Another moaning cry from above his head spurred him into feverish activity, and he started to clamber up the tree as fast as he could.
The man who had slipped through the gates when Ian had left them had stood watching all this time, puzzled to see one of El Akir’s guards behaving so strangely. Then he turned and hurried off, avoiding the Palace itself and making for the stables – for Haroun eel Diin had his own plan carefully worked out.
Ian scrambled upwards, ignoring the twigs and branches that scraped his hands and ace, losing his badly-fitting helmet in the desperate rush to reach the top. In the peak of condition, he found his muscles answering every possible demand and some Divine Providence led his hands and feet to safe projections and strong boughs.
The fourth cry was louder now, and not just became he was nearer. He heaved himself upwards and stood on a thick arm of the tree and stared directly into the harem.
He saw a young girl of astounding beauty, tears streaming from her eyes, lying full length on the floor, pulling at the foot of a man who held a whip in his right hand. He saw the man lift his foot slightly and kick the girl away from him, and as his face turned to her, Ian distinctly recognized the livid scar which disfigured his face, knew the man to be El Akir.
Then Ian looked at the girl who was stretched out on her face on a long, low table. The ugly weals showed up across her back and the knuckles of her hands showed white as they gripped the edge of the table, waiting for the next blow to fall. He took in the scene in slow motion, like a film that was being shown at the wrong speed, so great was the shock of the drama in that room.
The girl on the table was Barbara.
Suddenly he heard shouts in the corridor beyond and El Akir cursed and strode to the doors of the chamber. At the same time, Ian heard a gradual roaring somewhere away on his right and a shower of sparks which rocketed into the air said him that a fire had broken out on the other side of the Palace. This was obviously the message being brought to El Akin, for he left the room, slamming the doors behind him with a muttered curse.
Ian immediately seized his opportunity and ran along tire arm of the tree and jumped for the window, thankful there was no glass in the way. The girl who had been kicked by El Akir had rushed to Barbara, gesturing to the other girls, who started to hurry across the room. But when Ian appeared, as if by magic, they all stopped.
‘Barbara,’ he said urgently, jumping down from the window and crossing to her. She opened her eyes, which she’d kept screwed up tight, and stared at Ian as he knelt beside her.
The smile she gave him was a whole book of expressions, the sudden relief in her eyes mingling with an odd look of triumph that he had found her still defiant, still determined, still with plenty of reserves to withstand whatever trials and tortures El Akir could devise.
‘Have you something you can put on her back?’ said Ian to the girl beside him. She nodded and signalled to the little Indian girl, who ran away to a corner of the room.
‘Maimuna, this is Ian,’ said Barbara, faintly. ‘He’s come to take us away.’
Maimuna took hold of one of Ian’s hands, raised it to her lips and pressed it against her cheek. The Indian girl hurried to them with a little jar of salve. Maimuna thanked her and took it, asking her to listen closely at the doors and warn them if anyone approached. Then she bent over Barbara’s back.
‘I will be as soft and gentle as I can,’ said Maimuna. Ian moved around and bent down on one knee, his face near to Barbara’s, trying to ignore the little winces she gave as the girl started to smooth on the ointment with quick, deft little gestures.
‘Barbara, I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry. But I have horses outside the Palace gates... if we can only get to them.’
‘Can we climb down the tree?’
‘I think it’s the best way. If you can manage?’
She hunched her shoulders sharply, her teeth finding her lower lip, as Maimuna completed the last of her work. Ian unclipped the red cloak from around his throat and spread it over Barbara as she sat up. Ian noticed the sheen of perspiration on her face and he bent and kissed her gently on the forehead.
The little Indian girl suddenly gave an agitated cry and retreated towards them.
‘Quickly! You must hide. Someone is coming,’ she gasped. The girls in the room all shrank back in their accustomed positions, trying to find what comfort they could from a closeness to the walls; all except Maimuna. ‘Take her out of the window,’ she said rapidly. ‘I will delay him.’
‘He’ll kill you, Maimuna,’ said Barbara.
‘My life does not matter.’
‘It does matter,’ said Ian. ‘Stay here with Barbara.’
He drew his scimitar from its scabbard and ran over to the doors, just reaching cover as they were flung open and El Akir marched in arrogantly.
Ian stepped behind him and closed the doors, leaning against them. El Akir slowed to a stop aware that something was amiss. He looked at the red cloak Barbara clutched around herself, knew it as part of the uniform done of his guards. He felt, rather than saw, that the women in the chamber were gazing at him in some sort of a new way, as if they were waiting for something expectantly.
He swung round, then crouched as he saw Ian. His hand sped down to the sword at his side and he unsheathed it.
‘What are you doing in here, carrion?’ he spat out viciously. ‘Don’t you know it’s death to be in my harem?’
‘Your death!’ Ian said.
He took two steps forward and lifted his blade. The Emir parried with a low cut, the two metals scraping together.
‘Are you mad?’ screamed El Akir, retreating a step or two. Ian made a huge downward cut, his blade flashing through the air. His opponent cut upwards defensively then twisted his wrist to slash sideways at Ian’s legs. Ian jumped up, striking hard at the other’s sword hand, just missing, his blade sliding off the hilt with a spark.
‘Guards!’ roared El Akir. ‘To the harem! Guards!’ He cut at Ian viciously, who felt the blade skim across his hair as he was forced to duck. He lunged forward, using the scimitar more in the fashion of an épée but El Akir knocked it aside and suddenly advanced with a series of hacking cuts and blows that had Ian defending desperately. Their hilts dashed and Ian jumped forward, forcing his weight behind his sword, trying to press both the blades back like scissors around his enemy’s neck. El Akir flicked his sword hand expertly and swayed sideways, letting Ian’s pressure impel him forwards. Ian staggered off balance and the Emir struck at his back. Ian heard the rip of cloth as the razor edge just grazed his clothes, missing the flesh by a hair’s-breadth. It was becoming quite clear that El Akir was a cool, dangerous swordsman, well practised in the art. He now tried to follow up his advantage, but Ian swung round his free hand and clubbed him on the cheek-bone, giving himself a temporary relief as the Emir tottered sideways, shaking his head from the blow.
Ian saw all the girls running now, directed by Maimuna, hurrying to the double doors. Some put their weight against it while others began to drag the couches and the chests and other furniture to block the door.
El Akir realized what they were up to and, thrusting at Ian so that he rocked back on his heels, turned and ran to the doors, his weapon circling above his head, ready to cleave the nearest girl in two. Ian reached down and pulled desperately at the rug and his enemy staggered and fell on one knee, giving Ian time to interpose himself and defend the girls. A hammer of blows descended on the other side of the door and a gruff voice shouted the Emir’s name.
‘Break down the door, you fools,’ he yelled, cutting once again at Ian, who eluded the attack with nimble footwork and responded so hard that he drew blood from a slight cut he made on El Akir’s left shoulder. The Emir smashed at Ian’s right leg, fortunately with the flat side of his scimitar but nevertheless numbing it. Seeing that Ian was handicapped for a moment, El Akir suddenly darted to one side and seized hold of Maimuna by the hair and pulled her off her feet. Ian made a desperate attempt to sever his en
emy’s head from his body, but the blade swung away a foot short and El Akir dragged the screaming girl to the window. He pulled her, half fainting, to her feet, letting go of her hair and gripping her round the throat with his free arm.
The pounding on the doors was stronger now as more bodies were hurled against it. El Akir shouted to them to double their efforts then pointed his scimitar at Ian who was steadily approaching.
‘One more step and I’ll cut this girl in two.’
Ian looked at Barbara anxiously. She had managed to sit upright properly now, although unable to move without a hundred pokers of pain stabbing through her. Ian saw a change in her eyes, a slight frown and then realization as she raised her eyebrows. He looked quickly at El Akir for the answer. Behind him began to emerge the shape of a large, poorly dressed man, entering the harem by the same route Ian had taken.
Haroun stood on the window and put his hands round El Akir’s throat, so surprising him that the sword dropped out of his hand in terror. The man exerted all his strength and lifted the Emir off his feet.
For a second the two men were poised, El Akir pulling feebly at the hands around his throat, his tongue forced out between his teeth, his scar glaring redly as the blood pounded in his head. Then Haroun jumped down from the window, at the same time twisting his hands to the right. As his feet touched the ground, he pivoted, whirling El Akir like a throwing hammer. Suddenly he let go and fell on one knee.
El Akir hurtled through the air with a ghastly scream of fear and smashed high up into the call opposite. There was a sickening thud as the Emir’s head struck the wall, then the body rebounded and slammed to the ground.
Haroun clasped his daughter in his arms and beckoned to Ian impatiently. Ian took hold of Barbara’s hand and hurried her to the window.
Despite the high pile of furniture the double doors were beginning to move slightly now, the men outside battering it in with something heavy.
The girls began to retreat, looking at Ian for guidance. Ian waved them to the window and grinned at Haroun. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ said Ian, ‘but you’ve made a friend. The girls can help each other down, while we give them as much of a chance as possible.’
Haroun nodded, an answering smile on his face. He urged Barbara, Maimuna and the girls to make their way down the tree and out of the gates, as fast as they could.
‘The guards who aren’t in the passage are busy fighting the fire I started in the hay-barn,’ he stated as the last girl disappeared.
Ian threw down his sword and ran over and collected up three of the small oil-lamps nearest to him. Their flames fluttered as he hurried to the double doors, splintering now as the men outside put all their strength into breaking through. Haman saw what Ian was doing and fetched some more lamps and together they threw them at the pile of furniture. The lamps spilled out their oil and ignited, and soon a blaze was roaring. Ian ran back and picked up his sword, sheathed it and gestured to Haroun to precede him out of the window. Haroun replied with a push.
‘You go first, or I’ll throw you out,’ he growled.
‘I’d rather climb, thanks,’ grinned Ian and scrambled out and on to the bough. Beneath him, he could just see the running shapes of the harem girls, rushing towards the gates.
He and Haroun clambered down the tree and followed them.
As soon as they were outside, Ibrahim appeared and arged Ian to help him swing the great doors to a close. Then the Arab produced a thick bar of wood and he wedged it between the outer handles.
‘You see, I am here, My Lord, just as I promised; he beamed. Ian put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. Then Haroun hurried to them.
‘Don’t stand been dreaming!’ He turned to the Arab. ‘The soldiers will be all around us, you half-wit!’
‘This half-wit has stolen all their horses, master.’
‘They can still use their legs then.’
‘But they cannot come through these doors. This half-wit has seen to that as well.’
‘And is there no other way out of the Palace?’
The Arab looked suitably disturbed.
‘This half-wit hadn’t thought of that!’
He led them quickly to where he had tethered the horses, some twenty in number and more than they’d need. They heard the sound of a mass of running feet.
‘The rest of the guard,’ gasped the Arab. ‘They are returning from the Old Quarter.’
The three men helped all the girls to mount and with Ibrahim leading and Ian and Haroun bringing up the rear the party of seven girls and three men made their way out of Lydda.
A half-hour’s ride without pursuit of any kind and Haroun took over the lead, directing the party nowhere he had left Sahya in a little orange orchard. Maimuna and her sister fell into each other’s arms tenderly. Ian decided they could risk a five-minute rest, but no longer he warned Haroun.
‘Probably we out of danger,’ observed Haroun, ‘although you are are to be cautious. It is my opinion that the guards will be quarrelling amongst themselves now the El Akir is dead.’
The party rode onward, making a longer journey of three hours this time. The night was clear with a strong moon and the stars were strung out like fairy lights. There was absolutely no movement in the air, not even a puff of wind, but the temperature had dropped and all the girls were half frozen in the flimsy costumes they wore.
The route Haroun took was a circuitous one, deliberately taking the longest and the most difficult paths to confuse any possible pursuers. Once he led them down a stream for fully a mile, twisting and turning with the course of it, keeping the party firmly in the water to that no tell-tale hoof-marks were left on either of the shallow muddy banks. Finally, where the stream began to broaden out, obviously becoming a tributary, he ordered them to guide their horses over a patch of shingle and towards a cleft in some rocks overlooking the water.
Satisfied now that everything had been done to disguise their escape, he set them all galloping forward. There was no talk for each one was concentrating on resisting the cold in his or her own way, quite apart from the eye-straining business of the constant searching of the ground ahead. Some of thegirls bore the journey better than others, the Negress best of all, sitting hunched over her animal, her head bent steadily on the ground just ahead of her and following directly behind Haroun, echoing his warnings to be careful of this loose rock or that sudden depression in the ground. Maimuna and Safiya rode just ahead of Ibrahim, the elder girl’s left hand firmly clasped in her sister’s right, occasionally turning their heads towards each other as if to reassure themselves they were together again.
The worst to suffer was Barbara. Although the cloak Ian had thrown around her kept out the cold well enough, it rubbed against the wounds on her back. The movement of her body itself was bad enough, but the two together were an almost unbearable agony.
Finally, Haroun called the party to a halt and dismounted at the edge of a wood, telling them all to wait for him. They huddled together, making a ring of the horses, keeping themselves as warm as they could.
Haroun reappeared after a few minutes and led them all through the trees, Ibrahim bringing up the rear with the horses. Eventually, they came to a ramshackle old wooden building.
‘It looks far worse than it is,’ he announced, ‘but the walls and the roof are good enough to keep out the cold, and we shall soon have a fire blazing.’
Ian led Barbara in and cleared away a space in one corner which was covered in dead leaves and some musty old hay. Ibrahim appeared with the horses’ blankets and together they made a bed for Barbara to lie face down on. She collapsed on to it with a shuddering sigh of relief and fell into an mediate sleep.
Haroun, who had been out foraging in the wood, returned with an armful of dead branches and twigs and started a fire.
‘I used to use this place, with other caravan leaders, sometimes,’ he told Ian, as he fed some bigger pieces of wood into the flames. Sofiya appeared beside him, undoing a saddle-bag filled with
dried meat and fruit and she started to apportion it out as carefully and as fairly as she could.
‘I see you came well prepared,’ said Ian with a smile.
‘Either I meant to bring back my daughter and your friend Barbara – or die!’ Haroun answered briefly. ‘Fortunately I allowed provision for a long journey, thinking we would need to travel for many days if we were pursued.’
‘There will still only be just enough to go round, Father,’ said Safiya. She began to distribute the food, a piece of meat, some bread and some dates for each person, and soon they were all eating hungrily, except Barbara, who slept deeply now, and peacefully.
Haroun moved over to Maimuna and sat himself on the rough floor. The other girls were settling down as comfortably as they could and gradually one after another fell asleep. Ibrahim lay against one of the walls, his head dropping over his chest, resting his forehead on his bent knees, snoring slightly. Ian lay by the door, the scimitar close to his hand, determined not to leave anything to chance now that they had achieved so much.
Maimuna stared at her father, tears rushing to her eyes; then he put his arm around her, soothing away her sobbing until her head cradled on his massive chest and she, too, fell asleep. Haroun laid her down to the ground, gently, so as not to wake her, and moved over to Ian at the door, settling himself so that they could talk together quietly without disturbing the others.
Doctor Who and the Crusaders Page 13