Great Maria by Cecelia Holland

Author:Cecelia Holland [Holland, Cecelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780340191309
Publisher: Lulu.com
Published: 1973-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-seven

There may be beggars and thieves living here,” Robert said. Maria jumped down from the top of the wall and landed next to him in the deep drift of leaves. “So we have to stay together. Ismael!”

Ismael appeared on the top of the wall. He bounded to the ground a few feet away. Maria followed the two boys across the paved ward. Grass and weeds sprouted up through the cracks in the stones. The dark building before her was an empty hulk, its roof gone, sunshine streaming out through its top windows, and the main door hanging on one hinge. Maria stopped to look around.

“This is the citadel you stormed.”

Ismael caught her arm. “I come here—me many many brothers—” His free hand swooped through the air. “The Emir like a—like a”—he raised his hands—“great wind! We crash in, we”—his arms described their charge; in his search for words he panted—“bury everything. Floods and oceans. We—”

Robert dragged her on toward the citadel. “Mother, come on, we can’t stay very long or we’ll get into trouble with the watch. Don’t listen to him, he was in the rearguard with me.”

They went through the broken door into a hall. Their footsteps resounded hollow from the walls. Leaves had blown through the door and collected in long trails across the tiled floor. Maria blinked in the gloomy light. The hall smelled of dust.

Ismael ran across the hall before them. “We rush on. Many many brothers after the Emir.”

“Rahman?” Maria asked uncertainly.

“Papa,” Robert said.

She went to a side door. Beyond it was a little room whose walls were covered with pictures. There was no furniture. Even the walls were cracked, as if someone had tried to loot them too, but she could still make out scenes of hunting, gardens, and fountains, all peopled with little Saracens no taller than her thumb.

“What is this?”

Robert came up beside her. “What? Come upstairs—wait until you see up there.”

Maria drew one finger across the figured wall, striping the dust. She stood back to see the painting higher on the wall. Ismael said coldly, “Bad work here. Pah.”

She looked around, intrigued, and the boys pulled her toward the stairs. Ismael hurried on ahead of her. Maria said, “Why is it bad work? The pictures are beautiful.”

They climbed a long staircase. The bare metal struts of the railing hung from the wall. Most of the stone steps were broken and two were gone entirely. Ismael said, “Bad Mana’an work.” When they reached the head of the stairs, he turned earnestly to her. His hands threshed the air.

“These people Mana’an folk. I is Majlas al-Kerak. I is brother, Emir is brother, Robert brother.” He took hold of her hand. “Maria brother as well. We no—” He veiled the lower half of her face with his hand. “No wine, no sell brother to slave.” He nodded profoundly. “All such Mana’an by course.”

Maria stared at him. His beautiful eyes searched her face anxiously. Abruptly he smiled. “Maria brother?”

“Yes,” she said. “If you wish. Not if I must give up drinking wine.

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