by Martin Lake
The clerk stopped writing when he heard of this largesse but al-Adil glanced at him and he continued his work.
They rose, salaamed to al-Adil, and left his tent.
'A thousand dinars,' Bernard whispered. 'I cannot believe it. I could not find even ten dinars to buy my freedom. This will last me a lifetime.'
'Why does al-Adil think we're worth that much?' John asked.
'He doesn't,' said Matthew. 'But we saved his life. He knows that he is worth that much.'
Within an hour they had donned their armour, secured their pouches of treasure and were galloping towards the city of Tyre.
CHAPTER 42
SUBTLE FRIENDSHIPS
The Harem in Baghdad
Johara and Lalina walked into Agnes' room as she was finishing her morning meal. They looked worried.
'Is there something wrong?' Agnes asked.
Johara nodded. 'There is rumour in the harem that the Caliph is growing very fond of you,' she said.
Agnes shrugged. 'Why is that a cause for alarm?'
Lalina bit her lip.
Johara took Agnes' hand and sat beside her on the divan.
'You must learn the ways of the harem better, my dear,' she said. 'If you are to prosper here you must learn how to tread its paths and snares for there are plenty.'
Agnes shook her head. 'I don't understand.'
'Tell her,' Lalina said. 'Tell her, Johara.'
Johara poured herself a glass of cordial and plucked up a sweet biscuit, popping it whole into her mouth.
'You must understand,' she began, 'that the whole purpose of the harem is to please one man and one man alone, the Caliph. The function of every woman here, whether wife, courtesan, harlot or slave is to meet his needs and to pleasure him.'
'I know that,' Agnes said. 'I'm not a child.'
'You are if you believe that this is the whole truth,' Johara said sharply.
'Isn't it?'
'No,' said Lalina, kneeling at Agnes' feet and taking her hands. 'Not the whole truth.'
'There is another truth about the harem,' Johara said. 'Although it is here to serve the Caliph it has also come to serve itself. It is a city, Agnes, a city made up of women more dangerous and desperate than the feral cats that slink about the alleys of Baghdad.'
'It's like a bedlam,' said Lalina.
'It's worse,' said Johara. 'A bedlam is made up of people who are truly mad. The harem is made up of people who are maddened and frenzied but as sane as any woman who shops in the market. It is a place of deadly danger, subtle friendships.'
'Dangerous friendships,' said Lalina.
'Deadly friendships,' added Johara.
'But what's all this got to do with me?' Agnes asked.
'You are living in the harem as if unaware of all the perils that lurk around you. Would you walk amongst a pride of lions in such a foolhardy fashion? Would you nod and smile at each of the cats as if they were all of one mind, all equally friendly to you?'
'And none of them hungry,' said Lalina.
'And none of them hungry,' said Johara with a glance at Lalina.
She leaned closer towards Agnes. 'Whispers say the Caliph is very fond of you. Worse than that, they say he is beginning to favour you over other women.'
'But I don't seek for this,' said Agnes. 'I don’t work to make this happen.'
'Nevertheless it is happening,' said Johara.
She picked up a bunch of grapes and began to swallow them.
'All of this, however, can be understood by the harem. Sometimes these things just happen. The Caliph gets besotted for a season and the other girls are neglected. That is the way of men, even the most exalted.'
She finished the grapes and reached out for a honey cake.
'What the harem is less understanding of is this. The fact that you have become ever more popular with the Caliph is beginning to unnerve a certain person.'
Lalina's eyes darted around the room as if there were listening figures in every corner. 'Beatrice,' she whispered.
'And if Beatrice gets unnerved, if Beatrice gets unsettled, then the harem begins to pitch and toss like a ship in a tempest. There is no telling how she may react, no telling who will suffer from her in her fury.'
'But that's not my fault,' Agnes cried, holding her hands to her cheeks.
'Of course it's not,' Lalina said, the tears starting in her eyes.
'Of course it's not,' said Johara. 'Every woman in the harem knows it. But that doesn't stop the ship careering out of control. That doesn't make the women in the harem sympathetic or understanding. No, they begin to feel they are in danger. They are too weak and frightened to do anything about Beatrice. So they go after the person they can more safely destroy.'
Agnes felt Lalina squeeze her hands.
'You mean me,' she said. 'I can be safely destroyed.'
'Feral cats,' Johara said. 'Feral cats in terror and enraged.'
CHAPTER 43
knightly honour
Tyre
John, Bernard and Matthew pulled their horses to a walk. The imposing walls of Tyre were a little more than a mile away. The standards of the Franks fluttered upon the walls. Overtopping them all was the flag of Conrad of Montferrat, defender of Tyre.
'I've had an unpleasant thought,' John said. 'We look like Saracens. Their bowmen will be taking aim if we get any closer.'
'Damn,' Bernard said. 'We should have brought a flag of truce.'
'We could call to them,' said John.
'Or maybe we should avoid the city completely,' said Matthew.
Bernard looked perplexed.
'Remember al-Adil's warning,' Matthew continued. 'He thought we might not be well received in Tyre.'
'Why wouldn't we?' asked John. 'We are Christians and knights.'
'But we have been in the Saracen camp for weeks now,' said Matthew. 'And we wear Saracen armour and bear Saracen gifts. I do not think we will be welcomed with open arms by Conrad.'
'But we need to find news of Agnes,' said John.
'What news will we find there? The Saracens would not have taken the captives near to the only city in Christian hands. They would have gone far to the east and made directly to Damascus.'
Both men turned to Bernard. He stood in an agony of indecision.
Finally he nodded. 'Matthew is right,' he said. 'I don't think we would find out anything about the captives in Tyre. We should make straight for Damascus. But I don't expect any of you to come with me.'
'I will not desert you,' said John.
'Nor me,' said Matthew.
Bernard smiled and pulled on his reins. 'To Damascus then.'
'And if need be,' said John, 'to the ends of the earth.'
They rode for an hour in an easterly direction. The coastal plain soon gave way to higher, broken country. Searching winds blew from the east, sending plumes of dust into the sky. They bowed their heads against the onslaught, watching the feet of their horses as they ploughed their way along. That was their downfall.
They never saw the company of horsemen cantering down the track towards them.
'Halt,' cried a loud voice.
They looked up in consternation. Barely a hundred yards from them were a party of Frankish horsemen with swords drawn.
Two men broke away from the party and came close.
'You must be from Saladin's army,' one of the men said in poor Arabic.
'No we're not,' answered Bernard in the same tongue. He realised his mistake and switched to French. 'We're Christians, Franks from Jerusalem.'
The horseman frowned. 'Then why are you dressed as Saracens?' he asked.
The three friends looked at each other, wondering how to answer.
'We are knights of Jerusalem,' John said, 'the companions of Balian of Ibelin. We were captured at the siege but Saladin's brother freed us and gave us this gear.'
The two men looked doubtful.
'Get off your horses and throw any weapons to the ground,' the leader ordered.
They
obeyed instantly.
The man walked up to them and examined them closely. 'You look like Franks to me,' he said. He stared at Matthew. 'But I'm not sure about this one. What have you done with your face?'
'Smallpox,' Matthew answered. 'Plus a hard life. I used to be known as the Mule.'
The man stepped back a pace.
'You carried the Leper-King?'
'I did. But God protected me from the scourge because of my goodness.'
The man looked at him dubiously and then grinned. He held out his hand. 'My name is Laurence Dubois. I'm a captain in the city guard.
'There are few enough women in Tyre so it's good to see that newcomers are so grim of face they will not be competition for me and my lads.'
The other soldiers laughed, although their proximity to Matthew made the laughter have a nervous edge.
'Pick up your gear and follow me,' Laurence said. 'We're taking you to Tyre and to the Marquis.'
Bernard groaned. Another delay and this one might prove a deadly one.
They retraced their tracks until they were close to the city.
The land in front of them was still littered with battle gear and corpses. A start had been made on moving them; in the distance they could see parties of men heaving bodies into a recently dug pit.
'I wonder if the Christian corpses will lie with the Saracens,' John said.
'It will make no difference to them,' Matthew said. 'The surprise will come when they get to heaven and discover that their enemies are already there and waiting for them with a glass of wine.'
John looked shocked. 'Infidels go to hell,' he said.
'And how do you know?' Matthew asked. 'Have you been there? I've heard that the Saracens and the Jews worship the same God as us, so why shouldn't they go to the same heaven.'
John looked at him in amazement.
'I shouldn't talk that way when you reach the city,' said the leader of the horsemen. 'You'll have trouble enough explaining yourselves as it is.'
They did not expect to see the sight that met their eyes. The streets were littered with filth, with dead bodies and wounded men.
'Probably a good job you got the smallpox,' Laurence said to Matthew. 'If we don't get this lot cleared up soon we'll have that and cholera and plague in no time.'
The stench was already beginning to settle upon the streets.
'Where are you taking us?' John asked.
'To the citadel. To see the Marquis.'
They climbed up streets which became ever steeper and ever more narrow. As they climbed, Laurence interrogated them about their doings
Before they even reached the city they had realised that their story was so far-fetched people would doubt every word. In the end they agreed that the best thing would be to speak the truth and hope that this was believed. They could see from Laurence's expression that they were having difficulty convincing him.
Finally, when their breath was labouring, they turned a corner and saw the looming walls of the citadel. Even if Saladin had taken the city he would have had difficulty in conquering this stronghold.
Laurence led the way into the Great Hall. At the far side, a group of men were leaning over a table, intently staring at a parchment upon it.
'Wait here,' he said before hurrying over towards them.
They watched while Laurence talked to one of the men around the table. His head shot up and he examined the newcomers keenly while he listened. Then, with one wave, he beckoned them over.
Conrad of Montferrat was a short, stocky man in his forties. But his age had not weakened him; he looked tough and strong. Strong enough to defeat even the mighty Saladin. His gaze was sharp and his eyes seemed to bore into them.
'Laurence tells me strange tales about you,' he said.
'It's all true, lord,' Bernard said. 'I know your father well and he will vouch for my honesty.'
'That old fool,' Conrad snapped. 'He was ever the dupe of the cunning. Tell your story to me now. And you, Laurence, listen carefully and tell me if their tale differs this time.'
Thank God we agreed to tell the truth, Bernard thought, before launching into their story once again.
When he had finished, Conrad turned to Laurence.
'Well?' he asked. 'Was the story the same?'
'It was, my lord. Except that he did not mention King Guy this time.'
Conrad turned intimidating eyes upon Bernard.
'What about King Guy? And why did you tell Laurence and not me?'
'I can answer that,' John said.
'I'm sure you can,' Conrad answered, 'for you have each learned your parts of the story, no doubt.'
'No,' cried Bernard, silencing John. 'I will speak.' He proceeded to tell Conrad about the hot words between Matthew and the King.
As he did so, Conrad's eyes widened. He roared with laughter when Bernard finished.
He wiped his eyes and turned to Matthew. 'It takes a brave man to beard a King,' he said.
'Not if you don't consider him a King,' Matthew answered.
Conrad's laughter ceased. He stared at Matthew in silence, tugging at his moustache thoughtfully.
'Inn-keeper,' he asked suspiciously, 'why didn't you tell me this story?' Although he addressed Bernard he never took his eyes from Matthew.
Bernard swallowed. 'Because I thought that a great lord such as you would not wish to hear of any disrespect towards the King.'
'I understand,' Conrad said. He started to grin but hid it.
'And you, Mule,' he said to Matthew, 'why do you not consider Guy the King of Jerusalem?'
'Because he rules the kingdom through the marriage-bed,' my lord. 'If he hadn't turned Queen Sibilla's head then he would still be merely the adventurer he was when he arrived from France.'
Conrad pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.
There was an immediate lightening of the atmosphere. Bernard began to breathe more easily.
The Marquis crossed his arms and examined them carefully.
'You look strong enough,' he said, quietly. 'And you swear that you are no longer Saladin's brother's men?'
'Quite sure, my lord,' John said. 'If we are anybody's men then we are Balian's.'
Conrad turned towards him. 'Ah yes,' he said. 'That is a strange tale which I would hear.' His eyes narrowed. 'Your accent is also strange.'
'I am from England,' John said.
'Are you, indeed? Do you think that King Henry will honour his pledge and take the cross?'
'He is an old man now. He must be fifty years or more.'
'Then maybe his heir will, Prince Richard?'
The mere mention of Richard's name made John rage inwardly. 'I know nothing of Prince Richard or his intentions, my lord.'
'Yet you know of Balian of Ibelin. Tell me this farrago of a tale concerning knighthoods.'
Conrad was obviously angered by this and John cursed himself for mentioning it again. He took a deep breath. 'There were a handful of knights in Jerusalem when Saladin besieged the city,' he began. 'Balian considered it necessary to make new knights in order to lead the defenders.'
'And you three were amongst the chosen?'
'Bernard and I were knighted, lord. We met Matthew later, after the fall of the city.'
'Yes, the city fell,' Conrad said. There was a new and dangerous edge to his voice. 'So Balian's knights were not successful.'
'There were thirty of us, my lord.'
Conrad stared hard at John, not liking the hint of argument in his manner. He held the young man's eyes until he lowered them and looked away.
He waited for a moment, considering. He reached out and turned John's face to face him.
'What would you do,' he murmured, 'if I say you are a liar concerning this notion of knighthood?'
'I would say that you are wrong.'
Bernard stared at him, horrified at his temerity in saying this to a nobleman.
'We were knighted by Balian,' John continued, 'and if he were here he would confirm what I said.'
Conrad smiled; a cold smile.
'But he's not here, is he? There's no one here to corroborate your story at all.'
He turned to his companions who had been watching the proceedings with fascination.
'Tell me, friends,' he asked blandly. 'What should I do with Franks who pretend to be knights but are really Saracen spies?'
'They pretend to be knights?' asked one.
Conrad nodded.
The nobles crowded closer and scrutinised the three.
'Speak to me,' one of them commanded.
'What do you want us to say, my lord?' Bernard asked.
The noble laughed. 'You need say nothing more,' he answered. 'Your speech tells me your mother was a whore and your father her pimp.'
The others joined in the laughter. They moved still closer and began to push at the three, jabbing them sharply in the chest and stomach.
One spat in Matthew's face. He did not flinch or react in any way.
'See, my lord,' the man said. 'He does not respond. He is used to being spat upon, as all peasants are. He is no knight.'
Conrad held up his hand to stay him. 'Enough, Gilbert. Desist. I repeat my question. What shall I do with them?'
'Kill them,' said one of the nobles. 'Painfully, so that people can learn the fruit that treachery bears.'
'Set them to work,' said another. 'If they have stomachs enough to sup with the infidel then scraping up corpses should prove no burden.'
'Whatever you do, my lord,' said a third, 'question them about the infidel's plans.'
Conrad turned to the three and smiled. 'See, my friends. Not one of them suggests clemency.'
'But we told the truth,' said John.
Conrad shrugged. 'Do you know what truth is, young man? Here, in Tyre, truth is whatever I choose it to be.'
'God's truth does not change, no matter what a Marquis may say.'
Conrad frowned at this, wondering at the young man's audacity.
The man who had spat in Matthew's face stepped forward and slapped John across the face.
'Don't dare speak to the Marquis like that,' he said.
John shoved him backward, almost pushing him to the floor. He came back in a moment, drawing his sword as he did so.