In a little while a shadow crept by inches through the door.

A sneeze betrayed it: the shock of incense to unaccustomed senses. It slid along the wall, desperately uneasy in this alien holiness, but needing its master's presence. On the edge of the stalls it hesitated. Aidan made no move. It darted, silent and sudden, and dropped panting at his feet. Raihan's eyes stared up at him, startlingly pale in the dark face, and all but blind where Aidan's eyes saw but dimmed daylight. He trembled against Aidan's knees, hating this place, but determined to stay in it. "I went," he whispered. "I went to see where the others are."

"Are they well?" Aidan asked, not loudly but not particularly softly.

"They would be, if they could be with you. But they're obe- dient. They wait for you to command them."

"Soon," Aidan said- He leaned back in the stall and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Gilles was there, and the 259.

knight of the road, and a third who was older than either: a lean, weathered whipcord of a man, whose black Hospitaller habit sat on him like well-wom mail. All soldier, this one, and yet all G.o.d's; no gentle cloistered monk, but a warrior of the faith, as fixed and firm in it as any Muslim.

Aidan rose to accept the blessing of the castellan ofKrak. He staggered a little, rising. The ban had taken greater toll of body and power than he wanted to know.

None but Raihan seemed to see: his shoulder was there, un.o.btrusive, bracing where it was needed. Aidan rested very lightly on it before he knelt for the blessing.

As the castellan gave it, he said, "You are welcome to Krak, lord prince."

Aidan inclined his head. "Reverend father."

"Gauthicr de Toumai," said Gilles.Aidan's head bent again.

The castellan looked up at him, measuring him against what had been said of him. "I see you haven't gone completely infi- del."

"I'm not likely to," Aidan said, "reverend father."

The castellan nodded. "The king will be glad of you, if you live to serve him. You won't reconsider?"

"Not until my vow is kept."

"Even if it kills you?"

"Would you do any less?"

"No," said the castellan. He drew himself up. "I have no authority to prevent you. If you were to ask my counsel, I would see you returned to Jerusalem and sworn to the king's service. Since my brother here gives me to know how little I can hope for that, then I can do no more and no less than set you on your way."

"My thanks," Aidan said, meaning it: more than the castel- lan knew. But Gilles understood. He smiled behind his superi- or^ back, widely enough to encompa.s.s a battle hard fought but well won.

"You may stay," said the castellan, "as long as it pleases you, and leave when you will. You are the guest of the Hospital; what aid we can give, you may have."

"I ask only a night's lodging for myself and my following, and your prayers."

"Tfou have both," said the castellan.

Aidan swayed. It came on like that, sometimes: power taxed to its limit and then beyond it, turning his body traitor.

260 This time Raihan was not swift enough, or invisible enough.

Gilles caught him through the mamluk's glare. "You're ill," he said.

Aidan shook his head, too hard: he nearly fell. "Only need sleep," he said. It sounded odd. He tried to say it again. "Sleep -need to-"

They carried him to bed. He had no strength to fight them.

Most of them went away, but Gilles lingered, frowning down at him. "If she is too strong for you already, how do you hope to face her in open battle?"

Aidan's tongue at least was his own again, now that his body was at ease. "Do I have a choice?""Probably not." Gilles sighed. "Will you be shriven, at least, before you go?"

"Have you the authority to do it?"

"I, no. IVe taken only monk's vows."

Aidan closed his eyes. "Then 111 live in sin for yet a while."

"I should be scandalized," Gilles said.

Aidan smiled in the dark behind his eyelids. "Brother, I am a scandal. Wauld you have me confess to a stranger, how very much of one I am?"

"Under the seal of the confessional, what harm can it do?"

"Enough," Aidan said, "and litdc enough good. Let be, Brother. I am what I am. I do as I must. Well fight the infidel yet, you and I."

"G.o.d willing," said Gilles.

Aidan laughed, though he was fast falling into sleep. "You sound like a Saracen."

"Sometimes even an infidel may perceive a little of the truth."

"As G.o.d wills," Aidan said, smiling still. "He will. Brother.

Only wait, and see."

26.

All of Sayyida's men were fed and settled into the day: Father and Maimoun in the smithy, Hasan with Fahimah who was minded to spoil him for an hour. Sayyida, freed and oddly 261.

incomplete, went to tidy the room she shared with Maimoun.

She smiled a little as she went. He had promised to come again tonight, and he had all but promised to let her go out to the bazaar in a day or two. Subtlety, that was what he needed.

Allah knew, it had taken her long enough to discover it.

The tiny cell of a room was blind dark. She made her way defrly through it to fling open its window, and paused, savor- ing the warmth of sun on her cheeks.

A whisper of sound brought her about. Someone huddled on the mat: white and scarlet and sudden, astonishing crimson.

Sayyida named it in surprise and pleasure. "Morgiana!" Then, less joyfully: "Morgiana. What in the world-"

She was wound in a knot, trembling. Sayyida touched her shoulder. She knotted tighter. She was weeping. Sayyida gath- ered her in and held her.

She stilled; in shock, it might have been. Had she ever wept?Had anyone ever given her plain love, with no price on it?

Her body loosened from its knot. She raised a face that, even blurred with tears, was beautiful. It was a long moment before Sayyida comprehended what was beneath it. Her throat was livid, swelling almost as Sayyida stared. Her voice was a raw whisper. "I wasn't supposed to come here."

"Who told you that?"

Her head shook, tossing. She struggled upright. Her hair tangled in her face; she raked it back.'Stopped. Stared at her hands. There was blood on them, not much, but enough; dry- ing, beginning to crack. She shuddered. "Clean. Must be- clean-"

There was water near, for washing in the morning, before the prayer. Sayyida brought the jar to the mat, and gently, persistently for Morgiana kept trying to recoil, sponged away the blood. It had a scent, faint yet potent, like earth and iron.

"Heart's blood," said the battered remnant of Morgiana's voice- "But not . . . not lifeblood. I failed. I, who have never failed of a kill." She tried to laugh; it was hideous to hear. "For once it was clean hate and not cold murder. For once, I truly wanted a life. And Allah took it from me."

"It looks," said Sayyida, "as if He had help." With a clean cloth and the last of the water, she began to bathe the tortured throat. Those were brands on it: finger-wide, a little narrower than her own, but much longer.

Morgiana's fists struck cloth and hand aside. "Let me be!"

262 JwUth Twr Calmly Sayyida came back. "Don't shout," she said. "Youll ruin your voice."

Morgiana hissed, but when she spoke, it was in a whisper.

"Allah had nothing to do with it. It was not even Iblis. It was a Rrank of my blood, and I taught him to hate me."

"A Frank?" Sayyida paused. "Your Frank?"

The ifritah's lip curled. "Never mine. He belongs to a great cow of a giaour. A mortal woman, a Christian's wife; but no wife of his."

Sayyida needed a moment to make sense of that. "You found him in bed with someone else's wife?"

"I found my master's quarry dancing the old wicked dance with her guardsman, who is no more a mortal man than I am mortal woman. I struck as I have never struck, in hot hate, and it blinded me. I smote awry. And now he knows me, and he hates me, and he has flung all his heart and power into the saving of his doxy's life."

"He tried to kill you."She laughed again, choking on it. "Not-not kill. Nothing so merciful. He cast me out," Tears streamed from her eyes, through the horrible, strangled laughter. "He hates me. But I -but I-I want him more than ever."

"Some women are like that," said Sayyida. "They need a man who can master them."

Morgiana stiffened. "I am not-"

"Don't shout."

She drew a shaking breath. Her eyes were cat-wild. "I-do- not-need a master. I need him. Do you think I'm glad of it?

He wants my blood. He fancies himself man and prince. In- fant. Child. This"-her fingers brushed her throat-"this is a youngling's trick. If he were a man, he would have finished it."

"Thank Allah he didn't, then." Sayyida frowned. "You're go- ing to need more than water on this."

"I need nothing."

Not all grown infants, Sayyida reflected, were male. "You stay here, and stay quiet. I'll be back directly."

For a miracle, Morgiana was still there when Sayyida came back, curled on the mat, white-faced and silent and exquisitely miserable. She submitted quietly to salves and compresses, and to the sofr wrappings with which Sayyida bound them. She had emptied of rage. "He's hunting me now," she said. "He thinks IVe laired in Masyaf. Wise fool. Shall I indulge him? Shall I go 263.

back, and let my master command me to kill him? I could, I think. An oath is a wonderful, terrible thing."

"You'll stay here," said Sayyida, "and try not to think about killing. Here, I've brought you something cool to drink, and in a little while, when you want it, you can eat."

Morgiana did not want the sherbet, but Sayyida coaxed it into her. She lay back after, a little less wretched, and begin- ning to nod. "I can't stay," she said in her rough whisper. "My master-I haven't told him-"

"Your master can wait. Sleep. You're safe here."

She laughed: a brief gust of breath. "Safe. Yes, I'm safe. Who can touch me? Who can slay the Angel of Death?"

"Hush," said Sayyida, alarmed.

Morgiana shook her head and yawned, delicately, as a cat will; startling herself with it. "Don't be afraid. We know one another well, he and I. Aren't I the most faithful of his ser- vants?""Not hero," Sayyida said.

"No. Pray Allah, never here." Morgiana's eyes squeezed shut. Tears welled from beneath the lids; she turned her face away, angrily.

She cried herself to sleep. Sayyida stayed with her, saying nothing, stroking her hair with a gentle hand.

When her breathing slowed and steadied at last, Sayyida drew back. She would sleep for a while; there had been a draught in the sherbet. It was a mark of Morgiana's trouble that she had not tasted it.

Sayyida smoothed the coverlet over her and rose, sighing a little. She would never think of questioning Allah's will, but this was a burden. She did not know that she would be able to bear it. Maimoun would be furious: )ust when she had begun to work him round to seeing sense.

Allah would provide. He would have to.

To be sure. He began it well. Fahimah was alone, at an hour when all the women usually gathered to ply their needles.

Hasan slept, flushed and deeply content.

"Ah, the darling," said Fahimah as Sayyida came to stand by them. "He played as hard as he could play, and then, out he went, as sweet as you please."

"Someday I'll understand how you do it," Sayyida said. She reached toward the basket of mending, hesitated. "Where are the others?"

264 "Your mother has a headache," said Fahimah. "Laila took Shahin to the bazaar. There's a new caravan come in."

Laila always knew when the caravans came. She seldom re- membered to tell anyone else.

For once, Sayyida was glad. She dropped down in front of Fahimah and took the plump hands in hers, thread and needle and all. Fahimah smiled, startled and pleased. "Little mother,"

Sayyida said. "Fahimah, can you help me?"

"You know I always try, child."

Sayyida swallowed hard. This might not be a wise secret to share. But she could not keep it alone. It was too heavy.