The Ruby In Her Navel Page 10

  It seemed to me that his hand moved a little, up towards his belt and the knife there. Or perhaps this was only the pretext I gave myself. I knew I would have to be quick. He was thickset and strong, and no doubt an accustomed brawler. Whether he would return a blow from one set in authority over him I could not know; it would earn him a flogging if he returned to Palermo, and cost him his place, but he might think he had lost that already. It could not be left to chance, in any case – the blow would have to be heavy. I could only do what I had been taught in my days of training for the King's Guard. I took a step forward and flicked at his eyes with the fingers of my left hand. He pulled back his head, which is always the first movement when the eyes are threatened.

  In so doing he lifted his chin a little and exposed his neck. My right-hand blow came hard upon this, while his hands were still lowered, a hooking blow with as much weight as I could put into it, driving my fist into the neck tendons on his left side. It was strange, but my anger left me as I struck him. I had never struck any man in this way before, only a bag of sand in the exercise yard. He did not fall but he leaned over, fighting for breath. Now indeed I could have struck him a blow, with his head hanging low in that fashion, but I did not, and two men of the crew came forward and took his arms to lead him away. Even then for some moments he set his feet against going, and this roused some respect in me after the grievous blow I had given him.

  The girl had been silent all this time. When I looked back towards her I saw that her face was composed, that eye-snapping fury quite departed.

  She was regarding me intently, not with the self-absorbed look of her dancing, but openly, in a way that was neither friendly nor hostile, but as if dwelling on my face, as if considering. It seemed to me too that her look had something more gentle in it than I remembered from the night before. I understood then, and it took me by surprise, so enraged had I been by Sigismond's defiance, that she believed I had struck the man in anger at his insolence towards her, whereas in truth it had been his insolence towards me that had driven me to it. But looking at her face now more attentively than I had done before in our short acquaintance, and in this clearer light, at the thick, black hair still in disorder, the dark eyes, not large but full of life, slanting upwards a little towards the temples, the bones of her cheeks that lay so close below the skin, the mouth that had bitterness in it but something tender too, noting all this, I could discover in myself no smallest inclination to set her right in the mistake I thought she had made. I smiled at her and inclined my head a little and laid a hand on my breast. "Thurstan,"

  I said. "I am Thurstan."

  "Nesrin," she said, without returning the smile, and she touched herself at the base of the throat. Then she turned to her companions, who had gathered close behind, and she pointed and named them, one by one. He who played the drum and sang was Ozgur, the dulcimer-player was Temel, the two women were Yildiz and Havva. Then Ozgur, smiling broadly, pointed at the drum and said, "Davul," and Temel named the Dulcimer for me, "Kemanche". All five of them were smiling now, as people do when they are named. But there was an uncertainty in the pause that followed, as often happens when there is this naming, especially when there is some obstacle of language to overcome, and I think the girl felt this – she was quick in her sensing of things, as I was to learn – because she laughed suddenly and made a gesture to include the captive birds, whose cages occupied most of the deck, raising a hand and slackening the wrist and letting the fingers dangle loosely down. I saw after a moment that this was in imitation of the long crest-plumes of the herons, which in the wretchedness of captivity drooped down along their backs.

  After rage there comes some feeling of sorrow, at least so it is with me. I looked at the birds, at these limp crests of theirs, grown for their time of mating, useless now that their courtship had been cut short. God had made them this gift in the dawn of creation, He had endowed them with this plume to wear for their marriage. And now they were penned and could only shuffle their wings and wail, and they would never mount or be mounted.

  I could not see cause for laughter in this, and I let none show on my face. Nesrin, as I have said, was quick in her sensing of things. She was equally quick in her defiance, and this too I was to learn. She showed it now, deliberately prolonging both gesture and laughter, looking directly at me all the while, as if to say, you do not govern my laughter, and I looked back steadily at her and my look said, you are no more than a savage, why should I laugh at your bidding? So something was exchanged between us without words, and when we looked away from each other it was like a truce, but not of the kind where pledges are made or weapons laid aside. I was glad I had not yielded, for immediate personal reasons, and then because, as is well known, small things lead to great, and when I returned to Palermo, I would be responsible for their appearance before the King, they would need to give heed to my words, from the very beginning they would have to understand that I was not one of them, to laugh at their jokes, but a person in authority, moving on a higher plane, the provider of rewards and the source of benefits: in short, the King's Purveyor.

  In spite of this excellent reasoning, I was already beginning to feel some compunction. I know not why it is, but I can never stay self-contented for very long. I see a settled state of self-content on some faces, see how they can bask in the sunshine of it, but with me some shadow always intrudes. The girl had felt grateful for my defence of her. That she was mistaken in her gratitude was not the point at issue. She had tried to show her good will by jesting, and I had rebuffed her. I would have said something, even now, in an attempt to repair matters, but she turned away from me, raising her hands to her head and gathering it at the nape so as to tie it, and the loose sleeves fell back from her arms, which were beautiful – but indeed it is a beautiful movement in women, whether they be young or old.

  I saw now that the master had come on deck and I remembered I had intended to speak to him, before the altercation with Sigismond had put it out of my mind. Only then, as I gave him his instructions and informed him that I would not be returning with the ship, did it occur to me to wonder why Mario had made no appearance, why he had left it to the men of the crew to restrain his fellow and lead him away. Sigismond was standing at the prow, well away from the dancers, but there was no sign of Mario. He was not below either, so the master told me. He was nowhere to be seen on the ship or on the quay. I realised now that I had not seen him since the people had come down with the birds. But I would not have noticed him anyway, probably, distracted as I had been by those singing voices and that pretence of bargaining.

  It was disagreeable to me to address Sigismond so soon after what had happened between us, but I had little choice. He answered me with his usual gruffness, but readily enough and without truculence. His hair was wet, as if he had thrown water over it and he had tied a rag of cotton round his neck to cover the bruise. Mario had said he was going for a piss and he had not come back, this while I was purchasing the herons.

  He, Sigismond, had said nothing about this absence, supposing Mario would return before the ship sailed.

  "Your first loyalty should have been to me, not to him," I said. "Two fine guards they gave me, one is away drinking when he should be at my shoulder, the other disappears at the time he is most needed."

  Sigismond surprised me now: I had expected no more than a shrug, but he looked me doggedly in the face and said, "Lord, forgive this ignorant man that I am, no better than a beast. I thought the girl gave me a look. Then I felt a fool. I have a wife and children in Palermo. Have pity for them, let me keep my place."

  This might have been the longest speech he had ever made in his life.

  Some grace had descended on him and I could not do less than share in it. Besides, whether by accident or design, he had given me my title, acknowledged my birth. "You can keep your place," I said. "I will not make mention of this in my report, but you must take better care in the future." At this he ducked his head and made a shuffling bow, and I agai
n noticed the poor scrap of cloth round his neck and felt sorry for what had happened. I smiled at him and said, "The girl belongs to the King now, no matter which way she glances. It is easy to make mistakes about the look in a girl's eyes. And then, it is always our fault, no?"

  He returned my smile with one of his own, as broad as any I have seen on a human face, and the first I had ever seen on his. He turned away without more words, but I felt I had healed the hurt to his pride if not that to his neck, and perhaps gained his goodwill, something which I think I had not had before.

  Mario was still nowhere to be seen but we could not delay longer. I waited at the quayside while the ship put off. As she pulled away from the wharf and passed beyond the harbour wall, the sun caught the birds in their cages and for some moments the deck of the ship flashed along all its length.

  VIII

  I had now to make my preparations for the continuing journey. I would have to secure a horse in good enough condition. But first I retraced my steps to the inn. I had changed my mind in the matter of the mules, I had been too tame with that foul innkeeper. Why should I leave three mules as the King's gift to him? I was more at my ease now, not harassed by conflicting claims as I had been the night before.

  The innkeeper showed no pleasure at seeing me. "I have decided to sell these mules to you," I said to him in the manner of one conferring favours.

  He was inclined to sneer at first, having set me down as a soft fellow.

  But when I threatened to lead the beasts away there and then and sell them to the first who made me a fair offer, he saw his advantage slipping away. In the end I recovered four ducats and sixty kharruba from the six I had given. "Life is not always kind," I said to him in parting, "otherwise a man of noble birth would not be haggling about mules with a scoundrel. But I hope at least I will be spared the sight of your ugly face again." I had prepared this insult in advance, but even as I spoke the disagreeable suspicion came to my mind that I was destined to be Filippo's successor, that this annual purchasing of herons for the royal falconry would henceforth be one of my settled duties.

  Within the hour I had found a horse, a brown mare. Her teeth were good, her back was straight enough, she was well-shod; she had no disability that I could see and the price was fair – for horse and trappings, ten dinars. My better clothes, and the pilgrim's hooded robe, went into a saddlebag, together with a loaf of bread and a flask of water. I was dressed now for the second stage of my journey, in the rough style of the country, in clothes I had brought with me, the surcoat and leggings and wooden-soled shoes that are common among the people. I had not cut my hair, of which I am proud, but I had tied it back and it was concealed under a snood cap, which fitted closely round my head. My purse was inside my shirt, strapped against the skin. My knife I wore openly at my belt and I had another weapon, a thin-bladed dagger with a weighted handle for throwing, in a sheath in my saddlebag. I also had a heavy cudgel tied to the saddle. Bands of robbers were not common in these parts, they worked more usually in pairs. The horse alone made me worth robbing but I hoped that I would be taken for a peasant and so have the advantage of surprise if it came to fighting. This was my hope, as I say, but I was not altogether confident in it.

  I reached Cosenza in two days, travelling from sunrise to dusk, but never in the dark, making my way through the valley of the River Crati.

  The first night I found no lodging but slept by the river, and soon after dawn I was lucky to meet a man on his way to market with baskets of the small white fish that live in the river shallows and are netted in great numbers by the local people. He was ready enough to sell me some and I made a low fire and cooked the fish on a cane spit and very good they were.

  After Cosenza I continued northward, always following the line of the valley, taking what lodging I could find, all of it mean and dirty. I let the hair grow on my face, and when I could I used the river water for washing. I was fortunate in the mare; she was patient and willing. I came to the sea at Sibari and started on the road that follows the coast to Taranto. Here I fell in with a mounted party travelling to Bari for the day of the saint, and in their company my fear of robbers was much less. They were Italians from Crotone; in order to avoid questions I affected to speak only Norman French, and in this pretence my tallness and fairness helped me.

  With this, the worst part of the journey was over. We came through the hilly, thickly wooded country in the south part of Apulia, and reached the sea again two days' journey from Bari. And so I arrived at the town in good time; next day was the second Sunday of May, the day of the miracle, when the uncorrupted body of the saint exudes the holy oil. The town was packed to bursting with pilgrims from every corner of Europe, many with the hood and staff and satchel of those who had travelled weary leagues on foot; some had come from as far away as Scandinavia and the lands of the Slavs, and had been months on the road. All degrees jostled together in the narrow streets and along the wider way that ran by the sea.

  First I saw to the mare, which had served me so faithfully and well. To cope with this great annual swelling of the town, and with all the travellers from the east that arrived during the year at the port of Bari, there were wooden lodging houses of three stories, built round a courtyard with stables. I had to pay for the stabling at least three times what it should normally have cost. This was the King's money, but there was no help for it, it was not my fault but the fault of those who had agreed on this crowded place for my meeting with Lazar. Naturally, here I could not use the King's authority or his seal to impress or browbeat; here I was a pilgrim among pilgrims, I could do nothing that might draw attention to myself. I took a bed-space that was screened with boards on either side, and this cost me more than a place in the dormitory, where there were no beds, only straw from wall to wall, but I reasoned I would be of better service to the King if I had good rest and refreshment.

  I was dirty and verminous after these days on the road; I had slept in my clothes, a thing I greatly disliked doing. Keeping my body clean has become always more important to me over the years, as has fresh linen next my skin and clothes as good as I can afford. It is only dress, but I have come to feel it is the truth of me. I was not familiar with Bari, but I knew that it was for long an Arab town and that many Arabs lived here still, though naturally there was little sign of them in the streets at this time of Christian pilgrimage. Where there were Arabs there would be clean water, hot and cold; with great intensity of desire I was looking forward to an Arab bathhouse.

  I found one in a street that lay at right angles to the line of the shore, saw at a distance and with joy the domed roof pierced with apertures like an inverted colander so as to catch the light, always so important to Moslems, as anyone who enters a mosque will see. Unlike everything else in the town, the price of admission had suffered no swelling. I left clothes and purse in one of the metal coffers set in the wall, and got the key to this, and towels and slippers, from the keeper. Now began a blissful time. To say truth, in that steam I lost all reckoning of time, going from the hot room to the cooler one, where the basins are and the attendants wait with their bowls to throw water over you, warmer or colder according to desire, then back to the heat again, feeling the start of the sweat on face and chest.

  I found a bench in one of the recesses set round the room, where it was a little cooler, and lay here in a trance, watching the trails of steam rise slowly up towards the perforations in the dome high above me, break into shreds and glow briefly as they were transfused with light, then quiver and curl very delicately as the air of outside touched them. Some words of a song came into my mind, a song of the troubadours, popular at that time in Palermo. Your hair will be tied with silk for the dance, you will grace the dance with the beauty of your hair… These were words for gentle ladies, ladies of the court. She shook out her hair like a savage, fiercely. That glass in her navel perhaps not smooth as I thought then, but cut into facets to make it glitter the more. The art of mosaic is the art of catching the light. Light is s
plendour, light has no boundaries…

  These, or something like them, were my thoughts as I lay there between sleep and waking, watching that climbing and curling of the steam. In my languid state I felt a stirring of excitement at the memory of that ornament nestling at the centre of Nesrin's being, flashing its message.

  It must be kept in place, I thought, kept resting in the dimple, by those thin chains of beads that lay across her hips. Mirabile dictu, no swirl or ripple of the belly disturbed that glittering eye of glass.

  This, which should have been a matter for wonder, not lust, nevertheless made that stirring more definite. I was glad for the towel that lay athwart my loins. If there had been women there to do the massage, as in some of the bathhouses of Palermo, I might have taken one and paid her to do the things they know how to do, taking care, of course, to use my own money for this. But this was a place of strict Moslem observance, the sexes were kept apart. A man's hand on me I did not want, except only those of a barber.

  I made for the outer room again, had cold water thrown over me, dried my subdued flesh with the towels that they bring in from Egypt, very thick – nowhere in Italy can they make them like this. Then I dressed and drank a juice made from apricots, very delicious, and afterwards went to the room where the barbers had their tables and found one to wash my hair, which he did with yolk of egg, rinsing it out and scenting it with attar of roses. Then he took the hair off my face, applying first some yellow-coloured paste that must have been an invention of his own, spreading it with a wooden spoon and taking it off again, and the hair with it, using the edge of a mussel-shell. And all this without breaking the skin anywhere! I do not know why we Christians have not adopted this use of the mussel-shell for shaving; it has a keen edge and is light and easy to manage. But no, we go on scraping with knife and pumice-stone.