Free Angeline by Karleen Bradford Page A

said.
    Chastened, Angeline fell to her knees beside him. At first she wished only to be done with it and allowed to talk to Stephen but, as theyprayed, she felt a quietness steal over her. After all this time of strange customs and ways, it was a solace to hear the familiar words. She found herself praying more earnestly and sincerely than ever before in her life. She prayed for herself, for all the others who had died on the crusade, for those whose fate was unknown to her—and for Stephen. But, to her dismay, she saw that Stephen did not pray.
    Did he still believe that God had deserted him? Betrayed him? Had he been able to find no comfort at all in these last few weeks?
    There was time for talk after the prayers. Father Martin moved to a small table in the middle of the room and began to prepare his lesson for the next day.
    “I must make ready for Habib, the little prince,” he said. “He has just left us for his daily lessons in the Qur’an.”
    “What is that?” Angeline asked.
    “That is the holy book of the Muslims,” he replied. “Every boy is required to memorize it.”
    “The entire book?” Angeline asked.
    “The entire book,” he confirmed.
    “It must be very short then,” she said, thinking of the thickness of the Holy Bible that the Christian priests read from.
    “It is not,” Father Martin answered. “I have seen it. It is as full a book as our True Book. Awonderful endeavour it is, that every boy should learn it all by memory. Or would be, if it were not heresy,” he added quickly. “Would that our Christian children were required to do the same with the Word of God.”
    Angeline looked at him more closely. He was wearing the same cassock that he had worn all during their journey. Clean now, but mended to the point where there seemed to be more stitching than original cloth. Father Martin saw her look.
    “They have allowed me to keep my own robes,” he said. “They do respect our religion. I would not have believed it, but it is so.”
    “What do you teach Habib?” Angeline asked. She was intrigued in spite of her impatience to talk to Stephen.
    “How to read and write in Latin,” Father Martin replied. “And French. Stephen assists me, and in so doing,” he added with a full smile this time, “he is learning also.”
    Angeline was incredulous. Stephen had been a shepherd boy. He had never been able to read. He hadn’t even been able to read the letter that the mysterious stranger had given him. It had been Father Martin, the young priest from his village, who had read it for him.
    “Can you read now?” she asked Stephen. “Can you write?”
    “A little,” Stephen admitted. “Only a little,” he hastened to add.
    Angeline was struck with a thought. If Stephen could learn to read and write, why not she?
    “Could you teach me as well, Father?” she asked. “If they allow me to come here often, could you teach me?”
    “I suppose …” Father Martin began. “But what use would you have of it? You are but a maid …”
    Angeline bristled, but held back the angry retort that threatened to spill out. Instead, she said, “Zahra, the concubine who …” The words stuck in her throat. She forced herself to go on. “The concubine who owns me,” she said, “can read and write. She copies the books the Emir brings home from the palace library. Wonderful books they are! Bound in the finest leather and with illuminations of real gold! Her copies are as fine as the originals. And she has taught me a few words in Arabic that I write as well …” She stopped, aware that Father Martin’s face had frozen.
    “A concubine?” he demanded. “Learned?”
    “She is,” Angeline replied. To her surprise, she found herself defending Zahra hotly. “She is a
very
learned woman.”
    “Why could we not do this?” Stephen broke in. “What harm is there in it?”
    Angeline threw him a grateful glance.
    Father Martin’s face thawed. “It is good to have you here, my child,” he