Madelon

by Valentina Luellen

  "Poor little thing, you've had a bad time, haven't you," he murmured in a far different tone to any he had so far used with her. The harshness had gone out of his expression too and the smile he bestowed on her was almost friendly, although Madelon noticed it did not reach his hard, brilliant eyes. After his rough treatment of her, this unexpected kindness was too much for her to endure. She felt herself grasped firmly around the waist as she began to sway, then nothing ... as she slipped down, down into merciful oblivion.

  ***

  The sound of voices made Madelon cautiously open her eyes. Still wrapped in the cloak, she found herself lying on a velvet-covered divan in a tent hung with silk drapes. A small table stood nearby, the carved top cleverly inlaid with gold and silver, and beyond, clustered around another divan were a group of men deep in conversation.

  Rodrigo Diaz and his green-eyed companion she recognized instantly. The other two men were strangers. One was old and grey haired and wore a strange looking cap on his head, and sombre-coloured clothes. The other was tall and very good looking, dressed in white flowing robes. His black cloak was lined with yellow silk and fastened at the shoulder by a heavy jewelled brooch. A turban was wound around his head and jewels flashed at the front of this and on his fingers as he motioned to the slave girl hovering at his elbow to move back. He had a swarthy complexion, with dark piercing eyes which suddenly darted across to where Madelon lay studying him. She saw the flash of white teeth as he smiled and touched the arm of the man beside him.

  "Your golden captive is awake, Valentin," he said quietly.

  "For heaven's sake don't call her that or she'll be looking around for another knife," Valentin Maratin laughed dryly.

  As the men moved away from the divan Madelon saw they had hidden Paco from her view. His blood-streaked clothes had been removed and the knife wounds in his chest carefully bandaged. He lay still, deathlike beneath the multi-coloured blankets drawn up beneath his armpits. With a distressed cry she scrambled off the divan, only remembering at the last moment to clutch tightly at the cloak covering her state of undress, and fell on her knees beside her brother. How white he was and she could see no sign of breathing.

  "He - he isn't - dead?" she faltered.

  It was the tall Moor who raised her to her feet again, his eyes roving sympathetically over her ashen face.

  "My own doctor is attending him. Everything possible has been done. You have had an unpleasant experience, but it is over now, thanks to the intervention of my two good friends. You must rest and forget it ever happened."

  "While my brother lies so near death's door? You ask too much," Madelon said bitterly. "Had he not been wounded I would not have come here of my own free will. Today many fine men died and my serving women have either been killed or sold into slavery. You are a Moor and I shall never forget what I saw your people do - nor will I forgive them."

  She heard a smothered oath behind her and saw the anger which flashed into the eyes of the Moor, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He touched his forehead, mouth and chest with his fingertips, which she took to be some kind of salutation, and bowed before her.

  "I respect your feelings, golden one and I admire your courage. My only regret is that it was not I who found you. Such beauty is wasted on my brother, Valentin. I alone, would fully appreciate it and in my arms you would soon have learned not all our hearts as as dark as our faces. As my company is so distasteful to you, I will leave. Will you join me, my lord Rodrigo? I have rather a fine young colt I would like to show you."

  "Gladly." Rodrigo de Vivar threw a half angry, half amused glance at Madelon and followed the Moor out of the tent, leaving her alone with Valentin Maratin and the old man.

  "If you were a Moorish girl, Yusuf would have had you whipped for such rudeness," the former said coldly. "As his guest the least you can do is be civil."

  "You could have taken us somewhere else," Madelon returned with a sudden flash of temper. She was desperately tired and wanting to sleep, but she would not show it to this hateful man.

  "This camp was the nearest. Coming here kept your brother alive."

  "I only have your word for that," Madelon said, although deep in her heart she knew it was the truth. "The word of a man who prefers the company of Moslems to Christians. If that wasn't bad enough, you are a friend of Rodrigo Diaz, my brother's enemy. You treat me little better than a servant girl and yet I am supposed to trust you with our lives."

  "I'm not interested whether or not you condescend to trust me," the Castilian answered calmly. "As soon as your brother is fit to travel, we shall part company, but until then you will do as your are told, or it will give me great pleasure to put you over my knee and treat you as I do all spoilt children."

  Madelon flushed to the roots of her hair, speechless with rage. While he had been speaking, his hardness of tone had not been unlike that of her father and unknowingly he had aroused unpleasant memories. At last she found her voice.

  "Your lack of chivalry towards women is understandable, Don Valentin," she said with immense dignity and cast a look around at her surroundings to signify her point. "However I hope you will at least have the decency to leave me in peace with my brother. We have nothing further to say to each other."

  "First you must rest. I'll have some clothes found for you."

  Madelon's eyes rested on the silent girl at the foot of Paco's bed. Her clothes were thin, flimsy garments and Madelon instinctively wrapped herself more firmly in her cloak. The infuriating smile on the face of the Castilian told her he had guessed her thoughts.

  "I will stay here with Paco. I want nothing from you."

  Valentin Maratin shrugged carelessly and strode out of the tent. As the silken entrance closed behind him, Madelon became aware of the old man looking at her and shaking his head.

  "When a man saves your life you do not reward him with harsh words and send him away," he murmured. "You are foolish to prefer a man like Valentin for an enemy rather than a friend. He told you the truth, you know, your brother's, wounds are serious. Had he not received my assistance, he would have bled to death."

  Madelon gazed a long time into the serene face before her. Aged though it was and lined with wrinkles, there was something about it which calmed her fears. She knew she had found a true friend.

  "You are the doctor Don Rodrigo spoke of," she said.

  "Yes. My name is Abraham ben Canaan."

  "You are not a Moslem."

  "I'm a Jew. Does it matter to you what I am as long as I can help your brother?" The soft voice was gently tinged with mockery.

  Madelon shook her head.

  "My brother is the most important person in my life ... please don't let him die," she whispered.

  The tears she had so successfully hidden from Valentin Maratin broke loose in a tumultuous flood and she slipped sobbing to the floor. She wept as she had never wept before as the pent up emotions of the last few hours swept over her. Shocked, frightened , too utterly weary to try and control the reaction which now claimed her, she lay on the richly patterned carpet oblivious to the doctor's urgent tones above her and the hands which tried unsuccessfully to lift her from her pathetic huddle.

  "Let me take her."

  She knew the voice, but she could not put a face to it. She moaned as^she was lifted upwards and the sudden movement caused a knife-like pain to sear across her temples.

  "Too much sun," the voice said.

  Madelon fought to hold on to her swiftly receding senses as she became aware of the protective cloak being drawn away and then her torn dress being gently removed from her bruised and aching body. Opening her eyes she discovered she was lying in a large bed. The face of Valentin Maratin hovered above her. She was resting in the crook of his arm and he was holding a goblet to her lips.

  "Drink it, you little golden savage."

  His green eyes burned into her colourless face, daring her to refuse. Worn out in both mind, and body Madelon was in no condition to take up the challenge. Wordl
essly she swallowed the contents of the cup, which were sweet and syrupy, with a taste reminiscent of spiced ginger. When she awoke, it was the following day ...

  For a long time she lay listening to the sound of shouting and laughing, mingled with the fierce thudding of horses' hooves which came from outside her tent. She was warm and still rather sleepy and in no hurry to leave the comfortable bed. She had been exhausted, Madelon thought, and unable to look at things in their right perspective, or she would have realized her foolishness in treating Valentin Maratin and his Moorish friend with such contempt. She and her brother were guests at the moment, but they could so easily turn into prisoners. Their relationship to the King of Leon would make them valuable captives, for although Sancho and Alfonso were brothers, the former had shown a positive dislike for the Montevides family at an early age and since his accession to the throne, had refused to acknowledge any kinship whatsoever between them. Until Paco was able to defend himself again, she would have to control her dislike of her rescuers. Somehow this morning their plight did not seem so terrible.

  A slight movement by the entrance made her draw herself up on one elbow. A dark-haired girl came in carrying a tray which she set down on the stool beside the bed. She motioned to the array of delicious looking food with a shy smile.

  "Valentin asked me to bring you some breakfast. He said you were probably starving."

  "I am. I'm also in need of some clothes, not those awful flimsy things, something like yours perhaps." Madelon was looking at the girl's plain green sleeveless robe. It looked very cool and was not too revealing. She noticed this girl bore a striking resemblance to Abraham ben Canaan.

  "I will find something for you."

  "Wait, please." Stretching out her hand, Madelon caught the girl's arm. "Stay and talk to me for a while."

  "I was told to let you rest, but very well, for a little while then." The girl perched herself on the edge of the bed and helped herself to a sweetmeat from a silver dish on the tray. "My name is Rebecca. My father is looking after the man who was brought in yesterday, your brother isn't he?"

  Madelon nodded.

  "I am Madelon del Rivas y Montevides."

  "I know," Rebecca said, with another shy smile. "Valentin has told me all about you. It was lucky he was out chasing Mahmud's raiders or you might never have been rescued."

  Madelon took a tentative bite from one of the small sugared cakes near her and found to her delight they were quite delicious.

  "Paco and I were lucky, I suppose."

  "Luckier than the poor people in the village Mahmud raided or your servants. Valentin said there were some women taken captive."

  "Yes, four. They were alive when I last saw them, but now ... " Madelon broke off with a shudder. "Yesterday I couldn't bear to think about it. I must have had a wonderful sleep."

  "That was due to the sleeping potion Valentin gave you,"

  Rebecca said cheerfully. "He said you were asleep before he left the tent last night."

  Madelon was suddenly wide awake. With rising colour she remembered someone undressing her and putting her to bed.

  "Don Valentin took care of me?" she managed to gasp at last.

  "He wouldn't let anyone else near you. I was worried he wouldn't be able to quieten you, but Valentin has a way with him. He can be rough, but also very gentle. He is not an easy man to understand. You must not be embarrassed, he thought no more of putting you to bed, than he would one of his own men injured in battle," Rebecca added as Madelon's cheeks began to burn fiercely. She looked at the fair-haired girl curiously. "Did you really threaten poor Rodrigo with a dagger?"

  "Please, don't remind me of that." Madelon grimaced, remembering how Valentin Maratin had seized hold of her. Looking down at her wrists she saw a small bruise on the inside of each where he had gripped them so tightly. "I thought they meant to harm Paco. Rodrigo Diaz killed our father," she added by way of explanation.

  "I'm sorry," Rebecca murmured. "I had no idea. It is natural you should hate him."

  "I don't hate him. I've only hated one man in my life and he's dead now," Madelon answered.

  "Was he a cruel man?"

  "Yes, he was my father." Seeing Rebecca's shocked expression, Madelon hastened to explain how she had been brought up in a convent because her father had not wanted a girl and of her refusal to marry an old man.

  "Do you mean you have spent most of your life away from your family? What a terrible man he must have been. Why was it so important for you to marry this Count Gomez?"

  Madelon shrugged her slim shoulders. She sat in the middle of the huge bed, her arms locked around her hunched-up knees.

  "He was very rich, it would have been a good match as far as my family was concerned, but I think it was because my father wanted to get rid of me. Anyway it's over now. When Paco is well we will join the king at Santa Maria de Carrion and I can forget I was ever unhappy."

  "How I envy you," Rebecca breathed. "I would love to see all the beautiful women in their fine clothes and jewels. Rodrigo has promised to take me to court, but father will not allow it."

  "Why not?" Madelon asked, wondering why the invitation had come from Rodrigo and not his arrogant companion.

  "We are Jews. Twice we have been driven from our homes. Once by your King Alfonso, arid then by his brother. Wherever we went people turned against us as they learned of our faith. We would be accused of awful things. Father was never able to practise medicine even though he is the finest doctor in Spain. In Castile he was accused of sorcery and we barely escaped with our lives. Yusuf and his men found us in the mountains, half starved, and took us in. That was three years ago. He offered us what no one else would - a place to make our home. Telhan, where we live, is ten miles from here. We have a small house and many friends. No one calls us dirty heretics or drives us out into the night."

  Madelon felt an overwhelming compassion for Rebecca and her father. In many ways they were alike.

  "Perhaps your father might let you come to court if I asked him?" she said.

  Rebecca sprang off the bed with a soft laugh.

  "No, I don't think so. Besides if all the women are as beautiful as you I should be terribly jealous."

  "I'm not beautiful," Madelon said, stretching her long legs beneath the sheets. "My duenna always said my eyes were too large to be attractive, my skin was unhealthily pale and my hair too straight. I am also too thin, which, according to her, means I shall never be able to bear strong children. She's probably right too. My mother was very slender. She died giving birth to the second son my father wanted so much. He didn't live more than a few hours ..." Madelon's eyes filled with pain and she could not continue.

  Rebecca made no comment on the other girl's description of herself. She could have told her how Valentin had praised her courage and of the undisguised admiration in his voice as he spoke of the large blue eyes which had burned with defiance as she threatened them with her knife. A half-naked little wildcat, with eyes that shone like sapphires and skin gleaming like alabaster in the sunlight, prepared to do hopeless battle to save her wounded brother. A golden savage - that had been the way he described her.

  "You are very beautiful," she said quietly. "May it bring you the happiness you deserve. I'll go and fetch some clothes for you now before Valentin comes looking for me."

  "He already has."

  The tall frame of the Lord de Aguilas stooped through the entrance. Rebecca wondered if he had been standing outside listening to their conversation and if so, for how long. Madelon looked as if she was thinking the same thing. She had drawn the sheets tightly around her and was stubbornly avoiding looking at the newcomer.

  Valentin stopped beside the bed and picked up the tray.

  "I'm glad to see you had an appetite, Dona Madelon," he said, handing it to Rebecca who caught his significant nod and left the tent. "You must build up your strength. We leave the day after tomorrow for my castle in the Sierra de Gredos."

  Madelon looked at him blankly, t
hen an expression of absolute horror flashed into her eyes as she immediately suspected the worst.

  "Paco!"

  Bending over the bed, Valentin caught her wrist in a firm grasp as if it were his intention to shake her if she became hysterical, but the agony in her cry had touched his hard heart and he said gently, reassuringly.

  "I was with the doctor a few moments ago and he assures me your brother is recovering. In a week or so ...."

  "A week," Madelon broke in, "but we are on our way to join the king at Santa Maria de Carrion ..."

  "Where two kings intend to resolve their differences once and for all. Rodrigo and I will escort you both as soon as your brother is fit enough to ride."

  "I don't understand you," Madelon said.

  Valentin's fingers uncurled from her wrist. He stared for a moment at the bruise there and she saw him frown at the realization that he had made it.

  "You were making a long journey through hostile territory merely&r health reasons, I suppose," he retorted sarcastically. "Why the thought of watching men die in combat appeals to women I shall never know. Your cousin Urraca loves to see men fighting under her nose ,usually over her."

  "So you know who we are. Is that why you want to act as a so-called escort? We are really prisoners."

  "The tournament at Golpejerra will prove Don Sancho's true claim to the thrones of Castile and Leon," Valentin said grimly, giving her a look which contained both puzzlement and suspicion. "Am I to understand you know nothing of what is to take place?"

  Mutely Madelon shook her head.

  "Six knights chosen by each brother will engage in combat on the fields of Golpejerra, until quarter is called for. When it is over and we Castilians have wiped the floor with your Leonese knights, Castile and Leon will be ruled by one king only."

  And Paco would be one of Alfonso's chosen men, Madelon thought dazedly. That was why he had been so eager to reach their destination. She would hate every moment she was there, but it had been important enough for him to want her and so no matter what happened she must not let him know how worried she would be.