She smiled, her teeth a glint of whiteness in the dark. 'Not all Copts are born within sight of the Nile. I have never lived in Egypt-nor has my father.'
'But I thought -'
'I grew up in Damascus,' she explained. 'No doubt I would have lived there all my life. It is a glorious city – or used to be. I was very happy there.'
'Why did you leave?'
'We were forced to flee,' she replied, her voice darkening slightly, 'and we were not alone. Three thousand Christians were driven from their homes that day. We were far more fortunate than most. Many lost everything, including their lives. They took most of the ready gold and silver, but we were allowed to bring anything else we could carry.'
'Was it because of the crusade?' I asked.
Sydoni gave a slight shake of her head. 'No, it was the Fida'in.'
The wondered at the word. 'What is a Fedayeen?'
'The Fida'in,' she corrected. 'Have you never heard of them?'
'No,' I told her, 'but I have not been long in the Holy Land.'
'I wish I had never heard of them. They are vile and hateful murderers,' she replied with disgust. 'Some call them Batinis – those who hold a hidden faith. It is because of them that we were forced to leave Damascus.'
As if fearing she had said too much, she fell silent. I tried to engage her in conversation again, but she said she was tired, and soon went below, leaving me alone once more and gazing at the stars.
The next day, neither she nor her father showed themselves above deck before midday. Padraig and I spent the morning fishing, and caught enough for our dinner that night. I told the priest about what Sydoni had said the night before, and asked if he had ever heard of the Fida'in. He, like myself, professed ignorance, so we asked Roupen.
'Where did you hear about them?' He looked around the bare deck as if he thought they might be hiding behind the mast, ready to leap out on us.
'Sydoni told me,' I replied. 'She said they were the reason she and her father were forced to leave Damascus. She said three thousand Christians fled on the same day.'
The young lord shrugged. 'I am not surprised. Such things happen-especially when the Fida'in are involved.'
'But who are they?' asked Padraig.
'Fida'in means those whose lives are…' he searched for the right word, 'forfeit-like a sacrifice.'
'Sydoni said they held to a hidden faith,' I put in.
Roupen nodded. 'That is why nobody knows much about them. They are very secretive. In fact, I have heard it said they will kill themselves rather than be taken by an enemy. If they die fighting for God, they go instantly to paradise. At least,' he shrugged again, 'that is what they believe.'
Just then, one of the sailors called out that land had been sighted. Yordanus emerged a short while later, and the old trader lurched across the deck to stand squinting in the sunlight and gripping the rail with both hands.
The three of us joined him, and I told Yordanus it was good to see him above deck. 'The air will do you good,' Padraig added.
The old trader gazed across the wide stretch of water at the hazy wrinkle of hills in the blue distance. 'I have not set foot on the mainland since leaving Damascus,' he told us. 'I did not think I ever would again.'
'Sydoni told me about your troubles,' I said.
He turned sad, misty eyes to me. 'Did she?' he asked doubtfully. 'Then I am amazed.' He looked away again. 'That is the first time she has spoken of it to anyone.'
TWENTY-SIX
We reached the mainland after dark and stood off shore during the night, continuing up along the coast the next morning. The sun had but quartered the pale, cloudless sky when the pilot sighted the river mouth and, as the ship made the short run in, Padraig and I quickly became very busy with ropes and sails and suchlike. When I finally had a chance to look up, I saw a wide, shallow-channelled estuary opening out into the sea between two steep banks.
Above the river on the high right bank stood the village of Marionis, its tight clusters of tiny blue-domed houses dazzling white in the bright sun. Seeing that the ship meant to stop, a number of villagers leapt into small boats and rowed out to meet us; the first of these enterprising souls now clamoured for our attention. Yordanus hired two sturdy craft to ferry us to shore, and we soon found ourselves standing in the tiny market square, haggling over the price of mutton.
The old trader rose magnificently to the challenge of bartering for supplies. Truly, he relished the cut and thrust of the exchange with a zeal I had rarely seen in anyone half his age. He conducted the bargaining in Greek and I soon noticed that, although he put on a formidable countenance, he always settled on a price higher than he might have got if he had pressed a little harder.
'They are farmers and goat herders mostly-not wealthy merchants,' he said when I asked him about this later. 'Life is hard in the villages. If I give them a little more, they will go home with joy in their hearts; and tonight when they pray, their prayers will be for me. I am a rich man. I need all the prayers I can get.' He smiled, his pleasure expanding by the moment. 'Besides, you never know when you must come back this way again. Sow a little good will now, who knows what you might reap tomorrow, eh?'
By midday, he had concluded his business and stood with satisfaction before a mound of provisions: big round wheels of bread, several clay jars filled with salted olives, a haunch of fresh mutton, slabs of dried meat and fish, four live chickens bound in pairs by the feet, two bags of flour and jars of oil, round pots of soft goat cheese, and garlanded strands of onions, and bunches of fresh root vegetables of a kind I had never seen before. Also, there was wine-no fewer than five large jars bound in baskets woven of dried river reeds.
At Yordanus' direction, the boys of the village took up the bags and jars and chickens and bread and all the rest and started down to the river. Padraig and I stood atop the bank and watched as the long line of bearers snaked its way from the village square and down the muddy earth track to the water's edge where the various items were loaded into the two boats Yordanus had hired.
Their work completed, the old trader gave each boy a piece of silver, and they raced back to their homes shouting ecstatically. We joined Roupen and Yordanus by the boats. 'Mamistra is two days by river,' Yordanus was saying as we came up, 'maybe three this time of year. It has been a long time since I was there. A man I know trades horses and pack animals, and we will get a good deal-if he is still there.'
'Anazarbus lies ten days beyond that,' Roupen reckoned. 'We will never make it in time.' Since leaving Cyprus, he had grown increasingly anxious. His normally pale aspect was, if possible, even more pallid and strained. I knew he was worried about reaching home to warn his people of Bohemond's attack, and although we had lived with that threat for many days the distress was finally beginning to tell on him.
Yordanus looked up into the bare brown hills beyond the town and tapped his lower lip with a long forefinger. He thought for a moment, and said, 'An army can only travel as fast as its footmen. We have made a fair start; even if they ran all the way they could not overtake us now. We will reach Anazarbus long before Bohemond, never fear.'
Roupen, unconvinced, climbed into the boat and sat down, eager to commence the journey as soon as possible. The rest of the provisions were quickly stowed, and we were ready to cast off. 'Someone is missing,' Padraig said, counting heads. 'Where is Sydoni?'
'She was in the market when we left," I recalled, and offered to go fetch her. I hurried back up the hill to the village, passed among the houses and once more into the square. She was nowhere to be seen, but three of the boys who had helped carry supplies pointed to a house, and I saw two old women and three or four young girls standing before the house looking in through the open door.