by Martin Lake
'And are they all as manly as you?'
Simon found himself blushing and lowered his gaze. 'I cannot say, Highness.'
He heard the tinkle of her laugh and felt her step away.
He glanced up to see her staring at Eraclius. Her head was to one side as if she was considering a joint of meat and how best to prepare if for the table.
'Greetings, Princess Cybil,' he said.
Cybil held out her hand. Eraclius bent to kiss it but she removed it just before his lips made contact.
'Whatever am I thinking?' she said. 'Such a high Churchman is accustomed to having rough men bend to kiss his ring. It would be unseemly for such a high priest as you to do likewise.'
'But you are a lady,' Eraclius began.
She held her finger up to silence him.
'I am a Princess,' she said. 'Always remember that.'
She turned and glided back towards the throne. It was as if she had weaved a spell and only at this instant could the men shake free of it.
She rang a bell and a servant stepped forward and bowed. 'Tell the steward to make chambers ready for our guests,' Cybil said. 'And tell the butler to bring food.'
The servant bowed and hurried off.
Eraclius turned towards Bohemond. 'The people,' he began, 'will need feeding also.'
Bohemond sniffed and rubbed his nose vigorously. 'So it begins, as I feared.'
'They have been walking for months,' Balian added. 'They will need food and shelter for a while at least.'
'I shall arrange that.' He gestured to another servant. 'But know that there is a limit to my treasury and to my patience.'
Balian grinned. 'So you say, Bohemond, so you say.'
Bohemond gave him a sour look.
CHAPTER 34
THE CALIPH
The Harem Baghdad
Johara and Lalina took Agnes to the room which had been assigned to her. It was a small room but it was clean and had a window which looked out upon a lawn. The bed was the largest object in the room and was soft and inviting. Besides this there were two chairs and a little table.
To one side of the room was a curtain hanging to the ground. Agnes pulled back the curtain and blinked in astonishment. A small bath stood there, already filled with warm water. Thick towels were heaped upon a stool beside it.
'I ordered the servants to prepare you a bath,' Johara said.
Agnes sighed with pleasure. Tears began to film her eyes.
'I've only been in a bath twice,' she said. 'And I never thought I would have one of my own.'
'Let us take away your old clothes,' Johara said, slipping the sleeve from Agnes' shoulder.
Agnes blushed. 'I can do it myself,' she said. 'I would prefer it.'
'As you wish,' Johara said. 'Lalina will bring you some fresh clothes.'
Agnes waited until Johara had left the chamber before slipping off her clothes. She climbed into the bath and sighed with pleasure. The last time she had been in a bath was when she visited the home of her brother's father-in-law, Yacob. The first time had been the night before her wedding when a wealthy friend of her mother had allowed her the use of her own bath.
This was different. This bath had been provided for her and for her alone.
She lay back in the bath and began to weep. Where is Bernard now, she wondered. The quick heat of guilt swept over her as she thought this. She had been brought to a heaven of earth. What sort of hell was he living through?
The curtain was pulled to one side and Lalina glanced in.
'I have brought you clothes,' she said, holding up a gown of pale green silk.
'It's beautiful,' said Agnes, biting her lip with worry at the thought of wearing such a thing.
'No more than you are,' said Lalina. 'It will suit you well.'
She left the robe on a stool at the foot of the bath.
The water in the bath was beginning to cool now and Agnes washed herself quickly. She climbed out of the bath, towelled herself dry and put on the gown.
Lalina clapped her hands with pleasure when she saw Agnes in the gown. 'It's perfect for you,' she said.
'It feels so strange,' Agnes said. 'It's cool yet warm at the same time.'
'I think it's a magic cloth,' said Lalina. 'I believe it's made by wizards.'
'Nonsense, child,' said Johara as she stepped through the door. She gazed at Agnes and smiled. 'It looks beautiful on you,' she said. 'But it's not magic. It is made of silk, a material that comes from far to the east.'
She approached Agnes and looped a necklace around her neck. 'It's one of my old ones,' she said. 'It was one of my first gifts from the Caliph. He is fond of it so I thought it would be good for you to wear it.'
Agnes felt a chill in her heart and placed her hand upon Johara's.
'Tell me,' she pleaded, 'what is the Caliph like?'
At that moment the door opened and a huge eunuch stepped into the room.
'Ask him yourself,' Johara answered. 'This is your summons.'
Agnes could barely keep up with the swift, long strides of the eunuch. She already felt lost within the palace but now as they hurried through corridors, halls and courtyards beyond imagining she gave up any pretence of trying to keep a grip on its complex vastness.
Her breath became so short that she reached out for the eunuch and begged him to stop. He shook his head but slowed a little.
Finally they arrived at a vast door inlaid with jade and precious jewels. The eunuch pulled upon a silken bell-cord and stepped back.
The door slid open and the eunuch gestured her to enter.
She was surprised at what confronted her. Unlike the rich opulence of the rooms she had been in already, this one was austere. The floor was lined with black and white marble but the only furnishings were a huge desk inlaid with patterned wood and half a dozen chairs and stools.
She looked around. The room was empty. Plucking up courage she walked across to the desk.
Stacked upon it were two neat piles of parchment. She could read a little, enough French and Arabic to make out words necessary to run an inn. She recognised the writing as Arabic, although much neater and more regular than the rough jottings she had ever seen. She glanced around and saw that the chamber was empty. Filled with curiosity, she picked up the parchment. It was light and very white, with a different feel to any parchment she had touched. She tried to read what it said but failed with more than a few familiar words.
Next to the papers were a beautiful glass ink-pot and half a dozen sharp quills. On the chair behind the desk was the sole concession to luxury within the room, a deep cushion, richly embroidered.
She picked it up and examined the fine needlework. It contained hunting scenes and images of horses and strange beasts she did not recognise. She turned the cushion this way and that, fascinated by its beauty.
'You like the cushion?' said a voice from her left.
She dropped the cushion and turned. A man was watching her from a deep alcove, his features lost in shadow.
'You admire its beauty perhaps?' he said. 'And why wouldn't you? You, yourself, are very beautiful.'
The man took a step towards her. He was short yet slim, with rich olive skin and deep, dark brown eyes. He was clean-shaven except for a well-trimmed moustache which drew attention to his round, thick lips. His hands were smooth, as though he had never had to do any rough work, and his nails were like those of a wealthy lady.
He was dressed in a simple tunic of white silk with long, flowing trousers of a delicate green. A large gold chain hung around his neck. On his head he wore a little hat with a brooch made of flashing green gems.
As best she could judge, Agnes thought he was similar in age to her, maybe a few years older but no more.
'Have you got a tongue?' he asked. 'I know you have and I know that you speak Arabic. So speak to me now.'
She did not answer and he stepped closer towards her. 'I am Caliph al-Nasir, supreme head of the Muslim world.'
Agnes felt the blood drain
from her face. She shook her head, tried to find words.
'I do not know what to say,' she said. 'I've never met such a great lord as you.'
The Caliph smiled. His whole face lit up with a warmth mixed with a twinkle of mischievousness.
'And I've rarely met such a beauty,' he said. He walked round her, examining her closely in the same manner that she might look at a piece of fruit or meat in the market. He peered at her necklace and gave a little smile.
'Yes,' he said. 'You are unusually beautiful. Especially for a woman of your age.'
He took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers, gently releasing each one as if they were the petals of a flower.
'I'm not beautiful, my lord,' she said.
The Caliph smiled. 'How can you say that?' he murmured. 'I wonder that you dare to contradict the opinion of my trader. Habib is an excellent connoisseur of beautiful women. Better, obviously, than one woman is of herself.'
Agnes bowed her head, at a loss as to how to answer.
'This room is where I work,' he said. 'It is functional, uncluttered. It is, of course, hardly a place for a lady such as you.'
The Caliph held his hand out towards Agnes.
Astonished at this civility, she placed her own hand in his and allowed him to lead her across the room and through a small door.
As soon as she stepped over the threshold she gasped. She had been astonished by the sight of Johara and Beatrice's rooms. Not even these, however, had prepared her for the wonder of the Caliph's quarters.
They were in a large and airy chamber, with many other rooms leading from it. The floor was made of pure white marble. Divans and couches had been placed artfully across the room to make a picture pleasing to the eye, restful to the soul. Wall hangings of silk in a myriad of colours fluttered in the artificial breezes made by a dozen tall men waving palm fronds with a slow and graceful motion.
Tables of every size were dotted about the room. Some bore a figurine of exquisite design, others a decorated bowl or a bottle made of glimmering glass. On a large sideboard to one side of the room were laid out twenty dishes of food, some hot, some cold.
In the centre of the room a small fountain played, its shimmering waters cascading onto little bells which tinkled in an ever-changing melody. This acted as a counter-part to the glistening sound of harps played by musicians who could not be glimpsed.
'This is a fairy-land,' Agnes said.
The Caliph beamed with a sudden, youthful delight.
'It is my life's work to restore the Caliphate to the glory of the earliest years,' he said. 'The days off al-Mansur and Hārūn al-Rashīd. I seek to do this in the larger world and in Baghdad. And I also seek to do it within my own quarters.'
He pulled Agnes' hand to rest against his chest. 'And most of all,' he said, 'I endeavour to restore that glory here, to my heart and to my soul.'
She found herself staring into his eyes. For the first time since Saladin's army arrival at Jerusalem, she no longer felt afraid.
'What will you do with me, lord?' she asked.
Al-Nasir smiled. 'First, I would have you dine with me.' He pointed out the array of food.
'I have just eaten, with Johara.'
'Then you shall watch me dine,' he said.
'And afterwards, Excellency?'
He stroked her hair. 'After I have dined you will learn what it is to be one of my concubines.'
Agnes hid any reaction, closing her eyes so that he could not read them. She bowed to the inevitable and to the Caliph.
'I am honoured, Excellency,' she whispered.
He smiled and signalled for a servant to bring him food.
She watched him as he ate. She was surprised by the thoughtful way he selected from the dishes. She was even more surprised by the neat and fastidious way in which he ate. She had never seen any man eat like this before.
Eventually she spoke once again. 'I have three children in my care, my lord,' she said.
'What of it?'
'My daughter is to stay with me, I am told. But I know nothing of my son and my nephew.'
The Caliph smiled and looked into her eyes. He wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingers and she felt it tighten. 'I trust you don't think you can bargain with me,' he said. He spoke quietly.
Agnes touched him upon the chest. 'Not at all, my lord. It is a mother's lot to feel anxious about her children.'
She felt his fingers relax and her hair loosen in his grip.
His fingers touched her chin and he lifted her face up to stare into his eyes. 'I honour you for your concern,' he said. 'I will make no promises for the moment. I will ponder on it. But I am tired now and would go to my bed.'
He kissed her lightly on her lips. Her heart chilled. She pressed herself to him and kissed him with gentle passion.
CHAPTER 35
THE ENMITY OF KINSMEN
The Saracen Camp near Tyre
Bernard and Matthew sat under a cedar tree and stared at the Saracen camp. The Saracen soldiers had spent another fruitless day hurling themselves against the walls. They raised up ladders which were thrown down. They battered at the gates and boiling oil and fat were flung upon their heads. The death toll was horrific.
The rocks and rubble which the Saracen catapults and mangonels sent flying over the battlements were almost immediately turned against them. The desperate defenders heaved them up, manhandled them to the edge of the battlements and hurled them back down upon the heads of the attackers.
The Saracen sappers watched where the rocks fell and raced out like hares to retrieve them and take them back to the mangonels ready to be hurled aloft once again.
'Will this ever end?' Bernard mumbled.
'It could go on for years,' Matthew answered.
'Years?' Bernard looked astonished. 'Yet it did not take Saladin long to conquer Jerusalem.'
Matthew chewed on a piece of bread. 'That was because the walls were less well-defended,' he said. 'Tyre's defences are being led by a most astonishing man. He seems to have a will of iron and not a trace of human frailty. It is hard to defeat a man such as him.
'And there's another difference. In Tyre there are hundreds of soldiers, most of them mercenaries. You didn't have that luxury in Jerusalem. You may have been made a knight, Bernard, but your soldiers were ordinary people and children.'
'I am an ordinary person,' Bernard answered. 'Or at least I was then. Now I don't know what's happened to me.'
'You've been caught up in something that's bigger than any of us,' Matthew answered.
'I know that,' Bernard answered. 'And it's destroyed my life.'
'You're still alive.'
'Bernard Montjoy is still alive,' he answered, jabbing himself savagely in the chest. 'But my Agnes, my Gerard and my Eleanor have been taken from me. The shell of Bernard Montjoy still lives but what good is a shell without a heart and without the love of a family?'
Matthew bit his lip. It had been years since he had held a woman in his arms but he judged that now was not the time to say this.
'What is the point of it all?' Bernard cried again. 'My people have lived here for almost a hundred years. My friends are not just Franks; they are Greeks, Jews, Armenians, even Muslims. Agnes' brother Robert married a Muslim woman for love.'
He reached over and grabbed Matthew by the arm.
'Tell me what has changed? Tell me what has changed so much that I must no longer see people of a different creed as my kinsmen? When Robert married Farah I found out that the God the Saracens worship is our God, the same God, the very same. Shouldn't that make us brothers?'
'Perhaps it does,' said Matthew. 'Perhaps this very closeness is what makes us fight so fiercely. Look at John and his sudden hatred for his cousin.'
Bernard nodded. 'I know. I am shocked by this.'
Matthew stared up at the sky as if he would find an answer to the puzzle there.
'Do you have any idea of what caused the enmity?'
Bernard shook his head. 'None
whatsoever.'
'Then it must be about a woman. Inexplicable hatreds are always about women.'
Bernard nodded in agreement and then stopped. He turned towards Matthew, his face suddenly troubled.
CHAPTER 36
THREE BOYS
Baghdad
Gerard and Claude-Yusuf watched Agnes and Eleanor disappear into the depths of the harem. Gerard tried to fight his tears but failed and was soon wailing and snuffling.
'Where have they taken them?' he repeated over and over. 'Where have they taken them?'
Claude-Yusuf tried to calm Gerard but he was inconsolable. In the end, desperate, he threatened to punch him. It had the desired effect and Gerard fell quiet.
Habib and Dawud exchanged glances.
'See,' Habib said, 'I told you that the older boy was intelligent. A diplomat and a thug. What more could the Caliph ask for?'
Dawud chuckled. 'We'll see. Let's put them to the test.'
So began the worst seven days the boys had ever known. They were not told what had happened to Agnes and Eleanor or what was going to happen to them. The whole point of the ordeal they were about to undergo was to cut them loose from all certainty and security.
Habib and Dawud led them down a corridor which took many turns to right and left. As they walked, Claude-Yusuf noticed that the corridors got narrower, the lights less frequent. They turned one corner and the walls of the corridor were no longer well-finished but showed the rough stone beneath. They tramped down steps and the walls became cold and clammy.
Eventually they came to a door which Habib unlocked with a large key. The door opened to reveal a dark and filthy cell with a cold mud floor and water running down the walls. A tiny opening near the ceiling was the only source of light.
One chipped platter was handed over to Gerard. Upon it was a hunk of hard, black bread. A large pitcher of water was thrust at Claude-Yusuf. Then they were pushed into the cell and the door was closed and locked.
This was too much for either of the boys and they set up a disconsolate howling which went on until their voices cracked.
Nobody responded.
