by Kevin Ashman
‘Exactly as you ordered, Sire,’ said Sir Bennet.
‘Good,’ said Sir John, ‘now let’s get this done.’ He spurred his horse gently and both men rode forward to meet the Mamluk riders waiting in the centre of the clearing.
‘Salaam,’ said one of the Mamluks when they finally faced each other.
‘Well met,’ said the Knight, ‘I am Sir John of Cambridge, Castellan of Acre. I come in peace under God to retrieve our people from your custody.’
‘You have brought the asking price?’ asked the Mamluk.
‘We have,’ said Sir John and nodded to Sir Bennet. The Knight lifted a hessian sack from his saddle and passed it to the second Mamluk. The warrior opened the bag and ran his hand through the pile of golden coins inside.
‘Do you wish to count it?’ asked Sir John.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said the first warrior. ‘I will take your word as a Christian Knight.’
‘Then let the exchange take place,’ said Sir John. ‘Release our people.’
The Mamluk turned to give the signal but before he could speak, an arrow flew from the trees behind the prisoners and, thudded into the side of Sir John’s horse. The animal whinnied in pain and reared up, throwing the unsuspecting Knight to the floor before galloping away with blood spurting from its pierced lung.
‘Treachery,’ screamed Sir Bennet drawing his sword, ‘your words are those of the devil himself.’
‘Wait,’ shouted the Mamluk, raising his arm but before he could say anything else the Knight lunged forward and smashed his blade down into the warrior’s neck, carving deep into the man’s chest.
With a scream of ‘Allah Akbar’ the second Mamluk threw himself onto the back of Sir Bennett with a drawn knife but the Knight’s chain mail saved him from the killing blow. Both men fell to the floor and Sir John stamped on the Mamluk’s head, crushing his skull beneath his heel. He turned to his men who were milling around at the edge of the clearing, unsure what to do.
‘Archer’s,’ he screamed, ‘take out the executioners. Men at arms, advance. Rescue the prisoners.’
Immediately the air was thick with arrows as Sir John’s men ran beneath the volley toward the enemy. Mamluk warriors ran from the trees to meet them head on and some of the executioners wielded their weapons to kill the hostages. All along the line, bodies fell forward with cleaved skulls or opened throats but many escaped the slaughter as their would-be killers fell to the volley of arrows from Sir John’s hidden archers.
‘Sire are you all right?’ shouted Sir Bennett above the sound of battle.
‘Nothing hurt but my pride,’ answered Sir John. ‘To the fray, brother, the hostage’s lives are in our hands.’ The two Knights joined the assault and both sides fought a bloody battle beneath the rising morning sun.
----
Across the clearing, Khoury leaned forward as his executioner fell across his body with an arrow lodged in his throat. For a moment he lay confused but his instincts kicked in as he realised what was happening. He looked across to Lady Jennifer and saw her executioner had also fallen but they were still at risk from the surrounding Mamluks engaged in the heat of battle. He reached out with his bound hands and picked up the dead warrior’s knife.
‘My Lady,’ he shouted, ‘take this and cut my bonds. Quickly.’
‘But…’
‘Do it,’ screamed Khoury.
Lady Jennifer took the knife and sawed across the thin rope binding his wrists. The knife was razor sharp and the bonds fell away easily. Khoury took the knife and cut the ropes around his feet. Almost immediately a warrior saw the threat and ran at him with a curved blade but Khoury was a seasoned warrior himself and threw his body at the Mamluk’s feet, causing him to fall to the ground. Immediately he grabbed the man’s head and forced it past breaking point until he heard a satisfying snap. He grabbed the knife again and cut Jennifer’s bonds, knowing full well they had to get out of there. A second wave of Mamluks ran from the trees, cutting down the remaining prisoners as they came.
‘This way,’ shouted Khoury and dragged Jennifer into the nearby trees. Together they ran on, leaving the battle behind them and crashing through the undergrowth without purpose, just desperate to get away.
Behind them the battle raged on as each side poured their fury on the other and for a while it looked like the Mamluks would triumph until a trumpet heralded the arrival of Sir John’s Knights thundering from the trees. Within moments the battle turned and any remaining Mamluks either fell or fled, leaving their wounded behind them. The foot soldiers raced after them but soon returned and after despatching the enemy wounded with their blades, gathered on the battlefield around their leader.
Sir John’s heart was racing but more than that, he knew this was the moment he had been waiting for. He had to act immediately and grasp the opportunity before him.
‘Brothers in arms,’ he shouted, ‘this day you have witnessed what we long feared, that a Mamluk’s word is worth nought but scorn.’ He paused as the men roared their agreement. ‘We trusted them,’ he continued,’ believed their promise that there would be fair and equitable exchange, emptied our treasuries to pay the price of our brothers’ lives yet the greed of the devil filled their eyes and treachery filled their hearts. Never was there intention to use force of arms but you saw with your own eyes as they cut my horse from beneath me before executing the prisoners.’
The men shouted in anger as he continued.
‘Almost a hundred innocents lie on the field, their throats opened by Mamluk blades. Those few not killed have been dragged away to heaven knows what fate, including the Lady whom I thought returned. We have been wronged and I would ask this. Do we sit back and allow them their victory or do we do unto them what they tried to do unto us?’
‘Retribution,’ screamed the men, being carried away with the passion of the moment. ‘Pursue them,’ shouted some, ‘kill every last one,’ shouted others.
Sir John let the frenzy build before once more holding up his hand.
‘I share your anger brothers and agree they should feel our wrath. Not a day’s ride from here is one of their strongholds, a place never conquered and filled with gold. They do not expect assault and with stealth I feel we could take the gate by surprise and wreak God’s vengeance inside. What say you?’ Cry over our dead and return to Acre as beaten children or show the heathen why Christians will never fall to the devil?’
Again the men roared their approval until Sir John lifted his hand for the last time.
‘Then the choice is made. Today we bury our dead and pay tribute to the fallen but tonight we travel through darkness and fall upon the gates of Al-Kahf with the dawn. Girder your hearts, fellow brothers for tomorrow we strike with the Lord’s wrath.’
The men started cheering again before being dispersed by the sergeants. Sir John walked over to his mortally wounded horse and knelt beside him. He talked gently to the steed as he smoothed its neck.
‘I am sorry, old friend,’ he said, ‘but this is where our journey ends.’ Quietly he slit the animal’s throat and held its head as the life blood drained away. When the deed was done he stood and walked over to Sir Bennett. At the forest edge an archer stood alone, watching the two men.
‘Has he been paid?’ asked Sir John.
‘A purse of silver, as you ordered.’
‘Can he be trusted to keep his silence?’
‘He is a good archer,’ said Sir Bennet, ‘but a commoner nonetheless. Who can say?’
‘Then you must ensure that the secret remains between us two only,’ said Sir John. ‘If the men find out that the first arrow was our own, then it is over.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Sir Bennet, ‘he has seen his last sunrise.’
Sir John nodded and walked away. The subterfuge had worked and apart from Sir Bennet, his trusted friend since boyhood, nobody would ever know the arrow that killed his horse was released from a Christian bow.
----
Twenty miles aw
ay, Garyn, Misha and Brother Martin lay at the edge of the cliff overlooking Al-Kahf Castle. The heavily wooded slopes stretched down to the valley floor before rising sharply again to form a large spur at the centre of the valley, a rocky escarpment joining seamlessly with the base of the castle walls above. The cliffs on all sides were sheer and un-scalable and from their position, Garyn could see no way up to the smooth walls of the castle.
‘Where is the entrance?’ he asked.
‘There is a path that winds its way around the escarpment,’ answered Misha. ‘The only access is through a cave at the base of the mountain and it is well defended. The path is wide enough only for two horses at a time and all the way up, guards are posted in defended positions, even at night. The Castle has never been taken and is considered impregnable.’
‘Then how are we to gain access?’
‘Our route does not lie that way, but via a direction that no man has ever taken before.’
‘And where is this route?’
Misha pointed toward the river at the base of the escarpment. A line of people took turns to fill buckets of water from a pool in the river before disappearing into the nearby undergrowth.
‘The garrison maintains full water chambers at all times,’ she said ‘filled by a train of slaves on a daily basis. Should they come under siege they have adequate water to sustain a long defence. The entrance to the cave lies hidden beyond those trees and a pool has been dug to enable the slaves to fill the buckets easily. You can see the water is calm and clear.’
‘Are you suggesting we try to pass ourselves off as one of the water bearers?’
‘No, you will be spotted immediately.’ She pointed further along the river. ‘Look downstream and tell me what you see where the river bends.’
‘I see nothing except water,’ said Brother Martin.
‘Look again,’ said Misha.
‘The water is grey where it has eaten into the bank at the river bend,’ said Garyn.
‘It is,’ said Misha. ‘That is because it is fed from a small rivulet of filth that seeps down a fissure in the rock face. It pools at the bottom before being washed away by the river.’
‘Human waste?’ asked Garyn.
‘The product of the Castle latrines,’ she said. ‘Nobody defends the fissure for it is covered with the slime of body waste and is considered impossible to climb.’
‘Wait,’ said Garyn. ‘Are you saying you expect us to climb through Muslim shit to access this Castle?’
‘It is the only way,’ said Misha, ‘there is no other access.’
‘I will not do it,’ said Garyn.
‘It is either this way or we return to Acre,’ said Misha.
‘But we don’t even know if it is possible,’ said Brother Martin, ‘you said that no man has ever taken this route before.’
‘And as far as I know it is true. However, I know of one who descended from the castle this way.’
‘Did he live?’ asked Garyn.
Misha stared at him without answering. Finally Garyn realised the implications and his eyes widened in understanding.
‘You,’ he said. ‘It was you who climbed down the fissure.’
Misha nodded.
‘I was one of the water slaves for a year,’ she said, ‘imprisoned by the Hashashin for a falsehood spread by an enemy of my family. I was determined to escape or die trying. I managed to climb down but was still on foot as I ran through the night. I know now they would have caught me eventually but Ahmed Mubarak found me and hid me from my pursuers. I owe him my life.’
‘And that is why you serve him?’
‘It is.’
‘From one form of slavery to another.’
‘I am no slave, I am a servant.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘As wide as the Hom’s gap,’ said Misha.
‘So,’ interrupted Brother Martin. ‘How do we go about this?’
‘At nightfall, anyone outside the walls retreats up the hill and the gates are barred within the cave as well as the castle walls. Once they are gone, it will be easy to approach the fissure unseen. The crack has many handholds and ledges but is very slippery. You must leave your robe behind and climb as light as possible.’
‘What about tools for digging?’ asked Garyn.
‘You will need no tools,’ said Misha, ‘the castle is built on solid rock. The Mountain man is buried in a surface tomb and covered with a simple slab. Remove the slab and the body will be exposed.’
Brother Martin looked at Garyn.
‘What do you think,’ he asked.
‘Is there no other way?’
Misha shook her head.
‘Filth can be washed away,’ she said, ‘the responsibility for your brother’s death would remain on your soul forever.’
Garyn stared at her as her words sunk in.
‘You are right,’ he said finally, ‘and I am ashamed of my hesitation. The two of you have risked your lives for me for no return, yet I am the one to doubt my resolve. You have my gratitude, Misha and I will undertake this task with the support of God and strength of my family behind me.’
‘Then take the opportunity to rest,’ said Misha. ‘There is an hour until darkness and then you must climb quickly. If you are caught you will die but if you descend unseen we will need as much of the night as possible to get back to the horses.’
A cough from behind them made them fall to the floor in fear and crawl into the nearby bushes.
‘Have we been discovered?’ hissed Garyn.
‘Shhh,’ said Misha and crawled forward alongside Brother Martin.
Within a few moments two people stumbled through the trees toward them, a large bearded man, supporting a red haired woman. Both were bedraggled and were obviously on the point of collapse through exhaustion.
‘A rest,’ said the woman weakly to her helper, ‘please, I beseech thee.’
‘A moment only,’ gasped the man. ‘We have to keep going.’
Brother Martin grabbed the arm of Misha in their hiding place.
‘In the name of the Lord,’ he whispered, ‘they are Christian souls. We have to help them.’
‘Wait,’ hissed Misha, ‘your goal is the cross of the Christ. If you are distracted now, you will fall short.’
Brother Martin paused before answering.
‘No,’ he said, ‘you are wrong. You too were once desperate for help and were delivered by God. If Ahmed Mubarak had turned his back on your plight you would be within those very walls with only servitude your future. We will do what we can.’
Before she could answer, he stood up and walked out of the thicket. Misha paused before joining him, as did Garyn. Immediately the bedraggled man turned and crouched into a defensive stance, an obvious sign of training. Brother Martin held up his hand to placate him.
‘Be calm, Brother,’ said the Monk, ‘I am a friend and offer only aid.’
‘Who are you?’ hissed the man.
‘My name is Brother Martin,’ said the Monk, ‘Who are you and what are you doing here deep in an enemy’s stronghold.’
The man looked between the three as the woman stepped behind him.
‘My name is Sir Abdul Khoury,’ he said, ‘Knight Hospitaller. This is the Lady Jennifer of Orange, wife of Sir John of Cambridge, Castellan of Acre. We escaped from Mamluk captivity and are lost amongst these hills.’
The Monk’s eyes widened in surprise at the revelation but stepped forward as the Lady Jennifer collapsed to the floor with exhaustion. Within moments they had her in the safety of the thicket and made them both as comfortable as possible. When she recovered, they shared what little water and food they had and both ex-prisoners ate hungrily until finally they had strength enough to tell their tale.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Brother Martin when they were done, ‘are you saying that Sir John is nearby?’
‘He is,’ said Khoury. ‘It would seem he arranged an exchange for the hostages but was fooled by treachery.’
> ‘But why did you not join him when you had the chance?’ asked Garyn.
‘At the time we just needed to escape. In the heat of the moment we lost our way and got separated from the battle. Since then we have wandered lost amongst this forest.’
‘There is another reason,’ said Jennifer.
All heads turned toward her.
‘My husband is not what he seems to be,’ she said, ‘and holds no honour as a Knight. Even though I fear for my very life, I will never stand alongside him as his wife again. I believe he was responsible for my capture and the sight of me alive frustrates his ambition to marry into the court of England.’
‘You don’t know that to be true,’ said Khoury.
‘I do,’ said Jennifer. ‘You do not know what depths he is capable of.’
‘There is another concern,’ said Brother Martin. ‘He knows of our quest and the fact he is here with a force of many men is surely no coincidence. I saw cunning in his eyes and wouldn’t put it past him to try his own assault upon Al-Kahf.’
‘What is so important within Al Kahf?’ asked Khoury.
‘Something I cannot share, Sir Knight,’ said Brother Martin, ‘but suffice to say many have died in its name. We hope to retrieve it in the name of God.’
Khoury nodded.
‘I respect your privacy, Sire and will not ask again.’
‘The thing is,’ continued Brother Martin, ‘we need to know what to do with you. Ordinarily we could have taken you to safety before continuing our quest but I fear if Sir John is so close we cannot put it off any longer.’ He looked around the group before coming to a conclusion. ‘What I propose is this. Misha, you will take our friends here back to the horses. Take them to the coast path and set them on the road to Acre. Once done your debt to us is paid and you are free to join your family.’
‘No,’ said Khoury, ‘whatever it is you plan, I will offer my aid.’
‘You are too weak,’ answered the Monk, ‘and besides, the journey back is still fraught with danger. Your skills may yet be needed to protect the Lady before you reach Acre.’
The Hospitaller Knight paused before nodding. It made sense.
‘And what about you?’ he asked.