The traffic into Cinnebar now waited patiently at the city's gates for the portals to be opened this morning. As the sun rose over the eastern hills a great creaking and groaning was heard as the ironbound double doors were slowly pulled open to admit the travelers and commerce that stood outside. Identities were carefully checked, but their armed and mounted party was quickly waved through. The city's streets were narrow and twisting. They appeared to be riding upward, and at last they came out into a wide square before a great marble palace. Again their identities were perused at the entry, and then they were motioned inside. They rode into a small courtyard. The ground beneath their horses' hooves were of perfectly matched squares of black and white marble. The captives were aided in dismounting, their bonds slashed free.

The Norman-speaking infidel came to their side. "This is the palace of Rashid al Ahmet, the mighty caliph of Cinnebar, may Allah bless the names of his antecedents and his descendants in equal measure. Your fate is in his hands, but he will be eager to learn of the great Christian warrior, the slayer of his brother, who was considered the finest man-at-arms in all of Cinnebar. Come! Follow me!"

Rhonwyn had blanched at the infidel's words, and Sir Fulk's mouth fell open in surprise. They looked at each other in desperation, and then followed their guide into the palace. Once inside, they were brought into a small, attractive chamber. Water was brought so they might wash the dust of the road from their face and their hands. Plates of newly baked flat bread, sliced fruits, and a hot clear beverage smelling of mint were carried in to them, and then they were left alone for the first time since their capture.

"Do not eat," Sir Fulk advised her. "It could be poisoned."

Rhonwyn picked up a curved slice of melon and began to chew it eagerly. "If it is, I will die a quicker death than the one I face for having slain the brother of this caliph. We might as well eat, Fulk. Besides, I don't believe the food is tainted. They have not kept us alive this long to poison us now." She picked up a piece of flat bread and began to chew it. It was warm from the ovens and delicious. The beverage, too, was excellent, sweet and aromatic. She had never had anything like it before.

Her companion considered her words, and then began to eat as well. When they had finished, they washed their hands and face in the silver basin again, and then seated themselves to wait. The chamber was very quiet. Fulk considered how he was going to protect Rhonwyn. When it was discovered that she was a female, and she most certainly would be exposed very soon, he truly feared what was going to happen to her. And without a weapon he was utterly helpless to aid her. Had he a weapon, he should slay her so that she would not have to suffer the indignity of being ravaged by her captors. Perhaps, however, they would be so outraged at a woman having killed the caliph's brother, they would simply and quickly behead her. He prayed silently for such a merciful outcome.

The door to their chamber opened without warning, and the Norman-speaking infidel was there. "Come," he said. "The caliph is giving his weekly morning audience."

They arose and followed after him through the cool marble corridors of the palace. Two ebony-faced guards stood on either side of a pair of tall, wide bronze doors. They wore cloth-of-gold balloon pants, gold medallions shaped like hunting leopards hung from gold chains around their necks and onto their chests, and silver tipped spears carved from pure onyx were clasped in their hands. Without a word they swung open the doors, and the trio walked through into the caliph's audience chamber.

The room was square. The pillars that rimmed it were of green and white marble decorated at the bottom and top with carved gold bands. The floors were white marble covered in thick blue carpets. Tall censers shaped like lilies burned aloes, and polished wood torches burned fragrant oil. At the far end of the room Rhonwyn saw a low carpeted dais upon which a man sat cross-legged. She could tell he was tall and slender with a long face and nose. He wore a short, well-barbered black beard about his mouth and chin. His beringed hands, which he seemed to use to punctuate his speech, were elegant and slim. He was dressed in a simple white robe, and upon his head was a small turban.

The room was filled with men. The caliph was obviously hearing grievances and mediating disputes of one kind or another. The captives remained at the rear of the audience chamber for some time and then finally were beckoned forward. The Norman-speaking infidel brought them to stand before the caliph's throne.

"Kneel, dogs," he hissed at them, shoving at Fulk.

"We kneel only to God and our king," Rhonwyn said defiantly.

The Norman-speaking infidel merely glanced to the side, and at once there were guards forcing them to their knees before the caliph.

Their captor began speaking, but almost at once the caliph help up his hand. "Speak in their Frankish tongue so they may understand what it is you say, Farouk, and defend themselves, if indeed they can."

"Yes, my lord" came the reply.

"Which one of them killed Prince Abdallah?" the caliph demanded.

"That one," Farouk said, pointing to Rhonwyn, who knelt, her head bowed, as she strove to conceal her identity.

The caliph arose quickly and descended the dais. He stood before the kneeling knights. Suddenly his nostrils twitched quite visibly. He looked hard at the two kneeling figures. He sniffed softly once, twice. Then with a swift motion he reached out and pulled Rhonwyn's mail coif from her head. Yanking her to her feet, he stared in surprise a moment before he burst out laughing, even as her long gilt hair tumbled from the top of her head and spilled down her back. "A woman!" He roared with laughter. "A woman has killed that arrogant braggart who was my half brother? This is the fiercest knight in all of Christendom, Farouk? You make a jest, do you not?" His admiring gaze took in her fair beauty.

"My lord! Surely this is sorcery! It was a mounted and fierce knight who killed your brother and whom we took captive. I swear it to you, my lord caliph! I swear it!" Farouk's face was filled with fear.

"Take your hands off me, infidel!" Rhonwyn snapped, pulling away from the caliph. "Your cowering dog does not lie. I killed your brother. He was a careless swordsman and deserved to die for being so reckless in the heat of battle."

"Ah," the caliph breathed slowly, "you are right, woman. Abdallah was a feckless warrior. So much so that he could be killed by a mere female. Are you as ferocious in your lord's arms as you are on the battlefield? We shall see, you and I." He prowled about her, reaching out to take a handful of her hair in his fist, raising it to his nostrils. "This is what I smelled. Your hair is perfumed, woman. The fragrance suits you. I have never smelled anything like it before." Releasing his hold on her hair, he caught her face with his thumb and his forefinger, holding it in an iron grip. "You have skin the unsullied white of the moon, and your hair is like pure golden gilt. You are beautiful, but then you must know it. The emeralds you have for eyes are fiery with your anger, I can see. I shall call you Noor, which means light. I am Rashid al Ahmet, the caliph of Cinnebar, and you shall be the jewel of my harem, Noor." He turned from her and spoke to a tall, distinguished black man. "Take her to the women's quarters, Baba Haroun. See she is properly bathed and well rested. Then bring her to me at moonrise. Find someone within the harem to act as her translator until she can learn our language."

"Wait, my lord," Rhonwyn said. "What is to happen to my companion?"

"Is he your lover?" the caliph asked her.

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly. "He is one of my husband's knights. His name is Sir Fulk Anthony."

"Since he is not your lover I will be merciful and not kill him. I shall ransom him, or if I cannot, then I shall sell him into slavery," the caliph responded. He was disappointed she was not a virgin, but then he hadn't really expected someone as beautiful as Noor would be. Still, these Frankish women were usually backward in the arts of love. He would enjoy teaching her, and there would be no difficulty with virginal fears, only her Christian virtue, which he would eventually overcome.

The tall black man, Baba Haroun, came to fetch her. "Fulk, go with God," she cried out to him.

"And you also, my lady Rhonwyn!" he called as he was taken away in the opposite direction by two guards.

Rhonwyn shook the man's hand off her arm and glared at him indignantly. "I will follow you," she said. "You do not have to drag me like some shivering creature."

Baba Haroun stared at her angrily, but then the caliph spoke to him, and he chortled, nodding.

"He does not speak your Frankish tongue, Noor. I have told him you are to be respected and treated gently," Rashid al Ahmet explained. "He is not used to women disobeying him." The caliph smiled, then turned away to conduct the next business on his daily calendar.

She was dismissed, and so having no other choice, she turned and followed the tall man from the audience chamber. He led her across an open courtyard into another section of the palace. The guards at the entry stiffened to attention as they passed. Down a dimly lit and scented corridor she followed until finally they came through a gilded archway into a large room with a bubbling fountain. The room was filled with chattering women of all hues. Seeing Baba Haroun, they grew quickly silent. He smiled a superior smile at Rhonwyn as if to say, you see, I am a person of some importance.