The Dragon and the Jewel

by Virginia Henley

  Fayid spread long, slim hands. “I realize your customs differ from ours, Princess, but even you I think will not wish to share your bedchamber with your servants.”

  “I do not intend to sleep here!” Eleanor cried indignantly.

  Fayid’s hands spread wider and the gesture was accompanied by a slight shrug. “Then you will not see Sultan Selim, for he cannot see you until tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “He has many commitments, Princess. In the meantime my master invites you to enjoy the hospitality of his humble palace. You may rest or enjoy the bathing pool while I attend to refreshments.” Fayid bowed and ushered Eleanor’s attendants from the room.

  Eleanor grasped one of her women by the sleeve. Lena was a maid who had accompanied her from Brindisi. “Under no circumstances must you leave me alone here, Lena. When Fayid returns I shall demand that he … she ask Selim to make an effort to meet with me today. If it is impossible, I think we should leave and return tomorrow.”

  Fayid did not return, however, but many female attendants arrived. Some carried in large bowls of rosewater to keep the air cooled as it evaporated. Others brought towels, honey drinks, fruit, and something Eleanor had never before seen or even heard of. It resembled snow, flavored with fruit. She tasted it out of sheer curiosity and found its delicious icy texture was coolly refreshing in such a hot, dry climate. The female servitors could not speak her language, and Eleanor gave up trying to communicate for the moment as she helped herself to fruit and sweetmeats.

  The pink marble floor was strewn with large cushions exquisitely embroidered in a black and gold Egyptian motif. Eleanor was not about to sit upon the floor and chose instead to rest upon a low divan that was enclosed by filmy pink hangings. She pushed the gauze aside impatiently and sat down to wait, tapping a slippered foot on the pink marble.

  Time dragged its heels; each minute felt like an hour. Lena made herself comfortable on the floor among the cushions and was soon dozing in the heat. Eleanor reclined upon the divan, but when she felt her eyelids growing heavy she sat up, shook herself, and wandered out into the garden. It was a delightful oasis filled with exotic blooms, fig trees, and date palms all surrounding the pale-green marble bathing pool where lotuslike flowers floated and drifted with the perfumed breeze. The water was most inviting and Eleanor bent to trail her fingers in the cool depths, then sat down, removed her slippers and stockings, and let her feet dangle in the water.

  She gazed up above her chamber at the palace walls, which were made of intricately patterned mosaic tiles. She thought it curious the walls were solid with no windows to let in the breeze, then she was thankful that no one could look down into the garden from above and see her. Her mind flew off to another garden, in another time, and the memories it evoked of Simon were so tangible she could feel his damnably attractive hands upon her breasts, his breath upon her throat, and the kisses that had left their imprint upon her lips forever. The pale-green water beckoned and her resistance melted in the warm afternoon.

  Her gown, which had seemed so cool when she chose it this morning, was now far too tight and constricting. Her silk shift beneath it was sticking to her skin, and she fought a losing battle with herself until she finally succumbed and removed the offending garments. She slid naked into the cool green depths and closed her eyes in bliss. The water came just to her breasts and as she leaned back against the edge of the pool they bobbed up and down prettily, floating on the water’s surface like two pale lotus blooms. The ends of her black curls dipped into the water and swirled about her naked shoulders. Eleanor closed her eyes and gave herself up to sheer physical pleasure.

  Above her a pair of dark, intense eyes watched every gesture, every expression upon her lovely face. The mosaic tile wall with its grillwork pattern was designed to view the garden and pool without the observer being detected. Selim watched the beautiful female from above; the pale green water in no way impeded his vision of her naked form. He did not believe he had ever seen such a petite female in his life. The women in his harem, whether they were fair or dark, tended to voluptuous proportions. Some were even fat, but all were generously plump. This female was no bigger than one of his slave boys of ten or twelve years, yet with her slim legs and high round breasts her proportions seemed perfect and more than tempting. He had been aroused from the moment she lifted her skirt to remove her stockings. He imagined how tight her sheath would be, and his hand caressed his erection, noting with pleasure the length she had helped him achieve.

  He was delighted with this turn of events. He had thought all the advantage was with Frederick, Holy Roman Emperor, and his horde of crusaders. He had assumed it would cost him dearly to renew the truce, but it was a price that must be paid for he was assailed on all sides by the Syrians, the Jews, and the mad Turks. If the crusaders would return home or at least be contained within the boundaries of Palestine, he could breathe easier. Now it seemed he would be able to use his hostage Amauri de Montfort as a bargaining tool since the emperor was sending Simon de Montfort to renew the truce. His smile turned into a leer as he thought of the delectable princess who was fast in his lair. She was an unexpected gift, yet it was a common enough practice for men to offer their wives’ bodies in exchange for favors rendered.

  Eleanor reluctantly climbed from the pool and wrapped herself in a thirsty Turkish towel. She picked up her clothes and wrinkled her nose at the thought of putting them back on. She padded in bare feet back inside where the pink marble floor felt deliciously cool. She gasped with apprehension, for Lena was no longer in the chamber. She rushed to the door, unmindful of her déshabillé, and tried to fling it wide. Two fleshy black eunuchs stood in her path blocking her way. She was so angry she contemplated snatching one of their weapons and sticking it into a fat belly, but just as that moment the tall, slim Fayid glided into view carrying an armful of exotic silken garments.

  “I am leaving at once,” cried Eleanor. “Where is my maid?”

  Fayid bowed. “As you will, Princess. However, Sultan Selim is awaiting you.”

  “Oh,” said Eleanor, feeling as if she had been tugging on the end of a rope that had come unfastened. She backed into the room clutching the towel to her breasts and murmured, “I must get dressed.”

  Fayid spread the lovely silks upon the divan. “Perhaps you would wish to wear one of these, Princess.”

  Eleanor looked from the exotic garments to the small heap of clothing she had discarded earlier. Her chin went up. “Absolutely not! I refuse to dress as a heathen.”

  Fayid bowed her head. “It shall be as you wish, Princess.”

  “You can be very sure of that!” retorted Eleanor.

  She took courage from the colors she had chosen that morning when she had carefully dressed for her meeting with the sultan. However, the brave green and white, the King of England’s favorite colors, lay wrinkled. She disdained help from Fayid as she donned her shift and pulled on her stockings— garments that women of the East did not wear. Her underdress was pale leaf green, as finely spun as a veil. Over it she slid her dark-green silk tunic, decorated with small white swans wearing golden crowns upon their proud, graceful heads. She wished she had a golden crown for her own head at this moment as her hands tried to smooth out her long black tresses, which were curling profusely from the pool.

  She knew, however, that she had more important things to concentrate upon. Her mind darted about like quicksilver rehearsing the things she would say to Selim. She knew she must not act like a supplicant, appealing for him to release her husband’s brother. She must not appear to be a weak female asking the strong male for favors. She would deal with him as an equal, as one royal personage to another. She would subtly hint that she had great influence with the King of England and had power to open up trade routes between the two countries. William Marshal had taught her that sometimes promises were sufficient to achieve a goal and that those promises were not necessarily carved in stone. The important thing to keep in mind was to deal fr
om a position of strength.

  As Fayid led her along a myriad of corridors, Eleanor wondered how many people she would have to face. The Sultan of Egypt most likely surrounded himself with ministers, advisors, sycophants, and body servants, so Eleanor was surprised when Fayid ushered her into an empty chamber save for one figure who sat motionless upon a raised dais. Brilliant sunshine came through a multicolored glass window behind him, making it difficult to see the face of the man with whom she found herself alone.

  He sat not in a high-backed chair of state but upon an enormous backless throne. It looked as if it was made of solid gold. The room was silent, echoing the whisper of her garments and her quickened breathing. Then suddenly the figure stood up and descended lithely from the dais. He was only about five-and-a-half-feet tall with skin and eyes the color of old teak. He wore cloth-of-gold pantaloons and a curious headpiece decorated by a coiled serpent. His entire body was devoid of hair, Eleanor noticed, as her curious eyes swept up him, coming to rest on his face. It was thin, his nose hooked, but he had beautiful teeth that flashed whitely in his dark face.

  Eleanor extended her fingers for a handshake, but Selim captured her hand and held on to it. His eyes were so frankly assessing she felt a blush stain her cheeks. Then, still holding her fingers, he walked around her in a wide circle as if he was appraising the fine points of a mare. Eleanor felt her blood rise, yet she knew she must maintain a cool and aloof demeanor to keep her dignity. “Allow me to introduce myself, Sultan Selim. I am Princess …”

  “I know who you are,” he interrupted. “Your name is Precious Jewel.”

  Eleanor was stunned. How on earth did this man know her father had called her his precious jewel? “No! That is not my name. I am Princess Eleanor Plantagenet,” she stated firmly.

  He smiled lazily. “To me you shall be Precious Jewel,” he insisted, “my Precious Jewel.”

  “Nay, that is impossible, your Highness, I am a married woman.” She wondered wildly if he had heard gossip about her. She had been accused of everything from killing her husband with her insatiable sexual demands, to adultery and producing a bastard. God, don’t let me faint, she prayed, as she felt herself go dizzy and sway. Instantly his arms were about her. He lifted her and carried her to an alcove where a draped divan was partially hidden from the rest of the room.

  “Put me down instantly; how dare you touch me!” she choked. “My letter told you plainly I am here to negotiate the release of Amauri de Montfort.”

  He laughed as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I cannot get over the way you look at me. Your eyes are like deep, blue Persian sapphires that blaze with fire. My other women dare not look me in the face. Their lashes are lowered when I give them permission to speak.” He lowered her to the divan and she struggled to get up.

  “Sir, I am a royal princess of England. I am your equal, nay, my rank is far superior to yours!”

  Selim was genuinely amused at her words. “All women are inferior to men. Princesses are nothing unique to me. I have a princess in my harem. You will not be the first to come to my bed.”

  “This is preposterous,” Eleanor said furiously. “I have no intention of coming to your bed, and how dare you insult me by comparing me to a princess from some tin-pot regime? I am a Plantagenet and you are treating me like a slave girl.”

  Selim studied her intently. “I thought you were here to negotiate.”

  “I am,” she asserted.

  “A woman has only one thing to offer,” he said with a slightly perplexed frown. “I am willing to accept your offer in return for the hostage.” Now that he had made all plain, he expected her to be pleased. She seemed anything but pleased.

  “I came here to negotiate in good faith, sir. To offer to open up trade routes between our countries and you treat me like a houri.”

  “Such things are not within the sphere of women’s capabilities. These things I will discuss with your husband this evening.”

  She was startled. “My husband is coming here?”

  He chuckled. “Do not pretend ignorance, Precious Jewel. He has sent you as a gift to me, knowing that if you bring me pleasure it will smooth negotiations between us.”

  Eleanor for the first time felt real fear. She was far more afraid of Simon de Montfort than of Sultan Selim. “Ah no, you are mistaken. My husband would never share me with another man. I must be gone from here before he arrives. He is a war lord. He would not hesitate to kill you or kill me if I betrayed him!”

  “Such passion delights me. You are so very dramatic, you sound as if you really believe what you say, but you forget I know all about you. He has already shared you with another man. The Marshal of England took you to wife when you were nine.” He licked lips gone suddenly dry. By the moon and the stars, he wished he’d tasted her when she was nine. “Remove your garments for me, Precious Jewel. I would see your perfection now so I may savor the hours until nightfall when you will return to share my couch.”

  “You must be mad!” She ran toward the door, but Selim was after her in a flash. With ungentle hands he dragged her back and threw her upon the divan. “Just because I admire your passion and spirit does not mean I am prepared to suffer your insolence. When I give a woman an order, I get obedience.”

  Her chin went up in defiance and he launched himself upon her. He had a cruel strength in his hands, which he used to tear her garments from her body. Eleanor screamed and fought him wildly, but no one heard or heeded her cries for help. When she tried to bite him, he hit her so hard she blacked out for a moment, and as she came back to consciousness she shuddered with revulsion as she felt his hands run up and down the length of her naked body.

  He grimaced at her reaction. “Tonight you will try an Egyptian prick for flavor; you will love it.” He stood up from the couch with narrowed eyes. He did not want her fighting and biting. He wanted her tiny sheath hot for him. Fayid would know just what magic ingredients to add to the almond sweetmeats and honeyed drinks she would be served before she was brought to him.

  Eleanor’s clothes lay in shreds about her trembling body. She wondered if she should plead with him, tell him she was with child and beg him to let her go, but she knew in her heart it would make no difference to the evil swine. A woman meant only one thing to a man like the sultan—a warm body. If she did not comply she was less than nothing, without value whatsoever.

  He went to the door and Fayid entered. The servant must have been waiting outside all the time. She held out a loose, white silk robe for Eleanor, who had no choice but to take it thankfully. Fayid was not at all surprised that the sultan had humbled the proud princess.

  42

  The hour when Selim’s guest would arrive was fast approaching. As his slaves bathed and dressed him, the sultan discussed business with two aides and at the same time gave last-minute instructions regarding the dinner. He also changed the chamber assigned the war lord to one above his own, which overlooked the garden and pool where Precious Jewel was lodged.

  Just then there was a knock on his chamber door. The captain of his guard informed him that his guest had arrived bearing many gifts. No less than twenty camels stood in the courtyard laden with large earthenware jars containing precious oils, rare spices from the Orient, forbidden golden wines, aromatic myrrh, and even gunpowder, an explosive mixture of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter.

  It was much more than Selim had expected but he reasoned that since his wealth was legendary, the representative of the Holy Roman Empire brought tokens of great value to prove they could match or outdo him in all things. For two powers to negotiate they must appear to be equal in wealth, manpower, and determination. It was important not to lose face from the outset. Selim gave orders that the hostage Amauri de Montfort be present at the dinner.

  Simon de Montfort dismissed the palace servants because he had brought his own body servants with him. In actuality they were his two battle squires, Guy and Rolf. They took no chances. Knowing the proliferation of narcotic drugs in the East, Ro
lf tasted the food and drink that had been provided before he allowed his son Guy or his lord Simon to refresh themselves.

  The Earl of Leicester bathed and donned black silk for his dinner with the Sultan of Egypt.

  Eleanor found that she could not stop trembling. While she was in Selim’s presence she had fought the tears so long that her throat felt constricted, and now when she thought the floodgates would open, she found that she could not cry. Her skin crawled as she remembered his touch. After pacing like a caged pantheress for the best part of an hour, she finally could bear it no longer. She walked rapidly into the garden to the edge of the pool, threw off her white silk robe, and slid deep in the water to cleanse her body of Selim’s contamination.

  As Simon gazed down from the latticed window, his eye was caught by a movement far below in a garden. He stood transfixed as the unmistakable figure of his wife threw off a white garment and began to disport herself in a bathing pool. His fists clenched into iron balls. His fury almost choked him. He knew he had never before known an anger so great in his entire life. His informers had given him the information that she had gone to the summer palace, that she had passed through the gates, but that only her servants had left. He had been incensed at her impulsive meddling in men’s affairs. Would she never learn to keep her woman’s place?

  Now, however, he was enraged. She had placed herself in Selim’s power, and he was obviously enjoying the fruit that Simon owned and had assumed was his exclusively for all time. His beloved Kathe whom he cherished above all things was bathing naked as if she were in the privacy of their bedchamber at Kenilworth.

  Here was the woman he had pursued at all odds to make his wife. The king had impugned the honor of Simon de Montfort over this woman, and he even suffered exile because of her. Simon did not realize that it was jealousy that fanned the flame of his fury. He turned from the window and battled with himself for control. At least he now knew where the faithless little bitch was lodged.