Ali’s mouth split into a wide smile over his white teeth. “And many beautiful women, my friend,” he said. “Several of my slave girls are with your English ladies now, attending them at their bath.”
“The prince,” Eustace said, “is grateful for your offer of a banquet tonight. He has grown tired of the rations.”
“It is not unexpected. My humble house is his to command. I understand that he thinks to leave Acre soon.”
Eustace looked up quickly, surprised that the merchant knew of the prince’s plans. He had cursed Edward under his breath when he had learned they were to leave even the nominal comforts of Acre to scout the blistering inland.
“I am not certain,” Eustace said.
“No matter,” Ali said agreeably, waving his beringed hand toward the slave girl. She silently stood next to Eustace, her olive features expressionless. When Eustace raised his face, his eyes fell upon the supple flesh of her bare belly. “Her name is Loka,” Ali said smoothly. “She is only thirteen years old, but skilled in the art of men’s pleasure. Perhaps tonight, after the banquet, you would wish to enjoy her gifts.”
“Aye, perhaps,” Eustace said. What he wanted to do was to see Chandra, naked, in her bath, and he wondered what she was doing.
Just behind the wall, in the bathing room, Beri, their translator, said of one of the slaves, “She has never before seen anyone like you, madam. She says that you are golden everywhere, even between your thighs.”
Joanna de Chaworth held her sides with laughter, but Chandra blinked and turned red, looking down at the slave girl who was on her knees before her, a soapy sponge in her hand.
“I wish that you would be quiet,” Chandra said, frowning toward Joanna and wishing the girl would stand up again. She still hadn’t shaken the sense of embarrassment she felt at being naked around the women, and the slave girls seemed to delight in looking at her and touching her. “I think I am clean now, Beri. I would
like to swim in the pool.”
Beri said a few swift phrases to the girl. She rinsed the sponge free of soap and poured warm, perfumed water from a pottery jug gently over Chandra’s head. Chandra stretched and pushed her heavy wet hair out of her face.
“There can be nothing more wonderful than this. If only we had this in England. You really must try it, Joanna.” She then smiled at Beri and slipped beneath the surface of the cool water of the pool, enjoying the absolute stillness. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she flipped onto her back and floated, her hair fanning out about her head. She cocked an eye open and raised her head from the water at Joanna’s shriek of laughter as the soft sponge glided over her body.
Chandra wondered, looking at Joanna, how she remained so plump. She would swear that Joanna ate less than she did, and yet Chandra was still thin—at least that was what Jerval kept telling her just before he stuck food in her mouth. At least she was fit again. She had seen the Templar physician, Sir Elvan, but once since they had settled in their sprawling tent encampment just beyond St. Anthony’s Gate, outside the walls of Acre. He had treated her kindly, gently kneading her belly and nodding his approval to Jerval. “As I told you, when the stomach cramps so much it becomes a reflex, and medicine is necessary to stop the cramping. Now you are well, and I want you to stay that way.”
Chandra stood up in the water. It came to her waist. Joanna said, “If only Payn would take a few moments from his infernal plotting and join me in this pool, I vow he would soon have the son he so desperately wants.”
“I think you should have a daughter, Joanna. She would laugh and make everyone happy.”
“A son first, then I may bring my glorious daughter to this world. Aye, it is only fair—Payn has worked so very hard, he deserves a son first. Do you not think Sir Jerval would enjoy himself with you in this pool, floating and whatever else in the water?”
“Aye, he would.” Chandra remembered so clearly that day she’d been bathing in their chamber in Sicily. She had felt so languid, lazily dreaming, enjoying the touch of the soapy cloth and the warm water. And Jerval had watched her and wanted her, had held her so tightly that she felt the pounding of his heart against her breast. Ah, that afternoon, he had told her he loved her, and it had been the first time in so very long. And she’d said nothing because she was afraid. She was a fool.
As one of the slave girls toweled her dry, Chandra raised her eyes to see Beri looking at her, a thoughtful expression on her lovely face. Chandra smiled, cocking her head in question. Beri motioned Chandra to lie on her stomach atop a cushioned table. “The girls will rub a soothing oil into your skin. It will protect you from the fierceness of the sun.”
Chandra felt a warm liquid run down to the small of her back before gentle hands rubbed over her, smoothing the oil into her skin. She felt light-headed, and so relaxed that she could not keep her eyes open.
“You are very beautiful,” Beri said, “and golden everywhere.” A slight smile indented the corners of her mouth. “I had thought you would be ugly, perhaps lumpy and fat.”
“Why did you believe I would be ugly, Beri?”
Beri paused a moment, then smiled sadly. “You are lucky in many ways, my lady. You are wellborn, a great lord’s wife, and have the choice to do whatever you wish. I am a slave, and but do my master’s bidding. My mother was also a slave. An Armenian merchant sold me to Ali ad-Din when I was thirteen years old.”
Beri turned away and calmly directed a slave girl to fetch another jar of perfumed oil.
“My master,” Beri continued after a moment, “has taken a great liking to your husband, Sir Jerval. He took my master’s side before the High Court against a Genoese merchant who wanted to strip him of his trade route to the Mongols. The Genoese are dirty and so greedy that they would give Acre itself to the Sultan Baibars if they could fatten their purses by it.”
“Aye,” Chandra said. “My husband told me of it, though he said that Ali ad-Din would have won his case anyway.”
“Your husband is a very handsome man,” Beri said matter-of-factly. “There is another, an English noble whose name I cannot pronounce. He has such intense eyes, dark as a velvet midnight, and they burn deep when he looks at me.”
Chandra searched her mind. “Do you mean Sir Eustace de Leybrun?”
“Never that one. He is outside with my master, waiting for you to finish with your bath. I dislike him. He frightened me. It is how he looks at a woman. It isn’t healthy.”
Intense eyes, Chandra thought, reviewing the nobles in Prince Edward’s retinue. She said quietly, not looking up, “You mean Lord Graelam de Moreton.”