‘If you know that I am a monster, a spawn of darkness, why aren't you afraid of me?’

‘A monster?’ her voice carried genuine surprise. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and lifted me slightly, ‘Do you see that cart, right behind us? They are transporting the good knight Gerard. He was once the grandmaster of one order but was captured at the Battle of Hattin. To save his life, he ordered the surrender of every fortress without a fight. No one disobeys the grandmaster. The knights complied, many of them were executed and many were taken hostage. Rumours say he even renounced his faith out of sheer cowardice - but surely no one knows, since everyone who was captured with him was poisoned. He has neither tail nor horns, however... if he were a book, its pages would be dripping with blood,’ she gently lowered me onto the straw and brought a flask of some sweetish concoction to my lips, ‘Well, I must look at this book again before its pages stick together forever. You rest, spawn of darkness. You can even sleep if you want. No one will harm you here.’

No one will harm me?!

I've only heard these words once. They were spoken by the one whose boldness surpassed even his immeasurable pride. The one who brought me out of the darkness. But no one else has ever dared to say such a thing to me. 

No one. Ever.

‘Wait!’ I growled and gathering all my strength, raised my hand and grabbed her by the sleeve, ‘Tell me, who are you? What are you? How do you know...?’ but my eyelids suddenly began to close on their own, my fingers loosened, my head grew heavy and although I managed to escape from the darkness again, overcome death, its younger brother - sleep - was concurring me with insulting ease.

‘What's your name?’ was all I managed to ask.

‘Well, if you couldn't even remember a children’s rhyme, you simply won't be able to pronounce my name. You can call me Wind Petal,’ her voice sounded somewhere far away, in an abyss burning with darkness.

I heard a silvery laugh — or was it the tinkling of her earrings?

*****

I don't like to sleep. I rarely dream and even less often my dreams are good. But that time everything was fine. I dreamed that I was swimming in a deep blue sky, light, so light and around me silver geese were dancing. It was a silly dream, and I woke up laughing.

It was noon - that same day? the next? - I don't know.

The caravan had halted at a quit crossroads, the carts were standing in the shade of the plane trees. I like plane trees. Their bark reminds me of elephant skin and their white leaves shine in the sun with silver.

Wind Petal was sitting next to me, neat as a cat and, placing a board on her lap, quickly writing something on a long, half-rolled parchment. Noticing that I had woken up, she put aside her writing utensils and said:

‘Sainbayna! Are you thirsty? Hungry? Do you want…’

For what I wanted, I needed to get up. To my and her surprise, I managed to do that. But that was where my strength ended, and I hung on the edge of the cart like a rag. Wind Petal wrapped her arms around my sides to support me. The top of her head barely reached my chest.

‘Let me go,’ I hissed, ‘Do not follow me.’

‘Do not act as a fool. It’s enough that you are naked.’

Only at this moment did I realise that I was bereft of not only breeches but any clothing at all. Only bandages adorned my chest. Laughter once again seized me.

‘You...?’ I asked, ‘Was it you...?’

‘What else was I to do?’ She looked at me angrily from below, ‘When I found you, you were covered in blood. Completely. As if doused from a bucket. I had to cut off those crusty rags. With my Levantine! Be grateful.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

She snorted, still holding me with all her might, propping me up with her shoulder like a leaning wall and muttered:

‘Well, if it bothers you so much…’ she loudly cried out something in Occitan.

Immediately, two knights in hauberks and with swords – those who guarded the convoy - rushed to her call. They were swarthy, with black eyes and their smiles shone like bandit knives. Undoubtedly, both were natives of this land.

‘Good Meister lo Ros! Good Meister de Bornel!’ She addressed them, ‘Meister Styler wishes to walk to the nearest... no, the farthest plane tree. Would you do me the honour and grace...?’

‘Does good Meister Styler wish to walk naked?’ the most courteous tone inquired lo Ros.

De Bornel hit him with a fist, dropped the reins, dismounted and bowed to Wind Petal.

‘Worry not, Madonna, I'll walk with your beloved and return him to you safe and sound.’

He threw his cloak over me and led me away, carefully supporting me under the elbows.

‘Do not think that I regard you better than lo Ros, you brazen beast,’ he said when we had moved a little away, ‘As soon as you recover from your wounds, I will challenge you. And kill you.’

‘Do you even know who I am?’

‘Everyone knows who you are,’ he said flatly.

‘Well, in that case…’ I said, not sure what amazed me more – their gall, their stupidity, or their damn chivalry. When I recover from my wounds, they won't be able to stand against me, even all at once. ‘I accept your challenge, but...’

‘If you're sure that such a treasure rightfully belongs to you, then be prepared to prove it!’ de Bornel passionately interrupted me.

‘Treasure? What the hell are you on about?’

‘About Wind Petal, of course,’ the knight cut off, ‘Madonna accompanied us during the third crusade and there is no one who wouldn't owe his life to her. There is also no one who wouldn't beg for her love, for not only her beauty, but her great lore, devotion and skill with which she healed any diseases and wounds, not fearing the dangers and hardships of military life, are worthy of the highest admiration. But you, northern barbarians, — you’ve never known how to value wisdom in women, have you?’

‘You call me a northerner, you?’ I barked with laughter, ‘My skin is darker than yours and I was born much further south, you can believe me.’

‘I don't care where you were born, you speak like a northerner. And you can believe me...’

‘Shut up and let me go. Or I'll piss right on your boot.’

De Bornel obeyed my command with surprising readiness. He loosened his grip and stepped back and I fell into the dust. Looking at the smile playing on his lips, I began to slowly rise, confident that anger would give me strength, I would be able to stand and even hit him properly. Once — but once will be enough.

But then the knight stretched out his hand to me.

‘I apologise, Styler. It was jealousy that made me forget about honour. It will not happen again. You are a glorious and brave knight. I accompanied your beloved when she was looking for you after the battle and we had to extract you from under a whole mountain of corpses. Were you one of the first to break into the caliph's camp?’

Following Petal's advice, I did not explain anything to him, but we returned, hugging tighter than two friends. De Bornel, eager to serve the lady and make up for his recent indiscretion, almost lifted me back onto the cart with his arms, though I was twice his weight.

Without any hint of embarrassment, the lady stripped me of my cloak, returned it to the knight and, taking a good look at me, sighed sorrowfully:

‘Your wounds are healing quickly. Too quickly. You have lost a lot of weight. This worries me.’

‘Lost weight?! He's simply enormous. Healthier than a bull,’ lo Ros said jealously making his steed prance to show off before her, ‘I will compose verses about this, Madonna, or a little song that will surely amuse you. I am not one to trouble a lady.’