London Folk Tales by Helen East Page B

or Richard. Barely knowing which direction they were supposed to be fighting in, they were caught trapped against the city walls. Luckily for them, they surrendered to an eminent amir, a prince who observed the code of Islam and the rules of war, never to harm a man who has yielded to you. Besides, from the way Gilbert spoke and behaved, it was clear that he was well born, and would be worthy of a good ransom. And he was so concerned about his friend, it was assumed that he must be more than a mere servant.
    So both were taken prisoners, and word was sent to London that they would be released once the ransom was paid. And meanwhile they were treated according to their station with all due courtesy and respect. They were housed in spacious and comfortable rooms, and although, of course, they were not free to leave, they soon found the amir’s palace a pleasant place to be.
    Confident that the ransom would soon be paid, Gilbert settled down to make the most of his stay. Looking round, with the eyes of a trader, he saw so much he could learn from. The carpets were remarkable, for a start. Such intricate patterns, all woven in fine silk. He wondered if there was anyone he could talk to about them. Some of the servants spoke some French, but not enough. Gilbert had an interest in languages, and a willingness to work at them, and so he began to try to master Arabic.
    The amir was amused by this, and after a while impressed. He began to call for Gilbert to come and talk to him, and the more he did, the more he liked him. Soon the young man felt almost like a guest. He began to eat at the amir’s table, and spend evenings listening to music with him, being introduced to new instruments and ways of playing. It reminded him of staying with his father’s friend in Venice.
    And at the request of the amir, he told him in exchange about life in London. Sometimes he grew homesick as he talked, describing the Thames in all its moods, or an occasional nightingale singing in the evening. But neither man knew someone else was listening.
    The women’s quarters had a room adjoining the music hall. It was separated by a fine lattice-work wall, intricately patterned so the holes were almost invisible.
    Equally well hidden, the amir’s wives and daughters on the other side of the wall were free to come and go as they pleased, listening to the concerts so often played below. And here the youngest of his daughters had lately taken to stealing in on her own. At first she went simply to hear the music her father chose for his new guest. But lately she’d taken to lingering on, listening to the young man himself.
    The amir was a wise and learned man, and prided himself on giving all his children – daughters, as well as sons – as wide an education as possible. But of all of them, it was his youngest daughter who had proved to be a scholar after his own heart. She had the desire to learn, and the mind to hold all that she was taught, and was as fluent as her father in several languages, including that of the Franks. She was thankful for this now, for that was the language the amir and his young friend most commonly used, although frequently making little forays into Arabic for Gilbert’s sake. The amir’s daughter loved to hear him struggling with her native tongue, making a myriad of amusing mistakes which her ever-patient father corrected one by one.
    But most of all, she loved it when Gilbert told stories of his home. She could almost see the pale lacy green of an English spring, hear the rippling notes of the bird in the garden, and feel the icy wind through his City gates. And then one evening her father persuaded him to sing in his rough English language. It was like nothing she had ever heard before, and she fell in love with it, and with the singer too.
    One morning, Gilbert was walking in the amir’s garden. Past the sparkling fountains and through tall columns of flowers so fragrant that it almost made