The fate of the Christian captives enduring slavery is an important theme of "Envoy of Jerusalem." In this scene, we catch a glimpse of what is happening to the daughter of Balian's knight Sir Bartholomew in Aleppo.
Beatrice prayed God for forgiveness as she brought
the filthy linens to the laundry for the umpteenth time. Some part of her
Christian soul knew that she ought to feel pity for the 14-year-old struggling
to bring her baby into the world, but Fatima had been too heartless and selfish
a mistress for Beatrice to feel anything but satisfaction. Imad ad-Din’s others
wives were all older women, women he had married in his youth, women who had
born him several children each and were in their own way not only weary but
wise. Not one of them had been kind
to Beatrice, but they had not be cruel
either. They recognized that she was a slave because of misfortune beyond her
control. For them it was simply the will of Allah that she had to accept no
less than they did.
Fatima, on the other hand, came to the household
after the death of Imad ad-Din’s second wife. At 13 she was still very young,
but she had rapidly recognized that her 60-something husband was smitten with
her. He had lavished gifts on her, seemed unable to deny her any wish, and
neglected his other wives in his eagerness to savor her charms. The knowledge
that she was the master’s favorite rapidly went to her head. She relished
showing the other wives that she could get whatever she wanted, while they were
rebuked for their “greed” and “covetousness,” if they asked for the smallest
thing. She ate in front of them the ice and figs they had been denied, and she
laughed and stuck out her tongue when the First Wife tried to rebuke her.
To the slaves she had been even worse, of course. No
one ever pleased her, and she threw temper tantrums that included not only
throwing things at whoever offended her but also scratching their skin with her
excessively long nails or spitting on them. She had taken particular pleasure
in mocking Beatrice, calling her “my lady slut” and “my lady whore,” asking how
many men it had been the night of her capture. Was it three or four or maybe
even a dozen or a score? What had it been like having so many different men
inside you, one after the other? Had she been able to climax for them all? Her
questions had been so shocking that the First Wife had intervened, chiding
Fatima for immodesty and sending Beatrice away to spare her further indignity.
But Fatima had pursued the game again when the others were out of hearing.
Beatrice straightened and put her hands to the small
of her aching back. “Christ forgive me,” she muttered, “but I hope she dies and her little Muslim brat with
her!” With a sigh, she reached for the clean linens, stacked neatly on shelves
outside the laundry. She had stacked them there herself after taking them down
from the line this morning and folding them exactly as instructed. (When she
first came, she had often been slapped or kicked for doing things the Frankish
way.) As she took the clean sheets, she was reminded of the effort that went into
making them so — something she had not appreciated in her former life. Clean
linens had simply been her right as a lady, and laundresses were an almost
unseen part of the household. They were generally widows and other poor women,
who were allowed to sleep in a dormitory and eat at the bottom of the table in
exchange for keeping clean the underclothes, bedclothes and tablecloths of
their lord, his family and retainers.
But just this morning she had stood for hours over a
cauldron full of boiling water, stirring the clothes as the steam drenched her
in sweat and scalded her hands. The lye soap stank and stung, and the smell of
it up close almost chocked her. The skin of her hands was permanently red and
rough from the exposure to the damp heat and lye steam. She avoided looking at
them now because they made her sad. Once, she had loved her long fingered-hands
adorned with rings….
She entered the long, dingy corridor between the
laundry courtyard and the haram, and was startled when the delivery door suddenly
crashed open and people poured inside. They were chattering Arabic much too
fast for her to understand it (although she now understood most orders and many
ordinary conversations). An elderly woman was removing her veils, now that she
was inside, and handing them off to the woman behind her, as she questioned the
eunuch leading her toward the haram. She was dressed in very rich robes
decorated with strands of gold, Beatrice noted with wistful envy. Most notable,
her tone of voice was commanding; she was obviously a First Wife in some
important man’s household, Beatrice concluded.
The next instant, she was distracted by the
realization that the woman trailing her, who had now removed her veils as well,
was blond! More than that, she looked familiar. “Jesus God and all his Saints!
Constance!” She called out in utter amazement.
The woman spun about startled, and then let out a
cry of recognition so piercing it stopped her mistress and the eunuch in their
tracks. They turned back angrily and saw the two Christian slaves fall into
each other arms. A moment later they chattering in French, oblivious — and
utterly indifferent — to the disapproval of the others.
“Beatrice! Beatrice!” the new-comer gasped, clinging
to her. “I never thought I would see you again! Oh, sister! What of your
children?”
Beatrice clung to her younger sister as tears
streamed down her face. “Don’t ask. Let us be thankful for this moment
instead.”
Constance was suddenly crying too. Her heartrending
wails came from the depths of her heart as she folded her head upon her
sister’s breast and sobbed like a little child. She did not see the look of
astonishment on her mistress’ face, much less hear the sharp question from the
eunuch demanding an explanation.
“She is my sister,” Beatrice told him, meeting his
glare firmly. “You may flog me till I die, if you like, or kick me ‘till my
guts spill out my mouth, but you will not stop me from holding my own sister!”
“Leave them!” Constance’s mistress snapped. “We have
more important things to do!” She swept on to see to her sister-in-law, leaving
the Christian slaves alone in the hall.
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