Enchantress

by Amy Sumida

“It's made from a plant called sugar cane,” Ayla said and reached across to spoon some sugar into his cup. It has thick, green stalks that grow as tall as a man. Inside the stalk is a thick liquid. The liquid is pressed out and then cooked till it boils. After boiling, it forms crystals like this, which can be added to anything you wish to sweeten.”

  “Amazing,” Rannulf sipped his now sweetened coffee. “It doesn’t even feel like we're eating reduced rations, when we have such wonders as this.”

  “At least we still have the palace orchards to sustain us,” Ayla commented, as she reached for an orange.

  “I have to admit,” Rannulf said as he reached for an orange as well. “I've never tasted such incredible flavors. The bounty of your land is truly sweet.” He smiled lustily at Ayla and she looked away. A knock at the door saved her.

  “Enter,” Rannulf called.

  John the Oxite walked in hesitantly. He peered around the door at the couple and smiled. Ayla gasped in delight and jumped up from her chair, to run over to John. She hugged him exuberantly and Rannulf stood, not at all pleased to see Ayla lavish affection on another man.

  “Ayla?” Rannulf ground out the question.

  Ayla finally ended the hug and turned back to look at Rannulf.

  “This is John the Oxite, Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch,” Ayla announced.

  “The priest?” Rannulf visibly relaxed.

  “I apologize for intruding on your breakfast,” John said to Rannulf. “I was impatient to see Ayla, and Bohemund told me she was with you.”

  “It's no intrusion,” Rannulf said graciously. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

  “Oh, thank you but no,” John grinned in relief. This Rannulf may be a monster on the field of battle but he was very polite on a personal level. Maybe Ayla would fare well with him. “I've already broken my fast with Bohemund.”

  “Coffee then?” Ayla asked and drew him over to the table.

  “That sounds lovely,” John sat down beside Ayla, and Rannulf resumed his seat as well.

  “You look better than I would have expected, John,” Ayla said as she poured the coffee.

  “They chained me only,” John shrugged. “I wasn’t beaten. I expect it was partly due to your friendship, that I was treated so well.”

  “Yaghi-Siyan was aware of my regard for you,” Ayla said as she handed John his cup. “I'm pleased that it kept you safe. I've been the cause of so much pain, that I'm glad to have prevented some as well.”

  “It's true then?” John’s brow creased with concern. “Bohemund told me you had brought death to the Christians.”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Ayla confirmed. Rannulf watched her closely, noting her regret.

  “Yaghi-Siyan’s command?” John asked quietly.

  “Ofcourse,” Ayla nodded. John patted her hand in comfort.

  “I hope you don’t hold Ayla responsible for her magic, my lord.” John looked over at Rannulf with apprehension.

  “You defend her, Priest?” Rannulf could hardly believe that Ayla had such a staunch supporter in a Christian.

  “Yes, I believe in her,” John said seriously. “She has more honor than most men I’ve known.”

  “Quite a recommendation,” Rannulf shook his head, “And from a priest, no less. I guess I've no choice but to believe in you as well.” He smiled at Ayla and she felt her cheeks warm. Was she actually blushing?

  John looked back and forth between Ayla and Rannulf in surprise. There was already a growing affection between the two enemies. The power of love was so amazing, he thought. Maybe Rannulf would be strong enough to win her over to Christ. God worked in mysterious ways.

  “So, my dear,” John looked at Ayla. “You've gone from Seljuk hands to Christian. Which do you prefer?”

  “Yes,” Rannulf raised an eyebrow at her. “Whose hands do you prefer, Ayla?” Ayla blushed even hotter and Rannulf laughed at her embarrassment. The priest was mortified, suddenly realizing how Rannulf had twisted his words.

  “I meant only to ask who was treating her better,” the priest tried to clarify.

  “Well,” Ayla tried valiantly to recover. “Yaghi-Siyan never touched me.”

  “He didn’t?” John was surprised.

  “He hit me on occasion but that was rare,” She said softly.

  Why did Rannulf’s blood begin to boil, at the mention of her previous treatment? Why did he suddenly long to meet Yaghi-Siyan one more time on the battlefield?

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” John was back to patting her hand.

  “As long as he didn’t touch me in any other way, it was bearable.” Ayla said simply.

  “He's a fool,” Rannulf’s voice was menacing. “What kind of a man abuses such a treasure?”

  “You tell me, m’lord?” Ayla taunted.

  “You think I abuse you?” Rannulf was shocked.

  “Did you not threaten to cut out my tongue?” Ayla stood firm, under his attack.

  “It was said in anger,” Rannulf sighed. “You were speaking on matters that you know not.”

  “What was that, if I may inquire?” John was interested in what horrible topic could have made Rannulf to threaten to cut out Ayla’s tongue. He was also eager to prevent an argument between the two.

  “She spoke on our religion,” Rannulf said, certain he’d get support on that at least.

  “Ayla knows much about our faith, actually,” John never understood why discussing religions could bring a person to violence. “We've had many discussions about it and she has read much of the scriptures.”

  “What?” Rannulf was aghast. “You gave her scripture to read?”

  “Where is the harm in that?” John was truly puzzled, he would have thought the knight would be pleased, to know that his captive had been well taught in his religion.

  “I don’t know,” Rannulf frowned. “It just seems strange to me, that you would give holy text to a Pagan.”

  “Well, Sir Rannulf,” John turned serious. “I would think that would be the best person to give them to.”

  “How so?” Rannulf was terribly confused.

  “Is it not part of this crusade to convert the heathens?” John patted Ayla’s hand in apology for the title. “How else would you bring someone to Christ, if not through his teachings?”

  “Point taken,” Rannulf grunted. Then he looked at Ayla. “You have my apology.” Ayla raised an eyebrow and nodded acceptance. “But you should refrain from trying to school a man on his own faith.”

  “I wouldn’t have to school men if they adhered to the beliefs that they put so much stock in,” Ayla lifted her chin and looked straight through Rannulf.

  “What are you saying, lady?” Rannulf gritted his teeth.

  “Men create these complicated belief systems,” Ayla said thoughtfully. “They've a need for control, for structure, but in their fervor for righteousness they make the sacred unattainable. The quest for the holy life is impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Rannulf was shocked, especially because John merely sat there smiling. “You find no offense in this, Priest?”

  “Oh, no,” John waved dismissively. “We’ve already had this conversation. I'm interested in seeing how you take the challenge, Knight of Christ.”

  “Your religion takes everything that makes life beautiful and worth living, and turns it into a sin,” Ayla explained. “Then, when men can’t help but commit sins, they're punished by horrible guilt or even worse, if they don't confess and make amends, they're punished with an eternity in Hell.”

  “There are things in this world that are evil,” Rannulf said. “Things that are sin, even you must admit there are acts that there should be a punishment for. Christ teaches that there is punishment, a Divine retribution for doing evil. He doesn't seek to destroy the beauty of life but instead he tries to preserve it.”

  “Excellent,” John clapped his hands at the warrior’s speech. Bohemund was right, the man possessed a silver tongue.

  “Ah, yes,” Ayla nodded and smiled a
little. “There is evil in the world, horrible things done by terrible people, but horrible things are also done by people who think they are good and holy. What determines the degree of evil, who decides what is right or wrong?”

  “God decides,” Rannulf answered immediately.

  “Yes, God,” Ayla agreed. “God decides and God creates. Did he not create everything? Man was created in his image and into this form he poured all the emotions of our souls. He gave us love, joy, and even hate. They are all God’s creations according to your writings. So what makes it wrong?”

  “What makes killing a defenseless child wrong?” Rannulf parried. “It just is.”

  “Yes, it just is,” Ayla agreed again. “Just like everything else, you don't need the words of Christ to tell you what is right or wrong, you already know. You know inside your heart, that slaughter is wrong, you know it in your bones, just as you know that holding a woman in your arms is right and good.” Rannulf inhaled sharply in surprise and raised an eyebrow at her. “It was not fear of God or thoughts of right and wrong that made me deny you. It was pride and honor. If not for those, I would have gone willingly into the pleasure you offered because something that beautiful cannot be wrong. You know it as well as I.”

  “What I know,” Rannulf tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, “is that sex without marriage is a sin.”

  “Yet you tried to engage me in it,” Ayla sat back with a smug expression.

  “I’m a soldier,” Rannulf said angrily. “I need some release.”

  “So not only is murder overlooked for you but lust as well,” Ayla poured herself more coffee.

  “I’ve already told you, Ayla.” Rannulf was starting to get frustrated, this wasn't the way he'd expected to defend his faith. “The Pope sanctioned the war and as far as my lust goes, God will forgive me.”

  “Because you're a man or because you're a soldier?” Ayla wondered if Rannulf knew how silly he sounded.

  “John, help me here,” Rannulf looked toward the priest for aid. He'd never had to look to another for help in a verbal match before and it rankled.

  “She has a point, m’lord” John sipped his coffee serenely.

  “What?” Rannulf was again shocked. “You take the Heathen’s side again? What kind of priest are you?”

  “One that believes in God’s law, my friend.” John sighed. “I never believed that God could truly approve of one man delegating his law to the people. When the Pope condoned killing in God’s name, I was certain of it.”

  “You blaspheme,” Rannulf gasped.

  “No, my lord,” John denied. “I say nothing against God, in fact I believe I compliment him. It's the Pope I disapprove of. Anyone who could use God as an excuse to gain power and wealth, through any means, does not live a holy life and is in truth the blasphemer.”

  “You disapprove of the church?” Rannulf felt a little dizzy.

  “Maybe a little,” John agreed, “but more importantly, the Pope. Truly, Lord Rannulf, why should a warrior be exempt from paying for his sins, simply because he is better at them?” Ayla burst out laughing at this and earned herself a scowl from Rannulf.

  “I can't believe I have to defend myself and the Pope to a man of the church.” Rannulf shook his head.

  “I apologize, m’lord,” John said gently. “I meant you no disrespect. Yours is the thinking of the masses. You know no better. I've simply been enlightened by this land and its people.” John smiled at Ayla and she grinned back.

  Rannulf frowned deeper. He didn’t like to think that he was like an ignorant child who “knew no better”. What exactly did that mean? Did the priest think the masses were spoon fed lies? Did he believe the church would allow such a thing?

  “I see nothing wrong with your actions,” Ayla said simply. “War has always been and will always be. It's the way of man, to want to conquer and take. But so is love and the lust that leads to it. I find nothing sinful in either. What I do find sinful, is professing to follow a creed and then tearing it apart, to make it suitable to your needs and wants. When you do that, you're not following a religion, merely creating your own.”

  “I'm simply following the directives of the leaders of my faith,” Rannulf was getting tired of this conversation.

  “How like a soldier,” Ayla sighed. “I'd thought you were a better man than that. I thought you were a man of intellect, who could think for himself.”

  “I do think for myself,” Rannulf growled.

  “Except when it comes to your spirituality,” Ayla raised an eyebrow. “Then you’d prefer to have it handed to you, no thought required.”

  “You go too far,” Rannulf leaned forward.

  “Ayla,” John interrupted. “I don’t think Sir Rannulf is ready for this kind of talk yet.”

  “No, he's not,” Ayla agreed. “Why don’t we try this again later when you’re more calm?”

  “I’m perfectly calm,” Rannulf growled again. Ayla couldn’t help it, she started to laugh uproariously. Rannulf and John were soon caught by her infectious laughter and they too began to see the humor.

  “Very well, woman,” Rannulf pushed his cup to her for another serving. “You’ve made your point.”

  Chapter Twenty

  John didn’t leave Ayla’s chamber for another two hours. By the end of his visit, Rannulf was as impressed with the priest as Ayla was. The man was genuine in everything he did and it was hard not to admire that. He spoke with honesty and integrity, even when it would have suited him better to lie. Rannulf was already looking forward to his next visit.

  Even more importantly, John had softened the tension between Rannulf and Ayla. After their touchy conversation on religion, they were actually forming a tentative friendship, a friendship that Rannulf already valued. He was completely surprised to find that he could desire a friendship with a woman instead of just plain desiring her. He'd never fostered that kind of relationship before.

  From the first moment he'd laid eyes on Ayla, he'd known she was special. Then he'd touched her and something in that touch felt so familiar to him. It was as if he had been touching her all of his life. He knew every plane of her body, every curve of her face. She spoke with a voice his heart recognized. He felt so comfortable with her. Was it her magic or was he finally succumbing to that fatal emotion…love?

  Rannulf frowned and shook his head to clear it. He was losing his mind. He needed to get away from the witch for awhile. He strode determinedly to the door, earning a curious glance from Ayla but nothing more. He walked out, shut the door behind him and locked it.

  He made his way down to the palace courtyard. It was a serene place, with fountains, plants, and statues but Bohemund’s men were now using it for training. Rannulf found his squire, Mark, and bid him fetch a practice sword. He needed a distraction.

  “Rannulf,” Tancred walked over to him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Rannulf’s head immediately filled with pictures of what he’d like to be doing in his bed. He shook his head to clear the dangerous pictures of Ayla and tried to give Tancred his full attention.

  “I need some exercise,” Rannulf said. “I've no desire to grow fat and lazy.”

  “Fat and lazy?” Tancred laughed. “What are you going on about? You’re recovering from horrible battle wounds. You shouldn’t even be walking.”

  “Oh, yes,” Rannulf smiled. He'd completely forgotten his injuries. “I'm recovered.”

  “Recovered?” Tancred’s eyes grew round. “Is it true then? The witch healed you with her powers?”

  “Completely,” Rannulf admitted. “Unfortunately, she’s given me another ache that she refuses to take care of.”

  “Another…oh!” Tancred laughed again and Rannulf smiled. He'd always liked the young man’s disposition. “Does she not belong to you now? Why don’t you just take what you want?”

  “Would you?” Rannulf cocked his head, wondering if he had misjudged young Tancred.

  “Well, no,” Tancred grinned sheepishly. “
I must admit I prefer a willing woman and the thought of bedding a witch without her consent is a little frightening. I guess I see your problem.”

  “And my need to work off some useless energy,” Rannulf grinned as he was handed his practice sword by his squire. “Do you have any problems fighting a wounded man?”

  “If you truly were wounded,” Tancred backed up and lifted his sword. “I might stand a chance. But I'm willing to be beaten by the best, maybe I can learn something.”

  “Never let it be said that you're a stupid man,” Rannulf lunged at his opponent.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Rannulf finally returned that night, after a long workout, a quick rinsing, and an even faster dinner, it was to find Ayla already asleep. He smiled to see her so peaceful and quickly removed his clothing. He pulled back the covers and climbed into the large bed next to his sleeping sorceress. She smelled magical, dark incense and sweet flowers, and he snuggled up against her so that he could fully inhale the Ayla fragrance. She sighed in her sleep and nuzzled back against him.

  Rannulf smiled down at her, amazed at what a difference there was in her when she let her guard down. If the waking Ayla knew what the sleeping one had just done, she would blush scarlet. He took another deep breath and quickly followed her into the dream realm.

  Someone was shaking the entire world, which made it extremely difficult for Ayla to sleep. She opened her eyes slowly to find Rannulf thrashing back and forth beside her. She sat up and looked down at him in concern. He was still asleep and whatever he was dreaming, it had a terrible hold over him.

  She reached out and stroked his brow soothingly, unsure if she should wake him. Instantly, her wrist was encased by an iron grip and she was on her back with Rannulf on top of her. Her surprised yelp woke him up and he stared down at her in confusion.

  “Rannulf?” She asked softly.

  He frowned a little and rolled to the side. Then he laid back, staring at the domed ceiling blankly, seeing only the horrible images in his dream. His whole body began to shake and he was surprised to realize that he was covered in a thin layer of sweat.