Note: By way of warning, this chapter has some content that may be offensive/squicky to some readers. I changed the rating of this story partially to make it clear that there would be concepts here that were not for everyone. There is nothing particularly graphic or adult about the content, but every reader has a different speed on such issues.

Revelation

Bassam's house, Acre

Early November 1194

Footsteps.

Will startled awake, instinct making him reach for his axe even as his brain fought to catch up. As the footsteps drew near and then retreated, he relaxed. It was probably just Faisal lighting lamps and pottering about as he usually did. Next to Will, Djaq stirred and mumbled sleepily against his shoulder.

He calmed her with a gentle hand and a whisper. "Shh. Go back to sleep. It's nothing." She muttered something in response and then nestled closer, lips pressing gently against his collarbone. It was nearly dawn now and in the pale light, he could just make out the beginnings of a bruise on her hip, exactly the size and shape of his hand. He sighed and ran a finger over the spot, trying to soothe away any hurt he might have caused.

He felt her laughing against his shoulder, and after a moment, Djaq lifted her head and gazed at him sleepily. "Have you marked me then?"

Will frowned, and his hand at her hip stilled. "Does it hurt? I'm so sorry. I never..."

She swatted his shoulder. "You are silly. Of course it does not hurt." She shifted a little and kissed his chest. "Besides, I could always get back at you."

He laughed and wound his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. "Should I be worried?"

"Oh, yes. Very much." Djaq kissed his neck, her mouth hot and wet against his skin. Then, without warning, she bit him, and as he yelped and drew away, she laughed. "See? Now you are marked as I am."

He put a finger to his neck, feigning pain. "I could just say a cat scratched me, you know."

"You do not have a cat. Nobody will believe you. They will know that you spent the entire night in bed with a wicked and wanton woman." She leered at him, and he laughed, finding her utterly adorable and loving her even more for it.

"I'll be the envy of all Acre, then?"

"Perhaps not the entire city."

He laughed, then looked out the window and sighed. "It's morning already."

"Hmm. So it is. What of it?"

Will stiffened, not sure how much to tell her. A now-familiar feeling of guilt began to grow in his chest until it was a pain that pressed hard against his heart and made it difficult to speak. He pulled away from her abruptly. "It's just...I have...some things to take care of."

Djaq raised an eyebrow at him, her expression changing to one of suspicion and wariness. "What sort of things?"

"Just...things. For Nasim."

She watched him with narrowed eyes for just an instant before dropping his gaze. "I see." She propped herself up on elbow and smiled down at him. "Are you making something for him then?"

"Um, yeah. Sort of."

"Well, I hope he's paying you in solid gold if he can tempt you away from here." She shifted just enough that she was lying partly on top of him, her weight keeping him in bed. She ran her hands down from his shoulders to his hips, her fingers lingering on his skin as she waited for an answer.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her fiercely. "You're much better than gold could ever be." He kissed her again, this time more gently. "Maybe I don't have to go just yet."

--000--

Several hours later, Djaq stood demurely at the door to Anissa's house, Barkhat standing behind her cradling a large package. A dour-faced servant opened the door and then bowed Djaq into the house.

The house was massive, the furnishings and decorations so opulent as to be out of place in this part of the city. Djaq stared at a tapestry on the wall, mouth slightly open in awe. Behind her, Barkhat let out a derisive snort.

"Merchants! What is the use of having so much money, if you do not have any taste?"

Djaq made a shushing sound in response, but she had to admit that Barkhat was right. There was something just a bit distasteful about displaying one's wealth so openly. Still, it meant that Anissa had found a husband capable of keeping her in comfort and luxury, and that pleased Djaq. For all her virtues, she did not think Anissa would have survived a life of sleeping on the cold ground in an English forest, where danger lurked behind every tree branch.

Presently, another servant arrived and led Djaq up a narrow flight of stairs and down a long corridor into a large room. The servant ushered Djaq into a large chair and bowed respectfully. After a few minutes, she returned, with Anissa in tow.

"Saffiyah, thank you so much for coming. It is lovely to see you." Anissa beamed, looking happy, if a bit tired. In her arms, she cradled her infant son, so swaddled in blankets that Djaq could only just see the child's face. He looked exactly as most babies did, and Djaq felt the same sense of awe and indifference she usually felt around infants.

"My congratulations, Anissa."

Anissa smiled again and whispered to the baby. "Come, my son. Say hello to your Saffiyah khallah." She held the child out to Djaq. "Do you want to hold him?"

Djaq startled and backed away for a moment. Then, realizing this was probably impolite, she smiled instead and politely shook her head. "I...I have no experience with babies. I might drop him!"

Anissa giggled. "Do not be so silly. You will be fine." She thrust the swaddled bundle at Djaq, who took the baby awkwardly and held him for a moment. The child was fast asleep, but this close, he did not seem as nondescript as before. His head was bare, recently shaved, and he had his mother's strong nose and fair coloring. He also smelled wonderful, like lemon and honey and other things that reminded Djaq of her own childhood. She pulled the child closer, marveling at how small he was and yet how every organ and limb were perfectly formed, already in the shape they would bear for the rest of his life. Allah, what wonders You have wrought!

"He is lovely, Anissa."

"He is, isn't he? I did not think that I..." Her voice trailed off, and Djaq noted a frown pass over Anissa's face. But it only lasted a moment, and Anissa was all smiles once more. "Never mind. Come, let us sit."

She held her arms out for the child, and Djaq returned him, but felt an odd pang as the warm bundle left her arms. A stray thought began to grow in the back of her mind, but she shoved it aside, not wanting to indulge it just now.

"What have you named him?"

"He is named Azhar, for his grandfather." She smoothed a finger over the baby's head. "You did not come for his aqiqāh."

Djaq hesitated. She had been vaguely flattered to be invited to the naming ceremony, but she had a nagging feeling the invitation did not extend to Will. So Djaq had demurred politely, not comfortable with having to hide Will away for the sake of propriety.

"I am sorry, Anissa. I would have come..."

Anissa shook her head. "It does not matter, Saffiyah. You are here now." She looked thoughtful for a moment and then spoke softly. "It is time we looked to the future, I think."

Djaq nodded. "Yes, and I have had my fill of the past now anyhow."

Anissa laughed, and the noise woke the baby who began to cry. Anissa cooed at him and said things Djaq could not understand. But she looked utterly content, and Djaq was entranced by the change.

"You...you are so...happy."

Anissa startled, and then laughed. "It is true. I am happy. More than I have ever been. I did not think I would be, in truth."

"I am glad. Truly."

"Thank you." Anissa gave her a knowing smile. "You will find this sort of happiness yourself soon. It is your turn now."

"I..." Djaq looked away, unsure of what to say, even as the gnawing feeling in her mind returned swiftly.

Anissa beckoned her servant, who took the child away, just as Djaq's eyes fell on the package Barkhat had left by the door.

"I am a poor guest, and an even poorer aunt to your son. I brought him a gift."

"You sent coin for the aqiqāh; that is more than enough."

Djaq unwrapped the package slowly, frowning as she did so. The layers of cloth and paper fell away, revealing a large wooden box, its surface carved with intricate patterns of leaves and fruit and even some Arabic lettering. It had taken Will nearly a month to finish it, but the workmanship was truly impressive. She held it in her hands tightly, reluctant to let it go, almost as if it were Will himself, rather than just something he had made.

"Here. It is a gift from both of us, my husband and me."

Anissa took the box from her and gave Djaq a sharp look. She politely exclaimed over it, and then frowned. "Your husband made this?"

"Yes. He is very talented with such things."

Anissa set the box down, running a finger over a long string of leaves on its side. "I think I understand now."

"What?"

"I think I understand why you married him." Anissa inclined her head and smiled. "It is...a rare thing for a man to see so much beauty in something as ordinary as a block of wood, is it not?"

Djaq looked at her in surprise. She had expected Anissa to accept the gift politely, but had not expected her to like it. That she not only appreciated the gift, but also saw something of Will in it startled Djaq, and left her feeling oddly pleased.

A long moment passed before Anissa spoke again. "Thank your husband for me. It is truly a handsome gift."

"Anissa...I...there are so many things I wish I could tell you."

"No, Saffiyah. It is as I said before; it is time for the future. Do not think of those who are gone, think of those who will come. Think of your children."

--000--

Will took out his knife and began to whittle a piece of wood. Thanks to Djaq and her persuasive ways, he had been several hours late for a rendezvous with Harold at Rashida's house. When he had arrived, there had been no sign of Harold or Rashida, and he had resigned himself to simply waiting for them.

Rashida's servant had let him in, and he now sat in one of the large rooms in the back of the house, with only a rather serious-looking boy for company. The lad had said nothing at all when Will arrived, so Will had not bothered to strike up a conversation. He suspected the boy's curiosity would soon overcome any shyness, and it was only a little while later that his suspicions were proven correct.

The boy gestured in his direction and addressed Will in Arabic. "You are al-Franj?"

Will answered in the same tongue. "No, I'm not."

"You look like one."

"You look like a Saracen. Does that make you one of the Sultan's men?"

The boy startled, and then realizing he was being mocked, he smiled and sat back on his haunches. "I knew you were not al-Franj. Rashida khallah does not like them."

Will laughed. He suspected Rashida liked anyone who paid her well, and their religion or the color of their skin did not much matter to her. In this respect, she was, as far as Will could tell, one of the most honest merchants in all of Acre, but she was still a merchant. Harold once said he thought she kept orphans in her house because she had no children of her own, but Will decided it was more to keep her conscience clean. The children were innocent victims of a war that had made Rashida wealthy in her own way, and surely she would not want their blood on her hands.

The boy watched Will, as wood shavings from his whittling fell onto the floor. "What are you doing?"

"It's...I don't know how you say it in your tongue. I'm just making something."

"What sort of thing?"

"I don't know yet." Will looked down at what he had made so far. It did not look like much of anything, but the wood had begun to take the shape of an animal.

"Show me how you do that."

"I will. But I'm a craftsman, and I don't work for free."

The boy frowned. "I don't have any money."

"Well, perhaps we can trade something."

The boy looked despondent now. "I have nothing to give you."

"You do. If I teach you how to do this, you have to teach me something as well."

"What sort of thing can I teach you?"

"You can teach me some of your tongue."

The boy beamed, elated at the prospect of learning something new at almost no cost to himself. "I could tell you a story."

Will laughed. "Yes, that's a good idea."

The boy sat down next to Will, watching in rapt attention as Will carved. "It's some kind of beast, isn't it?"

"Yes." Will turned the piece over in his hand. "I think maybe a horse?"

"No, a camel. Make it a camel."

Will chuckled. If it was a camel, it was going to be a very small one. "Tell me the story then."

"Alright. But you have to listen carefully, and do not ask questions.

"In a place far from here, there was a man called Ali Baba. One day, outside a cave in the forest, he overheard some thieves talking about their treasure."

Will laughed, startling the boy.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing. But I know a story about thieves in the forest who hide their treasure in caves, too."

"Really? Tell me your story instead."

Will pondered for a moment. "Alright. But you will have to help me if I do not know the words.

"In a place far from here, there was a rich man called Robin. He traveled far and wide for many years. Then, when he came home, an evil man had taken all his things and made his people very poor and..." Will hesitated. "What is the word for when people are not happy?"

The boy shrugged. "Sad?"

"Yes, alright. The evil man made all Robin's people very sad and very poor. Robin wanted to help all the sad people. So he went into the forest and began to steal from the rich people who came through the forest."

"He was a thief?" The boy crossed his arms and glared at Will. "I do not like this story."

"It gets better. There is a pretty maiden in it, a Saracen princess."

The boy looked dismayed. "I do not like princesses."

Will laughed. "Fine. Tell me your story. And if I like it, I'll give you this." He waved the wooden camel in the air.

The boy settled down and was about to launch into his story when there was a loud commotion outside the door. Will was immediately on guard, readying the knife to throw at any assailant.

Rashida stormed into the room, looking angry and worried.

"You? What are you doing here?"

"I...I came to see Harold. We were supposed to meet today."

"He is not here. He went south a week ago. I sent a message to you. Did you not receive it?"

"No. I had no idea."

Rashida twisted her skirts in her hands, looking frantic. "You should not be here. There have been men here. Crusaders! Asking all sorts of questions."

Will balked. "Crusaders? They were looking for me?"

"No, not exactly. They were just looking for answers." She sighed. "Look, I did not want Harold to be in danger, so I sent him away. You should go away as well. Do not come back here. It is not safe for you here anymore."

"What about my mission?"

"Your mission? You fool! The Sultan and your king will set fire to the world before there will be peace."

Will began to speak, but she cut him off.

"Please. I do not mean to be harsh. What you have done so far is good, and Prince Malik will thank you." She put a hand to his shoulder. "But it is not worth your life. Go now."

Will hesitated. It did not seem right to abandon all his plans when he had come this far, when things finally seemed to be coming together. Was Rashida right? Would there never be peace in this land? He sighed heavily and then nodded.

"Very well, I will go. Thank you. To Harold as well."

She gave him a weak smile. "You are a good man, al-Ahmar. You will find your peace. It will just have to be somewhere else."

Will began to walk away, but felt a tug at his trousers. It was the boy, looking frightened and forlorn. He held out the wooden camel. "You are leaving without this."

Sadness and anger swept over Will. He bit down his emotions and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "No, it's for you. Keep it."

The boy smiled in thanks, and Rashida pressed her hand into Will's. "Thank you."

--000--

It had been a long walk from Anissa's house back to Bassam's place on the outskirts of the city, but Djaq had been glad, because the walk had given her a chance to think, without any distractions save Barkhat's labored shuffle next to her.

But no matter how long she thought on it and no matter how much she turned the problem over in her mind, she could not shake off her disquiet, nor arrive at a proper answer to her question. Why do I not have a child?

This thought had bothered her almost since Anissa had first mentioned Djaq's children. It was true that Anissa had said it only as a hope for the future, but something about it disturbed Djaq. Anissa's words had somehow planted themselves in her mind, and now they would not leave no matter how much Djaq attempted to push them out.

Even stranger was the fact that all this was bothering her at all. Until she had seen Anissa with the baby—indeed until she herself had held the baby—Djaq had never given much thought to children. They were merely a vague possibility, a promise of something far in the future. Still...

She sat down on a chair by the window and set her mind to the question at hand. There was no problem in the world that could not be resolved by reason, after all. The mysteries of conception and childbirth were not hidden from her; she knew how women came to be with child. But she and Will had been together constantly since they had first arrived in Acre, since that first coupling, awkward and desperate, on the night of Marian's death. They made love nearly every night, they were young enough, and whatever they lacked in experience, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm. She was doing nothing to prevent it, and yet, in spite of their eagerness for each other, there had not even been so much as an inkling of a child in nearly a year now.

There was always the possibility that something was wrong with one—or even both—of them. She had, after all, spent a good part of her adult life pretending to be a man. She had denied nearly every feminine urge she had ever had, just to carry on the pretense of not being a woman. But merely dressing like a man did not make her a man, as Will had so quickly discovered that first day in the forest. Indeed, even when she had no feminine wiles left, even when being a man had been her only protection against the world, her monthly blood had always threatened to betray her. She had cursed nature and science and even her own body then. But just as the moon waxed and waned every month, so the blood came every month, a constant reminder of her true gender.

Was there something wrong with Will then? Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary. He was certainly eager enough when they were together, and as far as she knew, he always finished as he was meant to. Djaq frowned. It could be that his seed was somehow improper, but she did not know enough about men to judge that matter for herself.

That only left one answer. Some people simply were not blessed with offspring. Djaq shivered at the thought. It would be a cruel joke for fate to play, if she and Will—two who had lost all their loved ones to war and injustice and the privation caused by both—were unable to have a family of their own. But there was no way to know this with any certainty. The only way to find out was to wait, and if in the many long years of their lives, there were no children, that would confirm it. They were barren.

And yet...

Djaq's mind tricked her, conjuring up images of Will playing with the village children in Locksley, of Will painstakingly making tiny, wooden Christmas presents for each child. How could such a man not be a father one day? It was impossible and cruel and...

Djaq's head began to ache from the force of her thoughts. It was too early for her to retire, and Will had not yet returned from his errands in the city. She pressed her palm to her forehead, surprised to feel heat coming off her skin.

She called to Barkhat to bring her tea and some herbs for a fever. After several minutes, when there was no answer, Djaq rose and decided to go find the tea herself.

Barkhat kept nearly an apothecary store's worth of herbs in her rooms. One of Djaq's fondest memories of her childhood was learning herb lore from Barkhat. The servant would patiently tell little Saffiyah the name of each herb and what it could be used for. Later, when her father had trained her in medicine, she had added new knowledge to what Barkhat had taught her. That she had not put this knowledge to use until she found herself stranded in an English forest was another of the ironies of her life.

She flipped open the box where Barkhat kept her collection of herbs, a storm of smells assaulting her almost immediately. She took mental note of each herb as she looked for the one she wanted. There was lavender, used to heal cuts and prevent infection; aloe for treating burns and digestive ailments; yarrow to eliminate poisonous humors from the body; clove as an anodyne for pain; aniseed for worms in the stomach; nettle for treating rashes.

In the last slot in the box was something Djaq did not quite recognize. It was a brown powder and smelled vaguely familiar. She licked a tiny bit of the powder off her own fingertip, and with the taste came a memory. I don't know how you drink that stuff...tastes like medicine. Of course. This was the thing in her tea every day. She was wondering what it was and examining it more closely when the door swung open and Barkhat walked in.

"My lady?"

"I just wanted some tea." She held out the box to the maid. "What is this one? I do not recognize it."

The maid narrowed her eyes at Djaq. "Myrrh."

Myrrh? It was a bitter herb and only used on the most infirm, to help move their blood to heal them. Move their blood...move their blood. It was never given to women because it moved blood out of the womb so that no child would settle. No, it was not possible!

Realization flooded through Djaq's mind, and the box of herbs crashed to the ground. "You! You are trying to poison me!"

--000--

Note: The term aqiqāh refers to an Islamic ceremony performed seven days after a child's birth, when the birth is officially announced to the world, a goat is sacrificed, and the baby's head is shaved (the family gives away silver equivalent in weight to the baby's hair). I think there may be a circumcision at this point as well, but I'm not clear on that.

I never noticed the similarity of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves to some aspects of the Robin Hood legend until I started working on this story. I think it's amazing how certain fictional tropes are the same across cultures.