They stepped in and out of the light and the flames leapt and fell as if the fire itself were dancing with them. The hands of the two men seated beyond them also entered the light and left it as they played, the one tapping with fluttering fingers at both ends of a pot waisted like an hourglass, the other playing on a kind of dulcimer, with a round body and a long neck, such as the trader had described to me; he had exaggerated the length of the bow, but not greatly – it was longer by far than any I had seen. The music they made was wild and plaintive, with trailing notes and halftones and dying falls that then flared up again, like the fire, a strange mood of music, neither lightness nor despondency but somewhere in between.
It seemed to me that the music quickened, and the dancing with it, from the moment I appeared at the front of the crowd with my companions flanking me on either side. It was as if some signal had passed among them, though the nature of this I did not perceive. In fact, it was only some time afterwards that I understood the reason for the change, and this may seem strange, that I did not realise at once how apparent it must have been to them that I was a stranger and more prosperous than those I stood among, did not realise how my tallness and my clothes marked me out: I was dressed for travelling and so not richly, and I wore no jewellery or fine brocade, but my pelisse was of black velvet and my hat was one such as the Franks wear, of velvet too, and flat, worn low over the brow. Usually I am very conscious of the figure I make, too much so perhaps, yes certainly too much so, it is vanity. But I had forgotten myself in the excitement of the music and the dancing.
From what I know of her now I feel sure it was the younger woman who noticed me first, who gave the signal for this conspiracy to secure my pleasure and with it some contribution from my purse.
It was she, in any event, who marked the change, broke the circle, stepped towards me, raising bare brown arms that gleamed as if oiled in the now softer, steadier light of the fire. She had something fitted on the thumb and the long finger of both hands – small caps, I could not see them but thought they were of wood by the rattle they made when she snapped them together. She stood with feet planted, looking full at me, turning her shoulders slightly from side to side, raising her arms high, and there was something defiant in this that stirred me.
Still facing me with arms raised, she began to dance, setting her feet within a short compass, very rapidly but carefully too, as if there might be something jagged and dangerous there that would wound her if she made a false step, a prudence belied by the languorous sway of hips and abdomen inside the covering scarves.
The other two had fallen back and she spoke to them over her shoulder and laughed, and they replied, also laughing, and this was the first time I had ever seen such a thing, dancers laughing and talking among themselves in the midst of the dance, as if they cared little for those watching. Then, a moment after the laughter, her face grew sombre and intent, a fine-boned face, very dark, something sorrowful in its repose, the lines of the mouth looked suffering almost, as if her drink had been bitter. She was beautiful in body, high-breasted and straight-shouldered, with long, slender thighs that showed against the stuff of her skirt as she stepped in the dance. Her hair was tied with a red ribbon, but now, with a quick, impatient movement, she tore the ribbon loose and shook her head and the black hair fell down below her shoulders and swung as she turned away from me.
The other women came forward, joined the dance, and at the same moment the drummer, without ceasing his finger-tapping, raised his voice in a high nasal chant, lugubrious in its rising and falling, like the song of the wind in some desolate place. The three women danced to this chanting, but they set their feet as they chose, each in her own way, they were possessed by the music but not obedient to it. This will be deemed a contradiction by the reader, but it was so. And it was this, or so I now believe, this way they had of dancing within the music but quite alone, different from anything I had seen, that gave me first the idea of hiring these people if I could and having them shipped back to Palermo along with the herons.
There was more to come, however. The music of drum and dulcimer ceased.
The singing lost all melody and variety of pitch, it drew into a wild droning sound, loud, like the lamentation of some vast swarm of bees at the ruin of their hive. The women moved to a slower rhythm, the heavy tresses swinging round their heads. Then their step quickened, they began to revolve, the coloured scarves round their waists unfurled and fell away like streamers, revealing nude abdomens decorated with thin strands of bead chains. In the dimple of the belly, set in the umbilicus itself, each wore a pebble of clear glass that caught the firelight and the moonlight and flashed now paler, now ruddier, as they moved.
The droning ceased, and in the silence that followed the bodies of the dancers shuddered once and were still again. Then, while the rest of the body remained motionless, the bellies of the women began to roll and gyrate with amazing smoothness. There was no sense of effort or strain; they moved as if at the bidding of a power not their own. I felt some awe at this, and the words of the women at the inn came back to me. They have demons in the belly.
Indeed it seemed so. More than ever I was determined now to have them dance at Court, where people had seen many things, but not, I thought, dancing like this. I had heard the exclamations of the men around me, felt the pulse of excitement in the crowd; they were rutting with the women in imagination, they were thinking: if they can do this with their bellies what wonderful things might they do with the part lower down. I too, in spite of my higher station, in spite of being there as the King's purveyor, in the interest of truth I will admit to the same thoughts that prevailed in the common folk around me.
The movements of the dancers came to an end. The fire had died down and contended with the moon no more. The women went with canvas bags among the people there. I noted that, while there were those who turned away, most gave something. The younger woman came first to me. She smiled at me and her teeth were white and she had them all. She held the bag out to me boldly, as if she were offering, not asking. I put a quarter-ducat into the bag, the only silver they would get that night, from such a crowd. As she turned away, I spoke to her in Arabic, a compliment on her dancing, hoping she would understand, but she did not. She was smiling no longer and she moved away.
With my guards still keeping close I walked over to where the two men were squatting together, their instruments laid aside. I did not know how to talk to them, fearing there was no language we shared. They were sombre in regard and wild-looking, with black, shaggy hair that grew thick over the forehead. Their features were similar, especially in the setting of the eyes, and I wondered if they were brothers. I greeted them in Greek and asked them where they came from, taking care to speak slowly, and was delighted when they replied in the same tongue, though in a slurred and broken version of it. I was to learn later that they had brought their music to Lydia and Cilicia and spent time along the shores there, where the people speak Greek.
They returned the greeting but they had not understood my question. He who played the drum and sang, and who I took to be the leader, or the spokesman at least, made a swift gesture with his right hand as if throwing something behind him, over his shoulder. "We crossed the water," he said. "We came to Taranto."
The women approached now, having collected what money they could. They stood close but they did not speak. I could smell the long roads these people had travelled, a compound of sweat and resinous dust and wood-smoke, with something scented in it from the women, like crushed leaves.