Taking a deep breath, Horatio pulled the curtain back and walked into the parlor. His tension eased when he did not walk headfirst into the leprous monster his imagination had concocted over the years. William was covered from head to foot in loose fitting white robes and a semi-opaque veil that covered his entire head. His hands were even gloved with some fabric that the knight had never seen before. Shiny. Smooth. He wasn’t sure what the material was, but it looked very expensive.
“My friend!” William’s joy over seeing Horatio seemed to permeate the air. “It’s so good to see you. I have missed—” He paused, cocking his head as he looked at the knight. “Are you all right, brother?”
The knight’s head hung low. He wasn’t sure what he could say. He knew that William loved him as a brother and would never hold any grudges against him, yet he could not bring himself to look at him. Shame welled up, threatening to rupture inside him like a septic poison.
“I’m sorry, William,” he said. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles.” Horatio turned to walk out of the parlor, but was stopped by a bandaged hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t go. I’ve missed you, my friend. Please stay. Tell me what troubles you.”
“It’s wrong of me to be here,” said Horatio, turning to face the man he had let down so many times in the past. “I just didn’t know where to else to go. I don’t deserve your help, but I had nowhere else to turn.”
To Horatio’s surprise, William let out a soft, warm laugh as he led the knight to a circle of plush pillows on the floor. He motioned Horatio to sit.
“My dear Horatio,” William said. “You are one of my oldest and dearest friends. I would do anything for you…you should know that.”
“But it’s all my fault. It’s because of me that all this has happened to you.”
“What? Are you the one that gave me leprosy? Did you turn my brother, gentry, and even Jerusalem’s king against me?”
Hearing his friend put it that way, Horatio realized it sounded preposterous. Still, he could not help but feel responsible. No worthy response came to him.
“Listen to me,” continued William. “You are no more responsible for the things that have happened to me than you are for the sun rising and setting. You are my friend. You are more of a brother to me than Gregory. I would not turn my back on our friendship for all the treasure in the Outremer.”
“But I…”
“No ‘buts.’ There is nothing you could ask that I wouldn’t turn the world upside down to accomplish.”
Without waiting for the knight to respond, William beckoned to a servant girl, who came over and crouched low to hear him whisper something in her ear. Nodding, she walked out of the room and came back soon after with two goblets of wine. Horatio took one graciously and sipped at the sweet liquid.
“Now, please. Tell me what troubles you,” William said.
Horatio knew that his friend truly meant everything he said. He would do whatever it took to help him—even if it meant storming Gregory’s dungeon himself to free Samuel. There is truly no nobler a man in the world than Sir William, he thought.
Resigning himself to overcome his shame, the knight told his friend everything that had been happening in Jerusalem for the last several months. He detailed his encounter with the Djinn and how the dark spirit had been plaguing Gregory and his men. He told of Samuel’s strange behavior and his actions in the tunnels that led to his arrest.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Horatio said. “They won’t even let me in to see him. Gregory will not see me. And that scoundrel of a mercenary—Gerard—there’s no more evil man in all Jerusalem than he. He takes pleasure in all of this.”
William leaned back against one of the pillows, his veiled eyes looking up toward the ceiling in thought.
“Yes, I have heard most of what you have told me already,” the leper said. “Tufic has filled me in and Gregory came to consult me on this Djinn problem.”
Both men sat silently for several long moments. Horatio could not remember ever having been in a more uncomfortable position. He loved William as much as anyone could love a brother, yet despite the leper’s abounding forgiveness, the knight had difficulty letting go.
“This Djinn is a very serious problem, Horatio,” William said, breaking the unsettling quiet in the room. “Samir spent many hours regaling me with tales of the Muslim lore and legend. The djinni stories were some of his favorite myths.”
“Myths? But surely he believed in such things. All Saracens do, don’t they?”
William burst out with his all too familiar laughter. Horatio hadn’t heard his friend laugh in years, yet for some reason, it felt as if it were only days. Still, he enjoyed seeing his friend in such high spirits—even in such dark times as these. It brought a certain calm to him, as if all was well with the world.
“Aye, my brother, most Muslims do believe in such things. Such creatures are written about in their holy book. Yet Samir was no follower of Allah.”
“What? But I thought…”
“You thought what Gregory and the others wanted you to believe, Horatio. Samir was a Christian. Yes, he was born a Muslim and inherited a Saracen’s title, but he was more a believer in the Nazarene than any of the so-called Crusaders that invade the City of David.”
“He was a Christian? But how is that possible? How did he carry out the sacraments without a priest?” Horatio’s eyes grew wide at his next thought. “If he was Christian then why would Gregory’s forces ride in and kill…oh, no.”
“Yes, dear brother. Exactly. Samir, his sons, and his entire household were killed under false accusations that their Muslim ideals were a threat to the kingdom,” explained William, who had become quite somber. “Of course, truth be known, much of the blame should fall on his eight sons.”
Horatio took another swig from the wine and William filled his cup to the rim again. Without a word, three servants were ushered into the room and set down large bowls of fruit on the table before the knight.
“Eat up, Horatio. My tale will take some time and it’s time you know everything. Don’t worry about Samuel. Everything will be taken care of soon enough.”
****
Samuel knew things were bad when he could smell himself. He hadn’t bothered to bathe for several days before being arrested and now, being stuck in his cell overnight—it was just too much. Even for him.
His nose involuntarily wrinkled at the odor that wafted up from his fetid rags. He immediately winced in pain from the facial movement—Gerard had certainly done a job on his face. He wasn’t sure how long the mercenary had beaten him, but it had felt like forever.
The young squire couldn’t believe he was in this mess. It was bad enough that the rats scampering on the stone floor of his cell were gradually gaining the courage to move ever so much closer to him, but the food that was brought for him to eat was little more than liquid slop that swine would find unappetizing. And Samuel knew all about pigs—oh, he missed Master Flatnose so much. He couldn’t help smiling as he thought of his faithful pig from back home.
The smile quickly faded, however, as doubt crept into Samuel’s mind. Had he made the right choice in obeying the Djinn’s request? Why had he even listened to the creature? At the time, it had made perfect sense. He had been confident that the spirit had come from God and not, as others were saying, from the fire of Hades itself. He wasn’t sure why. It had something to do with the creature’s voice…it just sounded so soothing and gentle.
Now, as the squire’s eyes tried to adjust to the squalid dungeon, he wondered if, perhaps, that voice had not been laced with poisoned honey.
“Bloody demon,” he muttered to himself as he shifted his weight to the left to ease the pressure on his right leg. He sat uncomfortably, cross-legged, on the stone floor. Chains stretched from both wrists and ankles to the wall, two feet behind him. Blood trickled down his hands from gashes made when the irons were bolted around his wrists.
Oh, why
did I do it? Why didn’t I tell Horatio about the Djinn?
Since that first night, Samuel had been visited by the creature four separate times—always while he slept soundly in the backroom of the barracks. After the first visitation, he had been convinced that he had dreamed the whole thing up. But after the second…well, there was really little room for doubt.
The Djinn had told him things. Things that Samuel wished to the Lord Above he could forget. He had told him about Gregory and the evils the man brought with him from France. He had explained the baron’s plan and how, if he succeeded, thousands of people would be enslaved—all hope being squeezed from their lives with no recourse at all. It just seemed so gruesome. Samuel couldn’t help but want to offer any assistance he could.
And what harm had Samuel really done, anyway? None that he could see. He couldn’t figure out why Lord Gregory and that buffoon Gerard had treated him as badly as they had. All he did was walk down one tunnel, attaching funny little pouch-things to each of the torches that lit the way. The pouches had all been connected by a strange thin wire. Then, there was that strange marking he’d been asked to make—“…on the eastern wall,” the Djinn had told him. “Be sure it’s on the eastern wall.” But it hardly made any mark at all. It had been some weird yellow-green color that barely showed up at all.
No, Samuel just couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about. Still, he hadn’t told them about the pouches. No matter how rough Gerard got with him, he just felt that they were something he ought not mention. Somehow he knew they were very important to the Djinn and despite his nagging doubts, he still believed he had done the right thing.
The clank of a key and creak of the great metal doors opening from around the corner of the cell jerked Samuel back to the present. Someone was coming and so far, whenever anyone had come to visit him, it had usually ended with a severe beating. He prayed that it wasn’t Gerard.
His hopes, however, were dashed as the large mercenary swaggered around the corner, an ominous grin spread across his face. Samuel’s heart leapt, nearly lodging itself in his throat. This couldn’t be happening again. Oh, please Lord, no. Then, a sight appeared behind Gerard that sent a tidal wave of relief washing over him—Tufic strolled nonchalantly to the barred door of the squire’s cell.
The physician and mercenary glared at each other for several long seconds without a word. Gerard was obviously not happy about Tufic being there, but it was clear that he had no choice.
“All right,” said Tufic. “Now, open the door and get out. The agreement is that I have ten minutes alone with the poor lad.”
“If you don’t watch your tone, you’ll be spending a much greater time with him than ten minutes.”
“The baron wouldn’t like that, now would he?”
“It makes no difference to me,” growled the mercenary. “He doesn’t pay me enough to care what he thinks.”
The physician gave a gentle smile at the larger man. “I’ll be sure to let him know that when I present my diagnoses of your captive.”
Gerard’s face reddened, but he offered no response. He wheeled around to the door, inserted the oversized metal key, and turned the latch. He had to pull hard on the door to swing it open, breaking off bits of rust that encrusted it.
“You’ve got ten minutes. No more,” he said as he spun around and skulked out of the dungeon. The door clanged shut around the corner.
Tufic stepped into Samuel’s cell and crouched down close to him. A great white smile broke out across the Saracen physician’s swarthy face as he inspected the bruises and gashes across the squire’s forehead.
“Good,” he said. “There doesn’t seem to be any serious damage to you. How do you feel?”
Samuel felt oddly comforted by the physician’s presence. He couldn’t figure out why. He had only met the doctor a handful of times—the last being in Gregory’s tunnels. His gentle hands had mended him well after his encounter with the strange hashshashin that accompanied the baron’s Moslem friend. Somehow, down deep, he knew that this was a good man and his warm smile and soothing voice expelled the doubts he had been harboring.
“I’m fine, sir. Just a bit uncomfortable—oh, and a bit hungry too, if you understand my meaning.”
Tufic laughed. “Yes, I can imagine the food here isn’t very appealing.” He rummaged through the folds of his tunic and produced the largest fig Samuel had ever seen. “Here you go, lad. Eat up.”
Samuel grabbed the luscious fruit and bit down deep—its juices exploding into the back of his throat. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so good in his entire life. As he relished every savory morsel, Tufic stood, crept to the edge of the cell, and peered around the corner. As he turned back to face the squire, who was still gnawing enraptured on the fruit, he placed a finger to his lips and crouched down again at Samuel’s side.
“Now listen to me, lad,” he said in a hushed tone. “I haven’t much time. A mutual friend has sent me to tell you to be prepared to flee this place at a moment’s notice.”
Samuel stopped chewing. “Mutual friend?” he asked, pieces of fig spewing out of his mouth.
“Yes. You know who I mean. He’s coming soon. He will free you. When he does, you must use this map…go immediately to the place that is marked,” Tufic said as he produced a small piece of cloth with markings that resembled a map from his robe and handed it to Samuel. “Do not stop for anything or anyone. Just go. Once you are there, all will be made clear.”
The squire swallowed the last bit of fruit in his mouth as best he could. He tentatively took the cloth map, and stared at it without saying a word. The “x” marking was near the Jordan River, about ten miles south of Jerusalem. No one lived out there but nomads and…oh!
Samuel slowly looked up at the physician. “Are…are you him? I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell that Gerard anything. You can trust me,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “You really can, you know.”
Tufic returned the smile and clapped his hand on the squire’s shoulder. “I know I can trust you, lad. But for now, just do as I say. Be ready to move. And when the time comes, run. And keep the map hidden somehow.”
“Don’t worry. I know exactly where I can hide it. Gerard will never find it!”
“Good lad. Now, I’ve got to leave. But don’t worry. We’ll see one another again very soon.”
The physician stood and looked down at the young squire, confined in cold rusted chains.
“I really am proud of you, lad. Our friend is, too,” he said with a wink as he turned and walked around the corner to the large metal door that led to the outside world. “Don’t worry, Samuel. Soon, all will be well.”
As the doctor’s footfalls echoed out of the dungeon corridors, Samuel could not help but say a prayer of thanksgiving as a strange calm settled on him like a warm down blanket in the cold of night. He felt completely at peace. He knew without doubt that all, soon, would indeed be well.
10
Gregory's rage roiled inside his gut as he stormed through the dank, narrow hallways of the palace dungeon. Things were rapidly spinning out of control. Gerard's incompetence had cost him dearly. The loss of Solomon's ring to the Djinn was a major setback. Possibly even an insurmountable one. Without the ring's power, he was now powerless to revive the twelve golem warriors that lay dormant within the subterranean vault underneath the city.
Of course, that wasn't the worst part. The second phase of his plan…the part that would assure his own status of emperor…would be completely futile. He'd heard rumors that there might still be a way to reanimate the golems without the ring, but it would be impossible to craft an army of new ones.
Fortunately, the baron had not yet disposed of the one person who might provide the key to rectifying his dilemma. If anyone knew a way to attain his goals without Solomon's Seal, it would be the Essene nomad he held prisoner within these dungeon walls. He would force the man to reveal his secrets and his plan would be salvaged from ruin.
Gregor
y heard the screams before he even rounded the corner to where the prisoner's cell was. The mercenary, eager to rectify his failure before the baron could devise a way to punish him adequately, had already begun the interrogation process. He shuddered to think of what atrocities Gerard had planned for Ibrihim this time. After the last rat-infested interrogation, it was an absolute miracle the nomad was even able to speak coherently.
As the baron approached the cell, a grim-faced guard opened the gate to let him pass. One step through the threshold and Gregory reeled from the horrid stench that greeted him. He glanced around the room to see the prisoner hanging two feet off the floor by chains bound tight around his wrists. His shoulders and arms were stretched to an almost implausible length. What was left of the man's face, after the rats’ feast a few days earlier, was marred by caked blood, feces, and all manner of ungodly things. His emaciated chest heaved for breath as Gerard slammed a fist into his distended gut.
As soon as the mercenary sensed the baron's presence in the room, he stopped and turned toward his employer.
"I believe he's ready to talk," Gerard said with a growl. "I don't think we'll have as much difficulty with him this time."
The baron stalked over to the suspended prisoner, reached out a hand, and forced the nomad’s chin up so that he could look into the man’s eyes.
“Is this true, Ibrihim?” Gregory asked with a smile. “Can we dispense with all this unpleasantness? All I need are a few answers. It’s as simple as that. You’ve already betrayed your tribe by revealing their location to me. What is a little more information going to hurt between friends?”
The Essene stared back at Gregory with dead eyes. All hope was gone from them. Through the mercenary’s previous torture, Ibrihim had given up his people and their sacred trust. He’d shown Gerard exactly where they would be on a map and had even revealed the secrets of the Seal. The baron knew that this man truly had nothing else to live for.
The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Page 9
