Crusade

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘You’ve been exaggerating again, Salim. Why do I ever listen to you?’

  He saw a familiar look in her eyes. She was about to give him a talking to, and would end up by telling him to look after Zahra. Quickly, he slipped out of the room and went to fill a jug from the water jar. Taking a bowl and towel, he carried the water carefully into the big room and went up the few steps to the dais, where his father and the guest had settled themselves cross-legged against the cushions.

  ‘Good.’ Adil looked at him with unusual approval, and waved him towards the mysterious stranger. Salim held the bowl under the man’s hands with his left hand, and poured water over them with his right, as he’d been taught to do. He passed the stranger the towel, and held the bowl for his father too. Then he stepped back, hoping to be allowed to stay and listen. His father made no sign, so he limped to the door and leaned against the lintel, pretending to look bored and idle.

  ‘Not a great force, you said?’ Adil was asking the stranger.

  ‘No. A few hundred knights, if that. And they’re not madmen fresh out of Europe, but Franks from up the coast here, who’ve lived in Palestine for years. It’s no more than a show of bravado, if you ask me. The Franks – may God frustrate them! – have been buzzing like angry bees since Saladin took Jerusalem. They’re beaten, and they know it.’

  Salim saw that Adil had pulled out a string of worry beads from the folds of his gown. He was passing them quickly through his fingers, as he always did when he was anxious.

  ‘It’s worrying, though. If the gates of the city have to be shut it’ll be another blow to business. Trade’s been terrible these past two years. I used to be able to sell an inlaid tray to an ignorant Frank for five dinars. I’m lucky if I can sell a spoon to anyone now.’

  His guest raised his huge eyebrows.

  ‘You don’t regret that the Crusaders were driven out of Acre?’

  Adil looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Of course not, Doctor Musa. But we were used to them. They’d been here for a hundred years, and some of them had become quite civilized. Say what you like, the European trade is most profitable.’ He sighed. ‘But what worries me more is that the fanatics in Europe are raising a storm over our conquest of Jerusalem. You must have heard the rumours! Huge armies! Thousands of Frankish knights and foot soldiers. Kings, too. Richard of England, may God deliver him to perdition! Philip of France, a devil incarnate. And that red-bearded monster, the Emperor of Germany! They won’t rest till they raise their cursed crosses over the holy mosques again.’ He was tugging at his thick black beard as he spoke.

  A discreet cough from the far side of the courtyard made Salim turn his head. His mother was holding a tray in her hand and nodding at him. He went across to her.

  ‘Who is he? Who’s with your father?’

  ‘I don’t know. A doctor, I think.’

  ‘Ah.’ She looked pleased. ‘At last.’

  ‘Why, Mama? Is someone ill?’

  ‘No, of course not. What did you hear? Are we to leave Acre or not?’

  ‘No,’ Salim said, feeling embarrassed. ‘It’s only a raiding party, after all.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ She shot him a triumphant glance. ‘Now mind how you go with the tea.’

  Salim carried the tray carefully back into the big room and up the dais, walking as smoothly as he could. He hated it when people noticed his limp for the first time. He felt the doctor’s eyes on him as he approached, and looked up, setting his face in a repressive frown. But there was only interest in the doctor’s eyes, and none of the expected pity or contempt.

  ‘Lame from birth, is he?’ The doctor was addressing Adil.

  Adil shook his head.

  ‘He was born perfect. A fever struck him when he was about two years old.’

  The doctor nodded.

  ‘No other impairment down that side?’

  ‘Some weakness in the left arm. Doctor, is there anything you could—’

  ‘I’m sorry. Such conditions can’t be treated. Some strengthening exercises perhaps, a careful diet . . .’

  Salim was taking in the stranger’s appearance now. He was a round little man, quite elderly, with long-fingered, delicate hands. His gown was made of fine stuff, but was rumpled round his belt, and his turban seemed about to slip down over one ear. His eyes were penetrating, under their bushy black brows, and Salim had the uncomfortable feeling that they had seen right inside him, and knew everything.

  ‘A clever boy, no doubt,’ he said, talking to Adil while looking at Salim. ‘He’ll live on his wits. What could be better?’

  Salim scowled. He resented being talked about as if he wasn’t there.

  Adil poured out a glass of mint tea and handed it to his guest.

  ‘Live on his wits? We all have to do that nowadays. And though I’m his father, I must say that Salim has more wits than most. Quick as a bagful of monkeys, he is.’

  Salim had never heard praise from his father before. His mouth dropped open with astonishment. Then he shut it again, and tried to look intelligent.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Adil went on, sipping his tea and looking at his visitor. ‘The boy’s gifted. Especially with language. He reads and writes like a scholar. He even speaks Frankish!’

  Salim felt a blush of embarrassment surge up into his face. He had learned to speak Norman French from the Frankish merchants’ sons, who had hung about the customs house in the days when the Crusaders had ruled Acre. They’d teased and tormented him, but accepted him in a rough way. There had been no one else to play with, anyway. In the two years since they’d gone, he’d almost forgotten their sharp, crude language, so different from the fluid, gutteral Arabic of his parents. Speaking French was a skill he was ashamed of and he couldn’t understand why his father was boasting of it.

  But the doctor’s eyebrows had lifted with interest.

  ‘Ha! Unusual! You really speak Frankish?’ he said, addressing Salim for the first time.

  ‘Try him,’ Adil said eagerly. ‘Say something, Salim.’

  Salim’s mind went blank. He licked his lips, anxious not to look a fool.

  ‘Um – Good day to you, sir,’ he managed at last, in halting Norman French. ‘The weather is hot.’

  ‘Yes, yes, and? What does it mean?’ Adil said impatiently.

  Salim translated. The skin round Dr Musa’s dark eyes crinkled into fine lines as he began to laugh again.

  ‘Ah, the Franks! The Franks! Always talking about the weather. Not surprising, I suppose. Think what cold wet lands they come from. Cruel, fanatical people. The humours of their blood make them hard and merciless.’

  Adil coughed delicately.

  ‘I hear that your people have suffered again? In the land of England?’

  Dr Musa shook his head, as if trying to clear it of an unpleasant vision.

  ‘Yes. Hundreds massacred, in many cities. They hate us Jews. What God-forsaken people they are. If only I was young and strong, I’d . . . But what can I do? A poor old doctor. And I tell you this, Adil, they’d treat you Muslims the same if you dared set foot in their cursed lands. You’re quite right to be scared of a new invasion from the west. Richard of England is terrifying. Terrifying! Tall as a tree! Strong as a lion too. And cunning – he’d trick his way out of hell. If they come, Acre will be their first target. They’ll have to take this city before they can go to Jerusalem. May the Lord be our refuge if they succeed.’

  Dr Musa and Salim’s father sat talking for a long time while the sun faded from the wall of the courtyard and the leaves of the vine on the roof were rattling in the evening breeze. Salim stayed where he was, in the doorway, pretending to whittle a piece of wood with his pocket knife, trying to listen, but the men had dropped their voices and he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Though the doctor was so short, and so rumpled in his appearance, there was something impressive about him, something different from the merchants and money traders his father usually entertained.

  At last the doctor made a m
ove to go, pulling his flimsy cloak carelessly over his shoulders and shoving his turban back in place. Salim scrambled to his feet as the two men emerged into the courtyard. Just then, the street door opened with a crash and Salim’s older brother, Ali, burst in.

  ‘Ali!’ Adil called out sharply. ‘Stop charging about like that. Can’t you see we have a guest?’

  Ali made himself slow to a walk and went across to his father.

  ‘Salaam alaykum,’ he said, bowing to the doctor.

  ‘A firebrand!’ Dr Musa’s eyebrows had risen. ‘A young man of passion, Adil.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Adil said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

  Salim could see that Ali was burning up with impatience, absolutely dying to speak, but didn’t dare until he’d received permission.

  ‘Two fine boys. God has blessed you,’ Dr Musa said.

  Salim felt a small glow of pleasure. It wasn’t often that praise came his way. It was usually reserved for Ali.

  ‘Your sons, I’m sure, are better than these worthless rogues,’ Adil responded politely.

  Dr Musa shook his head.

  ‘The Almighty didn’t see fit to make my marriage fruitful. I shall die childless, unless he takes pity on us in our old age. Who knows? Think of Abraham and Sarah.’

  Ali, who had been bursting to speak, could keep silent no longer.

  ‘Father, excuse me,’ he burst out. ‘I must tell you. The Franks are moving south fast. And it’s not just a small raiding party, like they were all saying this morning. There are thousands of them! The Sultan Saladin has sent a messenger. I saw him. Father, you should have seen his horse! Black, and the biggest, most beautiful—’

  ‘Never mind his horse!’ Adil had stepped backwards, shocked. ‘What did this messenger say?’

  ‘He’s ordered the city to prepare. We’ve got to get in as much food as possible before the gates are closed, and sharpen our swords and everything. There’s going to be a siege!’

  The preacher was right, Salim thought, with a lurch of his stomach. Mother should have listened to me.

  ‘Sharpen our what?’ Adil was saying distractedly. ‘Swords? What swords? What would I do with a sword?’

  ‘Everyone’s leaving who can,’ Ali was running eagerly on. ‘But we’re going to stay, aren’t we, Father? I spoke to one of the garrison sergeants. They’re handing out weapons already. I told him you didn’t have any. Not even a dagger. The sergeant promised me a sword, one of the finest, if I join them.’

  Adil was struggling to keep up.

  ‘A siege? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes! Certain! Everyone’s running to buy food.’

  Salim’s skin pricked with excitement and fear. He was watching his father’s face, and saw with alarm that Adil was chewing his lower lip with anxiety.

  ‘How far away are the Franks? How long have we got before they close the city gates?’

  ‘Several days’ march, I think. And there are ships moving alongside them up the coast.’

  Adil smacked his hands together in distress.

  ‘Ships! They’ll close the harbour. It’ll be ruinous!’

  ‘The Sultan’s sending reinforcements, Father. The messenger said so. They’ll be here in a week. I don’t know when they’ll shut the gates though.’

  Salim couldn’t hold back any longer. His heart was pounding.

  ‘I’ll join the garrison too, Baba. Please let me. I can shoot arrows really well, I’m sure I can, and you know how good I am at throwing stones.’

  Ali turned on him.

  ‘Shut up, you fool. Who do you think you are? They don’t want kids, especially cripples like you.’

  ‘Kid yourself,’ Salim shot back at him. ‘Just because you’re three years older than me . . .’

  Adil, ignoring his sons, had jumped to his feet.

  ‘A week till the Sultan gets here!’ He was talking mainly to himself. ‘And an enemy fleet to blockade the harbour! We must leave. At least get Khadijah and Zahra away. But my galley! It’s at sea now, not due back till next week. I have to be here to unload it. I’ll lose a fortune if it falls into the wrong hands. I can’t possibly leave Acre now.’

  Dr Musa had stood up too.

  ‘Is the Sultan’s messenger still here?’ he asked Ali. ‘Is he staying in the city?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know. He had a troop of Mamluk soldiers with him. They’re amazing! They’ve got so many weapons. And their saddles! You should just see them. They’re . . .’

  He stopped, as if lost for words.

  Salim crept forwards, fascinated, wanting Ali to go on. He had never seen Mamluk troops. They were the best, the fastest and the bravest of all the Turks.

  Dr Musa was gathering his gown up, ready to hurry away.

  ‘I must go,’ he said to Adil. ‘Thank God my wife is in Jerusalem with her family. She’ll be safe there for the time being. I’ll take what I can carry on my old mule, and get off on the road tomorrow. Eh, my poor old bones! Racketing round the country, an old man like me, soldiers running everywhere . . .’

  ‘You must go, of course. No! Wait, please, a moment.’ Adil put out a hand to stop him. ‘There’s something I must ask you. I hadn’t intended – in such a rush – without proper preparation – but this changes everything.’

  Dr Musa was already at the street door, but he turned politely.

  ‘You’ll be surprised, perhaps, by this request.’ Adil was looking harassed. ‘It’s – well, it’s about Salim.’

  Salim started when he heard his name, and looked over his shoulder, almost as if he expected another Salim to be standing behind him.

  ‘You’ve seen the boy, doctor,’ Adil went on. ‘I’ve been wondering for months now what to do for the best. He’s not suited to my business. Besides, Ali will take over from me, when the time comes, and no business does well with two masters.’

  Salim, stunned, was looking from his father to Dr Musa and back again, filled with a growing dread.

  ‘I’ll come to the point,’ Adil said quickly. ‘The long and the short of it is, my dear sir, that I’ve been wondering if you would take Salim on as your servant apprentice. Train him in the arts of medicine.’ Salim took a step backwards, his mouth falling open in horror. Ali gave a snort of derisive laughter, quickly suppressed. ‘He’s quick,’ Adil went on. ‘You’ve seen that yourself. His lameness would be no bar to success in your profession. In trade – you know how people are. So superstitious where money is involved! They see ill luck everywhere. A merchant with a limp – well . . .’

  He stopped. Salim screwed his eyes tight shut, blocking out his father’s supplicating look and the astonishment on Dr Musa’s face.

  No! he was screaming silently to himself. No!

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Dr Musa said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t you rather apprentice him to a doctor of your own faith?’

  Adil shook his head.

  ‘You’re the best, Dr Musa. Your reputation is supreme. You’d give my boy a wonderful start in life.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dr Musa’s voice was so doubtful that Salim opened his eyes again in hope. ‘I’ll have to think about it. An apprentice! What an idea! Obedience, of course – I’d insist on obedience. And hard work. How strong is he? Could he manage my mule? She’s a devil, I tell you.’

  ‘The idiot couldn’t manage a kitten,’ Ali muttered under his breath.

  For once, Salim felt grateful for his brother’s ill-natured scorn. But Adil shot Ali a furious look to silence him.

  ‘He’s much tougher than he looks, doctor. And growing stronger all the time. You won’t be leaving Acre tonight? It’s too late, surely. It’ll be dark in half an hour. I’ll come to your house first thing in the morning, and you can give me your answer then. Just consider it, think it over, that’s all I ask.’

  Dr Musa was already down the steps, and halfway across the courtyard towards the door.

  ‘I will, ya-Adil,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘Come
to me in the morning, and bring the boy with you. An apprentice! It’s quite a thought.’

  Salim tossed and turned on his sleeping mat throughout the long night. He had been away from home only once before. Two years ago, Saladin had reclaimed the city of Acre from the Franks, and raised the banners of Islam over its domes and turrets. Just before the battle, Adil had quietly evacuated his family, but they had stayed away for only a few short weeks. The idea of going away for a long time, perhaps forever, was impossible. Salim couldn’t take it in. Twice he was woken from a nightmare by a nameless terror, and had to stifle a yell of fear in case he roused Ali.

  Adil woke him from an uneasy sleep just as the approach of dawn was tinging the black sky with grey. At once Salim was wide awake, his heart thudding uncomfortably.

  ‘Baba, please, I want to stay at home. Don’t send me away,’ he pleaded.

  Adil frowned.

  ‘Stop that, Salim. I’ve made up my mind. This is a good chance for you. It’s for the best. There’s no use whining to your mother, either. If you disobey . . .’

  He left the threat open.

  Salim struggled after him into the courtyard where Khadijah was pouring water from a large jar into a small pot. Her eyes were red, and her hands were trembling. She tipped some water over his head and smoothed his hair down, then pulled him into a fierce hug.

  ‘Always remember your manners,’ she said in a thick voice. ‘Don’t follow the ways of unbelievers. And never drink too much cold water on an empty stomach.’

  He pulled away and looked up at her face, trying to make out her expression in the dim light.

  ‘You don’t need to say goodbye, Mama. We’re only going to see him. He won’t want me. I know he won’t. I’ll be back in a little while.’

  She turned away, putting the corner of her headdress up to wipe her eyes, then picked up a bundle lying by the door and put it into his arms.

  ‘Your other tunic, habibi. I washed it last night. A cloak for when it gets cold. And there are some honey cakes. Your favourite.’

  He stared at her, anger pulsing through him.

  ‘You’re sending me away! You want to get rid of me!’

  Ali stumbled outside, yawning.