by K. M. Ashman
Mehedi untied the laces on the leather bag fastened to the pommel of the saddle. He looked inside and after moving some of the eating implements inside, saw a silken pouch nestled amongst a handful of dried dates. Gently he drew it out and looked up at the sergeant.
‘Open it,’ said Cronin.
Mehedi unwrapped the silk and lifted the necklace up by the chain. Cronin withheld a gasp at the cross’s beauty and Hassan’s family murmured amongst themselves.
As it spun slowly on the end of the chain, the sun reflected off the jewels, causing everyone to stare in silence at its magnificence.
‘Hand it over,’ said Cronin eventually, but Mehedi’s gaze did not leave the magnificent pendant, entranced by its beauty.
‘I said hand it over,’ said Cronin and this time the Bedouin raised his head to stare at the sergeant. Cronin could see the Arab’s manner had changed and there was a dangerous look in his eyes.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Mehedi,’ warned Cronin. ‘This does not belong to either of us and is not worth dying for.’
‘If a life away from hunger and slavery is not worth dying for, then what is?’ asked Mehedi. ‘The Christians in Acre covet such things and with the money this will bring I can buy my own camels and set up a trading caravan.’ He nodded towards the women. ‘They can also benefit, even the boy if he so wishes. Go back whence you came, Christian and leave us to our lives.’
‘What foolishness is this?’ asked Cronin. ‘These women were prisoners, forced to do your bidding yet you claim they will live alongside you. The sun has boiled your head, Mehedi and we waste time. Hand it over.’
Mehedi glanced over at the women again and then back at Cronin.
‘You still have no idea, do you?’ he said eventually. ‘You people come here from your cold countries across the sea and deem to judge our way of life. You know nothing about us yet decide what is normal and what is not.’ He nodded towards the women. ‘They are alone and will not survive a month without a man at their side. These are difficult times and brigands abound so to have a man to look after them, with enough money to make them respected all along the trading routes is a temptation few will ignore.’
‘Yet you killed her husband.’
‘I was not with Mustapha on that day so carry no blame but there is another reason they will come.’
‘And that is?’
Mehedi turned and shouted something in his own language.
For a moment nobody moved but eventually, the younger woman moved away from Hassan and walked over to stand beside Mehedi.
‘This is foolishness,’ shouted Cronin. ‘Hassan, what is going on?’
Hassan turned to his mother, talking furiously in their own language. It became obvious they were arguing and despite the woman crying, she and the little boy walked over to join Mehedi and the young woman.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Cronin, ‘why would they do this?’
‘Because,’ said Hassan slowly, his face heavy with resignation, ‘the baby is his.’ He looked up at Cronin. ‘They have no other choice, my lord, our ways demand the baby and mother stays with the father.’
‘She is his wife?’ gasped Cronin.
‘No, my lord, not yet. He forced himself upon her and fathered the child.’
‘But that is rape. Surely she holds no obligations to him.’
‘She does not but he has fed them over the past two years and protected them from others who would do them harm. She feels that despite the circumstances, her place is at his side.’
‘But what about your mother?’
‘She is the grandmother and her life is to nurture the children. She will not leave the baby. Besides, where would she go?’
‘She could come with us.’
‘To Acre? Have you seen the old women within the city walls? Once proud women who rode the spice trails with their tribes now rot away begging for the driest of crusts from those who would rather see them dead. No, my lord, my mother would rather die amongst the desert hills than live amongst the stone streets of a diseased city.’
‘You see, Christian,’ said Mehedi, ‘nothing in this world is as clear as you would like. If I give you the cross, then you will be condemning these women and children to a life of poverty. Take it from my dead body and the outcome will be the same. But ride away from here emptyhanded and they will live a good and worthy life. Is that not the way of true followers of your God?’
‘You raped that woman and tried to kill her brother,’ snarled Cronin, ‘yet now proclaim a righteous stance and wish to become their protector. What sort of man does this?’
‘I do not claim righteousness, Christian,’ said Mehedi, ‘only sensibility. Moments ago, I was a poor man with a life of brigandry in front of me.’ He held up the cross and let it spin in the sun again. ‘Now, I am rich with the beginnings of a family at my side. The only thing that stands before me is a misguided Frank who does not belong here in the first place.’ His voice lowered, and he lifted his scimitar to point toward the sergeant.
‘Now tell me it is not worth dying for.’
----
The valley fell silent as Cronin weighed up his options. He was confident he could better the man in a fight, but the consequences were not so clear. If Mehedi was even close to telling the truth, then to return the cross to the king meant that the two women and two children before him faced a very uncertain future. He turned to Hassan.
‘Does he lie,’ he asked.
‘I know not the truth of his intentions,’ said Hassan, ‘but it is true that my mother and sister will not live long without a protector,’ he looked up at the sergeant, ‘whether that be brigand or knight.’
‘If I allow him to keep that cross,’ said Cronin, ‘then I cannot return to Jerusalem and will be thrown out of the Templar order.’
‘The king may not know it was on its way?’
‘Not yet, but the pope would be expecting acknowledgement sooner or later and when it does not arrive, he will seek an explanation. It will be only a matter of months before the truth will be found out.’
‘But it is not your fault.’
‘I was the one tasked with taking it to Jerusalem, the responsibility is mine.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Cronin and turned to stare again at Mehedi.
‘I am growing a thirst, Christian,’ said the Arab, ‘and need to bring this to an end. Leave and we both win, pursue your quest by fighting me and we both lose, whatever the outcome.’
Cronin slowly lowered his sword to his side and took a deep breath.
‘You have me cornered, Mehedi,’ he said, ‘as you well know. If I let you keep the cross and cede the path do I have your oath you will treat these people well.’
‘With money to my name, there is no need to do otherwise, Christian, so if you want my oath, you have it.’
‘There is one more thing,’ said Cronin. ‘If I allow you to take the cross, then in return I want information. What do you know about Saladin?’
Mehedi stared between the sergeant and the boy, thinking carefully before answering.
‘I am Bedouin,’ he said eventually, ‘and no ally of the Ayyubid, but if you expect me to share the sultan’s plans, then you are talking to the wrong person. I know nothing of such things.’
‘Surely a man such as yourself hears rumours?’
‘I hear many things,’ said Mehedi, ‘some I can repeat, some I will carry to my grave. You seem like a sensible man, Christian and I’m sure that if you were in my place you would feel the same.’
‘But if you owe no allegiance to the Ayyubid so why not share what you know?’
‘Saladin may not be my ally, but we share a dream that one day our lands will be free from the scourge of your people and I will not betray any man who may bring that situation about.’
‘So, you do know something?’
‘I have stated my case, Christian,’ said Mehedi, ‘so now you must make your cho
ice. Do we fight, or do we act like civilised men?’
Cronin considered pushing the man more but could see Mehedi was resolute. Finally, he sighed and replaced his sword in its scabbard.
‘You are a clever man, Mehedi,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you that. I came here seeking a cross, a family, information and your head. I leave with you still in possession of all four. The king of Jerusalem could do worse than to have you amongst his advisors for I think Saladin would surrender within weeks, such would be his frustration.’
‘You compliment me,’ said Mehedi, returning his own blade into his belt. ‘Now, if we both agree not to slaughter each other, perhaps there is time to eat.’
Cronin stared again at Mehedi. Moments earlier he would have cleaved open his head without remorse but now, somehow, he was considering sharing a meal.
‘My lord,’ pleaded Hassan, ‘is it not good to share food?’
‘So be it,’ said Cronin eventually, still facing Mehedi, ‘but know this, my sword will be at my side at all times. If there is trickery, then my blade will not falter.’
‘Is there not now a truce between us, Christian?’ asked Mehedi holding his hands out as if in welcome.
‘One as fragile as a bird’s wing,’ said Cronin.
‘Then let us not talk of war,’ said Mehedi. He turned to the women at his side and spoke in his own language. The older woman took the baby while the younger walked off towards the cave.
‘There is meat and herbs in the pot,’ continued Mehedi, turning back to face Cronin, ‘as soon as it has been warmed up, you will join us.’
----
An hour or so later, Cronin sat across the fire from Mehedi, both men eying the other with interest. Alongside Cronin sat Hassan while his sister and mother busied themselves with the food and water.
‘So, this was your home?’ asked Cronin eventually.
‘It was. Most of the people here were the destitute and those without tribes. Our numbers grew as your people ate up more land until there were too many mouths to feed. Some of us turned to…well lets just say we did what we had to do to survive.’
‘You preyed upon the pilgrims that sought access to the holy places. Poor people who knew only peace.’
‘Hungry men do not discriminate between rich or poor. Only whether the caravan carries enough food to keep their children from starving.’
‘A noble explanation,’ said Cronin accepting a bowl of soup from the older woman, ‘yet I hear the soldiers of Jerusalem are often tasked with burying the bodies of pilgrims slaughtered at the hands of men such as you.’
‘You listen to too many stories, my friend,’ said Mehedi, accepting his own bowl of soup. ‘We rarely killed any who shared their food, only those who sought their blades.’
‘In defence of what was theirs.’
‘It is a difficult life, Christian. Ownership is temporary, whether bread, horses, castles or life itself. We hold them for only the fleetest of moments.’
‘Your clever tongue can convince a man that day is night,’ said Cronin, ‘so I will argue no more.’ He dipped some flatbread into the soup to retrieve a chunk of tender goat flesh. ‘So where are your people now?’ he continued, after he swallowed the meat.
‘Dead,’ said Mehedi abruptly. ‘Slaughtered by men who came in the night. They spared nobody, but the women managed to hide away.’
Cronin stopped eating and looked at Mehedi. The Arab’s focus had not left his bowl and he ate heartily as if he had just discussed the mere death of a sheep.
‘Where are the bodies?’ he asked eventually.
‘Do you not smell them on the air?’ said Mehedi. ‘The women dragged them to a hole amongst the rocks and threw them in to avoid disease, but it was a task poorly done. Tomorrow I will cover them with soil and say a prayer for their souls.’
‘How many were there?’ asked Cronin.
‘About fifty including the children,’ said Mehedi. ‘They stood no chance.’
‘Was it Saladin’s men who did the killing?’
‘What does it matter?’ asked Mehedi looking up. ‘Death is death and the shape of the sword that conveys it does not matter to the child who stands in its way.’
The two men fell quiet again as they finished their meal. Finally, Mehedi got to his feet.
‘It has been a long day, Christian,’ he said, ‘and I look forward to closing my eyes. Am I to be assured you will not come as an assassin while I sleep?’
‘You have my word,’ said Cronin, ‘and we will be gone before the sun clears the hills tomorrow morning.’
‘In that case, I wish you well,’ said Mehedi. ‘Perhaps one day we will meet again.’
‘It is unlikely,’ said Cronin, ‘but if we do, I hope it is with the peace that we now share.’
‘As do I,’ said Mehedi and after a nod of acknowledgement, followed the two women into the cave.
‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Hassan when he was gone.
‘You can stay if you wish,’ said Cronin. ‘Your family is here, and I believe that Mehedi may turn out to be a good man. Perhaps it is time for you to return to your own people.’
‘My place is with you,’ said Hassan. ‘I am a Christian now and if you will have me, I will travel at your side until the day I too can wear the cross.’
‘I fear association with me will only hinder you in that hope,’ said Cronin. ‘I was given an important task yet failed to carry it through. My incompetence will mean I will be cast out of the order and probably imprisoned. You would do well to find a different path.’
‘What will be, will be,’ said Hassan spreading out his cloak on the floor near the fire, ‘but until then, my place is with you.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Cronin.
‘As sure as those stars are in the sky,’ said Hassan.
Cronin laid back on his own cloak and stared up. The last few days had been hard, and he had tried everything he could to see out his task, but he had fallen short and now had no other option than to return to the column and face the consequences. Despite his troubled mind, his exhaustion meant he soon fell asleep and the camp fell into silence.
----
The following morning, Cronin and Hassan rose before dawn and had already mounted their horses when Mehedi emerged from the cave along with the older woman.
‘Christian,’ he said, making Cronin turn in his saddle to face him. ‘I have been thinking. Yesterday’s bargain was the right outcome, yet I am aware that it was weighted in my favour.’ He paused as he considered what he was about to say. ‘I cannot give you the answers you seek but if you travel east into the Negev desert, you will find a place called the Makhtesh Ramon. I have heard that there may be enlightenment there. Now, I have said too much so will bid you a fair journey. Travel well, Christian.’
Before Cronin could respond, Mehedi disappeared back into the cave.
‘Makhtesh Ramon?’ said Cronin to Hassan, ‘have you heard of this place?’
‘It is amongst the high hills just inside the Negev desert,’ replied the boy. ‘I have never been up there but have been told there is no water and once the heat of the sun reaches the rocks, it is trapped there forever. It is a bad place and no man goes there.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
‘I do but surely it is not your intent to go there?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Cronin, ‘besides, what have I got to lose?’
‘Your life?’ suggested Hassan.
‘That seems to be already cursed,’ said Cronin, ‘so whatever the outcome, it can get no worse. Lead the way, Hassan, take me to the Makhtesh Ramon.’
----
Chapter Twenty
Castle Blancheguarde
November 16th
AD 1177
‘Your grace,’ said Sir Redwood getting to his feet as King Baldwin walked across the great hall, ‘You look so much better than when you arrived.’
‘Your hospitality has been a great relief to me,’ said Baldwin, ‘for the
journey so far has been far harder than I expected. Alas, this disease takes more of a toll the older I get but now it is time for us to leave.’
The knight looked at the young king. Baldwin was badly affected by the leprosy but his inner strength and determination meant he often carried on when others would falter.
‘Your supply wagons have been refilled with as much as we can spare,’ said Redwood, ‘I only wish you would allow my garrison to ride alongside you.’
‘Your generosity is noted,’ said the king, ‘but Blancheguarde’s position here is of vital strategic importance. If we were to leave it unguarded and it fell to Saladin, the road to Jerusalem would be left wide open. Your place is here and if the Ayyubid should reach this far, your task is to hold them back as long as you can until the army returns from the north.’
‘I understand,’ said Redwood, ‘and worry not. Not a single Saracen will pass this way as long as there is a single breath left in my body.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said the king, ‘but your pledge does you credit.’ He turned and looked around the hall. ‘I was expecting to find Sir Raynald here,’ he said, ‘do you know his whereabouts?’
‘I do, my lord,’ said a voice and both men turned to see William of Tyre entering the room.
‘William,’ said the king, ‘is everything ready for us to leave?’
‘It is,’ said the prelate, ‘and the wagons have already broken camp. That is why Raynald is absent. There was a report of Saracens on the road and he took a patrol out to ensure the way is safe.’
‘Why was I not consulted?’
‘You were sleeping, my lord, and I advised the Regent not to wake you. Your sleep these past few days has been sparse.’
The king nodded. It was indeed true that rest had been hard to find but the previous night he had slipped into a refreshing darkness that had lasted until halfway through the morning and he felt like a renewed man.
‘Your concern is acknowledged,’ said Baldwin, ‘but I should have been consulted on such a thing.’
‘My apologies,’ said the prelate with a nod, ‘I thought it was the better option but in future, I will, of course, consult you on all matters.’
