Outcasts

by Martin Lake

  He stood back, thought for a few moments and returned to the Saracen leader.

  ‘This man had smallpox but nothing worse,' Issam said. 'He is not a leper.’

  Khalid nodded, relief clear in his face.

  He turned to examine Matthew for a moment before beckoning him closer.

  ‘Christian, why do you dress as a leper?’

  Matthew swallowed, wondering what to say. He decided that the truth would be his best choice.

  ‘Because I thought I was a leper, Excellency.’

  Khalid frowned. ‘But what made you think you were a leper?’

  ‘Because I used to carry King Baldwin of Jerusalem on my back. Then I got boils upon my face and my people cast me out into the wilderness.’

  Khalid leaned forward with surprise.

  ‘Then you are the man they call Mule?’ he asked.

  Matthew nodded.

  Khalid stared at Matthew for a while longer before turning towards Issam.

  ‘You are certain he is not a leper?’

  ‘Certain, Excellency.’

  Khalid dismounted and strode close towards Matthew.

  ‘We have heard of you, Mule. You are a good man, a courageous man.'

  He put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder and turned to his troops to make sure all had seen him do it.

  'This is the Mule, the man of great courage who bore the Leper King upon his back.'

  A murmur broke from the warriors, part alarm, part curiosity, part respect.

  'His people thought he had also become a leper,' Khalid said, 'so they threw him into the desert.'

  The warriors gave a low hiss at this news.

  'But he is not a leper. He is clean and whole.'

  The warriors nodded, wondering why he was telling them this.

  ‘Get some horses for these men,’ he cried. 'They are coming with us.'

  'We cannot,' said Bernard. 'We are going to Cairo to seek the captives from Jerusalem. My family is amongst them.'

  'I have just come from Cairo,' Khalid answered. 'We saw no sign of any captives on the road.'

  'But they must be.'

  'Why must they? The slavers would have taken them to Damascus or to Baghdad.'

  'But a man in Jerusalem said he heard they were to be taken to Cairo.'

  'He was wrong. The slave market at Cairo was flooded with the survivors from the battle of Hattin. I doubt Sultan Saladin would have allowed any more captives to go there. Your family have probably been taken to Damascus.'

  Bernard looked crestfallen at the news.

  Khalid turned back to Matthew.

  'I am certain,' he said, 'that my lord, al-Adil would wish to see you. He is a great respecter of courageous men.’

  ‘Al-Adil?’ John asked Bernard.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered with a bitter tone. ‘Saladin's brother. We’re being taken back to where we started.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE SLAVE AUCTION

  Damascus

  Ten days after setting out they reached Damascus. It was a large city, larger than any Agnes had ever seen before. As they trudged through the streets she marvelled at the fine buildings and the signs of wealth. People were well-fed and well-dressed. The shops were crammed with goods. Most entrancing of all were the stalls piled with meat, fish, fruit, vegetables and bread of every shape and size. The smell tormented her and made her realise that she was famished.

  The captives were herded into a central park where tents had been erected for them. They were fed with bread and fresh fruit and given water to drink and wash themselves. Fires were banked up against the chill of the night air.

  ‘Is this where we’re going to live?’ Claude-Yusuf asked Agnes.

  ‘I don’t know, dear,’ she answered. She forced a smile. ‘The people seem kind. They’re looking after us.’

  ‘But they are infidels,’ Gerard said. ‘And where are father and John and Simon?’

  ‘They stayed in Jerusalem. They stayed with Lord Balian.’

  ‘Will they come and rescue us?’

  ‘All in good time, darling. All in good time.’

  The next day the captives were allowed to sleep until mid-morning. They were given food and then led along a wide street to a huge market next to a mosque. The market was crowded with people and at the far end, in front of the mosque, a large platform had been raised.

  Agnes stood and watched what was happening. A dozen captives would be led onto the platform, men, women and children. Then the auctioneer rang a bell, a forest of hands rose from the crowd and a clamour rang across the square.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked.

  ‘A slave auction,’ Peter answered. ‘We are to be sold as slaves.’

  There were so many captives that the authorities had decided that the slaves were to be sold in lots of a dozen. As the line of captives moved towards the platform, Agnes counted them time and again, time and again, trying to work out where the guards would make the split between each group.

  As they got closer she saw to her horror that there were ten people in front of her making her eleventh and one of the children the twelfth. This meant she was certain to be separated from two of the children.

  She tugged at the woman in front of her. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘please swap places with me. I am the eleventh in line but I have three children with me. Would you and a friend please take my place so that my children can be sold with me?’

  The woman listened to her sorrowfully but shook her head. ‘This is my family,’ she said, indicating her children. ‘If I take your place then I will be separated from them.’

  ‘What about further up?’ Agnes asked. ‘Would two people from there swap?’

  ‘Another family,’ said the woman, shaking her head.

  Agnes turned and gazed at the captives behind her. ‘Will two of you swap with me and one of my children?’ she asked. ‘Otherwise we will be separated.’

  The captives eyed her suspiciously, not realising the dilemma she had spotted. They shook their heads. She tried to push past but they forced her back.

  ‘I will swap with you,’ called Peter.

  ‘But that will mean I will have to leave one of the children,’ she said. ‘I cannot do that.’

  Peter thought rapidly. ‘You will have to choose between the boys. Come here with Eleanor and one of the boys. I will take your place and I promise I will look after the boy you have to leave there.’

  Agnes’ hand went to her mouth. She looked from Gerard to Claude-Yusuf. She knew she would have to sacrifice one. For the moment she could not bring herself to do it.

  The decision was taken out of her hands.

  At that moment the guards hurried up and counted the dozen lot that she was in. Peter pushed forward towards her and tried to drag her back but the guards misinterpreted his action and beat him away with clubs.

  Agnes screamed as she was dragged off with Eleanor, leaving Gerard and Claude-Yusuf behind.

  She pleaded and cursed all the way to the platform until finally one of the guards got tired of it and placed his knife across her throat. She closed her eyes in panic and was dragged away.

  Agnes stood on the platform and watched Gerard and Claude-Yusuf. They were screaming with terror and tried to escape the clutches of the guards and run to her. A huge guard pulled out a club and advanced towards them but Peter, his face bleeding, managed to grab hold of them and keep them safe.

  Agnes did not see the frantic bidding for her lot. All she could do was keep hold of Eleanor and gaze with frantic eyes upon the faces of the boys.

  At that point the clamour of the bidding began to quieten. The crowd lost their frenzy and rippled slowly into two halves, allowing a path to be created down the centre.

  Walking down this path towards the platform were a dozen armoured men. At their head was an immensely fat man dressed in the finest of clothes.

  They halted in front of the platform and the fat man made careful scrutiny of the captives. He took his time, and as th
is time passed the crowd became not quiet but silent. Finally, he appeared satisfied and nodded to himself as if well content.

  He gave a quick flick of his fingers and Agnes was dragged towards him. He gave a sharp nod and the guard pulled her shirt open, revealing her breasts. Again the man gestured and she was turned round by the guard, very slowly, so that the fat man could get a good look at her.

  He made another gesture and the guard pulled up her skirt to display her rear.

  By the time she had been spun back to the front he was stroking his beard thoughtfully.

  ‘I take her,’ he said.

  The auctioneer immediately pulled Agnes towards the steps at the side of the platform.

  ‘Excellency,’ she cried to the fat man. ‘I have a child, a baby. Please let me keep her.’

  The fat man considered her for a while. His eyes looked cold and calculating. Then he nodded and Eleanor was tossed off the platform and caught by one of his bodyguards.

  ‘And two boys,’ said Agnes, bowing to the fat man. ‘I have two boys.’

  ‘The Caliph has no need of boys,’ said the man. ‘He only desires the choicest of women.’

  CHAPTER 18

  HOW MANY LEAGUES?

  The Road to Tyre

  Simon Ferrier grew ever more useful to Patriarch Eraclius during the march to the coast. The priests were not used to hard marching and complained and moaned all of the day. Most had little love for Eraclius and considered him ill-bred and worse-educated. Simon took them in hand and made them march almost like soldiers, keeping strict silence whenever the Patriarch was close by.

  A few days into the march Simon had an idea which he took to the Patriarch.

  'I cannot easily keep an eye on all of the priests,' he said.

  Eraclius frowned at him. 'Do you think they need to have an eye kept upon them?'

  'There is a great deal of treasure here. It would be a shame if even a tiny portion of it was stolen.'

  'By priests?'

  Simon shrugged. 'Possibly. Or, if the priests neglect to keep both eyes upon their packs, by the refugees.'

  Eraclius bit his lip. 'So. Do you have an answer to this problem?'

  'I do, my lord. Some of the older boys are getting restless on the march. I could make them grooms and they could guard the treasure.'

  Eraclius was amused by this idea.

  He saw at once that Simon would waste no time in shaping them into his own personal guard.

  He chuckled to himself. It matters not at the moment. What if he creates a private army for his own ends? It will prove a better one than any he might build for me. I can make use of him and his grooms while we’re on the road. It may be different when we reach Tyre.

  He smiled upon Simon.

  'It is a good idea, Simon Ferrier. Choose the strongest and cleverest of the boys and make them into grooms. We may have need of them before we reach Tyre.'

  Tyre was the only city in the Kingdom of Jerusalem still left in Frankish hands. Saladin had laid siege to it earlier in the year but after the Battle of Hattin he could not resist marching upon Jerusalem. Tyre had been given a reprieve but only a temporary one.

  Balian knew it was imperative the refugees make the speediest progress they could upon the road. Rumour had reached him that it that it would be a mere few days before Saladin marched from Jerusalem to renew his attack upon the city. He had to reach the safety of its walls beforehand.

  ‘How far is it to Tyre, my lord?’ Simon asked. ‘Will we reach it before Saladin?’

  Eraclius shrugged and turned to his Deacon. ‘Do you know, Walter?’

  ‘I have heard it is forty leagues from Jerusalem to Tyre my lord. One hundred and twenty miles.’

  ‘I know what a league is,’ the Patriarch snapped. His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not take me for a fool.’

  Walter bowed but Simon thought that he was not able to hide his lack of respect.

  ‘So we are only about half way,’ Simon said. ‘Another five or six days.’

  ‘At the rate we are going, yes,’ Eraclius said. ‘If the route were safe I would press on ahead at a trot.’

  ‘But it is not safe.’

  ‘Not safe enough.’

  Eraclius had wrestled with whether to try to persuade Balian to escort him swiftly to the port. But even if he did so he would have to leave all the church treasure with the main column. He had no relish for this. If would be a tempting target for pillage by the refugees.

  And if Saladin did march upon Tyre the treasure would fall into his hands. He doubted that the Sultan would be so indulgent to the church a second time.

  In the end he decided it was better to bide his time and stay with the column where he could best look after his interests. He also wished to secure his position in Tyre as swiftly as possible and fretted how he might do both of these things.

  He kept a careful watch upon Simon. If he thought he could fully trust the young Englishman he might leave him behind to guard the treasure while he pushed on towards Tyre. He would be forced to do so if Saladin got close.

  CHAPTER 19

  SERVANTS OF THE SARACEN

  Jerusalem

  The Saracens took the road back to Jerusalem. Bernard was in the blackest of moods, distraught that he was being taken back where they had started and, therefore, delayed in the hunt for his family.

  They reached the city just after noon and were taken straight away to see al-Adil.

  They waited outside his tent, trying hard to ignore the curious stares of the Saracens who passed by. Everyone kept a good distance from them. Most looked upon Matthew with disgust, a few with pity. He did not seem to mind. He did not seem to mind anything. I’m not a leper, he thought over and over to himself. I’m free.

  The flap of the tent was pulled open and al-Adil appeared, followed by Khalid and Issam.

  ‘You are sure he is not a leper?’ al-Adil asked.

  ‘On my life,’ said Issam.

  ‘If you are wrong, it will be,’ said al-Adil. ‘I shall have you tied in a sack with him.’

  Al-Adil turned his gaze upon Matthew, scrutinising him in silence. Matthew shook in terror, his former jubilation extinguished by the Saracen’s deadly manner.

  ‘So,’ al-Adil said finally. ‘You are the Mule? You are the man who carried King Baldwin into battle?’

  ‘I am Excellency.’

  ‘Tell me if you will, what were your thoughts when you did this?’

  Matthew paused, wondering what the best answer would be.

  ‘The truth, Mule,’ al-Adil said. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  Matthew took a deep breath. ‘At first, Excellency, I was terrified. Terrified of catching the disease. Then I grew resentful of the king. Finally I grew to be resentful of the nobles who had made me bear this burden. I no longer resented the king. In fact, I became proud that I was the one who carried him.’

  ‘Proud?’ al-Adil tapped a finger upon his lips. ‘So, you demanded the honour of your peers?’

  Matthew thought carefully and nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I did although I would not have dared ask for it. I certainly felt proud for myself. But I also began to expect the honour of my peers and of the nobles.’

  ‘Did you get it?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘I was reviled, shunned, condemned. When the king died I was given leper’s weeds and thrown out into the wilderness.’

  ‘Men with cowardly hearts cannot abide the truly courageous, friend Mule,’ al-Adil said.

  ‘His name is Matthew,’ John said.

  Al-Adil turned towards him and nodded his head, very slightly. ‘I am corrected.’

  He turned back towards Matthew. ‘You are welcome in my camp, Matthew,’ he said. ‘For as long as you choose.’

  Matthew bowed, startled and confused.

  Al-Adil turned back towards John. ‘And who are you that is fool-hardy enough to correct the brother of Saladin?’

  ‘My name is Sir John Ferrier.’

  ‘Sir John?’ Al-Adil gave a con
descending smile.

  ‘Yes. I was knighted by Balian of Ibelin at the siege of Jerusalem. And so was my friend, Bernard.’ He paused. ‘You gave us our freedom, Excellency by buying us at the end of the siege.’

  Al-Adil smiled. ‘So I did. And now Khalid has made you captive once again.’

  He fell silent and stared at the sky, thoughtfully.

  He sighed and unclipped a purse from his belt. ‘How many times will I be forced to buy you?’ he said, shaking his head as if weary. He counted twenty dinars into Khalid’s hands.

  ‘There,' he said with a smile, 'you are my men again.’ He placed his hands upon their shoulders. ‘But this time I think I shall keep you lest you get yourselves captured again and cost me yet more.’

  Bernard and John gazed at him in consternation.

  ‘Excellency?’ said Khalid.

  Al-Adil turned towards him.

  ‘The leper?’

  ‘Is there no end to these depredations?’ Al-Adil cried. He counted out five more dinars. ‘There you are. Five dinars only. He is not a knight. Be grateful that I have given you so much for him.’

  Khalid grinned and bowed, gesturing Matthew to join them.

  They ate the noon day meal in the tent of al-Adil. It was sparsely furnished, for while on campaign with his brother al-Adil thought it wisest to emulate Saladin’s lack of ostentation. The meal, on the other hand, was not sparse. Neither Bernard nor John had seen such plenty. Matthew was so overawed that for a time he could not even bring himself to eat.

  Al-Adil and Khalid joined them at the meal, together with several senior officials and officers. They merely watched the Christians; only al-Adil and Khalid spoke with them.

  ‘Tell me where you were going when Khalid found you?’ al-Adil asked. ‘Some of your friends chose to stay here, in Jerusalem.’

  ‘You gave us our freedom, Excellency,’ said Bernard. ‘I followed the train of captives because my wife and family are amongst them.’

  ‘Did you find them?’

  ‘No. At the pool where Lord Khalid found us we were on our way south to Cairo. We had heard from someone that the captives had been taken that way although we had no way of telling whether this was the truth or not.’