Sorry for the late (again). School and work decided to want me both present yesterday, despite classes were supposedly canceled. Sigh.
———————————————- Part 16E ———————————————-
(Nicolo)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
“Thank you,” Nicolo said, taking care of his pronunciation of his Greek. The metal smith’s dialect was one Nicolo has never encountered, a fast hurried flurry of syllables he decipher more by the smith’s hand gestures than words. He inwardly grimaced when he caught himself looking up, only to remember Yusuf was haggling with the spice trader about their fish on the other side of the village.
Nicolo was worried Yusuf was going to charge through the small area of stands looking for Nicolo soon. He had hesitated when Nicolo said he was going to ask about work, but then Yusuf nodded curtly, visibly resisting the urge to follow.
Nicolo smiled faintly as the metal smith showed him a crude sketch. Yusuf could draw a better one. Nicolo’s shaky penmanship of the symbols he once spied were not much better than the smith’s. Regardless, it was close to what Nicolo wanted so he nodded, trying to use his hands to empathize the shapes.
Satisfied he got the message across, Nicolo dutifully counted out the coins they agreed upon and arranged when Nicolo would return to help rebuild the back section of the smith’s roof. The barter would cover the rest of the cost. Nicolo’s mind spun as he realized that and the other agreement needed to be planned carefully.
Nicolo then met the baker Kahima at the mill to help with more sacks of flour. He carried two sacks on his shoulder and a bag of the processed chaff clenched in his fist for their horse. He felt pleased he was not as tired as before.
As the baker chatted by his ear about the rising costs of milling and the rumors of attacks at nearby towns, Nicolo found himself searching the village for Yusuf.
They still have not talked about it.
That day, Nicolo had returned from the village to find three of their hens lingering at the door, chirping and feebly flapping their wings. When he gently waved them away, he discovered why the birds were drawn to the door.
It has been two weeks. While Yusuf has not shed another tear, he was also reluctant to convey anything less than joy in front of Nicolo. He still delighted himself with Nicolo’s body as Nicolo with his in return. He still held Nicolo to him at nights. He still entertained Nicolo with fantastical ideas like feathers in a mattress for their bed.
But Nicolo sometimes caught Yusuf frowning at the stack of paper Nicolo gathered up and bundled. Nicolo left them on the table, but all Yusuf ever did was move them aside to make room for their meals.
To Nicolo’s surprise, Yusuf was already waiting by the baker’s home, shaking his head at the baker’s son Izem as the young man drew something in the dirt with a wooden stick.
“...no,” Yusuf said tersely. When he spotted Nicolo, his voice lightened. He lifted a hand in greeting, his smile wider as Nicolo approached.
“Do you see that curve there? It needs to be turned the other way or the word will not make sense.”
Nicolo bit back a smile as Izem tried, failed and Yusuf grimaced.
“He learns faster than me,” Nicolo commented as he passed by the pair. He flushed when the baker’s son stared too long at Nicolo, eyes tracking Nicolo as he followed the baker into the house. Yusuf cleared his throat, Izem stammered apologies and Nicolo fought not to look like he was fleeing into the house.
Nicolo helped Kahima grind the spices for meal, turning the pestle into the mortar like she once showed him. He listened as the baker chatted—she has not stopped talking since he met her outside the gristmill. Apparently, he has missed much in the weeks they were not here.
The ragged edge of a curtain lifted each time a breeze went by and Nicolo caught a glimpse of Yusuf standing over Izem, trying patiently to explain each Arabic letter. Yusuf glanced up, catching Nicolo looking and grinned back.
Nicolo ducked his head, but he sensed Yusuf was still grinning and he could not help but smile to himself.
Seeds rattled as Nicolo rotated the pestle, nodding to what Kahima said they were.
A familiar scent rose as the mortar turned the spices a nutty brown and yellow. Bitter, yet sweet, oily and...
Nicolo's throat worked. He clenched his jaw as he continued to press cardamom and turmeric into the well, into a paste and no, he was not ill, he will not vomit...
A large hand closed over Nicolo's around the pestle. An elbow gently prodded him aside.
"We could hear you destroying your back teeth from outside," Yusuf murmured in Arabic as he slipped around Nicolo to take over. Yusuf sat down on the spare stool by Nicolo.
"I need a repast from teaching Izem. If he misspells one more word, I fear I might do something impolite."
"I can do it," Nicolo said, more sharper than Yusuf deserved. Yusuf looked up, brown eyes narrowing then easing.
"Of course you can," Yusuf said easily. "But why should you when I am desperate for an excuse to be elsewhere?"
A hand touched Nicolo's lower back. It was a brief gesture, one Nicolo almost missed. But he felt it and spotted the strain in Yusuf's smile.
Nicolo's shoulders slumped. He nodded, muttering he'll help Izem instead. When Yusuf made a face, Nicolo scowled.
"Do not undo my work," Yusuf warned as Nicolo explained to the curious baker they were switching places.
Nicolo considered Yusuf settling closer by the pillar, the stone white pestle firmly in his grip. He stooped by Yusuf's ear.
"Would you prefer," Nicolo murmured low enough only for Yusuf to hear, "That I have you undone instead?"
The pestle clunk into the mortar bowl.
Nicolo gestured and apologized as Kahima squawked in Greek at Yusuf's clumsiness. He left Yusuf to stammer more apologies as he stepped outside.
Nicolo almost forgot about their first encounter when he walked up to observe what Izem was writing in the dirt. As he went to the area he last seen the youth, Nicolo remembered and his face went hot.
From Izem's reaction when Nicolo came to the house, the youth still has an eye on Nicolo. He wondered why he should say, if anything at all.
When Nicolo went to the front, though, his steps slowed.
Izem was nowhere in sight.
Nicolo frowned. He studied the dirt where the son was scribbling the Arabic alphabet. Yusuf was correct: Izem misspelled all the words.
There was a few smudges in the dirt, dusty from drying under the afternoon sun. But there were a few visible footsteps and only one was Yusuf's boot marks with the cut under his heels so they could identify each other's tracks. They had agreed they needed to mark their prints in case they were separated again. Yusuf's was two parallel lines in a slant. Nicolo's was three slanted in the opposite direction.
There were two other sets besides the slightly smaller set which he assumed was the baker's son. Izem was younger than Nicolo was before his first death. Ship life and little food kept him small and narrow footed.
Nicolo did not know the other two marks.
Glancing over his shoulder, Nicolo spied Yusuf talking with the baker, apparently forgiven for his previous ineptitude. Yusuf did not peer through the curtain at Nicolo.
Nicolo considered Yusuf. He glanced back at the footsteps in the dirt. He absentmindedly patted the dagger belted against his hip.
It would have to do.
A village this size, there were not many places two men could take a young man without being noticed. Even though Izem was slight, he was almost as tall as Nicolo and with thick forearms from his years of sailing.
Nicolo spied a few villagers make haste walking away in one direction, their eyes averted.
So Nicolo went in the opposite direction, towards where everyone avoided.
The grunts and a young voice pleading reached Nicolo's ears. He found himself in the back of the gristmill and its creaking windmill tower that moved the milling wheels.
The building acted as the border of the village and was the tallest structure. The gristmill dominated all trade. No one could process grain anywhere else. And no one can do so without a cost. The miller declared himself head of the village. No one dared to disagree. Most times, the miller was a fair leader.
Nicolo spotted a man as tall as Yusef, hair in thick black knots that went down to his broad, thick shoulders. Izem called him Hedi. Izem sounded scared.
"...things you do for lonely merchants at sea," Hedi chuckled as his friend pushed Izem to his knees. "Do well and your debt to me will be gone."
Nicolo was not sure if it was the resigned look on Izem's face, the leer on the men's or the sound Izem's knees made as they dropped to the ground. But he pulled out the dagger, the sound of metal slipping out ringing out in the air and charged.
When Nicolo felt a hand on his right wrist, the haze lifted. He found himself exhausted, trembling and gaping at the two dead men on the ground and Izem's terrified eyes.
"It is done." Yusuf was firm and quiet by Nicolo's ear. "Hobi, it is done. They are dead."
"Oh," Nicolo stared numbly at the dagger in his grip. It dripped with blood. His hand was covered in blood. He tasted blood.
"Izem," Yusuf told the boy, "Do you know these men?"
"He called one of them Hedi," Nicolo muttered before Izem could babble a lie.
"I d-do not know them. Only Hedi. He was the captain of my last ship. They were attacking ships and towns! I did not want to be part of it anymore! He...he said I owed him money because I would not stay! I escaped his ship in Tunisia and fled to home--"
"Izem," Yusuf snapped, whatever patience he bore before was now gone. "No one knows for certain who was here. Go around the back of the mill to your mother before you are discovered and of murder."
"He did not kill them," Nicolo said numbly. "I did."
"You tried," Yusuf corrected. "I finished them." He lifted the scimitar that was in his other hand. He wiped the blood on Hedi's torn tunic. Izem was heard gagging as he scrambled for home.
Nicolo stared at the other man who had unfortunately allied himself with Hedi.
"He is not of this village as well."
Yusuf looked at Nicolo sharply. "Are you sure?"
Nicolo nodded his heavy head. "I have never seen him in all the times we were here. Look, his dress is different as well."
Yusuf lifted the stranger's hand with the tip of his scimitar to study the sword he held.
"I have not seen a sword like this before either." Yusuf scowled. He glanced around their surroundings. "We need to bury him. Both of them before they are discovered."
Nicolo nodded. It took him two tries to slip the dagger into its sheath. By the time he was done, Yusuf has already digging.
--------------------------- More tomorrow as Yusuf has his say and yet, Nicolo's promise to "undo" Yusuf will happen! Hee.
Note: the names Kahima and Izem in this part are N. African where they are in vicinity of, however, Greek at this time period was still the common tongue as the world change rules, empires and all the nasty stuff wars incur.
Sadly, I should have have these names chapters before. I wrote them down in my class notes.
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timeasmymeasure
NEW LOCATION of FILL: Needs of the Other 16E/18
Date: 2020-11-04 10:23 pm (UTC)———————————————-
Part 16E
———————————————-
(Nicolo)
Somewhere outside of Alexandria, 12th century
“Thank you,” Nicolo said, taking care of his pronunciation of his Greek. The metal smith’s dialect was one Nicolo has never encountered, a fast hurried flurry of syllables he decipher more by the smith’s hand gestures than words. He inwardly grimaced when he caught himself looking up, only to remember Yusuf was haggling with the spice trader about their fish on the other side of the village.
Nicolo was worried Yusuf was going to charge through the small area of stands looking for Nicolo soon. He had hesitated when Nicolo said he was going to ask about work, but then Yusuf nodded curtly, visibly resisting the urge to follow.
Nicolo smiled faintly as the metal smith showed him a crude sketch. Yusuf could draw a better one. Nicolo’s shaky penmanship of the symbols he once spied were not much better than the smith’s. Regardless, it was close to what Nicolo wanted so he nodded, trying to use his hands to empathize the shapes.
Satisfied he got the message across, Nicolo dutifully counted out the coins they agreed upon and arranged when Nicolo would return to help rebuild the back section of the smith’s roof. The barter would cover the rest of the cost. Nicolo’s mind spun as he realized that and the other agreement needed to be planned carefully.
Nicolo then met the baker Kahima at the mill to help with more sacks of flour. He carried two sacks on his shoulder and a bag of the processed chaff clenched in his fist for their horse. He felt pleased he was not as tired as before.
As the baker chatted by his ear about the rising costs of milling and the rumors of attacks at nearby towns, Nicolo found himself searching the village for Yusuf.
They still have not talked about it.
That day, Nicolo had returned from the village to find three of their hens lingering at the door, chirping and feebly flapping their wings. When he gently waved them away, he discovered why the birds were drawn to the door.
It has been two weeks. While Yusuf has not shed another tear, he was also reluctant to convey anything less than joy in front of Nicolo. He still delighted himself with Nicolo’s body as Nicolo with his in return. He still held Nicolo to him at nights. He still entertained Nicolo with fantastical ideas like feathers in a mattress for their bed.
But Nicolo sometimes caught Yusuf frowning at the stack of paper Nicolo gathered up and bundled. Nicolo left them on the table, but all Yusuf ever did was move them aside to make room for their meals.
To Nicolo’s surprise, Yusuf was already waiting by the baker’s home, shaking his head at the baker’s son Izem as the young man drew something in the dirt with a wooden stick.
“...no,” Yusuf said tersely. When he spotted Nicolo, his voice lightened. He lifted a hand in greeting, his smile wider as Nicolo approached.
“Do you see that curve there? It needs to be turned the other way or the word will not make sense.”
Nicolo bit back a smile as Izem tried, failed and Yusuf grimaced.
“He learns faster than me,” Nicolo commented as he passed by the pair. He flushed when the baker’s son stared too long at Nicolo, eyes tracking Nicolo as he followed the baker into the house. Yusuf cleared his throat, Izem stammered apologies and Nicolo fought not to look like he was fleeing into the house.
Nicolo helped Kahima grind the spices for meal, turning the pestle into the mortar like she once showed him. He listened as the baker chatted—she has not stopped talking since he met her outside the gristmill. Apparently, he has missed much in the weeks they were not here.
The ragged edge of a curtain lifted each time a breeze went by and Nicolo caught a glimpse of Yusuf standing over Izem, trying patiently to explain each Arabic letter. Yusuf glanced up, catching Nicolo looking and grinned back.
Nicolo ducked his head, but he sensed Yusuf was still grinning and he could not help but smile to himself.
Seeds rattled as Nicolo rotated the pestle, nodding to what Kahima said they were.
A familiar scent rose as the mortar turned the spices a nutty brown and yellow. Bitter, yet sweet, oily and...
Nicolo's throat worked. He clenched his jaw as he continued to press cardamom and turmeric into the well, into a paste and no, he was not ill, he will not vomit...
A large hand closed over Nicolo's around the pestle. An elbow gently prodded him aside.
"We could hear you destroying your back teeth from outside," Yusuf murmured in Arabic as he slipped around Nicolo to take over. Yusuf sat down on the spare stool by Nicolo.
"I need a repast from teaching Izem. If he misspells one more word, I fear I might do something impolite."
"I can do it," Nicolo said, more sharper than Yusuf deserved. Yusuf looked up, brown eyes narrowing then easing.
"Of course you can," Yusuf said easily. "But why should you when I am desperate for an excuse to be elsewhere?"
A hand touched Nicolo's lower back. It was a brief gesture, one Nicolo almost missed. But he felt it and spotted the strain in Yusuf's smile.
Nicolo's shoulders slumped. He nodded, muttering he'll help Izem instead. When Yusuf made a face, Nicolo scowled.
"Do not undo my work," Yusuf warned as Nicolo explained to the curious baker they were switching places.
Nicolo considered Yusuf settling closer by the pillar, the stone white pestle firmly in his grip. He stooped by Yusuf's ear.
"Would you prefer," Nicolo murmured low enough only for Yusuf to hear, "That I have you undone instead?"
The pestle clunk into the mortar bowl.
Nicolo gestured and apologized as Kahima squawked in Greek at Yusuf's clumsiness. He left Yusuf to stammer more apologies as he stepped outside.
Nicolo almost forgot about their first encounter when he walked up to observe what Izem was writing in the dirt. As he went to the area he last seen the youth, Nicolo remembered and his face went hot.
From Izem's reaction when Nicolo came to the house, the youth still has an eye on Nicolo. He wondered why he should say, if anything at all.
When Nicolo went to the front, though, his steps slowed.
Izem was nowhere in sight.
Nicolo frowned. He studied the dirt where the son was scribbling the Arabic alphabet. Yusuf was correct: Izem misspelled all the words.
There was a few smudges in the dirt, dusty from drying under the afternoon sun. But there were a few visible footsteps and only one was Yusuf's boot marks with the cut under his heels so they could identify each other's tracks. They had agreed they needed to mark their prints in case they were separated again. Yusuf's was two parallel lines in a slant. Nicolo's was three slanted in the opposite direction.
There were two other sets besides the slightly smaller set which he assumed was the baker's son. Izem was younger than Nicolo was before his first death. Ship life and little food kept him small and narrow footed.
Nicolo did not know the other two marks.
Glancing over his shoulder, Nicolo spied Yusuf talking with the baker, apparently forgiven for his previous ineptitude. Yusuf did not peer through the curtain at Nicolo.
Nicolo considered Yusuf. He glanced back at the footsteps in the dirt. He absentmindedly patted the dagger belted against his hip.
It would have to do.
A village this size, there were not many places two men could take a young man without being noticed. Even though Izem was slight, he was almost as tall as Nicolo and with thick forearms from his years of sailing.
Nicolo spied a few villagers make haste walking away in one direction, their eyes averted.
So Nicolo went in the opposite direction, towards where everyone avoided.
The grunts and a young voice pleading reached Nicolo's ears. He found himself in the back of the gristmill and its creaking windmill tower that moved the milling wheels.
The building acted as the border of the village and was the tallest structure. The gristmill dominated all trade. No one could process grain anywhere else. And no one can do so without a cost. The miller declared himself head of the village. No one dared to disagree. Most times, the miller was a fair leader.
Nicolo spotted a man as tall as Yusef, hair in thick black knots that went down to his broad, thick shoulders. Izem called him Hedi. Izem sounded scared.
"...things you do for lonely merchants at sea," Hedi chuckled as his friend pushed Izem to his knees. "Do well and your debt to me will be gone."
Nicolo was not sure if it was the resigned look on Izem's face, the leer on the men's or the sound Izem's knees made as they dropped to the ground. But he pulled out the dagger, the sound of metal slipping out ringing out in the air and charged.
Someone shouted. Someone plead mercy. Someone cried.
When Nicolo felt a hand on his right wrist, the haze lifted. He found himself exhausted, trembling and gaping at the two dead men on the ground and Izem's terrified eyes.
"It is done." Yusuf was firm and quiet by Nicolo's ear. "Hobi, it is done. They are dead."
"Oh," Nicolo stared numbly at the dagger in his grip. It dripped with blood. His hand was covered in blood. He tasted blood.
"Izem," Yusuf told the boy, "Do you know these men?"
"He called one of them Hedi," Nicolo muttered before Izem could babble a lie.
"I d-do not know them. Only Hedi. He was the captain of my last ship. They were attacking ships and towns! I did not want to be part of it anymore! He...he said I owed him money because I would not stay! I escaped his ship in Tunisia and fled to home--"
"Izem," Yusuf snapped, whatever patience he bore before was now gone. "No one knows for certain who was here. Go around the back of the mill to your mother before you are discovered and of murder."
"He did not kill them," Nicolo said numbly. "I did."
"You tried," Yusuf corrected. "I finished them." He lifted the scimitar that was in his other hand. He wiped the blood on Hedi's torn tunic. Izem was heard gagging as he scrambled for home.
Nicolo stared at the other man who had unfortunately allied himself with Hedi.
"He is not of this village as well."
Yusuf looked at Nicolo sharply. "Are you sure?"
Nicolo nodded his heavy head. "I have never seen him in all the times we were here. Look, his dress is different as well."
Yusuf lifted the stranger's hand with the tip of his scimitar to study the sword he held.
"I have not seen a sword like this before either." Yusuf scowled. He glanced around their surroundings. "We need to bury him. Both of them before they are discovered."
Nicolo nodded. It took him two tries to slip the dagger into its sheath. By the time he was done, Yusuf has already digging.
---------------------------
More tomorrow as Yusuf has his say and yet, Nicolo's promise to "undo" Yusuf will happen! Hee.
Note: the names Kahima and Izem in this part are N. African where they are in vicinity of, however, Greek at this time period was still the common tongue as the world change rules, empires and all the nasty stuff wars incur.
Sadly, I should have have these names chapters before. I wrote them down in my class notes.
...and promptly forgot until now.
Your writer is a dummy. Doh.