Desert Flower

On a fine morning, Anzhelika walked to the hospital, squinting against the sun. The birds were singing, and her heart sang along with them... She listened out of the corner of her ear to the idle chatter on the streets as she walked past people with her usual brisk pace. "...That's what I think too – they'll never take Jerusalem." "...Fresh, cold water!.. Inexpensive!.." "...No-o, the best thing to do if you have a scratch is to apply some damp earth to the wound!" Anzhelika stopped abruptly and looked at the speaker—a middle-aged man. The other two listened attentively, nodding their heads, and only the third, a younger boy, tried to object: "You can't put damp earth on a wound, venerable Yasser." "As if you know anything, Talal," the man called Yasser snorted dismissively in response. "I'm telling you: damp earth is the best remedy!" Anzhelika sighed and loudly intervened: "And I'm telling you, as a healer at Salah ad-Din's Hospital: if you apply damp earth to a wound, it won't be long before you'll be buried in it." The men stared at her in shock, along with a couple dozen other passersby, and Anzhelika continued confidently: "If you have any scratches, abrasions, or anything like that, come see me at the hospital. Bring your children too. Ask for Anzhelika; I'll come and treat all the scratches myself." Under their stunned gazes, the girl turned around and continued on her way as if nothing had happened. As she entered the hospital and walked down the corridor, Anzhelika heard Dalia's disgruntled voice: "Cleaning is a must, Latifa. You heard Lady Angelica." Anzhelika turned the corner and saw two girls: Dalia stood with her hands on her hips, looking reproachfully at Latifa, while Latifa, arms crossed over her chest, glared at her colleague with anger and scowl. "Dalia, my dear," Latifa said sweetly, "I don't have much time. Because, unlike you, I have a fiancé." "Good morning," Anzhelika greeted serenely. Both girls winced and turned to look at her. Anzhelika continued, "Let me remind you that it is in our common interest to look after the health of the army. The last time the crusaders stormed this city, they boasted that the streets were ankle-deep in blood." Latifa looked embarrassed, and Anzhelika, nodding to Dalia as she walked, headed into the ward to make her rounds. During her rounds, she glanced down the hallway, admiring Latifa mopping it with a feeling of profound amoral satisfaction. After making her rounds, ensuring that all the patients were gradually recovering, Anzhelika inspected the moonshine. She found it ready and instructed the girls to bottle it and seal it tightly. As Anzhelika was leaving the hospital, she spotted Latifa in a small garden, hugging some warrior. Her loving gaze and his hands on her waist said it all without words. Latifa turned furtively, glanced fearfully at Anzhelika, and then, recoiling from the warrior and lowering her eyes, hurried back to the hospital. He, too, casting a glance after her, quickly walked away. "Oh my God, as if I'm going to scold grown-ups here for hugs. Or go and complain about it," Anzhelika chuckled to herself and walked past without stopping. The people around her considered her a bigwig, and that was unusual and rather funny. Approaching the palace steps, Anzhelika was surprised to see Kamal emerging. He walked with his eyes downcast, lost in thought, and might not have noticed her if she hadn't called out to him. Kamal looked up at Anzhelika and stared at her silently, his expression completely unreadable. "What are you doing here?" the girl asked amiably. "I spoke with Salah ad-Din," Kamal replied, coming to his senses. "I'm going back to work." "So quickly? What about rest?" Anzhelika asked, surprised. The boy answered evenly: "War doesn't wait, Angelica." "Are you leaving today?" the girl frowned, and for a second Kamal believed she truly cared enough to... "No, tomorrow," he replied. "Then I'll come see you in half an hour," Anzhelika declared, and without saying goodbye, she quickly walked away—not toward the palace, but in the opposite direction, instantly lost in the street crowd. Kamal watched her with curiosity, admiration, and hope... Anzhelika briskly darted into the nearest market—she didn't have to search long for it again. With an eye accustomed to shopping, she quickly found what she was looking for—an inexpensive copper bracelet for a man's wrist, easily adjustable to the right size. After inspecting it for potential use as a lock-picking tool—and approving it—she paid without haggling and headed to Kamal's home. Ruweida opened the door for her. From the maid's quick glance at the girl, she immediately realized that Ruweida wasn't happy to see her, though the maid tried to hide it. Anzhelika briefly wondered why—they hadn't had a fight, apparently—but quickly dismissed the thought as she entered the living room. Kamal rose to greet her. "I brought you a bracelet in case anything goes wrong again," the girl announced from the doorway, "though, God forbid, of course. Or did you already buy one for yourself?" "No," Kamal whispered, dumbfounded. "She's that worried about him?" Anzhelika clicked her tongue. "Your own safety should come first," she sighed. Tugging at the boy's hand, Anzhelika fastened the bracelet on his wrist, not noticing his reaction to the gentle touch of her fingers. When she was finished, she asked, "Remember the hacking instructions?" Having managed to compose himself, Kamal met her focused gaze and nodded. "That's wonderful," Anzhelika said, settling herself gracefully and easily onto the sofa. Kamal belatedly remembered his hospitality and called Ruweida, ordering her to set the best on the table. "I wasn't expecting to see you, but I'll treat you to whatever I can," he said kindly. "That's all nonsense, I'm fed very well at the palace," Anzhelika waved her hand dismissively. "By the way, thanks again for introducing me to Salah ad-Din." Hearing the girl pronounce the Sultan's name, Kamal lost all hope. After waiting for Ruweida to enter, place a few dishes on the table, and then leave, Anzhelika asked: "Where are you going?" "To Arsuf." "What happened there that you're needed on the battlefield so urgently?" "So urgently—nothing, but why stay in the city where your eyes, Angelica, shine so brightly for someone else?" Kamal wanted to say, but didn't. Salah ad-Din had also insisted on a vacation when Kamal came to him asking for work—or even suggested leaving reconnaissance in Arsuf to someone else. But Kamal wouldn't tell the girl that. Instead, he replied: "That's the job of a scout, Angelica. Arsuf was captured by Richard's crusaders last year. It's one of the two cities closest to Jerusalem—along with Jaffa..." "Ugh, Jaffa..." Anzhelika wrinkled her graceful nose mockingly. "Although we got away from there with flying colors." Kamal couldn't help but smile slightly and continued: "Salah ad-Din believes that Arsuf, along with Jaffa, is now the most important city. My work in Jaffa is finished, so now I'm going to Arsuf." Anzhelika thought for a moment, biting into a flatbread. Finally, she said: "Always keep a carefree face—a gloomy, businesslike demeanor attracts attention. A cheerful, carefree face only attracts girls, perhaps... Avoid suspicious muzzles. If you notice something off, run away immediately." Kamal nodded, his gaze absent. Angelica sat next to him, her blond hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes searching his with trepidation; she had come to his house on her own—and yet she was so far away from him... The girl made a couple more attempts to chat, but seeing that the conversation wasn't going well, she said goodbye and turned to leave. "The most important thing," she said, already standing in the threshold and looking seriously into Kamal’s eyes, "be careful." He said goodbye, closed the door behind her, and walked to the window. Kamal furtively, leaning his cheek against the shutters, watched her slender figure as she deftly and quickly maneuvered among the passersby. She never turned around. Kamal thought that Salah ad-Din was the only person he couldn't hate for this. *** Anzhelika ascended the palace steps, walked down the corridor, and emerged into the courtyard. Wandering thoughtfully along the paths and inhaling the sweet scent of flowers, she suddenly heard a warm, husky voice behind her: "Assalamu alaikum, Angelica." The girl turned around and caught her breath. She hadn't seen Salah ad-Din for almost a day—it felt like an eternity. His sparkling black eyes, his cunning smile, the black curls escaping from beneath his turban, his tall, yet surprisingly graceful figure for a man of his height—just one glance at him seemed to warm Anzhelika from within and bring a joyful smile to her face. She wanted to say so much, but instead said only: "Good day!" "How are you doing?" "Good," the girl responded cheerfully, adding thoughtfully, "The boys are slowly recovering. I'm even thinking about discharging some of them." "If it's really possible, that would be wonderful," the Sultan said. He looked away from the girl for a moment, lost in thought. "Show me your sword," Anzhelika said curiously. Salah ad-Din stepped back and drew his sword from its scabbard with a quick, yet incredibly fluid motion. Anzhelika curiously extended her hand, and the Sultan handed the sword to her. She carefully turned it over in her hands and ran her finger along the hilt—it had a rather simple shape, but was decorated with delicate gold lettering. To the untrained eye, the circular gold emblem on the hilt might have looked just like a simple pattern; but Anzhelika easily recognized the Arabic phrase: "In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful." Of the many well-known religious phrases, Salah ad-Din chose this one; perhaps it could well have been his motto... "It's very beautiful," the girl said thoughtfully, returning the sword to its owner, "and it fits very comfortably in the hand." Salah ad-Din easily spun the sword in a figure-eight motion a couple of times. "Quite," he said, watching with pleasure as her eyes lit up at the sight of such a simple trick, so familiar to him. The girl couldn't stop admiring the Sultan's effortless and familiar handling of the sword. For the reenactors she knew at home, swords were a favorite toy; the sword in Salah ad-Din's hand seemed an extension of his arm. At once strong and graceful, like its owner. "By the way, the blade has an interesting pattern," said Anzhelika. A multitude of gentle waves seemed to flow along the entire length of the dark gray blade. "This is legendary Damascus steel," Salah ad-Din explained with pleasure, turning the sword so that the sunlight swept across the blade, highlighting the iridescent metal. "Its strength and sharpness are unmatched." "Hmm, I've even heard something about it!" the girl recalled with surprise. "Is it true that you can cut something in mid-air with it?" "Even light things." Salah ad-Din broke off a small twig from a bush, tossed it into the air, swung his sword—and the twig, cut in two, fell to the ground. Anzhelika's eyes widened in utter amazement, and the Sultan returned her triumphant smile. "Damascus, my homeland, is the birthplace of the finest steel," Salah ad-Din said thoughtfully, sheathing his sword, "but also of the Damascus rose." He plucked a lush pink flower from a bush, carefully plucked all the thorns, and turned to Anzhelika. The Sultan's warm fingers gently brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face, and he carefully wove the rose into her hair. Her pale green eyes gazed at him softly, admiringly, and trustingly. Her lips were parted, and Salah ad-Din wanted nothing more at that moment than to touch them with his own. "The sparkle of dew on the delicate petals of a rose can only be outshone by the light of the stars," he said quietly, "two green stars..." Salah ad-Din's voice was unusually low, even for him, and there was something in his soft yet intense gaze that made Anzhelika involuntarily lower her eyes, still smiling blissfully. A servant's cry was heard from somewhere far away: "Set the table, Hafsa!" "Let's go to dinner?" Salah ad-Din smiled slyly. Anzhelika nodded. *** Returning to her room, Anzhelika asked the maids for a vase of water and carefully removed the flower from her hair. The maids were brimming with curiosity, but tactfully remained silent. Placing the rose in the water, Anzhelika pressed her face to the flower, closing her eyes and inhaling its delicate scent.