Well, that could have gone worse, I thought to myself,but I handled it well. I washed my face with the spring water.
It was getting chilly. I leaned against the tree and looked out at the small pool of water that had formed next to it, water from a spring that no longer existed in my own time. Or perhaps it still existed but had turned into a puddle no bigger than a book?
I closed my eyes and inhaled the fragrant air, infused with the scent of burning wood and a faint odor of goat droppings. I knew I wasn’t hallucinating or dreaming. The scents were so powerful. I had a sense of triumph and wild strength. My heart slowed, then quickened, realizing that I could carry out this magic passage at will. I looked around more attentively. There was no sign of Jean d’Ibelin. I had no idea what todo here without him. I glanced at my watch, but the hands were stuck, even though I’d checked that it was working back at home. I sat down on a nearby dune and looked out, my mind empty of thought, at the beauty spread across the landscape. Gardens and orchards blossomed in plum and cherry-blossom pink. Olive trees rippled like silvery waves in the sunlight. The blue-green sea crashed into white foam on a strip of shimmering sand, and the flags of the huge fortress fluttered gently in the breeze. A bell pealed, followed by another heavier and slower bell, which echoed across the valley.
My temples began throbbing dully, so I moved back under the shade of the carob tree. I sat by the spring and deliberated whether to go back to my own time, despite the sense of failure. Did I really need Jean d’Ibelin to set out on an adventure? I could just wander around on my own.
I was considering whether I had the courage to venture as far as the town or the fortress when I heard hoofbeats and barking in the distance. Sweat broke out on the palms of my hands. I sat up straight in an effort to look serene and dignified.
A few minutes later, I heard the sound of an easy trot and Jean d’Ibelin’s voice through the branches. A few seconds later, Brunette burst through the canopy, a hand moved a sweeping branch aside, and Jean’s head peeped in.
“You are here, my lady,” he said with gratification. He was still holding the horse’s bridle. I sat up even straighter and smiled at him. He winked, and his head disappeared. Through the branches and thick foliage, I spied two horses. Jean tied them through an iron ring to the wall, while Brunette charged me, licking and barking happily.
“You sweet, beautiful creature,” I murmured to her in Hebrew as I bent down to hug her. Jean returned, beaming with pleasure at the sight of my enthusiastic reunion with Brunette.
“She likes you very much,” he said in wonderment. “She typically reserves such playfulness for my children. She is not given to displays of affection.”
He sat down beside me. He was dressed, as usual, in shades of yellow and red. A cotton tunic and silk pants tucked into boots of soft brown leather; a wide leather belt, from which hung various pouches; a long sword; and a bulging shoulder bag. This time, he wore a simple brown hunting hat. He looked something like the early illustrations of Robin Hood. I smiled. He smiled back.
“You are looking particularly spirited today, Lady Édith.”
“I am in good health, Sir Jean,” I answered, perhaps overenthusiastically.
“I dare not ask how your journey here was …”
“Everything’s fine, it’s just that …” I hesitated.
“Pray tell, my lady,” Jean said, pausing the unpacking of his bags for a moment.
“One of your guards was here when … when I arrived. I suspect he thought I was some kind of a fairy. He began praying and seemed afraid. I acted as if I were an angel dropped out of the sky and forbade him from returning here for the time being,” I said with trepidation.
Jean cast a glance behind him, beyond the tree’s thick branches, then turned back to me, smiling. “The sergeants are very superstitious, so let us hope his story will sit well with the other legends they tell each other.”
I liked the fact that he was so laid-back and confident, lighthearted, and unshakable. My smile broadened, and I said in Latin, “May the Lord God bless you,” as I’d said to the poor pissing sergeant.
Jean began removing things from his shoulder bag: a large cloth, which he spread on the ground and upon which he placed a ceramic bottle, a few small apples, a thin sliver of hard cheese, half a loaf of bread, and a handful of sticky dates that he carefully unwrapped from a handkerchief.
“Would you care to restore your spirit with refreshments?” he asked, taking out two small ceramic cups.
“Certainly,” I replied. To my surprise, it all felt totally natural to me. “I should like to take you riding today, if it pleases you,” Jean said, helping himself to a date. “However, we must fashion something more seemly for you. I took the liberty of bringing you everything an honest woman needs in order to appear in public without giving the impression that”—he stopped himself and smiled at me—“she is of dubious reputation.”
“Do you always wander around with women’s clothing in your shoulder bag?” I asked, curious to know what he had brought. Jean snorted with laughter.
“Indeed, more than you might envisage,” he said. “My wife loves fine garments, and on my voyages I try to procure exquisite fabrics, artfully dyed textiles, or interesting adornments for her.” This was the first time, I think, that he had mentioned his wife to me directly. He did this in an offhand way, without avoiding my eyes or apologizing, as if I were his sister.
“You’re a great husband, then,” I said, helping myself to a hunk of bread.
“I do not think my wife is convinced of that,” Jean responded, his eyes twinkling. “But it is of no matter. See for yourself if the garments I borrowed from Thibaut’s chest are suitable for you.” He removed a beautifully folded parcel from his shoulder bag.
“But … but …” I stammered. “What do you mean? Do you want me to try them on now? Because, you know … someone might pass by.” I didn’t dare say I was too shy to undress in front of him. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure anymore. The mention of his wife had confused me.
“It is rare and infrequent for a person to pass here alone, near the ridge. If, perchance, a band of knights arrives, we will hear them from afar,” Jean assured me.
“And what about …” I glanced beyond the canopy of branches. “What about that guard?”
“There are two guards who survey the ridge and roads. If they are caught deserting their post for anything besides combat or alerting the inhabitants of the fortress to danger, they will be subject to twenty lashes,” Jean declared. “Fear not. Or perhaps my lady is suddenly bashful?”
“I’ve got my pride, you know,” I admitted. “I might be from another time, but yeah, I need privacy to change into those clothes.”
