said, 'Come with me, we will secure our invitation to the feast.'
The horrified innkeeper started after her. 'My lady, this you cannot do. It is -'
Cait turned on him, and let fly. 'You will not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do! I have five noblemen who require beds tonight. Not merchants: noblemen. Knights! They are newly released from captivity and are not of a mind to sleep in your stinking stable. So, if I were you, my oily friend,' she jabbed a finger into his flabby chest, 'I would not waste another moment worrying about my precious propriety, but would start trying to save my worthless skin. For unless you find rooms where my men will be comfortable, I will give them leave to peel you like a grape.'
With that, Cait turned and marched directly into the inner courtyard to a flurry of protestation from a red- faced, horrified innkeeper. The courtyard had been spread with rugs and cushions for the comfort of the merchants and their guests, who were reclining around large brass trays filled with cups and jars, and bowls of olives and roasted pine nuts.
At her sudden appearance, all conversation ceased. The merchants looked up to see a woman livid with rage sweeping into their midst. For a moment they merely stared, and when it appeared that she was not about to leave, one of them rose to his feet and addressed her courteously. Abu translated.
'Most gracious lady,' he said, 'you honour us with your radiant presence.' A swarthy man of middle years, his ample form swathed in costly robes of glistening blue and black and crimson, he touched his fingertips to his forehead and made an elaborate flourish with his hand-a flash of gold from the rings on every finger. 'I am Ibn Umar al-Farabi, purveyor of rare spices from the Orient. How may I be of service to you?'
'It seems the rooms which I have engaged for my party have been given to you and your friends.'
'Indeed?' remarked the merchant with mild surprise when Abu had relayed her words. 'Nothing was said of this to me. I am sorry, but I fear there is little to be done about it now. We have already paid for the rooms, you see.'
'Also, the meal which you will be served was bespoken by me,' she told him bluntly.
'Again,' replied the trader, 'it is unfortunate, but we were not told of this – otherwise we would certainly have made other arrangements. As it is, we have paid for the meal and it is even now being prepared. There is no remedy, I fear.' He inclined his head sympathetically. 'Please accept my deepest regrets.'
The other merchants were listening now; she saw one of them smile with a smugness that brought her already seething rage to a roaring boil.
'You may keep your regrets. I have no use for them,' Cait snapped. 'However, I may be persuaded to accept an invitation to join you at table tonight – sharing the cost, of course.'
The Arab twisted a gold ring on his finger. 'Truly, you are as astute as you are determined. Therefore, it pains me to confess that we cannot offer you the invitation you suggest. For, according to our faith, it is a sin for a follower of Muhammed, peace be upon him for ever, to entertain an infidel beneath the roof of his house.'
Abu relayed the merchant's words, and added for Cait's benefit: 'This is not strictly accurate. I believe he is testing you, sharifah.'
Cait considered this observation, and countered, 'If this is all that prevents you, allow me to put your pious soul at ease. We are not infidels, as you conveniently suppose, but Ahl al-Kitab, People of the Book.' Indicating the dusky red sky overhead, she said, 'Also, the roof you see above you was created by God himself, and it is his good pleasure that all his many children might sit with one another beneath it so that harmony and understanding may increase.'
A shrewd smile spread slowly across the Arab's smooth face. 'I perceive that you are a most formidable advocate,' said Ibn Farabi, bowing low. 'I yield to your superior judgement. Therefore, let it be as you say.' Spreading his jewelled hands wide in welcome, he said, 'Please join us, and what was to have been a simple meal among friends will become a banquet.'
Cait thanked the merchant for his liberality and sent Abu to bring the knights. They trooped noisily into the courtyard, still reeling with the heady intoxication of freedom. Haemur and Otti came next with a mortified Alethea trying to remain invisible behind them.
Upon seeing their dinner companions, however, the Norsemen's jubilant expressions faded abruptly. Cait heard the ugly growl of muttered oaths. 'It is not what I planned,' she told them sternly, 'but it comes to this: dine with them, or go hungry. You decide.'
As they stood staring dully at their reluctant Arab hosts, the first platters arrived-two large brass trays bearing a veritable mound of apricot-stuffed partridges, and a wicker basket heaped with bread in flat round loaves. The trays were served by the innkeeper's wife and daughters, dressed for the evening in shimmering green satin with strands of gold coins on their brows and in their hair.
'Well?' demanded Cait. The aroma of the roast fowls filled the courtyard, and the knights' gaze shifted from the Arabs to the mounded platters. 'What is it to be?'
'Lady,' Rognvald answered, recovering something of his former exuberance, 'tonight I would sup with the Devil himself for a taste of this feast.' Turning to the others, he said, 'Not so?'
They all agreed, so Cait bade her band of prison-haunted knights, land-locked sailors, and mortified sister to follow her and, with Abu's help, presented each in turn to al-Farabi, who welcomed them and introduced them to his four fellow merchants and their companions. The two parties sat down uneasily together. One of the knights reached straight for a roast fowl, and would have gulped it down, but for Cait's sharp tap on his wrist. 'This is not prison slops in a trough, it is a banquet. We are guests, not prisoners. Therefore, you will behave as if you have dined in civilized company before.' She turned her withering gaze on the rest of them. 'You may look like denizens of the dung heap, but try to remember you are noblemen, and let us refrain from giving these Arabs the satisfaction of slandering us when we leave.'
Alethea, blushing crimson, lowered her eyes and shrank even further into herself. But the knights accepted the reproach with good grace. Duly chastised, they assumed a more courtly demeanour and began to imitate their Muhammedan hosts. They washed their hands in the basins provided, and proceeded to dip from the platter with their right hand, placing the food on a flat of bread balanced on their left.
More platters and bowls were brought-herbed vegetables soaked in olive oil and grilled over coals, fish and olives in mustard sauce, and slivered cucumbers in salted cream and vinegar. A careful, if not altogether convivial, silence descended over the meal as the hungry Norwegians filled empty stomachs with food they would have gladly given sight and sanity to eat only half a day ago. The merchants, not to be outdone at their own feast, kept pace with their ravenous guests, and the food rapidly disappeared. Indeed, the hungry company was just finishing the platter of partridges when the centrepiece of the meal arrived: a whole roast lamb stuffed with rice, leeks, pistachios, and spiced sausage surrounded by a sunburst of spit-roasted doves glazed with sweet mulberry jelly.
As this grand dish was laid before the delighted company, the innkeeper appeared, and meekly enquired if the meal was satisfactory. 'Is all to your liking?' he asked, tugging at his moustache with apprehension.
'Bring us wine,' Cait told him, 'and, God willing, all shall yet be well.'
'At once,' said the innkeeper, hurrying away.
Within moments, wine was pouring from tall pitchers into cups and bowls. The Muhammedans did not drink the wine, but continued to sip their shardbah, an infusion of violets in sweetened water; the knights, however, more than made up for the Muslims' restraint by quaffing the luscious dark liquid in deep draughts until it ran down their untidy beards.
As night drew in around them, casting the company into deep shadow, the innkeeper brought torches which he placed in jars of sand around the courtyard; the resulting flames cast all in a rosy glow, allowing Cait to study her ragged band of knights.
There was Yngvar, first chosen, a big man, tall, with hands easily twice the size of her own. His fair hair was long and looked as if it had been gnawed by rats. As she had noticed in prison, he favoured his left side somewhat-wincing now and then when he laughed. But that did not stop the laughter. His face was open and honest, and his deep-set eyes seemed like chips of northern slate beneath the overhanging ledge of his brow.
Next to him sat Svein: darker, more thoughtful, genial, but reserved. Cait suspected that however much he might nod and laugh with the others, the greater part of him remained aloof and watchful. The weight of his captivity lay heavy on him; his broad shoulders drooped from carrying the burden of that long oppression. And although he said little, Cait could tell from the wry, knowing expression when she talked that his understanding of Latin was better than his fellows, and perhaps equal to her own.
