Amongst Silk and Spice (5 page)

Eloise hadn't been let out of the cabin for weeks. She was going mad in there, but she had a young Cathayan girl acting as a ladies maid, bringing her meals, while a guard kept the door locked at all times. She was being treated like a high-born lady and it was Hugo's doing. But Eloise would readily trade these privileges for freedom, any day.

There was only a small round hole to give her a view of the outside, but invariably there was little to see other than the muddy river and the gray landscape.

It was getting warmer and the cabin was often stifling. She saw very little of Hugo and for that, she was grateful. All she wanted to do was hit him, not that it seemed to make a bit of difference. Sometimes, she wished she was inhumanly strong, so she could really hit him—she even wished she truly was a witch so she could curse him. Of all the people they could have sent, it had to be Hugo Beauford. They could have sent someone nice and charming. Hugo was a brute with the manners of a stick. Although, mostly, she was just upset that they had sent someone at all. She was happy in Cathay. She'd known she would eventually have to make the journey back to Europe, but she hadn't expected she'd be forced to.

The scenery out her porthole changed little. The river was the same, although the landscape was growing more barren. This had to be the longest river in the world.

They were pulling into port again, some stop along the river like the hundreds before, but this time her door swung open, and Hugo crowded the doorway. "Let's go."

She hated how he just ordered her around, like she was obligated to take his orders, but she also knew he had no manners and would carry her if she refused. "I hate you."

"As you please," he said, completely uncaring. He walked ahead of her and Eloise stared daggers into his back. The sun was bright when she reached the deck and it stung her eyes. The winds were warm. They were close to the desert, while the city of Lanzhou stretched in front of her. Behind the city's defensive walls, she could see the pagodas and the Buddhist temples, even the massive waterwheel by the river.

Hugo held out his hand for her, to help her down the gangway. She wanted to refuse, but she did need some stability, and it would be far more embarrassing falling in the river to have to be rescued by him. She took his outstretched hand. It was firm and warm, and she was almost surprised to realize he was an actual human being.

Lanzhou wasn't large and there was nowhere for her to go. He would find her eventually if she escaped. They walked through the main gates, and the Mongol guards checked Hugo's tablet, which allowed him passage through the land. They gave her no consideration, assuming she belonged to him. She burned with embarrassment and anger. She did not belong to him and she resented anyone assuming so, but she was a lone woman, and as such, she was more or less invisible.

"Come," he said, leading her through the busy streets. Lanzhou was at the heart Cathayan, but there was a stronger mix of cultures as it was a trading post between east, west, north and south. Eloise saw Mohammedeans with their covered heads and dark eyes—a thought of Malik pierced through her. There were also darker faces from India, a place she had been planning to explore once she left Cambeluc, and the round cheeks of the Mongol traders.

No one batted an eyelid at seeing Europeans, who likely passed through the town on a regular basis, but she garnered some sly looks in her red dress. The European travelers who came through here were more often than not men.

"I have to send a message to Malik," she said. He would be beyond worried about her now. She had hoped he would rescue her, but it hadn't happened—truthfully, she'd known he wouldn't. A stab of disappointment pierced her, but she knew his ways and beliefs. Hugo ignored her. "You are cruel and inconsiderate of others’ suffering," she said loudly.

Finally he stopped. "Am I to encourage you to send a note to your lover?"

"He will be sick of worry. It is ungenerous to be so uncaring of anyone's suffering."

Hugo, with his hand resting on his sword hilt, turned back and kept walking. Eloise kicked him in the leg, which made him stop again and turn back to her. "I'm warning you."

"What? You're going to be cruel and heartless? How extraordinary," she said sarcastically. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her in front of him, pushing her along if she slowed down, until they reached a building with red lettering down the side. Hugo urged her into the building. He obviously knew where he was going.

The inside was calm stone—a church, seemingly empty. It was cool inside Eloise could see the altar at the front, and pews on either side of the room. It looked both familiar and foreign. The script everywhere was in Cathayan script, but it was apparently a church—Nestorian. Nestorian churches existed all over Cathay, allowed free worship by the tolerance of the Mongols. It provided sanctuary to all Christians, even if the Nestorian church was not recognized by the papacy.

An older man appeared, dressed in heavier robes similar to the Greek Churches. "Welcome," he said in Persian.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Eloise said back and the man smiled. He bowed to them and showed them to a side door, where travelers were welcomed to stay. Meanwhile, Hugo was staring at her as if she'd spoken in tongues. "Persian," she said.

"I wasn't aware that you speak Persian."

"I speak a bit of everything. Enough to get by." Malik had of course taught her.

The room they were allowed to stay in was nothing but an empty room with a dirt floor and a rounded, stone ceiling. "We need some blankets," Hugo said. "It is cold in the desert. I would go on my own, but I know you would have some hare-brained idea and go running off, and I cannot be bothered chasing you around this town, so you're coming with me."

Eloise was offended. Even she knew that this place was too small to get away. The only escape would be by boat and she had no means to organize it. He really did think her an idiot. Eloise ground her teeth together in annoyance and frustration. Please God, strike him down with a bolt of lightning, she prayed. As she was in a church, maybe God would hear her prayer.

She followed him back out into the street and toward the market place. "We'll buy two camels tomorrow. You are aware that if you run off in the desert, you'll die."

"I'm not entirely as stupid as you think. I survived this journey once before, you know. And I've survived in these lands a lot longer than you have."

Hugo threw her a glance, but let the comment go unnoticed. Eloise looked up at the sky, hoping to see a thunder cloud forming, but there was nothing but pink and purple dusk. It would be dark soon.

Hugo bought blankets and water pouches. "We'll have to get the rest of the supplies in the morning." He turned back to the street, but now looked uncertain. It wasn't often he looked uncertain.

"What?" she asked.

"Where shall we eat?"

"What do you wish for?"

"Something hearty—a stew, maybe. This will be the last proper meal in days."

Eloise tried to think. There was nothing like an English stew anywhere around here as far as she’d ever seen, but the Mongols liked their stewed meat.

"Alright. Perhaps best to find somewhere serving the Mongols." They walked for a while before they found a place with a sign in Mongol Cyrillic. Eloise couldn't read it or even speak a word of Mongol, but she could recognize their unique script.

The restaurant was tiny, tended by a small woman with rosy, red cheeks. She was clearly a Mongol. Eloise could only communicate in sign language and they would get whatever food the woman cared to serve them. For being a conquering horde, the Mongols were surprisingly hospitable. There was a duality in their character. They were insistent on their rule, but also tolerant of others. As long as you didn't break their rules or threaten them, they didn't care what you got up to.

"You don't speak all languages, then."

Eloise ignored him and watched the woman, who retreated to the back where a large pot was cooking over a fire. It smelled delicious and Eloise's stomach was sensing that food was near. The woman took the lid off the pot and stirred it before scooping portions into a clay pot, which she brought to them, placing it between them, along with wooden bowls and spoons, skewers and Cathayan sticks.

It smelled wonderful. "It's the closest thing to a stew," Eloise said as she leaned over the pot, scooping a portion into her bowl. It was most likely goat, but it had been cooked long enough to make the meat tender. It didn't have the pungent flavors she liked, but it was a hearty, warm meal.

They spoke little over supper and Eloise watched him when she'd finished, fishing out everything in the clay pot. Again, Eloise considered how the boy she'd known had grown into a man.

"Are you married?"

"No."

He'd said he had no children, but she hadn't realized he'd never married. "What of Ritchie?"

"He died," Hugo said.

Eloise blinked, not having realized. She'd never really liked Hugo's younger brother, even if he'd been slightly less of a swine than Hugo. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

Hugo finished eating and looked away. "We should rest now," he said and got up, paying the woman with the paper currency. She was happy with the payment and smiled at them.

"What happened to him?" she asked when they were out on the street again. Lanterns lit the way along the narrow streets, built out of the same stone as the gray hills around them.

"Who?"

"Richard."

"He died at Guines," Hugo said, continuing walking. Hugo and Richard had been inseparable growing up. It must have hurt him gravely losing his brother. She didn't know much about the French battles, but knew that some of them were brutal, and some had heavy losses. She wanted to ask if Hugo was at Guines at the time as well, but recognized by his behavior that he didn't want to discuss it.

Hugo was walking back to the Nestorian church, which was dimly lit inside. There were other people in the travelers' lodge—Latins by the look of them—dusty and exhausted as if they'd just come from the desert. That would be them before long.

Eloise heard the large doors to the church lock and turned to see the priest, who smiled modestly. "Which way have you come from?" he asked.

"Cambeluc," she said.

"How are things there? Worries seem to be growing, as is the resentment toward the Mongols. Has it reached Cambeluc as well?"

Eloise stepped closer to the priest. "There is more unrest."

"I fear the Mongols will fall," he said, echoing the things Malik had been saying. "The Cathayans have no love for us and may seek to drive us out. I can't see them welcoming foreigners after having to contend with foreign invaders for so long. We've already been driven out by the Saracens. We have nowhere to go. Can't go east or west, might have to consider north or south."

Eloise recognized the dilemma for the man. There were no Christian lands out here and they were always at the mercy of the tolerance of other peoples, and tolerance was in ever-shorter supply these days. But it wasn't only the Christians who had to worry, all others who lived here by the tolerance of the Mongols were equally at risk if the Mongols fell.

Eloise smiled at the man, having nothing else to advise him, but wishing him well. They would pay the church in the morning for its generosity in letting them stay, not that it would do anything to solve the likely turbulent future the supporters of this church would face.

They didn't speak the next morning. Hugo packed provisions onto the camels, while Eloise stood by nervously. Crossing the desert was dangerous, not something done on a whim. But there was apparently a convoy of Mohammedeans leaving that day, so they were going to link onto the back, which pleased Eloise, because they were apparently experienced traders.

Hugo ignored her, focusing on the task of getting them ready. "If you're going to send a message to your lover, this is your last chance," he said without looking at her.

Eloise felt elation soar as Malik's worry was something that weighed on her, needing an opportunity to say good bye to a man who had meant a great deal to her. Saying that, when this was all over, she wasn't sure she would return after gaining her freedom again, because they couldn't very well keep her prisoner. A dread settled in her belly as she didn't know what her father was capable of. She knew what happened to her mother, so he was capable of quite a bit. Whatever was to come, and however she managed to gain her freedom again, because she would, she couldn't quite see herself heading back to Cathay. She might not have chosen to leave, but perhaps it was time to move on—something she'd been putting off because she'd been comfortable and happy with Malik, even knowing there was no future there.

Taking the paper currency from Hugo, she nodded, feeling slightly bashful taking the money from him, but she had none of her own. She wanted to say that she would pay him back, but he was the cause of this, so why should she feel uncomfortable about a service that wouldn't be necessary but for his actions.

She walked over to the administrator's office and managed to convey that she needed to send a letter to Cambeluc. The Mongolians ran a message service through the empire, which was incredibly useful—something they should consider in Europe.

Finding a seat, she stared at the paper, not knowing what to write, how to say good-bye to the man who had been such an important part of her life. She wasn't certain she could have brought herself to do this if it wasn't pushed on her.

Dear Malik,

I love you. My father insists on seeing me. I am fine, about to cross the desert.

She stared at it for a long time, but the words just didn't flow. What was there to say?

I wish you every happiness. We may not meet again. Thank you for everything.

Your Deepest Friend,

Eloise

It wasn't even close to what she felt, but she needed to send something. Most of all, she didn't want him worrying or fretting about her. She was going to be fine, after sorting out this set back. Sitting back, Eloise rested the stylus in her hand, looking out the window, having no idea what the future held for her. There had been a part of her that had wanted Malik to be her home for now and forever, but it just wasn't going to be. She knew that, but it still hurt.

Sighing, Eloise cleared those heavy thoughts away, folded the note and wrote Malik's name and office on the back, handing it to the administrative clerk and paying for the service.

Hugo was waiting outside, holding the reins of the two camels. "Ready?"

"No," she said, knowing he wouldn't care less.

He turned to walk down the street and Eloise considered grabbing something heavy and hitting him over the head. Although he would deserve it, she wasn't sure she could live with herself if she accidentally killed him—though likely he would have no qualms if the tables were turned.

Reluctantly, Eloise followed as they moved toward the gate to the city's walls. The hot winds and glaring sun hit her as soon as they left the protection of the city's structures, walking down a bare road that led away from the river.

The convoy was in the distance, but Hugo saw no need to catch up. Eloise suspected they would stay quite far from the main group, keeping them in sight to ensure they weren't wandering off, or worse, in circles. The desert claimed people, swallowed them up to never been seen again.

They walked for a few hours in compete silence. Eloise had nothing to say to him and he seemed to have little to say on any topic. Eventually her legs grew tired and Hugo bid one of the camels to kneel for her, which then lurched violently when it rose again, with her clasping tightly onto the saddle.

The eerie silence of the desert surrounded them. Only the wind could be heard as they headed out into complete nothingness, away from safety and civilization. Eloise wondered if this was what sailors felt when they headed out for a long voyage, alone and defenseless against the vast ocean, where there was no recourse if they ran into trouble. She didn't want to die in the company of Hugo Beauford. That would be too cruel a fate.

Eloise listened to Hugo's and the camels’ footsteps, letting her thoughts wander, which returned to England and all the unpleasantness attached to her last days there. She would never forgive her father for forcing her back, but truthfully, it was what he'd done to her mother that she would truly never forgive. His annulment of the marriage was what kept her safe—otherwise, she was bound to do anything he told her to, not allowed choice in anything but her own thoughts.

She watched Hugo as he walked ahead, still holding the reins of his camel, wondering what thoughts occupied his mind. She still couldn't get a grasp on him and what went on in his head, having no idea what concerned him, other than the perils of the desert. He was the consummate warrior, but there was also loss there—loss he kept well hidden.

The days blended together. They slept in beds they made with blankets, ate the dried meat and meal. The fruit and vegetables started rotting, except for the lemons and honey, which both lasted. She was actually impressed Hugo had bought the strange fruits, but they were in the provisions bag, and she suspected he would have been given them on first crossing the desert.

She still refused to talk to him and he remained silent as well. What was there to say? He knew her opinion of him and it hadn't changed.

The desert grew more solitary, though, less scrubs and only sand, the wind singling as it lifted the sand off the dunes.

They kept in sight of the convoy, but never made up the distance between them, until they reached the crescent lake monastery.

The Mohammedeans had stopped, still watering their camels when Hugo and Eloise reached the lake. The camels went straight for the water, drinking their fill, before hunching down, settling in the sand and eating the grain Hugo placed in bowls in front of them. The monastery was Buddhist, but they welcomed all travelers to their tiny oasis in the middle of the desert. The sand went all the way to the edge of the lake, shaped in the crescent around the monastery, surrounded by a small oasis of lush trees and plants.

The monks gave them food, which consisted of flavorful lentils and rice. It made for a wonderful change from the stodgy meal and dried meat, and Eloise sat down in the shade of a tree.

She'd taken to wearing her shawl over her head like a veil. The red material was sheer enough to see through, but it kept the sun and biting sand off her face. Hugo's face was sparkling slightly with the thin layer of sand covering every exposed surface, and she watched as he walked to the water's edge and washed his hands and face, scooping the water over his head and through his hair.

"You should cover your head from the sun," she said. Like her, his light skin could not take the brutal sun of the desert.

"I know. I have purchased a length of materials off the idolaters," Hugo said, referring to the monks that lived and worshiped in this desolate place. "Although I don't know what kind of god they are finding out here."

Eloise smiled, suspecting Hugo didn't understand their religion, and didn't want to. She wondered if he prayed. The Mohammedeans did. They had all unrolled small carpets and were kneeling down on them, silently chanting their prayers. Hugo sat down next to her and watched. "They do that five times a day, apparently."

"Yes," Eloise said, thinking back on Malik and the things he did. He wasn't the most pious in his worship, but he performed the rituals demanded of him when he had the opportunity, particularly any time he felt troubled. "They are very structured in their ways."

The Mohammedeans ignored their presence, although they were curious but wary of the Christian knight in their midst. It was not long ago they had warred, when the Christians had been pushed out of Acre and their last holds near Jerusalem—memories of those battles prevented many friendships.

"You do not pray then?" she asked.

"Before battle all men pray."

Eloise turned to him, watching as his gaze scanned their surroundings. He was more on edge now that they were surrounded by what he likely saw as enemies, more so than when they were far away, keeping the convoy just in sight. His arms were wrapped around his knees, water drops still glistening in his blond hair.

Truthfully, he seemed a much more foreign creature than the dark-skinned men around them—a warrior and a nobleman—two things completely incomprehensible to Eloise.

"Why are you not married?" she asked, not quite sure herself where the question had come from.

Hugo shrugged. "We are at war and there is no place for a wife in such times. Besides, the king is too distracted with other things to play matchmaker. He wants this war finished and with the French king's capture, he seeks to secure the throne."

Eloise turned from him, bored with this never-ending war. She understood the politics and the economic gain from the fertile French soils, but it was still French soil and they were English, no matter their king's heritage. As with most nobles, both her and Hugo's families had French heritage, her more so as her mother had been French, but for most, their links with France spanned from the Norman Conquest, centuries ago, still the heredital relationship fleeted. Eloise wasn't sure the two people could ever be reconciled under one king, but Hugo would probably argue the point with her, so she kept silent.

"I was for a short time," he said.

"Married?"

"The plague took them."

"Them?"

"There was a boy. I never met him." Hugo got up and walked away, and Eloise just stared after him, dumbfounded, trying to absorb what he'd just admitted. He'd been married and he'd lost his wife, and a child. Hugo's losses ran deeper than she'd recognized—his father, his brother and his own family. She felt guilty for being so insensitive now, for assuming there was nothing more to him than the brute she saw him as.