Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

Al-Afdal nodded slowly. “As you wish, Sir Eustace.” He raised his hand toward a group of women who had entered silently. One of them, a girl with skin and flowing hair as black as ebony, stepped forward, her eyes upon al-Afdal’s pointed slippers. Even they, Chandra noticed, were braided with gold and studded with gems.

“Calla,” he said to the girl, “take Chandra to the baths, then call for me. I wish to be present when the physician examines her.” He said to Chandra, “Do as you are bid, else I will have my men hold you down. I do not make idle threats, particularly to women. Do you understand?”

Chandra nodded slowly.

“Calla,” he continued, “speaks your tongue. She will give your instructions to the other slaves.”

Again Chandra nodded. She knew that she must learn the extent of her confines before she could act. She quickly lowered her eyes, afraid that al-Afdal would guess her thoughts, so keenly was he looking at her.

Al-Afdal watched her as she followed Calla from the chamber. She was proud, he thought, proud and untamed and exquisite, like a white-petaled rose. He remembered that his father had once purchased a young girl from Persia, a fiercely proud girl, and he had crushed her spirit, and the beauty of her pride. He turned back to the English knight, his dark eyes hooded. Perhaps he would not give the English girl to Eustace as he had planned. She wore her pride like a maidenhead, and he wanted that prize for himself when he took her, when he made her realize that her life was different now, that she had to please him to live.

Chandra followed Calla into a smaller room at the far end of the tent, with several of al-Afdal’s men close behind them. It was not unlike Ali ad-Din’s bathing room, save there was no sunken pool and no mosaic tile covering the floor. A large brass tub, shaped like a hollowed-out lemon, was set in its center, and women were filling it with steaming, perfumed water. She did not know the scent, but it was heady.

“Please to undress now,” Calla said.

Chandra looked quickly about her, but there were only women. As she shrugged out of her torn clothes, she gazed more carefully about the chamber. It was an inner room that did not touch the perimeter of the tent. The roof dipped down in scallops between slender wooden supports. She wondered what would happen if she managed to pull down one of the wooden poles. A bit of a commotion, perhaps, she thought, but that was all. She laid her clothing on a low, linen-covered table that she guessed was used to oil the bathers after their bath.

“Calla,” she said suddenly, turning to the girl. “I am here against my will. I do not belong here. Please, you must help me.”

Calla looked into the English girl’s pale face. She said, “I know who you are. I have heard the men speak of you. There is naught I can do ab

out it. My master seems to think you some kind of goddess.”

“Goddess? That is ridiculous. I am but a woman, like you, Calla, and I have a husband, an English noble, who will miss me.”

“You are prideful,” Calla said as she slowly shook her head, “but you must take care. He believes he admires the pride in you, but he is wrong. He is like his father. No, al-Afdal is not a patient man. No one dares to gainsay his will, and especially not a slave or a woman.”

Chandra said nothing more, and stepped into the tub, unaware that Calla was studying her body, her eyes hooded.

She allowed herself to be bathed by the silent women. Like Ali’s slaves, some of the girls were scarce into womanhood. She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to think what she was to do. I will not let him touch me, him or Eustace, no matter what happens. There, she’d finally made her decision. She felt strangely calm now. Much to Calla’s surprise, she fell asleep in the swirling hot water.

Chandra started awake, feeling refreshed, and she smiled up into Calla’s astonished face. At least her fatigue was gone from her. She felt strong and alert. Her ribs didn’t hurt much anymore.

Calla motioned her to lie on the linen-covered table. Chandra lay on her back, staring up at the tent top, and did not bother to look up at Calla until she heard her say in her soft voice, “Do not move. I do not wish to cut you.”

Chandra started up, balancing herself on her elbows. She saw that Calla held a thin razor in her hand.

“What are you doing?” She was scooting back, as far away from that razor as she could.

Calla’s eyes traveled down Chandra’s belly to the damp golden hair covering her woman’s mound. “My master does not like woman’s hair,” she said.

“He doesn’t what? You can tell that miserable jackal to shave all that black hair from his chest then.” Chandra swung her legs over the table and grabbed Calla’s arm at the elbow. “Get that thing away from me.”

There was no fear in the girl’s eyes. Calla shrugged, and Chandra released her. “You are not like the rest of us. Perhaps the master will not notice.”

Chandra watched her place the razor on a pile of linen towels and take some colorful gossamer cloth from the arms of another slave girl. “Let me dress you now. The master, as I said, is not a patient man.”

Chandra did not resist. She had no intention of being naked in front of any of these heathen. The veils that covered her breasts were a pale lavender, as soft as a moth’s wings. Calla fastened the material together beneath her breasts with a golden clip. She stepped into a floor-length skirt much like the one Calla wore, and let Calla tighten it in folds at her waist with a leather belt. She noticed that Calla was barefoot. She sat docilely while several slave girls, under Calla’s direction, combed out her wet hair.

“What is this? Don’t you want to shave my head?”

“You show no fear. I do not know what the master will think.”

“Perhaps he will be intelligent enough to release me.” She heard Calla sigh softly.

They fastened her damp hair back from her forehead with a gem-covered strip of stiff golden cloth.

“You are very beautiful,” Calla said finally. “I will fetch the physician and my master now.”