There would have been something extremely personally satisfying about going after Nicolò’s brother and his men armed with nothing more than the long knife he had taken with him when they had left the main party, but Yusuf wasn’t quite mad enough to fancy his own odds against three fully armoured men with longswords. Royalty did not improve your chances of surviving a sword through the gut, or a broken neck – as Duke Keane had so recently and finally learned. So instead he arrived back a short while later on horseback, having dusted off the dirt from climbing the cliff, re-adjusted his turban, and belted his sword back on, all the better to look his part. He was accompanied by most of the guardsmen, half-a-dozen of the courtiers who he trusted to look disdainful and not say anything stupid (his cousins, mostly) and, because he absolutely did not believe she would go meekly otherwise, his sister. Everybody else was on their way back to the town.
“Good afternoon,” Yusuf said, in Ligurian. Nicolò was still on his knees, and his brother was still yelling, so that had gone as expected, although he had gone blessedly and gratifyingly silent when the hunting party had thundered up. “I will have my husband back now, thank you.”
“He’s not asking,” Nicolò said, a smile beginning to play at the corner of his mouth.
“I should have brought a crossbow,” said Noor, taking in the situation.
“Noor!” Yusuf said, quellingly. She was unquelled.
“They don’t speak Arabic,” Nicolò said, in the same language.
“Stop that!” said his brother, in Ligurian. “Tell them to speak in something understandable.”
“We all understand each other perfectly well,” Yusuf said, matching him. “And he’s right; I wasn’t asking.”
Marco di Genova, or so Yusuf presumed he must be called, had a strong look of Nicolò about him, but with darker hair and a much less interesting nose and what appeared to be a permanently annoyed expression. Or perhaps that was just the effect of being sent to rescue his brother and finding him uninterested in being rescued. His lips pressed together as if holding in another insult, but he gestured grudgingly to his men, and they stood back. He could see he was badly outnumbered. Nicolò got to his feet and joined Yusuf’s party.
Yusuf dismounted and cut the rope from his hands. He wanted to hold Nicolò and check that he was uninjured beyond the one or two scrapes Yusuf could see, and the marks from the rope; this wasn’t the time or the place. He settled for squeezing Nicolò’s hands as he pulled the rope away. A guard brought forward Nicolò’s horse, and they both remounted themselves. Some conversations were much better had from saddleback, if you could.
“Are you all right?” Noor asked Nicolò, not quite quietly; he shook his head. “Fine, fine. They did not come here to harm me. As surprising as that may seem.”
“I thought they kept all the women here under lock and key,” muttered one of Marco’s guards in Ligurian, not quietly.
“My mother is the queen of Tunis,” Yusuf said in Ligurian. “And she is going to pass judgement on you, so I would keep your thoughts about the women of our lands to yourself if I were you.” It was fortunate that most of the other people here didn’t speak Nicolò’s language; that wasn’t universal, though, and some dark looks were being exchanged by those who had got the gist of the remarks.
“You can’t blame me for coming to rescue my brother,” protested Marco. Yusuf’s estimation of his intelligence was dropping rapidly.
“Rescue me from what?” Nicolò said, with some real exasperation. “You have yet to explain!”
“From foreign…” Marco trailed off. “Foreigners.” He narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, perched confidently above him, and said “Unless you enjoy lying back and getting fucked every night that much.”
The only reason that didn’t cause an immediate outcry was that he used several slang terms which even those who understood Ligurian, or enough of the trading tongue to follow the discussion, would not know; Yusuf only took his meaning because Nicolò had been teaching him some of those terms, as they tended to come up when Nicolò was distracted, in bedroom circumstances. Marco was also apparently not quite as stupid as he was acting, because he said the words, but in a light tone and with a calm face.
“I don’t have any complaints,” Nicolò said cooly, evidently choosing to ignore the fact that it was a highly incorrect characterization of their marriage to date. “Yusuf, is there any more need to speak with them before we return to the city?”
“I don’t believe so,” said Yusuf, and gave instructions for the Genovese to be tied up and walked behind the rest of the party.
“See,” Nicolò said to Noor, “this is why you should marry a Venetian. The highest-ranked men in Genova are all my brothers, and they’re all like this.”
“Incredibly bone-headed?”
“Among other things.”
“My brother’s incredibly bone-headed, and you like being married to him.”
“He has some redeeming qualities,” said Nicolò, with an amused sidewards glance to Yusuf.
“What about a Pisan?” suggested Yusuf, who had learned a little of the local politics in Nicolò’s homeland by now, and felt Nicolò deserved that suggestion.
“Absolutely not,” said Nicolò at once, with a look of disgust; Noor and Yusuf laughed.
*
Yusuf’s mother was receiving petitioners that day and did not care to put aside the concerns of her own citizens for her son-in-law’s family being troublesome – the wazir conveyed this, but the sentiment was purely his mother’s – so they were left to cool their heels in the dungeons, while Yusuf and Nicolò spoke to Yusuf’s father. Noor had been persuaded to leave with the promises that she could sit in on the judgement that evening, and also that she was allowed to tell Yasmin and Laila and Amina (her and Yusuf’s other sisters) all about what had happened.
“If we send them back to Genova, what will happen?” Yusuf’s father asked.
“I’m not sure,” Nicolò admitted. “I wasn’t expecting them to come in the first place. My father made it clear he was well-rid of me to the monastery. I doubt he wants me back for my own sake.”
“We can’t just keep killing Frankish princes,” grumbled Yusuf’s father. “Someone will start to take it amiss.”
“We’re not Franks,” said Nicolò. “And…please understand…I think my father meant it well. If anything Marco said is true.”
“Please explain,” said Yusuf, “how kidnapping you could be meant well.”
“We would have you kidnapped if you rode off to Paris or some barbarian city like that and sent back word that you’d got married and weren’t returning,” said Yusuf’s father, to Yusuf. “Of course this is not at all the same thing, but…”
“He came here to propose to me! It wasn’t an impossibility!”
“He didn’t think he was going to be kidnapping me,” said Nicolò, with a sigh. “He thought I had been…pressured or unable to refuse or not understood what was happening until it was too late – you must understand, most of the men who came with me understand your tongue poorly if at all, and they certainly couldn’t hear what we said to each other, Yusuf.”
“I could hear it and I wasn’t sure you understood what was happening,” said Yusuf’s father, “but there is no question you did by the time you signed the wedding contract, so never mind that. I thought you…did not care for your father.”
“He tries to do the right thing,” Nicolò said, very carefully. “It is…the thing he taught me I treasure most. But it turns out that he and I do not agree on what the right thing is. Anyway, when that became clear, he let me go to the monastery, which he – he did not have to do. He only sent me here because all my brothers and sisters were married or betrothed already. He did not want to offend you.”
“This has been fairly offensive,” said Yusuf’s father.
“Yes,” said Yusuf. “Which, if I understand Nicolò right, is why he thinks his father must have done it out of concern for him.”
Yusuf’s father sighed very deeply. “What do you want done with them, then? My wife may have her own opinions, you understand, but he is your brother, so...”
“Send them home,” said Nicolò. “Make them pay some recompense, that will be understood, and then hopefully we can let it become a misunderstanding, now resolved.”
“God willing,” said Yusuf and his father, at the same time.
SEQUEL FILL: Joe/Nicky, The Prince Is Getting Married, Royalty AU [3/4]
“Good afternoon,” Yusuf said, in Ligurian. Nicolò was still on his knees, and his brother was still yelling, so that had gone as expected, although he had gone blessedly and gratifyingly silent when the hunting party had thundered up. “I will have my husband back now, thank you.”
“He’s not asking,” Nicolò said, a smile beginning to play at the corner of his mouth.
“I should have brought a crossbow,” said Noor, taking in the situation.
“Noor!” Yusuf said, quellingly. She was unquelled.
“They don’t speak Arabic,” Nicolò said, in the same language.
“Stop that!” said his brother, in Ligurian. “Tell them to speak in something understandable.”
“We all understand each other perfectly well,” Yusuf said, matching him. “And he’s right; I wasn’t asking.”
Marco di Genova, or so Yusuf presumed he must be called, had a strong look of Nicolò about him, but with darker hair and a much less interesting nose and what appeared to be a permanently annoyed expression. Or perhaps that was just the effect of being sent to rescue his brother and finding him uninterested in being rescued. His lips pressed together as if holding in another insult, but he gestured grudgingly to his men, and they stood back. He could see he was badly outnumbered. Nicolò got to his feet and joined Yusuf’s party.
Yusuf dismounted and cut the rope from his hands. He wanted to hold Nicolò and check that he was uninjured beyond the one or two scrapes Yusuf could see, and the marks from the rope; this wasn’t the time or the place. He settled for squeezing Nicolò’s hands as he pulled the rope away. A guard brought forward Nicolò’s horse, and they both remounted themselves. Some conversations were much better had from saddleback, if you could.
“Are you all right?” Noor asked Nicolò, not quite quietly; he shook his head. “Fine, fine. They did not come here to harm me. As surprising as that may seem.”
“I thought they kept all the women here under lock and key,” muttered one of Marco’s guards in Ligurian, not quietly.
“My mother is the queen of Tunis,” Yusuf said in Ligurian. “And she is going to pass judgement on you, so I would keep your thoughts about the women of our lands to yourself if I were you.” It was fortunate that most of the other people here didn’t speak Nicolò’s language; that wasn’t universal, though, and some dark looks were being exchanged by those who had got the gist of the remarks.
“You can’t blame me for coming to rescue my brother,” protested Marco. Yusuf’s estimation of his intelligence was dropping rapidly.
“Rescue me from what?” Nicolò said, with some real exasperation. “You have yet to explain!”
“From foreign…” Marco trailed off. “Foreigners.” He narrowed his eyes at his younger brother, perched confidently above him, and said “Unless you enjoy lying back and getting fucked every night that much.”
The only reason that didn’t cause an immediate outcry was that he used several slang terms which even those who understood Ligurian, or enough of the trading tongue to follow the discussion, would not know; Yusuf only took his meaning because Nicolò had been teaching him some of those terms, as they tended to come up when Nicolò was distracted, in bedroom circumstances. Marco was also apparently not quite as stupid as he was acting, because he said the words, but in a light tone and with a calm face.
“I don’t have any complaints,” Nicolò said cooly, evidently choosing to ignore the fact that it was a highly incorrect characterization of their marriage to date. “Yusuf, is there any more need to speak with them before we return to the city?”
“I don’t believe so,” said Yusuf, and gave instructions for the Genovese to be tied up and walked behind the rest of the party.
“See,” Nicolò said to Noor, “this is why you should marry a Venetian. The highest-ranked men in Genova are all my brothers, and they’re all like this.”
“Incredibly bone-headed?”
“Among other things.”
“My brother’s incredibly bone-headed, and you like being married to him.”
“He has some redeeming qualities,” said Nicolò, with an amused sidewards glance to Yusuf.
“What about a Pisan?” suggested Yusuf, who had learned a little of the local politics in Nicolò’s homeland by now, and felt Nicolò deserved that suggestion.
“Absolutely not,” said Nicolò at once, with a look of disgust; Noor and Yusuf laughed.
*
Yusuf’s mother was receiving petitioners that day and did not care to put aside the concerns of her own citizens for her son-in-law’s family being troublesome – the wazir conveyed this, but the sentiment was purely his mother’s – so they were left to cool their heels in the dungeons, while Yusuf and Nicolò spoke to Yusuf’s father. Noor had been persuaded to leave with the promises that she could sit in on the judgement that evening, and also that she was allowed to tell Yasmin and Laila and Amina (her and Yusuf’s other sisters) all about what had happened.
“If we send them back to Genova, what will happen?” Yusuf’s father asked.
“I’m not sure,” Nicolò admitted. “I wasn’t expecting them to come in the first place. My father made it clear he was well-rid of me to the monastery. I doubt he wants me back for my own sake.”
“We can’t just keep killing Frankish princes,” grumbled Yusuf’s father. “Someone will start to take it amiss.”
“We’re not Franks,” said Nicolò. “And…please understand…I think my father meant it well. If anything Marco said is true.”
“Please explain,” said Yusuf, “how kidnapping you could be meant well.”
“We would have you kidnapped if you rode off to Paris or some barbarian city like that and sent back word that you’d got married and weren’t returning,” said Yusuf’s father, to Yusuf. “Of course this is not at all the same thing, but…”
“He came here to propose to me! It wasn’t an impossibility!”
“He didn’t think he was going to be kidnapping me,” said Nicolò, with a sigh. “He thought I had been…pressured or unable to refuse or not understood what was happening until it was too late – you must understand, most of the men who came with me understand your tongue poorly if at all, and they certainly couldn’t hear what we said to each other, Yusuf.”
“I could hear it and I wasn’t sure you understood what was happening,” said Yusuf’s father, “but there is no question you did by the time you signed the wedding contract, so never mind that. I thought you…did not care for your father.”
“He tries to do the right thing,” Nicolò said, very carefully. “It is…the thing he taught me I treasure most. But it turns out that he and I do not agree on what the right thing is. Anyway, when that became clear, he let me go to the monastery, which he – he did not have to do. He only sent me here because all my brothers and sisters were married or betrothed already. He did not want to offend you.”
“This has been fairly offensive,” said Yusuf’s father.
“Yes,” said Yusuf. “Which, if I understand Nicolò right, is why he thinks his father must have done it out of concern for him.”
Yusuf’s father sighed very deeply. “What do you want done with them, then? My wife may have her own opinions, you understand, but he is your brother, so...”
“Send them home,” said Nicolò. “Make them pay some recompense, that will be understood, and then hopefully we can let it become a misunderstanding, now resolved.”
“God willing,” said Yusuf and his father, at the same time.