by Martin Lake
'We won't get to the village in the daylight,' he answered. 'But there are some pools to the north of the village and we should rest there.'
The night came swiftly and they could barely see their way in the gloom. At last they came upon a small pool with clean and fresh water and slumped beside it.
They drank their fill and ate some of the food which Yusuf had given to them.
As John fell asleep the image of Agnes came to his mind. He doubted he would ever see her again.
The morning came at last and they ate some of the food given to them by Yacob, their eyes scanning their surroundings as they did so.
John blinked. Something had caught his attention and he grabbed Bernard’s arm. A small party of horsemen had spied them from the top of a hill and now turned and cantered towards them. John loosened his sword, assuming them to be Saracens. In minutes the horsemen had reached them.
To their relief they were Templars, presumably from one of the castles to the south of Jerusalem.
‘Who are you?’ their leader asked.
‘We have come from Jerusalem,’ John answered, rising to his feet. ‘We have been in the siege.’
‘Rumour has it that the city has fallen,’ said another of the Templars.
‘The rumour is true.’
The leader looked at them suspiciously. ‘I asked you who you are,’ he said. ‘Yet you did not answer.’
‘We are knights of Jerusalem,’ said Bernard, rising to his feet.
The Templar looked at him with contempt and then slapped him upon the face.
‘We are knights, truly’ said John, stepping forward. ‘We were knighted by Balian of Ibelin to lead the defence of the city.’
‘It takes more than the tap of a sword to make a knight,’ said the leader. ‘You are peasants, peasants with an exalted idea of your place, but still peasants.’
John drew his sword. ‘We are knights and if you cannot give us your courtesy then we will give you our blades.’
The Templar laughed. ‘There are five of us and only two of you. And we know how to fight.’
‘So do we,’ said John.
The Templar laughed once again and turned his back. John, surprised by this, lowered his sword. The Templar turned immediately and smashed him across his face, sending him reeling. The Templar leapt after him, two of his comrades by his side.
John just managed to keep his footing and frantically parried their sword strokes. But he was outnumbered and outclassed and in a moment his sword was knocked from his grasp and three sword points pressed against his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bernard slice open one of his attacker’s hands before he too was overcome.
They were dragged together and thrown to the ground while the Templars stood with swords drawn, deciding upon their fate.
‘Shall we kill them?’ one of the Templars asked.
Their leader shook his head. ‘We cannot slay our fellow Christians without good reason, no matter what scum,’ he said. ‘Tie them up and leave them.’
One of the knights pored over their gear and brought some of it to the leader.
‘Saracen knives and Saracen mail,’ he said. ‘They are in the pay of the enemy.’
‘We're not,’ said John. ‘We are Balian’s men and were given these things by al-Adil, the brother of Saladin.’
The Templar leader frowned. ‘Why would he give you such things?’
‘As a sign of respect and honour.’
The Templars laughed.
‘Well that is the only honour you will receive, Sir Peasant,’ said the leader. ‘You will get none from Christians.’
‘Balian will prove our words to be true,’ said Bernard.
‘That you were knighted by him?’ He spat.
‘Even if that were true, which I doubt, it does not make you a real knight. You will learn to curse Balian, my friend, for he has given you ideas above your station. From henceforward you will be distrusted by your own people and despised by your betters.’
The Templars bound John and Bernard with tight cords, pulling their arms back behind their backs and tying them to ropes about their feet. They dragged them a hundred yards from the pool and the shelter of trees. They were in agony, could not reach their bonds and could not move at all.
The Templars took everything they had been given by the Muslims and departed.
The sun began to climb ever higher in a sky empty of clouds.
CHAPTER 12
A PARTICULAR DEVIL
Jaffa
A thousand eyes were looking at him. Most were furtive, some were bold, a few were brazen. They all suspected.
Simon Ferrier bent his head, as if to protect his face from the sun and dust, in reality to shield himself from the eyes.
Fifteen thousand people trudged along in a long, dispirited column, all those with enough money to buy their freedom from the Saracens. Many of the women and children had said goodbye to a husband or father who had been able to raise enough for his family’s ransom but not his own. These men were now captive, commodities to be sold in the slave markets. The women’s lips moved pitifully, praying they would one day be re-united. They knew, however, that only prayers from wealthy lips were ever answered.
Some men had been able to buy their freedom. But the cost had been higher than mere treasure; they walked with heads bowed, burdened by guilt. They had left behind friends and family, comrades they assumed would be lost for ever.
Simon banished such thoughts from his mind.
The tramping feet threw dust high into the sky. Those priests educated enough to have read their Bible thought bitterly of an earlier exodus, when God had led the Hebrews to the Promised Land. Today, their promised land had been snatched from them, their former lives annihilated. They were on a march to nowhere, at best to exile.
Simon listened to the murmur of lamentation around him. Children howled, women sobbed, old men walked in stoic silence save for an occasional cry from bitter chests. Yet, weaving in and out of the moans he heard a never-ending undercurrent of whispers.
There were three groups who did not appear to share the common despair. Two were made up of the handful of soldiers who had been left in the city when the army of Jerusalem marched to its destruction. Most were elderly servants and foot soldiers of the Hospitaller and Templar Orders, too old, sick or incompetent to be a threat to the Muslims. By the agreement of Saladin they marched with their weapons and standards.
Each man led a pair of donkeys bearing saddle-bags crammed with the wealth of the Military Orders. At the head of one convoy rode Terricus, Grand Preceptor of Jerusalem and Acting Grand Master of the Knights of the Temple. There were few left to bear him allegiance, the single old knight who had remained with him in Jerusalem and a score more holed up in castles dotted across the kingdom.
The second group consisted of the Hospitallers. There were only two sergeants left and the acting head of the order, William Borrel. He was a man who was friendly and kind to everyone, except for the Templars. Most of the people in this group were the monks and servants of the hospital.
The third group was made up of churchmen. All the lesser clergy led donkeys laden with treasures: coins, jewels, relics, books and the silver tiles from the roof of the Holy Sepulchre. There were two hundred thousand dinars worth of treasure all told; more than twice the amount Saladin had demanded to free the whole population of the city.
At the head of the Churchmen rode Patriarch Eraclius. He carefully cradled a phial bearing the tears of the Virgin Mary. Beside him on a white palfrey was his companion, the widow Pasque de Riveri. For once she had to abide no grins and whistles, no urchins crying out ‘Here comes Madame la Patriarchesse’, no contemptuous shaking of heads. Beside her, on a pony, was Constance, their child.
Next to the columns of refugees trotted Saracen officers, their guards for the long trek to the coast.
As the hours wore on Eraclius and his followers pushed through the throng of common people who were weaker, more deje
cted and moved at a slower-pace. As he rode Eraclius happened to notice Simon on the edge of the crowd, head low but moving forward with determination like a man wading against a tide. A memory fidgeted his mind. Of course, he thought suddenly. He’s one of Balian’s creatures, one of the commoners he knighted at the start of the siege.
Eraclius studied Simon more closely. Yes, he recalled now what he had heard of the man.
It was said he had fought like a fury in the battles, always in the thick of things. He had shown a love for danger, a lust to be at the centre of events. It was almost as if he wanted to shine in the eyes of his superiors.
But now he was on the margin, totally alone.
Perhaps he has left a loved one behind.
What would the future hold for him?
Eraclius smiled grimly. The young man's path seemed clearly laid out. He could never be accepted as a real knight. He would seek for honour and companionship and find only contempt and dismissal. He was as much in purgatory as a soul departed without grace.
Balian had corrupted the man’s heart without even realising it.
Eraclius leaned down towards his Deacon. ‘Walter, were any of the men knighted by Balian able to buy their freedom?’
‘The sons of the nobles, my lord. They ride in the first column, stripped of arms of course.’
‘What about the commoners?’
‘Two or three of the richer merchants tried but without luck. The rest were too poor to even make the attempt. Balian tried to buy them from Saladin but he refused.’
‘Why?’
‘He told Balian that he considered them too dangerous.’
‘Too dangerous?’
‘He said that men who have nothing to lose become like devils.’
Eraclius licked his lips.
Yet there’s one of them here, he thought.
So how did this particular devil make his escape?
CHAPTER 13
THE MULE
Beit Lahia
The sun was close to noon. John squirmed, his fair complexion beginning to burn. It was hours since his last drink and his mouth felt like sand. He glanced up at the sun, praying that a cloud would come and shield him from it. There were no clouds.
He groaned and licked his dry lips with a tongue which felt like linen. His only hope was that night would come soon.
Bernard sat in silence, ignoring the heat. He could not keep the image of Agnes and the children from his mind. Every hour that passed increased the distance they would have travelled from him. He wriggled his hands once again to see if he could free them. It was futile; they were tied too tight. He cursed the Templar knights and vowed revenge upon them.
‘Is there any hope?’ John said.
‘For us or for my family?’
‘For both.’
Bernard shook his head. ‘There is little hope of anything unless we can get free.’
‘I might die before that. This heat is too much for me.’
‘It is hot but it will not kill you. At least not today. When night falls you will be more comfortable.’
‘And tomorrow?’
‘Then it might kill you.’
Despite the agony caused by their bonds the afternoon sun made them drowsy and they began to doze. When the temperature was at its height they both fell into a deep swoon.
They woke at the same moment.
John held his breath and glanced over at Bernard. Yes, he too felt something. They were being watched.
John inched his head around until he could see the pool. He groaned.
Bernard turned to look. ‘Christ no,’ he whispered.
Squatting by the pool was a lone figure dressed in filthy garments. Even from this distance they could see that he was tall and well-built.
The man noticed they were awake and turned his head away. For a few moments he seemed to hesitate as if he were pondering some course of action.
He reached inside his robe and pulled out a water-bottle, plunging it into the pool. He watched it for a while and then raised the bottle and drank deeply from it.
He glanced over at them and filled the bottle once again.
The man's garments were grey with dust and dirt. But it was clear that they had once been white. Despite the intense heat his face was covered by a deep hood.
He held the water bottle in one hand, a long staff in the other. On the sand beside him was a bell.
The man climbed to his feet and walked towards them, the water-bottle held outstretched in his hand.
‘Get away,’ John cried.
The man stopped. His head turned to one side although his face could not be seen beneath the hood.
‘Don’t you want water?’ he asked, softly.
‘Not from you,’ John said.
‘As you wish.’
He turned towards Bernard. ‘What about you?’
‘I want water.’ Bernard paused, unable to complete his words. But he shook his head violently.
The man laughed but the laugh was dry and had no sound of humour.
‘But like your friend you do not want water from a leper?’
Bernard did not answer.
‘It is a fine riddle,’ the leper continued. ‘If you do not drink you will die. The only person who can give you water is a leper. So what do you choose? Certain death? Or the possibility of death?’
Bernard did not answer for a while. Then he said, ‘Can you cut our bonds?’
The leper produced a knife. ‘I can indeed. But do you trust me not to touch you as I cut? You must realise that I have two weapons, my knife and my flesh. You seem happier to risk the blade than my fingers.’
‘For Christ sake, cut my bonds,’ cried Bernard.
The leper approached swiftly, giving no chance for Bernard to change his mind. As the leper sawed at the bonds, Bernard turned his face away, dreading to catch sight of the man’s fingers close to his wrist. He found that he was holding his breath, his senses focusing on the possibility of a touch, however slight.
Finally, he felt the bonds loosen. The leper stood up and watched as Bernard shook free the last of the cord.
‘Thank you, friend,’ he said.
The leper bowed then turned towards John. ‘And you?’
John’s mind raced. He wanted to say no, to let Bernard cut them. But he knew that the Templars had taken Bernard’s knife and that he could only cut John’s bonds by using the leper’s knife. That would almost certainly condemn him to the disease.
Could he do that? His heart hammered as he considered. No. His pride would not let him stoop so low. Nor would his friendship for Bernard.
He lay on his side, holding his hands out towards the leper. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Please.’
John had never put his trust in another as much as he did at that moment. This man was a stranger but he truly held John’s life in his hands. As John felt the slow sawing of the blade he saw in his mind’s eye its every slice, felt its very cutting of the fibres. It was as if his own life was being unpicked by the leper. He was being laid bare, all links with people and with the past being slowly but surely removed. He felt utterly alone. Yet at the same time he felt utterly connected. To a leper.
The bonds were cut.
John shook his wrists free and then rubbed them to restore the circulation. He got to his feet and turned to the leper. He took a step forward. And embraced him.
The leper recoiled, tightened into himself. Then, as John continued to hold him, he began to relax. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
John released his hold and turned to see Bernard, immobile with astonishment.
‘I had to,’ John said simply.
Bernard shook his head.
‘You need not drink from my bottle,’ said the leper.
Bernard and John staggered off towards the pool. They fell by the side of it, buried their heads in its waters and gulped deeply until they could not manage another drop.
Sated, they sat up and looked around. The leper was sitting a few
yards away watching them. He sipped at his own water bottle and chewed on a hunk of bread.
‘I would offer you food,’ he said, ‘but I have touched it.’
John and Bernard shook their heads.
‘I understand,’ said the leper.
Night began to fall. The leper rose and filled his bottle from the pool then returned to where he had sat before.
‘Why were you bound?’ he asked.
‘Templars did it,’ Bernard answered.
The leper gave a bitter laugh. ‘That may well be explanation enough. Or is there more?’
‘They took a rather strong dislike to us,’ John said with a shake of his head.
‘For what reason?’
‘We were made knights by Balian of Ibelin,’ Bernard said. ‘We are commoners yet he knighted us to help defend Jerusalem.’
‘And the Templars despised us for it,’ said John. ‘They attacked us, bound us and stole everything we have.’
The leper shook his head. ‘So, you are outcasts. Like me.’
John stared at him, shocked by his words.
‘Isn’t everyone an outcast in Jerusalem?’ Bernard said. 'Now at least. And perhaps always.'
The leper pondered this and nodded.
The leper turned towards John. ‘Tell me friend, why did you embrace me?’
John shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I didn't mean to. I just did it. And a moment before I had loathed the thought of your slightest touch.’
The three men fell silent.
A little later the leper glanced up at the sky. Stars began to kindle in the sky, icy cold and beautiful. The leper removed his hood. He sighed with pleasure.
John and Bernard peered at him but his features were indistinguishable in the dark.
‘I am called Matthew,’ he said.
Bernard bent his head towards the leper. ‘My name is Bernard. And this is my friend John.’
‘You are a stranger, John, by the sound of your speech.’
‘Yes. I am a pilgrim. From England.’
‘You have travelled far, then.’
‘Very far. And you? Are you from Jerusalem?’
‘From Hebron. I was a soldier in King Baldwin’s army. I am also called Mule.’