I let women into the bathhouse all that afternoon, doing my best to smile and pretend nothing was wrong. Bertaldo and Querini were playing a hazardous game. The Venetians were working with the Navarrese—why would they risk that arrangement? And why would they tell us? They knew who we were, and they’d told us more than was prudent, but they’d left when Gil had told them to. Unless they were stupid—and I’d yet to meet a foolish Venetian—they weren’t done with us. Curiosity made me regret telling Gil and Eudocia not to hurry back. I wanted Eudocia to rest, but I also wanted to know if we were in danger.
As closing time drew near, a tall man entered the bathhouse’s anteroom. He wasn’t quite as tall as Gil, but he had similar features, other than the graying hair at his temples.
“Sebastie, I didn’t expect to see you until autumn, but I’m glad you’re here.” I drew out an amphora of wine, one hardly watered at all, and two clean cups.
Sebastie was Gil’s uncle. Sixteen years ago, he’d let a young Moorish refugee join his mercenary band. That wasn’t unheard of, not in Navarre, but I’d known little of the sword or the crossbow all those years ago. I had Sebastie to thank for most of my training. He numbered among the few people I trusted without reservation, and while I imagined age was starting to pick at his skill, he was proficient with a sword, a crossbow, and a halberd. The visit from the Venetians made having another warrior and friend nearby something to be pleased about.
“I didn’t expect to be back so soon.” He glanced over his shoulder, toward the entrance. “But things in the Duchy are changing.”
“So I’ve heard. The company is working with the Venetians now?”
He nodded. “For the present. The Venetians weren’t in a position to ally with the Turks or the Greeks or the Florentines, so that left us. It seems whenever anyone else gets desperate, they ask the Turks for help. But the Turks, once called, can be hard to banish.”
“I’ve noticed.” Groups of them raided the coast with regularity, carrying victims off to the slave markets.
“You and Gillen are always welcome back with the company. You keep your skills up, yes?”
I nodded. “The best I can. Gil’s eyes . . . they see well enough to deal with rabble from the streets, as long as it’s not too dark.”
“But he can’t push you to be better.”
“Not anymore.” I filled our cups. “Eudocia’s a bit of a challenge. I swear she can read my mind when we duel. She doesn’t have the strength to disarm me, other than when she gets lucky, but she’s hard to beat. Michali is coming along. He’ll keep me sharp.”
“Sharp enough to keep the Turks out of Thebes?”
I took a sip of wine. “Is that why you’re here? To warn us that the Turks are coming?” Over the years, Gil and I had joined with others from Thebes to chase away Turkish pirates and rescue their captives.
“They aren’t so close, not yet. But that could change quickly.”
“Well, I know the important words in Turkish for running a bathhouse, and none of us have sons for them to take as janissaries. We can pay the tax for people of the book and carry on well enough. And if not, perhaps we’ll move on. Negroponte. Cyprus. We’re saving in case we need to start over.”
“Is that why Gillen and Eudocia don’t have any children yet? Because they fear the Turks will take them?”
“The lack of children is not from lack of desire or lack of effort.” I made the liquid in my cup swirl. “The most recent wound is still fresh. It’s probably best not to mention it when you see them.”
“It is a common problem among Basque women, losing many babies.”
“But Eudocia is Greek, not Basque.”
Sebastie grunted. “Then perhaps it is simply God’s will. Like the plague taking Anna and my son. A tragedy I hope to someday understand.”
So much pain wound its way into love. All of Gil and Eudocia’s lost babies. Sebastie’s marriage that had lasted only seven years, from the time the Navarrese Company had taken Livadeia and Sebastie had found a pretty young widow with two children to the time disease had run through Athens, where they’d moved. My own experience with love had given me a few moments of bliss as I’d held the woman I’d wanted to marry, followed by separation, shame, grief, and regret. Even now, Zubiya kept her claim on my heart.
“How are Anna’s older children?” I asked. Only Anna and the toddler had died. Sebastie and the rest of the family had survived.
“Martina married a baker. He’s a good man, treats her well. Theodosius is in the company with me. He’s becoming very good with the sword. His style reminds me of Gillen before the Catalans ruined his eyes.”
“Speaking of Catalans, three Venetians came to see us about midday, asking after the scarred Moor, the Greek slave, and the two Basque spies who helped steal Thebes from the Catalans.”
Sebastie chuckled. “Two Basque spies? I was no spy. Just another sword who hated to see your training stall for even a fortnight.”
“They wanted a group to kidnap Nerio Acioli for them.”
“Did they, now?” He raised an eyebrow and grew serious. “What were their names?”
“Bertaldo and Querini. Bertaldo had his niece with him, but it didn’t sound like she’s involved. Do you know them?”
Sebastie shook his head. “I don’t recognize the names. But San Superano will be interested to hear that some of his allies want to take possession of his prisoner.”
I’d never fought under the new Navarrese captain, Pedro de San Superano. I’d never officially been allied with the Venetians. But I’d just told Bertaldo’s secret, so I supposed the company still had my loyalty. “I imagine you’ll want to tell him what the Venetians are working on soon, but maybe you can stay long enough to make Gil smile again. They’re taking this latest loss a little harder than the others.” I glanced out the window. I’d done what I could to cheer them up, but their grief was heavy. If Gil could shake it off, even a little, he’d find a way to help his wife.
“I can stay for a day or two. Not much longer. I wouldn’t have come, but I ran into someone with news of Valencia and your family.”
I looked from the window to Sebastie’s face to make sure I’d heard him correctly. I’d told Gil and Sebastie about my family and the place of my birth. But Valencia was far away, and my town hadn’t been large. Who would Sebastie have run into with tidings from there? “Good news or bad news?”
“Mostly ill, but not all. Ufayr ibn Nizar is dead. That’s news you long wished to hear, isn’t it?”
Zubiya’s husband. My hands tensed and then relaxed over and over again. I’d been sinful to wish her husband dead—but I’d never acted on that wish, so perhaps I could be forgiven. Now Zubiya was free. Sixteen years had passed since I’d last seen her, but I thought of her whenever I felt the wind, whenever the scent of roses brushed my nose, whenever I saw a woman wearing a bracelet. Would she run away with me if I went back? I was a Christian now, and she might not approve of my conversion. Nor was there any certainty that I could journey there before someone pressured her into another marriage. But if I still felt love for her after such a long time, I needed to try.
Sebastie put a hand on my shoulder. “His passing is recent. His second wife preceded him in death. I’m sorry, Rasheed.”
Ufayr’s second wife. The words struck like thunder. “Zubiya is dead?”
Sebastie nodded.
He should have started with that news. Why had I allowed my hopes to rise so quickly? My mind could take me back to the wide roads of Valencia in an instant. Zubiya, with her mother in the market. The times we had watched the starlings together when we were children. The shared smiles when she’d come to the bathhouse with her sisters. The day she’d found me in the courtyard behind the bathhouse and told me her family had arranged a marriage with Ufayr ibn Nizar but that she would rather marry me. Her head had been uncovered—a detail that had added to the scandal later. A warm breeze had blown her black hair toward me, along with her perfume. Tears shimmering like diamonds had dotted her lower lashes. I hadn’t intended to kiss her, nor did I think she had planned to kiss me. But I’d caught her hair and smoothed it, then had run my hand along her cheek. She had stood on her toes and pressed her mouth to mine, taking my breath away. Our kiss had not taken much time, but it had been long enough for someone to see us. I’d told everyone it was my fault, that I’d forced her to kiss me. I’d held out hope—and I think she had too—that our families would come to an arrangement, that Zubiya and I could be together somehow. But I’d seen no sympathy, no understanding, no compromise. Just anger and disappointment and a kind of exile. I’d run off with the next caravan heading north.
Sebastie refilled my wine cup. “I’m sorry. I thought enough time had passed that the sorrow would not be so deep.”
My throat felt tight, but I refused to show more emotion than I already had. “Thank you for the news. You trust your source?”
“Yes. He’s waiting outside. Didn’t want to come in but promised he wouldn’t leave.”
“Who is it?”
Sebastie glanced at his hands. “I’ve more ill news. Perhaps not as painful. Perhaps more so. Both your parents are dead.”
I gripped the cup of wine a little harder, then forced my hand to relax. The last time I’d seen my parents, my father had told me I was no longer his son. My mother had looked away. She hadn’t condemned me, but nor had she stood up for me. I’d heard nothing of them since they had disowned me. They’d stopped being part of my life a long time ago, but news of their death still gave a sting.
“Your sisters are married, but Aban got into some kind of trouble and took the road to Barcelona. He heard you were in the Duchy.”
“Aban?” I remembered my brother as a child with large brown eyes, rich brown skin, and a smile so wide it could light up an entire room. He had been my mother’s favorite back then. He would be about twenty now. “Aban is here?”
Gil and Eudocia came through the bathhouse’s front entrance just then. Gil glanced at me, then over his shoulder. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but there’s a man outside who looks just like you, Rasheed.”
Eudocia nodded. “A little younger, with a more narrow face, and without the scar. His eyes are like yours, as is his skin.”
I glanced at Sebastie, who gave more of an explanation. “The last he’d heard, you were with the Navarrese Company. When he found us, I told him I’d bring him to you.”
Zubiya was dead. The parents who had disowned me were dead. But my little brother was waiting in the street outside the bathhouse. I stood. An old injury in my leg still troubled me when the weather changed or when I overused it, but both of my legs shook now, just a bit. This time, the weakness wasn’t from pain, nor the muscles and sinew that had healed in a misshapen way. This was a different sort of tremor. Surprise and anticipation with a bit of dread. My family had cast me aside. Aban had been too young to understand the anger, but he would have heard as he grew.
I stepped through the entrance and blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight. A figure leaned against the outer wall of the bathhouse. Aban. He was a man now, tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A medium-sized turban covered his head, and a kaftan flowed down to the top of his shoes. Why hadn’t he come inside earlier?
I took a step closer, and our eyes met. He had changed, but the little boy who had begged to be held during thunderstorms and who had followed me around the Valencian bathhouse while we’d cleaned it stood before me for the first time in sixteen years.
I smiled and stepped closer.
He frowned and looked away.