The Ruby In Her Navel

XXI

The disappointment was too keen to be borne in its fullness. I snatched at hopes: she had been delayed, she would arrive later. But the hours passed and she did not come. In the afternoon the French King arrived, his wife at his side, escorted by Saracen troops from the garrison at Brindisi. I saw the Queen's face as she passed below me, and she was beautiful and held her head very proudly, but the sight of this much celebrated Eleanora of Aquitaine meant little to me at that moment, my heart was heavy, my last hopes of Alicia's coming were ebbing away. No one in King Roger's following had sought me out with a message from her, there was no one I could ask. Something had happened to prevent her, something sudden and unforeseen – if she had known of it in time she would have sent word. I thought of her brother Adhemar and what she had said about his hostility to our marriage. Perhaps there were others, acting in concert with him…

My misery increased as the day wore on, and to darken my mood even further was the fact that I was not among those invited to the royal banquet in the Great Hall that evening, but had to be content to sup in a much smaller room, ill-lighted and further from the kitchens with for company the serjeants-at-arms I had taken ship with from Palermo, a number of lesser palace officials who had come in the King's party and some Pisan merchants who had nothing whatever to do with this meeting of monarchs but were seeking trade concessions from the lord of Potenza. I tried to keep myself apart as much as I could, eating little, not sharing in the talk. I knew with bitterness that if Alicia had come and our intention to marry been declared I would not have been treated thus; at that very moment I would have been sitting in the light, among the nobility, with my betrothed by my side.

Of the talk among us at table I can remember almost nothing. As I say, I took small part in it. One of the Pisans, too coarse-grained to notice my dejection, spoke to me about the great benefits to commerce brought about by the crusades, benefits to which the recent defeat, he said, made no smallest difference, rather the contrary, creating a market in Europe for luxury goods from the east, bringing closer the trade links with Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire. "And those that are settled there," he said, "the Frankish states in the Holy Land, they are in need of weapons and supplies. Constant need, you understand me? And what is the best way to transport them, these weapons and supplies? I will tell you, my friend. The best and safest way is by sea. We of Pisa are well placed."

As I was about to rise from the table, the knight who had saved the peace among us the previous day entered the room and came to me. Seeing that I had finished eating and was ready to leave, he asked if he might have some words of talk with me. I had no desire for this, I wanted only to retire to my chamber and nurse my unhappiness there: I was too cast down even to feel much curiosity as to his purposes. But it would have been churlish to refuse, especially after all his courtesy towards me.

We walked for a little while together on the cobbled stretch of ground between the inner wall and the postern gatehouse. He had come from the royal presence, he said, from the Hall where they were banqueting; he had obtained leave from King Louis to come and speak to me. "I praised your singing to him," he said. "To the King, not to Queen Eleonora, she knows nothing of it, and there is a design in this which you will understand in a moment."

The night was dark, there was only the lantern set in the postern gate to see by, and this gave hardly light enough for us to make out each other's faces. From somewhere close by, up towards the battlements, there came the hooting of an owl, a sound that seemed, in my present wretchedness, to pour mockery on me and my singing both. "I did not think King Louis had a taste for songs," I said.

"Nor does he, unless they are sacred in character and preferably sung in church. To say truth, he does not have a taste for anything that lifts the heart or raises the spirits. No, it is she that is the lover of music."

The darkness seemed to press upon me. The desire of solitude grew stronger. I said, "Sir, I am not in the best of spirits tonight, and my understanding is slow. I cannot find meaning in what you say."

"Bear with me a while longer and I will make all clear to you. I am speaking now in confidence, which I know you will respect. I am Robert of Talmont and I am the Queen's man, not the King's – I have spent most of my life at the court of Aquitaine. I was present when they married in the Cathedral of Bordeaux, and I was in her following when she accompanied Louis to Paris to reign as queen. You will know that things are not well between them – there has even been talk of a divorce. There are those who would wish this, for the sake of a some private advantage.

But any who have the peace and safety of France at heart will want this marriage to endure. I have thought that in a small way – but small things can lead to great ones – you might help in this."

This seemed such an extraordinary idea that it distracted me for a moment from my gloom. "Help in it? How in the world could I help in it?"

"Queen Eleanora loves music. She grew up in her father's court and heard when still a child the songs of Cercamon and Marcabru and other troubadours of like gifts. Her husband does not care for such things but he wants to please her, he wants to save the marriage. I have suggested to him that he should make a gift of you to the Queen, and he has very graciously consented."

"Make a gift of me? In heaven's name -"

"You would have great success in Paris. The Queen would like you and so would the court. You have a voice of rare quality and range and you know how to put feeling into the words, which is not such a common thing.

Also you have a fine presence, you are tall and handsome and have the look of the north about you, which makes you different from the singers of Poitou and Aquitaine that people are used to."

I almost felt inclined to laugh, it was such an absurdity, coming at such a time. My head and trunk and arms and legs, all the ties of my life in Palermo, all the hopes I still had, in spite of everything, in Alicia, bundled together into a packing box, tied up with ribbons and sent off to Paris! "I am grateful for your good opinion of my singing,"

I said, "and I hope for a better understanding between their majesties, but what you are asking of me is quite impossible. To be frank with you in my turn, my life is about to change but not in such a way as that. I am soon to be married and my bride and I will be leaving for the Kingdom of Jerusalem, where we will live on our estates."

He was silent for a while and I saw him nod his head. "That will be the lady you so stoutly defended yesterday. A pity – with your gifts you could make your fortune in France. Well, I see the time is not right, which is often the case with causes that are otherwise good. But the offer is there still. If for any reason you should change your mind in these next weeks and decide to come to Paris, remember my name, Robert of Talmont, ask for me and I will make sure you are well introduced."

I thanked him for his kindness and promised not to forget his name, and he wished me good fortune, and so we parted. The encounter, and the unexpected proposal, had helped to turn my mind from the disappointment I had suffered that morning, and once back in my room I began to think what it might be best to do. She would not come now, so much was certain. There might be some word from her waiting for me at Palermo. I had delivered the money to Spaventa and I had his token. No one here would care whether I stayed or went. I decided to leave with first light, whether or not I found company, even though some parts of the way were dangerous for the solitary traveller. In the event, I was fortunate: the Saracen troops from Brindisi, their escort duties concluded, had a period of leave which they were spending in Salerno, and it was in their company that I left the castle.

The return journey has left no mark on my mind. I was hoping to find some message waiting for me, but there was nothing. It was late at night when I came to Palermo and I was exhausted – from the haste of the journey, from the tumult of my feelings. This must still have shown on my face next morning, as Stefanos remarked with concern on my drawn looks, and he was the only man, of all those I knew, who would be concerned for me in this way. Yusuf might see, but he would not speak.

My father did not see my face, nor I think any other, except perhaps the suffering one of Christ Crucified.

I had intended to make my report to Yusuf immediately, and in particular relate the circumstances of my meeting with Spaventa and the words we had used; these I had memorised carefully so as to give him an accurate account. But he was not in the Diwan, so Stefanos told me, nor in his town house, where I might have sought admittance; he was at his mansion in the Conca d'Oro, host to a party of Arab dignitaries from Spain.

I busied myself during the day with the documents that had accumulated during my absence. When we were making ready to leave Stefanos asked me if I would like to accompany him home and sup with him and his wife Maria, something I always enjoyed because of the warmth of their welcome and the attention they gave me. Maria was an excellent cook, far surpassing Caterina, the Amalfitanian woman who kept house for me. This time, I knew, the invitation was not planned: Stefanos had asked on impulse, out of kindness, seeing the dejection I was in. I accepted gladly and we went together to his house in the Cala, where Maria greeted me with evident pleasure.

In the company of these good people, whom I had known and trusted for a good many years now, my heart was eased and my case began to seem more hopeful. She had been prevented from coming, and from sending word.

Something had occurred, some unexpected obstacle. But she would find a way to circumvent it. I had her love, she had shown it when still hardly more than a child and now again as a grown woman. And she was resourceful, I knew it of old – how often, in my thoughts of her, I found comfort in this resourcefulness, proved over and again in the stratagems of childhood.

"But you have lost weight, you are thinner, even your face," Maria said.

She was stout of figure and broad-cheeked, with a high colour and luxuriant eye-lashes and very lustrous black hair, often in some disorder. She believed in feeding as a means of solving all problems, whether of heart or mind or spirit. She had used this method with her three sons, she was fond of saying, and they had all grown up to be full-bodied men and were making their way in the world. It was extraordinary to listen to her and look across at Stefanos and see how lean he was.

She had not had time this evening to prepare a wealth of courses but what she served was plentiful and delicious. We had chicken on the spit in the Greek style, flavoured with cumin and garlic, a great platter of minced cabbage and lentils and beans in the pod, wheat cakes flavoured with honey and the sweet pastries she had learned to make from Arab neighbours – in this region, on the south side of the Cala, Arab and Greek lived happily enough together. With the meal we had the red wine that comes from the slopes of Mount Etna, and it was good and fresh, only recently fermented.

Under the combined assault of food and drink and warmth of friendship, I came very close to unburdening myself to them, confessing my feelings for the Lady Alicia and the difficulties we were encountering in the course of our love. I did not do so, whether from caution, care for her name, the habit of reticence, I do not know. I have wished often enough since that I had spoken of her then. Stefanos' position in the Diwan was not exalted, he was in the third category of the administration, but he had been there many years and heard many things, and he was observant and shrewd and retentive of memory; he might have known something remembered something, perhaps only a scrap but it could have changed everything.

Instead I asked about the things that had happened during my absence. In this way I learned that Demetrius and his Byzantines had ended their work at the Royal Chapel, and were gone from Palermo. I was sorry to hear this, though it was no more than I had expected, and I could tell that Stefanos, who was of the Greek faith, was sorry too. The new people who had come were Lombards and northern Italians, he said. Some spoke only German. The King would come to the chapel for the Feast of the Transfiguration on the Sunday after next. It might be the last time he attended in single state to hear the liturgy: he was soon to marry Sibylla of Burgundy.

As he spoke of the Transfiguration – a feast day formerly more celebrated among the Christians of the East but gaining much in importance also in the Latin Church of late years, though Rome had not yet established a date for it – something tugged at my mind, something heard or witnessed, something quite recent. But it eluded me and Stefanos's next piece of news distracted me from it: old Glycas had died, his monumental task of proving the existence of Sicilian kings in remote antiquity still uncompleted. "He died as he lived," Stefanos said. "Pen in hand, at his writing table, between one phrase and the next."

"So the work will be abandoned. If such a scholar as he, after so many years…"

"Abandoned?" He surveyed me across the table, the usual gleam of irony in his brown eyes. "There is another already appointed to continue the work. It is just this continuing that matters most to our King Roger. So long as the search continues, the thing sought for can be said to exist.

If it did not exist, it would not be sought for."

I had my doubts of this on the plane of logic, except in the negative formulation that it could not be said not to exist. But I knew better than to take him up on it; he was subtle and quick-witted in argument like many Greeks, and very tenacious for so mild a man; an issue of this sort could occupy the rest of the evening, and I was likely to have the worst of it. "Well," I said, "however that may be, to abandon the quest is to admit defeat and so our good King is right to continue in it."

"There is something else you may not have heard, good news this time, a reprieve. That evening of the day you left Potenza word was brought to the King that the Serbs have risen in revolt against the Byzantine yoke.

They are supported by Hungarian mounted archers, who have crossed the border in what is said to be large numbers. Whatever the numbers, Manuel Comnenus will be forced to take action to quell the uprising, and by the time he restores order – if indeed he succeeds in doing so – winter will be upon us, the seas will be rough, all thoughts of invading Sicily will have to be abandoned, for this year at least."

"That is good news indeed." I thought of Lazar's face as I had last seen it, in the tavern at Bari, full of rage at being refused the expected payment. I remembered my self-contempt as I sat on there, after he had left. Whether this rebellion was his doing could not be known for certain. But he would claim the credit, there was little doubt of that.

And with the credit, the reward. Another journey for Thurstan the Pursebearer, more clinking of coin. But of course, if my hopes were realised I would be Thurstan the Pursebearer no longer… "Our work has borne fruit at last," I said.

There was a pause while I resisted Maria's urging to eat more of the pastries, her third or fourth attempt at this; I wanted to please her but had no space left in me even for a crumb.

Stefanos passed the wine. "There is not much else to hearten us in recent events," he said. "This failure of the crusade has brought much harm in its wake. Conrad Hohenstaufen, who calls himself the Emperor of the Romans and claims title to Italy, cut an execrable figure, having lost his entire army and only saved his own skin by fleeing the field.

This has called into question his God-given right, as he sees it, to be the sword and shield of Christendom in the west. And now here is our King Roger, who took no part in the crusade whatsoever, putting himself forward as the champion of Christianity, in alliance with Louis of France. Conrad has always hated our King as a usurper of his ancestral lands. He will hate him all the more now as a usurper of his imperial prerogatives. Such hatred cannot bode well for us. Then there is the change in the situation of the Arabs, you will have seen that yourself."

I thought for some moments. Yusuf had spoken of this, with a passion unusual in him, but he had been speaking of a gradual process of loss and subjection. Other than this, what was there? I had been so much concerned with myself of late, first there had been Favara and the exchange of promises, then the presenting of the dancers and the turmoil of my feelings for Nesrin, then Potenza and the waiting and the disappointment… "No," I said. "As you know, I have been away a good deal lately."

"Perhaps it is also because you live in a better neighbourhood." He smiled, saying this, to take any suspicion of grievance out of the words. "I mean less mixed," he said. "Here we live cheek by jowl with Arabs, we see them at the markets, we chat together sitting outside our houses in the warm evenings, we use the language of the Cala, which is also mixed – like the people. We bought this house with Maria's dowry and we have lived here for thirty years, since before King Roger was king at all. But now friendship is more difficult for all of us. "

"Why is that?"

"The failure of the crusade, the manner of its failure, was a great humiliation for the Franks, as you know. They cannot avenge that defeat in Syria, where it happened, because they lack the power and the will, at least for the moment. But they can avenge it in a hundred small ways on the Moslems who live among us, who have lived side by side with us all their lives, and know nothing of the Holy Land."

"But that is unjust. Any cases of insult or violence should be reported to the officers of the Royal Diwan and brought before the King's Justiciars."

Stefanos smiled, and there was much affection for me in this smile. He shook his head. "Thurstan, I will say this to you, and it is something I have often thought before and not permitted myself to say because you are in greater authority at the Diwan, but you are young enough to be my son and I wish nothing but your good, so you will not take it amiss. You are too straight a man for the crooked ways they make you walk. It is not that your mind is simple, but you are not pliable, you are too frank in your feelings and open-hearted, you have too much need for belief in those you serve. The need for belief is a mark of innocence, and those who are truly innocent will always remain so, in despite of experience.

It would not be different if you stayed another twenty years in the palace service, except that you would grow always more unhappy as belief became more difficult to maintain. "

"And you?"

"I have never had this need, not since the days of my childhood." A trace of the smile still remained on his face, but his eyes were serious as he regarded me. "The King does not see what happens in the streets of the Cala, should I decline to serve him on that account? Should I lose my stipend and be reduced to beggary because the King closes his eyes?

Even if he saw he would take no heed. Why should he? Does it threaten the peace of the realm or the safety of the throne?"

He paused for a moment and lowered his head, as if taking counsel with himself. When he looked up the accustomed light of irony had returned to his face. He said, "The world is changing, and the King's justice must keep pace. He is always just, naturally, but his justice is exercised on varying objects. Just now it is directed to appearing as the champion of Christendom at home and abroad, strengthening the ties with France and gaining the good will of Pope Eugenius so that his rule may be recognised in Rome. It does not consort with the King's justice at this present time to show clemency towards the Moslems or defend their rights. Rather he will wish to show himself severe towards them."

I was taken aback by these words of his, coming as they did from one who had spent his life in faithful service to the King. He had never spoken in such a way before, some recklessness had come to him, perhaps, I thought, released by his frankness about my qualities of character. I took no exception to this last, because I knew he was swayed by affection for me, though I privately thought myself more sinuous of mind and more versed in the ways of the world than he gave me credit for. But he had spoken of the King as one might speak of any mortal, his tone had verged on disrespect, almost he had impugned the King's constancy…

And now, as I hesitated over my reply, he went even further. "As for these reverend Justiciars," he said, "they will look grave and purse up their lips and put their finger-tips together and then proceed to deliver the judgement that their royal master desires."

"We have known some like that," I said, speaking in haste to forestall more words from him, "but I believe them to be a small number. I have been wondering about the Anatolians. I suppose by now they will be well on the way towards home."

"Well, yes." He was looking at me now with a different expression, as if there were a joke contained in my words. "All but one, that is."

"What do you mean?"

"You did not know? I thought she would have told you she was intending to stay." He smiled suddenly and broadly. "She is a law unto herself, that one. She saw no need to speak of it and so she did not."

A number of feelings contended within me on hearing this news, which was both welcome and not. I felt my life to be difficult enough just at present without Nesrin returning to it. Despite myself, however, an obscure excitement began its climb towards my throat. It was halted, at least for the time, by the sudden memory of her face at the moment of bidding me farewell, that look of absolute composure. Of course she was unmoved – she had never had any smallest intention of leaving! Thinking of this, the effrontery and obstinacy and self-containment of it, and the hidden glee, I felt the cramp of my anxiety loosen and dissolve, and a laugh of pure amusement came from me, the first for many days. "As you truly say, she is a law unto herself. She has been here all the time then? Where is she? What is she doing, dancing in the streets?"

"She is living here, in Palermo. She has taken a room near the Church of the Ammiraglia, above the bottega of the saddle-maker in Via San Cataldo. No, she is not dancing. She is living on her share of the money they received. She has enough to last a year, so she tells me."

"You see her then?"

"I see her four times a week."

I stared at him. "How is that?"

"She comes for lessons in Greek."

"Early in the morning," Maria said. "Before he leaves for the Douana. He wanted to ask only a little for the lesson but she found out the price that is paid and made him take it. How she found this out I do not know.

She comes on foot through the streets. I make an infusion of mint and honey for her and she has a little bread or sometimes a piece of the cake with cherries and walnuts that my mother taught me how to make. She does not eat enough, she is like a bird. I tell her to take another piece of the cake but she will not."

"She asked me not to tell you about the lessons," Stefanos said. "I am not sure why. Perhaps she wanted to surprise you. Well, I have told you now."

"So it is quite some time that she has been coming?"

"Since the King left for Salerno and the dancing was delayed."

I remembered now that I had noticed an improvement in her Greek the night we had lain together, when we were talking beforehand, but I had not remarked on it, being too much taken with desire for her.

"She learns quickly," Maria said. "Stefanos has taught her the alphabet, already she can recognise some words when she sees them on the page.

Sometimes she stays here after he has gone, she helps me in what I am doing and we talk together. She has had a hard life, her parents also were wandering people, they died when she was still young. She is a beautiful girl, do you not think so?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I do." I felt the eyes of both upon me and a spirit of rebellion rose in my breast. "A beautiful dancing girl," I said.

"When we practise the forming of questions, she asks many questions about you," Stefanos said. "Also when we are not practising anything she does the same. Your habits, your work at the Douana, your life in the past. She takes great interest in all this."

These were not words that a man finds it easy to reply to. In fact I did not attempt any reply but after a moment reverted to the subject of the King's forthcoming nuptials. After fourteen years as a widower it was clear to all that he was driven by the need for legitimate heirs, there being only William now left alive of all his sons. It was felt generally that Sibylla, a sister of Otto of Burgundy, was a wise choice: she was young and the stock was good.

From this we went to other things and the evening passed without further mention of Nesrin, for which I was thankful. I had noticed the care Stefanos took to tell me exactly where she was living, but even before I rose from the table, I had resolved to avoid seeing her. I had betrayed Alicia once with her, but that had been an accident of proximity and circumstance – or so I told myself. I had been flushed with wine, with the success of the dancing and my singing, we had found ourselves alone together, she had shared in it. But now to go and seek her out, saying nothing of my betrothal, that would be a wrong indeed, out of keeping with my fealty to Alicia and the knightly Thurstan I wanted to be – wanted still to be.