Summary

Portrait of Harold Lamb Harold Lamb Rusudan — VI. The Wit of Messer Antonio (1927)

And Rusudan
He would be well content to abide in Tphilis for a few days. It would not be so pleasant riding back alone, as with that wayward gipsy Rusudan, even in a storm.
“Arg my falcon is quick to see—”
“Come!” Trevisani stooped under the lintel of a clay hut with horn windows, deep in the shadow of the hill. And the merchant shivered as if the breath of the river ice had touched him.
A score of hillmen and Circassians sat on the cushions by the stove against the wall, and no one made way for the twain from the castle.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Harold Lamb Harold Lamb Rusudan — VI. The Wit of Messer Antonio (1927)

Antonio della Trevisani reflected that Rusudan was no longer a child; she did unexpected and unlooked-for things.
For hours she would sit brooding on the walls or in the forest chapel where her brother lay. The Genoese was a keen observer and he felt sure that Rusudan, who had formerly paid John the Constable the careless reverence of a young animal, now watched him and the strategos with puzzled eyes. She no longer romped with the hunting dogs.
“Eh,” he said to himself, “our maid is growing up. She has wild blood in her, and it angers her now that others should give orders to her people.”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Harold Lamb Harold Lamb Rusudan — VI. The Wit of Messer Antonio (1927)

To Rusudan the sight was as familiar and as beloved as the icy wind blasts that flushed her cheeks and tore at the mass of her dark hair under the 'kerchief. Before the door of the Frank's chamber she hesitated a moment, and mocked ceremony by knocking upon it vigorously.
The door opened, revealing the crusader, his sheathed sword in his left hand.
“Ai,” cried Rusudan, “do you always bear a weapon?” And then she made shift to speak in the lingua franca that she had picked up from the Greeks. “Sir Hugh, I greet you well. It is time for you to go upon the snow road.”
Source: Wikisource

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