by Martin Lake
Suhail smiled. 'I was suspended for thirty days. I led an insurrection against the orderlies.'
Claude-Yusuf's face beamed. 'That must have been great fun.'
'It was. But I got caught and I got punished. I cannot complain. I am back here now.'
Claude-Yusuf's heart beat fast. He had been singled out for favour by a boy who was obviously one of the most important in the futuwwa.
He saw al-Dahir watching them out of the corner of his eye closely and gave him a cheery wave. The prince did not respond.
The next morning, at breakfast, Claude-Yusuf's place at the table was taken by another boy. Before he could ask why the boy nodded in Suhail's direction.
'Suhail wants you to sit next to him,' the boy said. 'Where I used to sit.' He was tight-lipped with anger.
Claude-Yusuf took his plate and strolled along the table towards Suhail. Gerard watched him go in silence, a sulky look upon his face.
'My friend, the Frank,' Suhail said as Claude-Yusuf approached. 'I want you to sit next to me from now on. It is important that we show generosity to our foreign friends. I know that your family fight against our people but they do so because of their own faith. I do not blame them for this.'
Claude-Yusuf smiled.
Suhail took a sip at his beaker before continuing. 'Did your father kill many Muslims?' he asked. His voice was curious.
'I don't know,' said Claude-Yusuf. 'I suppose he must have done.'
'And your uncle? You said he was a knight, a great warrior, a crusader.'
'He's really only an inn-keeper,' Claude-Yusuf answered. 'He was made a knight at the siege because there were not enough knights in the city.'
Gerard could just make out what they were saying from further down the table. 'My father was one of the leaders of the battle,' he called.
Suhail nodded. 'I'm sure he was. He must have killed many men in the siege.'
'Hundreds I think,' Gerard answered. 'He's very brave.'
'Crusaders are very brave,' Suhail said.
The other boys turned to listen, sensing something was different.
'I suppose your father fights from a huge horse and wears heavy chain armour?'
'I don't know,' Gerard answered. 'I don't think so.'
'I think he does,' said Suhail. 'Muslim warriors, on the other hand, like to ride fast as the desert winds so only wear a light breast-plate. They do not cloak themselves in iron.'
Gerard frowned. He sensed that Suhail's tone had changed but could not say how.
He raised his voice. 'Imagine what it's like to be Gerard's father,' he called. 'You are six feet above the ground, you have sharp weapons, you are safe behind your armour. He must have no fear when he attacks a Muslim soldier. No fear when he hunts down Muslim women and children.'
'He's not like that,' cried Gerard.
Suhail extended his hands in an innocent gesture. 'But he's a knight, you told us so yourself. A crusader.'
'But he's not like that.'
Suhail laughed. 'I don't suppose he has told you about the Muslim babies he must have butchered.'
Gerard flew out of his seat and sprang upon Suhail.
The older boy was surprised and for a moment struggled to push him away. He slapped Gerard around the ear, sending him reeling. But Gerard was up almost immediately and went for Suhail once again.
Suhail was ready for him this time. He towered above the younger boy, his face mocking, his frame thick and strong from greater years and hard training. It looked as if a waif were about to attack a full-grown man.
But attack Gerard did, ducking under Suhail's arms and head-butting him in the stomach. Suhail gasped and staggered back. He came back with a snarl, his face no longer scornful but full of rage. He punched Gerard full in the face, sending him crashing to the floor. He leapt upon him and continued to punch him in his face, time and again.
The other boys watched in amazement. It had all happened so quickly. Then Claude-Yusuf reached out for Suhail's hair and dragged him off his cousin.
Suhail lunged away and turned to Claude-Yusuf, his eyes sharp with fury.
'You Frankish scum,' he cried. 'You do this to me after I made a friend of you.' He threw a punch at him.
But Claude-Yusuf had seen it coming and leaned out of the way. He danced two steps to the left which meant that Suhail's second punch also failed to hit him. But he could not avoid the third.
He almost did so, turning his face in time. But the blow hit him on the ear. He was astonished how hard Suhail's fist was. The next moment, slightly stunned by it, he felt two more blows to his stomach. He doubled up and as he did so Suhail smashed two quick punches to his face. Blood spurted from his nose and he keeled over, his senses gone.
'Leave him alone,' cried Gerard. The little boy leapt upon Suhail's back, jabbing with his knees and biting at his neck.
Suhail threw him onto the ground. This blow was too much for Gerard. He was winded and he flopped onto his back. Suhail saw his chance and began to kick him violently in the side, sending his body this way and that as if he were a rag doll.
He was so intent that he did not see Claude-Yusuf stagger up and lurch towards him.
'You big coward,' he cried. Then he slapped Suhail upon the cheek.
If it had been a punch Suhail would have reacted. But a slap. A slap was what an angry parent gave to a child. A slap was a sign of condemnation. A slap was an insult.
Suhail stood speechless, holding his cheek. The rest of the boys gasped.
Suhail stared at Claude-Yusuf for a moment longer. 'You are dead,' he said bitterly. Then he turned and hurried from the scene.
CHAPTER 49 THE FREE COMPANY
Niphin
John woke with a start. In a distant village a cockerel cried. Towards the east the rising sun had painted the sky a pale and streaky pink. A solitary star burned in the heavens.
John screwed up his eyes, trying to calculate how long they had slept. Too long, he thought. He kicked Bernard's foot.
'Agnes?' Bernard cried, sitting up with a blank look.
John shook his head. 'Sorry, friend, it's only me. We need to move on.'
Bernard stretched and gave a huge yawn. 'I've hardly slept.'
'Your snoring in the night says otherwise,' said John. 'Let's hope there's no pursuers near-by.'
The sound of their conversation woke the others.
Jurgen rose and stamped on the ground to warm his legs. 'I am famished,' he said. 'Did you bring any food, Oliver?'
The small man looked at him in disbelief. 'We fled for our lives, you big oaf. Forgive me for not stopping off at the market for bread and wine.'
'I was just wondering. My belly is groaning.'
'He's got a big frame,' Oliver explained to the others. 'He needs lots of fodder.'
'That's been concerning me as well,' said Bernard. 'We've got no food and no water. We need to find some.' He looked around, as if he might find a little cache upon the floor somewhere.
'How will we find it?' John asked.
'We could steal from the Saracens,' said Oliver.
'Or the Hospitallers,' added Oliver.
'If I had my leper's weeds I could beg,' said Matthew. Jurgen and Oliver shifted uncomfortably. They had been told that Matthew was not a leper but they were still suspicious. They discreetly kept their distance from him.
'There's no need for such extreme measures,' Laurence said. He took out a leather bag and rattled it. 'I've got the remainder of the money that Conrad gave me to buy wine.'
The others gathered around him while he counted it out. There were a dozen copper denier coins.
'Enough for some food,' said Bernard. 'Laurence, where is the nearest village?'
'We are close to Aadloun. It is a Saracen village but they have always been friendly with the people of Tyre.'
'They might not be now,' said Oliver. 'Not now that Saladin has defeated us.'
'If they are anything like me,' said Bernard, 'they will not care about the faith of a custo
mer, just as long as he has money and doesn't cause trouble.'
'Then let's hope we find a merchant there who is as unprincipled as you,' said Oliver with a grin.
Aadloun was a few miles further north along the coast. It was a small settlement but the streets were busy with people gossiping and traders selling their wares. The villagers fell silent as the six men passed by but did not seem unfriendly.
They stopped at the market and dismounted, allowing their horses to drink in the water-trough provided. Bernard led the way to a stall which was well-stacked with bread. It was hot and smelt good. To one side of the counter were pastries and mounds of cheese.
He ordered half a dozen loaves, some flat-bread for the journey and a bag of soft cheese which would keep fresh in the sun. The merchant packed up the goods in a piece of cloth. He grinned. Travellers with appetites like this were few and far between.
'How much?' Bernard asked, holding three deniers on the palm of his hands.
The merchant bent to examine them and shook his head.
'Sorry, my friend,' he said. 'That is Frankish money. It is worthless now.' He shrugged apologetically and took back the food.
'How about gold?' Laurence asked.
The merchant looked at him shrewdly. 'Gold is always good. Arab, Jewish, Greek or Frankish. It is always good.'
Laurence pulled out a Byzantine hyperpyron and showed it to the merchant.
'That is very good, excellent in fact.'
Laurence placed the coin upon the counter and pulled out his knife. He placed the blade on one edge of the coin, cut it and then moved it along a tiny amount to make the second cut. He glanced up at the merchant. The man gestured with his hand for Laurence to make the cut a little larger. Laurence moved the blade the slightest fraction. 'That's as much as I will go,' he said.
The merchant shrugged and nodded his head.
Laurence pressed down carefully and pulled a sliver of gold from the coin.
The merchant took the gold, examined it and nodded with satisfaction. He gave Bernard the food once again. Then he reached out for half a dozen pastries and thrust these into the cloth as well.
'You are an honest man,' Laurence said.
'And you, I suspect, are a good one.'
The six friends rode out of the village. A few miles further along they found a small pool fringed by trees. The day was clear and bright with clouds flying high on the winds from the sea. It promised to be warm. They ate some of the bread and cheese. The water from the pool was dark and unpalatable but the horses were content to drink it so they did as well.
'I would feel happier if we all had weapons,' Laurence said. 'I am the only one with a sword.'
'Do you have enough money to buy weapons for us all?' Bernard asked.
Laurence shook his head. 'I have only the deniers and the one gold coin. This will keep us in food for a while but nothing more.'
'Then we shall have to steal some weapons,' said John. 'Or steal money so we can buy them.'
Bernard looked shocked. 'Who should we steal from, Saracen peasants or Frankish ones? I, for one, could not do such a thing.'
John felt fewer qualms over what he thought of as their own survival. He decided not to argue.
'The Hospitallers,' said Jurgen. 'I would love to steal from them.'
'I wouldn't advise that,' said Laurence. 'You'd have the wrath of Christendom fall upon you and besides, they are well-armed and folly to cross. The Templars even more so.'
He put the bread to his mouth and stopped. 'I've just had a thought,' he said. 'There is someone I would be more than happy to rob from.'
The others waited in silence.
'On the road north from Tyre,' Laurence continued, 'ten miles south of Tripoli, is a castle owned by Baron Raymond.'
'Raymond of Niphin?' Matthew asked. He leant forward eagerly.
'Yes,' answered Laurence. 'He's a vicious man, nothing more than a robber. He has a large retinue of knights and soldiers and plunders the land for miles around. He steals from anyone and everyone, Frank, Muslim or Syrian. Yes, he's one that I would be more than happy to lift some money from.'
'The robber robbed,' said John, rubbing his hands together. 'I love the sound of that.' For the first time since the siege of Jerusalem he felt himself filled with purpose.
He glanced around at the others. Matthew stared into space. A slow smile came to his lips. John decided not to ask what he was thinking, just yet.
The others were equally drawn to the idea. All except for Bernard.
'You don't look happy with the idea, old friend,' Oliver said.
'I'm not.' He took a deep breath. 'My wife and family are captive. My only desire is to rescue them. An adventure like this merely stops me going to their aid.'
John felt a surge of sympathy for his friend. An image of Agnes rose in his mind and he realised that Bernard was not alone in wishing to find her.
Laurence put his hand upon Bernard's shoulder. 'You will find such a task easier with money and weapons,' he said. 'You know I think your quest is well-nigh impossible as it is. Without weapons it will definitely be so.'
Bernard did not answer. He did not even want to think about what Laurence said. He feared that if he did so he might give up even the slender hope he still had.
'I suppose you're right,' he said at last. 'Let's seek out this Baron of Niphin and his den of thieves.'
They mounted their horses and cantered down the coast road to the north. They were all glad to have a new purpose to their lives.
Laurence reckoned it was a hundred miles or more to Niphin. 'We'll have to take care,' he said. 'The coast road might be dangerous, but it's the most direct route.' He reckoned it would take two days to get there.
The road, in fact, proved anything but dangerous. It was normally busy with Frankish knights and soldiers, travellers and merchants. Now the road was virtually deserted. Saladin's army was still rumoured to be in the vicinity and only those who had desperate need were willing to travel far from the safety of their homes.
They travelled the rest of the day without incident and set off just after dawn the next morning.
'One thing's been troubling me,' Oliver said as they trotted along the road. He looked at Laurence. 'You said that the Baron of Niphin had a large retinue. How are we going to attack them when we have only one sword between six of us?'
Laurence frowned. 'I have been thinking on that for all of the morning.'
'And?'
'And nothing. I haven't come up with an answer.'
'That is no good,' said Jurgen. 'You suggested robbing the Baron. Now you tell us that you don't know how.'
'I thought I might come up with an idea on the way,' Laurence answered.
Oliver and Jurgen exchanged a disgruntled look.
'It does no good to quarrel,' John said. 'And just because Laurence thought of the plan doesn't mean that he has to think of every last detail.'
'I agree,' said Matthew. 'We're in this together so we have to work together. Let us think about our choices as we ride.'
So they began a debate about how to steal money from the castle of Niphin. For an hour they argued this idea and that, dismissing the most ludicrous and eagerly pursuing the ones that seemed to be of most promise. Yet, the more they talked the more all suggestions appeared equally flawed and futile.
Finally, they fell silent. They were defeated.
John was riding at the front of the company. He reined in his horse and pointed. 'I can see a castle,' he said. 'Is that Niphin?'
Laurence joined him. 'No,' he said. 'That is Gibelet,'
'Is is safe to go there?' Matthew asked. 'Who controls the castle, Saracens or Franks?'
'Who can tell anymore,' Laurence answered. 'I think we would be best to skirt around it.'
They took a track which led into the hills to the east of the village, keeping out of sight of the castle. It took half an hour to return to the coast road. At this point it became better maintained and they were able to push
their horses forward more swiftly.
It was an hour after noon. The company still debated how to steal from the knights of Niphin but the more they talked the more obvious it became that they had little chance of success. One by one each man decided for himself that the idea was impossible. Yet none wanted to be the first to admit it.
'I am famished,' announced Jurgen. He glanced up at the sun. 'It is almost noon. We should buy some more food.'
He pointed out a small village upon the shore.
Laurence swore to himself. 'We have come further than I thought,' he said. 'That is the village of Chekka. We must be cautious now. We're only a couple of miles from Niphin.'
'I cannot wait any longer,' said Jurgen. 'I must eat or die.'
'The next settlement is Niphin,' Laurence said. 'So we would be better to buy food from here.'
The company followed Laurence into the village. As they rode through the streets, scores of children crept out of their homes. They stretched out their hands to the strangers. They were skinny as cats, the skin of their heads tight upon their skulls. Their eyes bulged from dark sockets. Half of them wore nothing but filthy rags.
'What's happened here?' breathed John.
Laurence shook his head. 'Baron Raymond and his men,' I guess.
'They have robbed these poor villagers?'
'I don't suppose they were poor until they were robbed.' He turned towards Jurgen. 'I doubt we will find any food here.'
They continued down the street. They had seen no adults; presumably they were all in hiding. As they got to the edge of the village, however, they spied one adult. An old woman was hunched upon the ground, watching them intently.
As they approached her, Laurence reached inside his tunic and pulled out his purse. He handed it to her in silence. Her eyes flickered for a moment and then she bowed. 'Shukran.' She peered into the purse and clutched it to her chest in joy.
The road turned west towards a little bay a few hundred yards from the village. There were a few more adults here. Three aged men squatted in the dust watching a young man who was intently mending a fishing net.
As soon as he caught sight of the Franks the younger man attempted to hide the net. The older men bowed their heads and began to wail.
