Note to the chapter:
Alhamdulillah - "thank God" (Arabic).
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Anzhelika entered her room, went to the wash jug and splashed water on her hands. "Cool," she thought with pleasure, rinsing her face. She and Salima had just returned from the dressmaker, where Anzhelika had ordered a dress and some other clothes for herself, and although it was already afternoon, it was still far from cool outside.

Anzhelika wanted a dark green, silk dress in the European medieval style - with lacing in the front. The girl wanted to emphasize her waist and beautifully outline her silhouette, but without constricting her stomach too much - she valued only comfort in clothes more than beauty. "You'll have dress fit for a princess, Lady", Zulfiya said, measuring Anzhelika's slender figure. The girl smiled, remembering this. Thank God she didn't end up being a princess here. She coud easily find herself in unwanted marriage then. "No way," thought Anzhelika, stretching with pleasure, "if I get married, then only for love."

Anzhelika leaned out the window, resting her elbows on the windowsill, and looked over the roof at the sky beginning to turn pink. Somewhere very close - just a day's journey from here - lives Salah ad-Din. Does he look up at the sky at sunset, at the little lacy clouds lazily crawling somewhere to the south? What is he thinking about? Or maybe his worries leave him no time for this, and now the Sultan is sitting by the window, writing out with a quill on paper another military order?

She won't be able to see him anytime soon. First she goes with the guys to Hejaz, then back to the reception. Anzhelika sighed. How long is it - a month, two? Although in any case it is less than the eight hundred years that once - once! - separated them.

The girl climbed into bed, stretched out and began to doze off without noticing. In general, she slept here quite a lot - apparently due to stress. "I wish I could see him sooner," she thought, disconnecting.

She woke up because Salima was gently shaking her shoulder.

"Lady Anzhelika, wake up," she said quietly.
"What's up?.." Anzhelika muttered sleepily, opening her eyes. The sun cast a reddish glow on the wall above her - apparently, evening was approaching.
"The groom has arrived!" Salima whispered conspiratorially.
"Who?!" Anzhelika jumped up in bed, vaguely remembering everything she thought about before sleeping.
"Master Raef and his father," Salima explained, looking expectantly at Anzhelika.
Anzhelika blinked, trying to remember who it was. Salima helped her:
"This is the young master who was interested in you at lunch."
"Quick enough," Anzhelika approved.
"I conveyed through the cook your words that he doesn’t have much time," Salima explained.

"I wonder how she rephrased it... because she definitely did," Anzhelika thought, and said out loud:
"Thank you, Salima... But why did he bring his father?"
Salima blinked her eyes in confusion and answered timidly:
"Well... In any case, the father must give permission for a Muslim to marry, Lady..."
"So that's the local dating scene," Anzhelika thought, rubbing her forehead. She sighed and shared:
"For Christians, everything is simpler: for marriage you need your man, a priest and two witnesses of any kind. Two people are walking down the street - you can invite them. Getting married is a piece of cake for a Christian... But after that, it's very difficult to get divorced."

"And under secular laws everything is even simpler, but we are still hundreds of years away from them,” she added inwardly.

"Wow," Salima looked at her with admiration and slight sadness, "this is great."

Anhelika looked at her with curiosity, but Salima did not speak further about this.

While Anzhelika washed herself, Salima carefully combed her long blond hair, saying: "This hair... A real treasure." Anzhelika closed her eyes contentedly, thanked her and reached out to choose a blouse for herself.

"It would be better for the Lady to put on a skirt," advised Salima, rummaging through a pile of things, "in front of the senior master."
"No, guys should know right away who they’re dealing with," Anzhelika objected, pulling on her jeans. "This way, a girl can immediately weed out cowards from her personal life."

Salima looked at her with a mixture of shock and admiration. Anzhelika look on herself in the mirror with pleasure one last time and, accompanied by Salima, went downstairs.

Raef turned out to be a nice, slender guy, about eight years younger than Anzhelika. He was a little embarrassed when he looked at the girl, but he tried very hard to speak calmly and with all the courtesies. Anzhelika gave him credit for his composure, although she would have preferred a meeting in the style of her native 21st century - then the guy would openly compliment her and take her somewhere for a walk around the neighborhood. After all, at Anzhelika's home a date didn't oblige a girl even to a kiss... Raef's father, Ali, an Arab of about fifty, looked at Anzhelika with wide eyes. He noticed her pants only to appreciate her slender legs, and Anzhelika could bet that he already regretted coming to introduce her to his son.

The entire large company gathered at the table. Raef studied Anzhelika's comrades with some anxiety, and she thought that perhaps he considered them her relatives, who would, at the slightest provocation, start a showdown for her sister. At this thought, she had difficulty holding back a smile. The conversation moved from general pleasantries to more personal topics and Tahir’s guests gave free rein to their curiosity regarding Anzhelika and the others. The caravanners voiced the version that they were traveling on business, and the girl again laid out her trading healer "legend".

"The venerable Anzhelika is a healer?! Truly, Allah has blessed our town!" Ali admired, and before the girl could answer something appropriate, Raef, worried, asked:
"Will you practice healing around here, venerable Anzhelika? Or... maybe in Jerusalem?.."
"It’s obviously not worth going to Jerusalem now," Ali intervened.
"Why so?" Anzhelika asked curiously, while Tahir silently stared at the guest’s face.
"It’s not quiet there," Ali explained, sipping sherbet from a glass. "They were saying in the market today that there had been some fighting this morning."
Complete silence reigned at the table. Tahir stared at his plate with an unseeing gaze. Fazel took the initiative:
"And how serious are things there?"
Ali shrugged:
"I don't know. However, it's unlikely to reach us. Alhamdulillah, our town is far from troubled places."

The stunned silence was no longer broken by anything, and Ali finally noticed that something was wrong.
"What is it, friend?" He stood up and walked over to Tahir, putting his hand on his shoulder.
"The boys went to Jerusalem... on some trade business," Tahir muttered.
"Inshallah, trouble will pass them by," Ali said, patting him on the back. The whole company rose from their seats and began to express their sympathy and wishes for a successful outcome, and Tahir managed to pull himself together, but of course, nothing remained of the carefree, elevated mood. Finally, the guests said goodbye, and the company dispersed throughout the house in different directions.

Anzhelika went out into the yard, looked around in confusion, not knowing what to do with herself, and suddenly heard someone sobbing. Looking behind the barn, she saw Salima, who was sitting on a bench and quietly crying, covering her mouth with her hand.

Anzhelika sat down next to her, hugged her slightly and asked:
"What happened?"
"What if something happens to Gayar... to the brothers?" Salima sobbed.
Anzhelika tried to answer as calmly as she could:
"I'm sure that when the turmoil started, the guys didn't go into the city. All those squads hanging around aren't that hard to spot in the desert. And if the brothers have already entered the city at the time of the fight, then some handful of warriors will not take the city. Even stronger units tried in vain."

Salima was noticeably consoled. The girls sat in the yard for a while longer and returned to the house, not yet knowing that the misadventures of the day were not over.