". . . and you insisted on going, and Delaunay ordered me as well, and you and I and Alcuin ended up eating bread and cheese in the Duc's kitchen while he and Delaunay discussed affairs of state." Joscelin laughed. "Elua! Were we truly that young and foolhardy?"
"Yes." I leaned against him. "And you thought I was the most willful, depraved creature you'd ever laid eyes on."
"You were," he said companionably, putting his arm about me. "As I recall, when Delaunay threatened to sell your marque if you didn't stay put, you reminded him that Melisande Shahrizai might be interested in buying it."
I winced. "I said that, didn't I? I didn't know what she was, then."
"No." Joscelin looked at me. "But you do now. Phèdre, why did you swear an oath to her in La Serenissima?"
I was silent for a long while, gazing out at the ocean. It looked much like any other stretch of sea, interminable waves dashed by the wind into curling white crests. I should be glad, I supposed, that the overcast sky merely threatened rain. Though we were only going up the Akkadian coast, it was later in the season than sailors favored. "I don't know," I said finally. "It was only to help find her son. I never dreamed it would lead to this."
"I know." His voice was very soft. "And like as not, you'd have done it anyway. Believe me, love, I know how you feel. No matter whose son he is, he's only a child. I saw the ones in Amílcar, too, and it still makes my palms itch for the sword. But Phèdre, you swore it to her."
" I know, I know." All of that, my oath extracted, and she had still written to Pharaoh behind my back. Well and so; had I expected oth erwise? He might have restored her son to her. And I, loyal to my Queen, would give him unto Ysandre's keeping. I had vowed to do no less, and Melisande knew full well that was a promise I would keep. I closed my eyes, feeling her fleeting kiss burn against my lips. "She said I was the conscience she never wanted."
"And you believed it?"
I couldn't fault him for his dry incredulity. I opened my eyes and gazed up at him. "Yes. No. I don't know, Joscelin. The priest of Kushiel, the last time I went— " I couldn't help a shudder of remembered pleasure, " —he reminded me, all the Companions, even Kushiel, even Cassiel, Joscelin, do but follow in Blessed Elua's shadow. I can only believe we do the same."
"Love as thou wilt," Joscelin murmured, "and pray like hell it is enough."
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I looked away and stared at the undulating waves until it passed. "What else can I do? I hate it that my heart should fall to my feet at the sight of her, but it does. It grieves me more than I can say that I have turned aside from my quest to free Hyacinthe, who has suffered so long. I am terrified of my dreams, I am terrified of the Skotophagoti., and I am terrified of the Akkadians, who are supposed to be our allies. And I am well and truly wroth with my lord Kushiel, whose justice seems to me to be monstrous. If I cannot trust in Elua's compassion ..." I shuddered and did not finish.
"Phèdre." Joscelin put both arms around me and held me hard. "Hyacinthe has endured a dozen years, and he'll endure a dozen more if he has to. He's stronger than you credit him. He's like you, he's had to be. Your dreams are only dreams, no more, and the Akkadians, fearsome or no, are our allies. As for Melisande . . ." He shrugged. "Who knows? Mayhap you are her conscience. Of a surety, her son should not suffer for her crimes. Not this. No one should. It is a matter of D'Angeline pride to redeem him."
"Pride." I laughed, half in tears. "One of our sins, the Yeshuites would have it. Azza's sin was pride, though we all suffer our share. Joscelin, you've said nothing of the Skotophagoti."
"Ah, the bone-priests." He smiled; I felt his mouth move against my hair. "I am Cassiel's servant, love, no matter what comes. If he does not follow Blessed Elua's unfathomable plan as surely as you pray Kushiel does, we are both lost. But while I have you to protect, I am not afraid to try my steel against any enemy, Eaters-of-Darkness or no."
I turned in his arms, and whispered, "Joscelin Verreuil, I would die without you."
"Probably." He smiled again. "Of melodrama, if naught else."
Against my will, it made me laugh; I struck at his chest with one hand, which he caught and kissed, and then he kissed me some more, until the Menekhetan sailors glanced sidelong and murmured and I had quite forgotten what our original conversation was about, or why I'd been so overwrought in the first place.
Our journey passed uneventfully and we arrived in Tyre, setting foot for the first time on the soil of Khebbel-im-Akkad. It was a mighty city once, in the old empires of Akkad and Persis, but it was sacked by the Hellene conqueror Al-Iskandr, and never restored to its former glory. It is still a thriving seaport, though, and we were able to find all that we needed for our journey overland within its walls.
Unfortunately, one of those items was a veil.
Amaury Trente had spent a good deal of time at sea in conversation with Lord Mesilim's men, one of whom spoke Hellene. The rules of conduct for women differ greatly in Khebbel-im-Akkad from elsewhere in the world; certainly from those in Terre d'Ange. I had known this, of course. I just hadn't reckoned on the rules applying to me.
"Highborn ladies do not show their faces in public," Amaury said adamantly. "Foreign or no. If you don't want to be taken for a com moner or a whore, you'll travel veiled, Phèdre."
"My lord," I pointed out to him, "my mother was an adept of the Night Court, and my father a merchant, and I am twice-dedicated to Naamah's Service. I am a commoner and a whore, and ashamed of neither."
"You are also the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, counsel and near-cousin to the Queen of Terre d'Ange, and I daresay in Khebbel-im-Akkad, you'd prefer to be treated as such." He was right. I ceded the argument, and accepted the veil. There was only one other woman among Amaury's remaining delegates, Renée de Rives, a Baron's daughter who was the consort of one of the minor lordlings, Royce Guidel. They were young and regarded the entire outing as a lark, a chance to spend long months together without the intervening demands of Guidel's marriage. I am not entirely sure why Lord Amaury chose them, except that they were a charming pair, and Royce Guidel was reputed to be a good man with a sword.
At any rate, Renée de Rives grumbled nearly as much as I over the veil, and we befriended one another over the affair, which was to the good, since we were thrown together for much of the ride to Nineveh, surrounded by our escort of men. On the Akkadians' advice, Lord Amaury had spared no expense, and our company was richly capari soned. The horses were very fine, tall and clean-limbed, with glossy coats. I grew quite fond of mine, which was a sweet-tempered dark bay with a white star. Our saddles were in the Akkadian fashion, which is to say scarcely saddles at all, but embroidered blankets with luxuriant silk fringes, a pair of long stirrups dangling on straps. The bridles, by contrast, were elaborate, with chased gold cheek-pieces and tall, plumed headstalls. It would have fretted my grey mare, but the bay thought himself quite fine in it.
After two sea voyages, it goes without saying that we were all of us considerably sore and stiff for the first few days, and I was passing glad that Lord Amaury had been profligate enough to hire a mule train and tenders, with servants to set up camp and cook and clean for us. The first part of the journey took us northward up the coast, skirting mountains and the harsh desert that lay beyond. Eventually, we forded the River Yehordan and made our way inland.
I could not but think of my Habiru studies as we crossed the mighty river, for it is one that features largely in their writings, a remembrance of home for those in exile. To be sure, the home for which they lan guished was a good deal further south, but it is the self-same river. This land was strange and harsh to me, with pockets of fertility clinging to the riverbanks and great stretches of arid soil between; still, I knew what it was to long for one's home.
We crossed the Yehordan and made our way through a low pass in the mountains, striking out across the vast untilled plains. It was an unmemorable journey and a miserable one, for the rains broke, washing across the hard-packed red soil. Our horses and mules slogged through red mud to the fetlocks, and all of us were splashed with it. It was winter in Khebbel-im-Akkad, and I cannot say I cared for it. The fine silk net of my veil clung damply to my face, making it hard to breathe.
"Take it off," Renée muttered, and I saw she was bare-faced beneath the hood of her cloak. "Who's going to care, in this weather? The mule-handlers? Let them talk."
It was still raining mercilessly when we reached the first of the two Great Rivers of Khebbel-im-Akkad, and crossing the Euphrate proved no easy task. Whatever other skills they might have—surely they are mighty weavers and horsemen—the Akkadians are no bridge-builders. Swollen by winter rains, the Euphrate ran too fast and too deep to be forded. Instead, we must needs cross it on reed rafts, drawn hand-overhand along thick cables of rope.
After crossing innumerable seas, it seemed foolish to fear a river; but this river was like a living beast, turgid and angry. In the spring, one of our guides assured us with unwonted cheer, it would overflow its banks, depositing nourishing silt on the flood-plains, hailed by the Akkadians as a life-giver. Well and good, I thought, clinging grimly to the raft; I hope I am not here to see it. It was worst of all for the horses and mules, who must swim for it. I watched my poor bay, the bedrag gled plume on his headstall nodding as he fought to keep his nostrils above water. The Akkadian raft-keepers clapped and cheered, shouting encouragements, seemingly unfazed by the crossing.
When all was said and done, we made it across safely, though considerable worse for the wear. Lord Amaury ordered camp made early that day, and we spent the daylight hours cleaning mud from our tack and clothing, and endeavoring to dry ourselves as best we might. Our guides assured us that crossing the Tigris would be far smoother. I contented myself with flapping my sodden veil in the air and glaring at them. Being accustomed to seeing noblewomen unveiled in Menekhet, they were undisturbed by it.