Read Online Amongst Silk and Spice by Camille Oster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Camille Oster
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and biting sand off her face. Hugo's face was sparkling slightly with the thin layer of sand covering every exposed surface, and she watched as he walked to the water's edge and washed his hands and face, scooping the water over his head and through his hair.
"You should cover your head from the sun," she said. Like her, his light skin could not take the brutal sun of the desert.
"I know. I have purchased a length of materials off the idolaters," Hugo said, referring to the monks that lived and worshiped in this desolate place. "Although I don't know what kind of god they are finding out here."
Eloise smiled, suspecting Hugo didn't understand their religion, and didn't want to. She wondered if he prayed. The Mohammedeans did. They had all unrolled small carpets and were kneeling down on them, silently chanting their prayers. Hugo sat down next to her and watched. "They do that five times a day, apparently."
"Yes," Eloise said, thinking back on Malik and the things he did. He wasn't the most pious in his worship, but he performed the rituals demanded of him when he had the opportunity, particularly any time he felt troubled. "They are very structured in their ways."
The Mohammedeans ignored their presence, although they were curious but wary of the Christian knight in their midst. It was not long ago they had warred, when the Christians had been pushed out of Acre and their last holds near Jerusalem—memories of those battles prevented many friendships.
"You do not pray then?" she asked.
"Before battle all men pray."
Eloise turned to him, watching as his gaze scanned their surroundings. He was more on edge now that they were surrounded by what he likely saw as enemies, more so than when they were far away, keeping the convoy just in sight. His arms were wrapped around his knees, water drops still glistening in his blond hair.
Truthfully, he seemed a much more foreign creature than the dark-skinned men around them—a warrior and a nobleman—two things completely incomprehensible to Eloise.
"Why are you not married?" she asked, not quite sure herself where the question had come from.
Hugo shrugged. "We are at war and there is no place for a wife in such times. Besides, the king is too distracted with other things to play matchmaker. He wants this war finished and with the French king's capture, he seeks to secure the throne."
Eloise turned from him, bored with this never-ending war. She understood the politics and the economic gain from the fertile French soils, but it was still French soil and they were English, no matter their king's heritage. As with most nobles, both her and Hugo's families had French heritage, her more so as her mother had been French, but for most, their links with France spanned from the Norman Conquest, centuries ago, still the heredital relationship fleeted. Eloise wasn't sure the two people could ever be reconciled under one king, but Hugo would probably argue the point with her, so she kept silent.
"I was for a short time," he said.
"Married?"
"The plague took them."
"Them?"
"There was a boy. I never met him." Hugo got up and walked away, and Eloise just stared after him, dumbfounded, trying to absorb what he'd just admitted. He'd been married and he'd lost his wife, and a child. Hugo's losses ran deeper than she'd recognized—his father, his brother and his own family. She felt guilty for being so insensitive now, for assuming there was nothing more to him than the brute she saw him as.
Chapter 11:
----
Another few days walk and they reached a river, its water shining brightly as it meandered down the riverbed, which by its nature would seemingly swell at times. The river allowed for agriculture along its banks and Hugo saw date trees, fruit and grain crops. The river also made it seem as though they were heading toward something, instead of the endless sand, forming senseless patterns over the land.
Hugo preferred walking. It felt like he was doing something, and today,
"You should cover your head from the sun," she said. Like her, his light skin could not take the brutal sun of the desert.
"I know. I have purchased a length of materials off the idolaters," Hugo said, referring to the monks that lived and worshiped in this desolate place. "Although I don't know what kind of god they are finding out here."
Eloise smiled, suspecting Hugo didn't understand their religion, and didn't want to. She wondered if he prayed. The Mohammedeans did. They had all unrolled small carpets and were kneeling down on them, silently chanting their prayers. Hugo sat down next to her and watched. "They do that five times a day, apparently."
"Yes," Eloise said, thinking back on Malik and the things he did. He wasn't the most pious in his worship, but he performed the rituals demanded of him when he had the opportunity, particularly any time he felt troubled. "They are very structured in their ways."
The Mohammedeans ignored their presence, although they were curious but wary of the Christian knight in their midst. It was not long ago they had warred, when the Christians had been pushed out of Acre and their last holds near Jerusalem—memories of those battles prevented many friendships.
"You do not pray then?" she asked.
"Before battle all men pray."
Eloise turned to him, watching as his gaze scanned their surroundings. He was more on edge now that they were surrounded by what he likely saw as enemies, more so than when they were far away, keeping the convoy just in sight. His arms were wrapped around his knees, water drops still glistening in his blond hair.
Truthfully, he seemed a much more foreign creature than the dark-skinned men around them—a warrior and a nobleman—two things completely incomprehensible to Eloise.
"Why are you not married?" she asked, not quite sure herself where the question had come from.
Hugo shrugged. "We are at war and there is no place for a wife in such times. Besides, the king is too distracted with other things to play matchmaker. He wants this war finished and with the French king's capture, he seeks to secure the throne."
Eloise turned from him, bored with this never-ending war. She understood the politics and the economic gain from the fertile French soils, but it was still French soil and they were English, no matter their king's heritage. As with most nobles, both her and Hugo's families had French heritage, her more so as her mother had been French, but for most, their links with France spanned from the Norman Conquest, centuries ago, still the heredital relationship fleeted. Eloise wasn't sure the two people could ever be reconciled under one king, but Hugo would probably argue the point with her, so she kept silent.
"I was for a short time," he said.
"Married?"
"The plague took them."
"Them?"
"There was a boy. I never met him." Hugo got up and walked away, and Eloise just stared after him, dumbfounded, trying to absorb what he'd just admitted. He'd been married and he'd lost his wife, and a child. Hugo's losses ran deeper than she'd recognized—his father, his brother and his own family. She felt guilty for being so insensitive now, for assuming there was nothing more to him than the brute she saw him as.
Chapter 11:
----
Another few days walk and they reached a river, its water shining brightly as it meandered down the riverbed, which by its nature would seemingly swell at times. The river allowed for agriculture along its banks and Hugo saw date trees, fruit and grain crops. The river also made it seem as though they were heading toward something, instead of the endless sand, forming senseless patterns over the land.
Hugo preferred walking. It felt like he was doing something, and today,
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