Truth
Chalon-sur-Saône, France
April 1216
"Will they come after her?"
Daniel startled and turned to find a horse-borne Godfroi standing behind him with a puzzled look on his face.
Daniel feigned confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
He was rewarded with a smirk from Godfroi, who gestured politely in Ayesha's direction. "It's obvious, you know. She's wealthier than you. Better born than you, too."
"You're so sure of this?" Daniel smiled and then wondered whether Godfroi would even believe the truth if he knew it. After all, scarcely anyone would believe that a wealthy nobleman would leave a life of comfort in the Levant to travel through Europe as a penniless craftsman.
Godfroi snorted in amusement. "I've seen enough in my life to know about these sorts of things." He paused and scratched at his beard in thought. "So…you have eloped, have you not?"
Daniel shifted, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Not exactly, no."
"You have induced a young girl to leave her home and run away with you. In France, and even in Flanders, that is an elopement." Godfroi's voice was suddenly harsh. "If she is important enough, wealthy enough, someone will come looking for her. I want to know if there is any danger to my fellow pilgrims because of you."
"No, nobody is looking for her. There will be no trouble to you on my account. On our account."
Godfroi nodded, although he still looked doubtful. "We pass ten churches a day. Why do you not just wed her? Nobody can do a thing to you then."
Daniel shook his head. "It is not so simple. There are…other things to consider." He bowed his head politely to the older man. "But I thank you for your concern. It is…much appreciated."
Godfroi looked stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly. He returned Daniel's polite nod and turned his horse to the head of the pilgrim train, barking instructions at other travelers as he rode past. Daniel watched him ride away, pondering the conversation they had just had.
If nothing else, Godfroi's words were a reminder to Daniel that he had no idea what to do with Ayesha. He had not accounted for her in any of his ultimate plans, and, not for the first time, he wished she had never come to him. He had his own reasons for abandoning a life of wealth and privilege. He had a quest, a life mission, after all. But Ayesha had left her father's house on nothing more than a whim, and he could not understand why any person of good sense would do such a thing.
He sighed. It had not taken long for him to realize that Ayesha had developed some sort of tender affection for him. Perhaps she fancied herself in love with him, but that was an utterly ridiculous notion. Love was never a word that had held much meaning for him. He loved his mother and his uncle, and perhaps even his horse, but that love was ordinary, a mutual and perfectly predictable affection. Love of the kind that poets wrote about was something else altogether. It made fools out of good men and frivolous, simpering creatures out of good women. Even in the great tales, lovers were usually doomed to a life of unhappiness and madness and sometimes even death. Daniel had little use for such an emotion, so unreliable and dangerous. What use could Ayesha have for love then?
He had certainly given her no reason to think he had any affection for her. Unless…
Daniel frowned. He had befriended her in Córdoba because she was there. She was always there, in Rashid's libraries, or taking notes for her father at one of the building sites. Nobody else ever seemed to notice her, hidden as she was behind twin veils of fabric and books. But her voice, friendly and lilting, made it known she had a keen mind and a sharp wit, and none of the insincere coyness that usually marked her sex. So he had taken to speaking to her, and after a time, he was spending all of his free time with her. She became the only friend he had, the only one who could speak of the things that interested him. And if he sometimes noticed how lovely her eyes were, or the way her veil crinkled when she smiled at him, what of it? These were hardly signs of love! And yet…
These thoughts chased through his head at lightning speed. Eventually, he tired of trying to catch them and pin them down. He leaned against a pillar of an old building and dozed off, worry and fear dissolving as sleep overtook him. It was only the grip of a firm hand on his shoulder that roused him from his slumber. Godfroi was shaking him awake.
"It's nearly sunrise. You need to wake."
Daniel rubbed his eyes and slapped at his own face to make himself wake up. It took a moment for his thoughts to catch up with his body.
"Are we on the move then?"
Godfroi nodded. "Yes. To Dijon." He gestured vaguely at the other pilgrims. "It is the last place of our travels. From there, everyone has to make their own way." He paused, as if waiting for Daniel to speak, but after a moment, he pressed on. "I go north, towards Flanders. Where do you go?"
"Does it matter?"
Godfroi laughed. "I would say no, but the fact that you keep it a secret makes me think it does indeed matter!"
Daniel smiled, allowing that perhaps Ayesha was right about the man. He was clever in his own way. He cast about for some answer that would satisfy Godfroi. "I'm off to the north as well. To Reims."
"Why there?"
He shrugged. "I hear there's work in Reims. For craftsmen. There's a church that burned down a few years ago, and they're rebuilding it now, in the new style."
"Ah, of course. I had heard of this some months back." Godfroi looked thoughtful. "What will she do? Your Maria?"
Daniel shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, but his discomfort seemed to amuse the other man.
"Never mind, young man. You do not have to tell me. I was young once, and I understand more than you might think!" He tapped his nose meaningfully, amused at his own cleverness. "In Dijon, then."
"Yes, in Dijon."
--000--
Outside Dijon
Two days later
"Ayesha, here. Take this." He held out a trencher and the weak potage he had managed to barter off a farmer in the marketplace. Now that the pilgrimage was over and the other travelers had scattered, meals were infrequent, and they ate whenever they could. Godfroi had offered to travel with them as far as Reims, but Daniel had politely refused, not wanting to explain himself every step of the way.
She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. After a moment's hesitation, she took the trencher and broke off half, shoving the potage and half the bread back at him so quickly he nearly ended up wearing the meal. Ayesha had barely spoken more than two words to him since their argument in Roncevaux. He was somewhat happy for the silence, but her coldness was more troubling than he had expected.
"Are you never going to speak to me again?"
"Thank you for the food."
He nodded. "I would not want you to go hungry."
She glared at him for a moment, but then her expression softened. "I know. I thank you because I know you have little coin for food and travel, and I am only a burden."
"You would be less of a burden if you would speak to me. It would make the journey more pleasant, at any rate."
She shook her head. "I should not have come."
He felt vindicated by this expression of regret, but he could not account for the dull pain it caused in his chest. He turned away and began to eat, and as hunger fell away, so did some of his unease at all these unwanted emotions. Silence fell on them quickly, punctuated only by the occasional sound of his eating knife and the rustle of her skirts.
"Where are we going, Spaniard?"
"Don't call me that."
"I do not know your true name. What else should I call you?"
He turned on her, suddenly angry. "Did you never wonder? Did you never find it odd that a Spaniard could speak your tongue so well? Or know so much of your ways and traditions?"
She looked taken aback for a moment, but then she spoke, her voice low and defiant. "I had no reason to believe you were lying to me. Not then."
"I never lied. Not to Rashid. And certainly not to you."
"You never told anyone the truth. An untold truth is the same as a lie."
"Is that right? And what if the truth was always there, but you could not see it? Is that not what Averroës said? Your ibn Rushd?"
"No. He did not speak in such riddles. He said only that there was one truth, but more than one way to reach it."
"And you chose the simplest way to reach what you thought was the truth, didn't you? All you saw was a pale-skinned man with green eyes, and you assumed he had to be a Spaniard, a Christian. Isn't that right?"
She squared her shoulders, but would not meet his eyes. "It was a reasonable assumption. There are many like you in Al-Andalus."
He made a derisive gesture with his hand. "Oh? Are there many Saracens mistaken for Christians in your father's house?"
"No. But a Moorish man does not think of his whore's religion when he beds her. And he does not know of the pale-skinned green-eyed children she brings into the world either!"
He guffawed. "So I'm the son of a Spanish whore now, am I?"
"No! I did not mean…" She covered her face with her hands and made a sound of exasperation. "You twist my words until there is no sense left in them. It is…not fair."
"This is not a game, Ayesha. This is life. It is always unfair."
"I…" She looked away, twisting the fabric of her dress in her hands, obviously unsure what to say. A tiny bud of remorse began to grow in his mind, and he tried to take the sting out of what he had just said.
"I'm sorry I misled you. It was never my intent." He reached out to take her hand, but then thought better of it, not wanting to alarm her.
"You let us think the worst of you. Why?"
"It was…easier. I did not have to answer any questions about myself." I would not have known some of the answers anyhow. "But I will answer yours…if I can."
"Tell me your name."
"You already know it."
She gave him a look of surprise. "The name you gave Godfroi is your true name?"
"Yes. I'm called Daniyal ibn Azm al-Ahmar."
She touched her fingers to her forehead and inclined her head politely, smiling at him. "Well met, Daniyal."
He returned the gesture. "Well met, Ayesha." Her smile had turned into a smirk now, making her look young and impish. He felt again the odd ache in his chest. "Is there anything else you need to know?"
"I am glad to know at least your name. To ask for more would be ungrateful. Tell me more if you wish. But know that I do not ask it."
He nodded, relieved that she was not pressing him, but also feeling a need to tell her things, if only to unburden himself.
"I wish to tell you. So ask me."
"Very well then. Tell me of your home."
He let out the breath he had been holding. He had expected a different question entirely, a probing inquiry into where he was going and why. He laughed in relief, knowing she would find this strange, but for the moment, not caring about that at all.
"I was born in the Levant. In a place called Acre. It is just north of—"
"I know where Acre is. Everyone knows." She gave him a cheeky smile. "Is that where you were, before you came to Cordoba?"
"No. I was born there, but I was raised in Aleppo." He picked up a twig and began to draw in the mud. It was a crude map of what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of the Levantine coastline. He poked the twig at the map. "This is Acre here. And here, far to the north, is Aleppo." He made a few more scratchings in the mud. "My mother's name is Al-Halabi, and in Aleppo, that name alone is enough to make common folk drop to their knees."
She examined the map with interest, and he suspected she was trying to work out distances in her mind. "How far is to al-Andalus from there?"
"Far. You have to cross an ocean and travel for many weeks over land."
"Why did they send you to Córdoba? Your parents, that is?"
"They didn't. I ran away."
"What? Why?"
He watched her for a moment, debating whether to tell her everything. But he was not yet ready, and he was not sure she would understand.
"Everyone runs away, Ayesha. Everyone."
--000--
Note: The Arabic name for the city of Aleppo is Halab, hence Djaq's family name.