Maria cut the thread and took the sleeve out of another shirt. “Rahman taught you this?”
“Yes. And this—says—Maria.”
She put her hands in her lap. They were sitting in the little hall, with the sunlight streaming across them. Stephen’s hair looked almost red. On his board, her marks were like bird tracks, with only one round place. His had more curves in it. “He taught you to make my name?”
“Yes. Papa’s is longer and I don’t remember it. Rahman says one who cannot read is unfit to rule. Robert can’t read at all.”
Maria was threading a needle. She held it up to the light to find the eye. “You should not heed Rahman. Your father said that he lies. Your father cannot read, is he unfit to rule?” She could not read.
“Papa is older than Robert.”
Maria drew the thread through the needle. There had been no more trouble with the catechism. Now the priest was teaching them music and numbers, also, which Stephen liked. She set the sleeves properly into the shirt and Stephen chalked intently on the board. The priest was a fool anyway: at supper she had asked him if her witness of the charter permitting errors required some penance, and he had stammered like an idiot. Sitting beside her, Richard had laughed out loud at it.
“Stephen,” Rahman called from the next room.
Maria sewed small, tight stitches, ignoring him. Stephen walked out of her range of sight. Maria hoped they would go. The voice of the Saracen rubbed on her nerves.
“Mama,” Stephen said. “Rahman wants to talk to you.”
Maria stabbed the needle into her thumb. She put the shirt down on her lap. A drop of blood fell on it. “Let him talk.” She licked off her thumb and sank her hands into the shirt; it was ruined now anyway.
Rahman in a silken voice sent the boy out of the hall. His djellaba draped in snowy folds, his immaculate hands with their armor of rings dark against the cloth, he stood before her, his eyes aimed over her head.
“There is a document I wish. It is of no importance to my lord. I will tell you where it is, and you will bring it to me.”
Maria stood up, face to face with him. He was just her height; he stared loftily over her shoulder. The whites of his eyes were tinged with brown. He smelled of flowers like a woman. She said, “What do you mean?”
He shut his eyes and opened them again languidly. “My lord would not like to know how you kiss his younger brother when my lord’s back is turned.”
Maria stiffened. A cold calm filled her. For an instant she hated him so hard she could not bring herself to speak to him. Roger had left that morning; she was alone against Rahman. Evenly, she said, “Tell him, Rahman. I will deny it, and we will see whom he believes.”
Rahman’s smug expression slipped. His eyes moved toward her. “I have witnesses,” he said. “We will let my lord judge.” He turned and walked out of the room, his shoulders square as a board.
Maria sat down. “Son of God, have mercy on me.” She crossed herself. She folded the shirt and stuffed it into the basket at her feet, wondering when Rahman would tell Richard. She could tell him herself, but he would believe her. He had said he believed nothing Rahman said. It was hard to be righteous when she was guilty. Surely Rahman would wait, half a day at least, to let her change her mind and submit to him, so that he could get the document. She ran up the stairs to the room of the star ceiling.
Richard was still in bed. Jilly lay curled up asleep against the small of his back. Maria fished her out of the bed and took her across the room to change her clothes. Richard murmured in his sleep and rolled over.
The Saracen women were loitering in the antechamber. Maria gave them the baby, to divert them, and crowing with pleasure they carried her off. Maria locked the outer door after them and shut the inner door fast. She went back to the bed.
“Richard.” She walked her fingers up his back.
“Ummm.”
“I just talked to Rahman. He wanted me to get some document for him.”
Richard rolled onto his back and sat bolt upright. His beard was scruffy from sleeping on it. “What document?”
“I don’t know. He said it wasn’t important to you.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Why did he think you would rob me?” He took a fistful of the front of her dress.
Maria met his eyes. “He said something about me and Roger.”
He slapped her so hard her head rang. “What about you and Roger?”
“Let go of me.”
His eyes were dark with bad temper. “You did nothing with Roger?”
“No. Let go of me.”
He kept hold of her a moment longer, let go, and got out of bed. “What document? Where did he say it was? Get me some clothes.” With a twist of his arms, he pulled off his nightshirt. But before she could go, he caught her by the wrist. “Didn’t I warn you about him? Now will you pay heed to me?” He tried to kiss her. She thrust him off; her head hurt where he had struck her. She went to bring him some clothes. He knelt and rummaged through the big chest where he kept his charters.
She went out of the palace toward the garden, looking for Robert and Ismael. They were riding up from the park. She stopped and waved to them, and they galloped over to her, single file down the lane through the banks of roses. Robert bounded down from his saddle and ran to her.
“Mother. Come into the city with us.”
On his chestnut mare, Ismael smiled at her, all teeth. Maria put her arm around Robert and hugged him.
“Maybe tomorrow. You can show me how to find my way around. Robert, I need your help.”
He pulled himself taller. “Of course I will. I promise. Like the other time, in Birnia.” He crossed himself.
Maria said, “I want you to spy on Rahman for me.”
“Rahman,” Ismael said. He jumped down from his mare, his dark eyes brilliant with curiosity. He and Robert cackled at each other in Saracen. Robert threw his arm around Ismael’s neck.
“We will both help you. We will do whatever you command.”
“Come here, where it’s quiet.” She nodded down the path. “I’ll tell you what you must do.”
***
By what her son and Ismael told her, she realized that Rahman had set the household slaves to spying on her and on Richard wherever they went. The next morning she summoned the slaves into the middle ward and told them that they were free. Robert translated for her. At the apex of his speech, he flung his arms wide, like a sermoner. After scarcely three weeks of catechism he was talking about becoming a monk.
The slaves did not look happy. Many burst into tears and cried out that they were to be sold. Maria waved them quiet again. Through Robert, she told them that nothing had really changed, they would live and work in the palace as before, and they stood easier, their faces relaxing into smiles. She gave them all new titles in French and put them to doing the jobs she was used to having done. If anything necessary was left out, she would learn about it soon enough. The three men who bought and sold supplies she kept to that task, since she had no way of buying in kind anymore, and all the money looked the same to her.
Later, she hunted out Stephen where he was playing with Rahman’s chessmen in the little hall. He had lined the green men up on the checked board and was moving them in various ways down toward the other side. She stood in the window, warming herself in the sunshine, and let him finish what he was doing.
Over his shoulder, he said, “I can write Papa’s name now—shall I do it for you?”
Maria sat on the window sill. “Yes, if you want. I have a friend’s favor to ask of you.”
He frowned at her, a chessman in his hand. “What is it?”
“You are as suspicious as your father,” Maria said. “Promise me you will do as I ask.”
“Mama, how can I promise when I don’t know what it is?”
Maria rumpled up his hair. “What a rogue you are, not to promise it—am I not your mother?”
“It’s about Rahman, isn’t it?” He
leaned on her knee, half-lying in her lap. “He’s my friend—Robert has Ismael, why can’t I play with Rahman?”
Maria said, “I want you to stay away from Rahman. Just for a few days. If you do, I’ll never bother you about him again.”
Stephen threw the chessman down. “Everybody is mean to me.”
Maria turned away from him, toward the window, trying to find the right persuasion. In the garden below her, something moved. She leaned out to see. It was Rahman, sneaking up the path in the shrubbery toward the palace. In the far end of the garden, Ismael and Robert were searching up and down the aisles of hedges. Maria put her head out the window.
“Robert!” Emphatically she pointed down at Rahman below her. Rahman broke into an undignified run for the palace. In the depths of the garden, Ismael whooped, and the two boys raced like hounds up through the roses. Maria turned back into the hall.
Stephen was trying to see around her; he danced up and down before her. “What is going on? Is it a game? Nobody lets me play but Rahman.”
“You can play with me,” Maria said.
“You’re just a woman.”
“You’re just a little boy. Come on. We can ride in the park.”
***
In the afternoon, she took Jilly out to the garden. While she was sitting with the baby on the cropped grass in the sunshine, the oldest of her Saracen maids came up to her and sat down beside her.
“My lady,” the woman said. She had a long, plain face like a horse. “I have something for you.” From her cloak she took Maria’s looking glass.
Maria cried out. She took the glass in both hands. The Saracen woman looked away across the wide lawn, bounded in shrubbery.
“We all stole from the Emir Abd-al-Rahman,” she said.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Maria rubbed the silver surface on her skirt. The baby put her hand out toward the bright object.
“Will you punish me?” the Saracen woman asked.
“No. I’m glad you gave it back.” Maria cast about for something harmless to speak of, to seal the peace between them. “How did you learn to speak French so well?”
The woman smiled, her dark eyes downcast. “My mother was of your people. She was taken in a raid, when she was a young woman. She belonged to the Emir al-Simmah.” She turned. “I have come here also, lady, to warn you that the Emir Abd-al-Rahman has told your lord that you kissed the Christian knight.”
Maria started. “Did Rahman send you?”
“No.” The older woman’s mouth twisted. “I understand why you might think that. But I am not his slave anymore.”
The baby had rolled onto her back. She stuck her feet in the air and reached for her toes. Down the slope, in the fir trees, the wind sang a long mourning note.
“Does everybody know I kissed Roger?”
The Saracen woman lowered her eyes again. She touched the baby’s hand. “The men do it. Why shouldn’t you?” Her voice turned bitter. “All the men do it.”
Maria hunched her shoulders. She thought of running away. She had known this would come. The Saracen woman lifted Jilly in her arms and bent over her, murmuring in the alien tongue. Maria stared at the pine trees. The wind ruffled through the layers of their green branches. Someone was walking down the slope behind her. Without raising her head, the Saracen woman fastened her veil across her face. She stopped her soft whispers. Maria picked up the looking glass. In it she saw Richard, standing just behind her.
He spoke in Saracen to the other woman, telling her to go, but the woman disobeyed him. She held the baby tight against her. Maria saw how frightened she was. She asked, “Lady, do you wish me to stay?”
“No,” Maria said. “Thank you. Please take Jilly to bed.”
The woman hurried off, stoop-shouldered. Maria put the looking glass down beside her. Her hands were shaking.
“You dirty whore,” Richard said, behind her.
She stared down into the pine wood. His hand closed on her shoulder, and she stood up before he could use force against her, facing him. She pushed his hand away.
“Deny it,” he said. He stood close over her. “Tell me it was a lie.”
“What did he say?”
“That you are a dirty whore.”
“That is a lie.”
He jerked his head back and spat into her face. Maria stood rigid. Waves of heat beat up into her cheeks. At last she lifted her hand and wiped her cheek.
“I thought you were better than that, Maria. Another one of Roger’s ditch-wives—”
“Stop,” she said. She put her hands over her face.
Richard’s mouth was an inch from her ear. “You’re just another common, willing, filthy female thing—”
“Stop!” She dropped her hands and stared at him. “I just kissed him—”
“Do you think he loves you?” Richard shouted at her. “Do you think he cares about you? If you’d ever heard him talking about women—the things he says about women—”
She sat down again on the slope, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry.”
He stood looking down at her, his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe you.” He walked away up the slope. Maria sat with her eyes turned toward the pine wood. The wind rose, its voice cooing through the branches. He was right: if Roger wanted her it was just because he did not have her. She wished she had never let him touch her. She put her chin on her fist and stared into the pine wood, eaten with remorse.
Twenty-six
You said you’d give me a riding horse.”
“What do you need a horse for?” Richard asked. “Where are you thinking to go?”
“You promised me a horse,” Maria said. She went down the hillside ahead of him, skirting the edge of the rose garden. While she walked she pushed her hair back and tied the ribbon around it again. Richard steered her by the arm through the gap in the hedge. They came out on the green grass in front of the stable.
Three Saracen grooms were arguing together in the doorway. Seeing Richard, they fell silent and backed quickly off the threshold. Maria went past them into the stable. The smells of straw and horse made her wrinkle up her nose. A horse nickered.
Her eyes grew used to the half-light. The long low building stretched out before her. On her right, the horses moved around in their boxes, their heads reaching over the doors into the aisle. The first head belonged to Richard’s gray stallion. She patted its face.
Richard walked on past her. He called out in Saracen, and the grooms leaped away down the stable aisle. Richard sat down on a wooden saddle rack against the wall opposite the stalls.
“Where are you going that you need a horse?”
She scratched under the gray stallion’s jaw. “Is there any place I can’t go?”
He grunted. “Where do I start?”
A groom led a tall mare up between them. Maria turned toward the horse. It was a deep blood bay, its mane and tail shining black. Richard slid down from the saddle rack. He bent to feel the mare’s legs. He and the Saracen groom talked in the other tongue. Maria went off along the row of stalls, looking at each horse. She took her surcoat off and hung it on her arm. The stable smelled and sounded the same as any Christian stable. If anything it was cleaner. In the middle of the barn she came on a small white mare.
She leaned on the outside of the stall. The mare snorted suspiciously at her.
“Maria.” The groom was brushing off the bay mare. Richard came up toward her. “Ride this horse, so that I can see if you can handle her.”
“I don’t want that horse,” Maria said. She looked back at the white mare, which took one step cautiously toward her. “I want this horse.” She held out her hand to the mare.
Richard stood beside her, looking into the stall. “Where have you seen this horse before?”
“Nowhere. I just like her.”
The mare licked Maria’s palm. Richard said, “On sight. Without even riding her.”
“She’s pretty.”
The mare stuck her nose int
o Maria’s face and sniffed, and she laughed. Richard tramped off down the stable, calling to the groom. He sounded angry. He had been angry for three days. They put the bay mare away and saddled the white mare, and they all went out to the park.
Here the ground fell off in a long gentle slope toward the wall, green in the bright sunlight, although it was still winter. The mare came out of the stable snorting with every step. She shied at the wind and danced on her toes around a bare spot in the grass. The groom talked to her in Saracen baby talk. Maria put her coat on the ground.
“Maybe you’d better let me ride her first,” Richard said. “She hasn’t been out of the barn in a while.”
Maria took the reins from the groom. “She’s a good girl.” She waved the groom out of the way. Richard lifted her up into the saddle.
The horse snorted but did not move. She was so excited at being out in the open meadow that she was already breaking into a dark sweat, but she waited until Maria signaled her before she started off at a quick walk. Maria jogged her and cantered her in circles around the meadow. The white mare was soft-gaited as a cat. Maria backed her and spun her around. She galloped up beside Richard.
Right in front of him the mare neatly bucked her off. She landed on her back in the soft grass. The mare galloped away down the green meadow toward the gate, her tail like a flag. The groom ran after her. Maria sat up.
Richard held out his hand to her. “See—you’re not as good a rider as you think you are.” He pulled her up onto her feet.
Maria looked down after the mare. “Isn’t she beautiful? Can I have her?”
“You think you can handle her?” He started back up toward the stable. Maria followed him. He glanced at her, and in spite of himself he smiled.
“I wonder what her name is.”
She stopped to watch the white mare, trotting along beside the groom up the meadow. Richard went into the stable. His voice sounded hollow in the roof. She followed him into the dark horse-smelling barn. He let himself into the stall with a lanky black colt. Maria went up to the door.
“Thank you,” she said.
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