Marie, who evidently was not surprised by the blow, executed an exaggeratedly over-the-top bow, which earned her another smack on the head. We continued into the house.
“We shall sit in the solarium,” Alice said to Marie. “Have the cook prepare refreshments.” The girl nodded and slipped into a passageway.
“Get me a different woman, my lord,” Alice practically spat as the three of us entered a big, bright room. It was not as large as Thibault’s rooms at the inn, but no less splendid. There were tapestries on the walls, upholstered sitting corners and embroidered cushions, and a densely woven rug on the stone floor. A fire burned in the big fireplace despite the spring day, and beyond the windows was the sea, golden in the sunlight. I remained standing. From somewhere came the sound of footsteps, and Brunette burst through the door and started barking and jumping on me happily. I stood frozen and just patted her awkwardly on the head.
“The dog knows Cousin Édith well, I see,” Alice said thornily. Jean held Brunette’s leather collar and said that he would return at once, after securing the precious manuscript safely in his office, and Alice instructed me to sit down. Then, she rang a small copper bell.
Marie’s face appeared at the door. “Where are the refreshments?” asked Alice.
“I shall bring them at once, my lady.” Marie bowed, cast another angry look at me, and headed toward the door.
“Marie,” Alice’s voice rose.
The servant turned back.
“After you bring the refreshments, get out of this house,” Alice said without batting an eye. The servant’s mouth gaped wide.
“My lady,” she said in a chirpy voice that made me sorry for her.
“On second thought,” said Alice, and the servant’s face brightened with hope. “Tell the cook to send someone else and get out of here at once.” The servant bowed quickly, and as she closed the door, I could hear her burst into tears.
“I will not tolerate a lack of respect,” Alice mumbled. This woman frightened me to the point of paralysis. I had never felt so helpless, and I didn’t know how I would regain control over my fate.
Alice stood at one of the windows, her back to me, and, with a slow, wavelike motion, began to remove her silk turban. Two braids fell over her shoulders. She slowly unraveled each of them, and her hair was completely free; it was long and smooth, honey-colored like her eyes. I watched her, hypnotized. She turned back to the room and looked at me. Lazily, but without taking her eyes off me, she took a white cotton cap from a nearby chest, set it upon her head, and tied it loosely under her chin.
Then, she sat across from me in one of the armchairs and gathered her legs under her. With her hair loose and the childish white cap on, she looked like a teenage girl. A gorgeous girl, who examined me unhurriedly, narrowing her enormous eyes at me. She took up a small wooden stick in her hands, around which wound a cloud of light wool. Skillfully, without looking at what she was doing, she rolled the stick between her hands and fingers, and the cloud began to transform into yarn.So, this is what a spindle looks like.
“And so, Cousin,” she said, emphasizing the wordcousin.
“Lady Alice,” I said. I had nothing to add. I longed for Jean’s presence and dreaded the moment he would return.
There was a light knock at the door, and into the room came a servant smaller than Marie, balancing a large copper tray with evident inexperience. The tray held a glass bottle with diluted wine, three glasses, slices of cheese, cuts of cold meat, pieces of bread, and clay bowls filled with nuts, dates, and dried figs. The little servant sighed with relief when the tray wassecurely set down on the nearby table. She then bowed to her mistress and to me and disappeared after a nod of approval from Alice.
“Have something,” said Alice. “You will need your strength.” I picked up a dried fig and began to gnaw on it reluctantly. In light of Alice’s industrious hands, I felt even more superfluous and worthless than I thought possible.
“I had never heard of any relatives from Lady Melisende’s side,” said Alice. “Does Isabelle even know of your existence?”
I answered, trembling, praying sincerely for the help of any of the saints: “I maintained contact with her since childhood through correspondence, my lady. There is nothing that I want more than to visit her at the convent.” Lady Melisende, whose name I knew from Wikipedia, was Jean’s late mother. Isabelle was Jean’s dispossessed sister, who had taken her vows as a nun.
Alice nodded slowly. She opened her mouth, and then came another knock at the door.
“In the name of the Holy Mother,” Alice sighed. “Yes?”
Into the room came a plump villager with an ample bosom cosseted in a brown woolen dress and over it a kind of white cotton short-sleeved dress, carrying a little baby wrapped in a red woven blanket. A small boy peeped out from behind her, casting shy glances at Alice and me.
“Lady Alice, Little Jean is coughing. Shall I summon Avraham Ben Simon?” She had a strange pronunciation, with whistling letters.
“Who?” Alice asked angrily.
“The Jewish healer, my lady,” replied the villager, whom I assumed to be the wet nurse.
Alice inhaled impatiently, her nostrils flaring, and gave the matter some ten seconds of thought.
“Consult with the master; he is in his study,” she said finally. The wet nurse bowed and turned to leave the room.
“One moment,” said Alice. The wet nurse stopped.
“Balian,” Alice said in a soft voice and set the spindle down in her lap. “Come give your mother a kiss.” The little boy released the back of the wet nurse and approached his mother with reverence. He took her hand and kissed it, then stood straight. He was maybe three years old.
