We headed west, in search of Signor Bertaldo’s ship. “I hope they find us before we find them,” Cecilia said. “If not, I think it will be a long walk.”
She still favored her injured leg, and the other was chained. I’d pulled the long end of chain around my shoulders so it wouldn’t drag, but the two of us had to choose our positions with care so the remaining links didn’t trip us.
The pain in my leg flared too. I was used to that happening—when I overdid it, my limb rebelled, sometimes later the same day, sometimes the day after. When the joint stopped moving smoothly, sometimes Gil could give it a few slow tugs to get it back into position. Were I back in Thebes, I’d ask him to work his magic, then I’d prop my leg on a stool and let everyone else run the bathhouse while I took payments and went over the ledger. Today, rest wasn’t an option, so I’d have to deal with the pain.
“My friends won’t give up, and I don’t imagine your uncle will either.” Gil and Sebastie might search for Eudocia first, but they wouldn’t abandon me.
“No. Uncle Giacomo will search because losing me would mean no marriage alliance with Signor Querini. He couldn’t risk that.” Her voice contained resignation, maybe a little resentment.
“I hope your marriage will bring you happiness and purpose. I’m sure Signor Querini will be better than whoever the slavers would have sold you to.”
She looked at the sand. “I should not have said that last night. Of course marriage is different from slavery. But thank you for hearing me, Rasheed, and for remembering.” She tucked some of her hair behind her ears. It was dry now and a little tangled, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. “It’s strange to have someone remember what I say. My father did, but my uncle does not. I know I don’t have all the answers, but I don’t want my words dismissed just because I’m a woman.”
“I would have been a fool not to listen to you. A fool and a galley slave.”
“Your friends would have come for you.”
“They would have tried, but I suspect they would have been too late.”
She pursed her lips. “That is what I want. Someone who cares enough to come for me even when it’s not profitable and might not succeed. And to be heard and considered when I speak. I must hope it comes with time when I am married to Signor Querini.”
“Cecilia—” I stopped myself. I had ridden after her even when it hadn’t been profitable. And I hadn’t turned around, even when the Turks had joined their companions and made the odds against me impossible. I would hear her and value what she said. But she was promised to another. “I’m sorry, I should call you Signorina Bertaldo. I slipped in the cave, too, and called you Cecilia.”
She thought for a moment. “So you did, but I do not mind. If I call you Rasheed, should you not call me Cecilia?”
“Perhaps.” I wasn’t sure it was wise to become even more familiar with her—affection had a habit of leading to heartache—but that was what I wanted: to call her by her given name. “Cecilia, will you tell me about sailing all over the Mediterranean?”
“I will. If you will tell me about bathhouses.”
We discussed bathhouses, galleys, and the major Venetian ports around the Mediterranean for the next several hours. I didn’t normally talk so much with anyone, not even Gil or Michali or Eudocia. I supposed after eleven years, we didn’t have all that much to say to each other all at once. But Cecilia was different. Her descriptions brought the cities and the ships to life for me, and our conversation made the morning fly past.
When the sun reached its zenith, Cecilia grew quiet and glanced at the sky. I offered her the water bladder, and she took a drink but seemed uncomfortable. She moved her ankle and made the chain jingle.
“Yesterday, when we were swimming, I was grateful the chains were not longer so they wouldn’t be too heavy. But now I wish we had more links. I need a few moments of privacy.”
Those few words and the blush on her cheeks were all the explanation I needed. We turned our backs to each other for us both to take a few moments, then without looking around, I asked if she was finished and ready to move on.
“Yes.” She still sounded embarrassed.
“We’ll need food.” I’d been too dizzy for hunger the night before, but my stomach had complained all morning about the meals it had missed. Attempting to hunt with a sword while chained together seemed ridiculous, and we had nothing to fish with. Even if we did catch something, I didn’t want to start a fire to cook it—not when the Turks might be looking for us and notice the smoke.
Cecilia pointed to some rocks in the distance. “Those might be worth looking at.”
“For what?” They didn’t appear high enough to improve our view, and the tide covered most of them.
“For food.” She started toward the rocks, and I had the choice of following or making her trip. I went after her. I wasn’t sure what type of food she expected to find, but the other option was heading inland, and I preferred staying where we could see the water and any ships—friendly or hostile—that might pass by.
The azure waves cast curtains of spray as they hit the steely rocks. Cecilia paused on the edge of the water.
“Do you see what you wanted to see?” I asked.
She waited for a wave to recede before answering. “Yes.” She waded a little farther into the sea.
I kicked my shoes off and went in after her. A few rocks poked at my skin, but sand formed most of the surface other than the enormous boulders Cecilia studied. “You should probably keep your bandage dry. What are we looking for?”
“Mussels. On the rocks, a little below the waterline.” She pointed at the gray-blue shells just under the surface. “They’d be easier to harvest if the water were lower, but I’m hungry now, and I don’t think we want to wait on the tide.”
The length of the chain presented another problem. “Here.” I took her hand and helped her up on the rocks, where she could get closer to the mussels without soaking her wound. “I’ve never eaten mussels before. Do we have to cook them? The Turks might see a fire.”
“I prefer them cooked, in wine when possible, but we can eat them like this. Only take the closed ones. The open ones are dead, and they’ll make us wish we’d fasted.”
I maneuvered next to the thickest of them and reached for the largest I saw. The shell wasn’t particularly sharp, and a good tug drew it from the rock. I handed it up to Cecilia, then repeated the process until we had about a score of them.
She gathered them in the outer layer of her gown and took my hand so I could help her from the rocks. I replaced my shoes, and we walked up the beach until we found shade. When we sat, Cecilia borrowed my knife and pried open the first one. She ran the blade along the top of the shell and then along the bottom until the shellfish was no longer attached. Then she handed the bottom half of the shell to me with the mussel still inside.
I took it and stared. “They’re meant to be eaten like this?”
She was already prying another open. “Yes. You’ve never had them before?”
“Not that I can remember. I grew up near enough to the sea but not on it.” I picked up the squishy mound of flesh and put it into my mouth. It was salty, and the sand made it gritty. Not something I’d crave, but my hunger was strong enough that when Cecilia finished opening hers, I took the knife and worked on the next one. But I didn’t bother chewing the second mouthful. Better to swallow it whole and avoid as much of the texture as possible.
“Cooking improves them.” Cecilia tossed an empty shell away. “Makes them good instead of barely edible.”
“Maybe for supper, we’ll find some poor farmer’s crops to borrow, if we haven’t made it to your uncle’s ship by then.”
We finished our meal and examined the blisters that had popped up around the chains that still clasped our ankles. We used strips of my shirt to line the metal, and continued our journey.
I wasn’t sure how far we had walked since our escape. Nor was I sure how far off course the Turks had taken us, but Cecilia had complete faith that the Sea Maiden was waiting. Yet the day passed, and the Venetian galley remained elusive.
Cecilia’s gray eyes scanned the sky. “We’ve only got an hour of daylight left. Your limp is getting worse.”
“So is yours. May I check your injury?”
She nodded, so after she’d sat and pulled her skirt up to her knee, I unwrapped the bandage. The swelling was worse, but the wound didn’t smell and had scabbed over nicely. I wrapped it back up with a fresh bit of torn linen shirt.
“Is there anything I can do for yours?” she asked.
I shook my head. “We should rest for the night. We’ll need food again, and it’s probably best to find it while we can see.”
The tide wasn’t ideal for gathering more mussels. I wasn’t sorry. But that left us with fewer choices. We could go hungry. Or we could go inland and hope we didn’t miss the Sea Maiden or run into anyone hostile. After discussing our options, we turned our backs on the sea and went north, farther from the beach. We soon came to an olive grove, but olives weren’t in season, not even close. Berries were, so we gathered what we could find along with some goosefoot.
“I think I’d rather have a goose than the weeds.” Cecilia picked more goosefoot and tasted some of the seeds. She made a face but didn’t spit them out.
I added fennel leaves to her pile. “Me too. But weeds over raw mussels.”
Her laughter made me smile. “I’ll cook some for you one of these days. I know how to make them delicious.”
That made my smile disappear. The promise of meals together suggested we had a future, and that wasn’t the case. We would find the Sea Maiden, and then we’d find Eudocia and Signor Querini. I didn’t imagine Signor Querini would invite me over so his wife could feed me mussels cooked in wine.
We ate enough goosefoot, fennel, and berries to banish the worst of our hunger. By the time we finished, the sun had slipped under the horizon and the sky burned with gold fading into crimson. That meant we needed to find somewhere to sleep.
“Have you slept out under the stars much?” I asked.
“Yes, but on a ship’s deck, not on the ground. You?”
“Plenty of times.” But never with someone like Cecilia chained to me. “We should find a place where we’ll be hidden. And where the ground isn’t too hard or too rocky.”
“And where the tide won’t catch us.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have chuckled, but I did. I wasn’t usually given to mirth, but something about Cecilia changed my mood, made it lighter. Getting too close to her would be a mistake, yet in the moment, we needed each other. Enough hardships faced us—hunger, blistered feet, aching legs, and threat of Turkish pirates—without adding an aloofness I didn’t feel and didn’t want to force.
We walked a while, and then I saw a chestnut tree, so we stopped to gather as many chestnuts as we could wrap in the bits of cloth we had left. We’d have a meal more filling than fennel and less slimy than raw mussels to eat in the morning. That was something. One hardship lessened.
The place we settled on was smooth and offered a clear view of all the approaches. I told Cecilia to sleep while I stood watch. We didn’t have to worry about the tide here, but I didn’t want to be caught off guard again.
Cecilia tossed and turned. I wanted to talk to her more but refrained. She needed to sleep so I could wake her up and get a few hours of sleep myself. I tried to stretch some of the soreness out of my leg, but any improvement was minuscule. The pain I could deal with, but uncertainty about how long the pain would last before it calmed down again nagged at me.
Eventually, Cecilia settled and slept. The moon came out, and the wind picked up. I spread my cloak over her, and she didn’t stir. The moonlight made her hair silvery—but not the type of silver one might find on an old woman. The type of silver one might find in stories of gods and goddesses. She looked vulnerable in her sleep. And beautiful. I turned away. Watching a woman sleep—especially one promised to another man—was unwise.
Between the wind and the pain in my leg, it was easy to stay awake at first. But as the stars circled across the horizon, weariness pulled at me. Had I been standing guard for the Navarrese Company, I would have paced the perimeter of whatever I was guarding. That wasn’t an option while chained to a sleeping enchantress.
Enchantress. I watched her sleep a little more. What was it about her that I found so appealing? She was beautiful, but I’d met other beautiful women before. She was kind, though I’d been blessed with other kind people in my life, so that wasn’t unique either. She was brave, but so were others I’d known. Nor was she the only woman with a melodious laugh and a clever brain and perceptive eyes and a faithful heart. But something about all of it, something about her . . . I wouldn’t change anything about Cecilia Bertaldo, except her betrothal to Signor Querini.
I prayed for help to stay awake, for help to find Eudocia, and for help to keep from falling for the beautiful Venetian woman currently chained to me. What had God been thinking, allowing me to be chained next to the woman of my dreams—a woman who belonged to another man? First Zubiya. Now Cecilia. I was cursed when it came to women.
Sometime during the third watch of the night, I woke her. “Can you manage the watch for a while?”
She yawned and covered her mouth. “Of course.” She looked at the stars and seemed to tell the time. “You let me sleep more than my share of the night.”
“I’m an old soldier. I’m used to standing watch.”
She stood. “I’m an old sailor. I am also used to standing watch.” She noticed the cloak I’d given her. She handed it back, as well as her own.
“You should keep yours. The wind is sharp tonight.”
She hesitated. A gust of wind and a shiver made her relent and wrap the stolen Turkish cloak tightly around her body.
I settled onto the ground where she’d been lying. Still warm, if not soft. I pulled my cloak over me as pain pulsed up and down my leg. Maybe, eventually, it would calm down enough for me to sleep. I shifted, trying to find a position that eased the pain rather than aggravating it.
“Rasheed?” Her voice was soft and clear.
“Yes?”
“I know I ought to let you sleep, but I’ve been wondering something.” She fiddled with the edge of her cloak for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Well, it’s not because my friends haven’t tried. Gil and Eudocia have introduced me to plenty of women, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Something about them made me exhausted. I could picture what it would be like after a while, and it looked unhappy. I’ve heard a lot of gossip at the bathhouse from men who think their wives dull or dim-witted and women who think their husbands selfish or stupid. I don’t want a marriage like that. I’ve seen real love—I don’t want to settle for anything less.” I’d watched countless marriages turn sour in a hundred different ways. But I’d also seen how Gil and Eudocia cared for each other. They weren’t perfect, but they had friendship and passion and a partnership that could weather any hardship. Watching them made it easy to know when a woman came along that I could love without reservation. A woman whose company hadn’t exhausted me even after being chained to her for more than a day. A woman who could carry on a serious conversation or make me laugh. A woman who understood loss and hope and faith. A woman like Cecilia.
My eyes were on her for too long, so I pulled them away. “Besides, what woman would want to wake up to a face like mine every morning?”
“You speak of your scar?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t see her expression from where she stood, but I heard the smile in her voice. “I do not think your scar is a detriment to your face. It’s a reminder that you’ve lived—and that you’ve survived. After hearing the story of how it came to you, it’s also a reminder of what you’ve given up to follow God. I would think something like that appealing to wake up to.”
She probably didn’t realize how much she was saying. I did, but I threw caution to the wind. “I suppose I am not married because every time I find a woman I could love as deeply as I wish to, she is promised to someone else.”
Cecilia’s shadow fidgeted in the moonlight. “I wonder what is worse. Your fate—knowing what love is, almost touching it but never having it. Or mine—promised to a stranger and unsure if I’ll ever experience love at all.”
I held my tongue for a long moment before speaking again. I had to find Eudocia, but completion of that quest didn’t have to mean goodbye for Cecilia and me. “No one can force you to marry Signor Querini.”
More fidgeting. “I have a duty. To my family. To Venice. You managed to change who you are, Rasheed. Muslim to Christian. Someone from a small town in Valencia to someone from a city in the Duchy of Athens. Not all of us can do that.”
“Anyone can change themselves. It’s not always easy, and the consequences sometimes hurt, but it can be done.”
She looked away and paced for a few steps, until the tug of the chain put a stop to it. “I should let you sleep.”
Sleep didn’t come easily. Every movement of the chain brought my eyes around to see what she was doing. And once my eyes saw the moonlight shining on her hair, it was hard to close them again. I understood the pull of family. I’d spent the first seventeen years of my life trying to please my father, trying to believe what he told me to believe, work the way he showed me to work, and dress and eat and act the way he did. Even after being disowned and cut off from my family, I’d welcomed Aban when he’d come to Thebes, despite the years and despite the fact that he might have killed someone. Cecilia no doubt felt bound to do as her uncle wished—but if her uncle wished something that would make her unhappy, didn’t that negate his right to make decisions for her?
Eventually, sleep came, but it didn’t last long. I woke when Cecilia’s hand grabbed my shoulder and shook. “Rasheed.” Her whisper was sharp and fearful. “Someone’s coming.”