by K. T. Tomb
“Lionheart, do you know that Isa bin Miryam is sacred to us in Islam as well?”
“I am vaguely aware of the fact.”
“You see this has been the problem with the men of Europe for a long time. You fight against us when what you are really fighting against is that which you do not—and refuse to—understand.”
Richard had a puzzled look on his face at the old man’s words. Saladin saw it but ignored him and continued making his point.
“Isa… Jesus, is one of Islam’s greatest prophets. Though we don’t believe he was the Son of Allah, we believe he was chosen by Him and that he was sent to pave the way for the great prophet, Muhammad. We also do not believe he was crucified by the Romans and therein is where our opinions differ. Therefore according to the Quran, there cannot be a Holy Grail for Isa bin Miryam was neither betrayed nor killed at Jerusalem.”
Richard looked at him expectantly but Saladin was done explaining himself. The King thought silently for a moment. He had to bring the Sultan to his way of thinking if he was going to succeed in the mission God had given him.
“Alright. So tell me this, Sultan. If the Prophet Isa performed God’s work on Earth he certainly at some point took food and drink before his ascension to Heaven. Therefore wouldn’t a cup from which the prophet drank possibly be a remarkable thing for a Sultan of your caliber to possess?”
Kako nearly choked on the words as he translated them, his eyes growing wider and wider at the narrative. Saladin smiled. Richard had brought his point around well enough to capture the Sultan’s renowned sense of reason.
“Perhaps. This notion is intriguing to me.”
“I’d hoped it would be,” Richard replied, satisfied. “Even if there is no substance behind the existence of the Holy Grail, aren’t you just a little bit curious about this thing which has brought wave after wave of Crusaders to this land in pursuit of it? Whether they have been chasing a fairy tale all these decades or not?” There was a pregnant pause as the Sultan considered Richard’s words. “Well, Saladin? What say you?”
Much to Richard’s shock, Saladin answered in fluent Norman French:
“We must make ready for this quest for my healing and for your Grail. We shall seek it…together.”
Chapter Five
Within a week, the two set off under the deep cover of night, each with the proper supplies and a handful of their greatest, most trusted soldiers.
Kako, the boy betrayer, was left behind with distant relatives. The little traitor wept fiercely as Richard snubbed him and left him in the dust. A few days later, Kako, who had run away from his annoyed caretakers, showed up at camp on a purloined camel and was then allowed by Saladin to accompany them.
Saladin, an excellent horseman astride a beautiful Arab stallion, used all of his remaining strength to travel across the rugged and harsh land. They encountered few people, and the few they did meet seemed to have been placed there strategically by Allah…by God. They offered the travelers warm food and shelter, and even information about wells and oases.
However, as the days wore on, the hospitality of kindhearted folks became fewer and farther between as they traversed a vast wilderness. The Crusaders lost more horses and Saladin introduced some of them to camels, which he purchased along the way. The wagons, oxcarts, and trebuchets were left behind when the trip became too arduous for pulling anything across the rough land that was absent of roads and byways.
After weeks of travel, their group began to take on the look of a casual traders’ caravan and once, as the peak of the distant Mount Ararat rose over the plain, they were even ambushed by a small group of thieves. The Knights Templar, along with Saladin’s best, left no survivors, and, in fact, seized a rather sizable fortune of gold, which was split evenly between the two groups.
Winter was setting in and the soldiers were bitterly cold, but they continued on, secure knowing they were serving their leaders wholeheartedly. Not one among them understood each leader, and some of the men even suspected that both might be on the brink of thirst madness.
Days later, the small but lethal group arrived at the base of the legendary mountain. By this time, they had passed many tribes of nomads who had given them a wide berth, as if they knew two murderous kings led their party.
Saladin’s right-hand man was a soldier of these people and spoke their local dialect, of which there were many. He was able to find them comfortable lodging in a small village that was nearly hidden at the base of Ararat.
Richard vehemently warned his men not to cause any trouble with the locals. Saladin had no such warnings for his men. It was their country.
Many days passed at the base of the mountain as they waited for a sign to proceed. Richard’s men grew restless and complained about the final leg of the Holy Grail quest. Saladin’s men grew quietly angry at the blatant blasphemy of it all, but never overtly questioned their leader.
Richard had done what God, in the dream, had asked of him but now, he awaited the divine portent of when the dream’s promises would come to fruition; and how. However, it did not come to pass when Richard thought that it would.
In his own mind, he was like a child asking God, “How much further? What must I do?”
Perhaps it was a test of his willingness to serve Him and to do what was divine. He tried not to let the distance and the mission bring him too much worry, but in truth, he was agonized at what to do next.
When the King’s very lame horse was finally destroyed and eaten, Saladin replaced Richard’s beloved European horse with a flashy bay Arabian. Richard consulted with Saladin about the progress of their quest.
The old warrior was becoming deathly ill, and Richard was not sure if he would be able to hold out for the remainder of the week. With warriors of each side standing to the rear of the honorary kings’ tent, which they shared, Richard asked his enemy his opinion on the matter.
The old man only smiled and said, “Where is your faith, comrade? You are the one who brought us here, remember? Allah, who, for the sake of argument, is also your God, has led us this far, and he will not abandon us now. When one reaches close to the end of the journey, it is always the hardest, and one must use all that he has learned to persevere through the hardship. That is the final test on any quest; the end of it.”
His patience waning at Saladin’s semantics, Richard tried to use what he had learned, but he did not allow his men to fight anyone. He made peace with the smallest of the village children, and even made peace with Kako after a short conversation with him.
“Where did you and your uncle learn to speak French?”
“From the Crusaders we captured and enslaved at Acre.”
“I want my men back,” Richard said angrily. “Those who are still alive. I will buy them in your marketplace if I have to.”
“I am just a boy. How can I get your men back from the slavers?”
“You can talk to your uncle.”
“Why should I?” Kako said petulantly. “You have abandoned our friendship.”
“I had a good reason. You lied to me, Kako. Have I ever lied to you?”
“No, Sire. Kings cannot lie.”
“Yes, they can. They just choose not to lie,” Richard said. “I would forgive you for your betrayal if you get my men back to me in good condition.”
With tears in his eyes, Kako said, “After we are done here on the mountain and my uncle is restored to good health and in a better mood, I will speak to him about the return of the European slaves.”
“How will you convince him? This interests me; the case you would even make for your petition,” Richard said.
“I will tell him that you offered me a dukedom in exchange for the return of the slaves.”
“I never offered you that,” Richard said. What incredulous nerve! he thought.
“Well?” Kako said.
“You are not eight years old, my little friend.”
“I am thirteen and very small for my age. I truly am an orphan and I have no h
ope of becoming another Saladin. His sons are in my way and they are many…on both sides of the blanket.”
“I see,” Richard said. “Get me my men back and you shall have your titled dukedom, you will not be in line for my throne but you will not be enslaved either. You will be educated, fed, clothed and housed, but you will be a stranger in my country. I would appreciate it if you would be my translator for international documents and business liaisons. I repeat, you will not be enslaved.”
“Done,” Kako said, and they shook hands to seal the deal.
Richard felt like a terrible weight had been lifted. However, it was only one of many weights that he bore.
***
Finally, three weeks later, after many arguments between his men and Saladin’s men, the sign the two rulers had been waiting for came straight from God himself. There was a mighty clap of thunder and the heavens opened up with a deluge unlike any that Richard had ever seen.
Suddenly, there was a unified shout of joy from the men as they celebrated their first bath in months and stood in the cold rain, shedding armor and clothing, pulling the water through their matted hair and sluicing it over their filthy, scabbed skin.
The sign from God came as a great rainfall—more rain than anyone could remember witnessing coming down at once in the region for a long time. The small town was badly in need of water, having suffered through more than half a year of complete drought.
Now, every possible container was filled and celebrations rang out as the wells were refilled.
After many hours in which once-dry streams now burst their banks, the rain ceased and a rainbow emerged. Was that the sign Richard was seeking from God? As if to dispel any doubt either man could continue to harbor, a dove came swooping down from the sky and flew over the camp, circling them three times. The rains, the rainbow and then, the dove. He couldn’t help but think of them as a message from the Trinity.
“Prepare to move out!” Richard ordered his men when he was ready. His order was repeated back through their dwindling ranks. They wrung out their possessions and got ready to depart.
Likewise, Saladin’s men were ordered to follow. Saladin, at this point, was now carried on a litter. Richard had Saladin’s fine stallion tied to his, in anticipation of the moment when Saladin was again able to ride.
In one brief instant, Richard looked on upon his bitter enemy, the man who all of Europe feared and deemed unbeatable, that is, until Richard had beat him at Acre—oh, how easy it would have been to abandon him and let him die at that moment.
But then, a more spiritual head argued the cause in his mind.
Redemption, Richard thought, who cares about my personal redemption? This feeble old man at my feet has been the killer and enslaver of many good men of Europe, stealer of the Holy Land, worshiper of a God that, though similar, was not ours.
Pierre de Mandeville approached him, which was rare. He only spoke when necessary.
“Well, de Mandeville,” Richard said, “to what do I owe the honor of your eyes on mine, and with such fierce questions in them?”
“One fierce question, Your Majesty,” he replied. “If I may?”
Richard nodded for him to ask it.
“Why should we continue on this foolish journey to the Holy Grail to save this old enemy of ours when we could kill him where he lies?”
Richard could only imagine what must be going through Sultan Saladin’s own mind. The words blasphemy, heresy, infidel, false religion, and idol all came to mind. Richard realized that Saladin and the Muslim soldiers he commanded were in as much of a religious and moral conundrum as he and his men were.
They did not believe as he believed but they believed in a one true God and, so far, that had been enough for them to have common ground. It had been enough for Saladin to go to Ararat with him and receive a miracle if their two gods so wished.
Richard replied, “Because I gave my word. And if the word of a king is no good, then he does not deserve to rule.”
Chapter Six
The road was more arduous than Richard could have ever imagined.
Days more of travel went by with little food and treacherous conditions, including an attack by a pack of wild dogs, an attack in which several men and horses were lost.
At this point, Richard had built himself up to quite a fury. Upon their tired mounts, he sat with his and Saladin’s men on the great mountain. They had been in the foothills for too long.
The great Saladin was lying upon a thick cloth tied between two poles, something the villagers had fashioned for him. It would be easy to leave this old man to die in this traveling hammock and to take his body back to the Holy Lands and even parade his head on a pike for all to see. Very easy. It wasn’t like it hadn’t occurred to him. Only the terrifying dream of God’s wrath—and his promise of redemption—kept him restrained.
However, Richard knew that at this point of the journey, nothing should be that easy. Perhaps the devil himself had put the idea in his head that things would be easy on the way to the Holy Grail. Saladin had said it himself that he could be killed just by no one giving him a drink of water for a day. Saladin was wise, and Richard knew that a prerequisite for wisdom didn’t always come in the form of religion. It came from a hard life lived and problems faced head on and solved.
Figure on this, Richard told himself, at this point in the journey, if something seems easy, avoid it. You are still under the watchful eye of God, and He is directing the events. Do you really think that he led you all this way in relative harmony with your enemy to have you abandon him on the great and mighty mountain called Ararat?
Richard recalled his dream, the vivid and unusual dream. Ah, yes, the dream about the Holy Grail. The dream that had mentioned saving his worst enemy. And the clear orders from God to redeem himself. Or else. Eternity in Hell.
Richard wanted to avoid that possibility, no matter what it took. He’d had a peek of the place in the dream. That was something he had not disclosed to his absent priest. No, it would not be a place he ever wanted to see again. Not for one flaming second.
Richard looked upon the decrepit old man, and then up the massive mountainside. There were no trails or roads. There were only crags and cliffs and stones waiting to slide down and crush them. Then again, it was just a dream, and he’d had plenty of strange dreams over the course of his life, depending on how much wine he had drunk before bed. But none of the dreams had been as real as this one where he remembered every detail, including God’s terrifyingly booming, furious voice. Richard wondered if this dream was only reserved for kings or if ordinary men got them, too.
The dream has led me this far, and here I am now with Saladin and his greatest warriors, in peace, together, on a journey to find the Holy Grail. And at the Holy Grail, the dream promises that a great miracle will be performed. At the Holy Grail, the dream promises that I will redeem myself, though I still won’t gain Jerusalem.
He sighed and realized that he accepted it, that he would never gain Jerusalem. God had a purpose for that. He had to. Perhaps if he disobeyed God and went to Jerusalem, he would fall to the plague. Oh, that would be a terrible death for a king. He knew was for certain: England would be thrown into turmoil if he died. It was important that he return after the Crusade and run his country before John tried to do underhanded things in his absence. So many things ran through his mind. It was as if he was taking stock of his life and all that he must do.
The dove appeared in the sky again. Dark clouds still covered the land and a cool wind whipped Richard’s shoulder-length hair about his face. The dove flew off to the north side of the great mountain.
Richard gave the order to ride, and they did, Saladin’s men included, heading toward the north side of the mountain.
“Follow that dove,” he commanded.
Not one man looked askance at him as they continued on horseback to chase…a bird.
Chapter Seven
Richard had not told his men the exact nature of the mission, as he
was afraid to admit that he had forced his men to ride so far and so hard and to deal so closely with the enemy, all on the basis of a single dream.
However, the men—his and Saladin’s—had come to realize that they were on a quest for the Holy Grail, for this was Holy Grail country, and upon arriving at Mount Ararat, their suspicions were confirmed. This mountain was famous in the land and the legends surrounding it ranged from the existence of the petrified relic of Noah’s Ark to the Holy Grail and more myths and legends. There were even tales of dragons, which Richard hoped were fairy tales. He had enough to contend with already.
As they ascended the huge conical mountain, keeping the white dove in view, and were amazed at how the creature did not desert them, Richard found himself wondering if the white dove was even the sign he sought.
He did not and could not know, but it seemed right, it felt right, and it was better than waiting around in the village, watching as his men and Saladin’s men slowly came to blows over food, water, or the pretty villagers with their unusual green eyes and seductive laughter.
Traveling up the great mountain was enough to occupy all of their weary minds without the distractions offered by villagers. Every step was treacherous now and they became focused and unified in their struggle against nature’s challenges.
Carried by two of his men, Saladin was still on the litter, following alongside King Richard, who never left his adversary’s side. Soon, the group came upon shards of black, shiny volcanic rock.
“It is obsidian,” Kako said, and hopped off his camel to pick up a shard and look at the sun through it. He got back on his camel and rode to Richard and handed it to him. “Look, Sire.”
“It’s beautiful. I can see through it,” he said in wonder. “It is everywhere on the ground. How is this glass made and why would anyone bring the glass up here and throw it on the ground?”