Amongst Silk and Spice (7 page)

They trudged for days, long hot days when the sun beat down on them unmercifully. Dusk was a welcome release from its harsh presence. Hugo had taken to wearing a head covering, just to keep the heat off his crown.

Once the sun went down and darkness claimed them, the desert was basked in pale, ethereal moonlight. Her dress turned black in the eerie light, contrasting with her alabaster skin. She looked as ethereal as the landscape behind her as she wandered off slightly, to stretch her legs from relentless riding.

The wind sang over the sand and strange noises flowed through the desert, like spirits of those who perished here. He could imagine nothing worse, perishing here and roaming this desolate landscape for all eternity. Hugo shuddered at the thought.

One lost track of time out here. The sun didn't change from dawn to dusk, with freezing cold descending with the dark. Hugo couldn't wait to be past this place, swearing he would never return.

Turning back to the camel, he unstrapped the pile of wood and tinder he'd gathered along the way. The desert provided wood from long-gone shrubs, although right now, they were in what looked like a dry lake bed. The sand was coarser and occasionally there were shells.

Dropping the wood, Hugo started a fire, the wood so dry it ignited without much effort. The chill of the night was descending and the fire drew Eloise back, her dress poor protection from the cold, even if it caught the wind beautifully.

He knew what she looked like under that dress now, wishing he didn't. She was perfect, her body enticing, drawing his mind's eye back to the hidden oasis inside a hill, where he could see that her firm breasts would fit perfectly into his hands, dusky pink nipples made for teasing. Admittedly, he was still a little shocked that she had undressed, forgoing her modesty so easily. Saying that, there was nothing in her gaze designed to invite, just the ever-present challenge.

The image of a cornered animal entered his mind, and it applied well to her. She was fighting the world and everything in it—rejecting her lot in life. Problem was, there was nowhere for her to go. She'd run to the ends of the earth, and still she could not escape what she was—a young noblewoman whose father had decided it was time to rein her in. She had no right to her own choices—born and bred to do as her father wishes. The annulment was a wee stick in the mud and Hugo wanted to see how she would play that card. She wasn't stupid—probably too clever for her own good.

She sat down by the fire, tucking her legs under her, her veil wrapped around her shoulders for scant warmth. Reaching into his pouch, he withdrew some dried meat and held it out for her, and she reached for it, taking it from his hand, barely touching his fingers as she did, but the touch radiated up his fingers. Forcefully, he stopped any images trying to steal into his mind. Alone, with no one else around, it was no wonder that his mind turned to his companion, but it served no purpose. His task was to deliver her in the best possible condition, and although her chastity was not intact, he had no right to encroach on it further.

"The stars are bright tonight," she said.

He hadn't noticed the difference this night from any of the others before it. "Are they?"

"Some cultures believe that the stars are our ancestors looking down at us. That our loved ones turn into stars when they pass on. It is a lovely sentiment, isn't it? My mother up there, watching over me. Your family watching over you."

Hugo's thoughts clouded over. Although it was a perfectly innocent statement, it brought heavier sentiments with it. "Don't speak of my family."

Eloise's attention turned back to him, surprised at his reaction, which was perhaps overly harsh, but he didn't like thinking of his family. She didn't know what to say for a moment, then drew her blankets out and covered herself, lying down to face away from him. He had offended her, and by the tone he'd used, perhaps he'd come across as dismissive.

They walked in silence the next day, in the usual position with him leading his camel and her following behind, riding on her camel's back. She was still angry with him, although it was hardly noticeable through her normal hatred for him. Her liking him was not necessary or even beneficial to this endeavor, and he preferred silence to her continuous challenge to his beliefs and the functioning of society, as if he was responsible for how things were.

They walked through the wreck of an ancient city, the home of unknown people who’d abandoned this place long ago. Wood stuck out of the ground, having at some point supported a structure, and they walked between piles of ruined buildings.

"I wonder who lived here?" Eloise said.

Hugo shrugged, having no idea what this place was or what it had been in its time. It was like walking through a memory of a time long gone, the wind and sand working to erode them to nothing, beating down the abandoned structures to mere piles. The place had an eerie, stifled feeling.

There was no water, just rubble. Perhaps they left when the nearby lake dried out, Hugo wondered, but soon they reached the other side of the ghost city, wandering into the unrelenting desert again.

Hours passed as they trudged through sand, continuing in complete silence.

"Hugo," she finally said, bringing him out from deep in his own thoughts.

Looking up, he saw her attention in the distance behind them. A wall of murk, up to the heavens was encroaching from behind them. "Sand storm," he said.

Eloise turned fearful eyes back to him before looking around. There was no shelter and they had no time to return to the abandoned city—not that there was any true shelter there. "We have nowhere to hide from it."

They couldn’t outrun it, as it moved with the speed of the wind, although there was seemingly no wind right now, the air unnaturally still with only the sight of a wall of sand telling of something being very wrong. The camels were restless—they knew something bad was coming.

"What are we going to do?" Eloise asked, panic heightening the pitch of her voice.

The sand would come, clog their throats and noses. "We must bed down," he said. It was their only option. This storm was advancing no matter what, and they could do little but to weather it—try to survive.

Tapping the camel's leg with the stick he held, the beast crouched down into the sand, groaning with displeasure. The animal was sniffing the air as if indication of this storm rode on the air ahead of it. Grabbing the reins of the second animal, Hugo led it around to flank the other. He could feel the tension in the animals as he urged hers to bow down to sitting. Eloise slid off the camel and stretched her aching back, nervously eyeing the approaching wall.

"The camels will provide scant protection," she said.

"It is all we have," Hugo said, hurriedly unstrapping the blankets and the water pouches and placing them between the camels. "We must protect ourselves from the air, else we suffocate."

Ahead of the wall, the wind picked up, sending sand biting into Hugo’s face and hands. Before they knew it, they were enveloped in murky yellowness, the sun lost from the sky and visibility stretched only to the end of his arm. "Come," he said to her and spread out the blanket. "We must hide from the air."

Eloise needed no encouragement and ducked under the blanket spread out between the camels and he tied the corner of it to one of the camels’ saddles. There was no light under the blanket, but the sandy air settled and they could breathe again. Eloise crouched under the blanket, tucking her knees under her chin, leaning against the camel's side. Hugo was too big and nowhere near flexible enough to tuck himself under the way she had, so he had to lay on his side with his upper body under the blanket and his legs outside.

The camels groaned in displeasure, but they settled. "Will we lose the camels?" Eloise asked.

"I hope not. Apparently they can weather these storms."

Reaching up into the saddle bag, Hugo withdrew the oil lamp and earthenware bottle holding oil, placing it between them, pouring the oil and sparking the wick with the grinding stones. Pale light shone between them. Eloise's eyes were dark, deep pools of worry and fear.

"We will be alright here, under this blanket. It will protect us from the worst of the sand."

"I hope so. I really don't want to die here with you, Hugo Beauford. If I die because of you, I swear I will haunt you."

"Where I'm going, you may not want to follow."

"Have you given up on your soul's forgiveness, then?" she asked. Hugo couldn't stop a half smile forming. "I always knew you were a bad man, but I never realized you agreed with the assessment."

"I have done my fair share of things. Battle is never a merciful or restorative affair. I'm not sure it's possible to be at war as long as I have and survive with a pristine soul." He smiled again. She, on the other hand, had a clear conscience, even if she had given her maidenhood away to a Saracen. "Do you not fear for your soul, having traded your favors away?"

"I never traded my favors away. Anything I gave was for the sake of sharing with another person, expecting nothing in return."

"Giving your most cherished possession to a heathen, no less."

"As shocking as you will find it, Malik was not my first. And my memories are more cherished than some stupid notion that me being untouched is a worthy virtue. It might be to you, but I was loved by a wonderful man, and you would have a hard time convincing me it was either a sin or a threat to my value as a person. You might think lesser of me, but it could not matter less to me what you think."

"Obviously," he said, "as you are willing to undress before me completely without shame."

"Shame for what? Are you an innocent, Hugo Beauford? Have you never seen a woman undressed before? If so, I apologize. You must be one of those people who are damaged by the sight of a God-given form of another person, burdened with such delicate sensibilities. I will take more care in the future, lest I damage you further."

"I think we both know that I am more familiar with the sport between men and women, even the Church-sanctioned kind."

"Sanctioned effectively for two weeks. You don't even have anything to say about your wife other than her hair was brown. Did you know nothing else about her?"

The accusation hit home. Unfortunately, it was true. He knew next to nothing about his wife—even the tupping had been unremarkable. And even worse with his son, his flesh and blood, about whom he knew nothing but his name, Berhnard. It hurt to know that her assessment of him was true. He was exactly like her harsh portrayal of him. "Watch your tongue," he warned.

"Are you to threaten me now?"

"Am I within my rights to someone who takes pleasure in ripping strips with their tongue?"

She looked shocked at his counter-accusation. "I do not."

"Really? Because it feels like pure spiteful malice from the receiving end."

"I am not spiteful," she said earnestly. "Granted, I think you're the worst sort of man, but I do not rip strips for the pleasure of it."

"I'm not sure I believe you, having been at the mercy of your tongue for over a month now."

Eloise stared at him intently, shifting her focus between his eyes. Then she looked down at the light sitting between them. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I have been venting with the displeasure I feel at being dragged back across the world, against my will. I have made you the target of that anger, and I am sorry. We have never had the best of relations."

She actually did look admonished and ashamed. He didn't know what to say now, never expecting to receive an apology.

"I still really don't want to die here with you," she said after silence descended, returning her eyes to him with more of a teasing look in their depths.

Hugo chuckled. "Reprieve over, then?"

"I only say what's in my heart. It was not my place to comment on your family."

"Perhaps I would not react so harshly if your accusations were not true. I knew nothing of the woman I married, and even less of our son." It hurt to admit it—something he'd pressed from his mind for a long time, but for some reason, his tongue was loose today as they lay here facing possible death from suffocation, or even the loss of their camels. Suffocation might be better than wandering through the desert on foot.

"You were at war," she said, surprisingly defending his actions.

"I am a father whose son lived and died without true note, representing nothing but an abstract concept. I never even met him." He was revealing what might in actuality be his greatest shame. Eloise sat quietly, letting him talk, and he would cleanse his soul here if he didn't watch himself. The truth was that he'd never loved his son, never had the chance to, and that fact hurt him more deeply than the actual loss of his son at the time.

It would be so easy to confess the deepest secrets of his soul to her right now, but it could not be, even if she was prepared to receive them. Another thing that tore at him, the idea of a person he could confess those secrets to—the role a wife should play. He'd failed as a husband as well.

The sandstorm passed and they were on their way again, following the Mohammedean merchants as before, aware that they'd lost half a day worth of water without getting closer to a new source. Water was everything in the desert, anything else was secondary.

They trudged on for days through unchanging landscape, stopping at a tiny oasis town along the way, centered around a well, where they refilled their water pouches and went on their way. Finally, the landscape started to change, becoming more dramatic with snow-capped mountains in the far distance. The air was changing, growing cooler—close to freezing when the wind turned.

Eloise felt excitement and dread compete inside her as she watched those mountains grow closer. Excitement because they were leaving the desert behind and dread because she was now on the other side of the great divide between Europe and Cathay, and returning to the mess she had fled from in England. She frowned when she thought of it and the upcoming confrontation with her father, but that was still far away. Now came the lands of the Mohammedean and they were heading toward Kashgar.

Before long, there were huts and farms, and livestock as the desert path turned into a road. Carts and horses passed them. They were away from the dangers of the desert now, back to civilization, and a different set of perils.

They would be walking into Kashgar the next day, where a proper meal awaited. Both of them could probably use with some fattening up after the month in the desert, living on grains, lentil and dried meat.

The city of Kashgar was visible in the hazy distance, perched on top of a hill, built in the same material as its foundation. Minarets poked out of the roofline of the city and everything the eye could see was the color of sand, surrounded by snow-covered mountains in the background. They would be tackling those mountains after the city, making their way through to the Persian lands.

Anticipation made her restless as the end of the constant trudging was in sight. Minutes stretched to hours until they finally walked through the guarded gate through the city wall. The Mongol empire stretched to here as well, but Eloise had heard that the Mongols’ hold on the western portion of their empire was tentative as well, and there were political rifts with the Eastern portion of the empire. Malik had talked at lengths about the state of the empire. A flash of sadness ripped through her. She would miss Malik, for his wisdom and his friendship, and all the things he had taught her. As well as for the Mongol empire, for her there were troubled times and probably change ahead.

Kashgar's streets were narrow and filled with every creed. Eloise heard Arabic, Persian, Indian languages, as well as the harsh Northern languages. She saw travelers from Europe, preparing to head out into the desert and the journey she was just leaving behind. They, along with all European travellers, had to stay at a hostelier in the Jewish quarter, and they made their way through the crowded city down narrow streets lined with stores selling all manner of colorful things—silks, glass and shiny metal ware. After the desert and its calm, non-changing sights, Kashgar felt like an explosion in front of her eyes. There was so much to look at, she was having trouble taking it all in. Even the pungent smells were like an assault on her senses—too much to take in at once.

Camels and horses crowded the streets and they walked into a market space, where Hugo sold the camels that had carried them through the desert, trying to haggle with the man in sign language. Even though Hugo knew that Eloise spoke passable Persian, he refused to seek her help. Stupid man, Eloise thought. If his arm was cut off, he still probably wouldn't ask for help.

Walking away with a pouch of coins, they walked down the street, having said goodbye to the trusted animals that had safely seen them through the desert, particularly Magda, as Eloise had named hers, but then Magda was more interested in the grain given her as reward for her long journey.

"Bathe or eat first?" Hugo asked.

"Bathe," Eloise said, thinking it would be preferable to sit down to a meal without the grime of the desert covering her body. Hugo was one color, that of sand, and it covered every part of him from his surcoat to his face. His skin and hair were the exact same color and it made his eyes as blue as the sky.

"Fine," he said, leading them down through a narrow alley. "But please don't make me chase you down through these streets. You wouldn't have enough time to get anywhere before I found you."

Eloise gave him a pointed look as he stopped in front of a bath house, which had separate entrances for men and women, the genders completely segregated.

A woman greeted her and showed her to a warmed room meant for disrobing, helping Eloise undress. The inside of the bathhouse was intricately decorated with white and blue tile, in the almost hypnotic geometric shapes the Persians liked. Every surface was covered and Eloise sat down on a stool in the center of the room.

"We clean," the woman said in Arabic and left with Eloise's dress, returning to pour warmed water over Eloise's shoulders and hair. Her skin prickled with the warmth and the glorious feeling of running water over her dry skin. Her skin was rubbed down with soft clothes, while she closed her eyes and noted how heavenly it felt having the dust from the desert removed, particularly as the woman washed her hair, which was combed and oiled until it was clean and scented.

Once rinsed, Eloise was left to enjoy the bath and she waded into the pool of water in the next room, which reached up to her waist. Laying back, she floated and closed her eyes. The gentle warmth seeped into her muscles, slowly undoing the knots in her shoulders. The bathhouse was quiet, even if she wasn't the only one there, and every sound echoed off the high, tiled ceiling.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Eloise considered what she was to do, if she should make an effort to try to escape, but then she also wasn't sure she needed to. Although she didn't particularly want to face her father, she didn't feel particularly distressed about it either. She hated him for the things he'd done and for taking her mother's life, by withdrawing his support if not for actually bringing about her demise. She'd actually like to know how he justified his actions. He was neither a good man, nor a good Christian.

He'd questioned her parentage and she wholeheartedly agreed, feeling no desire to be sired by a cruel and heartless man. If he thought he had control of her, he would soon learn, because she didn't give a damn about his wishes, hoping her refusal actually left him worse off and she had no qualms letting him know that either.

Maybe letting Hugo take her back to England wouldn't be such a bad thing, so she could prove to her father once and for all that she wanted nothing to do with him. There were actually a few harsh words she wanted to put to him and she was going to get her chance. He might be an earl, but his position didn't mean he was a worthy person, and she was going to put that to him as well.

Finally the water grew cold to Eloise's skin and she decided to get out and dress. The woman returned with a large, white sheet, wrapping her in it to dry off before oiling every part of her body. Eloise could smell rose oil and something herbal, and it was lovely to be clean again, even if it was only temporary as they would likely be traveling again the following morning. Hugo was not one to stop and explore. He had his mission and precious little would stop him, even if the mad streets of Kashgar were fascinating to observe.

She was actually quite cold by the time she left, her skin prickling, welcoming the sun outside. Hugo was waiting for her, clean and shaven. She'd almost forgot what he looked like underneath all the sand.

"They beat me with switches," he said grumpily.

Eloise smiled. "They rubbed me down with oil. It was heavenly. I think both of us got what we deserve."

Hugo huffed half-heartedly and started walking. "Hungry?"

"Famished," she said, feeling better about everything now that she'd made peace with this opportunity to see her father.

They found an eatery covered with intricate, deep red rugs and pillows around low, lacquered tables with metal inlays. There were no chairs and they were supposed to sit on the carpet-covered floor.

Bronze cups with tea were presented to them and Eloise drew in the delicate scent. It had been much too long since she'd had a cup of tea and the first sip coated her parched throat. These little pleasures were the joys in life and she took another sip of the glorious liquid, considering whether she could take some back to England.

A plate of food arrived along with bread and rice, a spiced mutton dish that smelled divine. Eloise loved Persian food and took her fill, letting the spices tease her tongue and her nose, then sitting back against the cushions when she couldn't eat anymore.

"Which way are we traveling?" she asked as she watched Hugo continue to eat, suspecting he enjoyed the spiced food more than he admitted to—English food being drab and flavorless in comparison. Although Hugo would probably defend it as preferable to deep and heady flavors of the Persian dishes, defending the indefensible.

"Crossing the Black Sea is the fastest route. The Mamluks have taken over Acre, so there is no longer safe passage through the south."

Eloise took more sips of the cooling tea. Crossing the Black Sea meant going through Constantinople, although she doubted Hugo would stop long enough for her to call on her friends in the city. "There isn't a great hurry, you know."

Hugo wiped his fingers and sat back. "Keen to spend more time in my company?"

"No," she said, not anticipating his response would take that direction. "But there are people I do want to see."

"We will not be taking years to meander across the world, like you did. I have commitments to get back to and I wish to do so at the earliest opportunity."

"You want to head back to fight the French?"

"It is my duty."

"Do you like war?" Eloise asked, knowing there were people who loved fighting and killing, and the horrible messiness. She hadn't quite picked him as one of those.

"I like being a good servant for our king, and right now he needs us to finish this war."

"Are you not the least bit curious of the things around us?"

"What point does curiosity serve? Nothing in our lives will change. I will still head back to France, you will … " he didn't quite finish the statement, "probably fight whatever your father has intended for you, but both of our fates are set. The only hope is to finish this war."

"My fate is in my own hands."

"You might have shirked your duty by running away, but for all you have seen and done, it changes nothing. As from the day you are born, and as proven by your father's intent on retrieving you, you are destined to be a nobleman's wife."

"No, I'm not," she said harshly enough to draw attention from the other patrons. "I'm not some docile lamb that will be told what to do."

"Perhaps you should learn before your husband beats you into the docility required of a good wife," he said between clenched teeth, then softened. "You don't have to fight everything, Eloise. You must learn to pick your battles. Your wayward ways will gain you nothing but pain."

"First of all, you're wrong. My father picked this battle with me and I'm not going to stand by with docility and do whatever he says. He can burn in hell for all I care. And I have gained the world from my travels. I have met people I like being with, who’ve taught me and challenged me—people whom I love. You place no value on any of these things, just following what everyone tells you to do."

He looked at her sharply. "My duties are sacrosanct, as are yours if you weren't so completely concerned with your own little grievances. I owe it to my father and my mother, not to mention our land, to do what is necessary to preserve and hold our family, including fighting for our king's interests." He was angry now.

"My father killed my mother—that might constitute a little grievance in your book, Hugo Beauford, but it's more of a heavy crime in mine. My grievances might mean nothing in your view of the world, but I don't care about your views. You attack my character because I don't roll over and do whatever you want. That's the only reason you're so concerned about me caring about my own interest. Let's face it, you would prefer that I submitted to your will in all things, just did what I was told when you acted with complete disregard in what was best for me. Well, you can stick that with all other things that will never happen. I am never going to submit to a man like you. And for the record, in your undying concern for your family, you seem to forget that you don't actually have one, and you're probably going to die in France before you do, so that is what your undying loyalty will get you."

"Temper, temper. Such an unattractive quality."

Eloise growled in frustration. "Again, you attack me because I can think for myself. But I'll win this, you'll see. I am going to tell my father exactly what I think of him and then I am going to leave England and its idiotic expectations for good. Just watch me."