Madelon

by Valentina Luellen

  "Your wine, like everything here tonight, is excellent. I have never tasted better," she said, and saw the Moor's dark eyes glow with pleasure at her flattering answer.

  "How is your brother today, Dona Madelon?" Rodrigo Diaz asked, leaning past Valentin to engage her in conversation.

  Paco! Madelon suddenly felt ashamed. Here she was enjoying herself while he lay alone and in pain, probably worrying about her. She would go to him as soon as possible and reassure him all was well. Looking into Rodrigo's bearded face she managed a smile.

  "He is a little stronger." Then, with a sidelong glance at the silent man at her side, "But I don't think he can be moved yet"

  "Don't worry, everything has been arranged," Rodrigo assured her. He too, looked at Valentin Maratin as if his friend's continued silence surprised him. "We are borrowing a litter from Yusuf to save your brother the painful task of trying to stay on a horse. The doctor will be coming with us too."

  Madelon turned to seek confirmation from Abraham ben Canaan. He nodded and his daughter smiled and said,

  "I shall come and visit you too, if you wish?"

  "I should like it very much, but I don't really have a say in the matter."

  "Rebecca knows my house is always open to her," Valentin's quiet drawl sounded close to Madelon's ear.

  "I have never known the Lord of the Eagles to close his castle doors to any friend," Yusuf said, beckoning a slave to refill his guests' empty goblets. Madelon stared at the wine being poured into hers. Had she drunk it already? She stretched out long, slender fingers and explored the intricate design on the goblet.

  "You own many beautiful things, my lord," she said in admiration.

  "Do you like it? It's yours," Yusuf said, flashing a bright smile at her. "Beside your beauty it is dull and uninteresting."

  "You are" too kind, but I - I couldn't take it," Madelon faltered.

  "You mast or I shall be offended. Perhaps each time you use it you will remember the time you spent with my people."

  Madelon caught the slight hesitation before the last words and knew he had meant to say 'with me', but obviously had been deterred by the presence of the other guests. His eyes caught and held hers. The primitive passion there alarmed her - yet intrigued her. Was Rebecca right - was she beautiful? Had Diya really made her look lovely - desirable enough to attract this Moor who looked at her so longingly that she felt weak at the knees?

  Her convent upbringing had been strict. So vigorous it had curbed all her high spirits before callously surrendering her to the father who intended to marry her off once and for all. During the last three years the only men she had seen had been her ageing tutors or the gardener who tended the gardens with loving care - and he had been well past seventy. No man had ever told her she was beautiful until Paco spoke the words not so many days ago. "My little sister has grown into a beautiful woman and I want you all to myself." But she did not want to be stifled, she had had enough of being a prisoner. Now she wanted to try out her wings - to fly high - to reach unknown heights - to feel the touch of a man's lips on hers, firing her blood with passion.

  With a horrified start she became aware of the smile on Yusuf's dark features. He knew what she was thinking! Was she out of her mind? Whatever had made her dwell on such disgusting thoughts? It could only be the wine, she decided, and resolved not to drink any more.

  Yusuf s piercing black eyes dwelt for a long time on the exquisite face slowly flushing with colour under the boldness of his gaze.

  So, she was a woman beneath that fine air of ladylike respectability. A soft, feline creature like all the others in his harem - and more beautiful - far more desirable. She was a queen and he, Yusuf, knew how to treat her, both as a queen and a woman.

  He made a signal to one of the huge black eunuchs waiting by the entrance to the tent and moments later a dozen or more dancing girls came running in to entertain them.

  Madelon's eyes fastened on the whirling twisting figures before her. Their diaphanous costumes were more for decoration than concealment. Many wore gold bangles on their arms and ankles and their long hair swirled loosely around their shoulders. She saw pale golden skins, some dark brown, others as black as night - all oiled and glistening in the flickering light of the hundreds of tapers burning all around them. She felt a shiver go through her as she watched the men leaning forward, some breathing heavily, others glassy-eyed as they gazed at the slender seductive figures passing them. At another signal from Yusuf, the dancers turned and ran from the tent and in their place came a solitary dancer whose appearance caused a growl of appreciation to come from the crowd of onlookers.

  The girl came in covered from head to toe in a scarlet satin mantle which she immediately discarded to reveal a dusky skin oiled and so heavily perfumed Madelon could smell the odour of musk even where she sat. She wore a transparent skirt, cut away to reveal her long legs and over her hips hundreds of tiny coins jangled and glittered. A heavy necklace of coins covered almost all of her shoulders, finishing just above the rise of her full breasts. Apart from these, she was naked.

  Madelon caught sight of a proud, almost scornful expression on the brown face as the girl paid her respects to her master. She was barbaric, she thought, and yet was fascinated as the girl began to dance - slowly - undulating every part of her body in a fashion that made her grow hot with embarrassment. Every movement was a deliberate enticement for the impassive-faced Moor seated beside Madelon. The girl's eyes always came back to his face as if searching for some sign of approval.

  "Are you shocked?" Yusuf's bantering tone brought Madelon back out of a near trance.

  "Shocked? No - not exactly," she confessed truthfully.

  "A little afraid then?"

  "No. Fear comes from lack of understanding. Tonight I think I have learned much about you and your people. Shall we say instead, I am not used to seeing young women in such a state of undress."

  Madelon heard an amused chuckle come from Rodrigo Diaz and even Abraham ben Canaan was smiling. They were used to such sights, she thought. The clothes she had worn at the convent had been mended countless times and had been of the plainest material and sombre colours. Her hair had always been hidden beneath a coif. The gown she was wearing now would probably make her duenna throw up her hands in horror and start praying for the soul of her lost charge.

  "They are pleasing men with the gifts Allah gave them," Yusuf laughed.

  "Forced to do as their masters order them under fear of a whipping or torture," Madelon said and she was thinking of Diya as she spoke. "Woman was not created merely to please man, my lord."

  "Was she not? Can you think of anything she does better? No, perhaps you can't, but then you don't think like a Moorish woman who is taught to please others, not herself."

  Madelon whirled around abruptly as Valentin's mocking voice sounded behind her. How distasteful his presence was to her. Was his love of Moorish women so great he could not bear to be near any other? When he was not treating her like a child, he was hurling insults and barbed remarks. Madelon's stay in the camp, had served as a strong reminder that, although she was free, there would always be men like her father who considered women merely as objects of amusement or for the purpose of childbearing. The slave girls she had seen and especially the one dancing before her now, made Madelon ashamed to be a woman. She would kill herself rather than become a man's plaything.

  She fixed her tormentor with a disdainful look, hating the

  way his eyes remained unwaveringly on her fece, making her stumble nervously over her words.

  "I am - a - a free woman. I have no master. I come and and go as I please. I dress to please myself..."

  "And sleep alone at night. How lonely you must be," Valentin sneered.

  A silence descended over the dais at the scornful jibe. Rodrigo glanced in dismay at Madelon's shocked face and muttered something she did not hear, probably trying to get his friend to apologize.

  "Women and love are like the sun and the moon - o
ne must surely follow the other," Yusuf said smoothly. "Valentin has lived so long amongst us he understands this, but for you it must be strange, Dona Madelon."

  It was the first time he had addressed her so formally, Madelon realized. Was it a hint to remind his friend she was not only a guest, but cousin to the kings of Leon and Castile. The relationship was probably not to their liking, but it could not be ignored. Her position demanded not only respect, but courtesy - the kind she had so far not received from Valentin, Lord of the Eagles. What a strange title that was, she thought. Who had bestowed it on him - his Moorish friends?

  Ignoring him she turned to Yusuf with a greatful smile.

  "Strange - yes," she admitted, "but exciting and instructive. Perhaps the hospitality I have received here can be returned at my cousin's court, my lord Yusuf. When I tell him of your kindness, I know he will want to extend his gratitude to you himself."

  Yusuf's eyebrows rose quizzically at the suggestion.

  "Soldiers of your King Alfonso have been raiding my camps and villages for the past two years, since I refused to become his vassal. In return my men have crossed into Leon. I have two Leonese women in my harem in Telhan. Do you still think he will offer me the hand of friendship?"

  "Perhaps if I talked with him."

  Yusuf leaned forward and refilled her goblet himself, waving aside the eunuch who ran forward to do such a menial task.

  "Let us drink a toast," he murmured. "To your hopes that I shall become your cousin's ally - that is what you intend, isn't it?" And while Madelon sat realizing he had completely misconstrued her good intentions, he added, "And to the hope you will some day find your way into my harem."

  They toasted each other oblivious of the glances passing between Valentin and Rodrigo. As much as she had disliked Yusuf s last words, Madelon realized she could not refuse to drink and had heard a soft exclamation of annoyance from Valentin as she raised her drink to her lips.

  "Our friend Yusuf has fallen for her," Rodrigo said, helping himself to a handful of sweet grapes.

  "Don't you believe it. Yusuf's no fool, besides I warned him what her game was," Valentin returned, his face growing noticeably grimmer as Madelon's soft laughter reached him.

  "Did you now?" Rodrigo looked at him blankly. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what it is."

  "It's obvious surely. What were Paco Montevides and his sister doing so far south when the whole court has gone to Santa Maria de Carrion?"

  "They were crossing into Castile."

  "Why not nearer Salamanca, that's where they live," Valentin said, frowning fiercely. "You know Montevides, Rodrigo, he's Alfonso's right hand, or should I say the Dona Urraca's. She's got the young fool under her thumb. Two months ago he followed YusuPs hunting party almost to Toledo trying to get an audience with him. Last month he was at Badajoz at a meeting of border chiefs. Only one promised men, but that's another hundred men at least we've lost."

  "And you think he was making a last attempt to see Yusuf and get his support before joining the king?" Rodrigo breathed. "My God, he's a fool. He knows Yusuf is with us. What could he offer him?"

  Valentin's green eyes blazed with such fury his friend was taken aback. His voice was low, dangerously calm.

  "His sister, perhaps?"

  "Have you taken leave of your senses? She's a child, anyone can see that What have you got against her?"

  "She's Urraca's cousin. You know the lady in question better than most people, you were raised with her. You, Sancho, Alfonso and Urraca. How old was she when she first took a man into her bed to bend him to her will - fifteen, wasn't it? Since then she's used her body not only as an instrument of pleasure, but as a means of effectively binding men to her. Young Carlos, for instance. He was one of my best men until he was captured at Vafiez. The Dona Urraca herself f; tended his wounds and now he leads men against his one-time friends. Would you like me to name more?"

  "No, old friend, you are right but to accuse the Dona Madelon of such a terrible thing! She has the look of an angel about her."

  "The angel of destruction," Valentin mocked. "She is far more beautiful than Urraca and no doubt more skilled in the subtle arts. You heard her offer to talk to Alfonso on Yusuf's behalf. She's dangerous, Rodrigo."

  The slave girl had finished dancing. She came forward to the dais looking up at Yusuf expectantly. Valentin knew her name was Aiya and she was the favourite in Yusuf's harem. Whenever there was entertaining of guests, she performed for them and then her master would take her hand and sit her at his side or on the cushions at his feet, to show everyone she held the place of honour in his heart.

  Tonight however there was no outstretched hand. Yusuf looked down at her, smiled and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Aiya looked stunned. Her eyes fastened on Madelon and Valentin saw the intense hatred which flashed into them at the sight of her master paying so much attention to this white-skinned vision of loveliness. It meant only one thing to the slave girl. She had been replaced by another. She had been ousted from the favourite's position - she who at that very moment was carrying her master's child.

  She moved with the speed of a snake, but Valentin who had been expecting a reaction of some land, moved even faster. As she flung herself forward, her long painted nails aimed straight at her rival's eyes, he jumped between them and struck her across the face. The blow knocked her to the ground. Madelon gave a cry of horror at what she thought to be an unnecessarily brutal act and her distress grew as two armed guards picked Aiya up between them and dragged her out of the tent. Her screams rang in Madelon's ears and the sight of the hatred distorting the face of the slave girl made her inwardly tremble.

  "Do not upset yourself, she will be suitably punished," Yusuf assured her. If the incident had perturbed him, it did now show. "Had Valentin not intervened, my guards would have killed her."

  "But why?" Madelon cried.

  "She meant to claw your eyes out. She believes you have found favour in her master's eyes and she will no longer be attractive to him," Rodrigo told her, his expression strangely troubled.

  "She had no reason to think that." As Valentin's lips curved into a contemptuous smile, she turned appealingly to Yusuf. "The girl was mistaken, my lord - it was a silly mistake, but she is so obviously fond of you, could you not forgo the punishment you spoke of..."

  Further words died in her throat at the coldness of Yusuf's expression. The enjoyable evening was suddenly spoilt. She felt afraid to stay beside this Moor any longer. She had said nothing - done nothing to make him want her. The favourable impression she was beginning to have of him was rudely shattered by the realization he was willing to have the dancing girl punished merely for being jealous, despite all the pleasant, perhaps tender moments he must have shared with her.

  "If you do not object, my lord, I will take my leave of you. I am feeling a little tired ..."

  Yusuf looked angry at the sudden hostility in her voice, but this was quickly replaced by a smile.

  "I am desolate you are leaving me so early."

  Diya materialized behind Madelon and draped her cloak over the golden figure.

  "Will you walk with me to my brother's tent, I would like to see how he is before I retire?" Madelon asked Rebecca.

  The Jewish girl nodded and rose to her feet, despite what seemed to be a disapproving look from her father.

  Madelon took her leave of the other guests with a slight nod of her head which was meant to include everyone.

  "By Allah! What a woman," Yusuf breathed as she vanished from sight amid the crowd outside the tent. "Did you see how those eyes defied me?"

  "I saw a woman of great beauty who possesses a heart of ice and a calculating mind to match that of her cousins," Valentin sneered. He was wise enough not to ask what would happen to Aiya. He guessed she would be whipped, perhaps tortured, it depended on how deeply Madelon had impressed her host - the least that would happen to her would be expulsion from the harem.

  Watching him, Rodrigo wondered at
the dislike he held for a girl he hardly knew. Women, however lovely or talented, never moved him to passion and hardly ever to anger - at least not such intensive vibrant feelings as had broken loose since Madelon del Rivas y Montevides had entered his life, waving her curved saracen dagger. A smile touched Rodrigo's weatherbeaten face. Was Valentin's concern for Yusuf, or because he was afraid he himself might be susceptible to the angel innocence of Dona Madelon? He was, after all, only a man.

  "What will happen to that poor girl?" Madelon asked Rebecca. She was conscious of something being terribly wrong in the camp. Curious eyes no longer watched her. Men turned their backs and women stood silent as she passed, without looking at her.

  "She tried to attack you and for that she must be punished."

  "But I wasn't harmed," Madelon protested. "Besides didn't Don Valentin say she was Yusuf's favourite wife?"

  "His favourite concubine," Rebecca corrected quietly.

  "Yusuf has been married only once. When his wife died he vowed never to take another. Aiya was bought for him in Valencia last year. He was happy with her - until he saw you."

  Madelon flinched at the reproach in the girl's voice.

  "Are you blaming me for what happened? I didn't ask to come here. I was brought. I didn't want to dine with Yusuf tonight, but Don Valentin forced me to."

  "Oh, and how did he do that?" Rebecca asked curiously.

  Madelon related how Diya had come seeking sanctuary in her tent and to protect her and keep her as her maid, she had agreed to be Yusuf's guest

  "How like Valentin to turn the moment te his advantage," the Jewish girl said amusedly. "I was wrong to blame you, please forgive me. Life here must appear very barbaric after being in a convent for so long?"

  "Yes, it is," Madelon admitted. She could not wait to leave the Moorish camp and return to civilization. The Castle de Aguilas was not her choice, but at least she would be among people of her own kind again. Rebecca laughed softly when she said this, but did not enlighten her as to the cause of her mirth.

  At Paco's tent the two girls parted. Rebecca promised to see Madelon before she left in the morning and walked off towards the striped tent she shared with her father.