The Scribe
(The Two Daggers, Book 1)
By Elizabeth R. Andersen
(The Two Daggers, Book 1)
By Elizabeth R. Andersen
All Henri of Maron wanted was to stay with his family on his country estate, surrounded by lemon groves and safety. But in 13th century Palestine, when noble-born boys are raised to fight for the Holy Land, young Henri will be sent to live and train among men who hate him for what he is: a French nobleman of an Arab mother. Robbed of his humanity and steeped in cru-elty, his encounters with a slave soldier, a former pickpocket, and a kindly scribe will force Henri to confront his own beliefs and behaviors. Will Henri maintain the status quo in or-der to fit into a society that doesn’t want him, or will fate intervene first?
The first book in The Two Daggers series, The Scribe takes readers on a sweeping adventure through the years and months that lead up to the infamous Siege of Acre in 1291 CE and delves into the psyches of three young people caught up in the wave of history.
The Land of God
(The Two Daggers, Book 2)
By Elizabeth R. Andersen
Pain. His sister’s screams. And a beautiful face in the jeering crowd. When Henri of Maron woke, he had only a few memories of his brutal flogging, but he knew the world had changed. He had changed.
Now, as he grapples with the fallout from his disastrous decisions, war with the Mamluk army looms closer. To convince the city leaders to take the threat seriously, Henri and the grand mas-ter of the Templars must rely on unlikely allies and bold risks to avoid a siege.
Meanwhile, Sidika is trying to find a way to put her life back together. When she is forced to flee her home, her chance encounters with a handsome amir and a strangely familiar old woman will have consequences for her future.
The Land of God weaves the real historical figures with rich, complex characters and an edge-of-seat plot. Readers who enjoyed the Brethren series by Robyn Young and The Physician by Noah Gordon will appreciate this immersive tale set in the Middle East in the Middle Ages.
Trigger warnings:
Torture, violence, sexual assault, sexual content.
Excerpt
Excerpt from The Land of God (The Two Daggers, Book 2)
[…] She stopped skipping and ran back to Dejen, who carried a splendidly marked polecat in a sack. The polecat had been shot so quickly with Dejen’s bow that it did not have time to evacuate its scent glands, but that did not stop the creature from emitting a powerful stench.
“Ugh, Brother, why did you shoot that fessyah. It will make the entire house stink!” she grabbed her nose and pretended to gag dramatically.
Dejen looked at her sideways. He was sixteen now, still small-boned and serious-eyed, but wiry and strong. Underneath his blue keffiyeh he preferred to keep his thick, curled hair cropped close, and always he wore around his neck the silver and garnet pendant that his mother gave him.
“This little beast’s fur will make a fine pair of mitts for you this winter, Sister. Do you remember how cold your hands were when the snows came last January?”
Sidika moved to walk upwind of him. “It has such darling little ears. What a shame that it stinks. I would try to tame one to live at our house.”
“Not likely that Mother and Father would let you. Polecats attack chickens.”
Sidika was quiet for a moment, thinking. Dejen was always very practical, which was desirable in an older brother, for he gave good advice. Whenever something troubled her mind, she and Dejen would go hunting or to fetch water from the well so that they could work out life’s problems.
“Dejen, do you remember your mother and father? The ones who bore you?”
“No. I was taken from them when I was a very small baby.”
“Would you not like to try and find them someday?”
“How could I, when I do not even know how I came to live in Cairo before I ran away, nor where my people came from?”
“Surely, there must be a way. Perhaps Father could try to find out the next time he is in Cairo. Perhaps you are a Nubian prince!” The thought was so thrilling that she hopped up and down next to him, and Dejen smiled at her.
“I used to imagine I was. Do you wish to find the woman who bore you, little bird?”
“I think I came from very far away,” Sidika said slowly. “And I do not think that Horse Aunty was my real aunt, but I do not know why I was with her or why she gave me away. Bekir said she sold me in exchange for a loaf of bread and a few cabbages.”
“If that is the case, he got a good bargain because then he sold you to Father for fifteen bezants.”
“That swine,” Sidika said under her breath.
Someday she would return to Damascus and slay Bekir and free all the children of the Little Hands… if she could gather up the courage to go to the city again. Sidika’s fancies were noble, but they remained in her head under a curtain of fear.
The stony road curved through a canyon and shunted them onto a gentle slope covered in yellowing grass. Below them, their little village was sheltered in the lee of a steep, rocky mountain that protected it from the strong winds that came off the sea, which was a barely visible blue smudge to the west. The wind soughed through the gray-green needles of the coniferous trees, ruffling the children’s clothes and the leaves of the low, thorny brush. Sidika breathed deep and smelled hot stone, the homey scent of dried grass, and the pungent resin of a nearby carob tree.
Dejen was quiet for a moment. “If you want to find your parents, Father and Mother will help you. But you might find them less appealing than the parents that we have now.”
“No!” Sidika said quickly. “I do not wish to leave. We shall stay together always.”
She slipped her hand into Dejen’s, and they walked slowly down the hill toward their home.
Sara shrieked as soon as Dejen brought the polecat in the house and chased him, laughing and holding her nose, into the garden. “You and your father must douse that fessyah in vinegar before I will look at it again! Go on, get out!”
Sidika took up a bundle of dried comfrey and chamomile and a handful of rose hips and ground them under a stone that her mother had cleansed in boiling water. When they had been reduced to a fine powder, she measured them carefully into a clay jar and corked it. Then she took up rue, mugwort, and camphor leaves, grinding them fine and adding them into a copper basin with some new oil.
“Mother!” She shouted, “the midwife’s infusion is ready to be cooked!”
Sara dipped a finger in Sidika’s potion, tasted it, and then ladled a spoon into it, looking closely at the mixture of herbs and oil. “Very good! Now, how will you cook it?”
“Over a low flame for as long as it takes the standing stone’s shadow to move between two marks, but not boiling it else it causes the decoction to burn. Then I shall cover it with a cloth and let it cool completely,” Sidika recited, indicating the sundial in the garden.
“And for what will we use this oil?” Sara asked, smiling. On this day at home she had her head uncovered, and the sun caught the strands of silver in her black hair, making them glow.
“For rubbing on the legs and belly to ease the pains after of labor. Also, it may be used to ease the monthly pains of sin.”
“Sin?” Sara’s forehead wrinkled. “I have never described it thus, my dear. Do you mean the monthly bleed?”
“Yes. Madame Karima says so.”
“Ah… I see.”
“Do you not agree that a woman is unclean at this time, paying for her sins?”
“My dear, men sin just as much as women, and they do not bleed. I believe that it is a means by which a woman’s body purges old blood and nothing else. If men also bled, they would call it a blessing from God.”
Scandalized, Sidika picked up her bowl of herbs and oil and walked out to the little stone oven behind the house. Placing her potion on a small pile of coals and marking the sundial with a pebble, she followed Sara to the garden.
“Does not Hashem also say it is the case that a woman is unclean at this time? I have seen you retreat from the family when you bleed to find your solitude, even to the mikvah in Mimas on occasions.”
“Cannot a mother have solitude from time to time?” Sara replied, snapping a cucumber from the vine and placing it in a reed basket. “Can I not go to the mikvah to make myself ceremonially clean, even if I do not think that a woman’s bleed is evil?
Sidika was quiet for a moment.“Mother… are we very different?”
Sara looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the women in the village say that you are unchaste, and that Father knows unnatural things. And why do we not live with others of our kind, like most Jews?””
Sara sighed. It did not matter where their family fled, the rumors always followed. “Why do they say that I am unchaste, my daughter? Is it because I will visit the sick that they view to be cursed, or because I am not afraid to tell a man when he is being improper toward his wife? Do they say your father knows unnatural things because they cannot read as he does? The villagers have much wisdom that they learned from their elders and from the land, but also much superstition. We must balance both so that we do not succumb to fear.”
“Cannot we teach them to read?”
“Your father tried, but they do not wish to learn, and why would they? Reading does not help them to sow their gardens or tend to their livestock.”
“It is folly to stay ignorant.” Sidika tossed her hair, pleased with herself.
“Aye, and it is folly to point out the faults in others when you have not walked in their path. I suggest you keep your remarks to yourself, Daughter.”
Sara was satisfied when Sidika pulled her scarf further over her head in shame.
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Will I also bleed?”
“Yes, daughter, and you will also have the ability to bear children and nourish them. You will give life.”
“I do not want to bear a child,” Sidika remembered how Bekir’s eyes lit up when a girl in the Little Hands came of age, and how those girls would usually get with child and then he would throw them out when the child was old enough to walk on its own.
Sara did not know what thoughts ran through her daughter’s mind, but she saw the look on the girl’s face. She pulled Sidika close.
“Do not fear it. Your father and I will not give you away until you are ready and you have found the right man.”
She kissed Sidika on the tip of her nose and looked into the girl’s green-brown eyes. Where did you come from? She thought again for the thousandth time. My little jewel, why would someone let you go?
Read the series in order:
The Scribe (The Two Daggers, Book 1)
The Land of God (The Two Daggers, Book 2)
Elizabeth R. Andersen
Elizabeth lives in the Seattle area with her long-suffering husband and young son. On the weekends she usually hikes in the stunning Cascade mountains to hide from people and dream up new plotlines and characters. Elizabeth is a member of the Historical Novel Society and the Alliance of Independent Authors.
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