by Hilary Green
'At least it must be worth waiting for,' Beppo said. 'You have given us new hope. Thank you.'
'It is a small return for what your companion has given me,' ibn Khalid replied. 'But now I must leave you.' He turned to Ranulph. 'Zayd is very anxious to meet you again. He keeps talking about the giant with the golden hair! And my wife, too, would like to thank you in person. Will you call on us?'
'Very gladly,' Ranulph said.
The following morning he presented himself at the address ibn Khalid had given him and was admitted into a central courtyard full of the sound of birdsong and running water. The song came from cages hanging from the branches of trees bright with blossoms he could not name, and beneath them were pots of vividly coloured flowers. Ibn Khalid rose from a seat by a small fountain and came forward to greet him.
'Come. My wife and Zayd are eager to meet you.'
A pointed archway led into a white walled room, whose only decoration was a band of blue tiles, inscribed in what he was beginning to recognise as Arabic letters. As soon as he entered Zayd came rushing towards him, then stopped and gazed up at him, a finger in his mouth.
'Greet our visitor,' Ibn Khalid said gently. 'But you must speak to him in Greek.'
The child stumbled out a greeting and Ranulph responded in the same language, adding, 'I hope you have recovered from your swim.
'He has forgotten how frightened he was and only remembers the giant with the golden hair who rescued him.' A woman had risen from a divan on the far side of the room. The lower part of her face was hidden by a veil but above it eloquent dark eyes met his own.
'My wife, Jamila,' Ibn Kalid said.
Ranulph bowed. 'I am honoured to make your acquaintance, lady.'
'We are eternally grateful to you for what you did yesterday,' she responded softly.
He was invited to sit and a servant brought sherbet, and he was questioned politely about his home country and how he came to be sailing with Beppo. As they talked, Zayd crept closer until he was leaning against Ranulph's knee, gazing up into his face with rapt attention.
'You all speak Greek,' he remarked at one point. 'Even Zayd!'
'It is necessary,' ibn Khalid said. 'It is the language of trade, after all – but of so much more as well.' He stood up. 'There is someone else who would like to meet you – my father. May I take you to him?'
Ranulph took his leave of mother and son and followed his host across the courtyard and up a winding stair to a room at a corner of the building where narrow, arched windows let in light and air while keeping out the midday heat. A man was seated at a large table spread with parchments. He rose as they entered and ibn Khalid said, 'Ranulph, this is my father, Khalid ibn Yusuf al Tayyib.'
Ranulph bowed again, conscious again of the brevity of his own name, its lack of any patronymic or place of origin. Ibn Yusuf came forward and greeted him in Greek. He was an imposing figure who carried himself very erect, although his long, grey beard and lined face told his age. Like the rest of the family, he expressed his gratitude for Ranulph's action in saving Zayd.
Ibn Khalid gestured to the clutter on the table. 'My father is a scholar, as you can no doubt guess. He spends a great deal of time studying these ancient texts.'
'Not without profit, as you well know,' the older man added with a smile. 'The study and the market place both offer rich gifts.'
Ranulph looked around the room. It was lined with shelves, all of them stacked with books, some bound, many as scrolls. It reminded him powerfully of the library where he and Alessandro had spent so many hours, and he felt a surge of nostalgia. On an impulse he said, 'I once studied with a gentleman who also had a great love of learning. I know how greatly I profited from that time.'
'Indeed?' Ibn Yusuf studied him with eyes that were still keen. 'It is unusual to hear such words from a young man whose life is given to trade.'
'Ranulph has experienced much in his relatively short life,' his son said. 'He has just been telling us that he has been a soldier as well as a sailor, and he grew up among monks in his own country. That is so, is it not, Ranulph.'
'It is,' Ranulph agreed, ' and though I did not enjoy that period in my life, it left me with a desire to learn, and a great pleasure in the works of wise men of the past.'
'Then, if you would care for it, I shall be happy to show you some of the books I have here,' ibn Yusuf said. 'It is a poor collection compared with the great libraries of Cairo, but not without interest.'
'I should like that very much!' Ranulph responded. 'If it would not impose too much on your time.'
'It will be my pleasure also,' was the grave reply.
Before he took his leave it was agreed that, unless Beppo required him, he would return the next day. As he followed ibn Khalid down the stairs he asked, 'Tell me something about your way of naming people. I understand that ibn means son of. But you gave your father an extra name. What does that signify?'
'Al Tayyib? It is a title that is bestowed on some men by those he has helped. It means “the good” or “the respected”. My father is a doctor as well as a scholar. He does not practise any longer but in the past he has healed many people and they gave him that title out of gratitude.'
'A doctor?' Ranulph said. 'That is a skill that I should like to learn more about.'
'Then you are coming to the man who can teach you. Tell him of your interest and he will be glad to instruct you.'
'I am afraid that I am trespassing on your goodwill, and his time,' Ranulph murmured.
'Not at all. My father loves to teach. He spent some years at the mosque of Al Azhar in Cairo, where men of learning from all sorts of backgrounds congregate and young men go to study. Since he retired here, I think he misses it. It will give him pleasure to pass on his knowledge to you.'
He was right. Next day, when Ranulph expressed his interest in the subject of medicine, the old man's eyes lit up. He went to a shelf and took down several scrolls.
'You know of the work of this man, of course? Aelius Galenus of Pergamon, physician to several Roman emperors.'
Ranulph shook his head. 'I fear not.'
Al Tayyib shook his head in surprise and spread a scroll on the table. 'This is his great work. It was translated into Arabic by Hunayn ibn Ishaq and deals with the treatment of fevers …' Then seeing Ranulph's puzzled expression, 'You do not read Arabic?'
'No, but I should like to learn.'
'Wait, I have the original Greek here somewhere ….'
For the rest of the morning Ranulph found himself plunged into a wealth of new knowledge that left him dizzy with excitement. Ever since that day outside the walls of Rome, when he had witnessed the amputation, and been reminded of the herbal remedies concocted by the Brother Infirmarian at the monastery where he had grown up, he had taken an interest in the work of physicians. After leaving the army he had seen less of the crude surgery of the battlefield, but sailors also sustained injuries or became ill. Sometimes the treatments offered seemed to work, but often it seemed to him they were based on little more than superstition. Now he was given the chance to study the work of men who proceeded by careful scientific enquiry and he found it exhilarating. He parted with his new teacher, with the promise that he would return the next day.
Days passed with no news of the promised caravan, and the delay did nothing to improve Beppo's temper. His frustration grew more intense when a Venetian ship entered the harbour.
'Damn them! Now when the spices turn up, if they ever do, we shall have to compete with them as well as the Genoese!'
For Ranulph, however, they were days of wonder. He spent every morning with Al Tayyib, studying ancient Greek manuscripts and beginning to learn Arabic. He was introduced not only to the work of Galen but to Hippocrates, the father of medicine, and ibn Sinna, whose name transliterated as Avicenna. But not all his time was spent on medicine. There was further discussion of Aristotle, and he heard for the first time of Plato and Euclid. Most fascinating of all was the discovery that the Arabs had a sys
tem of writing numbers which was far easier to work with than the cumbersome Latin form he had been taught when he was growing up.
One day Al Tayibb greeted him with, 'There is news in the bazaars which I think will interest you. They are saying that William of England is dead.'
'The usurper, dead?' Ranulph felt a rush of exultation, immediately dampened by cold realism. 'So who succeeds him?'
'Another William, I believe. His son, the one they call Rufus.' Al Tayibb sighed sympathetically. 'I fear you must accept that the Normans are now the established rulers of your country. If you ever intend to go home …'
'Home?' Ranulph shrugged slightly. 'I have no home.'
In the afternoons he wandered the streets and bazaars, marvelling at the variety of goods on sale and gazing in wonder at the remnants of civilizations older even than those he had seen in Rome. Sometimes he went alone, sometimes ibn Khalid accompanied him, explaining and advising. Although the Egyptian merchant was some ten years older than he was, a close friendship grew up between them.
One day, as he was about to leave the house, ibn Khalid detained him.
'My friend, I think I should warn you of something. I hear in the bazaar that someone is looking for you.'
'For me? Who?'
'I do not know. The man who told me had seen us together and he said that someone had been asking where the tall man with the golden hair was to be found. It must be you they are looking for.'
A half-forgotten fear surfaced in Ranulph's mind. The strategos's warning came back to him. You have made a dangerous enemy. She does not forget, or forgive, and her reach is long. Was it possible that even after all this time Viviana was still pursuing vengeance? He recalled that a Venetian ship had recently arrived.
'Did he give you any idea what sort of man it was?'
'A foreigner, light skinned like you. That was all he could tell me. Did you leave any enemies behind you, anyone who might wish to follow you here?'
Ranulph hesitated. 'I can only think of one person. The description makes it seem unlikely, but I suppose it is possible.'
'Then it is as well that I told my informant to say nothing. Take care, my friend. Perhaps there is no danger, but it is as well to be forewarned.'
The next day Ranulph returned from his wanderings to be met by a servant. 'Sayeed, I have a message for you. A man from the Genoese ship wishes you to meet him this evening, at the inn on the harbour with the sign of the Pharos.'
'Did he give his name?'
'Yes, sayeed. Joossens.'
'Joossens? Are you sure?'
'Quite sure, sayeed.'
Ranulph turned away, his thoughts in turmoil. Piet Joossens, here! Why? He had never shown any interest in trading in these areas, and there was no Flemish cog in the harbour. Was it possible that he had been searching for Ranulph all these years and had finally run him to earth? If that was it, there was only one possible explanation. He had abandoned everything to track down the man who had killed his son. In which case, it would be sheer folly to meet him. On second thoughts, however, it seemed to him that here, at last, was an opportunity to make his peace, to ease the burden, if only slightly, on his conscience. All that night he tossed the thoughts around in his head. The sensible thing, surely, was to keep away. There was no knowing what Piet's intentions might be. But if he failed to turn up, Piet knew where to find him and would take his absence as a confession of guilt. Would it not be better to face him and beg for his forgiveness? By dawn he had come to a conclusion. He would go to the meeting and if Piet was determined to exact some form of retribution, so be it.
When he reached the inn and told the inn keeper the name of the person he was supposed to meet, the man jerked his head towards a staircase on the outside of the building.
'Up there.'
Ranulph climbed slowly. He still had no idea what he was going to say. There was a single door at the top of the stairs and he paused outside it, gathering his courage. Then he pushed it open and stepped inside.
There was no furniture in the room, except for two chairs and a table, on which lay two swords. A man sat behind the table; but it was not Piet. For a moment Ranulph did not recognise him; when he did the shock left him speechless.
'Well, who were you expecting?' said Dirk Joossens.
Ranulph swallowed, trying to bring some moisture to a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. 'I thought you were dead.' His voice was a croak. 'I thought I had killed you.'
'Did you, indeed? So that was why you felt safe to creep into the house and help yourself to whatever took your fancy.'
'I went up to our room, the one we shared …' Ranulph was struggling to assemble his thoughts. 'The house was in darkness and you weren't in bed. I thought everyone was out looking for you.'
'For me? Why would they do that? We were looking for you.'
'What did you say? Help myself? What do you mean?'
'Oh, don't try to play the innocent! You found the house empty and took everything of value you could lay your hands on.'
'What! I took some clothes, and half the money I had saved in that little coffer under my bed.'
'Half? The coffer was empty when I found it. But that wasn't enough for you, was it?'
'What do you mean? What do you think I took?'
'Forgotten already, have you? My mother's silver necklace with the ruby pendant, and all there was in the chest where father kept his money.'
'All!' Ranulph shook his head in disbelief. 'I swear to you I took nothing but what belonged to me.'
'Then why didn't you come home that night?'
'Because I though I had killed you and I couldn't face your father and mother. I climbed over the back wall and went up to our old room to get what I needed – a change of clothes and enough money to keep me alive for a few days. I never went into the rest of the house. If something was taken, it must have been by someone who saw that there were no lights on and took a chance. But it wasn't me!'
'I don't believe you. Why would you run away and disappear, if you had done nothing wrong?'
'I told you. I thought I had killed you.'
'Rubbish! I was unconscious, yes. But did you stop to see if I was alive? No, you left it to others to take care of me and ran. You broke my mother's heart and ruined my father and now you are going to pay for it.' Dirk reached out and took hold of one of the swords. 'We'll finish that fight now, and I warn you, I'm a lot better a swordsman than I was back then.'
Ranulph spread his hands. 'I am unarmed.'
'I thought you might make that excuse, so I came prepared. Here!'
He rose, grasped the sword by the hilt and threw it to Ranulph. The movement was so quick that he almost missed it, but at the last second he snatched the weapon out of the air. Dirk came round the table, the second sword in his hand.
'Come on! Not so sure of yourself now, is that it?'
Ranulph threw the sword he had caught to one side. It hit the wall with a clang and fell to the floor.
'I won't fight you, Dirk. I thought I had killed you last time, and the guilt for that has clung to me like a succubus for years. Now, at last, I am free of it. I won't risk incurring it again.'
He could see that his reaction was making Dirk furious. 'You mean you won't risk finding that you can't beat me this time. Pick up that sword and defend yourself.'
'No.'
'Coward! All right, you've got a choice. Either fight, or stand there and let me skewer you like a pig on a spit.'
He had advanced until he was within a sword's length of Ranulph, and the point of his blade was levelled at his heart.
Ranulph shook his head. 'I won't fight you, Dirk.'
Dirk's face was scarlet with rage and his eyes were glittering. Ranulph remembered what his old master-at-arms had taught him. 'Don't watch the blade, watch the eyes.' It was a maxim that had served him well in the past and did so again. He saw the intention a split second before Dirk lunged and it gave him just enough time to side step, so that the blade passed harmlessly
between his left arm and his body. Then, before Dirk could recover from the lunge, he lifted his hand and brought the edge of it down with all his force on the other man's shoulder, just at the point where the neck joins the collar bone. Dirk gave a grunt of pain and the sword dropped with a clatter to the floor.
'You bastard!' he gasped. 'You've broken my arm! You cowardly, cheating dog!'
'No,' Ranulph replied. 'It isn't broken. You will get the use of it back in a few minutes.' He collected the two swords and put them out of easy reach on a shelf behind him. 'Now, let us sit down and talk this out calmly.'
He drew out a chair and Dirk sunk into it, still clasping his nerveless arm. 'Where did you learn a dirty trick like that?'
'On the battle field, where I have spent most of my time since I left Bruges. Which is why you would be very ill-advised to try to fight with me again. Now, explain. You said I ruined your father. What did you mean?'
'He lost heart, gave up. He spent too long looking for you. By the end of winter we had nothing left.'
'But he had friends who would tide him over until he was able to recoup his losses.'
'But he wasn't. He wasn't able. You remember that he still suffered from the effects of that blow on the head, when the boom fell on him.'
'I remember he had headaches.'
'They got worse and worse. Sometimes he couldn't see. When the spring came he was too ill to go to sea again. He had to sell the Waverider to pay back the money he had borrowed over the winter. After that, I had to give up my apprenticeship with the weaver and we had to depend on the casual work either of us could pick up around the port, and any money my mother and sisters could get for spinning and embroidering.'
Ranulph sank his head into his hands. 'In Christ's name, I had no idea of all this. I should have been there. I could have taken the Waverider out with a new cargo.' He looked up. 'But you can't blame me for his sickness, Dirk. I saved your father's life that day in the storm. What happened between us had nothing to do with that.'
'Yes, it did,' Dirk said bitterly. 'It wasn't only my mother's heart you broke. He trusted you, Ranulph. He trusted you more than he did me! If you hadn't been there he would have taken me on and taught me how to sail the Waverider.'
