by Cleo Cordell
Adeliz crawled close to Karolan. Stretching out her hand, she closed it over his velvet-covered thigh. Her hair smelt greasy. A sour smell rose from her armpits. He did not stop her as she trailed her fingers down to his groin and caressed his tumescence. It was more than he had allowed any of the whores to do before. Adeliz held her breath. He could feel her tension as his flesh pulsed beneath her practised touch. Closing his eyes, he imagined that it was Garnetta who stroked him, who whispered obscenities. He had come here to find forgetfulness in the welter of willing flesh, but instead he thought only of Garnetta – of her sweet smell, her clean taste, the silken feel of her cool skin.
Dashing Adeliz’s hand away, he lurched across the room. Filling another cup he poured in more of the poppy drug, then drained it in a single swallow. When he looked back towards the cushions, he saw that Jack had pulled Adeliz down to lie beside Isabeau and was taking it in turns to push his cock into them both. The Fetch was hovering over them, its shadow form pulsing and undulating, urging them on to greater excesses.
Karolan watched Sabina, who had thrown back her head, absorbed in a private world of sensation. Her fingers stroked and probed as her hips worked wantonly. The swollen sex pouted around the strip of damp fabric, which she was rubbing against herself. Her mouth opened to emit a soft moan. A stab of lust pierced Karolan’s belly. Dizzy now with ale fumes and opiate, he moved forward, fell to his knees before Sabina. Looking down at him, she grinned lewdly. Slowly she removed the halter. Dangling it above his head, she waved it back and forth. The pungent, musky smell drifted down to him. With a soft cry he grabbed her buttocks. Burying his face between her thighs, he delved into her moist red crevice. Sabina shuddered as he pushed his tongue inside her. The girl’s juices were rich as butter in his mouth, the strong smell of her fanned his lust.
He was faintly aware of the Fetch, hovering, gibbering with glee as it enjoyed the potent emanations which resonated on the ether. Spreading itself out on the air, it flowed over Sabina as she shook like an aspen, her eyes turned back in her head.
The spirit’s form pulsed with turgid colour. Sucking greedily at her energy, it crooned, ‘Have her, Master. Drink her death, would I.’
The reedy voice was insistent and the opiate sapped his will to resist it. Karolan was tempted. It took all of his control not to throw the girl onto her back and fuck her mindlessly. Only the fact that she was young and did not deserve to die stopped him. She would be sore for a few days after his attentions, but, this way, would suffer no lasting harm from his caustic saliva.
Sabina gave a series of sharp cries. Her flesh convulsed around his tongue. Karolan dug his fingers into the opulent flesh of her buttocks, one finger sliding into her wet furrow as he absorbed every subtle detail of her climax. He held the girl almost tenderly now, as the after-shocks of her pleasure began to fade. Already her expression was changing to one of consternation as she felt the burning and stinging of all her privy parts.
Swiftly he stood up, led her to the back of the room. He pushed her roughly down onto the stained cushions. ‘Spread your legs,’ he ordered. She did so warily, her eyes popping with fright. Jack was too busy jabbing himself into Adeliz while Isabeau sat on his face to wonder why Karolan emptied the entire contents of a jug of ale over Sabina’s coynte, sluicing her thoroughly both inside and out.
Karolan stood up, swaying. His body still burned for easement. Now that the cold ale had eased her, Sabina reached for him, her painted mouth curving a welcome. Karolan shook his head. The room reeked of sweat and sex. The opiate and ale had combined to make him queasy. He made for the door. A backward glance showed him that Sabina had joined the others on the cushions. Grinning, Jack closed his mouth on her breast. Adeliz surfaced long enough to throw Karolan a glance. In it was longing tinged with disappointment.
‘Too good fer the touch of a whore,’ she slurred. ‘You ever were.’
Outside in the dark alley, he vomited. Hunched over, he waited for the nausea to pass.
‘Fed well. Want more,’ the Fetch said, close to his ear, its perfumed breath warm on his skin. ‘You hunger still. Feel it do I. Desire solace now?’
The ache of frustration surged up within Karolan. Having tasted the singular pleasures of loving Garnetta, his sexual need was more demanding, more difficult to control. Ah, Garnetta. The terror of never finding her again lay against him like a cold sword and brought him to the very verge of hating her.
Reading Karolan’s mood, the Fetch chuckled richly. ‘Is not this suffering a luxury?’ it said huskily in a female voice. Her voice.
Trembling Karolan closed his eyes. He had not the will to resist as a soft mouth brushed against his lips. Her mouth. Fingers moved to the lacing of his tunic. He smelt Garnetta’s perfume, tasted her on his tongue, and did not care that it was an illusion. Fingers brushed gently against his chest, pinching at his nipples until they gathered into hard little peaks.
Sliding down, uncaring of the wet and filth in the alley, he lay flat on his back. Inflamed by the excess of sexual energy it had imbibed, the Fetch was in capricious mood. Soft arms enfolded Karolan, cool firm breasts pressed against his chest. Short hair brushed his cheek. Karolan felt a surge of longing. No – it was not, after all, illusion he craved, but Garnetta herself. And the reality of that was denied him.
‘Make me forget her,’ he groaned, as the desire within him built to an ache.
‘As you wish, Master,’ said the Fetch, squirming with its willingness to please. ‘No more female.’
Karolan’s lips parted to admit entry to an erect phallus. The Fetch chuckled as Karolan began sucking the warm salty tip, welcoming the swollen shaft against the roof of his mouth. He rose up as his hosen were peeled down to his knees. Cleated flesh enclosed his straining organ. With his mouth plundered, his cock buried deeply within hot spirit-flesh, there was nothing but the sensation of spiked pleasure. He felt his legs lifted, folded back until the knees were pressed into his chest. A tongue squirmed inside him, licking around the rim of his anus, teasing, tasting the sweet-bitterness, lubricating him for a harsher entry to come.
The Fetch conjured erotic images to crowd his mind. Karolan saw himself lying with Harun under the shade of palm trees. The hot sun burned down on their heaving bodies. Within him, Harun’s cock laboured towards a climax. The scent of sandalwood and patchouli rose from the dark skin of his Arab lover. Then he was with a woman, as exquisite as she was unique. Her skin was dark also. Her hair fell in skeins of black silk, reaching to her knees. Her soft breasts had a bloom on them like damsons and her coynte was a ripe pouting fig. Ah, he had not thought of her for so long, yet it was she who had led him down the path to ruin.
Nasibia. Harun’s sister. How different would his life had been if he had resisted her? Nasibia – the sound of it like a caress. ‘No. Not her,’ he whispered, freeing his mouth for just long enough to speak.
The memories faded. He grunted as his buttocks were pressed apart. The cock entered his body, stretching him, filling him. Every other sensation became subject to the rhythm of this. His mouth worked on the organ that filled it. Deep within his body, he awoke to a pleasure more urgent yet. Gasping and bucking he spilled his seed.
Then, as he had expected, the Fetch was inside him. The agony of it stitched him to the ground as surely as if iron spikes had been hammered through his limbs. It had never been like this. His eyeballs burned from the inside. His blood, hot and urgent, strained the fabric of his veins. He would not have been surprised to hear them rip. Gritting his teeth, he suffered the onslaught, as the spirit possessed him completely, using him simply as a vessel of containment.
Ripples passed over his skin. Muscles and tendons jerked as if trying to break from their confinement. Every organ ached. It went on and on. Karolan could do nothing but wait it out. In the final seconds before he lost consciousness, he thought how unbearable it would be if the Fetch ever grew strong enough to plunder him without his express permission.
For if that was to
happen, it could remain inside him for ever. And there was no telling what mischief it would do in the world of men.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Garnetta breathed deeply in her sleep as the dream unfolded.
The pictures forming in her mind were at first amorphous, as if shrouded in mist, then the image sharpened. She found herself looking into a garden where bushes blossomed with flowers, fruit trees grew in pots, and a fountain played under the burning sun. Part of Garnetta’s conscious mind seemed to be at work. Her heightened senses revealed that this was another of those glimpses into Karolan’s past.
‘Nasibia,’ came his whisper. ‘Are you hiding from me?’
Karolan’s shoulder-length, fair hair was bright against the folds of his white tunic. He wore loose silk trousers caught in at the ankle. Striding towards the columns of carved stone which held up the roof of a pleasure pavilion, he made a sound of impatience. His hand brushed against a potted palm, setting the leaves rustling in an angry hiss.
He turned, giving Garnetta a full view of his face. It was still a shock to see those well-remembered features. He looked just as beautiful with deep-golden skin and sun-bleached hair. His blue eyes were striking against his darkened skin.
Karolan’s voice came again into the dream, urgent, demanding. Garnetta concentrated on observing only, knowing that there was much to learn about the mysterious man whom she hardly knew.
‘Nasibia. Show yourself. I tire of these games! I must speak with you.’ A clump of tall lilies swayed, the fronds parted, and a woman stepped onto the mosaic tiles.
She was clothed from head to foot in black robes. A kind of leather mask, shaped to fit her face, screened all but her eyes from view. From the eye-slits, glittered a flash of deepest-brown. ‘From whence comes this need for haste?’ Nasibia said, her accented voice husky, gently teasing. ‘Well you know how dangerous it is for us to meet. I had to wait to slip away until Sahain was certain to be gone. The chief eunuch’s eyes are sharp. If my brother ever found us out, he would order us both to be stoned to death.’
‘I doubt that. Harun loves you too much to hurt you, although I might be another matter,’ Karolan said, moving close and reaching for Nasibia’s hand.
She extended slim brown wrists on which many gold bracelets gleamed. Karolan brought the small hands to his mouth, kissed each elaborately hennaed knuckle in turn. When he loosed her hands Nasibia raised them and removed her face mask. Dropping it to the tiled floor, she pushed her robe from her shoulders and stepped free of the crumpled folds. Under the dull black she wore full skirts and a breast-length tunic of richly embroidered silk. Tiny mirrors glinted amongst the threads. Her shining raven hair was plaited and twisted with gold cords. A row of gold coins hung low on her dusky forehead.
Karolan cupped Nasibia’s face between his palms and kissed her red mouth passionately. Smoothing a hand over her narrow shoulders, he slipped his fingers down to her back, pressing her close against him. ‘You are trembling, my heart. What is it?’ he said.
‘Sometimes the enormity of our crime steals my breath. I have sinned against Allah. Hourly I pray to the Prophet for forgiveness. I ought never to have allowed myself to be bewitched by your golden beauty. You are a creature of fire, one of the majnun. But I welcomed the scorching wind of your presence into my life. I cannot regret it now. Oh, Karolan. Would that we could tell Harun of our love.’
‘You know that is impossible. There would be great danger for you if it became known that you have been dishonoured.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I cannot help but wonder how much time is left to us. Already it is the month of Sha’ban. Lord Simon left you here in the month of Muharram. Thanks to the skill of my brother, your injured leg is whole. You are eager to ride again, go hunting for wild boar in the reed beds.’
‘Nasibia, listen to me. I have received word that Lord Simon’s army, camped on the hills overlooking the Holy City, is breaking up. It can be only a matter of hours before he returns this way.’
‘So soon? Then he will surely come for you, the brave man who saved his lord’s life. And then – we can leave together?’ She searched his face for an answer. When he did not reply, she bowed her head, the slender neck looking fragile under the weight of her hair. ‘If . . . if you were to stay, you could embrace Islam. The law allows for a Christian to convert. We shall marry. Harun would have no objection. He loves you like a brother . . .’
Karolan laid his fingers against her mouth. ‘It cannot be. I have told you. I must go back to England with Lord Simon.’
‘Why?’ she flashed at him, her head snapping back like a striking cobra. ‘Have you some pallid Christian woman to warm your bed there? What can she offer you that I cannot? Oh, I see it now. You have sickened of my infidel flesh. Having taken the jewel of my virginity, you cast it down to be trampled by swine!’ Pulling free of his embrace, she spun around, her long glittering skirts swinging out in an arc. As she paced, her sandals made a soft scraping sound on the tiles. The bells around her slender ankles tinkled.
In the monastery, a spasm passed over Garnetta’s face. She pushed away the sheet that covered her. One hand brushed against her face as if trying to smear away cobwebs. The scene in the courtyard was almost painfully bright. She could sense Karolan’s indecision and the Arab woman’s distress.
‘You are wrong, Nasibia,’ Karolan said, his blue eyes vibrant. ‘Calm yourself. Let us talk about this, but pray lower your voice. Someone will hear.’
She placed her hands on her hips. Her beautiful, kohllined eyes blazing at him. ‘Let them hear! I care not. How easy it is for you to lie. What a fool I have been to be beguiled by your flattery. I am no more use to you. Which did you enjoy the most – taking your pleasure of my body or using me as a tool to gain access to Harun’s library?’
Karolan’s face hardened. He took hold of Nasibia’s shoulders, shaking her so hard that her hair loosened from its pins and streamed down to her waist. She uttered a small cry of alarm and struggled to be free. He kept a grip on her. ‘Be silent, I say! Think you that Harun has denied me anything? He and I have been studying his scrolls and manuscripts for many weeks. I have seen the Great and Small books of Khalid ibn Yazid, the Book of Amulets, the many works of Zosimus and Democritus. Together we have conjured up Shaitin, leader of the angels, and spoken in ritual with his creatures Harut and Marut.’
Nasibia blanched. ‘But these things are forbidden by the Qu’ran! Is Harun mad? He has never before shared his dark secrets. Once he guarded his knowledge of al kimiya from everyone but me. But I am only a woman, after all. Ah, the cursed complicity of men. I thought Harun loved me best, but he has betrayed me. You have bewitched us, taken everything we held dear. Now you are to carry off this knowledge to your own land.’ Seeing something in his eyes, Nasibia gave a sob. Tears sparkled on her sooty lashes. Her sensuous mouth pulled down at the corners. ‘By the Prophet, how blind I have been. You and my brother are lovers too.’
Karolan’s mouth lifted in a sneer. ‘Oh, spare me, I beg of you! Both of you were victims – is that it? You were helpless against my charms? How I pity you and Harun – poor innocents both. But you were more than willing to show this “ignorant unbeliever” the pathways to pleasure according to the poet Abu Sa’id.’
Nasibia’s dark eyes narrowed. There was a red flush along each exquisite dusky cheekbone. ‘You dare to mock us after we took you to our hearts! Christian dog! How could I ever have thought I loved you. You are more foul than the dung beneath my feet!’
Her hands curled into claws. She leapt for his eyes. Karolan caught her wrists and held her easily. She spat full in his face and opened her mouth ready to scream. Twisting her around so that she was held captive against his body, Karolan pressed one hand to the lower part of her face. ‘Stop that, you hell-cat! Listen to reason.’
In the dream the violence and tension was palpable. Garnetta’s head tossed from side to side. She wanted the pictures to fade, afraid now of what might happen. Her lips parted and
she murmured, ‘No. No.’
As Karolan dragged Nasibia towards a clump of oleander bushes, the Arab woman fought and thrashed, almost choking with rage. She sank her teeth into his hand, worrying at his flesh until the blood spurted through his fingers. Karolan cursed, but did not remove his hand from her mouth. He tightened his grip, jerking her head around and digging his fingers into her cheeks.
‘Christ!’ he grated. ‘Be still, Nasibia. I have no wish to hurt you!’ Nasibia’s dark eyes almost popped from their sockets. She seemed to rise up against him, then her whole body went rigid. There was a loud crack and she went limp in his arms. ‘Nasibia? Oh my God!’
Karolan removed his hand from her face and placed his ear to her chest. With a groan, he let her go. She fell to the ground, lying in a crumpled heap of embroidered skirts and silky black hair. Looking around quickly to make certain that he was unobserved, Karolan bent down and scooped Nasibia into his arms. Her head lolled back over his bent arm. Her eyes were open and sightless. The lower part of her face was smeared with the blood from his bitten hand. Pausing only long enough to hide the body behind the bushes, Karolan picked up the discarded outer garment and face mask. He put them with the body, arranging the branches and leaves to cover them, then came out of the bushes and stood looking down into the waters of the fountain. The sun reflecting off the water made a moving pattern of shapes across his face.
In the monastery, beads of sweat broke out on Garnetta’s forehead. Her short black hair stuck up in damp spikes. Her dream self could clearly see the moment when Karolan’s expression changed from one of regret. It did not take long.
Slowly, he began to smile. He inclined his eyes heavenwards, then shrugged before making the sign of the cross on his chest. Placing his hands together, he faced the bush which hid the body, then he executed a shallow, almost insulting bow. ‘Is this your vengeance, Heavenly Father, for my doubling the power of Christendom? I would not have chosen this path, but a man must be ready to turn any situation to his advantage.’ His voice hardened with bitter irony. ‘Come for me then Lord Simon and bear me back home to England. Amen or should I say rather – Inshallah.’