by Peter Kerr
‘He’ll probably need a drink, though,’ said Pedrito. ‘I’ll go and fetch him some water from the cave.’
Farah touched his arm as he stood up. ‘Oh, and while you’re at it, if there’s a spoonful or two of stew still in the dish by the fire, ask Saleema to bring that for him too – and a chunk of bread, if there’s any left. One gift deserves another, after all.’ She stooped forward and picked up the dead hen. ‘Yes, and you’d better ask Saleema to put this one somewhere safe until we get round to cleaning and cooking it.’ She gave Nedi a wink. ‘And maybe we’ll save a bit for you in case you decide to pay us a visit again soon, no?’
Not surprisingly, Saleema’s initial reaction to Nedi when she saw him was the same as Farah’s had been, but with the additional caution to Pedrito that a man should only have a dog for hunting, working with livestock or to guard his property. That, she said, was how most Muslims regarded dogs, adding that some were even of the opinion that any dog not being used for those practical purposes should be killed. And to be touched by a dog’s tongue – well, the affected area would be regarded as so filthy that an immediate and thorough washing would be essential.
Pedrito couldn’t hide his dismay. He already knew about such alleged Muslim attitudes, but the thought of Saleema sympathising with them came as a very unpleasant surprise indeed. ‘Well,’ he replied indignantly, ‘Nedi’s a friend, and that’s all I expect of him. That said,’ he continued, going pre-emptively on the defensive, ‘he has already shown he can hunt.’
‘Hunt?’ Saleema frowned.
‘Of course! Unless you think that hen he brought here just happened to drop down dead in front of him!’
Farah, who had been watching this little bout of friction with a wry smile on her lips, started to chuckle. Then Saleema began to giggle.
‘Something amusing that I’ve missed?’ Pedrito huffed.
Nedi, still sitting by Farah, was watching proceedings with obvious interest – the main object of this interest being the bowl that Saleema was holding in her hand. She laid it down at her feet, then called to him, ‘Come on then, Nedi! Come and get your little treat of stew and bread!’
Nedi didn’t need to be told twice, but interrupted his advance on the bowl to give Saleema’s face an introductory licking. Pedrito was astounded. Instead of flinching as he’d expected her to, Saleema returned Nedi’s greeting by giving his ribs a good rub and planting a kiss on his nose. She and Farah were laughing heartily now.
‘B-but,’ Pedrito stuttered, his face a picture of confusion, ‘I thought, Saleema – you know, the way you were talking – I thought you didn’t like dogs.’
‘And didn’t you take the bait, hook, line and sinker? No, I love dogs – always have done.’
Pedrito glanced over at Farah. ‘And you knew that too?’
‘No, it’s news to me.’
‘But you were the one who started all the hilarity a minute ago.’
‘Call it women’s intuition. Something told me Saleema was only having fun with you, and I wasn’t wrong, was I?’
Pedrito was laughing himself now. ‘No, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am either.’
Saleema went on to explain that her father had had dogs to help with his sheep for as long as she could remember. She had always treated them as pets and her parents had never objected. On the contrary, she stressed, her mother had told her father that men who treated dogs like dirt were no better than those who regarded their wives as chattels and women in general as lesser beings than men.
‘Good for her,’ said Farah. ‘A woman after my own heart.’
But wasn’t that going against basic Muslim principles, Pedrito hesitantly enquired?
‘Good principles are one thing,’ Saleema replied, warming to her theme, ‘but no man has the right to treat another human as his own property, to do with as he sees fit. And that’s why I decided to escape from the clutches of that lecherous old rabbit in the Almudaina Palace at the first opportunity.’
Farah cleared her throat. ‘Ah-ehm, that’s my husband you’re talking about, young lady.’
‘And my father,’ said Pedrito, swiftly picking up Farah’s jocular thread.
Saleema clapped a hand to her forehead in mock self-reproach. ‘Oops! Forgot about that for a moment.’ She slapped herself on the wrist. ‘Silly me!’
Even Nedi joined in the ensuing outburst of high spirits, wagging his tail and grinning eagerly as his three companions held their sides laughing about what he neither knew nor cared. These were fun people, this was a fun place to be, and he was enjoying himself.
*
It was mid-afternoon before Pedrito finally changed back into his newly-washed clothes, having spent the intervening time sitting in the sun chatting idly with his mother and Saleema, while Nedi lay sprawled and sleeping contentedly at their feet. At another time, this would have constituted a typical family scene in rural Mallorca – or would have appeared so. But a fierce war was being fought not too far beyond the edge of this little haven of peace and amity, and the three people presently delighting in each other’s company came from opposite sides of the associated ‘sacred’ divide. And although the personal bonds being nurtured between Pedrito and the two women were already strong enough to overcome this, the overriding fact remained that such relationships would be regarded as mortal sins by the more fervent elements that held sway in the two powers currently fighting for control of the island.
Even so, Pedrito knew where his priorities lay, and they certainly did not fall in with the inflexible sectarian stances of either side. His mother was his mother, and no amount of religious bigotry would change that. The situation with regard to Saleema was, however, very different. Any liaison between the opposite sexes of either religion was strictly forbidden by both, and could even be punishable by death. No matter how much it pleased his mother to see the buds of an amorous attachment emerging between himself and Saleema, Pedrito was painfully aware that he would have to tread very carefully in that area, if tears, or worse, were not to be the outcome.
He glanced at the sun. ‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘I’ve to be back at the Christian camp by nightfall, so I’d better make good use of what daylight’s left by gathering some wood to keep your fire going for a few days more.’
‘I’ll come and help!’ Saleema volunteered with unbridled enthusiasm.
Much as Pedrito would have enjoyed her company, he knew that every minute spent alone with her would merely add to the difficulty of keeping their relationship on a strictly platonic basis. He gestured towards her tattered slippers. ‘That’s really kind of you, Saleema, but it’s liable to be a bit rough underfoot, and –’
‘Not a problem!’ Saleema butted in. ‘I’ve become an expert at picking my way carefully through the woods since we came up here. I’ve had to! How do you think we managed to collect all those herbs and mushrooms?’
‘Yes, I – well, I can apppreciate that,’ Pedrito flustered, ‘but, ehm, I – I was going to take old Tranquilla with me anyway. You know – fill her saddle bags with sticks – so I’ll manage fine, thanks.’
‘Good idea!’ Saleema beamed. ‘I can always jump up on her back if my feet do get sore. Plus,’ she added before Pedrito could get a word in, ‘I know where there’s a big fallen pine tree, and I can lead you straight there. Think of the time you’ll save.’
Pedrito could see that to offer any further resistance would be futile. This girl had a mind of her own all right, and Farah was about to add strength to it.
‘You’ll be doing me a favour if you take her along,’ she told Pedrito with a reassuring nod of her head. ‘I like to have a little nap in the afternoon, and this little lady’s constant chattering never makes it easy.’
While Pedrito had no reason to doubt this, the sly wink he noticed Farah giving Saleema did make him slightly sceptical. ‘Cupid with a crutch’ was how Farah had referred to herself when fate had thrown the three of them together back in that dingy kasbah alleyway, and Pedrito suspecte
d that she had become set more than ever on acting out that very role.
‘Lead on, then,’ he said to Saleema, trying to appear as blasé as possible. ‘I’ll fetch old Tranquilla and catch up, never fear.’
Sure enough, Saleema did indeed lead him directly through the pinewoods to a little clearing where there was a fallen tree; a victim of a lightning strike, Pedrito thought, judging by the scorch marks on its trunk.
‘A good find,’ he said. ‘The wood’s nicely dried out and there are plenty of broken outer branches that’ll be easy enough to snap into handy-sized pieces for your fire.’
Saleema flashed him a mischievous smile. ‘What about the bigger ones, though? It would take a really strong man to break those over his knee.’
This time, Pedrito didn’t take the bait. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, getting immediately on with the job in hand, ‘I’ll have to try and scrounge an axe to bring along next time.’
Saleema giggled and kneeled down beside him to gather up a bunch of twigs. ‘These will come in handy for kindling, don’t you think?’
‘Certainly will,’ Pedrito replied, without lifting his eyes from what he was doing. ‘Certainly will.’
‘Certainly will,’ Saleema mimicked. ‘Certainly will.’
Pedrito ignored her, which wasn’t easy, knowing as he did that she was being deliberately flirty. There was nothing he would have liked better than to play along, but one glance at the lightning marks on the tree trunk served as a reminder (as if he needed one!) that playing with fire was the last thing he should be contemplating. Without even glancing in Saleema’s direction, he began packing pieces of wood into Tranquilla’s saddle bags.
‘Why are you being so offhand with me?’ Saleema asked after a while. She was standing close by Pedrito now – close enough for him to smell again the same faint but tantalising fragrance that had beguiled him when helping her through the maze of kasbah alleyways on that first night.
‘I’m not being offhand. It’s just that…’ Steeling himself, Pedrito stole a glance at Saleema’s face, but looked away again immediately. ‘You know why, Saleema, and there’s no point in –’
‘I don’t know why, and that’s why I’m asking you.’ She reached up and drew his chin round so that he was forced to look directly into her eyes. ‘Don’t you like what you see?’
‘Too much,’ Pedrito croaked, his throat going suddenly dry. ‘That’s the trouble, and you know it.’
Saleema batted her eyelashes in a way that had Pedrito going all weak at the knees again. ‘Trouble?’ she whispered. ‘What trouble?’
Pedrito had to draw on previously unexlored reserves of self-restraint to turn away and load the last few chunks of wood into Tranquilla’s saddle bags. ‘The trouble, Saleema, is that Allah wouldn’t approve of one of his female followers having a fling with –’
‘What’s Allah got to do with it?’ Saleema bristled. ‘If Allah or God, or whatever he or they are called, isn’t happy with the way I feel – and the way you feel too, so don’t deny it! – then he, or they, don’t stand for what we’re told they stand for!’ She jabbed Pedrito in the chest with her finger. ‘Yes, and I’m not just having a fling either! I’m not one of your galley-slave tarts, you know!’ With that, she turned on her heel and stomped off through the woods, as determinedly as her flimsy footwear would allow.
Pedrito wasn’t surprised to find her waiting for him in the next clearing.
‘My feet are sore,’ she sniveled, all the vixen-like fury of a few moments ago replaced by a much exaggerated little-girl-lost look. ‘Poor Saleema,’ she crooned, eyelashes fluttering like bunting in the wind. ‘Poor little Saleema needs to be lifted onto the nice old horse’s back.’
Pedrito couldn’t help laughing. He realised that he was being set up for one of the oldest female tricks of all, but came to the conclusion that there would be no harm in playing along just this once. He knew he was strong enough to resist. Well, he was, wasn’t he?
‘All right, Saleema, you win,’ he smiled as he hitched Tranquilla to a convenient branch. ‘I’ll help you onto her back, if that’s what you want.’
He duly placed his hands on either side of her waist and began to lift her up. But as soon as their faces were level, Saleema flung her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the lips.
When she finally pulled her head back, Pedrito nodded towards the setting sun. ‘It’ll soon be nightfall,’ he remarked, hoarsely.
‘I think so,’ Saleema whispered.
‘So, I’ll have to be on my way.’
Saleema shook her head and drew his face down towards hers again. ‘I don’t think so,’ she murmured. ‘I really don’t think so, Little Pedro.’
24
‘SAVAGE SUBTLETIES OF THE SIEGE’
SOME WEEKS LATER – THE CHRISTIAN CAMP OF ‘EL REAL’…
‘The mountain air obviously agrees with you,’ was what the king said to Pedrito when he eventually arrived back in camp that night. ‘It’s put a glow in your cheeks. Sí,’ he grinned, ‘and a smile on your lips as well. I take it, then, that you saw to the, uh, comfort of your little concubine, as I guessed you would, eh?’
Pedrito chose not to encourage the king by responding directly to his chaffing. ‘I’m afraid the mountain air seems to have agreed with Nedi even more,’ he said instead. ‘He followed me up there, but refused to come back with me when I left. Just sat by my mother’s side and wouldn’t budge, no matter how often I called him.’
King Jaume was nonchalance personified. ‘Not to worry. He’ll make his way back when it suits him – if it suits him. A law unto himself, that one.’
And no more was said about Pedrito’s cross-religious entanglements, except for the king to give his confidential permission for Pedrito to make further compassionate visits to his mother whenever circumstances allowed. Those in charge of the kitchen stores would be told he was taking supplies to a remote lookout post, and the matter would be left at that until the war reached a successful conclusion, when Pedrito would have to comply with whatever rules of conduct were required to purge Islamic influences from the island’s population.
This was a prospect that filled Pedrito with dread, but all he could do for the present was stick to his decision to serve King Jaume as best he could and trust to the young monarch’s sense of tolerance – and influence over the more dogmatic elements within the clergy – when the time came.
Meanwhile, the siege of Medîna Mayûrqa continued with increased ferocity and determination. As the weeks passed, the mining of tunnels under the dry moat was augmented by trenches being dug by squads of men protected from Moorish crossbow fire by mantellina-like ‘roofs on wheels’. These laborious but unrelenting advances on the foundations of the city’s walls were accompanied by the ongoing exchange of airborne missiles, resulting in an apalling number of casualties being suffered on both sides.
Eventually, three defence towers were successfully undermined and brought crashing down as the wooden props placed in the excavations beneath them were set alight by the Christian sappers. Yet the Moors succeeded in repairing the damage inflicted on their northern bastions with such speed that no real Christian advantage was gained. Impasse appeared to be a frustratingly reiterated outcome of every aggressive tactic employed by King Jaume’s men.
Then two brothers by the name of Ritxo from the Catalonian town of Lérida offered to lend their bridge-building experience to spanning the dry moat with a stout framework of timber topped with layers of earth. Theirs, they claimed, would be a bridge capable of bearing the weight of all the heavy war horses needed to carry their armoured mounts on a final assault through a breach in the walls, the latter to be achieved by a bout of concentrated artillery bombardment at the crucial hour.
Pedrito became acutely familiar with the dangers inherent in the execution of this bold military undertaking, employed as he was in the transportation of timber and earth during the two weeks it took for the bridge to near completion. He saw many of his companions f
all victim to arrows and rocks launched from the city ramparts, and ultimately to the horrific effects of boiling oil poured down on them the closer to the walls the construction progressed. Survival was a matter of luck, despite the best efforts being made to shield the men involved with moveable wooden screens, while full use was also made of every trebuchet and mangonel to batter their Moorish assailants with everything that could be thrown at them. And all the time King Jaume made a point of riding conspicuously through the forward positions within the encampment, offering cries of encouragement to his increasingly weary troops.
Then, under cover of darkness one night, a small party of Moors slipped over the walls and succeeded in lighting fires under the bridge structure’s complex arrangements of timber supports. This surely would have resulted in terminal harm being done to the product of two weeks of backbreaking work, so dearly paid for in human life, had the king himself not devised an ingenious solution. While groups of men did their best to contain the flames with brushwood flails, he detailed Pedrito and a hundred other sturdy young men to set out, fully armed – not with swords, but with spades – to dig a channel directing the water from a well at a nearby abandoned farm into the dry moat. It was touch and go for a while, but eventually the king’s ploy had the desired effect and the fires were extinguished before too much of the already completed work was damaged beyond repair.
Nevertheless, a morale-sapping setback had been suffered by the Christian army, and the Moors succeeded in inflicting another shortly afterwords. From inside the city walls, they had been secretly digging counter-mines towards those of the Christians, and when they finally hacked their way into the first of these, they attacked their opposite numbers with such fury that they succeeded in driving out all not put to the sword. Then, to add insult to injury, a group of cock-a-hoop Moors emerged from the tunnel and hurled verbal abuse at their Christian foes across no-man’s-land.