“What better torture than to know I birthed a great evil? I am, in essence, already in Hell.”
*
Celestino entered Iseo’s empty chamber. All trace of her had been stripped away. Even her scent faded as he stood in the middle of her small space. As his heart despaired, he noticed the small leather bound book on her bedside table. When he stepped closer, he saw the note. He recognized the delicate lines of Iseo’s hand. Opening the note, he read:
My Dearest Celestino,
I have left you what I consider to be our copy of Tristan and Isolde. Where I am going, it would only serve as a reminder of all I have loved and left behind. I could not bear to be reminded everyday of this heart break, so I leave this for you. Remember us, as I shall, until death closes my eyes in sleep forever. And serve God in peace.
As Always,
Iseo
Celestino opened the book to the place marked with a ribbon and read the first words his eyes fell on:
So, in the depth of the wild wood began for the lovers that savage life which yet they loved very soon. They wandered in the depths of the wild wood, restless and in haste like beasts that are hunted, nor did they often dare to return by night to the shelter of yesterday. They ate but the flesh of wild animals.
Their faces sank and grew white, their clothes ragged; for the briars tore them. They loved each other and they did not know that they suffered.
He closed the book, and took it with him when he left, determined not to look back. Ever. Father Tomas was right. He loved her and he should not.
Part Two
NO CONQUEROR BUT GOD
Chapter 23
The Moor
Iseo stared at herself in the reflection of the silver mirror. She had never seen herself full-length before, and so clearly at that. The women dressed her in a pale-blue, silk dress beaded with hundreds of tiny pearls. Her face was painted in the Moorish fashion using dark kohl to line her eyes.
“Señora Iseo, this is for the modesty of your face.” Iseo recalled when she had covered Celestino’s glorious nudity. The harder she tried to push thoughts of him away, the harder they fought back to be remembered. The dressing woman bowed her head and asked, “May I assist you, mi señora?”
“Of course. I would be grateful.” Iseo had no idea how to fix the veil to her headdress. Although elegantly sheer, it felt uncomfortable. Her eyes became the focus of her face, the rest draped in mystery.
The women chatted excitedly in their own tongue and fussed over her appearance, so Iseo understood nothing. Their language sounded like rapid tones and harsh notes. It was completely foreign to her. She stood mutely, as they turned her in circles to examine their work. They clapped and smiled.
“Señora Iseo, you are a vision of loveliness for even the eyes of old women. If you are fortunate, the king will find you just as enchanting.” Amat smiled widely.
Iseo blushed profusely. This morning, Iseo was to marry al-Nassir Muhammad, King of Andalusia, the lands of España conquered by the Moors centuries before. There had been no introduction made. It was not what she had expected. None of this was what she had expected. What if he is an ogre? What if I cannot do this? She was expected to put aside her God and church for al-Nassir and Allah.
“Mi señora, has your mother instructed you for the wedding night?” Amat asked. The other women stopped talking long enough to listen for her answer.
“My mother died when I was young. I have had no instruction.”
“Ah. This explains much regarding your timidity.” Amat nodded her head knowingly. “Out with you Hafsa and Zannu!” Amat clapped twice to emphasize she meant at this moment. The two scurried out, shutting the huge double door in front of them. They never once turned their back on Iseo.
“Why do they do that?” Iseo asked.
“Do what, daughter?”
“Never turn their back to me.”
“It would be rude. Disrespectful to their future queen.” Amat’s Spanish curved and pitched like waves off her tongue.
“I do not feel like a queen. Nothing has changed. I am still myself.”
“Ah, but you are wrong, daughter. Everything has changed.” She took her warm brown hands and placed them on either side of Iseo’s face, looking her directly in the eye. “You will no longer be Iseo of Compostela. You will be Iseo of Andalusia, wife of al-Nassir.” Iseo looked down. “Do you know why the king selected you, Iseo?”
“Because my father sold me for an eastern trading arrangement.”
She laughed, “True, there was a business exchange. But do you think so little of yourself, daughter, as to believe the king would marry to obtain relatively little in exchange?”
“I do not understand what you mean. He would gain wealth by trade. What king does not desire wealth?”
“You truly are an innocent of the world, daughter. The king has more wealth than you can imagine. He has no need of a small sum of gold to fill his treasury. What the king desires is worth more than any amount of gold coin can purchase.”
“What is that?”
“Your virginity is worth more than gold to the king.”
Iseo froze. “Why not a virgin of his own people?”
“Al-Nassir tires of war in Iberia. He hopes to bring peace, at least to the northern Moorish region of his kingdom. Perhaps, your Pope will stop the war, if al-Nassir takes a Christian bride. Will you let Amat instruct you for your wedding night?”
Iseo blushed at the reference to her private feminine world.
“I can see by your face, that it is necessary that I do. Your wedding night will make you a complete woman in the eyes of your husband and Allah. Drink enough wine that you feel the warmth of it. When he comes to you, simply allow—” Amat stopped speaking when she saw Iseo’s eyes fill with heavy tears. “Ah. Daughter. You are too innocent for your own good.”
*
The wedding was a blur of strange people, exotic smells and pulsing sounds. She drank enough wine to feel the warmth coursing through her veins. Across the hall a tall, hooded man caught her eye. Celestino! She braved a smile and lifted her hand to catch his attention, but he vanished behind a pillar.
The entertainment in the Moorish court captivated Iseo’s imagination. Women with bare midriffs were draped with chimes and bangles. Their faces carefully veiled to protect their modesty as they danced with suggestive undulations and spun in circles making Iseo dizzy. She had never beheld such an evocative spectacle in her entire life. This was nothing like the wedding she envisioned enduring.
In the midst of the celebration, several older women ushered a surprised Iseo from the room. The new bride heard the loud trilling sing-song ululation from the women behind her, as she walked through a torch lit hallway and into an enormous bed chamber. Amat spoke quietly in her ear, “I hope you have had enough wine, my daughter!” The entourage quickly stripped her of her wedding garments. Tears filled her eyes at the humiliation of standing stark naked in front of strangers, with the exception of Amat. The elder women dressed her in a sheer white silk gown. They fussed over the final arrangement of her hair and argued about how best to drape the folds of silk. They added more kohl around her eyes and fresh color to her cheeks. Finally, when their primping of the bride was completed, they stood her at the foot of the king’s enormous bed. “Wait for your husband, my daughter. Please him with your willingness to please him,” one of the women said from behind her veil. They closed the great wooden door of the chamber and Iseo stood alone. The din of the festivities sounded like crickets in the distance, pleasant and soothing.
She waited. Her legs ached, so she shifted her weight slightly. She feared undoing the women’s handiwork at her expense. Then, she heard a door behind her open and quietly close. She had not realized there was another entrance into the room, other than the great doors she arrived through.
“Good evening.” She heard the voice behind her drawing nearer. Her legs quaked and her body trembled. Al-Nassir came to face her at the foot o
f his bed.
“You are truly lovely,” he said, as he took her hands and softly kissed each palm. His lips sent a shiver up her arms. She wanted to recoil from his touch, but knew she should not. He was her husband now, her body belonged to him. It was one thing that the Christian and Muslim worlds had in common. As a married woman, she was no longer her own person. She would obey or be beaten. She was also aware that he could see everything through the sheer gown. Tears again spilled down her cheeks. Her lips quivered.
“Do not weep, my Iseo,” al-Nassir calmed. His spontaneous term of endearment pricked her heart. He had no way of knowing that his very attempt at wooing her brought another man between them. She felt ashamed. “Why do your tears fall?” he asked.
Iseo tried to look up, but she could not meet his gaze. “I gave up my home. I feel lost,” she answered as truthfully as she could.
“This is your home now. You need not feel so alone,” he reassured her by kissing her temples one by one.
“I am forced to give up my God,” she added. “It is a great pain to my soul.”
“This is a delicate matter, my Iseo. Worship in public as my queen is expected. Learn our prayers. Learn to accept Allah. In your own chambers, pray to whom you will. Who am I to judge the heart and soul of another? It is for Allah alone to judge.” He dried her eyes with kisses. “Come. Let me persuade this oyster to release the pearl I have purchased.” The king took her by the hand and led her to the edge of the marital bed. Iseo’s newly made husband tilted her chin up to his mouth. His face hovered momentarily above hers, until she opened her eyes to see him staring intently into her face. Not until then, did he kiss her tenderly on the mouth. He pulled his head back to gauge her receptiveness. Her long lashes swept the tops of her cheek bones. Her lips remained slightly parted. It was all the invitation he required. He kissed her forehead, and then planted a trail of kisses down the side of her face and neck. And because she was his wife, he did not stop kissing her until he reached her neckline. He slowly opened the front of her robe, exposing her shoulders. He kissed her until he felt her grow warm and willing to accept him. He laid her back and made love to her in the most tender way. Iseo cried, because she wanted the sweetness of his embrace inside her loneliness. She cried because her heart screamed it was wrong.
*
The night passed with the king wrapped around his queen. When the morning birds began their songs, Iseo was already awake.
“What is wrong, my Iseo? You are yet weeping?” al-Nassir reached a hand to touch her tears and lift them to his lips.
“I dreamt a hideous dream. I cannot put the images from my mind.”
Al-Nassir pulled her closer into his embrace. “There is nothing to fear here.” His kind words only brought more tears, he assumed from some fearful night dream. “You are safe. I will protect you.” Al-Nassir bent his head to kiss her wet cheeks. He inhaled her perfumed hair, the dark kohl around her eyes smudged from sleep and crying only illuminated the cinnamon irises with golden flecks he had not noticed before. Her olive skin glowed with perfection. She was completely unmarred in anyway. Her beauty intoxicated him. He wanted her to love him, so they might possess each other eternally.
“May I ask a favor?” Iseo braved the question.
“I grant it before you ask.”
His response surprised her. “What if you do not agree?”
“I trust you will not ask something of me that is impossible for me to give.”
“I wish to have a useful purpose for my life.”
Taken aback, the king propped himself up on one elbow. “Is being my queen not enough for you?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Explain, wife,” he said, as he kissed her bare shoulder.
Iseo closed her eyes against his physical nature. “I wish to continue my apprenticeship as a midwife.”
Her husband paused, his lips poised above her own. “As you wish it, so shall it be.” The morning sun burst through the window coverings, lighting the room with harsh yellow light. He removed the sheet between them. The modesty of darkness was stripped from her. The plain sight of her body and the dried stain of sangre on the linen beneath her, the clucking of chickens, the clang of bells, and the laughter of children all mingled into the moment his lips assaulted hers with an ardent hunger he had not unleashed the previous night. Iseo closed her eyes and thought of the ocean sunset at Finis Terrae. She allowed the tears to fall, as she remembered and tried to endure the life that now belonged to her.
Al-Nassir rose from bed to wash. “You may ask Amat about the midwives. She will know what is best for you.” He smiled. “A queen who helps her people is destined to be loved by all.” When he left the chamber, she allowed her grief its full fury. She cried into her pillow until she felt empty of any more tears. She knew it was a luxury to weep for her former life, and a new bride may be allowed to grieve for a short time, but al-Nassir did not strike her as a man who would tolerate her tears for long. A firm knock sounded at the door interrupting her private mourning.
Iseo wiped her eyes with her fingers and the backs of her hands as best she could. “Enter,” she croaked. She sat up in bed, pulling the coverlet up to her neck because her robe had been cast aside last night and she had no idea where it was. She could not get up without exposing herself.
Amat entered with two younger women carrying a wooden tub. Iseo recognized one as Zannu and the other she did not know. Quickly following their entrance, Hafsa entered with a line of other women carrying pitchers of hot water. They dumped the steaming liquid into the tub. When it was filled, Amat dismissed all the women except for Zannu.
“Come, daughter, from the bed. You must cleanse the body. Zannu will clean the linen and then you must return to bed,” Amat said.
“Why must I go back to bed?” Iseo was confused. Zannu giggled and it annoyed Iseo that this young woman knew more about what was happening to her than she knew herself.
“When the king lies with you, you must remain in bed the entire day so his seed may take hold in your womb. The king requires you to bear him as many children as Allah will allow.” Iseo felt queasy at the idea of having a child. She knew full well the travails of women in labor. It frightened her to think of enduring that. How can this be my life? Was I not just at Compostela? “Today, we make an exception, because it would not do to have the queen lay in the bridal sheets longer than necessary.”
Iseo remembered the stain. She was embarrassed to rise from the bed. “I am sorry. For the linen,” she stammered. She thought she heard Zannu scoff at her.
“There is no need for apology when losing your virginity to your husband,” Amat said, dismissing Iseo’s qualms.
“More sorry if you had not,” Zannu blurted out. Amat smacked her soundly on the side of the head.
“You, daughter, best remember to whom you are speaking. Now, mi Señora, if you will come to your bath.”
“But, I have no robe,” Iseo protested.
“We are all women here. You have no need of shame with us. Come,” Amat encouraged. Iseo froze in the bed and hugged the linen even closer than before. Amat sighed, “Here. Let me find your robe.” She searched the floor around the bed. She found nothing. Then, she shook out the bed covering one layer at a time, until Iseo’s robe fell out. She handed the silky garment to Iseo, who slipped it on while still in bed determined to maintain as much of her privacy as possible. “Come. Come. The water is getting cold.”
Iseo slid off the bed and disrobed while standing in the tub. The hot water steamed into the air. It felt good to succumb to the heat of the bath. She rested her head against the back of the tub as Amat began to bathe her. Immediately, images of Celestino’s ritual invaded her mind. Amat scrubbed Iseo’s long dark hair, her shoulders, taking great pains to avoid the bruises on her back.
“Stand, mi Señora,” Amat commanded.
Iseo thought of the embarrassment she had felt when prompting Celestino with the same command. She wondered if
it was her modesty, or his, he had been trying to protect. She watched the water splash against the sides of the tub as she stood, knowing there was no choice, but to obey Amat. In the corner of her eye, she caught Zannu stealing a glance at her. The young servant girl looked angry. Amat drew her breath between her teeth, making a sound of concern, drawing Iseo’s attention from Zannu. Iseo looked down to see the bruises on her inner thighs. Neither of them asked or explained anything.
Zannu laid out a yellow gown of linen, woven with such fine wafts of thread it felt soft as silk. Iseo pulled it over her damp skin.
“Yellow becomes you, mi Señora,” Amat said confidently. “His majesty will be pleased with this choice Zannu.”
“I am sure he will. Yellow is his favorite color,” Zannu replied casually. Iseo could not help but hear the undercurrent of sarcasm in the handmaid’s tone. The words were kind enough, but Iseo felt stung by the exchange. As if sensing her discomfort, Amat shooed the younger woman away.
“Now, back to bed with you, mi Señora,’ Amat commanded kindly.
As she settled into the clean linen and soft pillows, Iseo felt comfortable asking Amat the question burning through her mind, “How can I apprentice a midwife here in this village?”
Amat eyed her queen cautiously. “A strange request from a newly made wife.”
“Not strange. I was apprenticing a midwife in Compostela. I wish to be useful here, as queen, and continue with my training.”
“You have the king’s blessing?”
“I do. I would not ask otherwise.”
The elder woman considered the new queen. Maybe she would be an excellent ruler despite her foreignness. “Very well. I will speak to a woman, who may be in need of an apprentice.”
Spring 1211 AD
Chapter 24
Spring of Dreams
Iseo stood at the entrance of a corridor that ended at the base of a stairway lit by red torchlight. A voice said, “Ascend to him.” The words formed a silken chord wrapping around her waist. Gently, the words pulled her so that her feet moved beneath her. She looked down. I cannot see my feet. It occurred to her that she was not moving of her own accord. The stairwell floated closer to her. I am floating, not walking. Where are my feet? She stopped at the base of the stairs. A figure cloaked in dazzling white light stood at the top, beckoning her to take the first step. She heard the voice again, “Ascend to him.” And she wanted to. What lies beyond the steps? Who is he? She smiled and placed her foot on the first step. It was firm beneath her. A hand reached from the dark to escort her to the next step. She looked down and saw it was a claw. She turned her head to the right. The face with the voice materialized. Eyes, black as coal, bored into hers. She stumbled. The voice more insistent, more demanding than before, “Ascend to him!”
Livingstone Saga, Book One: Birth Page 19
