Alamut Part 18

Striking. That, first. His height; his carriage, light and proud; his moon-pale skin. His eyes were grey. She had not known that eyes could be that color, like fine steel.

Morgiana might have been carved in stone.

The stranger bent to drink, cupping water in a long narrow hand. Ishak flicked a handful at him; he laughed and gave it back fourfold. Still laughing, skirmishing like young lions, they went on their way.

"I think," said Sayyida after a very long silence, "that we are going to have a guest."

Morgiana seemed not to hear- Sayyida had never seen her 139.

tike this. All at once she stirred, eased, shook herself. "Yes? Did you say something?"Sayyida swallowed a sigh. "Nothing." Her eyes sharpened.

"Morgiana. Are you in love?"

The ifritah whirled on her in such pa.s.sion that she recoiled.

M?/".

Sayyida let the echoes die. Carefully, she said, "I think we should go home."

Morgiana did not even argue.

He was, Sayyida conceded, a very handsome man.

As far as anyone in the house knew, Morgiana had come in shortly before noon in her guise of the lady of Damascus, and gone to keep Sayyida company in the garden. They prayed together there, the only words Morgiana spoke until the other women came and required greetings and some semblance of conversation. The announcement of guests was a welcome re- lease.

When it was only Ishak, Father and Maimoun had their greetings, but then he went straight within to pay court to Mother and be fussed over by Fahimah and be polite to Laila, and thereafter, if there was time, Sayyida would get him to herself. When there were guests, the women had to wait, ex- cept for Sayyida who put on her veil and served the men their dinner. Or so it had been undl Maimoun put a stop to it. Now Shahin and Rafiq did it as they did everything else.

Mother and the aunts had to suffer in patience. Sayyida was less high-minded. Behind the room where the men dined was a pa.s.sage for the servants, with a door that had an inclination to hang ajar. Rafiq stayed in the room, serving as he was needed, or pretending to; mostly, he napped against the wall. Shahin, having brought the bowls and platters from the kitchen, never came back until they were ready to be cleared away. Neither of them need know that the pa.s.sage was in use while they were out of it. With the ease of long practice, Sayyida set her eye to the crack of the door. She felt rather than saw Morgiana crouch in front of her and do the same.

Farouk the swordsmich was an older, stouter, sterner version of his son. The solemnity which Ishak only played at seemed to be his natural condition. If there was any lightness in him at all, he did not display it to strangers.

Maimoun his apprentice seemed intent on being the master's 140 image: a solid young man with a faint and perpetual frown, very full of his own dignity. But again, perhaps that was the face he put on for strangers. It slipped alarmingly when Ishak brought Aidan in with all the proper formalities, saw him served with the best of the table's offerings, and then, and only then, said with utmost casualness, "Khalid is a Frank. He's come up from Jerusalem in search of good Indian steel."Maimoun looked as if he had opened a bottle of rosewarcr and breathed in a noseful of asafoetida. Earouk merely frowned. "I don't suppose you call yourself Khalid at home."

Aidan bowed. "Aidan ofCaer Gwent."

"Khalid, then," said Farouk, "if you don't mind. Your Arabic is excellent."

Aidan smiled, shrugged. "I do my poor best. I have kin in the House of Ibrahim."

Which might have been meant to follow logically, or which might not. Maimoun's expression had not altered, unless it had grown more sour still. He had stopped eating. Clearly it ap- palled him to have broken bread with a dog of a Frank. Even a dog with pretensions to respectability. "That's your accent, then," he said. "Aleppan."

"No doubt," said Aidan. "I've been told I sound like a camel driver."

Ishak choked on a bit of spiced mutton. Farouk pounded his back with no slightest sign of emotion. Aidan's eyes sharpened.

He knew a word for that. Deadpan.

Farouk, he was beginning to suspect, was no one's fool.

He let himself settle slowly. The food was plainer than he was used to in Mustafa's house, but plentiful, and well pre- pared. So too was the house less rich than the merchant's, yet still prosperous, more so than many a western lord's: clean and well looked after, with a good carpet, and dishes of silver, some rather fine. The manservant-slave, no doubt-did not exert himself a whit more than he must, but he was attentive enough. He and the woman seemed to be the only servants, unless there was a gardener, or someone hidden in the harem.

That, Aidan could not accustom himself to: the utter ab- sence of women. One saw them in the street, veiled to the eyes or, if they were slaves, unveiled but returning no glances. He had not known how much he valued the presence and the voices of women in court or at table, until he was deprived of tHem.

They were not spoken of. A gentleman might, after suffi- 141.

dent preparation, speak in general and poetic terms of femi- nine beauty, but to his wives he never referred, save indirectly.

A woman who was talked of was a woman without honor. A lady was a secret kept among kinsmen.

Aidan's secret was sweeter and deeper than most. He drank water flavored with lemon and that essence of sweetness called sugar, and tried not to yeam for wine as for women. Good Muslims did not drink wine: as good a reason as any, to cling to his own faith.When Ishak let drop that his friend was a Frank, Sayyida had all she could do not to gasp. A Frank. Here. In their house.

Baring their food, at their table, in her father's company.

Looking and sounding and acting like a human being.

She choked down a giggle. Why should she be startled? Her family had inherited an ifritah. They should know all there was to know of entertaining devils.

Morgiana did not move, and barely breathed, until he spoke of camel drivers. Then her shoulders shook against Sayyida's side. Laughing, surely. It was not a camel driver he sounded like. Not in the least.

Maimoun would not cat, would barely sit srill, now that he knew what he ate with. Her father seemed to have accepted the inevitable; she wondered if he would tan Ishak's hide later, for tricking him with such utter disregard, for law and custom and sacred purity.

The Frank had pleasing manners, although he did occasion- ally forget and take his cup in his left hand. That seemed to be the hand he favored: his dagger was on the left- side. Sayyida noticed such things. It went with being a swordsmith's daugh- ter- Her father had taken to this man, Frank or no. When the talk turned to steel, the dull air began to glitter. Even Maimoun came out of his sulk to answer a question, and in answering it forgot to be rude, Ishak was looking most pleased with himself.

When the discussion adjourned to the forge, Ishak excused himself to pay his respects to the harem. The others did not look as if they expected to miss him.

Sayyida looked about, startled. Morgiana was gone. She had not even felt her go- 142 "Vfcll, little sister? What do you think of him?"

Ever since he grew taller than she, Ishak had called her that.

She stuck out her tongue at him. "What do I think of whom?

Maimoun?"

Ishak rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid. I know you were spying. You always are." He poked a finger in Hasan's belly to make him laugh, glancing up bright-eyed. "Well?"

He was unconscionably proud of this one. Sayyida almost lied and pretended to be unimpressed, simply to sec him lose his temper. But there was something about this Khalid which did not welcome deception. "He's . . . different. Where did you find him?"

"In the House of Justice, watching the mamluks at their exercises. He's with the House oflbrahim. He knows steel.""I gathered that," she said dryly.

"I thought father would like him."

"Or be appalled by him."

"That was Maimoun." Ishak made a face. "Sometimes that boy can be a perfect a.s.s."

That boy was a good four years older than Ishak. Sayyida raised her brows and let it dawn on him.

Ishak flushed under his few proud wisps of beard. He still had a girl's soft skin, which showed a blush to splendid effect.

"Well, he is. He's brilliant with steel, but with people he's hopeless."

"Not completely," said Sayyida. "Once your friend seemed to know steel, he came round marvelously."

"He did, at that." Ishak wiggled Hasan's toes for him, meet- ing grin with grin. "I suppose it was a bit of a shock. Sitting down to dinner with a perfectly presentable person, and find- ing out that he's not only a Christian, he's a Frank. Franks don't eat babies, you know."

"Did your Frank tell you that?"

"He didn't need to- He's remarkable, isn't he? I've never met anyone like him."

"How many Franks have you met?"

"One," said Ishak. "He didn't speak a word of Arabic, and from the look on his face he didn't want to. He shoveled in his dinner with both hands. He stank like a goat." He spread his hands. "I think this one is as unusual for a Frank as he is for one of us."

"I think you're babbling." Sayyida bundled Hasan into her lap. "Morgiana was here this morning." 143.

She did not know why she said that. Ishak did not like Mor- giana. He knew what she was: as the heir of the house, he had received that secret as his due- He spat. That one. What did she want?"

"Company. We went out." Ishak's brows went up. He knew about Manmoun's prohibition. He also thought it ridiculous.

"We saw you in the bazaar. I think . . ." Sayyida let it dangle for a while. "I think she liked the look of your Frank."

"Ya Allah!" Ishak had gone white- "Where is she now?"

"Gone- You know how she is."

"I know . . ." Ishak gulped air. "Uked the look of him, yousaid? Uked the scent ofhis blood. Sh.e.l.l eat him alive."

Sayyida refused to let him shake her. "She doesn't kill for pleasure. You know that. I think she's in love."

"That's all you women ever think."

"You didn't see her," said Sayyida. "Why shouldn't she be in love with him? You are."

"I don't cat men's livers for breakfast."

"She's always been good to me."

"Wl." said I&hak- "You're you."

Sayyida thanked him for the compliment, which made him scowl. "Hasan likes her better than anyone else in the worid.

Even me. Who's to say she wouldn't be as gentle with a lover?"

"It's not that, that frightens me- What if she tires of him?"

In spire of herself, Sayyida shivered. "If he's what you say he is, he can take care of himself. Maybe sh.e.l.l never go near him at all. She's shy."

"Oh, yes," muttered Ishak. "Like a tigress, she's shy."

"If you say anything, you'll break your word."

"d.a.m.n my word." But Ishak was very quiet after that- In a little while, he kissed Sayyida, favored Hasan with one last, halfhearted smile, and left them.

Aidan was in a state of bliss. He had seen the forge. He had looked on blades of excellence beyond the dreams of western smiths. Even the toys were as deadly as they were beautiful: the Uttle Jeweled poniards which had been Maimoun's inspiration, to catch the eye of the buyer with gold to spare- Pretty though they were, they were living blades, keen enough to draw blood from air.

But the swords were the smiths' pride and the proof of their mastery- Farouk had but three which he would let Aidan touch, and all three bespoken: one for the caliph in Baghdad, 144 one for the lord of Mosul, and one for an emir of Damascus.

Each had its hilt and its fittings in accordance with the man who would own it, on each, with consummate skill, was graven a verse from the Koran. "To hallow it," he said, "and to aid in the growth of its soul."

"What," Aidan asked, "if it were for an infidel?"

Earouk's eyes glinted, as if he had been expecting the ques- tion. "Then the infidel would have to endure a blade with a Muslim soul. I have no power to impart any other.""May a Muslim soul shed Muslim blood?"

"It's been done often enough."

"Ah," said Aidan, trying the balance of the emir's blade.

"This would be a tall man, as men go here, but narrow, no?

Like me. And not overfond of opulence; though he likes a bit of gold in the inlay of his scabbard."

"Yes." Farouk looked him up and down. "You'd take a longer blade. Heavier, to go with your armor and your way of fight- ing, but feather-light in the balance. Silver, I think, on the hilt, and a ruby in the pommel, for you to carve a cross in if you're minded to profane a good Muslim blade. And in the blade, flame-patterns; a soul of fire."

Aidan's neck p.r.i.c.kled. This was power, this soft, measured voice, naming him true. "What would you take, master smith, in return for such a blade?"

"Did I say that I would do it?"

"I say that you can."

"Would you want a sword with a Muslim soul?"

"If the sword could endure a Christian hand on its hilt."

"Does that hand belong to a swordsman?"

"Would you test it?"

Farouk nodded once. Aidan could taste his pleasure in the game. His own was rising, heady as wine.

There was a post in the yard, a lopped tree-trunk as tall as a man-a short man, as Aidan saw it. The sword which Earouk gave him was a practice blade, blunted, as heavy as a cudgel, but strangely alive in his hands. His nose twitched at the tang of iron. There was no truth in the tale that his kind could not abide cold iron, but he was aware of it as he would not be of any other metal, even steel: dark and strong, its fire buried deep but burning the hotter for that.

He raised the sword, trying its balance. It was a sullen beast.

He gentled it slowly through the movements of the swords- man's drill in Rhiyana, that done properly was like a dance. He 145.

did it properly. Faster, then, in the cadence that was indeed a dance, though it needed the skirling of the pipes to make it whole. The blade had found its balance. It would never wake to joy, but willingness, it could know. It bit stoutly into the hacked and motionless wood, caring not at all that it was not flesh and bonc- "A longer blade," said Farouk in his cool dry voice, "yes. But not, after all, as heavy as I'd thought. Would you have a use for a sword that can thrust as well as cut?""Would it stand against a Prankish broadsword?"

"Stand, and thrust home."