by Martin Lake
Eventually they stopped and Claude-Yusuf pressed his ear to the door. He could hear nothing. The two cousins looked at each other.
'Are we to stay here forever?' Gerard asked.
Claude-Yusuf tried to force a smile upon his face but failed. 'I don't think so. In any case, your father and John and Simon will come to our rescue.'
'What about your father?' Gerard asked.
Claude-Yusuf did not answer. He had long ago given up all hope of his father returning from battle.
They talked for a while, recalling their adventures in the streets of Jerusalem, trying to ignore the cries of the scurrying rats and the clatter of hungry cock-roaches. Eventually, when they had shared the bread and drunk all the water, they fell into a fitful slumber.
The next morning they awoke to find that the door had been opened.
'What does this mean?' Gerard asked.
Claude-Yusuf pressed his fingers to his lip to signify silence and craned his neck to listen for any sounds. Neither could hear a thing.
'Does it mean they've let us off?' Gerard asked.
'I don't know,' said Claude-Yusuf. 'Perhaps they came to give us food and were killed or ran away.'
He tip-toed to the door and squinted out. He waited for a while, turning his head first one way and then the other. Eventually he shrugged and returned to Gerard.
'I don't understand,' he said.
'But is there anyone there?' Gerard asked.
Claude-Yusuf shook his head. 'Nobody I can see and nobody I can hear.'
'Then let's get out of here.'
Claude-Yusuf stared at his cousin for a moment. He was too young to guess that this might be a trap. But there again, what he suggested might be the most sensible thing to do.
Claude-Yusuf put his hand upon Gerard's shoulder. 'Let's go then. But we must be absolutely silent. And you must promise that you will do exactly what I tell you.'
Gerard nodded, half in eagerness, half in terror.
The two boys crept out of the cell and turned left, which Claude-Yusuf remembered was the way they had been brought. He led the way down a musty smelling passage-way lit by guttering torches and festooned with the webs of innumerable spiders.
Finally, after what felt like an age, they came to a door with a large metal handle.
'I don't think we should go through there,' Gerard said.
'Nor do I,' said Claude-Yusuf. 'But there's nowhere else for us to go.'
He blinked at Gerard, his eyes wide as an owl's in the dim light. Then he took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
He had expected a noise, an alarm or at least a ghostly creak. Instead the door slid open without a sound.
The two boys peered out and nearly died of fright. Habib and Dawud were sitting on two stools, staring straight at them.
'At last,' Habib said. 'I thought you'd never get here.'
Dawud chuckled to himself and pointed to a table. Two huge plates were piled up with food. There was broiled chicken, skewered lamb, fruit, cakes and sherbet.
Gerard raced over to it and reached out for some cake.
'Wait,' cried Claude-Yusuf. He sounded frightened. 'Don't eat anything. It may be poisoned.'
'But I'm starving,' Gerard said.
'You'll end up dead if it's poisoned.'
Gerard stared at the food doubtfully. 'What shall we do?' he breathed.
Claude-Yusuf glanced at the two adults. They did not move. He stepped up to the table and placed his face close to the food. He sniffed at it carefully, trying to detect any scent that should not be there. Finally he straightened up.
'It smells all right,' he said although his voice sounded full of doubt.
Gerard reached out for the food once again. Claude-Yusuf grabbed his hand and then turned and stared at Habib and Dawud.
'It is rude of us to eat before our elders,' he said in a measured tone.
He picked up a plate and took it over to the two men. 'Please, sirs,' he said quietly. 'Take your pick.'
Habib rubbed his hands together, picked up a chicken leg and began to gnaw on it. Claude-Yusuf chose a piece of bread and passed it to Dawud. 'I'm sure you will enjoy this,' he said.
Dawud smiled and bit upon the bread.
'You pass the first two tests,' Habib said, his mouth spraying meat. 'You left the filthy cell and you found a way of testing the food. Well done.'
'They took a long time to leave the cell,' Dawud said.
'True. But what a clever way of testing the food.' He beamed at the boys. 'Now eat your fill and we will take you to the next test.'
The two boys crammed their mouths with food and stuffed even more into the front of their shirts before following the two men out into the open.
The next tests were more straight-forward although more tiring. They were told to throw stones, rocks and sticks and better the distance each time, they were made to race against each other over a certain distance. They were told to stand on one leg until they fell, made to crouch down upon their haunches until they cried out in pain. They had to carry heavy loads, to walk with shallow dishes filled with water and not allow any drips. They were even told to juggle.
That night they did not return to the cell with the rats but were given food and allowed to sleep in a soft bed in an airy chamber.
The following day they were ordered to recite verses from memory, to tell stories and to sing. Habib was especially pleased when he heard that Gerard could read and write; arts with which his older cousin was unfamiliar.
That evening Habib and Dawud took great pains to make sure that they were comfortable in their rooms. Habib inspected the bedding to make sure that it was fresh. Dawud asked them if the room was cool and airy enough and opened the window still wider, propping it ajar to catch the evening breeze. Habib examined the food with intense scrutiny.
'There are roast meats and a stew of eels,' he said, opening covered dishes for their inspection. 'Bread, cheese, figs, grapes and pomegranate, delicious custards, cakes and sherbet.' He rubbed his own belly appreciatively. 'You will eat well tonight, as token of all that you have accomplished.'
The two men left and the boys dived on the food.
'Does this mean we have passed all the tests?' Gerard asked. 'Is this our reward?'
Claude-Yusuf swallowed what he was eating with difficulty. He did not know how to answer.
'Eat up,' he said eventually. 'Enjoy the feast.'
The two boys set to again but it was not long before Gerard noticed that Claude-Yusuf was eating ever more slowly. He put down his plate with half the food still on it.
Gerard felt the sweet, soft bread cloy in his own mouth. 'Why aren't you eating?' he asked nervously.
Claude-Yusuf's hand squeezed him on the shoulder.
'Because I fear that this food is to make us feel happy,' he said. 'I think that tomorrow will bring far worse tests than any we have had to face so far.'
Gerard dropped the bread on his plate.
'Worse?'
Claude-Yusuf nodded.
The boys sat in silence for a while, contemplating what dreadful things may be in store for them.
They went to bed and fell into a fitful sleep.
Claude-Yusuf woke in the dark hours of night. He felt hungry now and tip-toed over to the table to take some more food.
Every last piece of food and every drop of drink had been taken.
The next day, the fourth, they were made to run around the courtyard until first Gerard and then Claude-Yusuf dropped with exhaustion.
'That wasn't so bad,' said Claude-Yusuf in an attempt to cheer up Gerard.
In the afternoon they were thrown into a deep pool which Habib said was full of snakes. Neither of the two boys could swim and they screamed in terror. Eventually they had to be rescued by Dawud.
That night they cowered in their room, terrified at what the next day would bring.
'Every day's getting worse,' said Gerard. 'Do they mean to kill us?'
'Of course not,' Claude-Yusu
f answered. He turned his face away, not wishing Gerard to see that this was exactly what he was beginning to think as well.
On the fifth day they were made to repeat verses which Habib recited from the Koran and beaten with a stick when they made a mistake.
On the sixth day they were taught to play chess and ordered to play against each other and the adults.
On the seventh day they were hoisted onto ponies. They began to walk and then to trot around a small field. Claude-Yusuf kept falling off but Gerard had as much a way with the pony as he did with any dog and he kept his saddle. Finally, they were given blunt swords and commanded to fight against each other.
A little while after noon Habib and Dawud called the two boys to them and told them to sit at their feet.
'We have put you through the tests required by the Caliph for his servants,' Habib said. 'We do this in order to identify your skills and decide upon the role you are most suited for.'
He turned to Gerard. 'You are to be a huntsman, to work with the hounds and the horses.'
'Thank you,' Gerard said, not believing his good fortune.
'You, Claude-Yusuf, are to be trained as a clerk.'
'But I cannot read or write.'
'You will be taught this. And you will be taught many secrets of law and of diplomacy. If you work hard, who knows, you might even aspire to being Vizier.'
'Before this, however,' said Dawud, 'you will be assigned to a futuwwa.'
The two boys looked blank.
'They are brotherhoods,' he explained. He cast in his mind for something the boys might be familiar with. 'Something like your guilds,' he said.
'Not the guilds,' said Habib. 'The futuwwa are more like your military orders, like the Templars and Hospitallers.'
The boys' faces shone with joy.
'And later,' said Dawud solemnly, 'you will need to decide whether you remain as infidels or embrace the true faith of Islam.'
Gerard was shocked at the suggestion and nearly burst into tears. Claude-Yusuf, however, bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.
'But there is no need to decide this yet,' said Habib. 'You will, of course, be instructed in both Arabic and in Islam.'
'We speak Arabic,' Claude-Yusuf said. 'We had to when we lived in Jerusalem.'
'You speak a mongrel version of it,' said Dawud. 'You will be taught better.'
As he said this, the door to the chamber was flung open and a small boy of about Claude-Yusuf's age hurtled in.
Habib and Dawud immediately threw themselves to the ground.
Claude-Yusuf and Gerard stood open-mouthed with astonishment and turned to look at the boy.
He was smaller than Claude-Yusuf but sturdier, dark haired and with piercing black eyes. He was dressed in a shirt of white silk with billowing white pyjama trousers beneath. Both were embroidered with fine designs in gold and crimson and both were covered with mud.
'Who are you?' the boy demanded.
Claude-Yusuf stepped towards him. 'I am Claude-Yusuf from Jerusalem and this is my cousin Gerard. Who are you?'
'You mustn't ask this?' hissed Habib.
'Be silent,' the boy told him.
He took a pace towards Claude-Yusuf and looked him in the eye. 'I am al-Dahir, son of Caliph al-Nasir,' he said.
He grinned. 'Let's be friends.'
CHAPTER 37
SPYING OUT THE CITY
Antioch
'Shall we be friends?' Eraclius asked.
Simon gave him a wary look.
'But you are my master,' he said. 'I am your servant.'
Eraclius poured two beakers of wine and gave one to Simon. 'That need not stop us being friends,' he said. 'Look at Balian and Jerome. Balian is the master and Jerome the servant yet they are friends nonetheless.'
Simon bowed his head. 'I am honoured, my lord.' Yet, even as he said this he wondered about Eraclius' motives. What possible benefit could there be to the Patriarch to count Simon Ferrier as his friend? What possible blunder would it prove for Simon to count the Patriarch as his?
The words had been spoken, however, the friendship acknowledged. Simon's stomach grew cold at the thought.
Eraclius hid a self-satisfied smirk. He recognised that Simon was the sort of person who would always sell his service to the highest bidder, and so had limits to his trustworthiness. Yet, this sort, once deluded into believing in the friendship of master and servant, invariably found these bonds far more difficult to break.
'Tell me, Simon,' the Patriarch asked. 'What think you of Princess Cybil?'
Simon drew a breath. From the audience of a week before it was clear that the Princess had no liking for the Patriarch. Eraclius, on the other hand, had been very careful to keep hidden his opinion of Cybil.
Simon realised he would have to be wary in his answer.
'She is very comely,' he said.
'A market urchin could say as much,' Eraclius answered. 'There is no denying her beauty, or her sexual allure. I mean, what do you think of her as a person?'
'She acts like a Princess.'
'Ah, she acts like a Princess. So you also detect the falseness? You detect the mask the temptress wears.'
Simon had meant it as a comment on her regal air but Eraclius assumed that he saw beyond this to some false charade.
Simon took note. He knew the Patriarch's view now and nodded to show he shared them.
Eraclius came close and lowered his voice. 'Sibyl herself is little better than a street walker. And she indulges in the Black Arts.'
'The Black Arts?'
'Sorcery. Magic, curses, spells.' He passed his hand over his head as if in pain. 'Witchcraft, the snares of Satan.'
Simon was shocked. 'Does her husband know it?'
Eraclius laughed. 'Bohemond is the one person who does not. He was bewitched by her. Why else would he have put aside his Byzantine Queen and taken Cybil into his bed?'
Perhaps because she has the face and body of a goddess, Simon thought. 'You are right, my lord,' he said. 'There is no other explanation. Bohemond must have been enslaved by her spells.'
'Do well to remember it, my son.' He thrust a tiny crucifix into Simon's hand. 'Have this about your person whenever you have dealings with her.'
He drained his cup of wine and poured himself another.
'Now,' he said. 'We must think of the future. There is an Archbishop in Antioch, an old fool under the thumb of Bohemond. Naturally, I am his superior. Despite this, he has seen fit, commanded no doubt by the Prince and his witch, to allow me only a small chapel as my church. For now, I shall have to accept this. But an early task must be to secure a more fitting establishment. I want you to scour the city for a suitable church for my worship.'
'I shall go straight away, my lord.'
'Stay a moment.' Eraclius held up his hand. 'Learn this, Simon, from the beginning. I am efficient. I will never give you only one task at a time.'
Eraclius walked over to the window and gazed out at the city below. 'Antioch is like Babylon,' he said. 'It is a stew-pot of races, religions and ideas. While the Prince remains strong the people will obey him. But beneath the surface, just beneath, swills a torrent of wrath and treachery. Most of the population are Muslims, the rest a rag-bag of Syrians, Amenians and Greeks.
'For a Frank to walk alone in the streets is to invite a blade across the throat. Even more so when that Frank is a man of renown such as myself. So I require two further tasks of you. One is to transform your gaggle of grooms into a professional body-guard for me. The second is to build a network of spies to sniff out the city for danger. And for opportunity.'
He flung a large bag of coins towards Simon. 'That should get you started. Be gone.'
Simon picked up the bag. He had an idea how to train the body-guard but none whatsoever about how to build up a spy network. He wanted to ask for advice but something told him that to do so would diminish his credit with Eraclius, perhaps fatally.
He bowed and left the chamber, pondering how to start.
An inn, he thought, I'll start in the lowliest inn I can find.
He sought out Gregory, the groom he considered most promising, and most loyal. He found him in the hall, gambling with another man, an ugly, well-built youth with strong arms but little else to recommend him.
'Gregory,' Simon said. 'I want you to come with me into the city. We have work to do.'
Gregory immediately reached for his sword and dagger, actions which commended him still further to Simon.
As they reached the door, Simon paused and glanced back at Gregory's companion, who was trying to work out how much he had just lost.
'You,' he said. 'What is your name?'
'William, my lord.'
'Can you fight?'
William's face gave a grin of empty delight. 'Like a bull-dog, my lord.'
'Then get a blade and come with us.'
The light was failing as the three men headed down to the poorest quarter of the city. On every corner a high bracket held a flaming torch which gave some semblance of light. Standing beneath these were torch-boys who would light their own torch from the flame and lead anyone anywhere for a few coins.
Simon spoke quietly to Gregory and he engaged a small runt of a boy to lead them to an inn. The boy gave a lascivious grin. 'You want fat girls or thin ones? Expensive girls or cheap?'
Gregory turned towards Simon.
'Cheap,' he said. 'The cheaper the better.'
The boy tapped his nose slyly and led them swiftly down a narrow alley which turned crooked ways until it became so narrow a fat man would have been unable to go further.
Finally, when Simon was beginning to fear a trap, the boy halted outside a little drinking house. Angry voices sounded loud from within.
'This inn is called Gates of Heaven,' the boy said. 'But you'll find no angels here.'
He turned to go and then came back a few paces. 'Do not eat any food,' he said. 'And don't drink the white wine.'
He scampered off as if wary of staying here.
Simon gestured to William to lead the way into the inn.
It was a single room about ten feet square. Crammed into it were thirty or so men, all with flagons in their hands. There were no seats. Every customer was either standing or leaning against the noisome walls for support.
