gesture and rush out to kill me.”
She looked at him in surprise and laughed again. Geoffrey looked at her closely for the first time, suddenly aware that she was an attractive woman. She had straight black hair that fell like a curtain down her back, longer than the veil she wore over it, and her eyes were light brown, like honey. When she laughed, and the hard lines around her eyes and mouth disappeared, she looked very young, although Geoffrey judged her to be in her mid-twenties.
“They would not harm you now,” she said. “Your courage in saving your friends shamed them into letting you go.”
“I was sending them for help,” he said. “Do you know no French at all?”
“Enough to know you are not being wholly truthful,” she said. “You must have known that you would have been dead long before your friends had time to run to the citadel and return with help.”
Geoffrey knew no such thing, since he had detected a hesitancy in the crowd from the start, and had been fairly certain he could stall them from attacking until Roger returned. But Melisende’s conviction that he could not made him wonder whether he had been overconfident in his negotiating abilities. Still, he thought to himself, at least he would have delivered Roger and the others from an unpleasant fate had the crowd not shown such unprecedented morality.
“How do you come to know Greek?” Melisende asked. “It is not a skill most of the barbarians in the citadel possess.”
“I learned it in Constantinople,” he said, wondering whether Roger had reached the citadel and thinking that he might well miss him if they chose to travel different routes. Then Roger would attack the street, and there would be more killing and looting.
“While you were sacking it?” she asked, the laughter gone from her face again.
“No. I find learning conjugations while I pillage very distracting,” he replied. “I visited Constantinople long before the Crusaders went there. And why are you here? When did you come?”
“What has this to do with the dead knight?” she said abruptly. She stared at him for a moment. “You may be courageous, and you may be able to learn the languages of the people you oppress, but you are still a Norman, and you still condemned me to the Patriarch’s dungeons without a second’s hesitation. If that poor monk had not been killed when I was incarcerated, I might have been executed as a murderer by now. Had you thought of that? I was innocent! And please do not patronise me by saying that if I were innocent I had nothing to fear. You know as well as I do that innocence or guilt is immaterial once the doors close behind a prisoner in this city!”
“Quite a speech,” he said, deliberately casual to annoy her. The fact that she was correct was beside the point. He wondered what had happened to Melisende Mikelos to make her so aggressive and disagreeable. He had the feeling that she was somewhat disappointed that the crowd had backed away from attacking him, despite her paltry attempts to dissuade them. He had been wrong in arresting her the day before—clearly he had, since she seemed to be innocent of the charge of murder—yet the feeling that she had not been entirely truthful with him persisted. But regardless, he knew he would gain nothing of value from her, and it would be prudent to leave before they annoyed each other any further.
He gave her one of his most winning smiles. “Thank you for your help. I hope this is the last you will hear of this affair. Goodbye.”
He gave her a small bow and turned, leaving her standing on her doorstep, her temper boiling at the way in which he had dismissed her grievance so casually. She watched him walk away, aware that all along the street others watched too, some glad they had not killed a knight with the inevitable retribution it would have brought, and others bitterly resentful they had not dispatched all four of them while they had the chance.
What an irritating,
She looked at him in surprise and laughed again. Geoffrey looked at her closely for the first time, suddenly aware that she was an attractive woman. She had straight black hair that fell like a curtain down her back, longer than the veil she wore over it, and her eyes were light brown, like honey. When she laughed, and the hard lines around her eyes and mouth disappeared, she looked very young, although Geoffrey judged her to be in her mid-twenties.
“They would not harm you now,” she said. “Your courage in saving your friends shamed them into letting you go.”
“I was sending them for help,” he said. “Do you know no French at all?”
“Enough to know you are not being wholly truthful,” she said. “You must have known that you would have been dead long before your friends had time to run to the citadel and return with help.”
Geoffrey knew no such thing, since he had detected a hesitancy in the crowd from the start, and had been fairly certain he could stall them from attacking until Roger returned. But Melisende’s conviction that he could not made him wonder whether he had been overconfident in his negotiating abilities. Still, he thought to himself, at least he would have delivered Roger and the others from an unpleasant fate had the crowd not shown such unprecedented morality.
“How do you come to know Greek?” Melisende asked. “It is not a skill most of the barbarians in the citadel possess.”
“I learned it in Constantinople,” he said, wondering whether Roger had reached the citadel and thinking that he might well miss him if they chose to travel different routes. Then Roger would attack the street, and there would be more killing and looting.
“While you were sacking it?” she asked, the laughter gone from her face again.
“No. I find learning conjugations while I pillage very distracting,” he replied. “I visited Constantinople long before the Crusaders went there. And why are you here? When did you come?”
“What has this to do with the dead knight?” she said abruptly. She stared at him for a moment. “You may be courageous, and you may be able to learn the languages of the people you oppress, but you are still a Norman, and you still condemned me to the Patriarch’s dungeons without a second’s hesitation. If that poor monk had not been killed when I was incarcerated, I might have been executed as a murderer by now. Had you thought of that? I was innocent! And please do not patronise me by saying that if I were innocent I had nothing to fear. You know as well as I do that innocence or guilt is immaterial once the doors close behind a prisoner in this city!”
“Quite a speech,” he said, deliberately casual to annoy her. The fact that she was correct was beside the point. He wondered what had happened to Melisende Mikelos to make her so aggressive and disagreeable. He had the feeling that she was somewhat disappointed that the crowd had backed away from attacking him, despite her paltry attempts to dissuade them. He had been wrong in arresting her the day before—clearly he had, since she seemed to be innocent of the charge of murder—yet the feeling that she had not been entirely truthful with him persisted. But regardless, he knew he would gain nothing of value from her, and it would be prudent to leave before they annoyed each other any further.
He gave her one of his most winning smiles. “Thank you for your help. I hope this is the last you will hear of this affair. Goodbye.”
He gave her a small bow and turned, leaving her standing on her doorstep, her temper boiling at the way in which he had dismissed her grievance so casually. She watched him walk away, aware that all along the street others watched too, some glad they had not killed a knight with the inevitable retribution it would have brought, and others bitterly resentful they had not dispatched all four of them while they had the chance.
What an irritating,
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