KoC: Untitled Kaif & AoD

Kaif rose early the next morning, listening to the relative quiet of the camp outside. As he moved quietly through the tent, dressing himself without waking the slave girl, he heard only the soft footsteps of servants as they picked their way through the camp, preparing for the day ahead, and the snorting of tired horses in the distance. Fastening the buttons of his tunic of light silk, he thought that it was much too early yet to be making his preparations. The interior of the tent was still dark, and the camp would stir only in time to meet the first prayer of the day, Fajr, at dawn. But Kaif felt the dark tent, which had been his home for weeks now, oddly restrictive, a shadowy and silent prison cell. He turned his head to look at the girl sleeping on the opposite side. She, too, was a prisoner here. Both of them were inmates at the siege of Kerak.

He judged, from a quick glance outside, that it would be another hour yet until Fajr. He could not sleep now, but it was much too early to report to the Sultan’s pavilion for duty. Furthermore, the dark, late-autumn morning outside was chilly, and he did not wish to brave the sting of it before the sun had risen. He thought of what he had spoken to the Sultan about the day before, when he had told him the news that his cousin, the Amira of Damascus, had arrived at the camp by night. Kaif had been surprised that she had not taken an active role in the command of the siege since then; he sensed that something about the nature of her detainment troubled her. He looked again to his sleeping slave. Surely, there could be no harm in making an early visit to the Amira’s tent?

***

There was no sound which came from the tent given to Amira Arynthya, and this troubled Kaif somewhat. He had come here under the assumption that she would be awake, but as he stood close to the fastened entrance, listening anxiously for any noise from inside, he realised what a flawed presumption it had been. Additionally, he was increasingly aware of the looks given to him by a number of servants who silently attended to their duties, who were all aware that this tent belonged to the Amira. Kaif frowned. She was his kinswoman, but he did not think that might prevent the emergence of an unsavoury rumour.

He leaned towards the tent, listening closely once more. Hearing no sound, he said quietly, barely above a whisper, “Amira...Amira, it is your cousin, Kaif.”

For a few anxious moments, nothing happened. But then he heard the faint shuffling of paper, and the rustling of silk on silk, as gentle footsteps approached the tent opening. It was unfastened and the unveiled face of Arynthya peered out. She smiled before beckoning him inside.

“I had not known you to rise so early, cousin,” she said quietly as she fastened the opening shut again.

Kaif kept his laugh at his cousin’s words subdued. “No, indeed, consciousness at this hour is a very new thing to me.” He watched as Arynthya sat back down and offered him a seat at her writing desk, opposite her. As she tidied her materials, Kaif thought that she had not seen her face since they were both children. The memories were mostly unpleasant, however, and he pushed them away as she looked up again.

“And what is it that brings you here so early in the morning, cousin?” asked Arynthya.

“I wished to speak with you before the day began,” he answered carefully. “Since I heard about your return from Kerak, I admit I have been concerned about you. It is not the Arynthya I know who would avoid the side of the Sultan at the siege to remain in her tent instead.”

She looked away, acknowledging the truth in his words.

Kaif persisted. “I know it is difficult for you, Arynthya, to be trapped between these two worlds. But to abandon them both does neither of them good.”

The Amira looked at him incredulously. “When did you grow to be so wise, cousin?”

He smiled, but continued, undaunted. “Is it that you fear you betray your mother’s lineage by aiding the siege?”

“I suppose that may be some part of it.”

“Arynthya,” he began, “The Sultan’s quarrel is not with your kinsmen; it is with Reynald de Chatillon. Would it not be just as good for the King of Jerusalem to be rid of this tyrant as it would be for your uncle?”

“Yes, it would,” she responded, and Kaif thought she looked then more as he remembered her: his wise, formidable young cousin. “I will attend the siege today.”

Scarcely before she had finished her words, Kaif felt a memory of the distant past emerging from the depths of his mind; a memory he had thought was long forgotten.

***

Four students sat with their tutor under a shady cypress in the courtyard of the palace at Damascus. Three of them were nearly young men, and had grown taller and broader over the last summer, their voices deepening. The youngest pupil, however, was a girl of nine, who sat close by the tutor, absorbing his every word. Another of the young men sat a little further back with a companion, resting against the low stone wall which hedged the garden beds, checking a few of his notes studiously. The third student was the furthest removed from the tutor, leaning lazily against the cypress, more interested in the shapes formed by the hazy clouds overhead than in the lesson being given.

“Kaif, you are not listening,” chided the tutor, noting his pupil’s waning interest.

“I am,” he replied in his own defence. “I can listen without looking at you.”

“We shall see how well that strategy works when I begin asking you questions, won’t we Kaif?”

The young man groaned, turning to face the tutor. Satisfied, the teacher continued. “We been learning about the scientific advancements made in the areas of mathematics and astronomy by the Ummayads this week. As the first dynasty following the life and death of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), they were responsible for much of our culture as we know it today—for it was they who transformed the petty pagan tribes of Arabia into an organised and efficient empire, and created an army so effective that their conquests were the fastest since the days of Alexander the Great. And this was remarkable, seeing as a few short generations earlier they were backwater villagers, answering to no-one but themselves.”

Jamil, the student who glanced frequently down to his notes, saw this as an opportunity to speak his mind. “Is this not true evidence of the greatness of our faith, that it would turn a nomad into a King?”

Kaif rolled his eyes. “It was that same faith that caused thousands of deaths, not so many generations ago. Fools like yourself, Jamil, kill because they think they do right. What use is religion other than making sane men fight over this God and that God?”

Their tutor, always tolerant of Kaif’s strong opinions, was about to qualify Jamil’s remarks when the little girl by his feet spoke up.

“But, cousin,” interjected Arynthya, turning to look at him, “Did we not just learn that the advancements made in the fields of astronomy and geography arose from the concern our ancestors had with the precise time and direction for prayer? So you see that in the pursuit of faith, we have added to the knowledge of the world, knowledge that will still be used generations from now, regardless of faith or religion. Is that not admirable, Kaif?”

The tutor placed his hand on the child’s head. “You are a very clever girl,” he said, smiling fondly at the youngest of his pupils. Her older cousin looked at her with his brows knitted tightly. How could this precocious little girl child know so much, and be so well-loved by everyone? As ridiculous as he felt being envious of his little cousin, he could not deny being jealous that she, and not he, was the rising star of Shirkuh’s heirs.

KoC: Untitled Laila & Kaif

As evening approached, and began to cast its shadow over the quieting camp, Kaif lit the lamps, so that they would have a little light until the weariness of the day won over their resolve to stay awake. His slave had risen with him, attempting to aid the lighting of the lamps, but the bronze lights were unlike any she had been accustomed to, and it proved a difficult task for her. Kaif smiled, watching her as she apprehensively lifted the lid of one of the lamps. The naked flame inside cast a warm glow to her cheeks, and he appreciated fully, perhaps for the first time, just how beautiful she was.

Once there was sufficient light inside the tent, they reclaimed their previous positions; master seated by the foot of his bed, and slave near the opposite corner. But he thought that this time she positioned herself a little nearer to the centre of the space, tucking her legs beneath her demurely as before. They had spent much of the late afternoon in light conversation, while Kaif washed and dressed. Words did not come so easily now to him, now that they were seated again as before. Kaif had opened his mouth to speak when heard soft footsteps outside the tent, and turned to look towards the entrance, unsure of who it could be. He glanced at Laila in warning, and she withdrew again into her corner, her expression anxious.

“My Lord Kaif, it is I, Shaadiya,” spoke a woman’s voice from outside, and Laila looked relieved.

“You may enter,” said Kaif, feeling irritated at himself for forgetting that the Sultan’s slave often brought him his evening meals. The woman entered, bearing a large silver tray laden with a variety of dishes.

The woman looked at Laila with a kind eye before setting the tray upon the low table in the middle of the tent. “The Sultan hopes you will enjoy your supper,” she said, and backed out of the room quietly.

After a few moments passed, Kaif looked at his slave mildly. “You must be hungry. Come and eat.”

Laila stood fully up and smooth her wrinkly clothing. It was the same clothing she wore the night before and slept in. She smoothed her hair down as much as she could and slowly walked to the table her master sat at. She was not used to eating at the same table with her master and she felt unsure of herself.

She slowly and gingerly sat down across from Kaif. Wondering if she should serve him the strange food or if he was going to serve her. In a normal situation the slave always served the master. But Laila didn’t know the food well here or how to serve it. She frowned as she slowly reached for the bowl of rice that was in front of her and held up a spoon to server her master.

“No,” said Kaif, gently pushing away Laila’s hand. “Serve yourself first. I am capable of eating without your help,” he jested, smiling a little.

Laila ducked her head and blushed slightly at his jest. Then, lifting the spoon into the bowl and lifting the rice out, she dumped a small portion on her plate. Unsure of how to eat it or what to eat it with. She frowned and looked at her master for guidance. When she was with Saladin, Shaadiya always served her ad she was to frightened to watch the older woman in guidance.

Kaif, noting her apprehension about these unfamiliar eating customs, took a smaller spoon and offered it to her. “You eat it with this.” Her cheeks colored slightly as she took the spoon from his hand. The girl’s awkwardness was amusing to Kaif, who had never seen anyone quite so anxious over dining etiquette before. He took some of the rice in his bowl, along with the plain stew of mutton and vegetables, which had been the staple diet for the soldiers. The tray also bore fresh fish from the Red Sea , a rare luxury for those at the siege, as well as flat bread of fine white flour, and a variety of the fruit native to the region. Kaif saw her looking at the fruit inquisitively. No doubt she had never seen anything like it in her homeland.

Laila looked up at Kaif after steadying the fruit and then stared at the stew and at the fresh fish. She closed her eyes as she saw the fish and stew with mutton in it. Even when she was with Tubort she didn’t at meat. She touched the rice slightly with her spoon and then followed in Kaif’s stead and also took the stew of mutton and vegetables as well as fruit and fish onto her tray and a slice of bread.

Then she took her spoon and dipped it into the stew to slowly take a bite, but before it reached her mouth she cringed and put it down. Whipping it off as best she could she went for the rice instead.

“You don’t eat meat,” observed Kaif, his voice edged with curiosity.

Laila dropped her spoon and shook her head no. Her cheeks turning red slightly as she looked at her master hoping that this wasn’t a bad thing and that she wouldn’t have to eat meat. She cringed again at the thought of eating meat.

“ No sir.” She said softly. “ Meat clouds the mind.” She whispered frowning at the dreaded fish.

“Then you need not eat it,” he said, pulling Laila’s bowl away and replacing it with a new one. “You may eat what you like. Perhaps if these foods do not please you, I can ask for others?”

Laila stared at Kaif. Her spoon was at a stand still half way to her mouth with fruit dripping off it. She turned slightly pale for some reason and then her cheeks colored. She couldn’t believe that her new master was willing to make amends for her. He was willing to order food she liked and wanted to eat. She didn’t have to eat meat? Her dark eyes grew wide and then she shook her head. “ No, no. This is fine. I ate fruits and breads and vegitables in…” Laila stopped and stuck the spoon with the fruit on it in her mouth lowering her eyes trying not to think of home.

Kaif watched as she silenced herself once more. She was still afraid...afraid of what he, as her master, thought of her past. He looked down, suddenly losing his appetite. He had once been sure that she was a Hashshashin spy. Now, he was uncertain, and it frightened him to think that he had come so close, on several occassions, to discarding his vigilance. He remained silent, searching for words of comfort, which felt all the more forced now, after such thoughts.

She looked back up at Kaif and swallowed. She wondered what he thought of her. What was she supposed to think of him. She was not used to having so much time on her own to think of her own thoughts. To feel human again instead of an animal. She looked away. “ In Glastonbury .” She finished as she turned her eyes back towards Kaif. “ My father, was a very important man there. A pagan as you can guess. Why else would the crusaders attack us?” She whispered her eyes brimming with tears and she looked down. If he was going to hurt her, he would have, she thought. It was best to tell him right off who and what she was. She lifted her teary eyes back up towards Kaif’s searching them.

Knitting his brows, Kaif avoided her gaze. "Please, do not cry," he said, feeling his words were strained and unnatural. “Whatever was in your past is behind you now.” He stopped, watching as she composed herself a little. For the briefest of moments, he felt sorry that he had such control over her behaviour, that she would obey anything he commanded…but he was, after all, her master.

Laila sat still for a few minutes swallowing the tears and ducking her head down. She slowly laid down her spoon and lost her appetite. She needed to grieve to forgive and forget the past. Yet it seemed as if no one would let her do this. She sighed. No one wanted a teary eyed slave. The next time she looked at Kaif her eyes were clear of tears and her face was expressionless. Once again, she put up that stone wall around her so she would be whatever it was her master wanted. Growing quite, she slowly continued to eat her food. Though she was not hungry.

Disguising the guilt he felt for suppressing her emotions under a frown, Kaif fiddled childishly with the torn end of his tunic. Raising an eye discreetly as a silence descended on the tent, he noticed that she only picked at her food gingerly. It was entirely his fault…it felt as though she had been more relaxed in his company this evening, and his lack of empathy had destroyed that short-lived triumph. But why did it concern him so much whether or not this miserable slave girl was comfortable with him—especially when she was, in all likelihood, unworthy of his trust? But no…even if she was the spy whom he dreaded so anxiously, her unhappiness would not do. If it was aimed at wearing down his resolve, then so be it.

“Perhaps,” began Kaif, looking up with a pleasanter expression on his face, “Perhaps you would like to go outside tomorrow? I hate to think of you as a prisoner inside this tent all day.”

Laila’s dark eyes lit up at the prospect of going outside. When she had been a free person, she had lived outdoors. She had always been tramping all over the hillside of Glastonbury. When she had been captured by Turbert, he had never let her outside.

“I would greatly enjoy that.” She said her eyes full of hope.

Heartened by the brightness of her eyes at his suggestion, Kaif gazed at her warmly, watching as she turned her head towards the far side of the tent. She seemed to be lost in memories...but pleasant ones it seemed. So she could not take happiness from the present...that was not so remarkable. She was, after all, the belonging of a man whom she neither knew nor loved, slave to any whim he might possess. But a part of him wished that it was not so.

“Good. I will take you outside the camp tomorrow, perhaps to the hills to the east. From there, you will see Kerak and all the land around us,” replied Kaif, and she turned her gaze to meet his. When he remembered that scarcely three days ago, she could only look at him when ordered, he felt the momentarily forgotten suspicion flicker once more inside him. If she was the spy, so be it. He no longer cared what end he might meet. He was willing to let himself be charmed by this girl, and in doing so, throw caution, and perhaps his own life, into the wind.