The Mystic Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

wearily, “will you promise to keep quiet until we get there?”
    â€œWhere? Where are we going?”
    â€œI am not telling you a thing until you promise.”
    Along the verges, meat vendors hunched over filthy black charcoal braziers which filled the air with blue smoke and the aroma of burning olive oil and roasting spices. Day laborers and wives late from the markets jostled them as they passed, hurrying home with their suppers wrapped in oiled cloth, and large, flat round loaves of bread tucked under their arms. Gangs of young men dressed in short blue tunics caroused, laughing loudly to call attention to themselves. Several caught sight of the two unescorted women and made obscene gestures withtheir hands which Cait saw; Thea, however, remained blissfully unaware.
    Cait moved with solemn purpose, immune to the charms and curiosities around her. To Alethea, who had not ventured into the city before, everything appeared fantastic and enchanting; she had to force herself to remember that just this day they had buried their father, and that she should, as a loving daughter, assume a mournful and somber step like her sister. But it was difficult when every few paces some strange new marvel presented itself to her easily dazzled eyes.
    They passed through a street dominated by the tall, well-made houses of the wealthy, each of which boasted elaborate, carved wooden balconies—veritable outdoor rooms which overhung the street—on which the families of spice, timber, and gold merchants, ship owners, and moneychangers gathered to eat their evening meal and watch the pageant below.
    Meanwhile, the inhabitants of more humble dwellings fled the close confines of dark, stuffy rooms and gathered in the streets and deserted marketplaces to exchange the news of the day. Men stood in huddled conclaves around jugs of raw country wine and nibbled green olives, spitting the pits into the air. Old women squatted in doorways, their wrinkled faces shrewd and silent, watching all around them with small, dark eyes. Dirty-faced children, clutching bits of food snatched from the table, stood stiff-legged and stared, while hungry dogs tried to cadge morsels from their hands.
    Every now and then they passed a walled garden and caught a fragrance on the air—jasmine, lemon blossom, hyacinth, or sandalwood—or heard the music of pipes and lute, played to the accompaniment of the tambour, sticks, and hand drum. Although they recognized the instruments, the melodies seemed quaint and plaintive and strange to the ear, unlike anything they had heard before.
    After a time, they arrived at a crossroads which formed a common square. Here, the commerce of the day was far from concluded. Women whose companionship could be obtained for the price of a meal strolled idly along, jangling the silver bracelets on their arms as an unobtrusive means of promoting their wares. Across the square, a potter had set up his wheel beside a low wall on which he presented examples of his work, and nearby stood a man with bits of painted wood dangling from strings in his hand; by pulling the strings, the carved pieces seemed to dance—much to the delight of the spectators gathered around him.
    There were also chairs for hire lined up alongside a wall beneath the overhanging boughs of a huge sycamore tree. The bearers were huddled around a small fire in the street, resting after their day’s work, talking and laughing as they passed a jar around.
    Alethea took one glance at the row of chairs and instantly felt the strain of having walked so far. She stopped in midstep. “Could we?” she said, tugging on Cait’s sleeve. “I am just exhausted.”
    Cait moved on, inclined to ignore her sister’s entreaty.
    â€œOh, Cait, please? We have been walking all day. My feet are sore.”
    Caitríona hesitated. She turned back and looked at the chairs. Her vacillation was all that one of the more enterprising chair owners