A green aura sprang up about the cat. She blinked in surprise, then cowered, gathering herself to spring.
“Green?” Matt said. “She means us well, but is selfish about it?”
“Isn’t every cat?” Jimena returned, and stroked gently to reassure Balkis. “But her interests must coincide with our own, and therefore she means us no ill, at least, and perhaps well”
“Because if she makes the children happy, we’ll make her happy?” Matt nodded. “Enlightened self-interest—very dependable. Okay, Balkis, we offer steady food, petting when you want it, and a garden for bird-chasing and natural functions. How’s that for a good deal?”
The little cat turned to stare at him.
“She certainly recognizes her name,” Ramon said. “She could not have understood anything else you said.”
“Well, maybe the word ‘food,’ “ Matt demurred.
“Be assured that you are welcome, Balkis,” Alisande said with a smile.
“There!” Matt said. “If the queen herself says it, you know you can trust it!”
The cat mewed plaintively.
“I think she wishes to test your promise of food.” Jimena took a scrap of meat from her plate, offering it to the cat. Balkis nibbled daintily. “You shall have as much nourishment as you wish.”
Balkis stopped nibbling and looked up at the shelves of books.
The adults laughed, and Jimena said gently, “You would not find parchment and ink to your liking, little one.”
Balkis gave a mew of disappointment and went back to the meat. The others gave another gentle laugh, but Matt took on a thoughtful expression.
Little Kaprin came up and reached out to touch the cat’s head.
“Gently,” Grandma reminded, and the touch became feather-light as Kaprin said, “Good boy!”
“No, Kaprin,” Grandma said, “this is a girl cat.”
Kaprin looked disappointed. “How do you know, Grandma?”
“Because if it had been a boy cat, it would be obvious,” she said. “Your father will explain it to you when you are older.”
“Yeah, by about two hours,” Matt warned her. “I will admit that it should be a private discussion, though.”
Balkis looked up from her food to glare at Grandma, switching her tail.
“Yes, I know it is a rather intimate detail to discuss in public,” Grandma said apologetically, “but Kaprin is old enough to need to know.”
Balkis gave an indignant sniff, then thawed enough to rub her head against Grandma’s hand.
Jimena relaxed. “I have been accepted.”
Balkis pivoted and sprang to Alisande’s lap.
“Oh!” the queen cried in delight. “I too pass inspection?”
Balkis reared back, feet on Alisande’s neckline, and stared into her eyes.
“Inspection, yes,” Matt said. “Passing remains to be seen.”
Balkis rubbed her head against Alisande ‘s hand.
Alisande laughed. “Why, how is this, husband? Am I to be judged, and chosen or cast out, here in my own castle?”
“You bet,” Matt said. “Cats know they’re the real owners.”
“And no matter where they are, they can send you to Coventry in an instant,” Ramon assured her.
“Send me to Coventry?” Alisande asked, puzzled.
“Forget that you exist,” Matt explained, “and make you wonder about it, too.”
“Be glad she has accepted you, dear,” Jimena said, “or you might have had to move out.”
Balkis jumped into Matt’s lap.
“Who shall have to move out now, husband?” Alisande challenged.
Balkis gave Matt a good sniffing and looked doubtful.
Suleiman sat his horse on the plain around the city of Baghdad, watching his army file through the gate into the nearly empty town. Now and again he glanced apprehensively at the pillar of dust to the east which marked the barbarians’ progress.
“Be easy, my lord,” said the battle-worn general beside him. “They will all be inside and the gates closed and barred before the wild men come in view.”
“In, yes,” Suleiman replied, “but how shall we come out again?”
A much smaller plume of dust rose from the west. The general braced himself. Two cavalrymen broke off from the inbound column and rode up beside the plume, matching speed with it.
“Your soldiers must have approved of whoever rides,” the Caliph said, “for he still approaches, and they with him.”
“A courier?” the general guessed.
It was a courier indeed, his skin a bit darker than theirs, his robes bright with the patterns of the Berbers. He reined in his lathered horse and fell more than dismounted, then dropped to his knees, haggard with weariness. “Hail, O Father of All the Faithful!”
“Hail, steadfast soldier,” the Caliph returned. “What word do you bring?”
“Salutations from Tafas bin Daoud!” The messenger fumbled a scroll from his belt and offered it. One of the soldiers reached down, took it, and passed it to the general as the courier explained, “He greets you with love and reverence, and tells you that he has gathered a host of Moors and rides at their head to defend the holy places.”
“He is a devout son of Islam,” Suleiman said with ill-disguised relief, “and praised be Allah that he marches!”
“He will be a month and more, riding across North Africa and Arabia to join us,” the general warned. “Can we hold the city till he comes?”
“We shall have to,” the Caliph said simply. Then he smiled with a touch of his old bravado; his teeth flashed as he said, “With Allah to strengthen us, how can we fail?”
“Let it be as He wills,” the general said somberly, “but I would be more reassured if some of the Christian monarchs had answered, too.”
“Peace be within your breast,” Suleiman told him. “They are farther distant than Tafas, and belike only now receive our summons.”
” ‘Therefore do we ask that you join us without delay in defending the city of Jerusalem, and the sites that are holy to Muslim, Jew, and Christian alike,’ ” Jimena read, and rolled up the scroll. “He ends with the usual compliments and titles, and assurances of brotherhood.”
“I thank you.” Alisande gazed down from her throne at the dusty Arabian messenger, who had been hauled up off his knees by two stout Merovencian guardsmen. They still held his arms, because his legs were likely to collapse again with sheer fatigue. The queen said to one, “Take him to a bed, and bring him food and drink—if he can stay awake long enough to take them.”
“As Your Majesty wishes.” The guardsman looked strongly disapproving of hospitality to a pagan.
“I thank you, stalwart soldier,” Alisande said to the courier. “You have ridden long and hard, and have shown great devotion to your caliph and your cause. Go now and rest, for you have earned it well.”
The man blinked in surprise at being thanked so directly by a sovereign, then detached an arm from one of the guardsmen and touched fingers to brow, lips, and breast as he bowed to the queen. He started to back away, but the guardsmen turned him around and half escorted, half carried him from the throne room.
“You are a marvel, Mother Mantrell, and a godsend,” Alisande said. “How is it you can read the Arabian script?”
“It is useful, if you wish to study the history of the Spain of our world,” Jimena told her. “Still, if they had not written in the language of Merovence, my knowledge of their script would have done little good.”
Alisande turned to Matt and asked, “What do you think of this news, my husband?”
“It has the ring of truth,” Matt told her. “The Caliph would scarcely admit weakness to a Frankish monarch otherwise.”