"No, I'm not," she said harshly enough to draw attention from the other patrons. "I'm not some docile lamb that will be told what to do."
"Perhaps you should learn before your husband beats you into the docility required of a good wife," he said between clenched teeth, then softened. "You don't have to fight everything, Eloise. You must learn to pick your battles. Your wayward ways will gain you nothing but pain."
"First of all, you're wrong. My father picked this battle with me and I'm not going to stand by with docility and do whatever he says. He can burn in hell for all I care. And I have gained the world from my travels. I have met people I like being with, who’ve taught me and challenged me—people whom I love. You place no value on any of these things, just following what everyone tells you to do."
He looked at her sharply. "My duties are sacrosanct, as are yours if you weren't so completely concerned with your own little grievances. I owe it to my father and my mother, not to mention our land, to do what is necessary to preserve and hold our family, including fighting for our king's interests." He was angry now.
"My father killed my mother—that might constitute a little grievance in your book, Hugo Beauford, but it's more of a heavy crime in mine. My grievances might mean nothing in your view of the world, but I don't care about your views. You attack my character because I don't roll over and do whatever you want. That's the only reason you're so concerned about me caring about my own interest. Let's face it, you would prefer that I submitted to your will in all things, just did what I was told when you acted with complete disregard in what was best for me. Well, you can stick that with all other things that will never happen. I am never going to submit to a man like you. And for the record, in your undying concern for your family, you seem to forget that you don't actually have one, and you're probably going to die in France before you do, so that is what your undying loyalty will get you."
"Temper, temper. Such an unattractive quality."
Eloise growled in frustration. "Again, you attack me because I can think for myself. But I'll win this, you'll see. I am going to tell my father exactly what I think of him and then I am going to leave England and its idiotic expectations for good. Just watch me."
Chapter 15:
* * *
They hardly spoke on the road through the mountains, but he felt her disapproval emanating through his back, where she sat sulkily as they rode the large gray he'd bought in Kashgar. He could have chosen two smaller horses, but he chose the gelding that had caught his eye, strong enough to carry them both, and Hugo wanted Eloise close, particularly as she could easily slip away unnoticed now if he turned his back. On one horse, he could feel her.
European travelers weren't necessarily welcome in some of the smaller villages and were often expected to stay outside the town walls as most of the Nestorian churches where European travelers stayed had been converted to mosques. But their money was grudgingly accepted and they got what they needed, exotic fruits and even sweet pastries.
He'd bought a wrap for Eloise to wear during the cold evenings, when the sun's heat deserted them. At least these lands weren't stifling hot at the moment—they had been worse when he'd traveled through in the other direction.
The horse was much faster than the camels and they were making good distance each day, slowly making their way back to Europe. Getting closer to home only heightened the fact that he knew nothing of what was happening in Europe as no news were reaching his ears. The war could be finished for all he knew, which might be the most pleasing news he could think of, having grown weary of the endless years of fighting. Eloise's prediction still hung in his mind, that he would die in France and his family name would be lost forever.
This return of Eloise Chanderling could be both beneficial and not for him. He might be blamed for bringing back a stubborn, unyielding girl, who refused to do anything she was told. It wasn't his fault; he was only doing as he'd been engaged to by bringing her back.
He did like her spirit, though, even if he thought her too unrealistic in her ideals. Normally, running away was a coward's option, but she had run away with little means and no protection, and she had managed to survive—although in the bed of a Saracen.
Hugo wasn't sure how Earl Chanderling would react to the state Hugo had found her in. Hugo supposed he had the option of keeping that little fact quiet, although he suspected she would be happy to volunteer the news. For being alone in the world, she had remained remarkably naïve and unrealistic, lucky to have avoided all the perils that forced a bitter disposition.
They were heading toward Baghdad, traveling along established roads, but there were perils here as well. These people were not fond of Christian knights and Eloise's fate would be worse if they came across the wrong people. Hugo wasn't sure how she had managed to avoid the slavers when she'd traveled through here, but she seemed to make friends who protected her—she was cunning that way, or else blindly lucky.
Even at a distance, Baghdad was much larger than Kashgar and warmer now that they were leaving the mountains with their dramatic scapes behind. As they rode closer, the rounded curves of the mosques could be seen over the city walls, as could the palm trees dotted across the city.
Hugo could feel Eloise's excitement at his back where she sat on the rump of the horse, swearing he would have to watch her closely here as she undoubtedly had friends in the city who would assist her in hiding from him. It would vex him no end to lose her now, hidden in this foreign city in which he had no power or influence.
They passed cultivated fields and dusty donkeys carrying crops to the city. The Saracens wore light-colored clothes as the heat of the sun was stronger away from the mountains.
Guards dressed in red breeches tucked into dark colored leather boots manned the city's gate—bronze plate armoring most of their bodies, which shone like fish scales in the sun. A cone-shaped hats covered their heads and one guard eyed them suspiciously as they walked toward the gate.
Hugo felt his whole body tense, but the guard finally looked past him with a disapproving sniff. They were not going to be questioned, but perhaps a lone knight accompanied by a woman wasn't seen as much of a threat.
The Saracen men all wore beards and colorful clothes, with slaves carrying things behind them. Traders of every description lined the narrow streets and the pungent smell of spice filled the whole city.
Making their way through the streets to the foreigners' quarter was slow progress as congestion plagued each lane they traveled down. The sun beat down harshly and they had to duck under awnings that kept the sun off the streets and the traders’ goods.
Reaching a building with Hebrew script, Hugo assumed they had reached the foreign quarter and dismounted by swinging his leg over his horse’s neck and sliding down the side. He turned to help Eloise, placing his hands on her hips, softening her descent. A rush of desire shot through his body as he eased her down. Having her constantly at his back didn't help. "A drink, perhaps?" he said, almost hoping she wasn't quite past her sulking, which kept them both quiet.
"I would love a tea," she said. "I like the richer flavor of the Persian teas."
Hugo knew nothing of teas, wishing hopelessly for a large cup of mead, knowing his wishes were pointless. Wine could be found, though, he expected, and he would settle for that.
Having tied up the horse, Hugo led them to a table at the Jewish serving house, catering the foreign community. The chairs were made of wood and braided hemp, but they were comfortable enough after endless days in a saddle. He stretched out his legs and enjoyed leaning back in a chair under the shade cloth above their table. He could smell the prickling smoke from the Saracen pipes, blending with the noisy life of the city all around them.
He ordered them drinks from a grumpy server and tried to relax despite the treat this city posed to them—but for the moment, they seemed fine. This was a dangerous city, particularly for foreigners whose purses would be much appreciated by unscrupulous thieves.
"I like
Baghdad," Eloise said, adjusting the red wrap around her shoulders. In the desert, she showed much less modesty. "There is so much to see and learn here. Their libraries are beyond compare, even if they are apparently not what they used to be. I worked here for a while, binding books. I worked for a Greek man not far from here."
Hugo inwardly groaned at the idea that there was yet another man in her life—there had been too many already. Sometimes it shocked him to remember many of the strange things she had done in her travels, things an English noblewoman would never be expected to do. "Did you like working like a commoner?"
"I did. I enjoyed my time here, but there are many stories of the East here and one day, a friend of a friend was to cross the desert, and I had my chance to follow, which I did."
"What drives this endless quest?"
Eloise shrugged. "Turns out there are many different ways to live and I am fascinated to see them."
"But you can never change what you are."
"Who says so?"
A man appeared next to their table and he wasn't a server at the Jewish serving house, instead with light blue robes the Saracens preferred and dark skin. Four guards stood behind him and Hugo cursed himself for being too distracted to see them coming. "What is your name?" the man demanded.
"Hugo Beauford," he responded, suspicious of this man's intentions, at the same time trying to work through their options, but their chances were not good—even though he could take on the guards. The problem was that the whole city was full of Saracen guards and he would likely start a single-handed war with all of them. "Who is enquiring?"
"I am Taq a-Rosaf, an aide to the Kaja Marjan," he spoke in French, and Hugo was impressed, having believed that no one in this city spoke the language. "You are English, are you not? A nobleman?"
"I am."
"Come, please," the man said and stepped away, waiting for Hugo to follow. Hugo again considered his options, not knowing what kind of trouble he was getting himself into. He should have known that being effectively an enemy fighter would garner attention from whomever this man represented. Fighting, although his instinct, might be the worst option at this point. Perhaps he was better off fighting when he knew what was happening.
"Kaja Marjan is the governor of the city," Eloise whispered as she stood behind him.
"What does he want?"
"I don't know. He is a very learned man—used to be a Greek slave if I'm not mistaken."
Cursing inwardly, he started walking behind the aide and the guards followed. Tension stole through his entire body, feeling like a trap was closing in on him. This could be bad—it could be the end, and he would fail in his quest. He had to keep his wits about him as they walked toward a large building, ornately decorated in white stone.
Once they were inside the compound, the guards fell away and they were merely following the aide now, which for some reason set Hugo at ease slightly—perhaps because the large curved blades of the guards were no longer at swinging distance.
They reached two other guards, opening a sizable ornately carved door into a large space, decorated in the Saracen fashion with blue, white and gold. The floors were white stone, like the marble in Venice and their steps echoing along the high, carved stone ceiling. There was not a surface the Saracens didn't aim to decorate, all doors and windows designed with dramatic arches. He couldn't quite describe it, but it seemed the Saracens removed themselves from nature, creating a realm all their own.
A man emerged from the side, wearing silk robes, his black hair braided along his back and he regarded them with curiosity as they approached.
"An English knight," the man said, also in good French. Crossing his arms, he leaned back on a gold-leafed desk. "What is an English knight doing in my city?"
"Passing through from Cathay," Hugo responded, "traveling back to Europe."
"Cathay?" the man said with surprise. Up close, he was older than he initially appeared and his shrewd, dark eyes considered them. He looked over Eloise then back to Hugo. "They are not used to seeing English knights in Cathay, but I can see the travel on your appearance. What is your business in Cathay?"
Hugo tried to think what this man would fear the most, which would be a treaty with the Eastern Mongolians—a stretch in anyone's imagination, but the rules of warfare stated that making friends with your enemy's foes, particularly those on another border, was good strategy. Hugo didn't blame the man for his suspicions, he supposed, even if they were a bit outlandish. A good leader watched out for all threats, and the Europeans launching another holy war to recapture Jerusalem was not inconceivable, even if the French and English were distracting themselves back in Europe. "I was sent to retrieve an object," he admitted. The man considered the statement as if trying to work out if he believed it. "A stolen object that has meaning to our people."
Kaja Marjan tilted his head to the side in interest. "The English place such importance on objects?"
"Not normally, but in this case, it has a long representation in our history, a scepter." Hugo was lying through his teeth, but he couldn't very well say he was retrieving a wayward woman. Not only would that sound ridiculous, it would also place value on Eloise, which was not something he wanted at the moment. "Unfortunately, it seems lost."
"It is a long way to go for an object."
"It is, and I wish I'd never had to."
The man considered him again, pinching his lower lip between his fingers while he considered the knight traveling with a woman. His eyes turned to Eloise. "And who is this lovely creature? A wife perhaps?"
"No," Eloise stated, coloring flaring on her cheeks under the man's scrutiny.
"A concubine?"
"Yes," Hugo said before she had a chance to say anything. Her eyes narrowed and Hugo smiled back, imagining just how much she loved being referred to as his concubine. He could well imagine every one of her hackles rising right now. "She is my concubine. New. Still very willful." Hugo knew he needed to stake some claim to her, or she might be whipped out of his grip to be sold as a slave somewhere. She wouldn't be the first English slave in these lands, and a noble-born slave might be highly priced. The practice was still common, even if not as prevalent as before. From what he knew Saracen men liked exotic women, and more than a few European slaves had birthed Saracen nobles.
Marjan smiled. "A man must have his pleasures. Come, you are my guest," he said. "I wish to hear more of your war."
Chapter 16:
* * *
Eloise was led to another room, shiny with silver and mirrors, and even more intricately carved wooden shutters on the window. There was a courtyard outside with the sounds of trickling water, and even the screech of a peacock. The sun was bright outside, but it was nicely cool in the shade.
Turning around, Eloise looked around the space where only women could be seen, so she assumed it must be the women's quarters, knowing Persians often set aside a portion of the house exclusively for women.
"Hello?" Eloise said, but the four women only smiled. Two of them were dark-haired and very beautiful. Another looked like she came from further south, while the one furthest away was fair and blond. "My name is Eloise," she said in Persian.
"Come, Eloise," one of the beautiful, dark-haired women said. "You have traveled far. I am Amira."
Suddenly, Eloise was conscious about how dirty she was, how her dress shimmered with sand and the smudge marks on her arm. Traveling was dirty business and there was no way around that. Bringing her hand up, she felt the coarseness of her hair. She probably smelled, too. "Yes, I'm sorry. We just arrived on the road from Kashgar."
The woman led Eloise into another room with a bathing pool and she sighed with relief. During her travels, Eloise had grown to love the Eastern belief in bathing—although the warmer climes made it a more pleasant affair than huddling in small tubs in cold, drafty rooms in England, with scalding water intermittently poured in.
"Undress," the woman said as she moved elegantly with her head held high, wisps of black
hair flowing on the breeze. She was slightly older and carried herself with assurance, most of her hair braided with small silver flowers decorating it. "We will try to salvage your dress and its beautiful material."
"Thank you," Eloise said. Her dress was worse for wear, but she had nothing else. Granted, its lightness would be a blessing as they traveled through the Mediterranean.
The woman pointed to a bucket and brass ladle next to a drain and left with Eloise's dress and small braisies, leaving Eloise stark naked in the cool bathing room. The water was luke-warm as she poured it over her head, feeling it wash away weeks of dirt. Once she rinsed the worst off, she waded into the pool, the sounds of her movements echoing off the walls. Along one wall, the undulating lights reflected off the water, making ever shifting patterns.
It was peaceful and utter bliss, and it was nice to be alone for a moment. She'd spent every moment in Hugo's company for weeks, and it almost felt strange not sharing this lovely experience, but no doubt he was having his own wash somewhere. He did look different clean and shaven, versus the travel-weary companion she knew. Her thoughts cast back to the hidden river in the desert and her insides tightened with the recalled memories, his muscled body and the water meandering down his skin.
As much as Hugo annoyed her, he wasn't unpleasant to look at, and if she didn't know him, she would probably be pleased to look at him at length, but as it was, everything about him vexed her. His hair was much longer now than when she'd first met him, and his skin brown from the sun, showing every corded muscle in his arms. But as a creature covered in sand, she sometimes forgot the man underneath.
Pushing him out of her mind, she turned her attention back to the quiet room. The screech of the peacocks could be heard outside again. Her thoughts turned back to Malik and the life she would have if she'd accepted him as her husband. She would live in a nice house, but that was likely all she would have. These women rarely left their houses, even their quarters unless asked to, expected to bear children and entertain, faced with instant divorce if they displeased. She knew she would find the existence stifling before long.
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