The Paladin Chronicles Book bundle 1-4 by Neil Port - HTML preview

And what a magnificent horse he had! Dappled grey with darker hind quarters, he was huge, all of 17 hands high, sleek and muscular.

He had a great neck and a thick mane and tail. Enormous hindquarters and strong forequarters allowed him the agility of a much smaller horse to stop and turn, but in galloping he was truly the king of all horses. He had an unusually large and strong heart giving him the rare combination of power, speed and endurance.

He was quick to learn and, despite pretending not to be, he was eager to please. He was a large strong war horse but was good natured.

Now he was prancing back and forwards and lifting his feet high, as if he wanted to give lie to his master's claim of fault. The old man, who had overheard, chuckled at the joke the horse played on his master. Hakeem tried to ignore his antics but eventually had to laugh.

"Enough! Enough! You've won your point, Nadeer!"

A small crowd of children had gathered to watch Hakeem and Nadeer. He tossed a few coppers to them and said to the boy, "He's gentle enough to carry them, if you'll walk him."

The horse looked at Hakeem reproachfully, but soon Nadeer was plodding backwards and forwards with two or three excited children on his back and a look of long-suffering on his face.

Soon little children were patting his face and sides and hugging him. One fed him an apple which he took with exaggerated delicacy, so as not to bite, causing all to laugh. Hakeem suspected Nadeer was very fond of children, despite his doleful expression.

When this was over, the woman shooed the laughing children away, to give Hakeem peace.

Her son, despite his mother, came shyly back to talk to Hakeem.

"Were you in the war, sir?" Hakeem simply nodded, hoping he would not be asked to tell some tale of glory, but the boy seemed almost too shy to continue.

"My father was in the war, in the infantry. They say he died in a great battle against Troians." His eyes were moist and his voice broke with sadness.

Then Hakeem understood. He made enquires but, as he expected, he didn't know the boy's father at all.

"Your father was that Bora!" he exclaimed, leaning back and smiling broadly, as if in delighted remembrance. "Of course, I knew him! Did you know that name means hurricane?

"I was so sorry to hear he died. What a mighty fighter he was!

"Did you know earlier he saved me and several of my men? I'll tell you the story of some of his deeds. I can really see your father in you. I think you will be strong and brave just like him.

"He named you Petros (Peter). Did you know that is a Greek version of a name from my tongue, Cephas? It means solid and strong, like a rock."

Like magic, an audience of small faces appeared. The afternoon wore on, as Hakeem recounted story after story. Some had an element of truth, several were completely fanciful. Hakeem cunningly dug for details, and was careful not to depart too far from the plausible.

At the end of it he reached into his saddle bag and gave the boy three small Troian silver coins. "Here, your father would want you to have these." Petros's eyes were huge with wonder as he stared at them in disbelief, unwilling to close his hand around them in case they disappeared.

At that his mother, Sara, bustled up. "I know what you are doing and it's kindly done. I'll still thank you not to spoil my son and fill his head with your grand stories."

The handsome tribesman brushed off the offence and smiled, "and how do you know it's not true?"

"And what was your role, stranger, in the war? You've mentioned little of that."

Hakeem laughed heartily. "Me? I was a guard on a supply train. I kept as far away from any fighting as I could!"

"You tell some wonderful tales but you tell poor lies about yourself, sir. I don't take you for a simple soldier. But you fill my son's head with dreams of glory. I have lost my husband to war. Must I lose my only son?" Sara's eyes sparkled dangerously, as she turned angrily on him.

Petros piped up, "She wants me to learn to read. I would be ashamed if I didn't become a great fighter like my father!"

"Listen to me very carefully," Hakeem said, staring deeply into the young boy's eyes. "There is nothing glorious in fighting. Great evil is done in war."

He then spoke gently to Sara. "War stole your love, but don't be angry with him for going. In the lands where Troians crossed over, they were not kind to women, children, or old men. There are things I saw there that I wish I hadn't. Your husband gave his life to protect you from that."

"And Petros," he said to her son. "Where I come from, we value learning, above all else. Those who read and study are seen as greater than warriors. I had to learn to read before they would teach me to fight." There was a gasp from the small audience: this warrior could read and write!

"We sometimes have to fight," Hakeem continued to Petros. "But there is little glory in it. Never despise peace. Your father died to give it to you."

"Well," said Sara, wiping a tear from her eye. "I see you are a philosopher as well. Thank you for your words, they ease my heart somewhat. I suppose I shouldn't be so angry with Bora. I'm just angry with all you men and your wars.

"You are modest and much younger than I thought, but you must think we country folk are stupid not to recognise the great warrior, Hakeem. It's said you are kind and fair of speech, and I find it so."

There was a sudden commotion. People started to shout to their friends. There was an important man in their village!

Hakeem blushed deeply, and desperately tried to hush her to silence. "As you can see, I'm not so great," he said quickly. "I hoped to travel quietly and my name becomes a burden. I hope there aren't many more on my path as clever as Petros's mother, Sara."

It was too late for him!

Sara smiled at the mischief she had played on her self-effacing guest, as people began to run back and forwards shouting in excitement. Soon there was a crowd of villagers wanting to shake his hand. There was no question of his leaving before the morning as the villagers readied a feast.

The men sat down with him to discuss the tactics of campaigns new and old, they soon found their guest as knowledgeable as his reputation claimed, but deeply courteous. Hakeem had studied many old campaigns in the libraries of Pergamon and Troia, but here was a chance to hear eyewitness accounts and opinions from some of those who were there!

Soon there was a large bench set up with cups, glasses, pebbles, salt and fish-sauce containers set up as opposing units, there was learned discussions on terrain, tactics and equipment.

The old men were thoroughly charmed to have their memories found to be so important, and to have a senior commander hanging on the words of old soldiers.

They had given little credit to the horsemen before. After Hakeem's visit, it would be impossible to say anything in the village against the courage and fine qualities of the desert horsemen.

He was coaxed to show the famous sword the King had given him. It was passed around with a reverence approaching awe.

There is a mystique surrounding a good long sword, it is because they are so difficult to make.

Human iron is hardened ('wrought' or 'tempered') by hammering and heat, using charcoal and bellows to get the fire as hot as possible. The problem is, getting iron hard enough tends to make it brittle and it could snap in battle.

This would, at the very least, be unfortunate.

So shields and spears are the mainstay of an army and common secondary weapons are long knives or short-swords. But the Shantawi are horse-mounted skirmishers. They need their swords to be long enough for use on horseback.

The cheaper long-swords are made softer so they can easily be straightened or repaired .

Out of the humans, the Keltoi weapon-smiths make the best long swords. They make the iron into rods. Some of these they make harder by laying them in burning charcoal and then tempering them more.

The rest are kept out of the charcoal and are tempered to be softer. Then the hard and soft rods are welded and hammered together in a precise way to form a sword that is hard where it is needed and yet soft where it is needed. The length and balance also has to be just right.

It can take a week of precise work to produce just one sword for a great noble or senior commander and then it might be ruined at the very last moment. No wonder a perfect human long-sword or the master craftsmen who can reliably produce them are rare, and have achieved legendary status.

The elves have a technique they learned from the dwarves, but a fine elf-sword is prohibitively expensive. Hakeem almost fainted when he found that King Helios had commissioned a sword for him, but not from the elves but from the dwarves. Dwarves made axes and hammers, not swords!

He never found out how much the sword cost or why the dwarves agreed, yet Helios was most insistent. He believed Hakeem had saved his life.

Most cavalry swords are designed for slashing. Stabbing is more lethal but, for a rider galloping past, it might cause them to lose their weapon. The least consequence would be looking silly as they galloped into battle unarmed.

Shantawi also like close-in fighting with shields, so they need a sword that can stab as well as slash.

When Hakeem first drew his sword, he almost dropped it in surprise. It was so beautiful.

The hilt was of a hard wood clamped to the metal and covered with an unknown skin, glued and sewn. It fitted his hand exactly and was not slippery, even when damp. There was a pommel to improve the grip and balance. There was a horizontal metal guard at the end of the handle, just like an elf sword.

The balance was perfect. The blade's cross section was lens shaped. There was a central channel in the middle of the upper part for balance, making the point lighter and also allowing the sword to be withdrawn from the enemy's flesh more easily. It kept a beautiful edge with little attention. It didn't show rust, and it was long and thin but virtually unbendable.

The dwarves did not make things as beautiful as the elves, but this sword had the beauty of perfection. One side had Hakeem's name in dwarvish runes and the other side the name of the sword, 'peace', spelt in dwarvish runes. Hakeem called his sword 'Mir' which means 'peace' in his own language. Other dwarfish runes had been added, which he was told gave it magical properties, but he didn't know whether this was true or not.

It was the best sword he had ever seen. Hakeem could not help but grin with pleasure whenever he thought of his sword, and whenever he drew it. He loved to swing it and hear it whistle slightly. His horse, his blade and a holding of land in the Troad were unexpected presents given when he renewed his vow to King Helios.

Eventually, Sara had to shoo the other men away so she and the women were able to prepare for the feast. She showed Hakeem to her wash room. Sara at times rented a room to travellers, so she had a full wash room with a tiled floor, an uncommon luxury in a small village. It included a sunken drain that was connected to the street.

The roof was flat made of overlapping fired-clay tiles on a wooden frame. Between the wall and the overhung roof, there was a gap of about a foot which gave light and ventilation but maintained privacy. In winter, shutters closed this gap, and a simple hearth on the floor provided warmth when needed.

A traveller could have a tiled bath but for those, like Hakeem, who preferred quicker or more frequent bathing, there was a stall, separated from a tall copper cauldron by a short wall.

The caldron had a small fire underneath to make the water warm and comfortable.

Hakeem could easily reach over into the cauldron and bail jug after jug full of warm water over himself. He was luxuriating in thoroughly washing the road grime of many days from his head and body.

Meanwhile, Sara was musing on her surprise guest. She shook her head in amazement. Where was that anger she felt towards Bora and all men? She felt grateful towards Hakeem, and admiration for him, that she had hid with her usual teasing manner.

Also there was re-awakening of feelings that bitterness had long suppressed. She found herself powerfully drawn to the handsome tribesman. His easy smile, kindness and friendly manner gave her warm tingly feelings, in the areas of the body that a man might touch. She wondered what it would be like to be held in his strong arms.

She had last seen her husband more than two years ago. It was a long time since she had lain with a man. She longed for her husband, his strength, his touch, the sound of his laughter. She had no one to make her feel special, no one to make her feel beautiful and attractive. She had resigned herself to grow old without again having the feel of a man's touch and his love. She felt lonely, despite her family and friends around her.

Sara as a child was the gang-leader amongst her friends. She was always the bold and adventurous one. As a young woman, she was exceptionally sharp witted and loved teasing first boys, and then any suitors. It had taken a strong man, like Bora, to capture her heart and tame her as much as anyone could have done. She was now a widow in a village and had to be careful with her reputation but that didn't mean her sense of mischief had disappeared!

She brought scented oil to rub on her guest's back. This was quite acceptable for an honoured guest but she definitely had other possibilities on her mind.

Greeks are more relaxed about nudity than Shantawi tribesmen … evidently. Hakeem's reaction when he saw her walk in while he was standing naked, bathing, was dramatic.

He yelped and dropped the soap, which went skidding across the floor. He dived for the towel, almost knocking over the nearby oil lamp. He missed the towel and finally retrieved it from the floor, where it had fallen in the water.

He stood there with soap suds from his hair draining into his eyes; his towel was miserably wet and wrapped around his waist. He reached for the dipper and rinsed his hair, only getting the last little bit of the towel completely saturated.

Wet and dripping, he looked a sorry sight.

Sara could hardly contain her amusement. "I brought some scented oil to rub on your body."

"Thank you." Hakeem said as he recovered himself, and came forward to collect it.

Oh my, he was tall, built like a wrestler and very handsome. "No. When you're finished, I'll help you put it on your back. Here, I'll get a fresh towel and help you dry off."

As she grabbed a dry towel and moved towards him, he blushed furiously and tried to back away. He flinched as if burnt, when she touched him, trying his best to relax. She struggled not to burst out laughing.

She directed him to sit, and began rubbing the oil on his back and chest, enjoying the feel and smell of him. When she went to rub his legs, he shot up and danced out of her way and firmly took the bottle with a husky, "thank you."

He tried unsuccessfully to be unobtrusive as he struggled to hide his swelling manhood. It was insisting on trying to push up against the towel.

In the end he was forced to turn his back to undo the towel and quickly tuck himself in and retie it. He turned back, trying to pretend nothing was wrong and hoping she wouldn't notice.

"You'll be sleeping in my house tonight," Sara was saying. "I sense you're not familiar with the ways of women, whereas I'm older and an experienced woman. The nights can be cold so close to the mountains and we don't lock our doors. I don't think anyone will mind which bed you woke up in, as long as we were discreet."

Hakeem couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sara was in her thirties but beautiful, desirable. He admitted he found himself powerfully attracted to her dark hair, brown eyes and sharp wit. She moved closer and he felt aroused by the promise hidden by her dress. He felt dizzy with her perfume, but he also felt panicked.

It wasn't as if he didn't want what was being offered, but he was terrified.

Hakeem had strict moral views, and he was still a virgin at twenty-two. He was scared he would be inadequate, and his first lover would be left disappointed. His heart was racing and hands were shaking.

She glanced at a bulge in his towel wrap and smiled. She certainly hadn't lost her touch. She was aware of his agitation but there seemed to be something else.

He sputtered, "L-L-Lady you have me at a d-disadvantage. You are such a beautiful woman and so desirable."

She looked at him incredulously, and a bit dangerously, "But?''

Now he was truly scared of the situation. Would she fly into a rage? He was beyond being scared of that which he so strongly desired. He knew it was not going to happen … or so he believed.

"Men where I come from don't do certain things in a casual way," he said breathlessly. "You have a child! You need help. I'm not sure I can be what you need."

Sara relaxed and laughed, in a pleasant musical way. "Is that all? Sorry I don't mean to seem like such a seirēn (siren). I mean no ties, no obligations." She moved close enough to press her body against his. Her leg slid between his and she started to rub his chest very lightly. She could feel the pressure of his erection. He was panting, jammed up against the table, unable to retreat further.

"I-I c-can't. Please don't be angry." Suddenly, she stepped back and looked at him in surprise.

"You're a …I mean you haven't, have you?" she gasped.

A virgin! This was perfect! Built like a god, shy, gentle and thoughtful. She would love to help him with his little problem of virginity!

"I-I c-can't do this without t-ties. Please don't be angry."

"Don't look so frightened! There's no force, though I'd love to change your mind. Hakeem, you act more like a monk than a soldier." She spoke the last in an intimate, husky voice and gave his penis a light squeeze as she moved regretfully away. She was delighted, when he jumped, followed by a shuddering reaction.

"Remember, you can change your mind," she said, swaying her hips as she moved to the door.

She paused at the door, looking back and gave him a seductive smile. "I promise to make it worth your while. Now, for both our sakes, I'll need to let you get ready.

"I mean it, don't look so frightened. You're not in any trouble, from me or anyone. This is the first time I've done this sort of thing. I didn't think I would! In case you haven't noticed, I like you. I like you a lot. Even though nothing happened, I think you're nice, and I'm glad you came." She gave him an affectionate look and left.

Hakeem made his shaky way to the guest room, and sat on the bed, flummoxed. He felt as if he had been run over by a herd of horses.

Then he quickly got some pants on, in case she came back. He tried too quickly and became tangled in his pants so he had to stop himself and deliberately take his time.

He dressed in his best white pants and light cotton top. He attached the three golden and one silver sickles to his belt, indicating his Shayvist mastery level and then pulled the gold medallion, from the Aiol king, over his head.

Then he took a deep breath, and sat down again to gather himself. He sighed. Sara didn't seem too angry with him, and he hoped that was so. He had practiced discipline most of his life, but she had torn him almost beyond his will to resist.

He couldn't have sex without any obligation to her and her son. Perhaps he was a prude. No, he chuckled, no perhaps about it.

Well, only the weak reed bends easily in the wind, as they say.

He shook his head, smiling wryly. He had no experience of women, he always hung well back. He feared he wasn't attractive, being big and feeling awkward. Well that explodes that theory at least.

Sara also smiled, as she hurried about her chores. Well, so much for life ending once she was a widow. She had missed out on one handsome tribesman, but was in no doubt about her effect on him. She now felt more attractive and alive than she had for a long time. Perhaps there may be another man for her, one day.

The evening started with a magnificent feast. Then there was singing and some dancing. Hakeem didn't dance but he sang a sad, haunting melody in his own tongue.

While there was no prohibition on alcohol and drugs in Hakeem's religion, it was generally discouraged. To be polite he sipped some of the local 'distilled' wine. It was made from their cheaper wine, frozen in the mountains in winter and the ice removed by a sieve to make it concentrated, and then it was flavoured with anise. It had a ghastly taste! Like sickly medicine for a cough.

Sara was as good as her word. She sat by his side smiling, laughing and talking pleasantly; though there was still a twinkle of mischief in her eye, when she smiled at him.

After the meal, she politely asked him the purpose of his journey. On impulse, he told her about his blood brother. As he talked, Hakeem felt again how desperately he missed his friend. Tears welled in his eyes. He bowed his head in misery and his voice faltered. Sara rested her hand on his shoulder and said sympathetically, "we each have our loss."

The room fell silent, many murmured their sympathy. In his mourning, Hakeem seemed even closer to them, more human. The respect and affection they had for the tribesman swelled.

Then one of the old war veterans stood up solemnly and raised his glass. "To old friends … to Elwan!" Everyone in the room repeated this and many drained their glass.

They all looked expectantly at Hakeem, smiling. Out of the corner of his eye Sara gestured that he should drink. With a fixed smile in his face he downed the remainder of the foul drink, with only a slight shudder and coughing. Everyone clapped and someone moved quickly to fill his cup. He remembered that next there was another old man, giving a solemn toast, "to those we have lost."

They toasted other lost friends, both his and those from the village, they toasted the village, they toasted the King, they toasted Samit, they toasted the Shantawi, they toasted Hakeem, he toasted them and then they toasted … in fact, Hakeem had no idea what they toasted after that!

He did remember that it all felt very emotional and solemn. The rest of the night got increasingly hazy as he drained cup after cup. He couldn't recall exactly when he passed out under the table, but he awoke in the heat of the morning, feeling absolutely terrible. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and his body was weak and aching all over. And yet, somehow, his grief was easier. He wondered if it was like going through some sort of purging ceremony.

When he went in search of Sara and found her in her kitchen. She was sympathetic, though she couldn't help laughing at his suffering. She gave him a breakfast of staititas (Greek pancakes) and cheese, olives and yesterday's barley-bread soaked in wine. He was surprised he could eat at all.

They had a brief moment alone as he was preparing to leave.

"Thank you, Hakeem for all you have done for us, for me and Petros," she said, her eyes a little moist.

"No," he replied. "Thank you! You … all of you here, have helped me with things that have been hurting for a long time. I just wish it didn't feel like you poisoned me in the process."

Sara laughed, an easy open laugh. She asked if he would come back this way and he looked at her lovely face.

"I'd like to. Maybe I'll even come back with a very different proposition. A man could only be proud with a woman like you, and a boy like Petros, at his side."

"Then I would refuse! I said no ties and I meant it," Sara said, smiling.

"What do you mean?"

"You're young and don't have experience, we both would have to be sure. At least I didn't scare you away, though. You'd better go now, hero, before I drag you inside, despite all your protests."

He laughed, "Hero? Sara, don't you ever stop with your teasing?"

She smiled back, looking thoroughly desirable. Then she spoke very carefully and earnestly, "Hakeem, this time I am serious. Being a hero is not only about strength of arms. You leave this village, as our hero.

"Goodbye, Hakeem!"

She leant forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He could feel her lips there, where she had kissed him, for a long time after he rode away.

 

Chapter 10: A Fearsome Warrior and a Young Gypsy Girl

Hakeem's sleeping and waking dreams were filled with Sara, mainly on what might have been. When he passed back this way, he didn't dismiss the chance that he might collect a certain lovely someone and her son.

Then something happened that drove even Sara out of his mind.

Five days on from Sara's village, as he rounded a bend, he spotted trouble a good way ahead.

The wheat harvest was mostly finished. The sun was casting tall afternoon shadows. In the distance he could see something burning … a small caravan. Its horse lay shot by an arrow, still left in its traces. Perhaps half a dozen men milled around nearby.

Hakeem could see four bodies on the ground, they looked like Gypsies. Two were women lying face down, murdered from the back as they tried to flee. There was a dog barking loudly. After a high yelp, it was silenced. A bit closer he could see a man riding a horse back and forward, chasing a child.

Hakeem must have arrived just after it happened.

The sensible thing was to give this trouble and the band of men a wide berth, but the thought of a child being run down by a horse after such murder, filled Hakeem with such a rage he could not deny.

He tied Farah to a small tree, and quickly donned his armour, lifted his shield with his left arm and loosened his sword in its sheath. Soon he and Nadeer were galloping swiftly to intercept the other man on the horse.

Coming closer, he slowed to a canter, surprised that the man on horseback seemed to pay him little heed. He seemed to be more focused on running down the little Gypsy boy … no a girl of about eleven.

Nudging his horse up between the man and the girl, Hakeem smiled dangerously at the stranger. "You seem such a big man on such a big horse to run down a little girl."

"Mind your own business, you filthy desert rat," the man sneered at him, looking him up and down. "Haven't you heard that the new king's sorting out such as you? I'm in charge here, so just run off before you get into real trouble!"

He smiled as his men arrived and fanned out nearby.

Hakeem automatically noted there was only one bowman. He had an arrow nocked, but his bow was slack and pointed to the ground. He didn't stand well back as he should have, not trusting his aim or worse, he was a fool.

Closer up, there were seven in total but they were poorly kitted out. None bore shields, none had proper armour. They carried crude looking swords, but one had a staff. If the bowman or the man with the staff were any good, they could still give him some nasty trouble but at first glance, they were simple ruffians, good for bullying peasants only.

"Well, you're the foreman but why are you chasing this girl? Has she committed a crime?"

The tribesman spoke with authority, and was not cowed by the presence of several armed men. His horse and kit all spoke of senior rank. He spoke like he expected to be obeyed.

The foreman looked a bit discomforted and he searched for an answer. "No. But her family stole my goat. I came to check, and found they'd eaten half of it."

"You lie. It was ours!" the young girl screamed in impotent rage. "We had to eat it, you never paid us!"

"I see," said Hakeem, drawing Mir with a flourish, and pointing it at the man. "You didn't pay wages and you claim it was your goat. Even if it was your goat, killing their horse is more than an exchange, and they may have been justified, if there were unpaid wages.

"There are four bodies, damage to their home, and you're chasing this girl. I carry the seal of your King!" He took a big breath, and his voice carried loudly and clearly. "I suggest you pay a sizable blood debt, now, or it will be you that will be finding yourself in serious trouble!"

He hoped if he moved things along quickly, he just might cow the bully, and fixed his gaze on him grimly. He automatically kept the bowman in view, out of the corner of his eye.

He didn't have any real hopes of avoiding a fight, and after a few seconds he saw the foreman tense.

As the foreman went for his sword, Hakeem spun Mir in powerful circle. He brought his sword whistling back with such speed that he caught the foreman across the neck before he had the chance to bare more than a few inches of his blade.

He heard one of the ruffians screaming hysterically, "Kill him!"

In the ensuing shock and confusion, one of their men jumped in front of their own bowman. Hakeem charged his horse forward at the man and hacked him out of the way. The bowman was trying to get a clear shot, but was too panicked and trying to half-run backwards at the same time. Hakeem quickly cut him down.

Spinning back, Hakeem raised his shield to block a blow from the staff. He pushed his horse hard up against the nearby men, managing to overbalance three who were trying to fight together and quickly dispatched them.

The last man threw his weapon down and turned to run. Hakeem nudged Nadeer into a trot after him. As he drew level with the desperately fleeing man he leaned out and slashed him hard across the back of his neck. The man pitched face forward with an agonised cry and was still.

It was over in moments.

When Hakeem killed, he was ruthlessly efficient.

He felt some regret that he had to kill them all, but it was inevitable once the fighting started. As for taking a defenceless man from behind, it didn't bother him at all. He could not leave a witness, however false, to accuse him of murder.

He tied his helmet to the saddle and dismounted and quickly and efficiently performed the task of ensuring they were all dead. He knew that the murdered Gypsies would be unlikely to understand the regret he had at killing the men, as he carefully cleaned his weapons on one of the men's clothing.

The little girl stood frozen on the spot. Her eyes were staring at him in mute terror, as he finally approached her. He moved slowly and gave her what he hoped was a kindly smile.

"What is your name?" he asked, squatting down nearby.

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. He held his hand out but she flinched away.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Hakeem said gently. "I'm sorry about your family."

Even to him it sounded such an empty thing to say. The girl made no response; she just stood there breathing fast, her eyes wide, watching every move he made. Hakeem shrugged to himself. He wouldn't rush her.

* * *

The small girl was trapped in a waking nightmare. Her family had worked so hard, even she had worked. The foreman was saying they hadn't worked properly and he wouldn't pay them. He threatened them if they didn't leave.

It was an excuse, even she knew that. Their wages were poor but the foreman wanted to keep the little that was theirs for himself.

Her father was arguing with him and the foreman's men had gathered around threateningly. She was frightened of the angry voices so she had hid under their wagon.

Then her father was suddenly tired and wanted to sit down. She saw him clutching at his stomach and his clothes showed a spreading stain. In horror, she realised they had stabbed him.

Her brother had moved to catch his father, and they had murdered him too, stabbing him in the back. Then her mother and sister tried to escape but they shot them from behind and they jeered at them as they lay dying.

And then they found her.

She ran, in mindless terror, no idea where she was running to. The man ran her down with his horse and then he was playing with her, cheering and taunting her attempts get away, letting her go and then riding after her. It was a game to him.

Her heart leapt in relief when out of nowhere a big man appeared. He was in armour and sat a great war-horse. He looked like a fearsome warrior and he seemed very angry, but then the men ran up to surround him too. They were going to kill him too. What could one man do against so many?

And then he moved.

It was shockingly violent. His sword was a blur. He hit so hard, he almost cut the bad man's head off! Blood sprayed everywhere! The bad man fell from the horse close to were she cowered on the ground … he was dead. His eyes were staring but not seeing.

The warrior spurred his horse with such strength and speed. All those men, that had terrified her didn't have a chance.

Was he even human?

And then he had walked up to her, his clothes and armour covered in blood and with his hair all over the place.

He would kill her too!

* * *

Hakeem found water and cut some cloth from one of the men's bodies. He carefully cleaned himself and his kit as well as he could, and then quenched the fire and picked anything of value off the corpses.

He figured that anything left belonged to the girl. The Gypsies had nothing of value, but all the foreman's men had money, and he had a bulging purse.

Where was the owner of this land? Probably something to do with the war.

He removed the tack from the foreman's horse but let it run free. He could not afford anything that might tie him to this place.

As he worked, he checked the small girl out of the corner of his eye. She still stood where he had left her, a forlorn figure, staring over the devastation of her family's encampment.

To the little girl, it was incomprehensible.

It could not have happened.

In moments her family, their small wagon, her world, was simply gone.

It was not possible.

Her life was ended, what was she to do now? Where would she go?

As Hakeem was digging a shallow grave for the Gypsies and laying their bodies out as nicely as he could, she came closer, to watch. Her tears had dried.

"My name is Hakeem. I really am very sorry for your loss. I mean you no harm, I promise. You had better come with me now," he said kindly.

She looked at him solemnly, her dark brown eyes still wide with shock and slowly nodded. "I'm glad you killed them," she said in a faint voice. She paused, her tears began again.

Then a sob wracked her body. She hiccoughed and turned to the large warrior.

"They k-killed my f-family," she explained, as if he, too, would be unable to understand. "…f-for n-no reason they k-killed them! My f-father, my mother, my sister and my b-brother. They are all d-dead!"

Her small voice was filled with disbelief.

She sobbed again, staring at the destruction the murderers had caused, and the bodies of those who loved her, who only moments ago were alive.

"Jacinta…." she managed. "My name is Jacinta."

Jacinta was maybe 11 or 12. She had started her stage of growth, but showed no sign of change into womanhood. There was no doubt, through the dust and tears, what a great dark beauty she would become.

Hakeem finished preparing her family in the shallow graves he had dug. Their murderers could lie where they had fallen.

As he started to say words of comfort over the graves and fill them in with soil, Jacinta emitted an empty, agonised cry. She put her hand hard across her mouth and bit her hand to stifle it. He came closer and held her, she was trembling terribly and he could feel her small heart hammering.

He gave her time to say goodbye. She would not see the graves of her family again.

She had stopped crying and stood staring at the graves, unseeing, for a while. He waited with her, and then she nodded slightly.

She didn't resist as he lifted her up onto Nadeer, and then mounted behind her. She twisted to look back as they rode away to get Farah. While he repacked his gear, Jacinta waited, sitting listlessly on Nadeer, and then they were off, Hakeem giving the scene of slaughter a wide birth, trotting the horses to get quickly past.

Jacinta was biting her lip to try to hold back the tears. Hakeem bundled her into his arms gently hugging her to him, guiding Nadeer with his knees with leading Farah on a rope.

For a long time, she was lay stiff and silent, shivering, but then she emitted a great cry of anguish and her small frame was racked again and again with sobbing. Hakeem found tears touching his own eyes as he clutched the little girl to him.

Jacinta had cried herself out again and slept in his arms for a time. When Hakeem felt they were far enough away, he turned off the main road to set up camp for the evening.

He risked a small fire, and forced her to eat a little bread and olives and drink some water. She lay listlessly on her side staring into space.

He then told her she should sleep, but when he approached her with his blanket she cringed away, shuddering. She looked like a small animal with terror in her eyes. He smiled to reassure her and moving slowly he gently tucked her in. What in the name of the Gods did she expect he would do to her?

She feared he might do something bad to her. He felt a dark surge of anger at the thought. She was only a little girl and had just lost all her family.

He sat beside her, caressing her face and hair and gently patting her shoulder. Eventually she relaxed and quietened to sleep. He spent a long time that night staring into the flames of the fire and watching the girl sleeping restlessly, moaning in her sleep. He was thinking about the evil men did, and worrying what to do with the little girl.

Dawn found the tribesman with her finally sleeping peacefully on his shoulder and his arm around her. Nadeer and Farah had come close by, instinctively guarding the small girl. As he felt her small head on his shoulder and her arms across his chest Hakeem felt a strong surge of protectiveness for this gypsy girl.

* * *

Jacinta was silent and glum for many days. Hakeem decided she was a rather quiet young girl.

Only later he found out just how wrong he could be.

Slowly Jacinta relaxed and began to trust the mysterious and dangerous stranger. Hakeem admitted how much he was enjoying her company, though his heart ached for her.

He could have got her to ride his smaller pack horse, but the great horse Nadeer carried them both without any trouble. For the time, instinct told him that human contact was the best thing he could do for her.

He also felt pleasure having the young girl ride in his arms. Slowly she started to notice things around her and she started to chat with her huge companion. Her pleasant accented Greek and the way she pronounced "Hakeem" was an absolute delight.

It was on their fourth day that they had their first argument.

It started when they were approaching a river, he said he planned to wash all their clothes and blankets and bathe. Hakeem loved to bathe. Also he had noticed his scalp was decidedly itchy since he met Jacinta. He needed to free them both of some small unwanted travelling companions.

Hakeem was fastidious in looking after his troops, as much as his horses, and knew a lot about common ailments. Human head lice were easy enough: soap, vinegar, scented oil and plant extracts were included in just some of the remedies he knew.

Hakeem was also very accustomed to arguments from his men, especially when he suggested anything to do with hygiene. The little Gypsy girl wasn't about to disappoint him.

"I don't need to bathe. My family didn't bathe. It's bad for you. You lose oils from your skin." Jacinta seemed shocked at the very idea!

"Nonetheless, you will bathe," Hakeem stated flatly.

"No I won't! You're not my father and you can't make me!" Jacinta, a Gypsy girl, was certainly used to holding her own with strangers.

"Oh, Jacinta won't bathe!" said Hakeem solemnly, as if considering the fact. He started to gently tickle her. Fortunately, he found her delightfully ticklish.

"Oh, I can't make her!" he continued, tickling her and turning her upside down.

Soon they were both laughing and attacking one another as they tried to remain seated on the horse. When it came to the river there was a hilarious splashing competition which ended in them helplessly laughing and hugging on the bank.

She looked fondly at him, "I love you, Hakeem."

"I love you too, Jacinta," he returned, surprised at the strength of his feeling.

* * *

There was barely a moment since he met Jacinta that Hakeem didn't worry about what was best for her.

He wanted a normal childhood for her, something he certainly hadn't had. It was something he, himself, couldn't give her. The sensible thing was to find people of her own kind, a good family who would foster her.

There was also the matter of the money from the foreman. He wanted to set it aside for her, for when she grew up but the only safe way he could think of was if he kept it and gave it to her when she came of age.

Jacinta wanted to stay with him. "Aren't you an officer of some sort? You must have quarters. I can keep house for you and cook."

Hakeem felt heartbroken when she said this. He already loved the young girl, but it wouldn't be fair to her. He would be away too much and too busy with other duties.

As he tried to explain this to her, Jacinta would just say, "but I want to stay with you."

It made him feel terribly guilty. He was all she had. He knew, though, if he could find her a proper family, she'd soon forget him.

It wasn't long before they came against a sizeable camp of Gypsies outside a village, and Hakeem made careful enquiries. A lady called Moira had lost a girl child of illness, thirteen moons ago. It had been hard for her to have children and she yearned for another little girl.

He spent some time talking to Moira and her husband, Andreas. They seemed a lovely, caring couple. He saw Jacinta shyly making friends with their younger daughter. When it all seemed agreed, he gave Moira some money and got final approval from the head man, a fat and coarse man, called Gyorgy.

He wouldn't like to do much business with Gyorgy.

Gyorgy had initially wanted to refuse. Jacinta belonged to another tribe, and he didn't see why he should make her his problem. Finally, for a largish bribe, he consented.

Hakeem made arrangements to meet Moira and Andreas's family whenever they were near Aiolía and he gave Jacinta a letter in case she ever needed help.

Jacinta clung to the big tribesman at first, and had to be pulled off, crying. He squatted down and gave her time, talking to her gently, and she finally quietened. After a difficult goodbye, Hakeem rode slowly away.

Jacinta felt a great wrench as Hakeem left. She felt sad and empty. She had only known the large tribesman a short time, but he was kind and made her feel safe.

Almost immediately, Andreas came hurrying to warn her. Gyorgy was planning to sell her into slavery in the slave market at Eskisehir! It was good money, and Andreas couldn't protect her.

She panicked. Hakeem was gone, perhaps far ahead. Moira and Andreas covered for her as she tried to run after him. She couldn't stop the tears. Her heart was hammering in fear.

She was feeling desperate and alone.

Little did she know then that Hakeem and his horses weren't moving quickly at all!

Hakeem could barely get Nadeer to walk along the road, and Farah was following listlessly.

From time to time the big horse would swing his neck to throw Hakeem an accusatory glance.

Hakeem himself had little heart to push on. He tried to remind himself he was doing the best thing for the little girl.

Then, in the distance behind him, he heard Jacinta's voice. She was crying and running.

"Hakeem! You bastard! Do you think you can dump me like a sack of barley? Do you know what they mean to do? They will sell me into slavery!" she screamed in a high-pitched voice. Finishing with, "You're just a coward and a liar."

Hakeem heard her throw in what sounded like a string of Gypsy curses, her small face red with anger. He spun his horse, a look of fury on his face.

* * *

He was angry! He was galloping back to her! He would beat her, and take her back to the Gypsy camp! Jacinta had nowhere to run. She had no one who could protect her against such a fearsome man. She waited, helpless, her head was down and her shoulders slumped. A solitary tear ran down her cheek, but as she tried to wipe it away, only more came.

As Hakeem drew near, he wrenched his horse and leapt from the saddle, but instead of hitting her he fell to his knees before her. He tipped her small face up, wiping quickly at her tears with his hand as if to dry them.

"Oh Jacinta," he cried in distress, and crushed her small form against his chest, tears welling in his own eyes. "I didn't know, please forgive me. I will never do that again. I promise, never, ever again."

He gathered her up in his strong arms and lifted her onto Nadeer. "Gyorgy!" he spat on the ground as he mounted.

It would be a lethal mistake to go back to the Gypsy camp. They quickly rode on, leaving Jacinta's paltry possessions and the money Hakeem had given behind.

Nadeer seemed happy now, and trotted along with a spring in his step.

Hakeem kept murmuring in distress, "I'm so sorry!" Jacinta sat in his arms, twisting the material of his vest in her hands. Her tears wet his shirt. From time to time she would hit him, on the chest or the shoulder, as hard as her tiny strength would allow.

Hakeem's obvious remorse repaired some the wound she felt, but she felt so angry, she had never wanted to be left there in the first place!

By the second day, the relationship started to thaw. On the first day, Hakeem had made no comment on her weak attempts to punch him. On the second day, every time she hit him he would say "Ow!" This would cause her to try to hit him again, with all her might.

So a 'Hakeem and Jacinta' game eventually emerged, from her attempts to hit him and his mock attempts to get sympathy, his complaints about her savagery, and his enquiries of whether she was ready to forgive him.

If he asked, "Can you forgive me?" she would give a sulky, "No!" This was followed by another punch. This usually elicited another apology.

Slowly, Jacinta began to relax back into the relationship. Hakeem was now decided. For better or worse, they were a family of two, and any of his future calculations included his young Gypsy ward.

The greatest characteristic of the Anatolē Gypsies was resilience, and soon enough Jacinta perked up. Hakeem continued Farah on a lead, Jacinta sometimes sat the smaller pack horse. It didn't have a proper saddle, but he rigged up some blankets till he could remedy the situation. Often, however, she would simply say, "I want to ride with you," and would climb onto Nadeer, to be enfolded in Hakeem's large arms.

She talked continually.

So much so that Hakeem sometimes lost track of her questions and comments. Then all he could do was make a noncommittal grunt or say 'Yes, Jacinta", having no idea what she was saying. This didn't seem to discourage her at all.

She was great company and, he noticed, very clever.

 

Chapter 11: Shopping For a Girl, and a Troublesome Young Slave

It was several days later that Hakeem and Jacinta arrived early in the morning at a large town.

He needed to reprovision and buy some clothes for Jacinta. All she had left was what she was wearing.

Hakeem felt baffled as to how to buy clothes for a small girl, and heaved a sigh of relief to find a huge shed that sold a wide range of travelling provisions. They didn't have the sort of quality of horse tack that he required, but they had clothes!

Practical travel clothes, hard wearing, and of course earthy, simple tones! This at least made one problem simple ... or so he thought.

"I won't wear these!" Jacinta shouted and pushed grumpily at the pile of clothing he was sorting through for her. He looked at her, puzzled.

"I'm not a boy!" she screamed angrily at him. "Is that all you think of me? I can't wear plain white like that, that's for funerals. And all these others are so dull. That's all you wear. Why do I have to look like you?"

Hakeem looked helplessly at the clothes he had chosen. He felt crestfallen and confused. Then Jacinta bowed her head and started to cry. Hakeem felt a surge of panic in front of the crying girl. She had been through so much already!

He could hardly stand it!

"I'm sorry Jacinta. I'm no good at this. Do you think you could choose for yourself?" He coaxed the small girl. "Then, you can have whatever you want!" he added, trying to entice her.

Jacinta let out a little squeal of excitement and hugged him, giving him a wonderful smile. It felt so good. He noticed her eyes and cheeks were surprisingly dry for one who had been crying, but her happiness was so delightful! Her excitement so infectious!

Jacinta insisted on choosing the shop and led him firmly outside.

She whispered, asking whether they could use the money he had taken from her family's killers.

"No," he whispered back. "That's yours. I have put it aside for you when you grow up. Till then, it won't be touched."

Her head jerked up. For once she was completely speechless.

Hakeem looked embarrassed. "I always meant it that way. I told Moira. I said I would give her more money, if you needed any, but not from that."

Jacinta was in shock.

She didn't know about the money negotiations. Hakeem certainly hadn't been trying to dump her with Moira and Andreas and they seemed nice. What went wrong wasn't their fault.

And she would have a sizeable dowry! Wow! She could hardly believe it. She had never had her own money, she never expected to.

She didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Hakeem," she managed in a small voice, as she gazed up at him. He bent down to give her a kiss, and suddenly she launched herself at him, arms around his neck. As he caught her, she tried her very best to hug him to death.

They stayed like this, hugging each other for some time. Jacinta drew her feet up as high as she could, and Hakeem gathered her up and gently rocked her. She looked the happiest he had ever seen her.

Eventually she murmured. "How much can I spend?"

He shifted her to his hip. "Anything in reason, I suppose," He shrugged vaguely, gesturing with his hand.

"Hakeem, how much money do you have?" she whispered in his ear.

"Huh? I don't know. I've got enough … I guess." He pulled a heavy purse out of a pocket and passed it to her. It was so heavy that she almost dropped it in surprise.

Jacinta pulled the drawstring and peered inside in total disbelief. "Hakeem, it's so much! Don't you ever count it?"

"No. I got money quite a few times, I don't really spend a lot." He shrugged, screwing his face up as he tried to think how much money he might have now. Then he gave up the effort, he had no idea at all.

"Hakeem, you're hopeless!" she scolded, in shock and fond exasperation. Her head was shaking from side to side in utter amazement.

"You'd better leave the bargaining to me," she said very firmly.

"Alright," Hakeem agreed meekly.

In one respect, Hakeem was not a typical tribesman. His people made bargaining a national sport. It was customary to spend half an hour and more haggling.

For more expensive goods, the initial price was twice or more what was reasonable. The customer would then make a ridiculously low offer. This was accompanied with good-natured banter and dramatics. The shopkeeper would complain that he would be ruined. He had a large family to support!

The customer, would alternatively cajole, scold, accuse and appeal to the shopkeeper's good nature. If it got to the shopkeeper starting to put the goods back on the shelf, or the customer starting to walk out, each had reached their limit.

After this, there would be friendly smiles and the customer would be served small cups of sweet black tea while the goods were made ready.

In the monastery and in the army, most of Hakeem's needs were supplied. He never learned how to shop, and later on he tried to avoid it. Most things he bought weren't expensive, and he felt sorry for small shopkeepers if he bargained too hard.

Rather than haggle, he usually asked "What's your best price?" If it seemed reasonable, he paid it. If not, he usually went elsewhere, even if they tried to call him back.

For bigger things, like personal battle kit, he took Elwan or he would have ended paying too much.

Jacinta hopped down, all businesslike, as she took the problem in hand. "Now, follow me," she commanded and marched determinedly into the very middle of a confusing maze of stalls and shops.

It seemed like hours later … after endless traipsing around, Hakeem was going utterly insane!

"Why didn't you buy that one?" he asked, completely bewildered.

"I didn't like it," Jacinta said simply, as if explaining something to a small child.

"Then why did you spend so much time looking at it and bargaining?"

"I wanted to see what I could get it for," Jacinta patiently explained, a bit surprised Hakeem didn't know that.

"Why did you look at it, if you didn't like it?" Hakeem continued, still baffled.

"I just wanted to see."

Then it struck Jacinta.

She turned to the big man in disbelief. She was shocked by the very thought!

"You don't like shopping, do you?"

It was hardly credible.

Hakeem smiled weakly at her and gave a mighty yawn. Hakeem would have said he didn't tire easily, but a morning of shopping with Jacinta and he felt hungry and stiff and his mind felt foggy.

And they hadn't bought anything!

Wasn't shopping about buying things? Now, how could he have gotten such an idea?

To women and girls, obviously shopping seemed to be a thing unto itself. Buying wasn't needed, not at all. They could spend hours and hours just looking examining and comparing prices and still feel satisfied. And they seemed to enjoy doing it.

Jacinta took the big man in hand, and shepherded him to a small outdoor restaurant. After food, Hakeem felt better. As he was sipping a second cup of tea, Jacinta was jigging up and down in her seat excitedly.

She suggested she go to a stall nearby while he rested for a bit more. Hakeem looked around cautiously. "Alright, but don't get out of sight and don't forget …"

"I know, for the tenth time ... it'll be cold and wet in the mountains." She tried to imitate his man's voice which set them both laughing. "Don't be silly," she smiled. "I've been here before and I've wandered around these sorts of places since I was born!"

Hakeem struggled to keep a straight face to hear her say this. He almost added "I know, and you have lived such a very long time, haven't you, you old woman, you?"

* * *

"Oh, dear Goddess!" Jacinta thought to herself with a smile, as Hakeem appeared near her soon afterwards.

He was supposed to be sipping his tea. All she had done was to look at some clothes around the corner of the store, where Hakeem couldn't see her. When she turned around, there he was, leaning against a post ever so casually and scanning the surrounds. He acts like he's a bodyguard and I'm some sort of Royal Princess, Jacinta thought, not a Gypsy orphan girl.

It wasn't long after this, that Jacinta led her big companion down a twisting series of narrow lanes, to a huge clothing shop.

"This is it," she announced, as she bustled in.

Soon the colourfully dressed shopkeeper, his wife, and two sons were talking to Jacinta rapidly in their own strange tongue, the Gypsy language. Gypsies called themselves and their language "Romani" from "roma" meaning "man".

The term 'Gypsy' came from a mainland Greek misconception that they came from Aígyptos.

They were Indo-Aryans from the land around the north of India but they had kept to a nomadic lifestyle which meant they were often persecuted by others who settled and claimed the land they were travelling through.

They were many nomadic peoples of the known world but the Gypsies were the greatest of all, and they maintained a close-knit culture which transcended national boundaries. No wonder Jacinta expected a better price here. The owners obviously had extensive contacts, the quality and range looked incredible.

Jacinta perched on a stool and chattered away, while Hakeem sat glumly in another corner of the shop, bored and not understanding what was going on. They were the only customers, as it was close to midday.

Then Jacinta said something that drew very unfriendly looks towards Hakeem. One of their sons started to rise, but was restrained by his mother's hand. As Jacinta talked, the temperature in the big shop started to chill. The owner looked at Hakeem, as if he was a piece of dog filth.

Hakeem felt hurt, he wondered what she was saying to her fellow Gypsies behind his back. What did she secretly think of him? More so, he was becoming alarmed and loosened Mir in its sheath.

Then Jacinta and the family became serious and businesslike, bringing out a bewildering range of cloth and clothes. Hakeem remained ignored, on his stool in the corner. He saw a small pile of clothing that they could take straight away and a bigger pile of cloth and clothing that needed sewing or adjusting. There was a second blanket each.

Jacinta was looking at a very fine scarf, which looked like it came from Aígyptos. She kept picking it up and putting it down regretfully with a sigh. It was obvious to all that she liked it.

"Buy it, if you like it," Hakeem called out from his position on the stool, then added as a helpful afterthought, "if you can get a good price."

"No Hakeem, it's far too expensive," she replied in Greek. "Though it is nice ...," she added wistfully.

"I'm sure we can afford it. Go on, get it … if you can get a good price," he called out loudly.

Bargaining definitely wasn't Hakeem's strong point.

Suddenly the owner and his wife looked at Hakeem in astonishment. They talked rapidly to Jacinta in the Gypsy tongue. The owner started to walk over to Hakeem, smiling broadly.

Jacinta jerked up and almost fell off her stool. She scurried around and tried to push the man back. She seemed agitated, talking very excitedly and waving her free arm energetically.

He ignored her, and favoured Hakeem with a broad smile.

"So," he said as he approached, talking in that gorgeously accented Greek Jacinta used. "I know you are displeased with your slave here. My wife and I find the work in our shop rather heavy at times. Perhaps you would allow us to buy her from you. Though she is unworthy, we will give you a good price."

"BUY her! SLAVE!" Hakeem jumped up in shock and outrage, knocking over his stool. "What has she been telling you?"

"Only what a cruel and stingy master you were. You wanted her dressed well to show off your wealth, but would beat her if she didn't get a good price," the owner replied, enjoying the tribesman's confusion and Jacinta's agitation.

"JACINTA!" Hakeem roared, and started to march over to where Jacinta cringed back in a corner. The couple were shocked by his anger, and they hurried to grab him to keep him from reaching Jacinta. They may as well have tried their strength against an ox.

Hakeem ploughed slowly across the room, dragging the man and the woman behind him.

Jacinta flinched from him, frightened by his rage.

He towered over her. "How could you say such things? Do you know what people will think of me?" he asked incredulously.

As he bent closer, his voice was almost back to normal volume. Jacinta looked at the floor and said nothing. When it was obvious that Hakeem intended no more than to scold the girl, the shopkeeper relaxed.

"Well, it seems that things are not quite as we may have been led to believe," he said mildly.

Hakeem stared at him, stuck for words. He allowed himself to be led, completely stunned back to the stool. "She's my foster daughter," he managed.

The shopkeeper permitted himself a chuckle. These desert tribesmen were famous for their stiff-backed honour. The trick the young girl had played on her foster father was delicious.

He imagined them recounting the story over and over: You should have seen his face! I thought he was going to have apoplexy! Then he roared like some great bear. He was huge! None of us could stop him. We thought he would beat her. In the end, all he did was ask her why she did it.

In his imagination, he would go on about the girl. He'd heard all sorts of hard luck stories but she was very good. She had all of them believing it.

She's one to watch, that one! Jacinta had struck a very tight bargain, but it was worth it for the joke she played. He'd even give her a good price on the expensive cloth if the tribesman didn't withdraw his offer.

"Do I beat you, Jacinta?" Hakeem asked conversationally as he brought his stool over and placed it close to her.

"No, Hakeem," she replied sheepishly.

"Should I beat you, Jacinta?"

"No, Hakeem," Jacinta replied with a small smile.

"Do you want me to beat you, Jacinta?"

"No I don't, Hakeem," Jacinta smiled and couldn't help a little chuckle, as she recognised a Hakeem teasing game.

She couldn't quite believe there wouldn't be further repercussions. But Hakeem was obviously recovered from his shock.

Jacinta had been truly frightened. Her heart was still racing and her breath coming rapidly, as if she had run a race. Again, she thought he would beat her, and the mildness of his eventual response surprised her.

"I need to pay them some money," she said eventually.

Not realising how strange it looked, he passed his complete purse to the small girl who was obviously in charge of the shopping. She competently counted out the money. "Don't forget the nice scarf you wanted," he reminded.

They would have to return tomorrow for the alterations and the garments that were to be made up. Then they would pay the remainder, but the shopkeeper simply couldn't let them leave! Misunderstanding the situation, he hadn't offered the tribesman the usual hospitality. He couldn't in all honour allow them to leave now.

While Hakeem was offered tea and small cakes, the owner chatted to him. Hakeem was back smiling, and showed himself as a polite and respectful guest. The shopkeeper started to get a sense of his character, and couldn't help smiling to himself and chuckling as he recalled the trick Jacinta had played.

Jacinta had recovered, and took half the cakes when Hakeem offered them to her. She chatted away, in her own tongue, to the shopkeeper's wife. She seemed to enjoy the chance to talk to one of her own kind, so Hakeem gave her some time. At one point she grew sad, and the old lady put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Talking about her family, Hakeem knew.

Then she looked smiling across at Hakeem, with a look of pure adoration. He smiled in return. Then the old lady said something and laughed, Jacinta looked sheepish as she laughed back and flashed an embarrassed glance at Hakeem.

While he intended to give Jacinta time with the kindly lady, he found the old Gypsy man entertaining and knowledgeable, so he was enjoying the company. The old man insisted on measuring him and offering him a free shirt, but Hakeem politely declined.

"Well, for a Gaje, you are a good man," the old Gypsy eventually said as they were leaving. "You have a lovely and clever daughter. You really should leave any bargaining to her!"

Hakeem smiled ruefully, as he grabbed Jacinta and pulled her towards him affectionately. "As long as she doesn't land us both in jail, we should get some really good prices."

The old Gypsy roared with laughter.

As they were walking, Hakeem asked Jacinta. "What's a Gaje?"

"It's our term for outsiders. Used the way he did, it's an affectionate term."

"So, it's got another meaning?" Hakeem was curious.

"Er, peasant."

Hakeem laughed, "That's what you call outsiders?"

He was beginning to realise there was much more to the Gypsy culture than he realised.

The next day Jacinta woke before dawn and lay drowsing. The clothes would not be ready before the mid-afternoon, but she couldn't contain her excitement. Over breakfast she jiggled up and down in her seat, chatting continually about clothing and cloth that she had seen. Hakeem had trouble remembering half the stalls, let alone pieces of cloth, but he manfully tried to pretend interest. She went on and on, till he had to keep reminding her to eat her food.

To contain some of her impatience, he took her grocery shopping to the morning market. Jacinta insisted on changing back into her old clothes. "Jacinta," Hakeem said as she came back down. "This is not necessary. We have enough money."

She looked at him seriously. "When I was young, we often did not have enough money for food. It's something I'll never forget. Besides," she added with a bright smile, "this is fun!"

Hakeem, who had never found shopping fun, shrugged, and followed on.

Later he had to look for a third horse and a saddle for Farah … no, not a third horse just to carry Jacinta's new clothes! They needed to carry enough gear and food for the two of them on the journey. It may seem a luxury, but in truth it was a minimum. They couldn't carry enough on the two mounts. Farah was already laden with his 'kit' which he would don for the more dangerous stretches.

They would be travelling through arid lands in central Anatolē and again to reach the city of Karsh. Hakeem had the tribesman's good sense of direction, but also their deep respect for the desert and arid lands. They would not be going into the true desert or off the travelled roads, but he would take extra water and supplies as a matter of course.

It would be unfair and impractical to ask their two horses to carry more. Never ask a horse to carry more than a third of its own weight.

Now, buying a horse was one area where he didn't need any help! He certainly knew horses and was a very shrewd judge of their worth. Possibly, there wasn't a Shantawi alive who could be cheated buying a horse.

* * *

The morning market was near the entrance to the town and consisted of several huge semi-permanent rectangular tents spread over a large open area, paved with stone. It was owned by the town and they rented space to the stall owners within.

Each large tent was roughly dedicated to multiple stalls of similar goods, varying from benches for handicrafts, to mats on the floor for fruit sellers, to crates or baskets, depending on what was being sold. The town provided guards against the inevitable pickpockets and thieves, and there was daily cleaning.

Only certain ingredients would keep, so the town's women shopped every day and bought just enough for that day. The time for the morning market was from an hour after dawn till midmorning. In summer this meant that things could be sold fresh, before the heat of the day.

As they entered, Hakeem was almost knocked over by the chaos. His senses were assaulted by the noise, sights, and smells of the market. There was limited time to shop and people were everywhere, all talking and shouting at once. Sellers were calling their wares, servants or housewives were haggling, and workmen calling to each other.

There were narrow laneways between stalls, but they were overwhelmed by the press of people. Barefoot children and street urchins were running back and forwards, women with large baskets and men delivering supplies.

There was also a confusion of smells: pleasant smells in the sections for fruit, tea, incense and spices, appalling smells from the meat, paltry and fish markets.

Jacinta delved into Hakeem's purse and happily went ahead. She seemed in her element, Hakeem grimly trailed her into the chaos. He tried unsuccessfully to be unobtrusive as he could, in this world of women shoppers. He overheard Jacinta talk of her life as a 'slave', but no longer of ill treatment.

They bought salt fish and preserved meat and fruit but avoided the fresh meat market, which was a cruel place. He could hear barking at the back of the meat section as they hurried past. He didn't even want to know what that was about.

They would get fresher meat from small villages on their journey.

The next stop was the fresh fruit section, concentrating on things that would keep, such as apples and oranges. Hakeem drifted up, "You don't have to buy those apples, they are small and wizened, we can afford better."

"They're for the horses, silly," Jacinta scolded him.

After that, Hakeem subsided and simply left it to her.

He insisted on carrying all the sacks to leave Jacinta's hands free. The sacks and packages she kept passing to him got more and more awkward and heavier and heavier. It earned him some very strange looks. Most men would get their women and girls to do the carrying, if they were in the food market at all.

A vendor offered him some rope, so he roped several sacks together and carried them, slung over the shoulder. Jacinta's donkey, that's what I am! He smiled wanly at the thought, but he had to admit, Jacinta was good at shopping. Being a female of an itinerant family, Jacinta knew exactly how to outfit them for the journey.

Hakeem was an excellent leader of men. He could accurately work out what was needed to provision a group of any size for a journey ... as long as no one asked him to do the actual shopping.

Without help he would be totally lost. He imagined himself with several lists and preferably a large number of helpers. Even then he would stumble, double-checking his calculations, dropping his lists and wandering disoriented back and forwards looking for the next item in the crowded market, and always paying too much.

He was baffled by the young Gypsy girl's ability. Jacinta could do this in her sleep. She seemed to know exactly where to go, what to get, how much to pay, and in what order to shop. All Hakeem could do was follow in her wake, doing the heavy carrying.

Soon it was accomplished.

They took their supplies back to the inn and then set out to get the spare horse.

The livestock market was held one day a week and was split in three sections: poultry in one section, sheep and goats in another. The final section was for the larger animals: cattle, mules, donkeys and horses. Camels were too expensive and not used here, so far from the desert.

The cattle sales were on, and the horse sales would follow so Hakeem had time to carefully inspect what was on offer. It was Jacinta's turn to be impressed. Hakeem's attitude to buying horses bore no similarity at all to his attitude towards any other form of shopping.

He only wanted a solid pack horse, but he fastidiously spent time examining each and every offering, murmuring quietly to Jacinta what she should look for. She didn't know there was so much to horses.

He seemed pleased with the deal he got, on the third horse he bid for. It was a busy, exhausting day but eventually they were wandering back to the fabric shop.

The owner greeted them at the door, grinning broadly. "Here's the wealthy but cruel Gaje and his unsatisfactory Romani servant." Hakeem chuckled and Jacinta looked embarrassed for a moment. Then her excitement took over.

It would not be practical for either Jacinta or Hakeem to take too many spare clothes on the journey, but each of Jacinta's outfits didn't take up a lot of space. Clothes are very important for females, Hakeem realised, and Jacinta was no different.

He had told her what he wanted her to get, some serviceable daily clothes, undergarments, two good outfits for herself, a cloak, sandals, boots and extra blankets. Waiting was a small but beautiful collection of Gypsy clothes.

Romani dress is distinguished by a love of bright colours. Their travels give them access to a range of dyes and fabrics not widely available, and their strong connection with circuses and entertainment adds to their fondness for bright garments.

Colours that should clash seemed to work perfectly for Gypsies. White was a funeral colour but is acceptable with coloured embroidery. Primary red (which signified blood) was bad luck but crimson on the other hand, was very popular.

Jacinta had two full dresses and a few practical pants for riding and working, but even her pants were decorated with embroidery on the hems. There was a selection of undergarments for daily use and some with frills (no one would see her wearing them, but girls were girls). There was an exquisite and warm fur coat and the softest of boots, a size too large, but Jacinta explained she could wear thick knitted socks and grow into them.

The owner's wife braided Jacinta's hair then she modelled her dresses, she was beaming with delight. Hakeem and the owners of the shop were enjoying watching her excitement and admiring how pretty she was. When she was in her best Gypsy dress, Hakeem reached into his coat and brought out a small cloth parcel. Jacinta opened it slowly then let out a delighted squeal and hugged the big tribesman.

Hakeem had noticed her ears were pierced but she had no ear rings. Silver earrings, they were exquisite! Somehow, he had bought them while she was distracted.

"He's not bad for a mean and cruel master, I'd say!" the shopkeeper teased her as his wife helped her wear them.

It was a big and exciting day and it was good to relax in their room that evening.

Hakeem always made Jacinta take the bed, he preferred the floor. Jacinta always felt a little uncomfortable with this. He was older, he was some sort of officer and he was a male after all.

As Jacinta recovered from the trauma of her loss, it happened less, but Hakeem still sometimes woke in the morning with her asleep on his shoulder.

Sometimes he woke, suffocating and hot, to find her having pulled herself and all her blankets down on him till he was buried in her layers. The worst was when she would sleep on or near him and (though asleep) would kick and kick with her heels till he couldn't stand it anymore, and had to put her back in her own bed.

After the excitement of the shopping trip, Jacinta was sitting on the bed organizing his money into neat piles of coppers, silvers, gold eights, quarters and full gold coins.

He'd just finished explaining to her that he would definitely not be passing, to anyone else, the two debased gold coins she had found. She was shocked by his, "but someone gave them to you, Hakeem!"

If someone gave them to him, why on earth couldn't he give them to someone else?

No! They would go to the gold smith for salvage, even at a fraction of the face value ... and there would be none of her colourful stories.

Jacinta was humming to herself, as she happily counted the coins. Hakeem was thinking of how different it was to raise a little girl. As he watched her counting the money, it occurred to him he needed to start her education.

"Jacinta, I'm going to teach you to read and write and do calculations," he announced. He expected an instant argument, but she meekly nodded almost absently, "Yes, Hakeem."

Then Jacinta looked up from her counting, "Hakeem?"

"Hmm," he replied.

"Will you teach me how to fight?"

Hakeem's head jerked up in surprise, "Why?"

Whenever he was out of town, he would practice for half an hour and more before breaking his fast and Jacinta would usually perch on a rock or stump to watch. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him that she was interested.

"Well," Jacinta explained, "When my family was killed, you killed the men that did it. It would feel good if I was able to take revenge on them myself."

Hakeem sighed and shook his head, "No, I won't teach you."

Jacinta knew as soon as she said it, she had given the wrong answer.

"No, wait," she tried again, desperately. "Sometimes people need help, and they are not strong enough and I can also defend myself if I'm attacked."

"Good answer." He smiled. "We'll talk about revenge later. It wouldn't have done your family any good, and it wouldn't have taught those men any lessons. If you took pleasure in killing them, you would do very serious harm to yourself."

"Do you mean to say that people who do evil really hurt themselves?" Jacinta asked, puzzled.

How could that possibly work? If they got away with it, weren't they happy?

"Yes, very good," Hakeem smiled and nodded. "That's exactly what I mean. They may cause pain and suffering to others, but the worst damage they do is to themselves, their souls. Remember this, it's very important: you can't kill people. People don't really die."

Jacinta looked puzzled, "Huh?" Then she realised what he meant, "Oh yeah, life after death. I'll believe THAT when I see it."

"Again, that's an excellent answer, little one!" Hakeem replied with enthusiasm. "You should never believe something, just because you're told it. It is important to experience these things for yourself."

Jacinta sighed, sometimes Hakeem got a bit weird on her around his religion, but this was really weird. "Like die you mean?"

"No, Jacinta," he laughed, and then became more serious. "When people die and are reborn, they often don't recall a lot about their past life, the greatest effect is on their soul. Let's leave this. Many things are best learned by experience."

A shiver passed through Jacinta. "Learn by experience?" She had learned to love and trust Hakeem. She knew he was strange and religious at times, but she feared what he said. It was scary enough to think he might be touched in the head, but if this was something he believed, it was absolutely terrifying.

As if reading her mind, "Relax," he said. "It's not crazy and I promise, not scary. It's a simple and natural part of life. In fact, it's reassuring, but we'll come to that later. There are some things you have to do, or see, to understand. You shouldn't take another person's word for it.

"Everybody gets messages about life, but most simply ignore them and concentrate on things that are not important. All you have to do is be open to them, and meditate on the lessons you are given. It's really is that simple. All the answers you need are inside you.

"Let's get back to the training. First, you need to understand that it's only to be used for your own defence, and that of others."

Jacinta nodded, though she wondered where the life of a mercenary could fit in.

"And," he continued, "always try to avoid a fight at all costs, if you can."

She gave another solemn nod.

"Finally, if I am your teacher, you must obey me completely in all matters related to your education or fighting or training. If we are ever in danger, you must do whatever I say immediately, without question."

"Wow, do any teachers ever do the wrong thing?" she asked, considering.

"Yes, some do. You know me, would you trust me that much, Jacinta?"

"Of course, I would! I mean, I agree." Jacinta nodded.

"Then I will teach you," Hakeem announced.

Jacinta gave a small whoop, and threw herself at Hakeem to hug him.

He smiled at her and pretended to be solemn, "Welcome, pupil. We need to buy a few other things for your training, but I know about these and it won't take long. Now, the first lesson will be tomorrow night. After that you must meet and communicate with my God," he said.

Jacinta felt scared, Hakeem had never shown any tendency to do magic, but a God?

"Why would he want to meet me?" she asked in a small voice.

Hakeem smiled, "I'll show you the morning after tomorrow. God knows you already. Remember, I promised you it won't be scary. You must trust me.

"It's a wonderful experience. Anyway, who said anything about 'he'?

Now I want you to get some sleep. It will be a long day."

 

Chapter 12: Meeting God, and a Most Determined Pupil

Sleep?

He may as well have asked Jacinta to fly up into the air!

Her mind was racing. He was going to teach her how to fight like he did. But despite his reassurances, he scared her. Meeting with a God? She was bursting with questions.

It had to be a trick! He had said he wouldn't train her unless God 'talked' to her, was that what he had said? Well, that was easy … it wouldn't happen, and yet he seemed dead serious, and he already said she was his pupil.

She tossed and turned. Then tossed and turned and kicked the blankets. Then she tossed some more. Eventually Hakeem shouted at her to sleep.

The next day she woke late. Hakeem was already downstairs breaking his fast.

'Hakeem is always eating, or drinking tea!' Jacinta thought to herself in disgust.

Couldn't they hurry things up today?

Anyway, now he will insist she eat something and drink boiled milk. Was he trying to make her fat? Almost daily when they stopped, he would carefully inspect the village cow. Then check that the milk was boiled long enough and then insist she drink at least one glass.

Greeks never drank milk; they thought it was barbaric, its what herders did, why should she have to?

Oh! she thought, frustrated, Hakeem could be so fussy at times!

Hakeem smiled when he noticed Jacinta was in a hurry to leave. As if leaving earlier would mean the evening would come sooner.

He insisted she eat. The effect on her of a better diet was already dramatic. She seemed to be growing in front of his eyes. He made a mental note to measure her.

For Jacinta, the morning dragged on and on. They had to backtrack to the shops. As promised, this did not take long, except for choosing a training bow for Jacinta. Hakeem seemed to spend almost as long examining what was on offer, measuring her up and talking to the man, as if he were buying another horse.

Jacinta had no idea what he was looking for, but he could be such a fusspot. And he complained about my shopping! Then she smiled at herself for thinking this, and allowed herself to feel some excitement. This was for her, after all.

While Hakeem loaded the horses, Jacinta did what she could, and then kept pacing back and forwards as he very carefully packed everything else. Hakeem watched her out of the corner of one eye and tried to hide his smile.

As they slowly ascended some wooded hill country on their mounts, Jacinta found herself drowsing, despite the excitement. Two nights of restless sleep were catching up with her. She woke with a start in her saddle to find that Hakeem was stopping early for the night.

They had moved back from the road to a small lookout. It was a beautiful spot near the top of the hill, looking over a broad valley with the coastal mountain ranges in the east. The mountains were magnificent. The tallest all had snow despite it only being late summer and almost the start of autumn.

Hakeem drove Jacinta crazy by methodically setting up the camp in the usual way. She helped as much as she could, gathering wood, unsaddling and brushing the horses, unpacking the chicken, vegetables and spices. Why did he have to set rabbit snares for heaven's sake? They had enough food! Didn't he say that he was sick of rabbit?

It was a dry camp, so he had brought extra water for the horses. He set some out, and then gave them some oats before allowing them to graze.

Couldn't he be quicker with the fire? Why dig a latrine pit, even a small one? He always did that! Then, as he cooked, he hummed to himself.

Still no word! While she couldn't contain herself any longer, he was relaxing with the inevitable cup of tea after eating. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"No little one. Let me finish my tea. I need to teach you how to breathe."

She pouted at him. Was he only going to tease her? "I know how to breathe, Hakeem."

"If you can't breathe, it's harder to meet our God." Hakeem smiled at her.

What's he talking about? Jacinta thought. If she stopped breathing … that's when she would meet their God. But he had finished his tea.

He folded a blanket and set it down for her, getting her to sit on it and checking that she was as comfortable as she could be. Then he sat facing her, cross-legged, which she quickly copied.

"Now I want you to take a slow deep breath," Hakeem started. "Not so deep it feels a strain. Try to relax completely ... that's it!

"Now breathe out … very slowly.

"As you breathe in and out, I want you to concentrate on the point just below your nose, where you can feel the coolness of your breath as it comes in and out." Hakeem's voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, as he encouraged her.

"Just concentrate on this and nothing else. If your mind wanders, just bring it gently back. Try to empty your mind and focus on your breath."

Hakeem would pause for a while, and then gently encourage her to maintain her concentration. It was very relaxing, but Jacinta's mind was racing here and there! She was thinking of shopping, of the clothes she had bought, of Hakeem teaching her fighting and talking to a God.

"Concentrate, Jacinta," Hakeem encouraged gently.

She tried to focus. Concentrate on what … nothing?

Her breath.

Eventually she managed. It felt very calming and somehow different but after a while, she could feel herself falling asleep. This wouldn't do!

Then Hakeem was saying, "That's enough. You did very well. This step is very important. Much comes from it, both in our religion and in our fighting. I must teach you both.

"You can practice again tomorrow, and I'll be there to help."

Jacinta could hardly stay awake. It seemed no sooner had she fallen asleep than Hakeem was waking her up again.

It couldn't be morning yet, could it? She opened one eye, and saw it was hardly first light. Hakeem had put more wood on the fire and this gave them enough light to see by.

Hakeem smiled down fondly. All he could see was a heap of blankets, showing some tousled curly black hair and one eye peering through the tangle looking blearily up at him.

He insisted Jacinta have a couple of wheat cakes and clean herself up a little. Jacinta thought she would be too nervous to eat, but then she realised how hungry she was. He also heated up some oat porridge, adding a generous dollop of honey and a pinch of salt

He folded a blanket, for her while he would sit on bare rock. He made sure she was as comfortable as he could, before they started. again,. Then he got her to sit facing the mountain range. They started the breathing meditation and he warned her never to look directly at the sun as it rose.

They were on a rise, looking out over the dark valley below with the mountains only as vague shapes in the distance.

Slowly the valley could be seen more and more clearly. A cock crowed and pigeons started to coo. Cows started to call and a dog barked on a farm below. Now Jacinta could see a river winding its way through the forest, fields, and the road headed east, deserted at this hour.

Jacinta loved sunrises, but wondered how this one would be different.

"Nature is preparing to give a special show," Hakeem warned her.

"Meditate," he said. "Keep with the experience."

So Jacinta waited, ready, practicing the breathing.

They were about to see something of breathtaking beauty. No one could really watch sunrise over the mountains and not be moved. Like any great show, this one relied on subtle changes barely noticed.

Like watching a stage magician, the observer's eye was drawn to a faint glow behind a dark outline in the distance. It was like the opening note of a symphony, but this was in vision, not sound.

At first faint, it grew stronger and stronger, growing in power and promise. Before the warmth of the day the clouds hung, layer upon layer, impenetrable and black … now they were becoming dull grey and softer, more clearly seen.

Imperceptive at first, dawn's alchemy was being wrought. As they were watching, the mountains slowly took form. The fluffy clouds had become an exquisite pastel blue-grey! And then … the still-hidden sun splashed the undersides of the clouds with its beautiful soft rose hue.

At last the climax came! The sun peaked over the mountains, and the sky caught fire. It was a perfect symphony, rising and rising in a glorious crescendo of colour.

After a while, Hakeem stopped. Jacinta sat for some time, eyes now closed, silent. She continued the breathing, her small face one of peace and rapture.

"Well, what do you think?" Hakeem asked when she finally relaxed back from the meditation pose.

She was in awe. "Oh Hakeem, that was so beautiful. I love sunsets and sunrises. They are best over the mountains, but I've never experienced anything like that."

"The meditation allows you to be fully open to the experience," Hakeem said gently.

"Thank you so much for showing me, Hakeem but you played a trick on me. You worship the sun God."

Hakeem smiled. "You're very close. We do use the sun as God's symbol, and most of us call our God Apollōn, the God of light and wisdom. You already know we do. God is in all things, but in beauty we can see our God more clearly. Sunrise over the mountains is one of the most beautiful things I can imagine. That's why I brought you to this spot."

"But you said God would talk to me. I didn't hear anything!" Jacinta complained.

"No, Jacinta. I didn't say talk. I've never heard God with my ears." Hakeem spoke carefully. "Think back … did you feel anything?"

Jacinta looked thoughtful; she paused and then answered carefully. "Yes … something that loved ... the sort of love that was so strong it ached." She finished in amazement, humbled. She hadn't realised it, until she herself had said it.

Hakeem was very impressed by her reply. "Was there any message for you?"

"I think so …" Jacinta said thoughtfully. "About how I should live my life to be worthy of my God. It'll take me ages to think it all through, though."

Hakeem laughed. He was a bit in awe of what Jacinta had just said to him.

"So, who is the teacher now, and who is the pupil? You got all that first time. It took me years and I was considered an excellent student."

"But you said I would meet God," she persisted. "I didn't see him. That wasn't God, it's what he made."

"No! Think, Jacinta!" Hakeem insisted. "God was there. You met God. Do you expect to experience God, as if God were a man? I've never 'seen' God. I don't know if that is even possible. Did you think God thinks in the language of men?

"Nonetheless, you really were in God's presence, receiving God's message. Many see God as like a man, or a woman, or a man with a bull's head. I can't say any of these are wrong, but this is not what I experience.

"Some of these men are, to me, very holy and close to God. You will feel God's presence as you meet them or enter their temple, but I believe we impose what we are on God and see God as being like us. I think that's our heads talking.

"Some believe God demands great temples, praying at altars, the sacrifice of chickens and goats, or complicated rituals. That's not the message I receive. I think that's for humans, not God.

"If it helps them to focus, then it is a good thing but it is the trappings of belief. If we focus too much on the trappings alone we can lose the core. God does communicate with us, but in our hearts.

"We are on this earth for a reason. We are shown so much, but much is also kept from us, I think, also for a reason for that. Perhaps if we know too much of what's beyond, we won't be able to do what we are here to do."

"Is this what your religion teaches in your temples, then?"

"No," Hakeem laughed. "Of course not. If we taught like this, we would not have one common follower left. People work hard six days a week, they don't want to think hard on the seventh. That's not a criticism.

"People come to the temple to relax, meet friends. They love festivals, rituals. The temple translates, tells them how to live a good life, it reassures when they are troubled and grieving. It adds joy to weddings and births. People need something familiar, something that is simple that they can understand. We give them the same message, but in a different way."

"You tell lies? Shayvism tells lies?" Jacinta was scandalised. "How can that help?"

"Not lies! The temple shows the path, but for those who don't specialise in the mysteries, it teaches by allegory."

Shayva said, 'It is not from knowledge that people grow.' If it were, much wouldn't be hidden. It is from living, from life and searching to be better. Humans are curious by nature but in this, searching to know things we cannot know may lead to a trap. We expect to find answers, using our heads, not answers growing out of our hearts. We might miss completely the messages that we are given so freely.

"How we love, how we live our lives and how we handle our troubles, how we treat others. That's how we really grow. That's why we are here, the rest isn't important. The life of a monk is not superior to the life of a mother or a father. It's just a different path, to learn different lessons.

"Never look down on those that are humble. In the journey, they may be further along than you. They are living a humble life for the lessons they need to learn. There can be great wisdom and goodness in humble people.

"Being a king or grand abbot, having power or prestige, is not always better. In truth, power often proves to be a terrible danger to those that wield it." Hakeem finished the quotation.

"When I was younger, I wanted to be a monk and a celibate. I saw that as the only way to dedicate my life to God, but I was wrong. To dedicate one's life to being a monk is a wonderful thing, but not for me. That's what our Grand Abbot knew, and I didn't understand just then.

"No matter how wise I became in philosophy, being a monk was for me a retreat from life. I would have been avoiding what I had to do."

There was a lot to consider. But Hakeem gave her a sense of a God that was alien and distant from the world of men. "It seems lonely," she said. "If God is so different from us, we don't have the sort of God that is like a father."

"Jacinta," Hakeem said. "I'm not trying to convince you. I'm trying to help you see for yourself. Now, look into your heart, don't use your head.

"Does it feel that you are left alone like that? Don't you ever feel the hand of love and guidance? Don't you ever get the sense of a plan for you? Don't you at times sense something or someone watching over you? Don't you sense your family near? Haven't you felt that great love?"

"I have felt all those things, Hakeem, but you are giving me a headache!"

Hakeem was at once solicitous. Jacinta amazed him in what she could understand. The temptation was to go further and further. He couldn't believe this was only the first lesson but what was he doing, talking to an eleven-year-old girl like that? He stopped the lesson, and gave her some easy physical tasks to do.

They didn't go far that day; in fact they merely descended to the nearest water. Hakeem had more planned for the day. "I'm going to teach you how to fight." he said, once they had set up camp.

"Yes!" Jacinta thought bursting with excitement.

Hakeem laid the rabbits he had skinned earlier near the fire and she assembled some of the spices she had bought. Jacinta said she would cook them later. She insisted Hakeem couldn't cook rabbit and, after he had tasted what Jacinta could do, he had to agree.

"Now, I plan to teach you unarmed combat," he announced gravely. "First I have to show you how to stand, and how to walk."

Jacinta had seen him practicing stances and fluidly and rapidly moving from one stance to another. This will be great! she thought, if I don't end up killing him because of these dreadful jokes!

* * *

Training Jacinta and teaching her letters and numbers slowed the journey considerably. Jacinta felt anxious about that but Hakeem would brook no argument. If she were to be trained, there was only one way to do it; she would be trained properly.

Whatever they could do verbally, they did as they rode along. A lot related to Shayvist philosophy, and Jacinta was getting used to Hakeem's habit of reflecting her questions back to her.

But if everyone was encouraged to find their own answers to everything, how could any of them be expected to agree on anything?

"Hakeem? Do we get rewarded if we treat animals well?"

"Reward is the wrong word, little one," he said with a gentle smile. "If one conducts oneself correctly, with love, it causes strength of spirit, lightness and joy. If we conduct ourselves in hate, it causes a sickness in our spirit or soul.

"Just compare it to training our bodies. To get a healthy body we must eat good food and exercise. That in itself is a pleasure and a joy. To get a healthy soul we do good deeds and have good thoughts. That again in itself is a pleasure and a joy.

"You asked if we should treat animals with love and kindness. Do I need to answer? What does your heart tell you to do? But we must live in the world too, and the world cannot be perfect, that is also part of the lesson. Sometimes we eat animals, but we must always be humane."

"Even rabbits?" Jacinta asked with a smile.

"Yes," Hakeem said, chuckling, "even rabbits. Some of the monks become vegetarian by choice, but if you are young and want to train to be a fighter, you must eat meat. Remember, there is no such thing as death."

"What about wild animals?"

"Again, do I need to answer? Does your heart say you should treat animals cruelly? But if you are a farmer, you must protect your crop from animals and birds, or your chickens from a fox. Sometimes this is just how things are, but you still should treat them with love and respect. If you torture a fox or animal just because of its nature, or kill it for no reason, your heart must say that is wrong. Forget what your head or others might say."

Jacinta was amazed at what the tribesman knew, and Hakeem was stunned at how quickly the Gypsy girl picked things up. The Shayvists believed in a balance between training the mind and the body, this was how he would train Jacinta.

Once Jacinta had learned the fighting stances and how to move between them while maintaining her centre of balance low, he taught her standard punches and how to block. He started to teach her the use of the bow, and it was here he showed her how the meditation exercises helped the arrow find the target.

"How do you expect me to be 'one with the arrow'?" Jacinta complained, "or 'one with the target'? Do I look like an arrow, Hakeem? Or perhaps you think I look more like a target board?"

Hakeem laughed.

Despite her playful comments, Jacinta was a determined student and was learning rapidly. He had taught boys of her age, but never girls. Despite the difference in strength, the boys he had taught now seemed slow and clumsy by comparison, and she was such a delight to have around.

Hakeem puzzled over the differences between males and females as he sat watching Jacinta practice archery. She was carefully and methodically aiming each arrow at the target he had set up. She was becoming an excellent shot for this level of training. Later he would teach her how to aim without sighting each shot.

Outside the walls of the monastery where Hakeem grew up girls and women were considered inferior. Even in the order, female monks were very rare. Individual attitudes varied and there was usually a special bond between girls and their father, and boys and their mother.

As Hakeem was lost in thought, he saw Jacinta's bow arm wobble. The bowstring slapped her bare forearm and the shot went wild. Hakeem winced, he remembered Origenes.

Her bow arm should have had her elbow pointed more to the side and her wrist cocked at 45 degrees with the bow not so much as gripped as rested against the ball of the thumb.

He had explained all that to Jacinta, and exactly what would happen if she didn't get each part right but for Jacinta he hadn't repeated the lesson many times, which he would do for a group of boys. He almost bit his tongue to stop himself calling out and reminding her.

Jacinta bent over rubbing to rub her arm and he frowned in sympathy, but waited to see what she would do next. She moved her bow-arm around, rubbed it and took a few breaths to steady herself. It must have really stung.

Then she sighed and brought her bow up and calmly put an arrow in the centre of the target.

"Great shot!" he called out loudly.

"You didn't see the last one, I hope." Jacinta called back.

"The one where you had your elbow pointed down, rather than more to the side? The one where you got your forearm hit really hard by the bow-string?" Hakeem enquired. "No I must have missed that one. I'm very proud of you, though; you didn't let it unsettle you."

Jacinta grinned sheepishly. "If it hits me like that every time I get it wrong, I'll learn that part quickly enough! You're right about controlling my anger though. Not getting angry with myself or the bow was the hardest part."

Hakeem watched her settle down again, and went back to thinking about men and women.

When he was young, one of his masters was a female monk from Cīna, but otherwise he had very little contact with women.

He liked women, he liked them very much, but he felt anxious and awkward around them. If he were truthful, he held them in some awe. He was more relaxed if they were married to a friend … he could talk easily to Myriani, Elwan's wife, or Nikoleta, Helios's Queen.

Until Jacinta, he simply had no contact whatsoever with little girls. He marvelled at how happy having the little girl around made him, and he couldn't wish for a brighter or harder working student.

He was at a loss to explain the general attitude to girls and women. Men and women are different, but in a way that complemented each other, not one better than the other. Men usually had stronger muscles and were taller, but women were superior to men in other ways.

Choosing clothes or shopping! He thought wryly.

He knew elves had a different attitude. Women were revered for their power of creation. The elves worshipped that most ancient of all deities, the Earth Mother Goddess, the great creator.

"Hakeem," Jacinta called, breaking his reverie. She had put the bow aside and was sweaty from doing a set move pattern. Jacinta was starting to appreciate bathing as much as Hakeem.

"When are you going to teach me how to use my knife?" she finished.

"Now, the best form of defence," he started to instruct her.

"I know." she said moving closer, smiling at the oft repeated lesson. "Being prepared and avoiding a fight."

"Because of your size at the moment, range techniques are best for you," he continued. "You are getting stronger and building muscle, but because of your size and strength the bow is your best weapon.

"`I'm trying to teach you what will be useful at your age first, but until you're older, you need to avoid serious fight. A knife alone is a poor offensive weapon. It works best with surprise, or as a last line of defence.

"I'm not even going to try to show you unarmed techniques against weapons. If you are unarmed or armed only with a knife, then fighting in those situations is more likely to get you killed than save your life, at least at present."

He stood up. "You've done enough today and we need to get going, but later I'll train you in some very special in-fighting techniques. Let me show you. This is the basic punch."

"That's too short! That's no good for me at all, Hakeem!" Jacinta protested, laughing in surprise.

Hakeem smiled, it was precisely the reaction he hoped for!

"This is a very deadly style called 'Wing Chun', from 'Cīna', the land at the end of our world. It was invented by a senior lady-monk called Nn Mui, a grand master of many styles and it is named after Yim Wing Chun, the first student to learn it.

"Yim was her family name. Chun means spring. I was told different things about 'Wing'. It may mean 'glorious' or it may mean 'song'."

"Spring song! Such a beautiful name!" Jacinta smiled.

"And such a beautiful lady! I'll tell you her story some time," Hakeem said, getting down to business. "Now Wing Chun is all about using the minimum force, by deflecting your opponent and counter-attacking at the same time.

"Hence it can be applied against a more powerful opponent. You trap their arms and legs and grab them, to control their strength and prevent them from hitting you back. It's an ideal way for you to start to learn how a woman can overcome someone with a man's strength."

This was sounding better all the time, thought Jacinta.

"Alright," said Hakeem. "It's a shame we don't have someone your size for you to practice with. Throw a punch at my head but try to relax. I won't hurt you. Feel how you're blocked and I can strike multiple times."

Hakeem had to crouch low. He was so fast! Jacinta felt her arm gripped and jerked forward and down, then she was pulled forward with her arm was trapped against her body. Meanwhile, forehand and back hand punches snapped rapidly, only an inch from her face, throat and abdomen as he alternated the hand he used to control her and trap her limbs.

Great! He'll show me this, she thought.

"You are right about the range, and there are techniques for getting within range of your opponent if you want to specialise in Wing Chun.

"It's not my main style, I need more range but it's especially good for self-defence. I think it will be best for you."

By all the Gods! She thought, it's not his main style and he can move like that!

"I will teach you the fighting style of the beautiful but deadly lady," he said smiling, pleased. "I will have to teach you how to be strong, first. In any case, I think you're ready to start that."

Jacinta had trained hard at the stylised movements; already she felt her muscles growing and becoming firmer and her punches harder.

What did he mean: he would teach her to be strong before he would teach her Wing Chun?

Was it another mind control exercise?

* * *

88 years! That was it!

Jacinta had it worked out.

It was 88 years plus a few moons and she would be 100.

And this would be exactly how she would feel!!!

She had started on the strengthening exercises.

Strengthening exercises? Every muscle in her body ached and she shuffled weakly along, as if bent with age. She was only eleven, yet it felt like she was an old woman.

Such a fine way to start the day!

No, I don't want to live to a hundred, she realised. Anyway, these damn exercises will kill me first. The other night she fell asleep before her evening meal.

The strengthening exercises she had to be able to do, before she even started to train in Wing Chun, were unbelievable. Later she was supposed to continue with the strengthening exercises each morning, before doing training in the fighting style itself. She wouldn't be able to do anything after these exercises.

Being slumped over a horse was bad enough.

"Strengthening exercises?" she grumbled to herself. She was too weak to fight an angry hen. Hakeem told her this would improve her health and happiness … well, there was most definitely no sign of anything like that yet.

Hakeem broke into Jacinta's reverie: "For heaven's sake, Jacinta, slow down! You're young, so your body can take it, but don't be in such a rush." Hakeem was doing one-arm push ups, as he talked.

Hakeem had given Jacinta a goal of strength to reach before starting Wing Chun. This was how he was taught. Jacinta was already strong and athletic for a girl her age, but she was determined to get there faster.

At first, this had exactly the reverse effect. The more she trained, the less she could do.

According to Hakeem, there were exercises to build speed, there were stretching exercises, there were exercises to build power, and there were exercises to build heart and lung fitness. There were warm-up exercises, and there were cool down exercises. There were even exercises you could do while sitting or standing without moving, if you could believe something like that!

All exercises, he explained, had their benefits and their dangers. Some soreness in the muscles is beneficial, especially when you are young, but soreness in a joint or tendon could be serious; these are slow to heal and prone to permanent damage over time.

Some exercises were especially dangerous: speed training well beyond the limit of endurance can damage the heart, or extreme straining can cause apoplexy even in young people.

Lifting too much the wrong way can injure the back, jolting from punching and kicking can damage the neck and other joints. Building far too much muscle could slow one down in a fight unless one also did speed training.

Jacinta was in a growth phase so she especially needed to warm up before training. He didn't want her to do too much speed training, while she was growing, without eating a whole lot more or she could be stunted, he told her.

He watched what she ate like a hawk. Or maybe, she thought, a cross between a hawk and a grandmother!

Just now Jacinta was doing sit ups and she was getting close to the goal for push ups and sit ups. She was determined to get there, no matter what. She had struggled on determinedly, panting and bathed in sweat, her small face flushed with the effort. Hakeem watched her intently. He had already needed to force Jacinta to rest more than once before.

But Jacinta was completely determined.

She had begun to understand something. It had seemed to be fun and exciting at first, but this wasn't a game. He was completely serious. He really was training her to be a warrior.

Talking of a style of fighting invented by a woman brought this home. Hakeem said that when he was young, the other boys were always older. He was trained by a female monk who had come to study with the Shayvists. She showed him how to turn the older boys' strength against them.

It seemed silly now that Hakeem once had to learn how to fight someone bigger and stronger than him, but he assured her that there were still others out there who were stronger than him, whatever she might think.

Being female wasn't an insurmountable barrier. She could deal with the differences of weight, height and strength. She knew, though, that if she was ever to become good enough to fight seriously as a girl, she had to be smarter and train harder than any male ever had to.

There were many other reasons she was so motivated: she loved to learn and Hakeem was so proud of her. He really knew how to teach. And, well, she adored him and wanted to be more like him.

There was one special reason. It was something that would never leave her.

Can you imagine what it was like to have your parents, your brother and your sister murdered in front of your very eyes? Can you imagine, being a small child and having one of the murderers chasing you on horseback as he taunted you?

Yes, Jacinta without any doubt was Hakeem's most determined student ever. If she could, she never wanted to feel that way again. If she could, she would protect others from such an experience.

Jacinta was on the path to becoming a warrior.

Just now however, Jacinta was trying to do one more sit up, and she couldn't. She got only halfway up and couldn't get any further.

She flopped back, her stomach muscles were on fire. She grunted and tried again and again but only got her head and shoulders off the ground before she had to drop back helplessly.

She lay back, gasping like a fish on the bank.

Maybe I will just have to admit defeat, she thought. She tried again and couldn't even raise her head.

She sighed, nothing for it but to give in … and, then … she found … she couldn't get up at all.

She tried to twist and squirm, but her abused muscles had quit on her: they refused to follow orders.

I'm like a turtle stuck on its back! she realised.

Hakeem was looking down, grinning widely and mouthing, "I told you so." Curse the man!

She couldn't get up to chase him. Stuck on her back, she tried weakly to kick at him, but she couldn't do anything.

Suddenly it was funny.

As Jacinta started to laugh and so did Hakeem, as he carefully helped her up, lifting behind her back. Her stomach muscles hurt so much when she laughed.

Hakeem passed her a bundle of blanket wound tight for her to hug down on. Then he held her curled up in his arms to ease the pain of laughing, and they lay on their side, laughing together.

 

Chapter 13: Paladins, Lady's Choice, and a Visit to a Caravanserai

The learning didn't all go one way.

Not long after they had first greeted the morning sun, they were both riding Nadeer. Jacinta was enclosed by Hakeem's arms and resting comfortably back against his chest.

"Hakeem, I find watching sunrise even more beautiful, now. Thank you, so much. I suppose you watch it whenever you can."

"It had been a long time," Hakeem sighed.

"But why?" Jacinta sat up straight and twisted around to look at him. She wanted to do it often! They usually got up at first light and this made it really worthwhile.

Hakeem smiled sadly. "You seem to understand things so quickly, Jacinta. But I can be a foolish man."

He sounded so bitter. As they rode on, he told her about his flight from the monastery.

"But you say the abbot was right."

"Of course he was right! If I never left, I would never have met you, little one." He smiled as he gave her a fond hug. "And many others, I had a lot to learn about friendship, I'm still learning. It's a bit late to find that out, now that the old man has died."

For a while, they rode in silence and Jacinta let him be.

When they stopped for midday in the shade, Jacinta asked, "Do you still have the letters?"

"Aha," Hakeem nodded.

"I think you should read them," she said firmly.

Hakeem felt a touch of fear.

But she was right, of course she was.

He went to his saddlebag and removed the small parcel. He felt his hurt and shame surge through him afresh. He plonked himself down next to Jacinta and sighed.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but he felt a small hand on his arm. Jacinta was looking at him with a look of understanding and compassion.

She's only eleven.

But it helped somehow. He took a big breath.

"You may as well get it over with," Jacinta suggested.

As Hakeem read the first letter, he was overcome with grief. Tears began rolling freely down his cheeks. Jacinta moved closer till she was sitting in his lap with her arms around his neck and her head on his chest.

"He called me, 'my dear son'," Hakeem finally managed. "'My dear son, if I may call you that.' He forgave me, forgave me straight away. I didn't know."

Hakeem realised how much he loved the old man. Loss on loss: his unremembered parents and the woman who fostered him till he entered the monastery, the Grand Abbot and now Elwan.

All his lonely times, he had built a wall inside himself. He always held back. For him, to become a monk was to hide away. The wise old man had known it all along. Something had been thawing in the heart of the tribesman, but now the dam had broken, feelings were flooding over him. He held Jacinta close, wetting her hair with his tears.

"I love you," Jacinta said softly, kissing him on the cheek and hugging him. He kissed her forehead and hugged her fiercely in return. "Thank you, Jacinta. Thank you for everything."

Finally he gave a shaky laugh. "Jacinta, I'm sorry. I don't know what you must think of me, now. I'm supposed to be big and tough."

Jacinta heart was filled with love for the big man. She had found he was not the monster he had at first seemed. Now she realised, with a touch of awe, that this strong fearsome warrior could need her, at times, almost as much as she needed him.

Jacinta hugged him again and looked up at him with a fond expression. "You want to know what I really think? I really think you should read the rest."

Hakeem rapidly scanned the rest of it. "I'll read it to you in a minute. But he understood! He said I'm to be a paladin. I was never expelled. I'm still part of the order!"

"What's a paladin?" she asked.

"I'm not really sure. It's some sort of religious knight," Hakeem said, but he had already opened the second letter.

"It's all here and in this book! It looks like I was already under consideration for it, without knowing it.

"This book is a copy, but the original must be very old and the dialect is a little unfamiliar.

"Let's see, I will have to prove myself worthy, but they say becoming a paladin is something pre-ordained by God. That could be another way of saying Karma, but I think they mean something more. There's only been very few. It fell out of use, I guess, but there's no shame at all in being a paladin."

Hakeem gave a smile of relief. He felt honoured and humbled.

"There's mention of oaths, of dedication to God, and protecting the weak," Hakeem continued.

"Sounds like you already!" Jacinta beamed, and then became serious. "Do you think I could become a paladin?"

Hakeem looked at her in surprise. She was so wise for her age, she tried so hard and she learned so quickly.

"You know, I think you could," he answered slowly, thinking. "We'll see, I suppose."

"Can a paladin still marry?" she asked.

"Uh huh, depends on who I marry I guess." Hakeem was distracted by the book he had been given, and responded to what he thought was her concern. "Oh! You're not getting rid of me that easily. I told you that. On my oath as a candidate for paladin, you are my daughter!" He announced this so grandly with a flourish of his arms, that they both had to laugh.

"At times I'm can be such a fool."

"Can I remind you of that regularly?" Jacinta asked with a sweet smile.

Hakeem sprang up with a cry, pretending to grab at her. She was dodging around him, as he chased her. He kept threatening to tickle, and pretended he couldn't catch her. She was pretending to run. Soon they were laughing so hard, they had to fall down on the grass, helplessly laughing.

* * *

What was secretly playing on Jacinta's mind for some time now hadn't gone away. It came to a head one night, two weeks later.

Hakeem had complimented Jacinta on how well she cooked the rabbit, and how she made it tasty. He was at peace, quietly sipping his tea and reading a little from his book.

"I'll cook it just the way you want, when we're married," she said, giving him a serene smile.

Jacinta looked up in alarm. Hakeem was choking!

He was starting to go red, then almost purple!

Perhaps some tea went down the wrong way.

As he was recovering, he was staring at her incredulously and gasping and coughing, still unable to talk. She stared right back at him in stubborn defiance. "Yes…?" she enquired; one eyebrow raised.

Hakeem thought carefully how he should explain this to her. "Jacinta, you know I love you more than anyone alive," he said admitting it to himself.

"It's decided then," she said smugly.

"No, wait." He held up his hand. "You won't be able to marry till your 16, I'd planned 18 for you. No I didn't mean me!" he said to forestall her reaction. "Someone nice, I'll be too old."

"I'll decide who's nice!" she said firmly. "Even when I'm 18, you'll only be 28. Besides, Gypsy girls are sometimes married at 12."

"Not this Gypsy girl!" Hakeem said, shuddering at the thought.

"Jacinta … Jacinta! You are so beautiful." He tried to ignore her talking over the top with, "I'm glad you think so."

"One day, you will meet someone and fall in love."

"I already have!" she declared triumphantly. "I know you love me. You say so."

"Alright," he said trying again. "I meant someone younger than me. You're my daughter and now a very special student."

"I'm not your blood daughter, and sometimes students marry teachers," Jacinta replied.

Hakeem was at a loss, then he realised it was only a crush after all.

"Jacinta, as far as I'm concerned you are my daughter, and I am your father, and that is not open to negotiation. I expect you at some stage to meet someone else, and I will be a very protective and proud father. Understood?"

Jacinta yawned settling down to sleep. "We'll see," she murmured sleepily, with a dreamy smile.

After Jacinta feel into an exhausted sleep Hakeem sat up for a while thinking.

He felt unsettled at the thought of eventually losing Jacinta. Marriage between them, for him, would always be impossible. She would always be his little Jacinta. He couldn't imagine thinking and dreaming about her in the same way he did Sara.

He had another shudder when he thought of how some men could touch a child in a bad way. Then he had an image of Jacinta as a happy young woman, carrying a baby.

Grandparent!

It wouldn't be another love lost, just change, adding rather than taking away. He hoped it would be so. He still felt a pang at the thought that fathers, one day, had to let go. He thought of her crush on him and chuckled. He'd have to be careful somehow.

* * *

Fortunately there were no signs of any change in Jacinta's behaviour towards him. She seemed to be happy with their relationship as it was. Jacinta knew things about men and women that even Hakeem didn't know, but it was likely that her concept of husband and wife was still a childish one.

Good enough, he thought: there was enough in life to carry on with without borrowing trouble.

He insisted she keep up her proficiency with each past lesson before he would teach her new techniques. He wanted her to be able to defend herself in normal situations, as soon as possible. He didn't know why he felt in a hurry to do it, but he did.

He was suitably rewarded with a 'Jacinta groan' when he suggested he teach her how to fall down.

He couldn't teach her full overhead or shoulder throws. She really needed someone closer to her size and weight for that. A high throw was too risky anyway against a bigger opponent or someone skilled.

He taught her how to break her fall, what she could do if trapped on the ground, and a range of trips and counters to a lunge or rush. With only Hakeem to practice with, she was learning how to fight a powerful opponent; using an opponent's weight and strength against him.

In all the lessons, he went easy, but at first she couldn't upset his balance at all. It was asking a lot of her but Jacinta was absolutely determined. Eventually, if he ran at her with any speed, he would find himself on his back with Jacinta expertly punching down on him.

She was visibly putting on muscle for a girl her age, and was already fast. While they were using non-contact sparring, if she misjudged the distance, he was starting to feel her hits. On one occasion, while sparring, he was distracted by thinking what to teach when her kick was fast enough to score a solid hit to his groin.

She smiled as he bent over in discomfort, but when she saw he really was in pain, she ran over concernedly and helped him to a seat.

"Yes," he grunted between clenched teeth. "That's how to do it."

Jacinta was caught between sympathy and laughter.

They were now well within Anatolē's dry central plateau. Even though it was called a plateau, it was a land of rolling hills, mostly dry dusty grasslands, with scrubby bushes and stunted willow trees interspersed with river valleys. It drained inward to the dry inland rather than to the sea, so there were salty lakes. It had limestone deep beneath, resulting in interesting caves and deep sinkholes dotted throughout the land.

Jacinta took one of his smaller scarves to make a headdress to match Hakeem's.

Her first attempt unravelled after a few minutes of riding, but she got him to show her again, and she persisted till she was proudly wearing a smaller matching version of Hakeem's.

Though it was already autumn, it was still dry and unseasonably hot. They rested and slept in the hottest part of the day and rode in the morning and cool of the evening. Hakeem began to fuss over how much the horses were drinking and started to nag Jacinta.

"Am I a horse now?" Jacinta asked him with a laugh. "I can drink water on my own, Hakeem!"

This region was more dangerous, sparsely populated yet often travelled. It was known for bandits and occasional barbarian raiders. For safety, they joined with other travellers at every opportunity. Hakeem donned his breast plate and they both kept their bows strung in their saddle holsters and quivers handy.

Even their horses seemed more alert and watchful. Yet all they saw were nomads in the distance with their herds of Angora goats or sheep, and their horses.

Whenever they could, they stayed each night in way-houses or inns. At these places, they had a small room with nowhere to practice in private, so Hakeem showed Jacinta the slow, smooth, exercises the Chin used to build speed and strength.

He chuckled when Jacinta inevitably scoffed at the slowness of it, as he hoped she would. Their banter had become part of a game that had developed between them, but in this case, Jacinta really was astounded at how useful these particular exercises were.

They were only two or at the most three days from the westernmost chapterhouse of Hakeem's order, when they pushed on well into the evening to reach a great caravanserai.

Caravanserais were huge compared to the inns and way-houses they had been staying at before. They were rest stops for caravans, and some could accommodate the men and animals of several small caravans at once. They provided baths, entertainment, cooked food, supplies, the services of prostitutes, and wine and beer. But the main attraction in isolated regions was guaranteed security for the night.

It was Jacinta's first chance to dress up, so she insisted they first stop at a small creek to bathe, brush her hair and don one of her Gypsy dresses and her special boots.

Hakeem unsuccessfully pointed out that all this could be done better after they reached the caravanserai. He worried that a dress would be an impractical thing to wear for riding, but Gypsy dresses are loose, and Jacinta flounced into the saddle without a problem.

"Shouldn't you wear trousers underneath?" he asked with concern. "Won't you get chafed?"

Jacinta snorted and tossed her head. "Mind your own business!" she said loftily and spurred Farah on ahead, sitting up straight and with her head held high in great dignity.

Hakeem was left with nothing but having to mount Nadeer and catch up.

He was amused by her fussing. caravanserai had some very rough clients, but he felt Jacinta deserved a chance to dress up, if that was what she wanted.

The caravanserai was only a dark outline against the inky sky by the time they reached it. It had been the fort of a minor robber-baron until its owner decided that servicing the caravans was more profitable than robbing them, and they were much more likely to come back!

It still had the reassuring look of a medium sized fort. It was marked out by four solid looking walls; more than twenty feet (seven or more metres) high, with towers at each corner, and one near the gate.

Outlined against the darkening sky, they could just make out two sentries with bows, patrolling just inside the top of the walls. The one entrance was guarded by a sturdy bronze door which was open and cheerfully illuminated by two torches in sconces, on either side. There were also free-standing torches in holders near a bench set up outside to process arrivals and a friendly glow from within alongside the sounds of music and laughter.

Jacinta and Hakeem had to surrender their weapons except knives as they entered. Hakeem wrapped Mir and its scabbard in a cloth and handed it over as well. It would be absolutely secure.

Caravanserai lived by their reputations and anyone caught stealing or smuggling weapons inside would be facing frontier justice.

The inside courtyard was lit like a night market. The great pitch-torches in sconces, gave strong, if flickering, light to all the paths and service areas. As they strolled inside, the sound of music and laughter coming from the fort's own kapeleion (taverna) was loud and welcoming. With people here taking a sleep during the midday heat, the taverna would be open till well into the middle watch.

Most men would sleep in the open, but sheltered quarters ran the length of one wall and Hakeem paid for a small private niche for the two of them. They had already bathed in the stream and would take their main bath the next morning.

An underground stream supplied clean water to a well in the centre, and the latrine system was bucket based with a deep cess-pit just outside the walls. At the far end of the fort were stables and a generous tip meant their three horses would be pampered.

Hakeem walked ahead, to check that their horses were well looked after as well as supervising the porters and their accommodation. Jacinta was dawdling behind, trying to look everywhere at once, so she was well back when she passed a group of caravan guards drinking.

A drunken voice called out as Jacinta passed. "There goes one of those filthy tribesmen and his Gypsy whore. Can't he handle the older ones?"

Hakeem whipped around, his hand resting on his knife handle. He could ignore insults to himself, but Jacinta, now that was a completely different matter.

"No!" Jacinta called out firmly to him.

The last thing she wanted was Hakeem to start a fight in the Caravanserai. She could handle it herself better, hopefully by ignoring the man. There was a scuffle as the man's friends removed his knife, and tried to make him sit down.

He stood unsteadily. "No!" he mimicked, sneering. "So the little girl has to protect her cowardly boyfriend. Mind your own business, Gypsy slut."

Jacinta stopped, as he stood up to approach her. She looked at him calmly, but didn't take her eyes off him. Her face was expressionless. That incensed the man.

"And what are you looking at? I'll teach you some manners!" He started to move more determinedly towards her.

Jacinta made no reply. Hakeem saw her watching him steadily. She didn't assume a stance, good. Don't show your opponent you are ready.

She didn't go for her knife, he noted with relief.

A huge guard was hurrying up, but Hakeem put his arm out to restrain him. Let's see if she can handle this. The drunk wandered up to Jacinta and bent over as if to look at her, then he moved forward and swung his right hand at her to slap her hard.

She calmly dodged under it. Moving closer, she trapped his arm after it missed her, pushing it against his body moving her leg closer to prevent a kick. Then she landed a very credible punch to his face, and danced back out of the way.

The man looked at her in shock, gingerly fingering his lip. He didn't expect to be hit back, and she hit so hard. She was only a girl but she didn't hit like one!

The man's friends came spilling out, but they were cheering Jacinta.

Jacinta was still staring at the man intently, waiting. She still had not revealed any particular stance or style.

Thoroughly stung and starting to sober with the exertion, he lunged hard at her only to find himself stretched, face forward in the dirt. He had a bleeding chin and sore jaw to add to a swollen and bleeding lip.

Good girl! Hakeem cheered inwardly. She was avoiding anything too fancy where he might catch her. Now she merely moved a safe distance away, and waited, to see what the man tried next.

The music had stopped, and people spilled out of the taverna to watch. As the man was thrown face down in the dirt, the crowd went wild with cheers. Someone shouted excitedly, "that's it, girl! You show him!"

There would be a riot if he hurt the girl.

Not yet time to break it up, thought Hakeem, though he was starting to feel anxious. He wanted Jacinta to learn, not get hurt. He could step in rapidly, but it would be too late if Jacinta was hit by this powerful man.

Her antagonist got up carefully, dusting himself off. He was bleeding from a number of scrapes. One of his group called out, "three silvers says you can't catch her in two hundred heart beats."

The man nodded his acceptance as he spread his arms and started to circle Jacinta who stayed almost motionless, watching him, just turning enough to keep facing him. The only problem for him was that he had spread his legs apart in a wrestler's crouch.

Hakeem started to smile with pride when Jacinta stepped forward with her left leg and really put her right hip into the kick. She used the rhythm of the swing to focus the maximum power at the point of impact.

The man was totally unprepared. There was a "thud," loud enough to be clearly heard by the crowd, as the toe of Jacinta kicked his testicles with as much force as she could manage.

The man let out a sound like "Ooot", as many of the watching men winced in sympathy. He bent over in terrible agony, his face was crimson. Jacinta watched him carefully, keeping all expression from her face as one of his friends helped him to a seat.

She didn't need her caution. He could hardly walk!

The audience erupted in raucous laughter and wild cheering. Hakeem had to struggle to get to Jacinta and lift her up. Everyone was trying to congratulate her at once. She squealed as Hakeem tossed her in the air and caught her, to great cheering and clapping.

Hakeem felt so proud; he would deal with any overconfidence later.

"It really works, Hakeem!" Jacinta said, breathless with excitement.

The "I wondered whether it would," earned him a playful slap over the back of his head, as she hugged him happily.

Suddenly there was a surprised murmur. Hakeem! So, that was who was training her!

That's Hakeem! People strained forward, to see the legendary tribesman. What's he doing with the clever Gypsy girl?

But the moment was Jacinta's. Jacinta was talking rapidly in Romani to the Gypsy dancers and musicians who had come up to congratulate her. Hakeem made it very clear to the Gypsy man in charge that she was his daughter.

He didn't really believe Gypsies kidnapped little girls to avoid having to pay a bride price or some of the other bad things said about them but he decided he could not be too cautious where Jacinta's safety was concerned.

He needn't have worried.

Jacinta would normally be completely safe anywhere in the caravanserai, and now that she was so popular, her safety was assured.

She had left him to go to the taverna. The man's daughters started to give her dance lessons. It must have been a familiar dance and the troupe soon had another young performer.

Almost everyone surged over to the taverna to watch. Jacinta looked so beautiful and was flushed with exercise and excitement when she joined with the two young women. The crowd was delighted and cheered and stomped and sang out encouragement. There was a shower of generous tips.

The leader of the caravan guards came up to speak to Hakeem. He spoke Galilean Aramaic, close to Hakeem's native dialect.

"My name is Šimôn (Simon). I owe you an apology for Yaʿkob (Jakob). He was a good man. We were friends from the same village, on the lake of Galilee. We had fought together for Troia."

Hakeem nodded, most people knew of Galilee. It was fertile land, crucial strategically and in trade, west of Hakeem's homeland. The great river, Yardane (Jordan, meaning "descender") fed the large fresh water lake sometimes called a sea, and then continued south to drain into a salt sea called the 'Dead Sea'.

"Since his young brother was killed in the battle for Kanakala Grove, he's ruined," Simon was saying. "I'm really finished with him after this. Always drinking, always spoiling for a fight, and souring everyone's mood.

"He hates anyone like you, who could have fought for the other side. He will be thrown out of here now and won't be joining us again. That's if the crowd or the guards don't kill him first!"

The caravanserai owner had placed Jakob in a holding cell behind iron bars, for his temporary protection. There were two huge guards with cudgels facing off a large and angry crowd.

The herders, camel drivers, and guards that travelled the great trading routes came from all races along the great routes and beyond: Chin, Mongols, Turks, Indoi, Badawiyyūn (Bedouins), Babylonians, Nubians, Scythians, Egyptians and Greeks … there were too many to mention, but they had one thing in common: they made the best money travelling through some of the most difficult, harsh and dangerous country imaginable. They were tough men and they had witnessed an unprovoked assault on a little girl by a stranger. By any code, this was unforgivable, and now this girl was very popular!

Some were calling for him to be brought out.

The plan of the caravanserai guards was simple: escort Jakob across the courtyard through the door, and take him out somewhere quiet. They would give him a thorough cudgelling, not quite enough to kill him; and then they would rely on the harsh environment to finish the job.

Jakob had no misconception of what fate held in store for him.

But if they tried to shift him now there would be a riot! It wouldn't stop at whatever people did to Jakob. Once something like this had been triggered, it would likely ignite everyone in the caravanserai into fighting. So they had to keep him till people lost interest. In the meantime, the owner and his guards eyed the crowd with increasing nervousness.

"I would like to talk to him," Hakeem said to Simon.

Simon smiled ruefully. "What, do you think you can talk some sense into him?" he said incredulously. "Lord knows I've tried. Isn't it a little late for that?"

Hakeem didn’t reply. He waited, impassively watching the Galilean.

Eventually Simon shrugged and led the large man to the cell. The guards looked nervously at Hakeem, but he gave his word that he wanted to talk to their prisoner, not offer violence.

He announced his intention to the crowd, and asked for silence. Then he and Simon were dutifully locked in with the prisoner and sat, one on each side. The audience waited, crowding forward to see what was going on.

Jakob sat miserably. He was dirty and unkempt, his face was bruised and puffy and his lip had been bleeding. Whatever intoxication he had had was completely cured. He sat waiting for the tirade from the big tribesman. Well, he deserved it, attacking a young girl like that!

"This is Hakeem, the Hakeem," Simon introduced the tribesman. "Did you have any idea who you were trying to pick a fight with?"

Jakob's humiliation was complete. A fight with Hakeem would be quickly over for him.

He waited for what Hakeem would say. He felt only contempt for himself. Well, there would not be much waiting left for him now. His parents only had had two sons and neither would be returning. If his father knew about him, he would never be welcome home again.

The tribesman sat in silence for a long time. Eventually all he said was, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Jakob looked up in surprise.

"Your brother was at Kanakala Grove?" Hakeem murmured.

Jakob nodded, it wasn't at all what he expected Hakeem to say.

"What was his name?" Hakeem asked gently.

Jakob to his great surprise, found himself talking about Matityahu (Mathew). The crowd outside started to drift away, the fun with the prisoner seemed to be over. The guards gave a sigh of relief, as an emergency drifted down towards an anticlimax. Jacinta came up later, and Hakeem waved the guards to let her in. She sat curled up in Hakeem's lap, as Jakob and Hakeem continued their earnest conversation.

Mathew was three years younger and was born breechling, with a deformed foot. Their parents only had the two children, and Jakob became the protector of his little brother. Mathew on the other hand, was always absolutely determined to do anything his older brother could do. It was hard for him to run far, but he gamely persisted despite what was sometimes great pain.

When Jakob left their home, to enrol as a mercenary with distant Troia, Mathew begged to be allowed to come. Jakob insisted he stay to look after their parents.

Later he heard that Mathew had managed to enlist. Not suitable for the forward army, Mathew was pressed into garrison service, in the fort at Kanakala grove. It was well inside Troian territory and there was no expectation of the garrison seeing action.

When the Troian campaign against the weaker Aiol army unexpectedly collapsed, there was chaos. Once the tide turned, allies defected and Troia's old enemies joined the Aiol cause. There were many desperate attempts by the Troians to prevent the march on Troia.

The battle of Kanakala grove has passed into legend. So impressed were those who witnessed the courage of the defenders that even now, they are spoken of with great reverence by their former enemies.

All was lost. In fact, it was the last major campaign of the war.

A garrison, a small lochos of not much more than a hundred men, stalled the march of a full taxis (legion), giving time for the remaining Troians to reorganise closer to their city.

Eventually the main Aiol army caught up with the besieging force.

Hakeem came there as Aide to Helios. He described the valiant defence to Jakob. He told how Helios, the Aiol king, offered honourable surrender again and again to the defenders but they refused. The Troians didn't know how vengeful the Aiols would be, and the Troians believed they were defending their homes and their families.

When the gates and obstructions were finally cleared to allow entry, Helios sent five full lochoi of elite heavy infantry in with orders to capture any defenders, if it was safe to do so. Only a dozen were saved; none surrendered.

As Hakeem related the story, the eyes of Simon and Jakob shone with pride. "Now I ask you," Hakeem said. "If Mathew had the chance that day, would he have thrust his spear into my guts?"

"Yes, of course!" Jakob exclaimed, with a chuckle. He felt a pride, a pride he thought he'd lost.

"I ask you, what brother would you want … a coward? Or do you want one of the heroes of Kanakala Grove! The very enemies of those defenders will always speak of them with awe. The leader of their enemies, King Helios, ordered a monument raised to pay respect to the courage of the defenders of Kanakala Grove."

Jakob began to cry. He had never known the full story. He mourned again, freshly, his loss.

But this time he felt not only the loss; he felt great pride in his brother. He also felt a strong arm around him and the small hands of the Gypsy girl, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

Hakeem squeezed his shoulder. "Jakob! You felt you always had to protect your brother. Stop being angry with yourself! You loved your brother.

"He became a man, grieve him yes, but be proud!

"He was given the chance to surrender, but he chose to give his life for what he believed in. He and the others died as heroes. Can you be sorry he was a hero?

"You know your parents don't blame you. Go home, they love you and you're all they have left."

He drew Jakob up. Jakob looked into Hakeem's face, in wonder, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he hugged the tribesman fiercely.

"You must go home," whispered Hakeem softly patting his shoulder.

The crowd had all but dispersed. Hakeem motioned to the guards who opened the door but instead of leaving Jakob inside, he escorted him from the prison.

He announced loudly in Greek. "Let him through! He's suffered enough already."

Simon sent one his men scurrying for Jakob's possessions and some supplies, as the two escorted Jakob to the main gate, Jacinta trailing behind.

Just beyond the gate, Jakob gave Hakeem another fierce hug and looked into his face, puzzled by a wave of affection and respect he felt for a man he thought was his enemy.

It was Simon who softly quoted the old saying, in awe, "and it was said 'I looked into the face of my enemy and I found him to be my friend.'"

"Thank you, Hakeem. If I may call you by your name," Jakob finally said. "Tonight you saved my life, but I feel you somehow saved me, in a way I thought no longer possible. May the blessing of the Great God of my ancestors rain down upon you!"

Jakob turned to Jacinta. "Please accept my apologies, Jacinta. You certainly brought me to my senses. Though with the way you can kick, I pray I never need your sort of help again." He said with a chuckle.

He still was having difficulty walking.

Then he turned to his friend and countryman. "Farewell, Simon. I mean to make amends. Thank you, my friend, for standing by me longer than I deserved."

They left him with his small pile of supplies and possessions, as they and two of the guards walked back to the caravanserai.

Simon turned to Hakeem with a smile "Well, I don't know how you did it, but you did! You must be a magician! I really can't thank you enough! You must let me buy you a drink.

"Now, tell me, is it true you grew four feet taller during the battle for Pergamon?"

"Of course," Hakeem said, taking Simon in one arm and Jacinta in the other. "But things didn't get really interesting, till I grew wings and multiple arms, and flew around the battle field like some great beetle. That's when I started to breathe fire, I'm sure you heard about that."

The two were laughing like old friends as they walked back in.

* * *

It was a late start for Hakeem. Jacinta had fallen asleep beside him, as he stayed drinking and talking with Simon late into the night. Simon's wine was a vast improvement on the Greek distilled wine in every respect … except the hangover.

Jacinta was up early, and had spent time with the Gypsy musicians. They were disappointed that Jacinta couldn't stay to join their show that night.

When Jacinta came back from there, she was wearing one of her other good dresses. She had had her hair trimmed, styled and braided by the older Gypsy girls. She looked very pretty.

The caravanserai owner couldn't be more grateful. Not only was a disaster averted and an unsavoury episode settled without fuss, but also the reputation of the establishment was greatly enhanced. It would be a great story to tell! When a refund was refused, he pressed a small silver chain on Jacinta, which complemented her earrings.

 

Chapter 14: The Western Chapterhouse and a Troubled Novice

This chapterhouse was not far from the city the Greeks now call Ikónion, after the legend of Medusa. The nearest mountain pass exiting Anatolē was still far to the east, so they would not pass this way on their return.

Jacinta was disappointed that she couldn't see the city, but Hakeem had never for a moment shown the slightest impatience with the delay her training was causing, so she limited herself to a token grumble. They had just passed a fortified village not far from the chapterhouse and were talking as they rode their horses, ambling along.

"If they believed the purpose of life is to live and experience it, not study, why do the Shayvists have so many monks?" Jacinta asked.

It might be simpler if he admitted he hadn't thought about it very deeply, but it was a good question and he would try to answer.

"Monks are needed to guide others. They show the way and organise the sect. They are the heart, and the followers are the body."

"But most of them live away from others in communities meditating."

"That is the seed that supports the work the order does. The monasteries teach those who go on to teach others."

"But you said that gaining knowledge is not how one grows spiritually, one has to follow one's heart. Why do they do all that study?"

"They are turning their attention inward. It may seem simple but growing spiritually requires a struggle. It is like exercise for building muscle, that is what we mean by learning, not some special secret knowledge that no one else can have.

"We need learning that comes from outside us and inside us. That is why even those who ascend can only do so after many lifetimes. It is their karma."

Jacinta had a way of asking questions that made Hakeem think.

"And for me, part of my karma is to be plagued by a small Gypsy girl who asks me endless questions till I am hoarse with explanations. That is, when she's not talking my ears off."

Jacinta laughed and stuck out her tongue. She feinted at throwing a cherry seed at his face but when he ducked, she threw it in earnest with impressive accuracy.

"Why don't we all become monks, then?"

Hakeem checked that there were no more cherry seeds coming his way, and then continued. "That's the mistake I myself made. It is another path. It should be in line with a monk's karma, what they need to learn. Not taking the easiest path as it would have been for me. Not all lessons can be learned by being a monk.

"For me being a monk would have been a retreat from my path. I wouldn't have met you."

"And that would be no good for you at all," Jacinta agreed. "But why do you worship Apollōn?"

"Shayva was a soldier and his experiences in a war made him become a priest of Apollōn. Apollōn is the God of wisdom and Shayva developed a mystic sect of Apollōn. Most of us call the God we experience 'Apollōn'. I think it is all the same God as others call by other names, but I don't know that for sure. We are too limited to comprehend all but a very small part of God, and different people seem to experience different aspects.

"I will quote Shayva to you: 'It is possible to experience and join with something wonderful that we call God. The purer our heart, the clearer our experience is, but full knowledge and experience of God is far beyond us. It is not needed. Accept what is shown. It is much already.

"By insisting to know what we cannot, we may miss what we can. A priest or priestess, even if great in their temple can lose sight of the path they should be treading. Even when studying the mysteries do not miss an important task you are given. That would just be study for study's sake."

"So don't become a monk," Jacinta concluded.

"In my case, no," Hakeem agreed.

They had topped a rise and could see the chapterhouse clearly now, and they both fell silent as they studied it. Hakeem was training Jacinta to scan her surroundings carefully, as warriors do.

This chapterhouse was part of a large farm, and the buildings were a collection of rambling mud brick buildings on level land halfway down a hill. This region, so close to a major city, had been safe for a long time, yet everyone in the Anatolē Steppe took precautions and the central part was surrounded by a high stone wall as well as a reinforced gate.

In the hills around they saw herds of Angora goats and sheep. In the dip of the valley there were wheat and fruit trees, so they obviously had good access to water.

This was the smallest chapterhouse of the order, but still housed over thirty full-time monks, plus novices, temporary guests and staff. Almost all Shayvist monks were men and only few married, so there would be few women and few children apart from the younger novices.

Some merchants would carry letters for a fee, and Hakeem had written to the abbot, so he and Jacinta were expected. As he identified himself to the brother guarding the door, the doorman struck a clear note on a brass chime. As he entered, Hakeem felt a pang of homesickness for the monastery at Karsh where he grew up.

The monk led them immediately to see the Abbot, Omar. Omar was a big bear of a man. While his curly hair had gone grey with age, he moved with confidence and grace for such a large man. He looked every bit the master of unarmed combat and the use of the quarter staff that he was.

He refused to allow Hakeem to bow. Instead, he hurried forward and clasped him in a hug so powerful that Hakeem could feel his bones crack.

"Welcome, welcome! I have heard many good things about you! My good friend Samit is very impressed with you. No more than to be expected from a paladin candidate, of course. I hope you're not too tired from your travels?"

Hakeem smiled and shook his head. "No, 'Abbā (Father). We took three days from the Great Caravanserai, so have made an easy ride of it."

"Good," Omar said. "I have to travel to the Black Sea region to take over as abbot at the chapterhouse there. The post has been vacant since the old abbot died last winter. My replacement here has already set out but I have delayed my departure, to travel with you. I really hate to ask this of you, but would it be alright to leave in the morning? I don't know why but the whole region up there has become unsettled recently. Even the elven lands are no longer safe."

"Father, I'd be most pleased!" Hakeem said with delight. "Can I introduce Jacinta, whom I have taken as my pupil? If you would agree to teach her on the journey, it would be a great honour."

Omar bowed solemnly to Jacinta and smiled. "Jacinta, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance and I would like to see what you can do, having Hakeem as your master!

"It's decided then, I will be taking one other. His name is Dāniyyêl (Daniel) and he can train with Jacinta. He is a half-blood elf and has to tolerate bullying so far from the elf heartland."

He rang a bell and Jacinta was escorted by a matronly old lady to the female and married quarters. Hakeem warned her he would not see her till the morning. He would be talking to the abbot till late.

The next morning, Jacinta stumbled out of bed and ate the breakfast they had left out for her. Why couldn't they stay longer? What sort of hospitality was this? On second thought, staying cloistered in this male-dominated place would be horrible. There were so many places she was not allowed to go. She grabbed her few possessions and hurried to join the others getting ready to depart.

Omar was taking two pack-donkeys but not a horse and this was the cause of the first problem.

Hakeem had redistributed the load and had obtained another saddle and Omar was already astride the third horse, but what about Daniel?

Jacinta saw a boy, about her age and size, with a pale face and freckles. His eyes were a startling green. The pointy ears of an elf were poking through his silky red hair that he had cut short. He looked around uncertainly.

"I don't want to ride with a girl," he whinged.

"Well," Jacinta replied. "You don't have to! I most definitely don't want to ride with you if you take that attitude. As far as I'm concerned, you can walk."

Hakeem and Omar said nothing. They waited impassively, astride their horses. Hakeem seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face.

Daniel gave up out of desperation, and apologised.

He asked Jacinta if he could ride with her. Jacinta looked as if she would rather eat droppings from her horse than agree but she managed to mumble something grudgingly.

Hakeem transferred the two youngsters to Nadeer instead, and for the sake of peace, folded a small blanket between them. Jacinta was in front and had the reins. Daniel would be sitting behind, hanging on in whatever way he saw fit.

It would do, though not in a working canter, unless the two cooperated much more. At least they should be somewhat comfortable in the ride, if not the proximity to each other.

It promised to be an interesting trip.

Daniel was crimson with embarrassment. "I still don't like it much."

"Well hop off then!" was Jacinta's angry retort. After that, Daniel decided to keep his peace for a little while at least, but soon the sound of bitter arguments reached Hakeem and Omar. Hakeem looked speculatively at Omar who gave a tired grin.

When they stopped for the night Daniel was looking particularly stiff, because he had tried to hang on without touching 'the girl'.

That evening, Jacinta came up to Hakeem quietly. "How long am I supposed to put up with that arrogant pig before I drop him on his head? You or Omar just have to sort him out before I do."

Hakeem laughed heartily. "Sounds like it will happen very soon then. But have you forgotten all I taught you? What's the point of a moral lesson if you can only use it when things are easy? Would you like to be able to fight only when it is easy?"

Jacinta looked at him in horror. "You have got to be joking! Are you saying, I'm supposed to put up with him? That's my training, is it? What about his training?"

Hakeem spoke seriously and quietly to Jacinta. "I am not telling what you must or must not do. That is your decision. As to his training, that is Omar's problem. As to his attitude, that is Daniel's problem. Indeed, he has been the victim of bullying, and I suspect his response has not helped him much. Do you presume to judge him, perhaps? If you do, do you know what made him like he is?

"Or do you hope to change him? Well perhaps bullying will do the trick, it obviously has not been tried before. He seems the sort to take it in good humour, don't you think?

"Or is it all part of the problem? It is painful to hear we have faults. We can only really accept them if we feel we are still acceptable despite our faults. Daniel is well beyond that; he just feels hurt and angry. Because he is hurt, angry and feeling bad about himself, he acts irritably and mistrustfully. This just makes things worse.

"How he acts is not your problem. How you let it affect you is. You talk of wanting to be a paladin. There must be physical training, but other forms of training are necessary if you are to become more than just a fighter.

"I believe Daniel and his bad manners have been sent to you for you to practice something extremely important for a paladin. How else can you get stronger except with this sort of provocation?" he smiled. "You are very lucky to have Daniel. You should thank him!"

Jacinta looked suspiciously at Hakeem. He meant what he said (apart, of course, from the bit about thanking Daniel for being obnoxious).

"Tell me you are joking," Jacinta pleaded. "I'm grateful already, if that's what you mean and if he keeps it up, then I'll have to use him to help me train a whole lot of other skills, which are more physical."

Hakeem laughed. "This really is important. A paladin must be able to rise above anger, greed, jealousy, pride, all those things. A paladin must gain compassion, even for those who seem to be enemies.

"Have you already forgotten about Jakob at the caravanserai? Did you learn nothing from that? I am giving you a task. It is to care for your reaction to his provocation. It's up to you how you respond to it. I won't interfere."

"Well thank you very much, your great teacher-ship-ness, sir! And thank you for being the wise sensei you are!" Jacinta announced grandly. "I can see that this humble, unworthy student is so privileged to have you, and of course the worthy Daniel, to instruct me." Jacinta finished, finding it hard to keep straight face. Soon the two broke down laughing.

Hakeem wanted to add something, and began talking urgently. "This is a difficult task I have given you, Jacinta. No one has been able to help Daniel, many have tried. The problem is a deep one. I don't like to talk about other students, but I owe it to you. For Daniel's sake, please don't repeat it, though it's no great secret where he comes from.

"Daniel has been in training for a year and it is all but decided he is not suitable. Omar wanted to give him a last chance by taking him on this journey, and giving him his personal attention. He is concerned about what will happen if Daniel is expelled.

"Knowing he may be 'released' has only made him worse. Daniel won't listen; he has just become very bitter. Omar was going to come down hard on Daniel for how he was behaving, but I have asked him not to intervene.

"I feel Omar is just about to give up on Daniel."

Jacinta had a grave, thoughtful, look on her face as she left. She planned a long period of personal meditation before dealing with Daniel again.

* * *

A great change had come over Jacinta. Omar looked at Hakeem and raised an eyebrow enquiringly. If he had known the Jacinta from before, he would be incredulous.

Jacinta now was not the same Jacinta that Hakeem had first met. Her training and her experience of the God of Shayvism had wrought a change. If it was going to be a beautiful dawn, she never tired of greeting it, and dragged her 'lazy' big companion up to be with her.

The great love and calmness she experienced through this mediation formed her approach. Hakeem had shown Jacinta how to apply the lessons from meditation to fighting. Now she had to learn how to use it to deal with her reaction to Daniel's barbs.

This did not mean that she didn't see what Daniel was doing. This did not mean that she placated him, but rather that she responded serenely to his provocation. She achieved a distance from it.

So when Daniel complained about travelling behind a girl, she merely acknowledged he was finding it difficult. You are sweaty and stink, was responded to with a calm, "yes, I will bathe when there is an opportunity." It was windy, cold, uncomfortable, the horses smelled and so on. She understood what he was saying, and wasn't completely unsympathetic. Unspoken of course, was acceptance that his reaction was his own.

Daniel regarded her responses with suspicion. He thought she must be secretly poking fun of him, or maybe she had been told to be nice. For Jacinta, at some point it did become funny, giving serene replies to his constant whinging, but she was careful not to laugh.

Daniel didn't really want her to be aggressive to him, but he expected it. When it didn't come, at first he became even more tense and irritable. Probably it was the tension of waiting for the explosion to happen but it was like he was testing her ability not to react.

Having the chance to be listened to, Daniel started to talk about himself and his past. Jacinta listened with an occasional brief comment. Jacinta started to understand Daniel and she was moved by what she heard.

He never knew his father, who was likely a full blood elf. Indeed, Daniel looked more elf than human. He had an unmarried mother, who was in disgrace from her clan. She had been taken in by a distant relative, but had to face terrible prejudice. Daniel was seen as worse than a bastard. He was a half-elf bastard. His mother had to work hard and was given little money for it. Daniel was the symbol of her shame, though she never let him feel it. He remembered her as always being tired and sad.

From small, his mother worked and he was raised by a woman who was not paid, an act of charity. She never spoke a harsh word to Daniel but gave him impersonal, somewhat disinterested care. The only time she would rouse herself was when Daniel was hurt, physically or emotionally. Then she would comfort him, as she did have a good heart. When he was very young, the only way he got any love was to cry or complain, Jacinta concluded.

Daniel hated the elves for what his father had done, but he looked too much like an elf to be accepted as a human. Being small, he was a target for bullies. He was alone, unhappy and angry and became a whinger.

A technique he had learned before he could reason no longer worked; it only worsened things. Then he became like a dog that was so used to being kicked that it snarled at strangers.

It was worse if anyone got close to him. He longed to be accepted but this longing made him open to hurt. As he became dependant on someone's friendship, he became more and more fearful (and irritable) that they would turn on him. He would misinterpret small actions. In the end it seemed as if he eventually pushed anyone away who tried to befriend him.

With the repeated rejections, he felt bad to the core. Criticism made it worse. As he felt worse about himself, he became more miserable and unable to relate. In the end it was easier to be angry.

Or so it seemed to Jacinta.

And then his mother, knowing he was unhappy, but bright, brought him to the chapterhouse in the hope it would be better for him. In a way, it was another rejection.

He had been there a year and was facing expulsion.

He was trapped. Whose responsibility was it to change this? It was Daniel's. This was his Karma.

He needed the experience of struggling out of this suffering, changing his reactions. He could either choose to be strengthened or worsened by it.

But did this then mean nothing for Jacinta? No, it was her Kama to encounter someone like Daniel and her task (she knew without being told) to see if something could be done. So being angry with him, agreeing with him, or removing him from responsibility would not help.

Others had tried to 'talk' to him, or reason with him, or tell him he was being bad and difficult. It was beyond him to trust them. It was hopeless, or so others had concluded.

It had been, until now.

Slowly Daniel started to thaw. The journey wasn't all bad. He started to make friendly comments. He wasn't yet likeable, but he was no longer so unpleasant. He began to hope he might become accepted by his three companions; it was something he so desperately needed.

Omar marvelled at the change. He and Hakeem followed closely Jacinta's lead. Hakeem felt intensely proud of his young student, but scrupulously avoided showing favouritism to her over Daniel.

Daniel had been a slow learner in fighting. He was better suited to clerical duties. He was not big, and he was timid. It was there the crisis finally struck.

Jacinta easily beat him in strength and speed. She was well ahead of him in unarmed combat. Whenever Daniel had a problem, it always strangely seemed that Omar and Hakeem were elsewhere, doing training on their own. So Jacinta had to be patient, show him, and look after his ego ... all at once.

He was too timid with falls and throws. He had been bullied, had lost confidence, and had little chance to regain it. So Jacinta would look for some soft ground to practice on. She let him throw her. He became worried he would hurt her (she was worried too, but made sure she didn't tense up).

They had to learn to trust each other and work together.

Slowly he started to idealise her. And slowly, she and the others noticed, he was no longer unpleasant and it was increasingly possible to like him. Of course, jealousy, anger and the need to show off still surfaced at intervals. What went wrong was perhaps a mixture of all this.

Jacinta hadn't started on weapons apart from the bow. The quarter staff was the next step and Jacinta was having the privilege of being trained by Omar, an acknowledged grand-master.

Daniel had been learning for a year under Omar, and Jacinta could not match him. Omar had left them to practice, after giving a demonstration of what he wanted them to do.

Hakeem noticed something in what Daniel was doing that got him to pause and start to walk, then run, back to where the children were. Daniel was showing off, he was attacking Jacinta with a series of movements that she was hard put to block. This was above her ability and dangerous. They were not even in protective padding. He had no business 'demonstrating' this to her!

She had helped him with unarmed techniques, but he was ready for these. She was a beginner with the quarter staff and this was not supposed to be what they were doing. What on earth had gotten into him? Omar noticed the same thing and stared puzzled for a moment, and then he started to move to stop it. There was no time to shout a warning.

Daniel tried a more advanced move and grinned, but Jacinta had no chance to block. Whack! The quarter staff of heavy wood hit her hard across the cheek.

Jacinta dropped her staff and bent over in agony. She dropped to her knees, clutching her face in both hands. Tears squeezed from her eyes. Hakeem ran up and bent over the distraught girl and comforted her. When he could, he checked her eye on that side, there was no double vision. So the eye and the bony cavity it sat in weren't affected.

He gently probed around the wound.

"I don't think it's too bad. The cheek bone isn't fractured. You'll have a big bruise, though," he announced.

Daniel was standing there frozen. His face was white like chalk. He looked like he was going to cry. "Daniel, can you fetch some water?" Hakeem asked gently, as if nothing major was wrong.

Daniel went to get some water quickly and Hakeem took some of it on a cloth, and asked him to boil the rest.

Jacinta was curled up in pain, struggling not to cry. The skin was split and bleeding; she would need some stitches. Omar studied it gravely.

He eventually put three neat tiny stitches in, and black ointment to prevent infection. Having the stiches inserted stung and Hakeem held Jacinta in his arms while she faced it bravely.

"This should not be too bad, it's along the lines in the skin and not too deep." Omar concluded as he studied it carefully. "Also she's young and growing. I think it will be a small scar. Shame it's on the face, though. Do you get thick scars Jacinta?"

Jacinta shook her head.

"So, unlikely any permanent damage done," he concluded.

Jacinta was red eyed and in pain, but sufficiently recovered to push them away.

Omar looked very grim. He took a big breath and started to gather himself. Hakeem laid his hand very firmly on his friend's shoulder and gripped down hard. When Omar looked at him, Hakeem firmly shook his head.

Daniel was pale and shaking. He flinched every time someone looked at him, or passed near him. They kept him busy so he could not collapse into tears or misery. Then Hakeem and Omar sat down and Hakeem gestured to Daniel to come to talk to him.

"You never liked me, anyway, did you?" Daniel said accusingly, as he came closer reluctantly.

"So," Hakeem considered, "I caused this."

"I slipped on the wet grass," Daniel claimed.      

"Is that what happened?" Hakeem enquired mildly, and looked steadily at Daniel.

"Jacinta should have blocked that. I had told her how," Daniel added.

"So it was Jacinta's fault. Perhaps she is unsuitable for this training. Perhaps I should send her away."

"No, you know it was me. I don't know why I did it!" Daniel shouted, angry and upset.

"Daniel, do you have cause to be angry with us?" Hakeem enquired. "Concentrate, this is important. Tell me what was inside you before you did this."

"I felt nervous and angry, not at Jacinta. Then I could do something better than her, it made me feel powerful. You're going to send me away, anyway."

Hakeem spoke calmly and seriously. "This isn't about us, Daniel. You say you didn't want this to happen. You must understand how it happened if you are going to do anything about it.

"Fear and anger makes you attack people who are trying to help you or be your friend. You can see how dangerous that is, but hating yourself won't help. It is caused by a deep wound. Hating yourself just pokes the wound and makes things worse.

"If you let us, we can help you. We would still like to but you have to trust us, not fight us. You can give in to this and let it take control, or you can try to take control of it. Those are your choices."

Hakeem paused looking intently at Daniel. "Daniel, what is the answer?"

Daniel was in anguish. "How can you not hate me? How can I not hate myself? I must leave!"

After a year of training, he should have better control than this, Hakeem knew. Daniel was in danger of withdrawing into self-pity and tears, and then no one could talk to him.

"If there is so much to dislike about yourself, is it not time to do something to be proud of?

"This is your chance. Don't you see? God has given you an important and difficult task. Isn't it clear you have a task? Are you going to turn away from it? It is not an easy one, but if you listen to us, we will help you. We are not your enemies and never were.

"You said you want to leave. Does this mean that you don't have the courage to face your hurt and anger and defeat it? If you do not wish to control this thing, you may leave. But you will carry this thing with you, wherever you go.

"If you agree to stay, there will be consequences. You are not allowed to train in fighting until Omar says you are ready. You may never be allowed again; this is not punishment.

"We had hoped the training and discipline would help you. It is too dangerous for you to have this anger and also be able to fight. You could do harm to others and hence yourself. If you stay, we will concentrate on one thing and one thing only: allowing you to control your fear and anger. You will be on probation and you know what that means."

Tears began streaming down Daniel's face. "Please …. please help me," he said in a small voice. Hakeem took him up in to his strong arms and held him until the tears stopped. Daniel looked up with gratitude at the two men.

"Jacinta will hate me!" he realised.

"Perhaps she will," Hakeem said. "If she does, it is your task to control your reaction to how she treats you. How she acts is her responsibility. How you react to her is your own. Sinking into self-pity and hating yourself or others is not the way out of this.

"You need faith that a path will be shown to you, even when things seem most black. This was how it was for me, and this is how it was for Jacinta. Our tasks were first shown to us when things seemed most bleak and hopeless, though we didn’t understand at the time."

Daniel's head jerked up in shock and hope, he had assumed life must have always been magically easy for these two. Hakeem nodded to confirm the truth of what he said.

"Yes, when we were at the bottom of despair, we started on our tasks, not realising we were doing so at the time. Now, you said you were instructing Jacinta. Something has gone wrong. What are you going to do now?"

"I can't talk to her."

Hakeem merely nodded his acceptance.

Almost immediately Daniel stood up, and reluctantly walked over to Jacinta.

Daniel looked pale and frightened, on the point of tears. "Why did you hurt me?" Jacinta asked. She looked at him through a tangle of black hair, her cheek bruised and puffy with its stitches.

"I was angry, but not at you."

"Ouch, Daniel" Jacinta said and stretched out her hand to him. He grabbed it and held it for a long time like something very precious, kissing it.

"This has to change, Daniel," was all Jacinta said.

* * *

Fortunately, Jacinta had no serious damage, and would likely only have a faint scar. Not too bad for one who was destined to be a fighter. Daniel had hit her hard, but not with his full power. Poor Jacinta!

Jacinta forgave him almost immediately, not to say he wasn't on probation with her. But she knew he would never hurt her again like that.

She was left with a large bruise that went through a very interesting pattern of colour changes over several weeks. Her cheek really ached if she did anything strenuous at first, or bumped it, or smiled…or laughed.

Maybe the bone was bruised. She wasn't permitted certain types of training until it healed.

Omar was prepared for backsliding or minor glitches, but this was a new Daniel. Daniel was shocked about what happened and there was no chance to pretend it wasn't his fault or to be angry at others.

They remained friendly to him. He was forgiven. This stunned him more than he could ever say. Jacinta, Omar and Hakeem gave him something he had never experienced: acceptance. Even when he had faults, he was given a way to work on his problems. He marvelled at them.

He was not permitted to practice fighting, but the reason was obvious and this wasn't because they hated him. Daniel had meditation and Omar's quiet voice giving him instruction.

The days were shortening but it was a time of beautiful sunrises and the four travellers greeted each dawn together. Omar and Hakeem sat together, and Jacinta and Daniel sat meditating, side by side.

At first Daniel was very quiet. Then he started to relax around the other three. He started to look happier and happier.

He had hit his rock bottom when he hurt Jacinta. She was his only friend, and he hurt her for no reason to do with her. Even then, these people cared for him. He would never go back.

If they thought he was worth another chance, he was going to show everyone, especially himself that he was worth it! He had been given a precious gift and would never be the same.

A smile would appear on his face. He became increasingly pleasant and helpful. He started to laugh.

* * *

Daniel and Jacinta had ridden a little ahead and were chatting happily away. "I think your student is going to work out now," Hakeem murmured to Omar.

Omar nodded. "He is so determined and has been able to go very deep with his meditation practice. I think it's something to do with his elf heritage. You know there are very few we see that are mixed elf and human, so it is hard to know what that might mean. The other day, I became scared and had to check he was breathing. I marvel at what you two have done. I couldn't help him. I marvel at Jacinta!" Omar said. "Jacinta has only started training and is already so advanced. She learns so quickly, she works so hard. Don't lose this one, Hakeem, we need her in the order. She is the best I've seen for a long while. She may become the best I've ever seen. Yet I never saw you when you were young."

Hakeem laughed "She wants to be a student paladin. I had little doubt before, now I have none. I love her dearly. I want her to be my daughter, and sometimes I feel so proud I could burst. Am I biased? Yes, I am, but I don't think I'm wrong in this case

"She will never match me physically in my prime. But she will become a powerful female warrior if she keeps this up, perhaps the best of her time. As to wisdom, I am already her student and she is my teacher."

"No, you are right about her," Omar responded, laughing. "I will gladly add my recommendation for her to become a student of a paladin, and I am second only to the Grand Abbot. And while we are onto this, I have seen and heard enough. A paladin is not really elected, they are recognised. There can be no doubt at all about you Hakeem. You are a paladin.

"The Grand Abbot has the word of many, including his predecessor. Unofficially, I think he has decided, and my word will simply confirm his opinion. You are a paladin, and a student has been sent to you in the form of your daughter, though why this is so, we don't yet know."

"I think the Grand Abbot's plan to reawaken the ancient practice of appointing religious knights was a good one," Hakeem said.

"Why do you believe the practice was stopped?" Omar asked quietly.

Hakeem laughed. "Next you will say there has been no one worthy, since the last paladin. Why it's almost three hundred years!" He paused and began chuckling again as he thought about it.

"Well," Omar was a bit nonplussed. "I don't think worthy is the word. More … er, suitable … or suited to. But anyway as for the adoption of your daughter, you have my word. It has to be confirmed by the Grand Abbot, but that won't be a problem."

"Thank you, my friend," was all Hakeem said, his mind was far away, thinking of his daughter.

* * *

Daniel was continuing to become a better person. He continued to make amazing progress in deep meditation. Only towards the end of the journey was it thought that he could slowly re-enter physical training. He would never be a great warrior, but he had accepted this.

While Omar was intensively occupied with Daniel, Hakeem was back training Jacinta.

"I first couldn't see how anyone could help Daniel, but all I had to do was not get angry with him," Jacinta said in wonder. "Then I could begin to understand the problem."

"I'm really proud of you!" Hakeem replied seriously to his student. "Many people had tried. Even Omar gave up in the end. Daniel was headed down a dark path. I was deeply concerned for Daniel the grown man, but it was his karma to be given chances. It was up to him to take them or not."

"I don't fully understand about karma," Jacinta said.

"Nor do I, not fully," Hakeem laughed. "Nor does anyone I know."

It was a new Daniel that kissed and hugged Hakeem and Jacinta as the friends parted. Daniel and Omar went on to the local chapterhouse and Jacinta and Hakeem would meet them there later. But first, they would visit Myriani, Elwan's widow and Kassandra, their daughter.

 

Chapter 15: A Tribesman's Daughter

Hakeem had hoped to reach Myriani's farmhouse before mid-winter solstice, which was a very special celebration amongst the elves, but by his estimate, it had occurred soon after they parted with Daniel and Omar.

Not too long before they reached her farm, something happened to make Hakeem frightened for his young ward. It was mid-day and Jacinta was doing some set moves and Hakeem was helping her. Hakeem bumped against her chest and Jacinta let out a surprised 'Ow!'

She had a tender lump on her chest!

No, Daniel hadn't hit her there, Jacinta had just noticed it. She turned her back on him and eventually reported she had a very painful lump under her left nipple. Hakeem felt a chill of fear. Could this be an abscess? It was so near to her heart.

Hakeem was good with sick animals; he could look after soldiers and do field dressings but he felt lost in his ignorance of small girls. He didn't want to look at Jacinta's breast.

Jacinta had another look and said no, there was no redness. No, she didn't feel sick or feverish. No, there were no swollen glands under her arm on that side.

And, NO! She most definitely didn't want her father to look!

Hakeem felt a wave of relief when Jacinta indignantly refused showing her breast to him. It didn't sound critical, and they were only two days from their destination. The elves would know what to do. Yet, if things got worse, he didn't want to delay treatment.

If it needed lancing, would it affect her ability to breast feed on that side, or her ability to use a bow, he wondered. He strained to remember the details of a cow he saw treated for milk fever, but he was too young; it was all too hazy.

He took to asking if things were changing until Jacinta was thoroughly sick of his fussiness. She promised to let him know, if he only stopped asking her! Even then, she kept catching him watching her, frowning in his concern. When she caught these looks she would sniff and toss her head or simply irritably say, "No change!"

Hakeem expected her to have difficulty with riding or training. He eased off on her training and was very cautious not to bump her again. He tried to stop her doing her chores or cooking until Jacinta yelled angrily at him. "For the hundredth time, I'm fine. Now just let me be, Hakeem!"

The big man took on an expression like a scolded puppy, which made Jacinta feel guilty, but she had to make him stop somehow. He was being so irritating!

It had been ten days already that they had been travelling through the Black Sea region. They wouldn't be crossing the coastal mountains and forests to the sea itself but (short of that) there cannot be many places in the world as beautiful as this place.

At first, they had travelled through an alpine region that was untamed and wild, with towering craggy peaks and deep narrow gorges, where tall waterfalls seemed to fall forever down to wildly rushing mountain streams below. Hakeem said it was far prettier in the spring and summer with the alpine grasses.

While the leaves were long gone from the oak, beech and the other trees of the lowlands, everything was lush and green. Rain, mist and snow often rolled in to shroud the far mountains. The slopes high up were covered with dense pine forest and snow.

The paths were treacherous and narrow, so at first, they often had to lead the horses. Many times Jacinta felt dizzy with fear from the heights and the slippery trail, but she never let Hakeem know. She was leading Farah, who might be smaller but was very sure-footed.

As Hakeem had warned Jacinta, it was very cold and they were camping out, but they were well provisioned and the weather had been otherwise kind.

They hardly saw another soul. The few elves they met would smile and greet them politely enough. They would answer questions if asked, but didn't seem interested in stopping to talk. It was the way of elves, Hakeem explained, especially male elves. They would study things for hours but never say much.

Gradually the wild rugged mountain trails gave way to more settled lands. At first Jacinta could only glimpse houses and villages built high up on the slopes, with patches of mountainous meadows here and there.

As she saw yet another one so high above her, she wondered how the elves got up there. There was no direct connection with the narrow path they were leading the horses along.

Were they just born up there and never came down? If the road to the village followed the last side-path she had seen, it was so far back. Maybe they never came the way Hakeem was leading her and the horses.

The slope was so high and steep, she imagined one of their children or even one of their houses, slipping and just tumbling over and over, all the way down the mountain.

Sometimes she saw where the elves had strung ropeways across narrow gorges, but she didn't find out how they worked and didn't want to. Once, looking down to a loudly churning white water river far below, she saw a boat by the bank, just before where the gorge narrowed. She wondered how anyone would dare brave such a river. It seemed like something you would do only once. What would it be like when the snow started to melt? And yet, a boat was there!

Now, as they were closer to Myriani's farm, they were reaching better farming country with more open, rolling hills interspersed with forest. They passed meadows with goats, beehives wrapped in black canvas to protect them from the cold and fruit orchards and apple groves (bare in the winter).

The houses didn't seem so precarious, and she could finally get close enough to admire the gaily painted wooden huts with the thatched roofs the elves used. Elves didn't clear as much around their homes and farms as was the human custom, nor did they cluster their villages as closely. It must be the elvish love of trees. They seemed to grow any manner of fruit trees: sweet chestnuts, walnuts, hazelnuts, pears and cherries to name a few.

They still met few elves, though Hakeem said they were being watched. The elves would be more in evidence once their presence was accepted.

As they drew closer to Myriani's farm, Hakeem was becoming quieter. He seemed pre-occupied about something and Jacinta wondered what it could be. It wasn't her lump, there had been no change since they had first discovered it.

It was something Hakeem had long put from his mind.

If Myriani and Kassandra disapproved of him and Jacinta, it would be almost too hard to take.

They were the closest thing he had to family.

* * *

There was no way to warn Myriani of their arrival, so it was a surprise. It was early afternoon and Myriani looked up to see three horses ambling up to the large farmhouse. When she recognised Hakeem, she came running swiftly up the slope from the bottom meadow, calling out joyfully, to her daughter, Kassandra.

Hakeem dismounted and hugged the two elves for a long time. He hadn't fully realised just how much he had missed them.

Kassandra had grown into a lovely young woman and he held her back for a moment in his arms, to admire how she had grown.

"Hakeem," was all Myriani could say as he hugged her, and then she started to cry.

Jacinta had stayed on Farah, feeling shy and uncertain. Hakeem turned back for her, so she slid down into his arms and he hoisted her onto his hip. He turned to face Myriani, with a somewhat fixed smile on his face and Jacinta on one hip.

"This is Jacinta," he said, a little guardedly. "I rescued her when her family was killed. She's travelling with me," Hakeem explained.

Jacinta looked at Hakeem in surprise; was he ashamed of her? No, that wasn't it, yet he was clutching her so possessively.

Did he feel frightened of what they would think of her? Yet that didn't make sense, they had no reason to dislike her.

Then it hit her. He was afraid of what they would think of him, a single man and a soldier, adopting a little girl. Elves could be harsh in their judgement, it was said. The only experience she had had was with her friend, Daniel, and he was certainly difficult at first.

Myriani and Kassandra looked at Hakeem. They could see he was tense but they didn't understand. He said Jacinta was travelling with him, well they could see that easily enough. What was wrong with him? He would be taking her to family presumably, what was the problem with the little girl?

Jacinta whispered desperately to Hakeem. "Let me down, Hakeem!" She started to wriggle to get free so she could meet Hakeem's elf friends. Hakeem looked at Jacinta blankly and then let her slip down to her feet, but still stood, clutching her tightly.

Seeing the big man so defensive and protective, a sudden understanding hit Kassandra. They weren't simply travelling together!

She gave a shriek of pure delight.

"Hakeem! She's your foster daughter! Oh Hakeem that's so wonderful and she's so pretty!"

Myriani called excitedly. "Hakeem, that's wonderful!" Her eyes teared again as she admired the pair standing together.

Hakeem let out a ragged breath as Myriani held her arms out to Jacinta. Jacinta thought she might have to kick Hakeem in the shins to make him let go, but with a struggle she managed to disentangle herself.

Hakeem had a good heart Myriani knew, but he was so shy and kept his distance from others. To see him so protective of the small Gypsy girl warmed her heart. He seemed changed. Was it this small girl who had changed him?

Hakeem gave a shaky chuckle.

Jacinta was accepted.

* * *

It was not long after they arrived that Hakeem explained the fear he had for Jacinta. She had developed a painful lump under one of her nipples, and Hakeem was almost beside himself with worry.

Myriani, to his relief, seemed to take it as a fairly simple problem and steered Jacinta into her bedroom and closed the door. They were in there for what seemed a long time, and Hakeem waited anxiously outside, trying not to pace.

Kassandra was preparing food in the kitchen, so Hakeem explained his concerns as she worked.

Kassandra looked at the anxious face of the big tribesman. She nodded gravely, as he talked about what he could remember of the treatment of a cow with milk fever.

She agreed this really could be serious. She turned her head to cough (which allowed her to free the smile she was desperately trying to suppress). When she turned back, she was able to manage a serious and concerned face again and master the urge to giggle. The big tribesman trying to raise a small girl, it was so cute!

Hakeem couldn't understand what was taking Myriani and Jacinta so long. Then he began to hear the sound of occasional laughter, the clear pleasant notes of an elf-woman's laughter and Jacinta's own musical laughter. Eventually Myriani and Jacinta came out arm in arm. Myriani smiled at Hakeem's anxious expression.

"We've decided to put you out of your misery." Myriani started. "Jacinta and I have to have a series of talks."

Myriani took a deep breath and tried to work out how to explain it to the big man.

"Hakeem, you're a male and … Jacinta is, well ... a female!" She announced grandly.

Hakeem looked puzzled and then relief and understanding passed across his face. "You mean this is normal?" he enquired, amazed.

The two were acting as if they were part of some special secret society. Kassandra was snickering nearby. Jacinta looked particularly smug.

"Over the next three years Jacinta will be developing breasts. Now you do know about those?" Myriani teased.

This was delicious! Hakeem's ignorance of the ways of females was almost complete.

Hakeem was blushing furiously, but he ploughed on gamely. "Is there anything I need to … er …. er …. er will it hurt? Do I need to do anything?"

"No,'' said Myriani. The three women were thoroughly enjoying his reaction.

Myriani wondered what he thought he could do. A regular inspection perhaps … as if Jacinta would allow that!

Why was Hakeem so much fun to tease? He was so naïve and shy around women, in contrast to how he was in most other things. His embarrassment made him so loveable … fierce warrior indeed!

"There's nothing you need to do. Nature has got on fairly well without you all these years. It shouldn't be painful like this for too long." Myriani finished.

Hakeem felt so relieved he collapsed into a chair. He had to chuckle at Myriani's teasing. So a tender lump under the nipple in a young girl may the first sign of the normal change into being a woman.

The three 'girls' fussed around, offering him a small pot of tea and some small cakes to show they loved him dearly, even though he was a male. Then Jacinta and Myriani withdrew for a solid half hour of talking.

Hakeem sat sipping his tea and contemplating the idea of Jacinta becoming a woman. How would this impact on her training? How would this impact on the easy physical closeness they shared? He couldn't imagine. He knew he never wanted anything to cause an emotional distance between them. Then he thought of another man coming to love his daughter. A small tear came to his eye. He felt worry, sadness, happiness and pride all together.

His little girl was starting to grow up.

Perhaps Jacinta felt it too. When she came out of the bedroom, she silently climbed into his lap for a long hug before she joined Myriani and Kassandra with their chores.

* * *

Jacinta loved her talks with the older woman. She loved being Hakeem's foster daughter but missed having another female around, especially an older woman.

Myriani was so wise in the ways of the world, and it was the sort of frank discussion that only females can have together. Myriani was touching on topics about men and women that Jacinta would not have to worry for years, but she preferred Jacinta to be prepared. It was information her foster father would hardly be able to give her!

It was on the afternoon of their fourth day that it happened. Perhaps to impress, perhaps daydreaming, Jacinta seemingly casually remarked. "Of course, you know Hakeem and I are lovers."

She didn't notice the temperature in the room abruptly plumet. Myriani had become very icy, "Really?"

"Yes, he really knows how to satisfy a girl," Jacinta continued, smiling to herself and completely missing the horrible danger she was in.

"Then you know about the birthmark?" Myriani enquired innocently.

"Oh yes, that." Jacinta replied, "You couldn't miss that."

"Was it on the left or the right buttock?" Myriani enquired.

"On the left," Jacinta promptly supplied.

"How do you manage with his injury?" Myriani continued.

Injury? Jacinta started to panic. "Oh, we work around it."

"Now you listen to me," Myriani said coldly. "You're nothing but a silly little girl!"

Jacinta was completely mortified. She wished the ground would swallow her up. She had wanted to impress the older woman. All she had done was to earn her scorn.

She had accused Hakeem of what was a loathsome crime. How on earth could this have seemed like a good idea?

That evening Hakeem noticed an abrupt change in Jacinta. She had been so happy, now she was so downcast she hardly ate before she went to her room early. Was she sick? Had someone said something nasty to her? He didn't think it was possible; Myriani's family and friends loved his foster child almost as much as he did.

He noticed concerned looks from Myriani's daughter, but was surprised that Myriani herself seemed oblivious. She was carrying on as if nothing was amiss. As soon as he could go, without causing a fuss, he went to the room Jacinta shared with Kassandra, but she seemed to be asleep already.

He didn't get to talk to Jacinta the next morning but noticed she went off to the sheds with Myriani's daughter. He hoped the older girl could help her with whatever was bothering her.

* * *

"You said what?" Kassandra asked incredulously.

"I know!" said Jacinta miserably.

"That's serious! Before the Great Earth Mother what came over you? You know what Hakeem's like."

"I don't know. Really if there was anything in my life, I could take back, I'd take that back."

"Did you apologize to mum? That would have helped."

"I was too scared of her, she really cut me down. I deserved it. Do you think she'll tell Hakeem?" Jacinta asked plaintively.

"Do you think she won't?" countered Kassie.

"How long have I got?"

"Not long meli (honey), if I know Mum. She practically raised me on her own. Dad was away so much."

"He'll be so hurt!"

It looked like Jacinta had gone too far this time. She doubted Hakeem would have anything like his often mild reactions. "I hope he beats me. I'll feel better and then he'll forgive me faster. I hope he forgives me."

Kassie waited with the young Gypsy girl, to give her support. Jacinta sat morosely. It was a most unhappy wait, but not a long one.

At the same time as they waited, Myriani and Hakeem were sitting on the veranda drinking tea. "I've wanted to talk to you on your own, Myriani. You know if you or Kassandra need anything you only have to let me know," Hakeem started.

"Thanks," Myriani replied. "But we are doing well here. The land is good to us."

"But the work is hard and Kassie will be getting married soon, and will leave."

"Don't worry about me," she said. "Ian and Kassie are coming back to help me work the farm, and don't forget the money you brought, Elwan's share of the plunder. I still think you added to it, no matter what you say. Anyway, I've got some ideas of what to do, once I have more help.

"This is my home and I'll always have a place here."

"I was thinking, Jacinta likes you and I think she could do with a woman around. I like you, I find you an attractive woman," he finished, blushing.

"Hakeem, No!" She laughed incredulously. "I'm almost twice your age! No! Absolutely no! ... but thanks!" she laughed.

Hakeem was blushing furiously. "You know I really like you, Myriani."

"Well, I thank you. You've given my self-esteem a big boost, I must say, but the answer is no!"

"I don't think I'm seen as marriageable material," Hakeem smiled ruefully. "That's the second refusal I've had this trip."

"Perhaps you need to try offering something else." Myriani smiled mischievously.

"Uugh," Hakeem was too embarrassed to talk for a moment.

"I want to talk to you about Jacinta," Myriani started. "There's never been anything, you know, between you and her has there?"

"No!" Hakeem replied loudly, horrified at the thought, but he was not really angry he was asked. He had always been able to have an honest conversation with Myriani. "How could you think that of me?"

"I didn't, I just needed to check," she answered. "You know, I wondered about you and Elwan. You were so close, but Elwan said 'no'."

Hakeem laughed. "I'm not a lover of men, at least not in that way.

"I was to be a monk and celibate. It seems like I will continue that way. But not for any of those reasons," he added quickly. "I didn't realise, I was, well, scared of women. Would they like me? Could I make a partner er, satisfied? You know."

Myriani couldn't stop herself from laughing at the idea women wouldn't find Hakeem attractive.

Her laughter helped him relax; she was good to talk to about these things.

"I know it was silly." He was blushing, shaking his head. "But that's how I felt. I didn't need to be so scared." He responded to her raised eyebrow with a laugh. "No, nothing happened. It was in the early part of the journey, but I admit to some regrets."

Myriani just shook her head with a smile. "You're a strange one at times, Hakeem."

That Hakeem was intensely shy around women had been so obvious to everyone, except, apparently, Hakeem. It was good to hear that was the only problem.

Her mind strayed briefly to candidates for match-making, but for the moment there was something much more important to discuss.

"Have you thought of what you are going to do with Jacinta? She's going to have a strange childhood."

"Myriani, I've thought of nothing else since I rescued her." Hakeem shook his head at the irony of her question. "But it's all decided, I haven't told her yet, but as soon as I receive permission, she will be Jacinta bint Hakeem."

"You know you don't have to do that. You saved her life. She can stay as your ward. There may be complications, if you want to marry later."

"No, this feels right. If I'm forced to choose, I will choose Jacinta as my daughter." Hakeem looked intently at Myriani. "There's something you really need to understand. I saved Jacinta, but in a way she saved me. Inside me there was a wall against my feelings, deep down a part of me was dead.

"You won't understand this, because it refers to the Shayvist belief about paladins, but Father Omar believes Jacinta has been sent to me for a reason."

Myriani nodded. "elves believe in fate too, Hakeem," she chided him gently.

She understood what he was saying, she had always felt a deep pain in Hakeem before, a hardness.

"I love Jacinta. I'll be proud to call her my daughter," he finished.

"Well, you're going to have a handful with that one as she grows up."

"Don't I know it?" Hakeem laughed. "Did you know, she said she plans to marry me when she is older?"

He snorted in amusement and took a large swig of tea. Just then Myriani told him.

Tea sprayed over the lawn and Hakeem turned an alarming colour.

"She …" he croaked, struggling for breath. "Jacinta ... Jacinta ... JACINTA!" he bellowed. The first call came out sounding like someone was being strangled, the last "Jacinta" thundered clear down to the valley.

He seemed to be choking again, but managed to say to Myriani between coughing, "Can you leave me to have time with my daughter? I really think we need to have a talk." He finished with a grim look.

Myriani was frightened by his temper. She considered the wisdom of allowing the eleven-year-old to face him alone, but she decided not to provoke him further, so she reluctantly moved inside.

* * *

"JACINTA!"

At a pat on the shoulder from Kassie, Jacinta started to walk reluctantly up the hill towards the house, but as she got halfway there, her courage collapsed.

A swirl of thoughts made her panic. She had accused Hakeem of what he would see as a loathsome crime. What was the punishment for her doing that? Would he send her away? Would he stop loving her?

Suddenly she was running. She could hardly see for tears.

She threw herself at Hakeem's feet grabbing tightly at his legs. Hakeem stared down at Jacinta's untidy mass of black curls; the young Gypsy girl had dissolved completely into sobbing and tears.

Hakeem was prepared to talk very sternly to his ward. He saw this as a serious matter, Jacinta really needed to understand that. He knew it was a prank of course, after all, there was no real harm done. But he had no chance to say anything.

All he could understand was "S-s-sorry" and "F-f-forgive m-me." He'd never seen her so remorseful.

He was a bit at a loss as to what to do. He pulled Jacinta (with some difficulty) off his legs and put her crosswise on his lap. Where had Jacinta got such strength, he wondered?

There was a sobbing "N-never" after which she gave up talking. She clung to him and tried to burrow her face deep into his chest while he cuddled her and rocked her. He saw Kassie walking up the hill.

Just then the door slammed and Myriani came charging out, in a complete rage.

"How could you! You brute! She just a little child, for the Mother's sake!" Myriani rounded on him angrily. "What have you done to her?"

Hakeem just looked helplessly at her, lost for words. Jacinta attempted to say something but was incoherent. Myriani angrily tried to jerk Jacinta out of his arms. Hakeem didn't resist, but Jacinta did and all Myriani managed to do was nearly topple them both off the chair.

"I'll have you know, this is my house, and I won't tolerate any of your barbaric behaviour," Myriani continued angrily.

"Did he beat you?"

Jacinta gave a small shake of her head.

"Well, did he threaten you?" Jacinta gave her head another shake, as she buried her face deeper into Hakeem's shirt.

"Well what did he do?" cried Myriani in confusion.

"Mother!" Kassandra cried, hurrying up. "Hakeem did nothing. He didn't even growl at her, a severe case of guilty conscience, I'd say. You've made a fool of yourself, mother."

Myriani went pale. Hakeem had only ever shown her and her family kindness. She would have said she didn't hold any of the famous elvish disdain for the race of humans, but there it was. She was quick to see Hakeem as a heartless barbarian. She knew him better than that!

It felt like she was hit with a bucket of ice water, as she saw in shock what was deep inside herself. She was appalled. Her legs felt weak.

"Oh Hakeem," she said, tears welling in her eyes as she sank to the bench next to him. "Please forgive me. How could I? I'm a fool."

She clutched at his shoulder. He put his free arm around her and pulled her firmly to him.

Kassie looked down on the tribesman with each arm around the two crying women and a look of confusion on his face. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked brightly.

He looked back at her blankly.

"You probably couldn't manage it at the moment anyway, with both your arms busy," Kassie continued. "Do you always have this sort of effect on women?"

"I don't know what effect I have on women," Hakeem returned ruefully. "But no one wants to marry me."

"Don't you say that in front of some of my friends." Kassie looked at him appraisingly. "One look at you and we'd have a riot on our hands."

When Myriani had recovered somewhat, she left the two, after hugging Hakeem and kissing him fiercely on the cheek. She received a fond smile in return.

Jacinta had quietened but not yet emerged from burying her face in his shirt. Hakeem spoke to her gently. "Well, I hope you've learned your lesson."

Jacinta sat up and looked at him nodding, vigorously.

She looked a wreck. Her hair was all over the place, her eyes red and face tear-stained.

"No more of those lies, please, young one," he finished gently.

"I promise, never ever again. No more nasty lies about you."

It sounded a bit like a limited guarantee, but it would do.

"Now I'm not sure what you thought I was going to do, but I think you've learned your lesson. Have you?"

She nodded vigorously. She couldn't believe it. "I thought at least you would have punished me."

"Well, I think you've punished yourself. Do you think I should beat you?"

Jacinta nodded her head sadly.

"Well, you leave me no choice!" Hakeem yelled suddenly.

Jacinta shrieked in shock as she found herself spun upside down and thrown over his knee. He only gave her a playful tap on her bottom, and then spun her back upright and gently shook her, "Is that enough?"

"I don't think so," she sighed.

Instantly she found herself being spun again for a repeat. She squealed and managed a small smile. He's hopeless!

"Do I beat you Jacinta?"

"No!"

"Should I beat you, Jacinta?"

"Yes!"

He then held her firmly face down on his lap and repetitively tapped her lightly on the bottom, demanding she surrender. Jacinta struggled helplessly to get free and then … she grabbed his knee with both hands and bit it.

Hakeem jumped up with a "yeow!" only just managing not to drop Jacinta, he jerked her up laughing and started to tickle her. Myriani came out with another cup of tea for Hakeem to find the pair playing a wrestling/tickling game with great hilarity.

She shook her head smiling. Hakeem would make Jacinta a thorough tomboy given half a chance! Though maybe not, Jacinta was so definitely female. She would be a real handful as she grew.

* * *

It was hard leaving Myriani and her family, especially with Kassie's wedding to Ian in a few weeks. But Hakeem was becoming increasingly concerned about how long he would be away from Aiolía.

As far as he knew, things were quiet and he wasn't urgently needed, but he still fretted.

He would receive any mail at the northern chapterhouse, especially an answer to his adoption request.

They made good time to the chapterhouse and Omar and Daniel, were waiting to greet them. Hakeem saw Daniel greeting Jacinta shyly, blushing furiously. After an early meal, Jacinta took command of Daniel and demanded a tour. Not too much time later their excited voices could be heard from the courtyard.

Hakeem settled down to talk to the abbot and read a letter that had arrived for him.

"Well," Hakeem said. "At least I'm not missed. Things are very quiet. Samit plans to retire his active commission on my return, but will stay on as King's Adviser. He won't be out in the field much anymore, but we will have the benefit of his experience. Samit reassures me he's still in good health; he just getting older and wants to take it easy.

"I guess that confirms my new command at the head the Shantawi Cavalry. I find it all a little daunting."

"I can think of none better," Omar said, looking at Hakeem seriously.

Hakeem sighed, "Well I was taught by the very best. I just hope I have Samit and King Helios close enough to give me advice when I need it. I wonder who Helios will promote to overall command with Samit retiring."

"I've got good news for you," Omar smiled, changing the topic.

"Did you get an answer?" Hakeem asked, obviously excited.

Omar nodded. "You have permission to adopt Jacinta!"

Hakeem gave out a small whoop. He asked him to keep it a secret. He hoped to surprise her with it.

"It sounds like the Grand Abbot plans to confirm you as a paladin in a ceremony when you arrive in Karsh, so I need to warn you about that," Omar continued. "He needs to meet you himself of course. He's heard a lot about you from Samit, King Helios and me. It's a big decision, though, and he will need to talk to the Sheikhs of the ten tribes."

"As I understand things," Hakeem replied. "This is almost a formality. I was hoping you could confirm me here in a simple ceremony, and why did I have to ask the Grand Abbot permission to adopt Jacinta?"

Omar studied Hakeem for a few moments. "You don't know do you? You've got no idea, do you?"

"About what? I'm to become a paladin, but what difference does that make? Wasn't it the old Grand Abbot's idea of renewing the practice of religious knights? He was right, it is a good idea, though I really think there should be more of us, not just one or two at a time. I am proud to be chosen, and I hope I will be worthy. I even have my first pupil. But why all this incredible fuss?"

"Sit down," Omar said gravely. "I'll call for some tea."

Omar continued after the tea arrived. "It's a little complicated," he said. "We haven't had many paladins, so most don't know about them.

"A paladin is a cross between one of our religious and a knight. To be a paladin, you need to be seen as pure of heart." He waved aside Hakeem's objections. "That's for the Grand Abbot to judge, not you. Only the Grand Abbot can 'recognise' a paladin."

Hakeem waved this aside. "I think everyone is making far too much of this and why ask the Sheikhs of the ten tribes, for the sake of all that's holy? Just so I can work as a mercenary and still be linked to the religious."

Omar paused. "I know you believed the practice of appointing paladins was discontinued."

Hakeem nodded. "It's being re-instituted. It's a good idea but why was it allowed to lapse?"

Omar looked at his friend very seriously. "None have been sent to us, Hakeem. You are the first in all this long, time. And we may already have a second."

Hakeem looked at him in shock.

He had said something similar before, but Hakeem had dismissed it.

Omar knew he was placing a burden on his young friend which would change him forever.

"You will be a paladin and the emīr (commander) of all our mercenaries, which makes you the most senior warrior of all the tribes. Do you know of the Ra'al (Warlord) of our tribes?"

"Warlord?" Hakeem echoed.

"The Warlord," Omar repeated. "The Warlord is appointed by the Grand Abbot, on advice from the ten tribes. Usually, the Abbot doesn't have a candidate.

"The Warlord takes command of all our warriors and soldiers, when we or any of our allies are threatened. He has the power to make treaties. He can mobilise all armed and civilian forces and direct defences.

"Growing up in the monastery, you may not have heard of the Warlord. We haven't needed one to take control for over a hundred years."

Hakeem was starting to feel as if he was in a waking dream.

He felt a floating feeling, as if he could see himself and the abbot from afar. He had such a strong feeling he had had this conversation in this place and at this time before. He didn't know what this feeling could mean. Something was occurring at this point which would change his life forever.

He knew what came next. "Who is the current warlord?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Samit, and…"

"He's retiring" Hakeem finished for him. That made Hakeem the most senior in rank, despite his youth, but so what? They hadn't needed a warlord for a hundred years.

"Don't you see?" Omar asked. "You are to be the Warlord and a paladin. We believe paladins are sent by our God. They are sent only rarely, one at a time, and they are sent, each, with a task.

"No one knows what task or even tasks you will be given. For one it was setting up the military training of the monks; the others were leaders in a time of trouble"