The Mystic Rose (35 page)

She raised an eyebrow. “Have I been so prickly of late?”

“Lady, a bramble thicket is more welcoming.”

Putting her hands on his chest, she pushed him toward the door. “Go now, my lord. I fear you have outstayed your welcome.”

He opened the door a crack and looked both ways along the gallery before stepping out. The door closed silently, and he was gone.

Cait turned to her two gawking handmaidens and, through a series of what she hoped were sternly pointed gestures, warned them to secrecy. In an effort to maintain the pretense that nothing unusual had taken place, she commanded them to continue brushing her hair and making ready her bed. They fell to readily enough, and were soon whittering away again like birds.

When they finally blew out the candles and settled down for the night, Cait could not rest. Sleep eluded her; she kept thinking about the lies she had been told, and tried to discern what might be behind them. Daylight found her ill-rested and in a foul humor, but all the more eager to face Prince Hasan and demand an explanation of him.

She woke her sleepy servants and dressed hurriedly, leaving the women's quarters in the company of a grimly disapproving Jubayar. She was first to arrive at the room where they most often broke fast—a small, bright room with colored tiles of blue, green, and yellow, and a large window
overlooking a garden court below. There was no one about, so she settled down to wait, and presently an old servant appeared, bowed in greeting, and began making up the fire in the hearth.

After a time, more servants came to prepare the table, spreading bright cloths on which they placed baskets of bread and cold sliced meat. One servant began cooking oat porridge in a pot on the hearth, and others brought a large bowl of hot almond milk spiced with cinnamon. Cait accepted a cup of the warming drink, and waited while more servants came and went.

Where was Rognvald, she wondered? What could be keeping him?

She went to the door and looked out into the antechamber and the corridors beyond, but aside from Jubayar, slumped asleep in a corner, there was no sign of anyone about. She waited some more, and had just decided to go in search of the knights when she heard footsteps and voices in the anteroom. She jumped up from her place at the table and ran to the door to meet Prince Hasan and his advisor, Halhuli.

“Allah, the Ever Gracious, be good to you,” exclaimed Hasan. “Darling Ketmia, how lovely you look this morning. I did not know you would be waiting or I should have come sooner.”

Cait greeted him pleasantly, and said, truthfully, “I did not sleep well last night, so I rose early.” She looked beyond the two men. “I was hoping to speak to Rognvald, too. I wanted to hear how he fared in his search.”

“But Ketmia, he is gone.”

A sudden anxiety overcame her. “What do you mean? Where would he go?”

Raising a calming hand, the prince said, “Peace, my darling. I am sorry. Had I known you wished so ardently to see him, I might have prevented him from leaving.”

She looked to Halhuli for confirmation; he merely shrugged, as if to say there was nothing to be done.

“But why would he go off without telling me?”

“Allah alone knows, my love. We will ask him when he returns. But, if I may speculate?”

“Please do,” said Cait, her tone growing brusque.

“It seemed to me that he was disheartened by his lack of success in finding Alethea. The man is very stubborn, as you know.” Hasan offered a sadly sympathetic smile and spread his hands. “I believe he could not accept his failure. He and his knights roused the stablemen and ordered fresh horses to be saddled. They compelled the porters to open the gate, and rode out just before dawn.”

Cait looked at him blankly, a feeling of desperation rising up from the soles of her feet and into her belly. She knew the prince was lying, but she could not understand why, or know how to force him into an admission. “He might have left some word for me,” she said darkly, as if her anger were directed at the thoughtless knight.

Hasan turned to his silent advisor. “Did he leave any word?”

Halhuli shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“I am sorry, Ketmia. Now you are angry and unhappy. What shall I do to cheer you?” He tapped his chin with a finger as if in thought. “I know! The Winter Garden is ready now, and it is a rare delight. The day is fine; we will break our fast and then I shall take you for a walk in the garden.”

“Later, perhaps,” said Cait. “I think I would like to go back to my room. Lord Rognvald's thoughtlessness and negligence have spoiled my appetite. I pray you will excuse me.”

She left then, lest the prince find some means of persuading her to stay. On the way to her quarters the realization struck her that her position had suddenly grown extremely precarious. She was all alone now, and there was no one she could trust, or turn to for help.

By the time she reached the women's quarters, however, the first fright at her predicament had passed; in its place had settled a cold determination not to allow the prince to work his devious will. The heat of righteous indignation fired her thoughts. And, by the time she reached the door to her room, she had remembered that there was someone she could trust to help her now: Danji.

C
AIT WAITED THROUGH
the day for Danji to appear. By way of signs and gestures, and the repetition of Danji's name, she had at last brought Mahdi to comprehend something of the urgency and apprehension she felt. The handmaid went off on her secret errand and Cait settled back to wait. Tired from her restless night, she soon closed her eyes and descended into a fitful sleep, full of fragments of images and half-remembered dreams.

She stood again on the high cliffs above the little bay south of Banvar
, alone, the sky filled with the cry of the gulls circling high overhead…dark stone buildings and green fields beyond, snug between heathered hills, a thin silvery thread of smoke rising to flatten on the wind from the sea…a tall figure dressed in black standing alone on the clifftop—Sydoni, gray hair combed by the wind, taking her by the hand and saying, “Caitríona, dear heart, it is good to see you. I was hoping you would come and bid me farewell.”

Sydoni vanished, and Cait was outside the gate of the stronghold in the twilight. Abbot Emlyn was there, they were walking very quickly and he was talking to her, but she could not make out the words. And as they walked along she kept falling further and further behind. Desperate, she cried, “Wait! Abbot Emlyn, wait for me!”

The kindly old abbot did not stop, but turned his head and called over his shoulder, “
Sanctus Clarus
, Cait, remember. Sanctus Clarus—it is your birthright. One day, it will be
your name.” And then she was alone once more. The walled stronghold was gone and she was alone with the night and the stars…and Mahdi's gentle touch.

“Ketmia?” Mahdi said, touching her lightly on the arm.

She came awake at once and looked around. The room was dark; the small round windows admitted no light. She had slept longer than she knew, and as she sat up she found her mouth was dry and her face was warm, her forehead slightly damp. “Danji,” she said. “Is Danji here?” She made motions with her hands to communicate her question.

The handmaiden understood and shook her head. In an effort to fight down the desperation she felt coiling like a serpent around her heart, Cait threw back the silk covering and rose from her bed. She moved to the door, opened it, and then stopped, realizing she did not know where she was going.

There was, she concluded, only one place
to
go.

Having decided, she walked quickly through the covered courtyard and out into the anteroom. Jubayar was nowhere to be seen, so she moved swiftly on lest her nerve desert her, composing her thoughts as she went. She would find Prince Hasan and confront him, demand the truth from him, and hold him to account.

By the time she reached the main corridor leading to the reception hall, she knew exactly what she wanted to say to the prince. It was Halhuli, the prince's overseer, she encountered first, however. She greeted him and asked whether he knew where Hasan might be found.

At the question, Cait saw a stiffness come into the servant's face. His eyes shifted away from her. “I do not know, lady.”

“I must speak to him, Halhuli. It is important and there is no one else I can ask.”

“I must beg to be excused.” He turned to leave.

“No!” said Cait. “Stop.” The force of her command caught and held him. “Hear me, Halhuli. There is something wrong here—something very wrong. I will do all I can to see that it is put right, but I need your help.” She moved beside him. “Please, Halhuli, help me.”

“I do not know what you are talking about. I am sorry.”

“I think you do, Halhuli. You know exactly what I am talking about.” He looked straight ahead, and said nothing. “I can see that I am right,” Cait continued, softening her tone. “I think you want to help me, but your loyalty to your master prevents you. I understand.”

“I am katib to the prince,” Halhuli told her. “Like my father before me, and his father before him, we have served the House of Tashfin. I am my prince's to command,” he paused, and added, “whether in honor, or dishonor.”

Cait pounced on the morsel he had given her. “But if the prince is behaving dishonorably, then is it not the katib's duty to save his prince from the infamy and disgrace of his actions?”

Halhuli regarded her with deep, sad eyes, but remained silent.

“I know that if I had lost my way, I would want you to lead me back to the path of virtue.” In her pleading, Cait put her hand on the katib's arm. “I do not ask you to do this for my sake, but for Hasan's. For, if the prince has strayed, who will rescue him if not his wise and loyal katib?”

Halhuli raised his eyes and regarded Cait for a long time. She could almost see the battle taking place within him. At last, he straightened, having made up his mind. “Follow me. I will take you to him.”

He led her to a part of the
al-qazr
she had never seen before. The rooms were smaller, the walls thicker and far less ornate. They climbed a flight of stone steps to an upper floor where Halhuli stopped before a low wooden door. Cait put her hand to the iron ring, pulled up the latch, and would have pushed open the door, but Halhuli prevented her. “May Allah forgive me,” he said, and pushed open the door himself.

There, in the center of the room, lay Danji, shoulders bared and hands tied with cords of braided leather—prostrate before an enraged Prince Hasan who was using the other end of the braided cord as a lash to raise angry red welts on the delicate skin of her back.

As the door swung open, the prince glanced around, saw Halhuli and Caitríona standing in the doorway, and halted the beating. Danji lifted her head as the prince moved
quickly toward the door. “Ketmia,” he said, forcing a sickly smile, “what are you doing here?”

He reached for Cait's arm, but she deftly sidestepped him, moving quickly to the injured woman. Raising her up, she tugged on the braided cord. Hasan made to take hold of her shoulder. “Ketmia, you must not—”

“Or what?” demanded Cait, whirling on him. “You will beat me, too?”

Prince Hasan started, the color bleeding from his distraught features. “You do not understand.”

“This is beneath you, my lord,” Cait told him, her voice shaking with fury. She bent once more to free Danji's hands. “Perhaps Moors are permitted to whip their wives, but Christians detest the practice.”

“She is not my—”

“Save your lies,” Cait snapped. “I know she is your wife.”

Prince Hasan swallowed hard; his hands fluttered toward the kneeling Danji as if he would appeal to her. She looked up at his face and said something in Arabic, which Cait took to be confirmation.

Hasan stood caught between the two women, his expression angry, bewildered, shamed, and mortified all at once. He looked from one to the other of them, and then at Halhuli who was standing just inside the door. “Why did you not prevent this?” he snarled, his fury finding outlet at last. “Is everyone against me now?”

“Forgive me, my lord,” replied the advisor with quiet resolve. “Princess Danji is also my mistress, and I could not see her treated so.”

“You speak above your place,” blurted the prince.

“He speaks the simple truth,” Cait retorted sharply.

“Believe me, Ketmia,” said Hasan, appealing to her, “it was never my intention to harm you in any way.” He took her hand in both of his. “Truly, your love has enslaved me.”

Cait glared at him. “You lied to me,” she said. Jerking her hand from him, she moved to Danji and gently pulled her robes over her shoulders, then raised her to her feet and stood holding her.

“Since the first moment I saw you, my heart was slain by
your beauty,” the prince said. “I swear before the throne of Allah, I wanted only to keep you with me. I knew that once you tasted of life in the palace, you would be content to stay. I would have married you,” he raised his eyes hopefully, “I would marry you still—”

“You are already married,” Cait pointed out tartly.

“It is no impediment to a Moor of my rank and wealth,” replied the prince, recovering something of his former composure. “We are permitted more than one wife, and I would make you very happy.”

Cait turned her face away.

“I have disgraced myself in your eyes,” the prince said.

“Yes,” agreed Cait sharply. “We agree on that at least.”

“Tell me how I can redeem myself, and it shall be done.”

“Then tell me what has become of my knights,” she demanded. “They did not ride out this morning. Where are they?”

Hasan hesitated. The anguish on his face appeared genuine.

“Tell her, my lord,” Danji said.

The prince looked to Halhuli for help, his eyes pleading. “I will tell her, if you wish,” the advisor said. Hasan nodded, and lowered his head in shame.

“Your knights are resting comfortably, my lady,” said Halhuli, stepping forward. “They have been confined to the Ladies' Tower. They have not been harmed.”

“You must release them at once,” Cait insisted.

Prince Hasan hesitated.

“My lord prince, you profess to feelings of affection for me. If that is true, you must release my knights. I will speak to them,” Cait said. “Lord Rognvald is an honorable man, and he will understand. There will be no blood shed over this—only you must set them free at once.”

The prince raised his unhappy gaze to Cait. “Very well.” To Halhuli he said, “See that it is done.”

More relieved than angry, Cait did not have it in her to sustain her fury any longer. “All will yet be well, my lord prince,” she told him. Taking Danji by the arm, she said, “Come, we will see to those bruises while we wait.”

Leaving Prince Hasan to stew in his misery, the two
women proceeded to the reception hall to wait for the Norsemen's release. While they waited, Danji's maidservants applied a soothing balm to the red stripes on her shoulders and back.

“You have suffered this injury for my sake,” said Cait as the servants finished applying the unguent. “I am sorry, Danji. If we had left the palace when you warned me…”

“It is finished. We need not speak of it again.” She waved the servants away and arranged her clothing once more. “Please, I would not have you think ill of my husband.”

“I
do
think ill of him,” Cait replied. “A man is a brute who would do a thing like this to—”

Danji shook her head. “You do not understand.” She sighed and gazed at her hands which were clasped in her lap. “My husband is an honorable man. He is good and kind, but great as is the love within him, greater still is his grief.”

Cait regarded the dark-eyed woman before her. “Are you telling me
sorrow
has driven him to behave this way?”

Danji nodded. “Two years ago this palace was a very different place. We were happy then. The voices of children rang in the courtyards and corridors, and the women's quarters were full of gossip and activity. Truly, Al-Jelál was a small portion of paradise on earth.” Her gaze fell to her hands once more. “Now it is a tomb.”

“What happened?”

“The fever.” Danji shook her head. “It was very bad. The children were taken first. I lost my baby, and Hasan's sister lost two of hers—and then Hasmidi herself was taken, and Hasan's mother also. Four of the serving maids died in one night. After that, the fever spread to the rest of the palace.”

Cait was beginning to understand the enormity of the tragedy. “What did you do?”

“There was nothing to be done, but wait, and watch our
people die, and bury their bodies when the fever was finished with them. The plague passed to the servants' quarters, and most of them were taken, and the stablehands and grooms—the fever even killed some of the horses. And still it had not reached its full height.

“Tughril, the old prince, Hasan's father, was taken, and his last remaining wife. Then Hasan's younger brother, Kalaat, and his wife—they had been married less than a year.”

“Oh, Danji, I am sorry. I had no idea.”

“In the end, Hasan lost all of his family, except me. He lost his sons and heirs.” Danji raised sad eyes to Cait. “Please, the prince is not a bad man. He is desperate to make this empty shell of a palace a home once more. He has been praying every day for a way to make this happen. And then he found you.”

Cait understood at last. “When he saw me in the wood, he must have thought…” She shook her head in wonder. “I had no idea.”

“Truly, I do not believe he meant to harm anyone.”

“I thank you for telling me. It is indeed a sorrowful tale, but I feel better for knowing. I will not judge your husband too harshly.”

They sat together in silence for a time and then, hearing footsteps in the anteroom, turned as Lord Rognvald and two of the knights came trooping into the hall. Lord Rognvald hurried to where Cait and Danji stood waiting. “Thank God you have not been harmed,” he said, taking her by the arms. “I was worried. I did not know what he might do.”