Janet began to sob.

"Why do you cry?" asked Firousi.

"In that harbor lies a ship which waits to carry me back to my father, my little brother, and my betrothed-if I could but reach it."

"Well, you can't" said Firousi bluntly. "You're lucky. At least you have a family living. My entire family, including my husband, are all dead, killed by Tartar slaves."

"You were married?"

Firousi nodded and, clapping her hands, summoned a slave to bring food, for she sensed Janet might now be hungry.

"I will tell you my story, Cyra." Her lovely eyes grew misty in remembrance as she began her tale.

On her wedding day, she had awakened just before dawn and slipped quietly out of bed. Pushing back the wooden shutters of the window, she saw the cobwebby mists rising above the newly green meadows. Her wedding day would be fair and warm.

My wedding day, she thought My wedding day! It has all come about because my brother saved the life of our enemy's youngest child. Now I will marry his oldest son, and our villages will live in peace forever. I don't even know what this Pyotr looks like or if he is a kind man, and when I ask papa, he just chuckles.

She turned as the curtain that separated her tiny bedchamber from the main room of the house was pulled back, and her family, laughing and singing, spilled inside. Her great bearlike father, her small, plump mother, her sisters-Katya, the eldest, with her husband, and Tanya, the youngest Here were her brothers Paul, Gregor, Boris, and Ivan, all her aunts, uncles, and cousins with their arms full of spring flowers.

"So," boomed her father, "the bride cannot sleep."

"And she'll get no sleep tonight" laughed Gregor.

'You," said his mother sternly, but her eyes were laughing, "put down your flowers, and then out! All of you! Katya and Tanya, remain."

They left her with her cheeks wet with their kisses and her arms full of flowers.

"Now, Marya," said Sonya Rostov, "first you must eat" She placed the plate and cup she was carrying on a small table. "Poppy rolls, jam, and tea with sugar."

Katya raised an eyebrow. Her wedding breakfast had been brown bread, honey, and goat's milk. Mama would deny, of course, any favoritism toward her daughters, but Marya had always been her pet. Look at the wedding gown, for instance. When the old peddler had visited them last winter, he had had a length of creamy white silk in his pack, and nothing would do but that mama have that silk for Marya's gown. And gold thread for the embroidery, and little white Turkish slippers embroidered with gold thread and little seed pearls. Papa had growled that he wasn't the Grand Turk marrying off his daughter, just a simple Caucasian mountain farmer; but when the peddler had left, Mama had had the silk, the gold thread, and the slippers-at the cost of two fine goats.

Katya smiled wryly as she watched her sister eat the soft white rolls. My wedding gown was wool, and hers is silk. But silk becomes Marya, with her fair, creamy skin, her silvery-blond hair, and her turquoise eyes. A smack from her mother brought Katya back to the present "Get the water heating over the fire for Marya's bath, daydreamer. Tanya, take your sister's dishes and wash them"

The morning flew by, and the noon hour approached. The entire village was decked in festive finery for the wedding of its headman's daughter. Tables had been set up in a field by the church for the feasting. Suddenly a boy posted at the edge of the village cried out "They come!"

Marya flew to the window and peeped out. A tall youth on a white pony led the procession. He laughed merrily, his dark eyes sparkling as the children who scampered by his side shouted, The bridegroom comes! Make way!"

Marya felt her mother's arm about her shoulders. That is your husband, daughter."

"He is so handsome," she whispered.

"Pah," snapped Sonya. "His looks are a bonus and would mean nothing if he were not a good man, which he is. Do you think that papa and I would give you to just any man?"

The people of both villages murmured appreciatively as Marya Rostov was led past them to the church by her parents. Her gold-embroidered white silk skirt and blouse lay over several petticoats of sheer white wool, two of which were ruffled in silk. A wreath of yellow and white flowers crowned her head.

"What a little beauty!" exclaimed Pyotr Tumano? to his father. "When you would not let me see her, I had visions of a goat-faced horror. If she is as sweet as she looks, I will be a happy man."

Then you will be happy," replied his father. "If I had let you see her before today, she would be no virgin. This marriage is to settle a feud, not to start another."

The couple met at the altar, and Father Georgi Rostov, Marya's uncle, joined them in wedlock. Shyly Marya looked up at her new husband, who, perceiving her genuine innocence, kissed her tenderly and said, "How do you do, Madam Tumanova. I do believe I love you."

Blushing, but with her eyes twinkling, she returned, "And I also, husband."

Nikolai Rostov had spared no expense for his daughter's wedding feast Whole goats and lambs turned slowly over the fires on their spits. The wine flowed endlessly. The tables were piled high with fruits, breads, and cakes. By late afternoon almost everyone was pleasantly drunk, and the bride and groom became the targets of broader and broader jests. So it was with befuddled amazement that the revelers turned at the cry of "Fire!" The village was ablaze, and Marya watched in horror as the Tartar raiders, white teeth gleaming in their yellow faces, swept down on the celebration.

It was a slaughter. Neither the Rostovs nor the Tumanovs had come armed to the wedding. There were screams and shouts. People began running. Marya grabbed her two younger brothers, Boris and Ivan, and her little sister Tanya.

"Quick, hide in the woods!"

Twelve-year-old Boris struggled in her grasp. "I want to fight them!"

Marya slapped him hard. "Father, Paul, and Gregor are dead," she hissed at him. "You are now head of the family. Take Ivan and Tanya to safety! In G.o.d's name, Boris, run!"

He hesitated a moment, then, taking his brother and sister by the hand, sped toward the trees. In less than a minute-though it seemed an eternity-the children disappeared into the forest A terrifying scream rent the air near her, and Marya turned to see Katya writhing in a blodied patch of gra.s.s miscarrying her baby while the three men who had just raped her stood nearby, encouraging those who now a.s.saulted her mother. Feeling an arm tighten about her waist she shrieked, only to hear her bridegroom say, "Quick, Marya, the forest! Hide before they take you, too!"

She looked up at him. His wedding garments were torn and grimy, and a purple bruise was visible on his cheek. He held a b.l.o.o.d.y meat spit in his hand.

"I will not leave you. Come with me, Pyotr."

He shook his head.

"Then I will die with you, my husband"

"They will not kill you, my dove. They are Tartar slavers. Run, my bride, before-" His words were cut short as he fell forward. Behind him a huge Tartar withdrew his lance.

"Pyotr!" Her cry tore the firelit twilight She fell to her knees and tried to raise him. He was dead. Steathily she reached for the meat spit Grasping it firmly, she leaped to her feet and attacked The Tartar, surprised, received a small wound before disarming her.

"Murderer!"

Grabbing her, he ground his mouth on hers in a wet disgusting kiss; and then, with his foot he knocked her legs from beneath her while he pulled up her skirts. They fell to the ground Straddling her, the Tartar fumbled with his breeches while his other hand held her down by the throat Struggling to escape him, she felt herself choking. Suddenly a voice cried, "Hold!" As his grip relaxed, she gasped great gulps of air to clear her head. Her a.s.sailant was pulled off her, and she was dragged to her feet before a tall Tartar on a horse.

"Yesukai, you great fool! Can you not see that this girl is the cause of our good fortune? Behold, the bride!"

"But Batu, why may I not have her?"

The hetman dismounted. "Are you a virgin, girl?"

She did not answer.

Grabbing her by the hair, he cruelly twisted her face to his. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes!"

"No little games in the mountain before the wedding?"

"We met for the first time today."

"Bring a torch," shouted the chief.

It was handed to him. He thrust it toward Marya.

"By the G.o.ds, a real beauty!" Turning to his men, he roared, "Hear me, all of you sons of the Devil. Any man who so much as glances at this girl is dead. She will bring us a fortune in Damascus. What a beauty! And a virgin to boot. Gather up the women and children, you idlers, and pen them in for the night We leave at dawn!"

The church was the only building left in the village. Marya and the other survivors were herded into it but not before all the little boys were separated from them.

"Why have they taken the boys?" Marya asked her aunt "They will castrate the prettier ones to be sold and trained as eunuchs," said the woman numbly.

Shortly afterward, most of the boys reappeared-frightened but unharmed. Three were missing, and their mothers cried out in anguish and tore at their hair as horrifying screams came from outside the church. Moments later, three Tartars entered, carrying the unconscious, disfigured boys to be cared for by the women.

At dawn, they began the trek to Damascus. The Tartars rode while their captives walked. One of the castrated boys had died in the night Marya, now numb with shock, plodded along, speaking to no one. At first her fellow unfortunates had looked to her-their chiefs daughter-as their leader, but now they left her alone. Marya's aunt walked at her side, glowering fiercely at any Tartar who came too near, bringing her food which she scarcely touched, and warming her with her own body at night.

As Marya's plumpness dissolved, Batu became frantic. He saw a fortune slipping through his greedy fingers if the girl died Appropriating a donkey from a farmer, he let her ride so that he might save her strength. Desperately he sought the choicest delicacies-newly ripe peaches, crisply browned doves, wine, and fresh breads-to tempt her. Finally he threatened her aunt with instant death if Marya did not eat She ate, but her young body remained thin and stark. Her lovely hair and bright eyes became dull and lackl.u.s.ter.

Upon reaching Damascus, Marya showed emotion for the first time since her wedding day, when Batu removed her from the rest of the captives. Sobbing, she had to be forcibly separated from her aunt who along with the rest was sent to one of the city's open slave markets.

Leading his prize, Batu headed for a bathhouse, where on his orders Marya was scrubbed, plucked, ma.s.saged, creamed, and her hair braided Dressed in new clothes, she followed the Tartar chief to one of the better private slave merchants. But even a scrubbing and fresh clothes could not hide her dismal appearance.

"No," said the merchant "Virgin or not I will not buy her."

"Listen," replied Batu, "you should have seen her when we captured her. A plump, silvery-blond pigeon! And look at those eyes! When did you ever see eyes like that? Pure turquoise!"

"Batu, my friend," retorted the merchant patiently, "she may have been all you say, but now-no. She is an emaciated bag of bones. She is pining away of a broken heart I've seen many like her. She will not live a month. I cannot embarra.s.s either myself or my discerning clients by offering such a shoddy piece of merchandise. Take her to the open market with the rest of your cargo. You can get a few dinars for her there."

Gnashing his teeth, Batu dragged Marya from the house to the marketplace. She arrived in time to see her aunt sold to a rich, kindly-looking farmer who wanted a housekeeper for his motherless brood. Marya smiled to herself. If she knew her aunt the hapless farmer would find himself a bridegroom before the year was out.

Gradually Batu's stock of captives dwindled until only Marya remained. The auctioneer did his best but no one wanted the sad, stark girl. Furious, Batu was ready to beat her, when a stern, deep voice ordered, "Hold!"

They turned to see a very tall, elegantly dressed man striding to the platform.

"What do you want for the girl?"

Batu gaped.

"Well, my Tartar friend, surely you have put a price on her?"

"A hundred gold dinars?" ventured Batu.

The crowd hooted, but the tall man began emptying coins from a very fat purse.

"I will give you a hundred and fifty because I see her true worth." He placed the coins in the amazed Tartar's hands and stepped up onto the platform. Taking Marya's icy little hand in his large, warm one, he spoke softly to her. "My name is Hadji Bey, my child. If you will trust me, I will help you to live again."

"My family is dead. I have no wish to live."

"I know, little Firousi. Your pain is great but if you choose, your future can be bright. Come now. We will go to my lodgings, and I will tell you all"

Leading Marya from the platform, he placed her in a large palanquin and, joining her, ordered the bearers homeward. Installing her in his house, Hadji Bey ordered a soothing drink for the distraught girl. Convinced that she was now at least physically comfortable, he gently pressed her to unburden herself. At first she was hesitant but gradually the drug that Hadji Bey had ordered put in her drink took effect and, relaxed, Marya poured forth her woes.

He listened sympathetically, and when at last the exhausted girl finished, he nodded. "Yes, my child, it is all very tragic, but what you have told me has happened many times to many others. It is over and cannot be taken back." He fixed her eyes with his and went on softly. "You are tired, little Firousi. You have suffered much. Now you will sleep, and when you awake, the pain of the past will be gone. You will begin your life again. You will not forget what has gone before, but you will no longer hurt."

Her eyes were drooping, but she spoke. "Only if I am avenged. Batu and seven of his men for each member of my family killed The one called Yesukai for my bridegroom."

"It is done, Firousi."

"What do you call me?" she-asked sleepily.

"Firousi. It means turquoise,' the color of your eyes. Now sleep, my child."

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she obeyed.

"When I awoke I felt marvelous! And that, dear Cyra, is how I came to be here," said Firousi.

"But what of Batu?" asked the Scots girl. "Did Hadji Bey have him and seven of his men killed?"

"Oh, yes. When we heard of you and left Damascus to come to Crete, I saw their heads rotting on pikes as we pa.s.sed through the main gate. I never spoke of it. nor did he."

"You heard about me?"

"Oh, yes. Everyone from Damascus to Alexandria knew of the high-born virgin with the red hair to be sold by Abdul ben Abdul. What a price Hadji Bey paid for you! Zuleika and I together didn't bring a tenth of your price."

"I hardly consider that an honor."

"You should," snapped Zuleika. Janet looked startled at the almond-eyed girl's tone of voice.

"Pay no attention to her," laughed Firousi. "She is Princess Plum Jade, a daughter of the emperor of Cathay, and only camel drivers and dirty, barbaric herdsmen bid on her. She would be slaving for some primitive tent dweller if Hadji Bey hadn't seen her and bought her. In the weeks we have been together I have learned that pride is very important to these people of Cathay. It still rankles that she was betrayed by-"

"If you don't mind, Firousi, I'll tell my own story." Zuleika rose from her distant divan and plumped herself down amid the pillows next to Cyra and Firousi. Unlike her blond companions, who had wept remembering the past Zuleika's voice grew hard.

She would never forget the afternoon that decided her fate. It was spring, and she sat beside the marble fishpond in her mother's garden watching the large fantail goldfish snap and chase at the falling blossoms that ruffled the serenity of the pond's surface. The soft voice of her slave girl, Mai Tze, disturbed her, and she looked up questioningly.

"Mistress, your n.o.ble mother requests your presence."

"I will come at once."

"No, no," cried the slave girl. "First you must change your robe. He He is with her." is with her."

"My brother, the emperor?"