Warrior Valentin

Mehregan's return was unexpected. Like a fury, she burst into the palace, expressing dissatisfaction with every little thing. And then she sat down in the corner of the hall and silently cried. Her servants and slaves were exhausted, Arian was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is Arian? Did anything happen to him by chance?" Irene put a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down, not understanding what had happened.

"Happened! He's been mobilized! You won't believe it he was also fined!" Outraged Mehregan waved her hands. "The vizier's second-in-command in the province ordered him to assemble a cavalry troop!"

"What!? No way!" Irene exclaimed in surprise. "What's happened? Everything is so peaceful around, well, relatively speaking, of course."

"Not everyone has yet sworn allegiance to Ismail, especially here in the south. The clouds are gathering, from the west your lord, the Ottoman Sultan, is planning something. Instead of fighting the enemy of humanity..." Mehregan began to explain the current political situation.

"Do you mean Lucifer?" Irene asked innocently.

"I mean Christians! Only fools fight Lucifer!" a grimace distorted Mehregan's mouth. "And instead of fighting the godless Christians, the Ottomans are plotting evil against their brothers in faith. Venetian and Genoese bankers are rubbing their hands in anticipation of future profits."

The conversation turned to local affairs.

"Well, how are you doing? Did the servants and slaves behave well?" Mehregan asked.

"Everything is fine with us, it's quiet, but hungry Portuguese are hanging around," Irene answered.

Irene spoke about her meeting with the Portuguese captain Enrique.

"Crap! Only these slackers were missing here! Instead of working and paying duties like everyone else, everyone is looking for ways to evade fair trade!" Mehregan exploded with righteous indignation.

"Well, for some reason, King Manuel's plan for the southern route to India is very interesting," Irene objected.

"So, why are they walking around hungry?"

"So, there is no money!" Irene mimicked her friend.

"Since financial instruments were invented... it's funny to listen to such excuses! That Portuguese captain, Enrique? Can he be trusted?" Mehregan inquired. "He could write a bill of exchange for example to Santander Totta. I have a lot of stale stuff lying around, I would push it to him."

***

Finally, dinner was served, and Mehregan and Irene dined alone. Then, remembering something, Mehregan clapped her hands and whispered in the ear of the slave leaning toward her. The slave nodded and left the hall.

Soon another one entered the hall, it was just a giant, very beautiful Afro-slave. Behind him the musicians squeezed through the doors. They were: ghaychak, davul, daf, ney.

"Come on, give us a blast!" Mehregan exclaimed and stamped her foot.

The music started, the Afro-slave dancer began to dance, and how! Irene tried not to look at him and diligently gnawed on a leg of lamb.

"Why aren't you watching Abram's dance?" Mehregan asked her friend.

"I don't like man's dance, I think only women are able to convey with their bodies all the beauty of dance," Irene objected.

"They say that once you dressed as a concubine and danced before the Sultan," Mehregan suddenly asked and smiled at her.

"Someone's sexual fantasies, why should I do this?" Irene answered without looking her in the eyes. "Anyway, I don't even like to dance, sword and mind is my role."

The musicians continued to play leisurely, calm music, and Mehregan with Irene retreated to the big, wide balcony overlooking the Gulf, where a quiet, cool, starry evening reigned, where they were smoking hash, dancing, kissing and weeping.