“Yes, yes, the tongue in which the Jews pray,” I replied impatiently. Jean sighed heavily. He resumed his examination of the lighter, holding it up to his nose and sniffing it, trying to work out how to use it. I pointed to the metal roller mechanism. When the flame shot out, Jean recoiled, and Brunette barked. Jean took the lighter and did not relinquish it until he managed to get the hang of it. At first, he released the roller too quickly, and the flame went out. Then, he tried again and was able to sustain a small, steady flame. “Forgive me, my lady,” Jean said as he turned to me, distracted, before going over to the spring and washing his face. After doing so, he knelt down and murmured some words in Latin.
“Were you praying?” I asked him shyly when he came back over to me. “Has all your male vigor disappeared?”
“It is highly likely,” Jean said weakly, although his eyes twinkled merrily.
“I’m not a devil,” I said.
“I know, my lady,” Jean replied. “And yet what is happening here is infused with the scent of sulfur.” I knew what he meant but made an attempt to brighten things up. “Maybe Brunette’s got gas?” I joked, but Jean was not amused. Brunette, on the other hand, seemed to think it was funny.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I rolled a cigarette and lit it from the little campfire. I didn’t dare ask for my lighter back. Jean watched me closely.
“Do you want to try one?” I held out the cigarette.
He took the rolled cigarette from me, scrutinized it, and took a deep drag. From the first moment I saw him, I’d been attracted to Jean, but now I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Not just because of his sculpted facial features and his wiry yet muscular body—I was transfixed by his nonchalant, fluid movements. There was youthfulness and strength about him. Brunette rushed around, escaping the smoke, eventually settling a few feet away from us.
“I have never before felt so like the fabled Chinese emperor, inhaling the smoke of indolence produced through the burning of the most attenuated of paper,” Jean said, smoking with visible pleasure. He looked so at ease.
“Do you know about China?” I asked. “Has Marco Polo already arrived on the scene?” I added rashly.
“Marco who?”
“Never mind,” I sighed. “So, how do you know about China?”
“We live in wondrous times,” Jean explained, the edges of his lips curling upward. “Acre is an important station of the ancient Silk Road, and people from all over the world pass through its port. Anyone with the flimsiest of connections with merchants of Venice and Genoa has heard the fables of Chinese emperors so rich, they are worshipped as idols. I often think these are but fables told by merchants to their offspring, to ignite their imaginations. But I have seen several strange and beauteous objects from there.” He smiled at me with sudden hope. “Almost like the objects you have presented before me, Lady Édith. Perhaps you are of Chinese descent?”
I laughed out loud.
“They usually have almond-shaped eyes,” I said, “and straight black hair. I couldn’t look more different.”
“I would not change your eyes, as green as emeralds, for any Chinese emperor, Lady Édith,” Jean said jovially. It seemed he’d recovered from the shock of my lighter.
“Sir, you are too kind,” I answered, enjoying the turn in conversation.
“And now what?” I asked Jean when the cigarette had burned down almost completely. I took the cigarette butt from Jean, dragged on it one last time, stubbed it out with my shoe, and threw it on the fire.
“Are you ready to embark on our journey?” Jean asked, already gathering everything together. “I brought you a woolen surcoat and a thick cloak, so you will not catch your death of cold.”
“I’m ready,” I chirped enthusiastically, but then felt a stab of guilt and irritating responsibility. “But I think I’m going to have to hop back to my own time to tell my husband I’ll be home late and that he won’t be able to get in touch with me for a few hours.”
“Hop back to your own time …” Jean uttered these words slowly. “A combination of words I find hard to believe I understand. And hard to believe you even said. So be it.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned mischievously. “You have managed to bewitch me after all, my lady, despite Thibaut’s warnings.”
“What about him?” I inquired. “Is he still in Acre?”
Jean didn’t answer right away but fixed me with one of his inquisitive looks.
“He tarries in Acre,” he finally replied.
“Do you mind waiting a few minutes? I won’t be long,” I said. The decision to contact Halimi somehow instilled me with confidence.
“Do you think I may also be able to travel to your time if I try?” Jean asked, avoiding my eyes.
I scratched my cheek. I had no idea, although I wanted to prove I was speaking the truth.
“We can try,” I said. “But …” I thought about the zipper that had nicked me before I time-traveled and the fact I’d been menstruating on my previous visits. Stammering, I explained it was not possible to time-travel without bloodletting.
He took out a large knife and, without so much as pausing, made a small incision on his left arm. “Oh my God,” I cried out.
He knelt down on one knee in front of me, and I made a bemused face at Brunette. Jean, however, was deadly serious.
