"So there I was, armed only with a towel and the local phrase, 'Why is there no more lamb?'
To my credit, he did hesitate, but only for a moment. Around me, the women of the harim, some of the most beautiful in this foreign land, had stopped to gawp at the absurdity before them, some doubtlessly relishing the bloody demise of the infidel who'd violated their opulent, if temporary preserve.
I should say a few things about this pavilion. It was larger than your church here. It consisted of a vast main round tent of heavy felted wool, good for the deserts in the cold. It was surrounded by a series of various-sized smaller tents that served as quarters for the emirs wives, servants, all those necessary to the running of things. And also, one presumes, the eunuch guards.
Not an inch of it was bare. Gilded tapestries hung down covering the walls, thick-woven carpets kept delicate feet from the hard ground, and silk ribbons hung from ceiling to just overhead, creating a diaphanous cloud of many colors dancing in the firelight.
And the braziers. And the oil lamps. All carefully tended and maintained by serving maids, vigilant to keep this cloth palace from harm. Gilded and jeweled buckets filled with sand were near each flame, a knight's ransom to carry dirt.
The eunuch drew his sword and charged me. In that moment, I was quite sure I was a dead man and, with no other useful idea, I pulled off the towel, intent on meeting my end in the same state I'd begun, and flung it at his face.
For the women of the harim, and especially the maids, this was it seemed, a bridge too far and screams of outrage filled the air. Eyes were averted, and the towel distracted the eunuch long enough for me to grasp a nearby fire bucket and throw the contents in his face while ducking under his incoming charge.
Blinded, his mortal strike missed, and saw my opportunity. Running toward one of the braziers, I leaped up, grabbed a handful of silk ribbons and tore them down into the flames. They went up like, well, silk and suddenly I was the least of their worries. I grabbed a turban off of a stool and in the shadows cast by the burning pavilion, unwrapped it, making a make shift skirt to cover my modesty. In the ensuing confusion, I acted the part of a dutiful infidel slave until I got to the water's edge and swam back in the darkness, avoiding our own archers on patrol and made my way back into camp.
The turban had an opal the size of a duck's egg as a pin. I used it to pay my company's wages and fodder for two months. The emir decided to drop his siege and broke camp but a few days later. Some blame the cholera, but I think he just wanted to go home to his pleasure garden."
He smiled and took a breath. That was a thirsty tale. I've got a skin of the Baron's Bloodhaven Red in my pack that I lifted from the masquerade. Would you join me in a drink?"
