Beside Svein was Dag, whose knowledge of Latin appeared to extend only so far as the end of his well-shaped chin. Nor, Cait suspected, was he troubled by an overly energetic intellect. But, where the others looked like they had been pulled fresh from the hostage pit, he appeared as hale as a man who had just woken from a long nap. Younger than the others, he was undeniably handsome, and enjoyed the confidence his dusky good looks bestowed. Even so, Cait was pleased to see he displayed none of the conceit that good-looking men so often cultivated. He was easy with himself and the others, his smile at once genuine and effortless. Beside Dag sat the unknown knight, guarded, silent, happily making himself an unobtrusive, humble presence.
And then, next to her, Rognvald. Tall and gaunt, his flesh seemed to hang on his bones, but the bones were strong. Cait imagined that a few weeks of good food, clean air, and rest would restore his former strength and chase the prison pallor from his face. And it was, she decided, a good face-a true Nordic face with generous features and a long straight nose. He was past the first blush of youth-his sand-coloured hair had begun to thin somewhat, and the lines were beginning to deepen on his face-but, just sitting next to him, she sensed a steady and resolute spirit, and his quick blue eyes hinted at hidden depths.
While she might have hoped for a more imposing bodyguard, Cait was satisfied. They were near kinsmen, after all; with their familiar Scandic features they might have been brothers, uncles, or cousins, and she felt she understood them. In the strangeness of this foreign land, she found their presence comforting and reassuring and she was confident that once they had exchanged their prison clothes for attire more natural to their rank, they would begin to resemble something more impressive than the moth-eaten coterie she saw before her now.
After the first pangs of hunger were appeased, the meal took on a more cordial atmosphere. The warmth of food and wine and the pleasant surroundings of the courtyard worked a charm of peace and calm. Conversation became more cheerful, filling the evening with an amiable companionship which expanded to embrace them all.
In their elation over the extravagant and sumptuous fare, the Norsemen completely forgot their qualms about eating with Arabs, and the sedately dignified merchants gave every appearance of enjoying the company of the raucously enthusiastic northerners. Though they could not speak to one another, save through Abu's mediation, the Arabs offered their boisterous guests choice morsels of succulent lamb, or tiny spiced sausages. For their parts, the knights loudly acclaimed the virtues of their hosts with endless salutes of their cups. All around the circle, smiles came easier and laughter more frequent – even Alethea, from the security of her place beside old Haemur, had shaken off her embarrassment and was enjoying herself.
As she sat watching the others eat and drink and laugh, Cait felt the hard-twisted knot she had carried within her for many days begin to loosen and unwind. She found herself wishing Duncan could be there to enjoy it. Papa would have loved this, she thought, and suddenly the grief which she had succeeded in stifling since Constantinople rolled over her in a great fathomless wave. Tears welled suddenly and unexpectedly in her eyes. To hide them, she bent her head over her cup and let them fall.
'Lady,' murmured Rognvald beside her, 'are you well?'
She nodded, dabbing the tears away with the back of her hand.
'Celebrations always make me cry, too,' he confided. She glanced up quickly to see if he was mocking her, but could not tell from his thoughtful expression.
'I suppose I am just a little tired,' she said.
'It has been an eventful day for all of us.' He raised his cup, held it up to her, then drank a silent health in her honour, before filling his bowl with more roast lamb.
As the moon rose above the finger-thin tops of the cypress trees lining the courtyard and showered the company with its gentle glow, a man in a white turban and long black cloak appeared in the arched doorway. Instantly, Ibn Farabi rose from his place, and clapped his hands for silence. Gesturing for Abu to join him, he made a formal announcement in Arabic, which Abu translated:
'Friends and esteemed companions,' the merchant said, 'I have now the very great pleasure of presenting to you the renowned seer and conjurer, Jalal Sinjari, who has kindly consented to perform for us this evening a few of his legendary feats.'
The innkeeper and his family, and several of the other guests at the inn, slipped in through the door to stand along the perimeter of the courtyard and watch the dark magician who stepped forward, bowed, and made a fluttery movement with his hands. Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, and two small boys appeared beside him, one on either side. Dressed in white tunics and trousers, barefoot, their hair shaved to a single thick knot which hung from the back of their heads, they knelt and touched their foreheads to the ground. Sinjari stretched a hand over each of the boys and, still kneeling, they floated up into the air.
Then, producing two large squares of blue silk cloth from beneath his cloak, he covered first one boy and then the other. He lifted his hands and the boys drifted higher still, and then hung there, suspended in the air while Sinjari, his arms spread wide, walked beneath them to the chorused murmurs of his small crowd. He stepped back, holding his hands high, turned his face heavenward, drew breath, and gave out a mighty shout. In the same instant, he leapt forward and, seizing a corner of the silk in each hand, whipped the coverings away.
There was a popping sound and a flurry of white flower petals whirled and spun around the magician. Cait felt a puff of warm air on her face and was bathed in the fragrance of roses. The unexpected marvel delighted even as it astonished, and Cait laughed out loud. She laughed again when the conjurer turned around and… there were the two boys clinging to his back!
They somersaulted to the ground and, while the diners and onlookers applauded and rattled their cups against the brass trays, the boys ran off to fetch a large, urn-shaped wicker basket which they dragged forward between them. One removed the basket's lid, and the other retrieved a small pipe-like flute which the conjurer began to play with a raspy, low, droning sound. The noise, while not entirely pleasant to Cait's ear, nevertheless made her feel as if a subtle movement was taking place in the earth beneath her, and all around; the trees and walls and air seemed to quiver with the sound.
For a long time nothing appeared to be happening, but as the buzzing notes from the pipe began to quicken, there came a movement from the basket which drew gasps and shrieks from the onlookers as what appeared to be the head and thick sinuous form of a gigantic serpent rose slowly above the rim of the basket.
But it was not a snake-it was a heavy braided rope, the end of which had been knotted and bound. Up it went, slowly undulating as it rose ever higher, as if drawn upward by unseen hands. Eventually, the top of the rope reached up beyond the small sphere of torchlight, and there it stopped, stretching itself taut. Without taking his lips from the pipe or interrupting the strange low melody, Sinjari nodded to the boy beside him, who began to climb, wrapping his arms and legs around the rope and gripping it with his bare feet.
Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the top. Cait could see his small form dimly outlined in the moonlight as he clung there above the courtyard. Only then did the conjurer cease his playing. He called up to the boy, who answered him, his small voice drifting down to them. Handing the pipe to the other boy, Sinjari took hold of the rope with both hands and began to shake it, shouting angrily at the boy above.
The frightened child cried out, but the conjurer paid him no heed. Indeed, the more he cried, the more Sinjari shook the rope, each jerk growing more violent until those looking on were shouting, too-for the magician to desist and let the boy descend.
Their pleas were too late, for Sinjari gave the rope a final terrible jolt and the hapless child shrieked and lost his grip, plummeting to the courtyard like a stone, the rope collapsing over him. But when Cait looked, she saw only an empty tunic and pair of trousers. Of the boy there was no other sign.
The spectators gaped in amazement and declaimed to one another in voices thin with shock as the other boy picked up the crumpled clothes and threw them into the basket, and then fed in the rope, coiling it round and round. Sinjari meanwhile walked to one of the torches and pulled it from its container. Returning to the basket, he pointed to it, and the boy with the rope climbed inside, pulling the last of the rope in with him.
The magician replaced the domed lid and, taking up one of the blue silks, covered the basket with the cloth. He called out to the boy inside, who answered. He called out again, and the boy answered likewise; he called a third time, and before the boy could make his reply, Sinjari whipped away the cloth and, throwing off the lid, thrust the torch inside.
Cait, fearing the boy would be burned, threw her hands before her face. Otti leaped to his feet and prepared to charge to the boy's rescue – and was restrained with difficulty by Haemur and Abu-while the others cried out in dismay for the child's sake. But the magician, impervious to their anguished shouts, stirred the torch around and around, filling the basket with flames.
