Desert Flower

Immediately upon entering the hospital, Anzhelika heard an alarming noise and quickened her pace. Throwing open the door to the ward, she discovered an unfamiliar man with a bloody leg, groaning loudly, and maids fussing around him with rags, bottles, and other small items in their hands. Dalia leaned over the man, her face cool as she stitched up his leg wound. She glanced briefly at Anzhelika and explained, "Lady Angelica, this man wanted to see you, but he was so ill that it seemed to me that it would be better if we didn’t wait." "Thank you," Anzhelika replied sincerely, and asked sympathetically, "What's wrong with him?" "He cut himself with an axe while chopping wood," Madina explained in a whisper, as Dalia leaned over the injured man again. Madina, it seemed, was as impressed by her colleague's skills as Anzhelika. She recalled her street performance yesterday and thought absently, "News travels fast here..." "Did you wipe it with alcohol?" she asked Madina. "Yes, Lady," she whispered. "Dalia washed both the wound and her hands." "The girls learn quickly," Anzhelika thought approvingly and with a hint of pride. Dalia finished stitching the wound and set the needle aside. Her face seemed very pale to Anzhelika. "Now I'll bandage it," she said, exhaling. Anzhelika intervened: "I'll do it myself." After bandaging the wounded man's leg, Anzhelika handed him a small bottle of spirits and told him to clean the wound twice a day, always changing the bandage with a clean one, not to drink the alcohol, and to come back if any infection developed. The man thanked her and left. Anzhelika let Dalia rest and conducted an examination in the ward. She offered a couple of people the chance to deregister if they wanted, and they eagerly agreed. Anzhelika thought she was happy for Salah ad-Din if people were so eager to return to his army. Having finished her errands, Anzhelika went to look for Dalia. She was sitting on a bench in the garden near the hospital, still looking worried. Anzhelika sat down next to her and began: "Thank you for helping me, Dalia. This man came to me because yesterday on the street I heard someone suggesting treating wounds with damp earth, and I intervened. I suggested that everyone around me come to me with any scratch. Well, that's it." "With damp earth," Dalia repeated in horror. "Yeah, right," Anzhelika chuckled, adding more gloomily, "I've heard about the consequences of that 'treatment'... It would have been better if they hadn't touched it at all." "What happened?" Dalia asked. "Recurring inflammation every few years... with fever," Anzhelika frowned. Dalia shook her head in shock. "Where did you learn to stitch people up like that?" Anzhelika asked. "I only saw how it was done, Lady," Dalia explained. "Today was my first time trying it myself." Anzhelika raised an eyebrow, paused for a moment, and then asked, "Would you like to be my apprentice?" Dalia turned to her delightedly: "Can I?!" "Absolutely," Anzhelika responded. "You'll be sorting through herbs... chasing Latifa..." Dalia laughed sheepishly. Anzhelika asked: "How much do you earn here?" Dalia named the amount - Anzhelika now had some understanding of local prices and assessed her salary as sufficient for living, but modest: enough for everything, but not luxurious. "You'll get triple pay," Anzhelika assured the girl. Salah ad-Din paid her so much money that she had no idea what to do with it, living in a palace with all-inclusive accommodations—and Salah ad-Din also took care of the upkeep of her two horses. Even sharing a portion of her salary with Dalia didn't significantly affect Anzhelika's incredible earnings. Dalia's eyes widened. "That much?" "Just right," Anzhelika chuckled, rising from her seat. "You can go home and rest today. I'll talk to Abdul Latif, and we'll find a replacement for your position." "Thank you, Lady Angelica," Dalia responded modestly but warmly. Anzhelika headed back to the hospital to take care of administrative matters. Abdul Latif had just arrived, and Anzhelika greeted him and brought him up to speed. "Fine, I'll find another servant," Abdul Latif agreed. "So, Dalia is now your apprentice?" "Uh-huh," Anzhelika responded happily. "She's very capable." "I don't have much left to teach my apprentice, since she's already mastered moonshine brewing and cleaning with spirits," Anzhelika mused on the way home. "And she's even mastered stitching wounds better than me." In reality, she simply wanted to help Dalia after the girl had come to her aid for the second time. "How long did they take apprentices for in the Middle Ages? Seven years? Okay, we'll figure it out," Anzhelika decided as she climbed the steps of the palace. *** Anzhelika didn't meet Salah ad-Din at lunch, and his sons and his friend Bahaddin were also absent. One of the emirs mentioned that the Sultan had gone on a reconnaissance mission, but no one expressed concern about the state of affairs. "Well, God willing, everything will be fine," Anzhelika thought. After lunch, she sat for a while by the fountain with her friends and asked them about the Sultan, and the group shared some details with the girl: Salah ad-Din took his elite cavalry detachment and rode out to sort things out in a nearby village where they had seen the enemy. "I doubt anything will happen today," Abbas said reassuringly, seeing Anzhelika's frown. "The enemies are avoiding us for now." "They're up to something," Rahman said thoughtfully. "This isn't the first time we've seen them nearby..." "Let them think quickly and drop by for a visit," chuckled Vahid, a young cavalryman of about twenty. "I've been sitting at home for too long." The boys unanimously supported him, and Anzhelika felt a little better, but when she didn't see Salah ad-Din later at dinner, she became worried again. War was unusual for the girl, and such a prolonged absence of someone dear to her seriously worried her. "What kept him so long?" *** Bahaddin cupped his hand over his eyes, trying to shield them from the merciless Palestinian sun, and glanced sideways at Salah ad-Din, who sat erect in the saddle on his black stallion, seemingly completely relaxed. Bahaddin's back ached from most of the day in the saddle and a brief but ferocious skirmish; Salah ad-Din, though eight years his senior, showed no signs of fatigue and seemed as strong as iron. A teenage boy from a nearby village, who had pointed out a detachment of enemy scouts, stood before the Sultan, gazing at him with admiration. It was thanks to this boy that Salah ad-Din's scouts were able to report the enemy to Jerusalem. The Sultan immediately arrived at the head of his elite detachment and, having planned an encirclement, destroyed most of the enemy detachment—few escaped alive. "What is your name?" Salah ad-Din asked the boy. "Ali, O Sultan." "You are a true warrior of Islam, Ali." The boy's eyes lit up, and a happy smile appeared on his face. "Let's go back." Salah ad-Din waved his hand, and his finest horsemen, as one, turned their horses and rode in unison after the Sultan toward Jerusalem. Salah ad-Din, out of habit, glanced around the area - everything was quiet. Along with the peace, memories of yesterday entered his soul. The Sultan remembered how Angelica's soft, blond hair had felt to the touch when he'd woven a rose into it—like the finest silk, barely perceptibly flowing through his fingers... How he longed to run his fingers through her luxurious, long, moonbeam-shining hair again and again, and then kiss it... "Angelica is home now," Salah ad-Din thought tenderly, repeating the thought again. She is at his home. And they'll see each other soon.