The Saracen: The Holy War

by Robert Shea

  LXII

  Sophia heard a murmur from the riders ahead, and looked up. It waswarmer here in the south, and she had opened the curtains of her sedanchair. Following the path around the side of a hill, the two mencarrying her had brought Lucera into view.

  It seemed not to have changed at all in the year and a half since shehad left with Daoud and Lorenzo. The octagonal walls and square towersof Manfred's citadel, warmed by the setting sun, rose above the smallcity standing in the center of a plain surrounded by hills.

  Her skin tingled at the thought of seeing Daoud again. But her heart,which should have been light with happiness, ached, tormented for monthsby a decision she could not make.

  A cry from the men-at-arms leading the way startled her. Her eyesfollowed a pointing arm and saw, high on the rocky slope of a nearbyhill, a mounted warrior.

  He glittered in the sunset. He was too far away for her to see thedetails of his costume, but gold flashed on his breastplate, on hishands and arms, and on the white turban that shaded his face. One ofManfred's Saracens probably, sent out from Lucera to bid them welcome.

  She saw that their path descended gradually into a valley. The Saracen'shorse was scrambling down a steep slope to meet them. The warrior leanedback in this saddle to balance himself, riding easily down to the valleyfloor.

  As she drew nearer to him, her heart started to hammer in her chest. Thelower half of his face was covered by a short blond beard. The face wasstill in shadow, but the nose was long and straight.

  Most of all, it was his carriage that told her who he was. He heldhimself so perfectly erect that he almost seemed made of some substancelighter and finer than ordinary flesh. And yet there was not a trace ofstiffness in his posture. Like a young tree. Some vessel seemed to openwithin her and spread a gentle, joyous balm throughout her body.

  Ahead of her, Ugolini, alerted by his guards, had thrown back thecurtains of his sedan chair and was leaning out. He was bareheaded, hiswhite side-whiskers fluttering in the breeze. He must be beside himselfwith excitement, Sophia thought, at the prospect of reunion with Tilia.

  The horseman touched his right hand to his white turban in salute toUgolini, and rode on past.

  How splendidly he was caparisoned, from the white plume in his turban tohis jeweled, carved stirrups. The breastplate over his long red ridingrobe was of polished steel, inlaid with gold in Arabic spirals. Jewelssparkled on the hilt and sheath of his sword.

  He was close enough for her to see his face clearly. His new beard gavehim a commanding, princely look. Seeing him like this, she understoodbetter what the word _Mameluke_ meant. She felt as if a new sun hadarisen before her. How unbelievably lucky she was to be loved by such aman.

  But, like an enemy in ambush, the pain of her indecision struck her inthe heart.

  _The more fool I am to have betrayed him._

  He drew up beside her and rode around her sedan chair so that the headof his glistening black horse was toward Lucera. In a sudden movement heleaned down from the saddle. An irresistible arm encircled her waist andpulled her up out of the sedan chair. For a moment she felt alarmed andamazed, as if she were flying through the air. Then, before she couldscream, she found herself comfortably seated across the great horse, hershoulder resting on his breastplate, his arms around her.

  Her only fear was that she might faint at his touch.

  And like that they rode into Lucera. Together for all the world to see.

  * * * * *

  What exquisite irony! She gazed around the bedchamber Daoud had led herto, hardly able to believe her eyes. The big bed with its goldencurtains was the same, and so was the window with its pointed arch. Thiswas the very room, the very bed, in which Manfred and she had made lovefor the last time.

  Manfred must have deliberately chosen to give this room to them.

  Daoud's weapons hung on the wall, and his armor was mounted on woodenstands. Chests of clothing and other possessions were lined up along thewall. Soon the servants would be bringing her things in too.

  This room--another thing she could not tell him about. She despisedherself. But it might well offend him if he knew of Manfred's littlejoke, and enmity between Daoud and Manfred at this moment could bedisastrous.

  _Manfred needs Daoud. Why is he so foolish as to risk angering him?_

  Daoud and she stood staring at each other. They had said little so far.She felt overwhelmed, and she supposed he did too. She felt her longingfor him as a strange not-quite-pain in the pit of her stomach.

  He took her shoulders in his hands. How good to feel his strong fingersholding her.

  "How long has this been your room?" she asked.

  "For about a month. Rather grand, is it not? The king says it issuitable to my rank. I have my own command, a division of his mountedMuslim warriors. I call them the Sons of the Falcon."

  _Suitable to my rank._

  She wondered how much Daoud knew about herself and Manfred.

  "What troubles you?" he asked.

  _So many things._

  "Manfred," she said, choosing the worry easiest to speak of.

  He stroked her cheek gently. "No need to torment yourself. I understandhow it must have been."

  _But would you understand about Simon?_

  She said, "But can Manfred accept what you and I are to each other?"

  He shrugged. "You see that we are together in his palace. You saw that Irode with you before me on my horse through the streets of Lucera andinto Manfred's castle."

  "I see that Manfred must know about us. Are you sure he does not want meback? It can be fatal to cross a king."

  "When we got the message that Ugolini and you were coming here insteadof going to Viterbo, I talked with Manfred, not as subject and king, butas man and man. He was most gracious, as Manfred usually is."

  "What did he tell you?"

  "That indeed he still cares for you. Too much, it seems."

  "Too much?"

  Daoud's teeth flashed in his blond beard. "His queen, the mother of hisfour children, Helene of Cyprus, usually looks the other way whenManfred beds beautiful young women. But she saw in you too serious arival. He had to send you off with me, or the queen would have had youpoisoned."

  Sophia's eyes strayed to the bed in horror. She remembered now thatbefore she left here, Manfred had hinted at something like that.

  "Poisoned! And I am safe now?"

  Again the white grin in the blond beard. During the six months they hadbeen apart, she had begun to think that her love for him might haveseduced memory and enhanced his good looks beyond reality. But now inthe flesh he surpassed even the image her memory had cherished.

  "You are safe as long as you stay away from Manfred and he from you.There will be a feast tonight, in honor of Cardinal Ugolini. You willsee how carefully the king will avoid you."

  Daoud pulled her close to enfold her in his arms. He had taken off hissurcoat and breastplate, and with her head against his chest she couldfeel his heart beating strong and fast under his silk robe.

  "And you?" she said. "Do you hate the thought that Manfred and I werelovers?"

  _In that very bed._

  "It is far in the past," Daoud said. "Before you met me." He held heraway from him and looked at her with laughter in his blue eyes. "Eventhe Prophet married a widow."

  His gentle acceptance, his easy assumption that all was over betweenherself and Manfred, tore at her heart. If she even mentioned Simon, itwould be different. That was not in the past. That was after she had metDaoud, after they became lovers. For the thousand-thousandth time shecursed herself for letting it happen.

  _God, I am a whore! As bad as the worst painted prostitute plying hertrade under the arches by the Hippodrome._

  No, worse than that, in a way. A prostitute had a clear reason for doingwhat she did with men. The more Sophia thought about the time she letSimon possess her, the less she understood it. And even a prostituteknew her occupation and her place in the world. From t
he night thatAlexis cast her adrift, Sophia had, in a way, been lost.

  But there came to her a glimmering of hope. Daoud had a place here withManfred, and she had a place beside Daoud. Could it be that at last shehad a home?

  Then she should do nothing to endanger it. She should say nothing aboutSimon.

  "Come to bed," he whispered, still holding her and taking a step in thatdirection.

  The feel of his arms around her and his body pressing against her sentripples of need for him through her. But now, with thoughts of Manfredand--much worse--of Simon, confusing her, she felt frightened, unready.She needed more time.

  "I have had no proper bath in days, Daoud. I feel the grime of the roadall over me."

  "Of course." He smiled. "And now you can have a proper bath. Let me seeto it."

  * * * * *

  In the year and a half since she left this place, Sophia had all butforgotten the bathing rooms in the lowest level of Castello Lucera. Shehad not used them as much as she had wished to, when she lived herebefore. In her strange position as a foreigner and one of Manfred'sloves, she had not felt comfortable bathing with the other women wholived in the castle.

  But tonight, as she and Daoud undressed in the green-tiled anteroom,they had it all to themselves. Daoud must stand high indeed with Manfredto have arranged that, she thought.

  In the light of the oil lamp hanging overhead, his naked body was agolden color, and free, as far as she could tell, from the marks ofinsult the podesta's torturer had inflicted upon it last summer.

  She was not naked. She wore a linen gown that opened down the front. Hercontinued worrying over whether or not to tell him about Simon made herwant to stay covered as long as she could.

  But with a smile he pulled her gown apart and slipped it off hershoulders and down her back to the floor.

  A glance down his body told her that he wanted her now. The sightthrilled her, but she still felt uneasy and not able to give herselfwholeheartedly to him and to the act of love.

  "Let us attend to the grime," she said with a small smile.

  In the next room, its walls tiled in white, she lay in a round sunkentub filled with hot water piped in from the castle kitchen. It was largeenough for Daoud to stand over her in it. He took over the task ofwashing her with scented soap imported from Spain.

  At first she simply lay back and enjoyed her renewed acquaintance withthe amenities of Manfred's kingdom, so much more like Constantinoplethan life in the Papal States had been. But as the hot water relaxed herand as Daoud's hands, slippery with soap, slid over her skin, she feltthe rising warmth of desire. Nothing mattered but this moment. Shewriggled her legs and hips against him in small, almost unwilledmovements.

  "The grime first," he said with a soft laugh, and continued methodicallyto soap her until she was mad with wanting him.

  He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the next room, itstiles the red-orange of sunset, which was taken up by a great pool ofvery hot water. Usually this chamber would be occupied by anywhere fromsix to a dozen men or women. But tonight Sophia and Daoud were quitealone.

  Still carrying her, he descended the steps into the hot pool. Ribbons ofsteam rose around them. He lowered her into the water. When she stoodneck-deep in it, the heat was almost unbearable, as if she were about tobe boiled to death. But then the heat soaked into her until her verybones felt liquefied. Her whole being melted until she was not a personwho felt desire, she _was_ desire itself.

  With her arms around his neck she pulled his head down and kissed him,flicks of her tongue tip luring his tongue into her mouth.

  He pressed her back against the warm tile wall, and she knotted her legsaround his waist as he took her standing up.

  Moments later her ecstatic cries were echoing through the bathing rooms.

  They forgot about time.

  Her voice rang again and again in the vaulted chamber. They made love inthe hot water and then lying on linen cloths on the masseur's slabbeside the pool. They nearly fell asleep in each other's arms.

  Laughing at their bodies' foolishness, they plunged into the last pool,cold water in a blue-tiled room, then hurried through a door to theplace where they had started and dressed again.

  When they were back in their room, Daoud's voice was drowsy as he laybeside her on the gold-curtained bed.

  "You must have bypassed Rome when you came down, with the Count of Anjouand Simon de Gobignon both there," he said.

  At the mention of Simon's name Sophia's pleasant sleepiness fled, andshe felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. Should she tell Daoud ornot? She still could not decide. The uncertainty itself had becomealmost as great an agony as the fear of what would happen if she toldhim. She rolled over with her back to him, so that he could not see herface.

  "Yes," she said. "We went east into the Abruzzi and through L'Aquiliaand Sulmona. Terribly mountainous country. It took us much longer, butit was safer."

  _But if I do not tell him, every time he takes me in his arms I willknow that I am lying to him. I will always be aware that I am keepingsomething back from him that he would want to know. I betrayed him withSimon, and each time I have the chance to tell him and do not, I ambetraying him again._

  "Before Charles took Rome, Lorenzo and Tilia and I passed near the city,but skirted around it. It would not do to have someone from that innrecognize us."

  "How well I remember that night." It was then that she had first seenhow resourceful and how ruthless Daoud could be.

  "Lorenzo and I could talk about it now without getting angry," Daoudsaid. "He told me he tried to help the old Jew, Rachel's husband,because a man does not forget the faith and the people he was born to."

  "And you wondered about yourself?" said Sophia.

  "Exactly." The palm of his hand felt wonderfully hard against the fleshof her buttocks. "And, strangely, I found myself thinking of Simon deGobignon."

  She felt her body stiffen and tried to make herself relax. "What couldhave made you think of him?" She had never told Daoud about Simon'sshadowed childhood. She wondered if he had heard of it from someoneelse.

  "I asked myself, what if the Turks had not overrun Ascalon and killed myparents and carried me off? And the answer came that I would have beenvery like Simon de Gobignon. He grew up, you see, having all the thingsI lost."

  "What things?"

  "A family, a home, the Christian faith, freedom, knighthood, hiscountry. Even his name."

  This talk about Simon was making her desperately uneasy. She wondered ifshe could tell Daoud to go to sleep and forget it all.

  "And I saw at last why I hated him so much," Daoud went on. "I hated himin part, of course, because of you. I had already started to love you,and the thought of him possessing you made me furious. And yet it was myduty to send you to bed with him. Fortunately, that never had to happen.But there was an even deeper reason for my hating him."

  "What was that?" she asked.

  "Envy. Envy that I could not admit to myself."

  "Not admit to yourself? Why?"

  His hand on her was motionless. She sensed that it was an effort for himto put his thought into words.

  "Because I was afraid to. That is always why we do not admit a truth toourselves. My Sufi sheikh often said, _The things you most fear, thoseyou must turn and stare at until you are no longer afraid_. I was afraidI might betray my faith."

  "You mean renounce Islam?" A chill went through her. What a disasterfor all of them that could have been. She could well understand how thethought of that might frighten him.

  "Yes. I had to put that possibility out of my mind. So I hated Simon deGobignon without knowing why. Because I did not understand my hatred, Ihated him all the more."

  _If only we could stop talking about Simon._

  But the man she loved was telling her something very important abouthimself. She had to set her own discomfort aside. She had to listen.

  "And now you do not hate him?" She turned over in the bed.
She wanted tosee his face.

  There was a peacefulness in his eyes such as she had never seen before.Always, they had seemed to burn, white-hot. Now they were clear andfathomless, like the sky.

  "I do not hate him. I realized, as I rode along with Lorenzo, that ifyour new faith is strong and your new people are good, you can rememberwithout danger what you loved of the old. I will always love the soundof the Christian priests chanting in the cool dark of a church. I willalways feel especially at home in a Christian castle. But the voice Ihear in the depths of my soul today is the true voice of God, and that,Simon de Gobignon will never hear. Unless God's all-powerful handreaches out for him as it did for me."

  Awed, Sophia said, "I have never heard anyone speak as you do. With somuch wisdom. Except, once or twice, a priest."

  He closed his eyes. "I speak as I am inspired to speak. In Islam thereare no priests that stand between God and man. There are the morelearned and the less learned, but each man and each woman can hear God."

  Daoud had bared his soul to her. She wanted to do the same. Love was notmerely the coupling of naked bodies, but the union of naked minds. Howcould she ever be happy with him while lying to him?

  But she did not love Simon. What had happened between them had been amoment of being overwhelmed by feeling. It had been done, not by her,but by Sophia Orfali.

  She had felt sorry for Simon and wanted to comfort him. She had beenmoved by the purity of his love for her, and her body, which had notknown Daoud for months, ran away with her. It was a shameful thing, butnot an important thing, because it did not change her love for Daoud.

  It would be important to Daoud, though. He would feel that she hadbetrayed him. He would want revenge. He would hate Simon.

  Most important, the peace with his own childhood, reached after painfulstruggle, might be destroyed. The beautiful state of mind he had shownher might be lost.

  For the sake of his peace, she must keep silent.

  She hated the decision. It meant that a part of her would always belocked away from Daoud, and he would never know it.

  Very well, then. Let _that_, and not his wrath at the revelation, be herpunishment for having let herself go that day with Simon by the lake.That would be the mutilation she would always bear. Perfect union withDaoud would be a promised land she would never enter. By suffering that,she would silently make restitution to Daoud for the wrong she had donehim.

  All the while she had been thinking, he had been gazing at her. Just asshe reached her final decision, his eyes closed and his breathingdeepened. She reached out and touched the sparse blond hairs in thecenter of his chest, lightly so as not to wake him.

  _I lost everything too. He and I are so alike._

  Mother and Father. Alexis, whom she had loved in the simple way thatSimon loved her. All lost in one night of fire and steel. And afterthat, the life she led had been so little like that of other women. Alife so strange and venturesome she did not know what to think ofherself. And yet a life she had loved much of the time.

  If Simon reminded Daoud of what he had lost, almost any woman she metdid the same for Sophia.

  Why, she wondered, had a man's seed never quickened within her? She wastwenty-four years old, and she had never been with child. Not once sincegirlhood had her monthly flow of blood failed.

  _I am barren_, she thought sadly, as she had countless times before._Barren and alone._ Just as well. Even one baby would have been animpossible burden in the years since she fled to Michael.

  But now, if Daoud were to get her with child, what joy that would be. Atthis moment, it seemed, she had nothing to do except be a companion toDaoud. There had never been a better time in her life for having achild. And even if she could never be wholly one with Daoud, she couldbe one with their child.

  There were remedies for barrenness, she thought, and sometimes theyworked. Wise old women knew them. She might seek out such a woman. Tiliamust know a great deal about preventing conception, perhaps she knewsomething about how to make it happen.

  There would be no more work of the sort she had done for Michael andthen for Manfred. She was known in the north. She could not go backthere. And once Manfred defeated the French and drove them out of Italy,he would want _men_ to help him govern. A woman had no place ingoverning, unless she were married to a man of power or had inherited atitle of her own.

  A child, after all this was over, might be all she would have left.Daoud could be killed fighting the French. Her heart stopped beating fora moment, and then began pounding in fear.

  She put that thought out of her mind quickly. She must believe that hewould not be killed. And there was good reason to believe so, with allhe had survived already.

  No, it was more likely she would lose him when the war was over and hewent back to his people. He loved his faith, loved the land that hadfirst enslaved him, then made him a warrior. And she could never go backto Cairo with him. What she had heard about a woman's lot among theMuslims sounded like a living death. He had never said so, but heprobably had a wife in Egypt. Several wives perhaps, as Muslims weresaid to do.

  Live as just _one_ of his wives? Her stomach burned at the idea.Unthinkable!

  Could she persuade Daoud to come with her to Constantinople? Daoud couldserve the Basileus brilliantly, as a strategos, a general, or as amediator between Byzantines and Saracens. A man of his experience wouldbe invaluable. Ah, but to achieve to the utmost of his ability, though,Daoud would have to join the Orthodox Church. And that, after the wordshe had just spoken, she could never imagine him doing.

  Well, but she _could_ imagine it. Why spoil the beautiful dream ofherself and Daoud together amid the glories of the Polis? For the momentshe could indulge her fancy and tell herself anything was possible.

  Allowing her mind to drift among these visions, she fell asleep.