The Saracen

by Tony Roberts

  Jesus’ eyes had opened and stared down at him, and Casca had felt his legs turn to water. “Soldier,” the Jew had whispered terribly, “you are content with what you are. Therefore that you shall remain until we meet again…”

  Casca screamed in his mind as he felt the blood of Jesus seep into his mouth and burn its way through his body, purifying him. He slumped in the church at the memory, head bowed, sweat pouring off his face. He slowly raised his face and looked up at the image of Jesus crucified above him. “Why?” he shouted. “Why an eternity? How long must I endure this existence?”

  The church echoed to his voice, the acoustics playing tricks on the ears. And to Casca came the response once again, faint but clear. “Until we meet again.”

  Sobbing, Casca fell face first to the rocks, pounding impotently on the stone, watched in amazement by two priests who had come to investigate the shouting. They crossed themselves hurriedly, wishing to be no part of the strange sight of a Saracen kneeling at one of the holiest places in Christendom babbling in Latin. Such things were too much for them to comprehend or even to try to. They left him alone with his torment.

  Casca remained slumped there for some time, drained in body and soul, until he could bear it no longer to be there. He had come, but what sort of answers he had expected to find he didn’t know; but he knew it had been a compulsion he had to satisfy. Another disappointment but he was getting used to those. He emerged into the day, wiping his eyes and sniffing deeply, then he steeled himself and made his way east across the city, heading for the Temple Quarter. He had one last appointment and intended to keep it.

  It was afternoon by the time he reached his destination. Crusaders were packing and making hurried measures to get all they could out of the city. Some stopped and stared hard at him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility, but Casca pushed past, heading for a stone staircase. Two guards barred his way, spears crossed.

  “You aren’t allowed up here - Ihr seid hier daoben unerlaubt” one of the guards growled in German.

  “Wer so sagt? - Who says?” Casca snapped in the same language. The German’s mouth opened in surprise. “I’m here to see the Lord de Beaucaire, please pass on that Rufus Longue is here to see him. I’ll wait.”

  Casca sat on the stairs and folded his arms defiantly. The guard hesitated, looked at his companion, then shrugged. He stomped off, leaving his fellow sentinel alone, watching the strange Saracen who spoke German. After a moment the man returned with another, and Casca twisted to see a familiar face. Guillaume nodded to the guards and they stepped back to allow Casca through, and the Eternal Mercenary clasped arms with the French Crusader.

  “Good to see you again, mon ami,” he said. “How are things?”

  Guillaume grunted and led Casca off along a stone passageway that looked out onto the courtyard. “Chaos. We are due to leave soon. Lord d’Ibelin has kindly paid for our passage out of here and we will leave tomorrow for Tyre. And you? You seem to have done well.”

  “Yes. Fortune seems to have favored me. I saw your lord the other day. It’s good to see he survived.”

  “Yes. He is a tough one, but age seems to have caught up with him. Here we are,” the Frenchman said, showing Casca through a door into a chamber half empty. What was left was strewn about untidily. De Beaucaire turned in surprise and smiled when he saw who it was. “Rufus! Glad you came to see us off.”

  “I could do nothing else, my lord. I hope my warning came of some use.”

  De Beaucaire shrugged. “Nothing untoward has happened yet, though we doubled the guard once your warning came through. But the guards have now gone and Eleanor is being watched by Guillaume here.”

  Just then Eleanor appeared, and she gasped at the sight of Casca. He removed his helmet and bowed, a smile across his face. She had grown even in the short time he had last seen her, into a woman. She would be a catch for some lucky bastard, he thought. Guillaume went over to her and stood by her side. She linked her arm into his and smiled at Casca. He eyed the two of them for a moment, their expressions, then turned to de Beaucaire, slightly puzzled by the seeming lack of propriety.

  The lord smiled and clapped Casca on the shoulder. “Guillaume was knighted by Balian d’Ibelin when the siege began, and as a knight he is now perfectly eligible to marry Eleanor. They have grown close these past few weeks and I have given my blessing to their union. We shall return to France and they will marry. He will become the new Lord de Beaucaire when I die.”

  Casca looked at Guillaume. “Well, it’s not only me who’s done well, is it, you rogue! Congratulations. Madamoiselle de Beaucaire, I think you’ll have a husband who will make a fine lord.”

  Guillaume looked smugly proud and Eleanor blushed. She tightened her grip on her betrothed. “I haven’t thanked you enough for what you did for us – and especially me. How can I reward you enough?”

  Casca frowned briefly. “I don’t need rewards, lady. I was glad to put one over on that bastard de Chatillon, excuse my words.”

  Eleanor smiled and dismissed the base language. Two men came in to collect the next item in the room, a pair of gold candlesticks. One stopped and scratched his chest and Casca watched him, wondering what it was that was troubling him. The man put his hand inside his tunic, still scratching himself, turning towards Eleanor. Casca suddenly cursed and lunged forward, just as the man’s hand came out of his tunic gripping a very wicked looking knife.

  The knife raised itself and was beginning to plunge towards Eleanor’s unsuspecting neck when Casca’s hand clamped itself around the wrist of the attacker. Guillaume dragged Eleanor back, placing himself between the man and his betrothed. The attacker – Jarret - squirmed and twisted, but his wrist was caught fast in the grip of a man who had served years on a Roman galley ship as a slave, rowing for the Empire. It had given him a grip hard to match, and the man was caught fast. He looked up at Casca and his face went white.

  “You’re dead!” he hissed, disbelief on his face.

  “If I am then I’m a very lively corpse,” Casca replied, a grim expression on his face. “You mucked up, my friend, I’m very much alive.”

  The others watched tensely as Jarret twisted desperately in Casca’s vise-like grip but was held fast. He sweated and looked from one to another, hoping something would give him hope, but the looks he was getting didn’t give him much encouragement. “I cut your throat! You were dead! It’s not possible!”

  Casca snapped the man’s wrist, the sound echoing round the chamber, and Jarret screamed in agony, dropping the knife. He pushed the wounded man at Guillaume. “He was going to slaughter your fiancée here in front of you. He was the man who abducted her in Beteras, knifing Lord de Beaucaire here and knocking you out.”

  Guillaume took Jarret by the throat and dragged him out of the chamber, his face set like stone. Casca followed the struggling man out onto the corridor and watched as Guillaume hauled him up onto the window ledge and shoved him over it. There came a scream of terror and a dull sickening thud from the other side. They all went to a window and looked out. Sprawled on the stone courtyard below was the body of Jarret, surrounded by people running in alarm from all points of the compass.

  Guillaume smiled mirthlessly and wiped his hands theatrically. “That swine won’t worry us no more.”

  “Indeed,” de Beaucaire said dryly. “A nasty individual, to be sure.”

  “De Chatillon’s creature,” Casca said, “he won’t be missed.”

  “Lady Stephanie is still in the city,” de Beaucaire said. “Reynauld’s widow. She may have harbored him, and it might cause difficulties. I suggest we say nothing.” He stopped as people came running up the passage, concern on their faces, demanding to know what happened. De Beaucaire moved to placate them and Casca slipped back into the room where Eleanor was being comforted by Guillaume.

  “Yet again I must thank you for saving my life,” Eleanor said. “Surely there is something I can do for you?”

  “Well….” Casca sc
ratched his head. “Do you still have those two servant girls?”

  “Oh, Giselle and Monique?”

  “Yes, those two.”

  “Why yes,” Eleanor said slowly, “they often speak of you…oh!” Once more she blushed. Casca laughed, nodding. Eleanor put a hand to her mouth and suppressed laughter of her own. “Very well, Rufus Longue, I shall arrange a chamber for you and those two strumpets for this night.”

  “My lady is too kind,” Casca grinned, catching Guillaume’s eye. The Frenchman’s efforts to keep a straight face were heroic. Casca laughed again. The night was promising to be a great one, especially as he remembered what they had been like the last time!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The girls were gone by the time Casca came to. He felt as if he’d been beaten black and blue and his limbs ached from the exertions of the night. Both Giselle and Monique had been delighted to see him again and even more delighted to renew their experiences with the muscular soldier.

  Casca groaned and slowly got out of the bed. It was a luxurious item and obviously too big to pack and transport down the road to the coast. Whoever inherited this place would also get the bed. Casca staggered to the garderobe and performed his natural necessities, before returning to the chamber and searching for his clothing. It had been neatly packed in a wardrobe and he silently thanked the girls for being so considerate.

  When he got to the dining room there was nobody there, and the day room was also empty. They had gone. He found a letter addressed to him and he opened it and stared at the script until it came into focus, then he sat and read it. It was from Eleanor and she expressed her gratitude for all he’d done. She invited him to come to her estate in southern France whenever he could, and he grinned. Maybe he would when all this was over.

  He left the building and slowly descended to the courtyard. It was bare and silent, and he looked round one last time before leaving. He turned left and surveyed the majestic Dome of the Rock and the other buildings of the Temple Quarter, all silent now, awaiting their new masters.

  Casca decided to see if the de Beaucaires had left safely. Lots of things could go wrong in the confused situation of a city changing hands during a war, and he certainly didn’t like the idea of Eleanor and her party falling foul of some lowlife scum or being taken advantage of by some greedy bastard. Though the noble Salah-ed-Din was true to his word, certain others under his command were less so.

  The Jaffa Gate was in complete chaos. Hordes of people were clamoring to get out under the watchful eyes of the Saracen guard, but none could pass until they paid their ransom money. The poor were kept back by spears, away from the center of the road, while those rich enough – or lucky enough – to pay passed through on the road laden with their possessions.

  Casca shook his had in disgust. Some of those on the road had enough to pay for the poor pressed in a crowd at the roadside, but they averted their eyes and passed by. The expressions on the faces of the senior officers standing around watching the procession of the nobles and rich reflected Casca’s feelings. There was no way he could push his way through this gate; it was too packed and the other gates guarded by men loyal to Salah-ed-Din so nobody could sneak out without paying. He entered a building close to the gate and got to the roof and looked out along the road. He couldn’t see the de Beaucaires, so he descended and made his way to the nearest staircase that led to the walls and climbed up.

  Two Saracen guards nodded in his direction as he passed them, and Casca got to the battlements and looked out west, leaning on the hot stones. Outside, the road wound its way up and over the nearby low hills and vanished towards the coast down the gorges. Along the roadside were many carts and people, some moving, others stopped. Casca frowned as he saw some Saracens conversing with those who had got out of the city and there seemed to be arguments with guards in attendance, threatening one or two of the Christians.

  And one of those carts that had stopped was that belonging to Lord de Beaucaire. He recognized the elderly noble and Eleanor, and Guillaume was being held at spear point by a group of soldiers led by an officer of some sort. Cursing, Casca thundered down the steps and barged into the roadside, scattering a couple of guards who looked at him open-mouthed for his rudeness. A cart had to stop suddenly to avoid him being run down by a pair of bullocks, but Casca was in no mood to argue with anyone. He marched swiftly to the gate and pushed aside a couple of people who were pulling a cart laden with cloths and other such materials.

  The guards at the gate pushed their spears across his path but Casca roughly pulled them aside. “Can’t you idiots see I’m a captain? Let me pass immediately!”

  The nearest guard jerked his spear back rapidly as though he’s been bitten by a snake. “Sorry sir!”

  Casca glared as he stamped past, then broke into a run along the road, his feet kicking up puffs of dust as he made for the slight hollow in the road where the de Beaucaires had been stopped. He gripped his sword hilt and arrived to hear the officer demanding money from the resisting Lord. “You must pay a head tax before passing; it is the law. If you do not I will have to confiscate your possessions here.” His French was passable but heavily accented.

  “We paid our ransom,” de Beaucaire countered, his arms folded, “and I refuse to be bullied into paying you protection money.”

  The officer, a regimental commander or amir kabir, scowled and beckoned to his men, five of them, to come closer. Two had Guillaume under guard and the other three advanced on de Beaucaire. Eleanor and the two servant girls huddled in fear by the side of the cart. Casca winked at the surprised women and stepped across the officer’s line of sight, staring hard into his eyes. “You disgrace the word of Salah-ed-Din,” Casca snarled in Arabic. “He gave his word that anyone who paid the ransom could go free, yet here you are acting like a common thief. Have you no shame?”

  The amir kabir’s eyes bulged in outrage. “Who do you think you are addressing, Captain?” He made Casca’s inferiority in rank obvious. De Beaucaire and Guillaume eyed the exchange, ignorant of what was being said but aware that Casca was fighting their corner. “Mind your own business or I will have you punished for insubordination!”

  “Go ahead, and I shall report your action to no less than Salah-ed-Din himself. I’m sure he’d appreciate your theft.”

  The officer ground his teeth together, then glanced around swiftly. There was a gap in the traffic, a large wagon was at the gate at that moment with some argument over the ransom to be paid, and nobody was paying them any attention. He smiled emptily and turned to his men. Casca knew what was coming; the officer was so damned obvious it was almost possible to see his thought processes cross his ugly face.

  “Teach this insubordinate pig a lesson,” the officer commanded.

  Even before the words were out, Casca was moving. The three men not guarding Guillaume were still taking in the command when Casca grabbed two of them by the heads and smashed them together. The two men collapsed like the Aqsa Mosque had fallen on them. The third grabbed for Casca but the mercenary ducked out of the way and then sank his fist into the exposed stomach of the unarmored man. The Saracen’s breath exploded out of his mouth and he keeled over, gargling strangely.

  The two men guarding Guillaume turned to meet the new threat but Guillaume reached out and smacked their turbaned heads together with a sickening thud. They fell at his feet inert. “I learn fast,” he said, a smile on his face.

  Casca grinned and faced the officer, now alone. “I think there is no further objection to these people resuming their journey? Or do I throw you down the nearest well?”

  The amir kabir pulled an evil expression and turned on his heel and stamped off. De Beaucaire came up to Casca and held out his hand. “My thanks to you, Rufus. You are indeed a strange fellow. What are you?”

  Casca watched as Guillaume re-armed himself and kicked the groaning man aside before comforting Eleanor. “A mercenary, Lord de Beaucaire. I’m paid to fight and I live by my wits. I don’t like thi
eves or robbers, whatever guise they come in. And you’re a decent man whom I happen to admire. You don’t deserve all this. Go back to France and avoid this place. I feel there will always be trouble here.” They shook hands.

  “I shall certainly do that. I came here to try to find a fortune but there is little prospect of that. Eleanor found a future husband and me an heir, so perhaps we have found riches. Who knows?”

  Casca nodded and slapped the man on the back. Guillaume also shook his hand and Eleanor came up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you once more. Remember my invitation.”

  “I have it on me,” he replied, smiling at her.

  The two servant girls giggled and waved at him shyly.

  “Well, girls, is that all I get for saving your asses?”

  Giselle and Monique came up to him, one after the other, and went to kiss him. Casca grabbed each of them and pulled them into a real long hard kiss, melding his body to theirs. Each of them stepped back, breathless. “Ahh,” Casca breathed happily, “now that is what I call thanks.”

  The two servants rejoined their mistress, faces flushed, smiling like teenage girls. Eleanor waved once more and the cart set off under Guillaume’s guidance, the donkey straining under the load. Casca waved as the small party crested the rise ahead, then vanished from view.

  Two of the Saracen soldiers were showing signs of coming to, so Casca turned about and made his way towards the city along the road which was busy once more, now the wagon had moved away from the gate.

  “Stop!” came an order from the right. Casca turned and saw a group of soldiers running towards him, the amir kabir amongst them. Casca cursed. He was stuck out in the open, twenty soldiers heading his way and there was no chance of him avoiding the shit about to land on him. “Seize him!” the officer barked, fury in his eyes.