The Ruby In Her Navel

by Barry Unsworth

  "We have little time," she said.

  "All the more reason." My breath came quickly. The nearness of her face, face so much dreamed of, confused my sight. As if seen in a dream now, the level, fair brows, the candid blue of the eyes, the mouth full but well-formed, half smiling. "All the more reason, if the time is short,"

  I said, in a voice not quite my own, and I leaned and kissed her and felt the answering warmth of her lips, but then she drew away a little and half-raised a hand as if to stay me. "This evening at supper we will have more time together. We are to sup at the lakeside, they will make fires. Then, with the dark and all the movement and the boats, it will be easier for us to escape notice."

  The promise I felt in these words went to my head like a strong drink. I pictured this retiring together, away from the firelight, into the darkness of the woods…

  "Do not look so," she said. "I meant that we will be free to talk together and make plans, without attracting any particular attention."

  These words too were delightful to me, though in a different way. To make plans was to talk of a future shared. I felt my whole being brim with joy. When I spoke my voice came huskily. "Lady Alicia, let me tell you my gratitude -"

  Gratitude, I was going to say, and which I felt from a full heart, for her existence in the world and for the pains and care she had taken to contrive our being together in this way. But she laid a finger on my lips to prevent my continuing, and I kissed it with the passion of my gratitude, but when I looked into her face I saw something of distress there, in the eyes and the mouth, something I was at a loss to understand. "What is it?" I said. "What is it troubles you?"

  "No, it is nothing," she said. The look had left her face as I spoke.

  She hesitated a moment, as if uncertain, then said, "It is Adhemar, he is always watching me. Even here…"

  "Adhemar? But why should he watch?"

  "He has his own ideas for my future, and you have no part in them."

  "What ideas? He seemed so friendly and full of smiles…"

  "Yes, he can smile, but he has a strong will behind the smiling. There is one he favours as a future husband for me, a fellow of his in the service of Count Raymond of Tripoli."

  This came as a blow to me all the heavier for the joy of the promise that had gone before. How could her brother behave with such a degree of friendliness when all the time he was regarding me as a possible adversary, an impediment to his plans? There was an element of treachery there that went beyond the necessary, and I felt the chill of it even in that shaded warmth of the pavilion.

  "Take care not to show him that you know this," Alicia said. "Do not change in your behaviour towards him, return his smiles. So he may be lulled into thinking that he will have his way, and cease from pestering me with praises of the wealth and prowess of this knight."

  "And will he? Will he have his way?"

  "Can you ask me that after the way providence has brought us together again, after the words exchanged between us? This friend of my brother's means nothing to me. It does not matter to me if he is wealthy and well-famed. I have had my fill of my family's friends – Tibald was one such. It is as I told you that night at the hospice. I am free to choose and I will choose at the bidding of my heart. This I promise you."

  These words, and the look she gave me as she said them, went far to solace me for the double blow of Adhemar's perfidy and the existence of another suitor, but did not altogether heal it. My rival was rich, it seemed. Before I could reply there came the loud sound of a hunting horn from somewhere closer to the palace. "They are calling the Assembly," she said. She raised her face to me and kissed me lightly. "You must go to hear the huntsmen. I will follow more slowly. I will not join you there, I do not take part in the hunt – this one or any other. I do not enjoy the sight of the bleeding stag."

  I did as she bade me, leaving her there still in the shade of the pavilion. As I made my way towards the gate, I saw how the shadows cast by the effigies on to the walls crossed and overlaid one another, making strange, deformed shapes. The lion was a jawless crocodile, the tall flamingo had a camel's hump.

  XVI

  The place of Assembly was an antechamber of the palace, adjoining the main hall. Here Bertrand and his Lady – who it seemed would join the hunt – awaited their guests in company with two huntsmen. Adhemar was there already and he smiled at me and I returned the smile, but I knew him now for an enemy. Of Alboino there was no sign.

  When all who would take part were gathered, the huntsmen began to advance their separate claims. Each had followed the spoor of a deer with his bloodhounds and discovered the harbour, or resting place, of the beast and marked it for the morrow. They spoke in turn and earnestly: he whose deer was chosen would be paid in coin and receive some share of the meat. It was for this reason that, even though his punishment would be severe if the company were disappointed, a huntsman sometimes overpraised his deer, and so the questioning had to be careful. Neither man had viewed his quarry, but they assured us, from the height of the traces left by the antlers, that each was a hart of ten. On this point they were very definite and for the reason we all knew well: with less than ten tines on the head a hart was not judged ready to be hunted with dogs.

  This discussion of the relative merits of the deer was elaborate and protracted as always, and as always it was conducted in French. No matter how long the Normans had lived in Sicily they used the language of their forebears when talking of the hunt. Each man, by courtesy of the host, was allowed a question if he so chose. Bertrand did me the honour of inviting me to ask the third question, after his own and that of the favoured quest, and this was a knight of very high estate, a nephew of Count Theobald of Blois. This courtesy I put down to Alicia's commendation of me – it could hardly be due to my own standing in such a company as this. My question, fortunately, was already prepared. I enquired into the depth of the impressions made by the feet and knees when the beast rose from its bed – an important matter this, as it indicates the weight. After I had thus played my part and showed myself no stranger to the business, I regret to say that I began to lose interest, especially as we now entered upon a long discussion concerning the width of foot, each huntsman eagerly showing, with fingers laid side by side, the flattening of the grass where his beast had trod.

  There was a line of pillars along the side of the room opposite the entrance; they were of the kind known as serpentine, very slender, with a rope of marble winding round from pedestal to capital, so that the whole pillar took the form of a twining snake, this too the work of Saracen masons, perhaps made, I thought, in the days of Yusuf's ancestor, he who had been vizir to the Emir Jafar, who built this palace and was the first to make a lake round it. And as I followed these snakes of marble up to the Arabic characters inscribed in the capitals, then down again to the low pediment, in sinuous, unceasing lines, I remembered Yusuf's face as he spoke of his forebears, the pride and sorrow in it, and then I remembered his anger when I had compared his people to the Serbs. He had spoken on a tide of feeling, something very rare in him; he had spoken of rebellion and civil war, dangerous words for any man to speak, however highly placed… I drifted from this to thoughts of the guileful Serpent twining round the Tree, and the honeyed words that had brought our first parents to exile and sorrow, till Christ came to redeem us from that sin and hold out to us the promise of eternal life. The hart was the symbol of this, because God gave to the hart the ability to renew itself. When it has lived for thirty-two years it is driven by its nature to seek out an anthill, which it then destroys by trampling upon it. Below this anthill there is found a white snake, which the hart kills and devours. It then goes to a desert place and throws off its flesh and becomes young again, and this signifies the soul's discarding of the body as it enters into purgatory and so prepares for eternal life.

  I was roused from this half-dreaming state by being asked my opinion as to the merits and defects of the excrement of the two animals. The huntsmen had brought specime
ns of these fumées, as they were called, and we gathered wisely round a table to compare them. This also requires a great deal of study, the points of comparison being in the thickness of the turd, its length, and the hardness of its consistency. The palm was finally awarded, the defeated huntsman took himself disconsolately off and the victor was told to have his lymers ready for the next day.

  After this I set off again to look for Alicia, but did not find her, and supposed she would be resting; she would not venture much into this hot sun of afternoon. I thought of her fairness, the pale brows: she had taken care to keep her face from burning in Jerusalem, and so she would do here.

  I found my own chamber very sweetly smelling when I returned to it; in my absence they had come and strewn the floor with dried mint, and I think other herbs mingled with it. I lay on the bed and thought of the events of the day and became drowsy as I did so, so that impressions were jumbled together and lost all order of sequence, the turning mirrors, the servitude of the brass Saracens, the false smiles of Adhemar and the sad eyes of the Abbot, the strange distortions of the shadows on the walls, Alicia waiting for me in the shade of the pavilion, the kisses we had exchanged – I seemed to feel them still on my lips. I remembered the change in her face as I tried to speak my gratitude, and how for a moment she had seemed at a loss, perhaps unsure whether she should confide in me. She had seemed afraid as she spoke of her brother and his spying. But that brief look on her face, when she had raised her fingers to my lips to prevent me from speaking, that had been more like distress than fear. Pale hands, pale as ivory… some words that might be the beginning of a song came to my mind.

  Her honour and her good shall be my care.

  I am her liege-man and her lover.

  Wherever I may be…

  Her liege-man and her lover, her lover and her liege-man. Which had the best fall? The first was more lyrical, the second had more weight on the end syllable… Before this problem could be solved I drifted into sleep and lay lost to the world while the sun waned and sank and the evening came and the light softened. There were already the first grainings of dark in the air when I descended, and I saw that fires were already burning on the farther shore of the lake.

  These fires it was possible to reach in one of two ways, I was informed by the chamberlain, who seemed to be permanently stationed in the hall below: I could leave the island by means of the causeway, then make my way on foot round the edge of the lake until reaching the fires; or, if preferred, there were little pleasure-boats, I could paddle across. I said I would prefer the latter, and a gardener's boy was summoned to show me where the boats were. Only three now remained, moored at a little landing-stage, though this sometimes stretched away and the boats were multiplied, according to the swing of the mirrors, invisible from here, the sunlight no longer betraying their presence. If one lived long on this island, I thought, one would lose for ever the capacity to trust in anything, even in one's own senses. Or perhaps one would simply become wary as to where he set his foot. There were zones that were free from these bewildering reflections, like the gardens surrounding the pavilion and the pavilion itself, but it was not possible to know where the borders were. One step farther and the world stretched and yawned and the distinction between the one and the many was lost.

  The paddle-boats were built for calm water, with gilded prows and cushioned seats. They were small, yes, but quite big enough for two, and it was now that a certain idea came to me: if I could make myself master of one of these boats and prevent it from being taken by anyone else, it might provide the means of having Alicia to myself for a while, and defeating Adhemar's vigilance.

  With this thought in mind, I did not paddle my boat directly to the mooring posts on the opposite shore, but tied it to a waterside tree at some distance away, then scrambled ashore and made my way on foot through the trees to where the fires were burning and the people were gathering. Tables had been set up and there was a smell of roasting meat. I took a place, and bread was brought to me, and soon after a cut from the breast of a duck was brought on a dish, and this was very tender and good, the bird had been well chosen and turned long on the spit. The wine-cup came round to me, made of silver and very deep in the bowl so that it was heavy and had to be raised with both hands. I drank and passed the cup to my neighbour, a knight I had met that morning and who had been at the Assembly. We spoke together for a while about the clearness of the night weather, the promising starlight, and the prospects for the hunt next day. As we were speaking a minstrel came forward and sat facing us with the firelight on his face. He struck some notes on his viele and began with a song of King Arthur, singing in French, a good strong voice and perfect in the words. My neighbour told me that this was Renart the Jongleur, the famous singer who travelled and performed in many places and was welcomed in the houses of the great, and could sing in Breton and Provencal and Latin with equal ease.

  He had been brought here by our host for this occasion. Now I too knew many songs and could accompany myself on the viele; I listened carefully to this singer and it seemed to me – nay, I knew it – that my own voice was the equal of his in its range and tone. "He has a good horse and a full purse," my neighbour said. "He goes from one court to another. If he complains of mean treatment he brings shame to the one he complains of, and so he is always treated well."

  "Well," I said, "generosity is a virtue, however it comes about."

  I was constantly looking around for a sight of Alicia but did not see her. This distraction made me a little inattentive to the young knight's words – he was younger than I, he looked no more than twenty. He was speaking of Bertrand's patronage of him and how this had advanced him and how Bertrand believed that those of Norman blood should be united, since only if they spoke with one voice would the King see their loyalty and devotion, and bring them closer to him, and send away the false counsellors that surrounded him.

  I answered him as best I could – these were views I had heard before.

  After a while longer, with some friendly words about our riding together next day, he quitted the table. I was rising to do the same when Abbot Alboino came and took a place on my other side, obliging me to resume my seat.

  He asked about my activities of the day and listened and nodded with head inclined, in the same kindly but very serious manner I had noticed in him that morning. I did not speak of my meeting with Alicia in the pavilion and if he knew of this he gave no sign. "I was hoping to have some talk with you," he said. "As I told you this morning, my niece has spoken of you in very high terms. You were childhood friends, were you not?"

  He was looking closely at me as he spoke. Once again I was struck by the sorrowing expression of his eyes. I could not tell if this was feeling in them or an accident of their setting. It was as if they testified to a life quite different from the one that was lived by his body – he had twice my years but he was robust and confident in his bearing. It came to me that he was inviting my confidence, while at the same time knowing more than his words suggested. "I was heartbroken when she left to be married," I said. "I was sixteen, no longer such a child." I took care to smile and say these words lightly, so that it could still seem an extravagance of childhood.

  "Well," he said, "you are a fine upstanding fellow now, and so you must have been at sixteen. But the dangers that beset the soul are greater now."

  He was still regarding me with the same attention. I saw his mouth draw together as at some sharp taste. Perhaps it was this impression of bitterness in him that made me think by contrast of Hugo the Spy and his taste for honey cakes. "Children know wickedness too," I said. "But I suppose the temptations are fewer and more simple."

  "That was not my meaning. I was speaking of you, your situation."

  For a moment I thought he might be referring to the attraction that Alicia had shown for me. He could not but know that she had exerted herself to have me invited here. He had eyes in his head, he had watched, he must have seen the glances we exchanged. And in any case
he must have wanted to take a look at me. It might have been for this that he had come to Favara – he had not been at the Assembly, so did not intend to take part in the hunt. There was power in him, both when he spoke and when he was silent; it came from him like an emanation. Alicia too must feel this power… "Lord Abbot," I said, "I have no ill intentions in regard to your niece, I beg you will believe this." A lump had formed in my throat, and I paused before speaking again to swallow it down. "If it rested with me, she would be kept safe for ever."

  "I have no doubts of that," he said. "Though it is true that Alicia causes me concern, as she does also to her brother. She is self-willed, but she lacks guile or even great caution in bringing her ends about.

  This could be used to her harm."

  It seemed to me he judged her wrongly; guile and caution she had possessed in large measure already at fourteen, who should know that better than I? "Used to her harm? You mean by others?"

  Darkness had fallen as we talked. Behind us men came with armfuls of dry tinder and heaped the fires so that they blazed up, and in this stronger light I saw the Abbot's face half turned away, the high brow and firm mouth and strong chin. Despite the sad look of the eyes, it was the face of one who knew his way through the thickets and marshes of this world.

  He had left my last question unanswered. After a short silence, during which the voice of the jongleur still sounded, though now from farther away, he said, "No, I meant your situation at the Douana, the fact that you are at the orders of a Moslem, you rub shoulders with Moslems, day by day you are subject to the influence of their religion."

  For some moments it seemed to me that he might almost be joking, so very gentle and equable was the voice he used. But the face he turned to me now had no joking in it. "No one of good Christian family can find that acceptable," he said.

  "But I am not subject to the influence of their religion. I do not discuss religion in my work at the… Diwan."