ater washed John's seed out of herself quickly.
Over the year and more that she had been with John, she had never let
him see her using the thing. Men such as John, she knew, took pride in
their power to get a woman with child.

She was fourteen now, and her breasts were filling out. Many women had
babies at fourteen. She would have to be more careful than ever. She
stretched her mouth in a grimace at the thought of a baby that looked
like John.

As usual, she had endured, not enjoyed, the Tartar's mating. Another
change she had noticed in herself, though, was that she had begun to
understand how women could feel pleasure with a man. Several times since
last spring a yellow-haired man had appeared naked before her in her
dreams, and had lain with her. When she woke she could not remember the
man's face, but she still felt the exquisite sensations his body gave
her, and she sometimes had to caress herself until a surge of pleasure
relieved the yearning stirred up by her dream.

Other times, when John came to her late at night and she was very
sleepy, she closed her eyes and was able to imagine that the
yellow-haired man was with her, and then she actually enjoyed John's
attentions, which pleased him very much.

She tied the robe's sash and went to the window. The breeze from the
west was strong and salt-smelling, and she was thankful that she was
here, in a villa by the sea, and not in Rome. August, they said, killed
one out of every three people in Rome. She sat on the wide sill and
looked out. She did not lean out too far; she was four stories up,
overlooking jagged boulders piled along the shore.

Afternoon sunlight sparkled on the Tyrrhenean Sea, and a flash of sun on
the helmet of a guard patrolling the beach caught her eye. One of
Sordello's Venetians, she thought, judging by his bowl-shaped helmet and
the crossbow he carried. The men-at-arms of the Orsini family, who had
lent this villa to the French party, wore helmets shaped to the head,
with crests on top.

She heard the bed creaking behind her, and the Tartar groaned.

"Pour me another cup of wine, Reicho," he called.

"You have had three cups already, Usun," she said, but obediently went
to the table and poured red wine from a flagon into his silver cup.

He had taught her his original Tartar name, Usun, and he liked to hear
her say it. With the help of Friar Mathieu and Ana the Bulgarian, she
had learned to understand and speak his language fairly