The Training Begins

Nasir took Rana to the edge of the encampment, to where the rock face of the cliffs towered smoothly above them. He showed her where to put her fingers and how to find the cracks in the worn rock that might hold her weight. She fell often, and her abaya and hijab were always in the way.
"Nasir, couldn't I - "
"Absolutely not. You will at least attempt to maintain your modesty."
"But it would be so much better if I were dressed as you are! I could still cover my hair with the helm, as I did the first time!"
"When you are away from the camp, yes. But there are far too many curious eyes here, even if you do not see them."
Rana rubbed a welt on her chest where a particularily sharp rock had punched through the soft fabric of her gown. It offered little protection, but she set her face in a look of determination and prepared to mount the wall again. Nasir watched her dispassionately, commenting only when she made an obvious mistake.
"How...long," she panted, pulling her weight up onto the rock face with her shaking fingertips, "did it...take you to...learn this?"
"I am not a scout."
"But can you...climb the stones?"
"I can. Boys learn these things while girls are learning how to sew."
Rana lunged at another hand hold and caught it, pulling open a wide gash on her finger as she did so. She ignored the pain and tugged herself higher. Another few inches, and her foot caught a protrusion to lift her even higher.
"If you can climb that in an abaya and hijab, with those soft shoes, then you will be able to climb even faster in the lighter clothing of a scout. Did Salahuddin mention when you would be permitted to join us?"
"I felt it...best not to ask...too many questions." Rana was having trouble catching her breath. She pulled up a little farther, now a full five feet from the ground. Another finger hold, another few inches.

Nasir stood below her and slightly away from the rocks, prepared to help her should she need it. "I will decide then. When you can climb this place blind it will be time."
"Blind? I am a girl, not a...spider!" Rana argued.
Another few inches. She climbed steadily, elated at how high she was getting. Seven feet, then ten, then a good fifteen or so, with Nasir far below her, shouting helpful advice. A trickle of sweat dripped into her eyes, and she blinked quickly to clear it. The sting of the salt water was distracting. She dared not move her hand to wipe at her face, and the blood on her fingers was making it difficult to hold herself still. She rested for a moment, catching her breath and trying not to move too much.

"Would you really catch me if I fell?" she called down nervously.
"I am still very angry."
"Nasir!"
"Of course I would catch you, Rana. Do not be silly. Now stop talking and concentrate! I have not much time to spend with you. There are more pressing matters in this war than teaching a willful slave how to climb rocks."
Rana gritted her teeth and pulled herself higher.
"You...don't...have...to...waste...time...here." she managed.
Nasir made a dismissive gesture with his hand that she did not see.
"I can spare this hour at least. Remember to lean forward with your shoulders and keep your hips straight."
Rana adjusted her position obediently, and it proved to be her undoing. Her torn finger slipped from its tenuous hold on the cliff face and she plummeted backwards, falling almost twenty feet with a high thin scream of terror before landing with a resounding thud in Nasir's arms. He toppled backward under the impact, striking his head on a stone and dislodging his helmet. Rana fell to her side, jamming her shoulder brutally and gashing her hip and upper thigh on his dagger, and in the ensuing tangle of limbs lost a shoe.

They lay in the sand together, each one doing a private inventory of damage. Nasir sat up first.
"Have you broken anything?"

Rana was touched that his first thought was for her safety. She gingerly felt her shoulder, wincing.
"I...I think it will be alright. I landed awfully hard, though."
"Only because you overcompensated for your imbalance. Can you stand?" He rose to his own feet and held a hand out to help her up as well. Rana took it, carefully rising into a standing position and leaning heavily on the rock wall for balance. She looked up, noting with pleasure how high the smear of blood was above her.
"That is the farthest I have gone!" she said happily, her eyes shining. Nasir looked over at her, surprised and pleased by her resilience. He laughed softly.
"Higher, yes. But that is enough for today. I must meet with the seige tower engineers, and I am sure you have much to do as well."
Rana nodded, still smiling up at the red banner, oblivious to the mess Nasir's dagger had made of her clothing and the skin under it. There was a scratch under her right eye and she was limping.

It was in such a state that she entered the camp again, pink-cheeked and elated. She had never felt so alive. It was a simple thing, to climb a wall and fall from it, to sustain a minor dagger injury and get dirt on her face...but she was delighted nonetheless. It was an experience that young girls were not encouraged ever to have.
Rana was very hungry suddenly, and stopped by the supply tent for some dried fruit and bread. Abdal Baseer, the supply chief, was arranging crates against the wall and singing to himself. He looked up as she entered and gave a gasp of horror.

"Wa la haram! Oh no! What has happened?" he bustled over to her, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping at the dirt on Rana's shining face. She laughed, smiling up at the old man. He had always been kind to her, and his fussing made her feel like a favorite grandchild.
"I am not hurt seriously, Papa." she said, holding still so he could fish removing the dirt. He dabbed at her lip as well, shaking his head.
"Have you been fighting, Batihti, sweet little melon? How did you hurt yourself?"

"I fell off a cliff." Rana said, turning her attention to a small bag of dried figs. "May I take these? And do you have honey? It is one of the few things my Master will actually eat."

"A cliff! Ach!" The old man waved his hands in the air as though warding off a swarm of bees, "You are a wild animal! Here, take this jar. And try to convince him to eat more, please. He must keep up his strength for all our sake's. Does he get enough rest?"

"The physicians do not think so, but he seldom feels tired. He does not need the same comforts as other men. But the injury to his back from four months ago still gives him trouble. Have you any oil?"
Abdal Baseer rooted through a satchel and produced a small bottle of brown leather.

"Warm it in a bowl before you use it, and add some steamed yarrow leaves to cleanse his body of the fatigue of war. And here, take this frankincense. The smoke of its burning will soothe his mind. We must take care of our Sultan, yes? And we cannot do that well if we are out playing on cliffs, you see? You have a very important job, yes? Take this tincture for your scratches. You are limping, rub your leg with this ointment. Take this dried meat and some bread, and these lemons are fresh. This soap was made only six weeks ago, take it too. Ah, never enough rest for our King! Sprinkle his linens with this rosewater. And take this cloth for polishing his armor, yes? All good? All supplied? Little Batihti, playing like a boy! This is the reason you have no husband yet! But you will be lovely soon. And after Jerusalem is ours you will be able to tell your children that you took care of the greatest Sultan that has ever lived, Allah bless him and his family! Ah, that reminds me! Take this letter, it is from his wife. Now shoo! Shoo!" He waved her out of the tent, loaded down with packages.

Now, overburdened as well as limping, Rana moved even more slowly across the encampment, picking her way through the rows of soldiers' pavilions until she reached the humble tent that she and her Master lived in at the moment.

A ringing was filling her ears, and it bothered her. She set about putting away the oils and unguents and rations, trying not to look at the rolled parchment that she'd placed on the table. His wife had written to him. Rana used to love it when her letters came, for she always had some special message for her husband's slave that made Rana feel important. But all at once she felt cold inside, and did not want to be in the same room as the note bearing its words of love and encouragement and faithfulness. Rana stripped the bloody linens from the bed and bundled them to be washed. She carefully sprinkled the fresh sheets and blanket with the rosewater Abdal Baseer had given her and plumped up the pillows with her fists, hitting them a bit harder than absolutely necessary.
She looked over again at the letter, sitting innocently on the table.

Steaming the yarrow leaves took a half hour, and Rana had to continually stir them to keep them from burning. The sweet scent of the little yellow and red flowers filled the tent, easing her tension. The plant was also knows as Soldier's Woundwort, and was invaluable for the treatment of war injuries. With a practiced hand she gathered them into a clean strip of muslin and set the damp package aside to add to warm massage oil later.

Her hip stung where Nasir's dagger had pierced it, and Rana carefully closed the tent flap and removed her soiled abaya and hijab, inspecting the damage. It was worse than she thought. The knife had cut very shallow across the side of her right buttock and the curve of her hip, but the place where her bone pushed up against the skin was slashed deeply, and the cloth that covered the place was stuck to the skin with dried blood. The dull pain intensified as she attempted to pull the fabric out, and she gave a little yelp when it finally came free and the blood oozed out. She glanced into the polished surface of Salahuddin's shield where it lay propped against the foot of the bed, and was surprised to see how filthy and large the hurt was. Rolling on the ground directly after sustaining the damage had pushed a large amount of dirt and sand into the open wound. It would take some time to clean, but she could not afford an infection. Pulling on a loose robe and covering her hair again, Rana made her way to the women's tent to bathe the injury.

Zainab was there alone, combing her hair and staring moodily into a silver mirror. She was everything Rana was not. Her hair fell in thick, silken waves to her waist. Rana's was curly and fuzzy and hung only to the middle of her back. She could never get it to look so lovely, it seemed to have a mind of its own. And where Zainab's large eyes were like twin pools of midnight that the sun could never clear away, Rana's own eyes were the same featureless brown as the wood of the mahogany tree. Her nose was too long. Zainab's was perfect. Rana's body was only just beginning to develop curves and sensuality, but Zainab's small waist and wide hips, long legs and perfect brown arms would not have looked out of place on a statue such as they carved in Greece. Rana sighed, feeling hopelessly awkward and unattractive, and began to pour some water into a basin. Zainab looked up, smiling.

"Twice in one day? Or do these injuries come from another source?" She teased gently.

"I am learning to climb a wall. Nasir believes that I should remain a scout instead of seeking full combat. And so I must learn to do the thing properly." Rana replied. She pulled off her coverings and knelt beside the basin, pouring water over the gash on her hip. Zainab did not gasp in shock or scream or recoil, and Rana's respect for her deepened. The other girl knelt beside her and inspected the wound herself.
"Your body will have quite a tale to tell after this war is over, Rana," she said, helping her to clean the injury, "Few women can boast as many scars as you are accumulating!"
They were silent for some time, intent on removing all traces of sand and dust. After she was satisfied that no source of infection could remain, Rana dabbed a generous measure of ointment into the cut and covered it with a fresh bandage. Finished, she pulled on her gown again and sat back on her heels.
"Zainab, you wanted to talk to me?"
"I do. Can we go to your tent? Too many interruptions here."
"Yes. My Master will not return until after sunset. Please come, you are welcome."
The two girls covered themselves well against the eyes of the men that outnumbered them three hundred to one, and made their way back to the shadowy coolness of Rana's quarters. Once there, Zainab removed her shoes respectfully at the door and allowed Rana to usher her into a chair. She looked around in fascination.

"I have never been in the bedchambers of a Sultan before." she said mildly, and Rana was struck by how bold she was, "Where is it that you sleep?"
"There, on the pallet beside the wall there. Most of the time."
Zainab fixed her with a very piercing stare, full of curiosity and kindness and friendship, and Rana found herself relaxing.

"And the rest of the time?" Zainab asked, smiling almost impreceptably.
"The rest of the time I sleep beside Salahuddin in his bed. But until this morning there was no impropriety."
"I would say that running your hands over a man's body in the dark is improper no matter what follows." Zainab laughed. "What does he look like under the armor?"
"Beautiful."
"He is very dangerous-looking. Aren't you frightened of him?"
"At times."
"Were you this morning?"
There, she had said it. Rana knew even before they'd begun to speak that Zainab's curiosity was the real reason she wanted to talk. Her wedding night was fast approaching, and no doubt she was nervous. There was no point in keeping secrets, and so Rana lowered herself to the floor at the foot of the chair, her customary position.
"I was afriad, but the desire drove that fear from my mind. He was not over-gentle. I have never trembled so badly in all my life."
"Was there much blood?"
Rana toyed with a thread in the carpet, remembering her Master's tenderness when he cleaned the bright red stains from her thighs.
"There was only a little, but it spread. I would suggest that you try to keep still. And do not tense up or it will be worse. And ask him to kiss you the entire time. It is truly wonderful."

Zainab took a deep breath and looked at her hands. Like Rana's had been, they were shaking slightly.
"Mullah Khaled is a very merciful man," Rana found herself suddenly saying, "He respects a woman's body. He will not harm you."
And she told her about the midnight visit to Nasir's tent and all that followed. "He treated me kindly despite his anger. He did not even strike me, though I could tell he wanted to. For you, whom he holds no anger towards, he will certainly be even more gentle."

Zainab bit her lower lip, a faraway look coming into her eyes.
"He is very handsome. I have seen him twice through the opening in the tent. But he has not come to me yet. I think he wishes to wait for the wedding."
"When will this be?"
"In five days' time. Another mullah from Aleppo had to be sent for since the death of Khaled's fellow holy man."

Rana remembered him, a very stern and quiet man who refused to even look at her. He had died after a bad fall from his horse, and now Khaled was the only mullah traveling with the army. It was customary to have at least five, but lately the dangers of the front were keeping many less adventurous men at home.
"He is handsome, you are right. I'm certain you will be happy."
"Rana, why do you keep looking at that paper on the table?"
Rana snapped her gaze back to Zainab's face, angry that she was so transparent.
"I...How do you know so many things?"
"I listen. I look. "
"It is a letter from my Master's wife." Rana said miserably. She shook her head. "I don't know why it is affecting me so! I never used to mind at all. In fact, I am very fond of Jamila. She is a strong woman. Bearing eight sons cannot be easy, and I have heard that all of them have the temperment of their father. She was pregnant again when we left Damascus ten months ago. This letter is probably bearing the news of another birth. But I feel...I feel devastated. Why should I?"
Zainab put a gentle hand on Rana's shoulder, smiling.
"You are sad because you are in love with your Master."
"Of course I love him! We all do!"
"You love him, yes. But you are also in love with him. It is a very different thing."
"I am in love with Nasir! He wishes to become my husband."
"Which man do you love more?"
"I cannot answer that! The choice is clear as it must be! There are...facts to take into account..." She glanced again at the letter. And Zainab noticed.
"Facts? Like the fact that the man you have truly been in love with for eight years even though you did not dare admit it has a wife that you respect highly?"
Rana pulled away, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. 'I will not cry again!' she told herself fiercely, and pretended to scratch her nose to secretly wipe away the damning wetness.

"A man may have more than one wife. Your Master could marry you. Such things are legal." Zainab said very quietly, carefully. Rana lowered her hand and slowly turned to face her friend. Her eyes were suddenly very wide and full of alarm. She could not speak. Her heart had somehow stopped beating, and she could not feel her body.
"Rana? I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you. Please forget I said anything, it was clumsy of me." Zainab gave her shoulder another pat, looking disconcerted. Rana hardly felt it.
"I am...supposed to be in love with Nasir." she said stupidly, casting about for a reason to deny the truth of what Zainab had just said.
"I heard you this morning. It was not the sound of a woman in love with another man. It was the sound of a woman in love with the person she was with right at that moment."
"You cannot know that from barely-heard noises that are twenty feet away! It was my first time, nothing more than that!"
Zainab looked at her knowingly, an expression that Rana found infuriating. "I will not say more and risk angering you, Rana. You are my friend, the only one I have here. If you say it is not so, then it is not. Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps you are simply a very devoted slave. Please excuse my foolishness."
"Don't do that!"
"Do what?"
"Talk to me the way I used to talk to Mullah Khaled! I hate it!"
They stared at one another, and then Zainab's face broke into a smile in spite of her best efforts to fight it off. She covered her mouth with her hand, but an unmistakeable giggle escaped. Rana started to snap at her, but then found that she too felt the urge to smile. It had been a bit of a funny thing to say. Not so long ago Rana had indeed spoken to the Mullah in just sich a self-effacing manner. He expected and encouraged it, as most men did. She bit back a laugh. And then they were laughing together and all the tension that had been building vanished in the absurdity of the game they played when they were feeling threatened. They had both been raised to be self-effacing and obedient. Rana fully appreciated for the first time that she and Zainab were very similar.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, and Zainab smiled and nodded.
The rest of the afternoon passed very comfortably, with Rana and Zainab washing clothes and sheets together, tapping dents out of spare armor, laughing and talking, mending sandals and preparing dinner. Zainab seemed to be relaxing finally, the stress of being secluded for three days with nothing but her thoughts and anticipation to distract her was wearing off. She looked over at Rana, sitting at ease across from her, and smiled a more genuine smile than she had in weeks. Everything was going to be all right.