Everything Under the Heavens (Silk and Song) (30 page)

‘And prepare for the worst.’ I finish for her, annoyed by her proselytizing.

She spreads her hands. ‘It may all turn out far better than you fear. But it is good to be pragmatic and to accept the situation that presents itself with the best grace you can muster; and that way you may preserve yourself and minimize the…difficulties.’

‘I will not convert.’

‘You must make your choices according to your conscience. But, Alys, it is what you keep in your heart that matters. Do not be stubborn, I beg you. For your own sake.’

For a moment, the air hangs heavy with intimations of violence, then there is a rustle of cloth behind me and in an instant the sharp planes of her face are gentled and a blush suffuses her skin, as if someone has lit a lantern inside her. From behind me comes a man’s voice, deep and vibrant, and the master of the house comes into view and stands there looking down at me.

He is old and gaunt, with a dark face and close-cropped, snow-white beard. His eyes blaze, shrewd and fierce, under the brim of his intricately wound headcloth as he looks me up and down. I am taken aback when he addresses me in English. ‘Good day, Alys Swann. My captain has a tendency to exaggerate, but I see that for once his description has not done the subject justice.’

Made bold by disbelief, I look back steadily. ‘Lovely enough to be forced into servitude as a harlot to some monstrous sultan, or so I am told.’

His eyes gleam. ‘It strikes me that you are a woman of some conviction. Conviction and beauty are two qualities to be prized, but when combined, it is like harnessing a wild stallion and a mule to the same single carriage: the result can be…dangerous.’

‘For the coachman or the passengers?’

‘For all concerned. But especially for you. Alys Swann, it would be a shame indeed to see such spirit broken and such beauty marred.’

‘They would torture me into converting?’

‘The emperor will not be with an infidel.’

‘Perhaps it is best to put me on the blocks and sell me to the highest bidder.’

He folds himself with surprising grace and suppleness to sit before me cross-legged so that he can look me in the eye. ‘The emperor is always the highest bidder, Alys Swann; even if the price he pays is not monetary. You will not understand this, I know, but believe me when I say that I dare not sell you elsewhere. Moulay Ismail would hear of it and have my head. Young women of such striking appearance are too rare a commodity in our markets not to draw attention.’

‘Then keep me here as a servant,’ I challenge.

‘It is not possible. I am sorry, but we must pass you on. You are a prize fit for an emperor, and for the emperor we shall prepare you.’

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