"Do you speak my language?"
"Yes."
"How wonderful. Where did you learn it?"
"In a convent."
"A what?" asked the girl mystified.
"A place where Christian women go to dedicate their lives to God - to Allah as you call Him. Sometimes young girls are sent there to have a good upbringing."
"Oh, then it is like a harem. We are taught many things too," Aiya said.
Madelon laughed and said it was not quite the same thing.
"How are you feeling after that awful beating?" she asked, Outwardly the Moorish girl showed no signs of ill treatment. She lay with a large platter of fresh fruit balanced on her stomach, popping juicy black grapes into her mouth at regular intervals. She wore a diaphanous robe of some wispy material which clung to the contours of her body. Her feet were bare and Madelon saw her toe-nails were painted a dark red to match her long nails. On her ankles and wrists were numerous bangles and bracelets.
"I have been whipped before," she murmured with an indifferent shrug of her shoulders, "but this time it was different. I carried my lord's child in my belly."
"He seems very sure it will be a son."
"My dreams have told me this will be so and they are never wrong. I dreamt of you several nights ago. I saw your whole life spread out before me. You don't believe me? Then it's of no importance, you will not want to know what I saw."
"But I do," Madelon protested. She did not believe in seers or second sight, but she did not want to upset the girl. Sitting down on the edge of the couch, she pleaded, "Please tell me."
"You are going on a journey to a place where many finely dressed women are gathering to watch men die. I saw the sun flashing on steel and there was blood - much blood and you gave your favours to the man you would one day marry."
"Who was he?"
"I could not see his face."
How romantic, Madelon mused, not believing a word. The tournament at Golpejerra was common knowledge in the camp. She had been told nothing out of the ordinary.
"You are sceptical of my powers?" Aiya was watching her through narrow eyes. "Come, I will look into your future."
Getting up she went across to a small polished coffer on a table and taking something from it, knelt beside the fire burning in the middle of the floor. Mystified, Madelon stood behind her and saw she was holding out towards the flames what looked like a smooth flat pebble. As the heat reached it, the colour changed from blue to red and then green. As it grew hotter, the colours mingled and threw off a strange glow. She watched fascinated, wondering how Aiya could keep her hands over the fire for so long and yet show no sign of pain from the fierce heat. Her eyes dropped to the Moorish girl's back, clearly visible beneath the semi-transparent material of her gown and with a start Madelon saw there were hardly any signs of the whipping she had received. Abraham ben Canaan's skill had not worked that miracle.
Aiya seemed to be going into some kind of a trance. Her eyes were rivetted on the bright hue of colours surrounding the stone. She began to sway over the flames, her face and body wet with perspiration.
"Two men will possess you, but you will give your heart to only one ... who will both love and hate you. His hatred will bring you near to death, but his love will give you a fine son. For every man there is only one woman chosen for him by fate - the same applies to a woman. If the two are destined for each other, nothing can keep them apart. Not they themselves - or the will of others - despite everything they will be one." Her voice trailed off and she sat back on her heels, dropping the stone onto the soft earth beside her. When she looked at Madelon, her expression was slightly contemptuous. "Remember what I have told you. Believe it."
Madelon was too shaken to reply. Wordlessly, she looked down at Aiya's hands. They looked red and painful, but there were no blisters. As if to prove they did not hurt her, the Moorish girl rose and produced a jar of salve and proceeded to rub some vigorously into her skin. Madelon was convinced.
The sound of many horses galloping into the camp drew both women to the entrance of the tent. Aiya gave a glad cry.
" 'Tis my lord returning."
As two riders detached themselves from the others and rode in their direction, she hurriedly ducked back out of sight for she was not veiled. And then across the path of the oncoming horses appeared a tiny child, barely able to walk. Tottering unsteadily, she faltered and fell. With a woman's scream ringing in her ears, Madelon leapt forward. The deafening thunder of hooves was in her ears as she scooped up the little girl and tossed her to safety. She felt a sharp blow on her shoulders, another on her temple. She pitched forward and then there was only blackness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"My God, I thought I'd killed you," Valentin exclaimed hoarsely as Madelon opened her eyes.
He was bending over the bed where she lay, pressing a wet cloth to her forehead. She winced as a pain tore across her temples and Valentin restrained her when she tried to sk up.
"Lie still, you are in my tent, it was the nearest. Abraham has just gone to see the child."
"Is she all right?" Was it the pain making her feel so faint, Madelon wondered, or the way he was looking at her? His anguished features swam before her blurred vision.
"Shock, most likely. It's you I'm worried about You gashed your head as you fell and there was blood all over the place." He drew back from her and Madelon saw how pale he was. "I thought I'd killed you," he repeated harshly.
"Why should the death of a whore concern you?" she asked icily, determined not to be swayed by this apparent change of attitude. He had tricked her once before. Valentin grew even paler beneath his tan.
"I was wrong. I admit it."
"How noble of you, gracious lord." Madelon pulled herself upright despite the restraining hand he laid on her shoulder. Before her haughty expression, it fell away and the protest he intended to make died unuttered on his lips. Staring out through the entrance, Madelon was dismayed to find darkness had fallen.
"Paco will have missed me, I must leave at once," she insisted.
"You are in no condition to ride. You will stay here tonight and we will return together in the morning."
"No. I demand you allow me to leave this instant."
When he made no answer and did not move, Madelon gave an angry sigh and clambered off the bed. She would not have thought a man could move so swiftly, yet he was around the other side of the bed in time to catch her as her knees buckled and she fell forward with a moan of pain.
"I understand your impatience to return to your brother, but in your present condition you couldn't manage the journey," Valentin said, depositing her back on the bed. "Lie here and rest. We will have something to eat and then see how you are feeling. Do I have your promise you will not try to leave when I go?"
"Yes," Madelon answered weakly. The pain in her head was so intense she felt sick and faint. Turning her face into the pillows she drifted into a state of semi-consciousness. She fancied Valentin returned to her side some while later, and that his hand gently caressed her cheek and he murmured. "Sleep, shafra sha'r. I will stay beside you." But in that strange world of shadows nothing was real. Perhaps she only imagined it.
When she awoke, the squire Stephen was preparing the table for a meal. He had obviously been told not to make any unnecessary noise for she noticed how carefully he moved about. She lay watching him drowsily until he finished his task and slipped silently away. A moment later Valentin came in with Abraham ben Canaan, who despite her protests she was feeling better, insisted on examining the cut above her temple.
"Hmm ... not serious, but you'll need to take it easy for a day or two. The child merely suffered slight bruising. You were very lucky. If Valentin hadn't managed to swerve, you would have both been killed."
"It appears I must thank you for saving my life a second time," Madelon said, gazing across to the couch where the Castilian sat, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of the jewelled dagger nestling in his
belt.
"Dona Madelon wants to return to the castle tonight," Valentin said. "What do you think, Abraham?"
"Definitely not - unless you intend to carry her most of the way."
"The idea appeals to me, but not to the lady," Valentin chuckled.
He watched Madelon stand up, somehow managing to remain upright without any support. Her face was ashen and in the light of the wall torches, the cut on her forehead was beginning to swell. His fingers tightened around the goblet he was holding until the knuckles grew white as he visualized her falling beneath his horse's hooves. Thank God, Conquistador was trained to respond to the slightest touch or she would have been crushed to death. He thought she intended to argue with the doctor, but instead she turned to him.
"Don Valentin, I am appealing to you to take me back. My presence here will anger my brother as it is. I acted without thinking, I admit, and I don't want to provoke him further. Heaven knows what he will believe if I don't return before tomorrow."
"I can imagine," Valentin returned humorously. "Loath as I am to disregard your advice, Abraham, I think if we are to avoid trouble, we must go. I'll arrange something."
"Then I will leave you to your food," Abraham said. "Goodbye, Valentin. I will see you when you return from Golpejerra."
"If one of Alfonso's knights doesn't stick me with his lance," Valentin laughed. "Good night, old friend."
"Goodbye, Dona Madelon." The old man held Madelon's hand for a long moment, as if to remind her if she ever needed a friend, he was available.
"I shall always remember you. I hope we meet again soon," Madelon said. "Goodbye."
"Come and eat some food," Valentin ordered when they were alone. "I refuse to even consider leaving here until you do."
She sat down beside him and under his watchful eye she ate the sliced chicken he piled on to her platter and drank a full goblet of wine, followed by two cups of steaming kahwi.
"Not another mouthful," she protested as he began to fill her platter again. "Truly, I cannot eat any more."
"Some more wine then," Valentin insisted. "I don't want you fainting on me. If I walk through the door with an unconscious girl in my arms, your brother will probably do something stupid, like issuing a challenge."
Madelon's eyes clouded with apprehension. That was something she was frightened he might do anyway when he saw her riding back with his enemy.
"If he did, I wouldn't accept," Valentin assured her quickly. "I don't fight wounded men."
Madelon relaxed back on to the couch after the meal. Her head still ached, but she did not feel so faint. Whether or not she could stay on a horse was another matter, but she would try. Valentin moved alongside her. He was very close, his shoulder was pressing against hers. She felt rather warm and comfortable and did not want to move away, besides she had some apologizing to do. How wrongly she had misjudged him. It would serve her right if he rebuffed her.
"The doctor told me about Yusuf's wife," she said in a very small voice.
"Did he?" Valentin leaned forward to replenish his empty goblet and hers and then he turned and stared gravely down into her face. "So now you know I'm not the ogre you thought. I've had several Moorish mistresses, I don't deny it, but Yasmin was like a sister to me."
"I understand that now, but at first ... I was so afraid, confused..."
"And I didn't help matters by comparing you to your cousin, did I? We have both made mistakes."
"You didn't lie about her, did you?"
"You will be able to judge for yourself when you reach Santa Maria de Carrion. My mother wants you to stay with us after the tournament. Would you consider it?"
"I - I don't know," Madelon answered, taken aback by the request. "Perhaps we should wait and see the outcome of the tournament. When it is over will Castile and Leon really be united under one king again?"
"Under the rightful king - Sancho," Valentin replied mockingly.
She pursed her lips angrily, but he was right. Sancho was the true king of the two kingdoms by the ancient Roman and Visigothic customs which decreed the eldest son should inherit his father's lands. Instead of adhering to this, however, Ferdinand had followed the example of his father, Sancho el Mayor, who had first introduced the dividing up of land and property between the sons and daughters of the monarch.
To his eldest son, Sancho, whose magnificent build and courage had earned him the name of "El Fuerte" - the Strong, Ferdinand gave the kingdom of Castile. The second son, Alfonso was allotted Leon. The smallest kingdom of Galicia, renowned for possessing the shrine of St. James at Compostela was passed to Garcia, the youngest - and weakest son.
Ferdinand also had two daughters, Urraca and Elvira. To these he gave the lordship of several monasteries. The latter accepted the state of celibacy in which her father had decreed she should live, but not so Urraca, who had protested so violently that the town of Zamora was added to her property.
Garcia, a weak, self-indulgent man, with no heart for kingship, had also been given the task of conquering the Moorish kingdom of Badajoz, to the south of Galicia, but he had no heart for fighting and it was his brother Alfonso who came to his aid. Sancho immediately accused him of trying to steal the kingdom of his younger brother and the first of many violent quarrels took place which were to split the monarchs apart. In the month of March in the year 1068, the armies of Alfonso and Sancho faced each other on the fields of Llantada on the borders of the two kingdoms.
The Castilians, led with great success by Rodrigo de Vivar, soon overcame the Leonese soldiers. In accordance with the bargain struck before the battle began, the vanquished king should have-surrendered his kingdom and gone into exile, but
Alfonso refused to accept defeat and successfully managed to escape and return to Leon.
Over the next two years however, the quarrel was forgotten, Garcia's control of his kingdom gradually passed into the hands of his two scheming brothers. Together Sancho and Alfonso laid conquest to the kingdom of Badajoz.
In 1071, Garcia, realizing too late his lands were being stolen from under his very nose, attempted to prevent Castilian troops from crossing his land. He was seized and imprisoned in a castle in the mountains of Leon and his two brothers divided his land between them.
The additional land was an added incentive for them to begin quarrelling again and for a second time, a time and place was arranged where they could meet to resolve their differences. This time there would be no battle, but a tournament fought between knights from both sides. It was the beginning of the year 1072 and the place chosen was the lush green fields of Golpejerra on the banks of the river Carrion, within sight of Santa Maria de Carrion, a fortified town belonging to one of the most influential families in Castile. It was here Madelon and Paco were to meet their cousins. "Will you be fighting?" Madelon asked. "Yes. Rodrigo too. Why, are you hoping to see someone avenge your wounded pride? I expect there will be many young hot-heads willing to accept your favour."
"No - despite the terrible things you have said and thought about me, I bear you no ill will."
"My God, how sweet and innocent you are, I must have been blind not to realize the first time I held you in my arms, that no man had ever kissed you before - let alone owned your body."
His reference to that time brought the colour surging into Madelon's face. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his doublet where his arm was pressing against her. He smelt of sweat and horses and she was suddenly seized with the wild hope he might take her in his arms and rain passionate kisses on her mouth until she surrendered.
Whether or not her thoughts were betrayed on her face, Madelon did not know, but Valentin leaned closer to her, his pale eyes glittering. They were not cold now, nor was his face void of emotion. The naked hunger in his eyes told her his feelings matched her own.
He reached out to lightly touch the painful swelling on her temple and then his fingers entwined themselves in her loose hair and she found herself being drawn slowly towards him. In a hoarse whisper
he said something in Arabic. She had noticed he always used this language when conversing with Yusuf and even at times with Rodrigo, once she had heard him speaking to his mother in Arabic. It was as natural to him as his own tongue, probably more so, since he seemed to spend more time with his Moorish friends than anyone else.
Shafira shir - yellow hair. He had called her that again. Then it had not been a dream before. And then he had said, I have a great longing for you. Why had he used Arabic, she wondered, unless he was afraid she would scorn him after their hitherto tempestuous relationship. It appeared no one had told him she spoke the language fluently and she said nothing to enlighten him. Perhaps this way she would come to know him better.
Her face glowed with pleasure at his words. She relaxed a little more against the arm that had slipped around her shoulders and was allowing herself to be drawn still more tightly against him when the entrance to the tent was suddenly flung to one side and Yusuf's tall, cloaked figure marched in.
Madelon parted from Valentin as if struck with a red-hot dagger as the Moor's black eyes fastened on the two figures seated so close together on the couch, and a broad grin spread across his swarthy face.
"Am I interrupting something?" he chuckled, looking at Valentin who had stood up, but did not appear to be in the least embarrassed.
"Dona Madelon and I have just had a meal before we leave," he replied calmly.
Yusuf bowed.
"Allakywasslak bissaldtm. May God let you arrive in safety," he said. It was one of the many courtesy phrases the Moors used for people about to undertake a journey.
"Allah yh&n ma 'akl God be with you," Madelon answered, which was the correct way to answer his good wishes. Not until she saw the amazed looks on the faces of the two men did she realize she had spoken in Arabic. Yusuf's unexpected arrival bad thrown her completely off guard.
"Excuse me, I will see about the horses," Valentin said. He did not look at her, turning quickly away. What he was thinking she did not want to imagine.
"One moment, my friend." Yusuf detained him. "I wish Dona Madelon to take a small gift with her, if you approve?" "The lady has a mind of her own," Valentin returned with a shrug of his shoulders.
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