Her eyes widened. “Camels,” she repeated in awe. “They sound like monsters.”
He grinned, lopsided. “They are most assuredly not, though they are ugly enough,” he said. “Many of the Muslims travel with them instead of horses. They have more endurance than a horse.”
She was fascinated with the idea of a camel. “It seems incredible to imagine such a beast, truly. Are there any in England?”
He shrugged. “I have not seen any,” he said. “I think they prefer the hotter climate. They would not do well in our cold and wet seasons.”
He suddenly stood up from the stump, making his way over to where she was sitting. Andressa watched him curiously, perhaps a bit fearfully, preparing to leap to her feet if he came too close. When she saw him pick up a stick, she was very close to scrambling away from him, but he came to a pause by a strip of mud near the stream, something that didn’t have any growth or grass on it. He began to draw in the mud with the stick.
“This is what they look like,” he said as he sketched out a shape. “Very tall, very big. They have also been known to spit when displeased.”
Very interested, Andressa moved so that she could see what he was drawing. It looked like a horse with a big, flat head and a hump on its back.
“Fascinating,” she said, grinning. Then, she sat back, looking up at him. “What else did you see? Were the savages truly dressed in skins and speaking the language of Satan?”
He shook his head. “Nay, they were not dressed in skins,” he said. He thought carefully on his answer because his reply was something that was not conventional thought amongst the Christian armies. “If you want to know the truth, many were men of intelligence and education. Their families are thousands of years old. They have strange customs, that is true, but there were some I came to know and I found them inoffensive.”
Andressa listened seriously. “But they worship their own god.”
“They worship one god, as we do, and it is the same god. They simply call him a different name.”
It was clear she had never heard such a thing. “What do they call him?”
“Allah.”
She thought on that. “What a strange name,” she said. “Why do they not simply call him God, as we do?”
“Allah means God in their language.”
“Mother Abbess has said it is Satan’s language.”
He finished with the camel drawing, standing back to take a look at his handiwork. “It isnotSatan’s language,” he said. “It is an ancient language, and quite beautiful if you listen closely.Ladayk jamal alshams almushriqa.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that their language?” she gasped. “What did you say?”
A smile played on his lips. “I said that you have the beauty of the rising sun,” he said. “The Muslim poets are great flatterers. That is part of a song I heard once. I was riding down an alleyin the city of Caesarea, north of Jerusalem, and I heard a young man singing as he played a harp he had made himself. The words went something like this–In a world of darkness, you are my only light, with the beauty of the rising sun.It was a lovely song.”
Andressa was enchanted with the entire conversation, swept up by his deep, rumbling voice and stories of the great and mysterious Levant. But it also brought her back to the days of Okehampton Castle, when she was exposed to the beauty and excitement of life. Minstrels, plays, book reading… they had been everyday occurrences and as Maxton spoke of faraway lands, she began to realize just how much she was missing tucked away in St. Blitha.
The loneliness and isolation were something she’d long struggled with, even as memories of her former world were shoved aside. She was so very lonely in this cold, terrible place, and she missed the beauty of the world outside the walls of St. Blitha. Hearing Maxton’s words was like a stab to her tender heart because she could see just how isolated she had become from things that used to bring her joy.
“It is very lovely,” she said, feeling sad. “Thank you for telling me of it. But I am sure I have kept you long enough; surely you must be on your way now.”
She stood up, taking her bucket with her, and Maxton tossed the stick in his hand aside. “I have men waiting for me near the docks, but they can continue to wait,” he said. “I thought to spend some time speaking to a former charge of Okehampton. It is not often I come across someone who is from Devon, from places that I know.”
She smiled weakly, glancing over to the old walls of the abbey and the open postern gate as if looking for those who would see her speaking with a man, which would be greatly frowned upon. There weren’t many nuns in the kitchen area or stables,but there were a few. She truly didn’t want to be seen because such information would undoubtedly make its way back to the Mother Abbess.
She didn’t want to enrage the woman.
“I would like to speak of such things, truly, but I have work to do,” she said, moving away from him. “I… I will thank you once more for your generosity today, not just with your money, but with your time. I cannot remember when I have spent such a pleasant time.”
“It does not have to end.”
Andressa wasn’t sure what to say to that. It made her want to run away from him, but it also made her want to stay. In fact, his words made her feel very strange inside; her stomach was quivering and every time she looked at the man, she seemed to forget how to breathe. It occurred to her that the last time she trusted a man, it hadn’t gone in her favor. She wasn’t sure she was ready to trust again, but Maxton made it so easy to believe that she could. Perhaps she really was a fool, because she wanted to trust him.
She wanted nothing more.
“I must go,” she said, feeling uncomfortable and the least bit afraid. “Good day to you, my lord.”
