Lionheart's Scribe by Karleen Bradford

getting her own way. And she is kind, I know. The little mermaiden I rescued from the sea will be in good hands.
    Who is she? I wonder what she was doing on that ship.
    The eighth day of June
    I dreamed of snakes and drowning all last night. One of the sailors told me that the Muslim ship had been carrying two hundred of the slithery creatures. The ship was going to reinforce the garrison of Acre that our crusaders were besieging, he said, and they had planned to set the snakes loose in the crusader camp. I am still shuddering.
    This morning, after attending upon the king, I received a summons from Queen Joanna. The queen was reclining on a couch piled high with pillows. Behind her a maidservant hovered, her mouth all squinched up as if she had just tasted something bitter. Off to one side stood Father Aimar, the queen’s own confessor. He is said to be a most holy man, but is so tall and stern he frightens me somewhat. Beside the queen, on another pile of pillows, crouched the girl I had plucked from the water. At least I presumed it was she. She was dressed in a light shift, lent no doubt by the maidservant (but none too willingly, judging by the look on the servant’s face). The girl’s hair was dry now and flowed around her shoulders in a sea of black waves. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old and it was clear that she was terrified.
    â€œThis child will not speak,” the queen said. “I have tried to communicate with her, but to no avail. I wish to assure her that she is safe here, that there is no need for her to be so fearful, but she cannotunderstand me. You said that you could speak many languages, Matthew. Could you try to talk to her?”
    â€œYes, Your Grace,” I replied. “I think she speaks Arabic and I have a good knowledge of that tongue.” I furrowed my brow slightly, as Vulgrin used to do when he was trying to impress a rich merchant with the efficiency of his services. I hoped I looked stern and sounded competent. I’m not certain how successful I was, however, as that small smile tweaked at one corner of the queen’s mouth again. Nevertheless I drew myself up as tall as I could and turned to the girl.
    â€œWho are you?” I demanded. “What is your name?”
    It was not, perhaps, the best approach. The girl’s eyes filled with tears and she hid her face in her hands. The queen gave a small cough. I decided a quick change of tactics was in order.
    â€œMy name is Matthew,” I said more softly. “I am the one who saved you from the sea, remember? Could you not tell me your name?”
    She dropped her hands and looked at me. “Where is my father?” she whispered.
    â€œWho is your father?” I countered.
    â€œHe is the captain of the ship you attacked.”
    â€œHe attacked us first,” I replied without thinking. Another mistake.
    â€œThat is a lie!” she cried.
    I hastened to make amends. “Please tell me your name,” I repeated. The queen was watching closely.
    â€œYusra. I am called Yusra.” The words came out in the barest of whispers.
    Yusra. Her name means “ease after hardship.” I turned to the queen.
    â€œHer name is Yusra,” I said. “She says her father is captain of the ship we sank.”
    â€œWas captain,” Queen Joanna replied. “I know he was among those who were killed.” She looked toward Yusra, her eyes full of compassion. “Poor child. Tell her she will be taken care of, Matthew.”
    â€œYou are in no danger here,” I said, trying to make my voice gentle and calming, the way I would have spoken to my little goat if she had been upset. Indeed, this girl looked more fragile and frightened than any small beast I had ever seen. A thought struck me then. “Do you know who this lady is?”
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œShe is a great queen. She was queen of Sicily and is sister to the king of England