by Martin Lake
The sheik ignored him. He leant forward and his voice was low as a sigh.
'Such a little thing, a date.' He glanced up at the sun which was just beginning to fall towards the west. 'Do you believe you can hold it until sunset?'
'Of course.'
The sheik nodded. 'Then we shall see.'
He gestured quickly and both boys held the fruit out on the palm of their hand.
This is not much of a test, Claude-Yusuf thought.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the Caliph's son. His face wore a look of concern.
Minutes went by. Both boys felt their arms begin to shiver and then to shake. Every time their arms began to droop the sharp crack of the sheik's cane upon the table made them straighten them immediately.
The two old men returned to their chess.
A light meal was brought out to them which they picked at in the interlude between their play.
And still the boys held out their hands.
After an hour the dates began to feel like heavy stones. Gerard could stand no more. He started to cry and dropped the date on the ground, collapsing upon the ground beside it.
The old sheik stared at him. But he did not lash out as Claude-Yusuf assumed he would.
Al-Dahir rushed over to Gerard, helped him up and told one of the guards to carry him into the shade.
A second hour went by.
Still Claude-Yusuf stood in the full glare of the sun, his arm outstretched although he thought it would be wrenched from its socket by the weight of the date. It felt like a boulder.
The two old men finished their game of chess and began to talk. Yet every few minutes they glanced at Claude-Yusuf and their eyes were sharp.
Once, al-Dahir bent and whispered something in the sheik's ear. But the old man shook his head sternly and al-Dahir stepped back, wringing his hands in anguish.
A third hour went by and the sun began to colour the western sky with a pale pink. Still Claude-Yusuf stood although he thought that he would probably die this day.
Eventually the sun kissed the horizon and the voices of the muezzins sang out across the city.
Claude-Yusuf groaned and slumped to the ground.
'Is the infidel dead?' squawked the sheik's friend.
Al-Djabbar cursed him under his breath. He crouched to the ground and listened for the young boy's breath.
CHAPTER 39
DEATH THROES
Tyre
Saladin surveyed the battlements of Tyre. They had been battered by his siege engines but still they stood, as strong and solid as ever.
The flags of the Franks fluttered defiantly in the morning breeze. Foremost among them was the standard of Conrad of Montferrat, his foe.
He glanced at his own army. His men had risen from prayer and were beginning to prepare the morning meal. They had been in the field for six months now. For the first four months they had known only victories, victories so astonishing they seemed little short of miracles.
For the last two months, however, this had changed utterly. Since arriving at Tyre they had known only stalemate.
They had battled valiantly against the Franks but to no avail. Determined assaults had been thrown back by determined defence. Little skirmishes had been won and lost, brave men killed and wounded by the score. Yet still there was stalemate.
The two armies were like fighting dogs, each gripping the other by the throat, fearing to let go of the other, unable to give the killing bite.
Saladin's officers had warned of a subtle change in the men, a dulling of fervour, a hint of doubt. All was as insubstantial as faint shreds of cloud upon the horizon. Yet it was potent nonetheless.
Saladin observed these doubts with growing anxiety. They could destroy an army more swiftly than the plague.
'How goes it, brother?' called a familiar voice.
Saladin turned and saw al-Adil strolling towards him.
'No better for me staring at Conrad's standard,' Saladin answered, 'but much improved by you joining me.'
Al-Adil stood with hands upon his waist and gazed upon the city.
'Another night without a breach miraculously appearing in the walls.' He shrugged. 'So we will have to rely upon our soldiers once again.'
Saladin gave a faint smile but then grew serious once again.
'God performs his miracles through men such as these,' he said. 'But should God desert us then no amount of determination or courage or cunning will avail.'
'There is no sign that God has deserted us, brother, so raise your spirits. It is merely that, to keep you on your mettle, God has chosen an adversary worthy of you.'
Saladin smiled. 'Thank you, brother. Whenever I feel lost, you are ever my guide.'
'And you are the Sultan and have a foe to defeat.'
Arm in arm the two brothers returned to the camp.
So, with their back to the city, they alone could not see what was happening beyond the city.
'Christ and all his angels,' Matthew cried, pointing out to sea.
John and Bernard turned and stared. A hundred and more galleys were speeding towards the city from the south.
Ten yards away Khalid and his guards climbed to their feet.
'Allah be praised,' Khalid called. 'The Egyptians have arrived.'
The cry was taken up throughout the army.
Saladin and al-Adil were close to the camp now and at the sound they turned and saw the ships. They stared for a moment and then raced into the camp, calling to their officers to join them in Saladin's tent.
'Come with me Bernard,' Khalid called. 'When Conrad capitulates we may have need of you as interpreter.'
Bernard hurried after Khalid, still chewing on a mouthful of bread.
Saladin's tent was filling up with officers as they arrived. Just as they were about to enter they heard a shout and stared once more out to sea.
Issuing forth from the city were scores of Frankish ships. Conrad had decided to counter-attack the Egyptian fleet.
Within minutes the two navies had closed upon one another. Even from this distance they could see the shoals of arrows swarming through the sky between the ships. Then, from the bows of the Frankish ships long tubes belched out Greek Fire.
Wherever they struck there was chaos. The fire caught even upon wet timbers and leapt from there up the hull and onto masts and sails.
The Egyptian sailors tried to beat out the flames but if the fire touched their clothes it clung to them, devouring their flesh and turning them into human torches.
'The devils have Greek Fire upon their ships,' Khalid cried.
'But we have more ships,' cried another.
It was true. The Egyptians had far more ships. Yet, already the toll taken by the Greek Fire was eroding this advantage. Nevertheless, the superior numbers of the Egyptian fleet began to force the Franks back to port.
The exultant cries of the Saracen army became a thunderous barrage of noise. Yet in moments their attention switched from the sea-battle to the walls of Tyre.
The battle of the two fleets had excited the soldiers of Tyre just as much as the Saracens. They deserted their posts and ran towards the western wall to get a better sight of the battle. Not even the curses and blows of their officers could stop the stampede.
In moments, the whole of the landward battlements were empty of defenders.
In a moment, all thoughts of plans and strategy were abandoned.
Saladin and al-Adil exchanged one silent look and nodded to each other.
'To horse,' Saladin cried, 'to horse.'
In seconds the officers had turned and raced to their men. Khalid pushed his way back towards his own troops, Bernard hurrying to keep up.
Saladin had ridden out in front of the army and now his magnificent Arab stallion reared up, its forelegs clawing the air.
'Forget the ships,' Saladin cried. 'Attack the city.'
With a roar of fury the army launched itself upon Tyre. Two months of death, disillusion and despair g
ave renewed strength to the men. The horsemen reached the city walls within a minute and the infantry soon after.
They were completely unopposed.
Hardly believing their luck, the Saracen soldiers hoisted dozens of siege ladders against the walls. They began the long climb up to the undefended battlements.
Two dozen sappers raced towards the main gate with a battering ram and began to hammer upon it, unimpeded by oil or arrows from above. Slowly but surely the timbers began to shatter. Saladin and al-Adil summoned troops of horsemen to the gate, waiting for its overthrow.
The horsemen arrived in a melee and, in the moments before their captains were able to restore order, the gate was flung open from within. A trumpet blared and hundreds of heavily armoured knights plunged into the Saracens. Conrad had timed the attack to perfection.
The Saracen horsemen were still in a disordered state, the nearest ones skittish, most still galloping in from the plain. The Frankish knights were like a hammer blow. They cleaved through the foremost horsemen and, as they rode onward, opened up their charge so that they cut an ever-widening swathe of their enemies.
The lightly armed Saracens were no match for their heavily armoured foes. Their normal tactic was to shoot their bows from the saddle and then retreat. So sudden and unexpected was the assault, so close quarter the attack that they had no defence. Within moments, heedless of the cries of their captains, they broke and fled, trampling their foot-soldiers in their flight.
Seeing this, Conrad took a gigantic gamble.
He ordered his soldiers to leave the battlements in the possession of the Saracens and race down to the gate. Within minutes every soldier of Tyre poured out of the gate in the wake of their triumphant knights.
The slaughter of the fleeing Saracens was terrible.
Saladin tried to rally his men. By this time the foremost of Conrad's knights were closing on him. Three of them raced towards him.
Saladin parried the sword stroke of one and plunged his scimitar into a second. The third swept his sword down, missing Saladin's head by inches, but hacking open his stallion's neck. The horse fell and Saladin with it.
Al-Adil plunged back into the chaos and fended off the attacks upon his brother while a fresh horse was brought to him.
By this time the Saracen army was routed. The men of Tyre raced after them, slashing and hewing at every man.
Saladin flung his troops back into battle to secure the area of the siege-engines. Within minutes he realised that no hope remained and ordered their destruction.
Al-Adil led a hundred horsemen back to the attack to give time for the sappers to set fire to the towers and catapults. Khalid and his company joined him.
Seeing this, and having no other friends in the whole of the Muslim host, John, Bernard and Matthew cantered after him. Khalid grinned with delight when he saw this.
'I'll make believers of you yet,' he cried.
'Maybe,' yelled Matthew. 'If I come through alive.'
The hundred Saracen horsemen galloped towards the vanguard of the knights, now far ahead of their infantry.
The knights' thunderous charge had taken its toll of their horses and now, no matter how much they kicked and whipped, they could not get their steeds to manage more than a ragged canter.
The Arab horses, bearing far less weight, swept round them, darting in and out, tormenting men and horses with swift arrows.
Al-Adil led his men behind the knights and turned to circle them. As he raced towards them his horse fell and he was thrown to the ground.
Conrad saw this and swiftly turned to the attack. He hammered his horse towards al-Adil, yelling at the top of his voice for his men to follow.
Al-Adil regained his feet. He caught his horse by the reins and tried to quieten her. He glanced down. Her leg was broken. He patted her head and plunged his knife into her neck, lowering her gently to the ground by her reins.
He turned and looked up. Conrad was twenty yards away and rapidly closing on him.
Knowing that his time of death had come al-Adil bent his head and began to chant a prayer. Conrad's cry of triumph echoed across the battle-field.
The next moment al-Adil was pulled off his feet and thrown over a saddle.
'Hang on,' John cried, turning his horse savagely.
His horse staggered under the combined weight of the two men but picked up pace.
Bernard and Matthew dashed their mounts towards Conrad, blocking his advance.
He swung his sword at Bernard but missed him by an inch. Bernard and Matthew spurred their horses hard and raced off, chasing after John and al-Adil.
Five minutes later, judging that there was sufficient distance between them and the knights, John trotted to a halt and allowed al-Adil to drop to the ground. He was filthy with dust but unhurt.
'I thank you,' al-Adil said.
Before John could answer he felt his own horse stagger. Two thick arrows had pierced its neck. He slid out of the saddle and saw Bernard and Matthew's horses had also been wounded.
'We'll have to run,' he cried.
The four men leapt towards the Saracen lines.
More arrows darted among them, one slashing the flesh of Bernard's arm although not lodging in it.
A further flight rained down upon them.
Al-Adil cried out and fell.
An arrow had pierced his calf, the point slicing through the flesh. He struggled to rise but fell immediately.
John glanced towards the Saracen lines. They were still three hundred yards distant.
He looked back and saw the Frankish horsemen closing on them.
He turned to his friends, uncertain what to do.
'I'll carry him,' cried Matthew.
Matthew grabbed hold of al-Adil's arms and hauled him onto his own back, dragging his feet off the ground.
'Come on lads,' he yelled. 'The Mule is back.'
He raced off with astonishing speed, almost as if he were not burdened.
Al-Adil bellowed with pain then clamped his mouth shut.
'Keep up,' Matthew cried and John and Bernard leapt after him.
They had almost reached Matthew when the sound of horses grew loud in their ears.
'Go on,' they cried to Matthew, then turned, slashing at the foremost riders with their swords, missing them but making them swerve out of the way.
The horses following also swerved, causing those behind to slow.
'Come on John,' Bernard cried and they raced once more after Matthew and al-Adil.
The Saracen horsemen had grasped the situation and now thundered to the rescue.
Mere yards in front of Matthew their ranks split and they hurtled past leaving a narrow corridor for the friends to run through.
They smashed into the Frankish horsemen sending them reeling.
'Al-Mule, al- Mule, al-Mule,' roared the Saracen warriors as Matthew staggered to a halt and stood gasping, al-Adil still clinging grimly to his back.
A Saracen officer rode towards them and leapt off of his steed, helping al-Adil climb onto it. He pointed out where Saladin stood beneath a cedar tree, watching the destruction of his army.
The Sultan hurried towards them.
'Are you hurt, little brother?' he called.
Al-Adil shook his head. 'I will live. What about you? Are you wounded?'
Saladin turned a stricken face towards him.
'To my soul,' he said. 'This is terrible butchery.'
Within an hour, Saladin's army had fled the field, the only ones remaining those abandoned on the walls of Tyre. They fought for two hours longer until every last one had been slain.
Saladin watched as Conrad of Montferrat led his battered yet triumphant troops back to the city of Tyre.
'Allah has decided,' he murmured. 'I should have taken Tyre before attacking Jerusalem. He must have felt my decision was caused by vanity.'
He turned to where his brother was having his leg bandaged by a doctor.
'I could have conquered Tyre,' the Sultan
continued. 'If it had any other commander than Conrad of Montferrat.'
He turned and stared at the walls of the city.
'It is a lesson in humility, little brother. Allah has sent this devil of a Marquis to defeat me.'
'Do not think that, Saladin,' al-Adil said. 'Conrad is a man like any other. He can be defeated like any other.'
'True. But not, I think, by me.'
He turned his back on Tyre and ordered his army to march inland.
Al- Adil turned to Matthew, John and Bernard.
'I am forever in your debt, he said. 'Whatever you desire is yours, my friends.'
CHAPTER 40
GABRIELLA
Antioch
Simon lay in his bed and listened to the sound of Gabriella breathing beside him. He imagined the breath going through her nose, into her chest and then blowing gently back out of her mouth. It was a breath he loved to take into his own lungs. By doing so he felt he could possess her even more, be one with her even more.
He sighed. The girl had bewitched his heart.
It was not merely that she was skilful in bed. That was to be expected from one such as her, a whore born of whores and trained to it from the earliest age. No, it was much more than that.
He felt attached to her in a way which was almost frightening. Whenever he was away from her he grew anxious and fretful. The only thing which brightened his days was when she appeared in the doorway or glanced up at him from staring out of the window or picking at some food.
That glance made him a fool. He felt unmanned and weakened. He would shiver and shake as if he were in the grip of a fever.
I suppose I am, he thought. In a terrible fever. He could not bring himself, dared not bring himself, to give the fever a name.
'Is it day yet?' Gabriella asked him sleepily.
He kissed her on the eyes.
'Not yet,' he said. 'I'll wake you when it is.'
He knew that people laughed at him for consorting with a gutter whore. He knew the whispers behind his back, the contempt with which people held him. He had even caught some of his own men smirking when he appeared before them with Gabriella beside him. Those who smirked soon learnt to control their faces better. The least they could expect for such disloyalty was a punch to the head or even a beating.
