seated on one of the mules a few feet away, the Jewish doctor smiled at her simple but effective answer. Yusuf's expression was delighted as he stepped back to allow the horses to pass.

  "My lord, I would ask a favour of you." Madelon suddenly turned on him, her expression pleading. She had seen Diya hovering in the background and was angry for having forgotten the promise she had made. "The slave girl who has cared for me. What will happen to her?"

  "As she has pleased y
ou, she may live," Yusuf said. "I will see she is returned to her old master."

  "Would you give her to me instead? I have taken a liking to her."

  "Will you risk the animosity of your own people merely because the girl has pleased you? She shall have her freedom if you wish it. Will that satisfy you?"

  Reluctantly Madelon nodded. At least Diya would not have to return to the evil-smelling man she hated. But the next moment Diya flung herself in front of Madelon's horse, screaming she would rather die than be parted from the mistress who had saved her life. One of the Moorish guards came forward to remove her, but on seeing the distressed look on Madelon's face, Yusuf waved him aside and motioned Diya to get up.

  "Take her; she is yours," he said to Madelon. "She is a good-for-nothing chatterbox and would serve you better with her tongue cut out but that is up to you now."

  "She can ride the other mule, here with me," Abraham ben Canaan called out, and Madelon nodded gratefully in his direction.

  "May I ride beside my brother?" she asked the stony-faced Lord of the Eagles as he passed her.

  "At times the way is both steep and treacherous. There is not enough room for two horses to stay abreast. Please ride behind him, Dona Madelon."

  He looked at her only briefly, then after a last salute to his friend, Yusuf, he led the way out of the camp.

  After they had been riding for some time, ascending all the while on to higher ground, Madelon reined in her horse and looked behind her. The camp was a blur in the distance and without knowing why she felt strangely miserable.

  Her mood did not leave her. Soon they came in sight of the towering range of mountains where she and Paco had been captured by Mahmud and his raiders. They passed quite close to the spot where their rescuers had found them and took a narrow trail between two enormous rocks which seemed to lead the way into the very heart of the frightening peaks. As they rode deeper and the mountains closed in around them Madelon was unable to suppress a shudder. Here, where the sun could not penetrate it was suddenly cold and she was growing more apprehensive as the journey progressed.