by Hight, Jack
The priest fell silent, and they sat side by side while the candles on the altar burned down. Finally, John knelt before the altar and bowed his head. He prayed silently, then rose and added a silver coin to the old priest’s cup.
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘I will pray for you,’ the old man replied. He held out his hand towards John and made the sign of the cross. ‘Go with God, my son.’
The sun had not yet risen when Yusuf and the others rode away from the funduq, quickly leaving it out of sight in the pre-dawn gloom. The innkeeper had warned them that bandits had struck several caravans nearby, and Yusuf had decided to leave early, skipping prayers in the hope of slipping past unseen in the darkness. No one spoke, and the only sound was the faint clip-clop of their horses’ hooves over the dusty ground. Yusuf kept his hand on his sword and scanned the dimly visible terrain around them for signs of danger.
The darkness gave way to soft, morning light as the sun rose dull red before them, revealing a barren landscape, unmarked by a single tree or boulder. Low, rolling hills rose up ahead, and the dusty track they followed headed straight for them. Yusuf spurred his horse forward next to their Bedouin guide. ‘If there are bandits about, those hills would be the perfect place for them to set an ambush,’ he said. ‘Is there another way?’
Sa’ud shook his head. ‘The hills stretch for miles in either direction. Going around will cost us at least a day. Better to push straight through.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘Very well. But we will ride fast and avoid the hilltops so as not to be seen.’ He raised his voice. ‘Have your weapons ready, men.’ Yusuf took his short, curved bow from where it was tucked into the saddle behind him and strung it as he rode. He then slung it over his shoulder, along with his quiver. The other men did the same.
Sa’ud spurred his horse to a canter. Yusuf kept pace, John beside him and the other men bringing up the rear. The track they were following snaked into the hills, and the sound of their horses’ hooves echoed loudly off the steep slopes on either side. Yusuf scanned the hilltops as they rode, expecting at any moment to see a bandit staring back at him, but there was nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief as they rode free of the hills and into a broad valley, which sloped downwards to a sparkling river. More hills rose on the far side of the water.
Ahead, Sa’ud kept up the pace, but then reined to a stop as he reached the edge of the wide, shallow river. His horse immediately plunged its nose into the stream and began to drink. ‘We should pause to water the horses,’ he suggested. ‘There will be no more water until we reach Tell Bashir.’
John rode up beside Yusuf and leaned close. ‘I don’t like this. We are too exposed here. We should move on.’
Yusuf scanned the hilltops on either side of the river and saw nothing. Beneath him, his horse was wet with sweat and breathing heavily after the long canter. ‘Our horses will not last much longer without water,’ he said. ‘And I’d rather face bandits than walk through the desert to Tell Bashir.’ He raised his voice. ‘We will let the horses drink, but be ready to ride, men.’ Yusuf dismounted and led his horse to the edge of the river, where he stood holding the reins while it drank thirstily. He unstopped his waterskin and also drank, keeping his eyes fixed on the hills on the far side of the river. He saw nothing and turned to examine the hills they had just traversed. He was just looking away when out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of sunlight on steel. He looked back, but saw nothing.
John walked over, leading his horse. ‘I think we’re being watched.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘I saw it, too.’ He turned to shout to the men. ‘Saddle up!’ Yusuf was pulling himself into the saddle when two dozen riders in chainmail broke from the hills behind them and came thundering across the valley. ‘Follow me!’ Yusuf shouted. He grabbed the lead rope for the mule carrying the gold and then kicked his horse’s sides, sending it splashing across the shallow river. As he emerged on the far bank and urged his horse towards the hills, Yusuf glanced back over his shoulder. The bandits were approaching the river, but it looked as if Yusuf and his men would reach the hills before they crossed. Just behind Yusuf, John was yelling and pointing forward. Yusuf turned to see another twenty bandits pouring from the hills ahead of them, only a hundred yards away. They had bows in hand, and they reined in and released a volley. Yusuf heard the arrows whiz past, and there was a cry of pain behind him. He turned to see one of Shirkuh’s men fall from the saddle, the feathered end of an arrow protruding from his chest. Yusuf veered to the left, riding away from the archers and up the valley floor. John and the mamluks followed, spreading out to create a barrier between Yusuf and the bandits.
‘We can’t outrun them!’ John shouted. ‘Not with the mule. We have to leave it.’
Yusuf shook his head. ‘Without the gold, we won’t even get into Tell Bashir.’ He looked back and saw that the archers were almost within range. The other bandits had splashed across the river and were angling across the valley, gaining fast. ‘We’ll lose them in the hills!’
Yusuf turned his horse and headed for a gap between two sheer rock faces. John and Sa’ud followed, while the mamluks pulled up behind them to block the passage and protect their escape. Yusuf kicked at the sides of his horse and pulled at the lead, urging the mule to keep pace as he cantered along a narrow trail that snaked between the steep-sided hills. Behind him, he could hear shouts and cries of agony as the bandits reached the mamluks. Then the shouting stopped, replaced by the thunder of hooves as the bandits charged after them. The rumbling grew steadily louder, and then an arrow hissed past Yusuf. The bandits were almost upon them.
Up ahead, the trail turned sharply to the right. Yusuf rounded the corner and shouted ‘Stop!’ He reined in, and John and Sa’ud pulled up beside him. ‘Quick, your bows!’ Yusuf turned his horse and swung his bow from his back. He nocked an arrow and drew the bow taut. The first bandit rounded the corner, and his eyes went wide. Yusuf let fly, and the man dropped from the saddle, an arrow in his throat. Four more bandits rounded the corner in quick succession. John fired first, taking the lead rider out. Sa’ud’s arrow also found its target. Yusuf hurriedly nocked another arrow and let fly. The arrow lodged in the chest of the leading bandit’s horse, causing it to rear and throw its rider. The other bandit pulled up short as the injured horse – whinnying and eyes rolling – reared again and again, blocking the narrow path.
‘Come on!’ Yusuf yelled as he grabbed the mule’s lead rope and cantered away. Soon, he could again hear the rumbling of horses’ hooves, and then the shouts of the bandits as they closed in. An arrow whizzed past Yusuf’s ear and shattered on the rock face ahead of him. He looked back and saw that the nearest bandits were only a dozen yards behind him. As he watched, Sa’ud’s horse was shot beneath him, collapsing and sending Sa’ud tumbling. The pack mule brayed loudly as it took an arrow in the flank. It stumbled and fell.
‘The gold!’ Yusuf exclaimed as he pulled back on the reins.
‘Forget it!’ John shouted as he rode past.
Yusuf hesitated for a split second, then spurred after his friend. Arrows were whizzing all around him. One sank into the rump of John’s horse, which slowed immediately. Yusuf rode up alongside him. ‘Quick, get behind me!’ John grabbed Yusuf’s arm and swung himself on to Yusuf’s horse. ‘Yalla! Yalla !’ Yusuf shouted as he urged the last bit of speed from his tired mount.
‘’Sblood!’ John grunted as an arrow slammed into his shoulder. Another grazed the flank of Yusuf’s horse, and it whinnied in pain. ‘They’re right on top of us!’ John yelled. ‘No, wait,’ he added a second later. ‘They’re falling back!’
Yusuf looked back, incredulous. But it was true: the bandits were slowing, letting them escape. Yusuf met John’s eyes and they both grinned. Then, as their horse rounded a corner, the grin fell from John’s face. ‘Stop!’ he yelled, but it was too late.
The ground fell out from beneath them as they rode straight over the edge of a tall cliff. The horse tumbled head first d
own the steep, gravelly slope, sending both John and Yusuf flying. Yusuf hit the ground and went tumbling head over heels. To his left, he caught a glimpse of John lying flat on his stomach, his arms and legs extended as he slid down the face of the slope. Yusuf saw the sky flash by, then the floor of a valley far below rushing up to meet him, then the sky again. Next moment, his head slammed into a rock, and the world went black.
Yusuf awoke in a darkness so absolute that he could not see his hand in front of his face. He was stiff and shaking with cold. He stretched gingerly, flexing his arms and legs. He was covered in bruises and his head ached, but he did not appear have broken anything. He sat up and slammed his forehead into hard rock. He fell back, groaning.
‘Quiet!’ John hissed, his hand clapping over Yusuf’s mouth. ‘They’ll hear you.’
Yusuf fell silent, and John removed his hand. ‘Where are we?’ Yusuf whispered.
‘In a cave,’ John replied, his voice so low that Yusuf could barely hear him. ‘I carried you here after we fell. The bandits searched for us and then returned to their camp. It is not far from here. Come and see.’ Yusuf felt John tug on his arm, and he crawled forward after him, groping his way over the rocky floor. The passage narrowed until Yusuf was forced to squirm forward with his head sideways and his cheek pressed against the cold stone. On the other side of the narrow passage, the cave grew brighter. Yusuf could see John ahead, his finger to his lips. Yusuf joined him at the mouth of the cave. They were thirty feet up a steep slope, looking out over a rocky ravine.
‘There,’ John whispered, pointing to the right, where flickering firelight danced on the ravine walls. ‘They are camped a hundred yards down the ravine. I think they are Franks; I overheard two of them speaking Latin.’
‘Franks?’ Yusuf looked at John. ‘You could have gone to them.’
John shrugged. ‘And leave you to die? You know me better than that, Brother.’
Yusuf placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Saving me was not the act of a slave, John. From this moment, you are free.’
John turned away. When he looked back, his eyes shone with tears. ‘Just my luck,’ he whispered, forcing a smile. ‘I gain my freedom just in time to die. We have one waterskin and no food. And with our guide dead, we have no idea how to get to Tell Bashir.’
‘Are the English all so grim?’ Yusuf said, clapping John on the back. ‘You are free, and we are alive. Allah has saved us from the bandits for a reason. He will guide us to Tell Bashir.’
‘How?’
‘The stars.’ Yusuf pointed to the heavens. ‘That is smiya, the north star. That means east is that way.’ He nodded across the ravine. ‘If we head east then we will meet the Sajur River, and it will lead us to Tell Bashir. The moon will set within the hour, and we will go then, under the cover of darkness. The further we are from those bandits come morning, the better.’
‘Christ’s blood,’ John cursed under his breath as he trudged forward, his chest heaving and his feet sore after jogging through the night. He stumbled to a stop as the fiery red sun rose above the horizon, and the first rays of sunlight hit him. Yusuf also stopped, and they looked about at the world now visible around them. They had left the hills behind and now stood on a rocky plain that stretched away as far as John could see in every direction. The landscape was empty save for the occasional twisted tree and scattered clusters of delicate, trumpet-shaped flowers, golden on the inside and pale pink on the outside.
‘We’ll be easy to spot out here,’ John said, keeping his voice low as if afraid to disturb the stillness around them.
Yusuf nodded. ‘We had best carry on.’
They walked towards the sun as it rose higher and higher, burning away the cool night air and baking the hard ground beneath their feet. Soon John’s tunic was soaked with sweat. They trudged on in silence, drinking from the waterskin when the hot desert air became too much to bear. In the afternoon, they stopped beside a stunted, gnarled tree that cast a tiny pool of shade. Yusuf took a swallow from the waterskin and then handed it to John. He tipped it back and a tiny mouthful of water ran out, then nothing. He tossed the skin aside. ‘We’re out of water.’ He gazed across the endless plain stretching out before them. The landscape wavered and shifted as heat rose from the ground. John licked his dry lips. ‘Maybe we should rest here.’
‘No, we cannot stop.’ Yusuf pointed to the ground behind them. Their footprints in the dust stretched away into the distance. ‘If the bandits decide to follow us, it will be easy enough.’
‘We won’t make it much further in this heat.’
‘We have no choice. We’ll stop when night falls. It will be harder to track us, then.’
They pushed on across the scorching desert. At first, John glanced back frequently, checking for signs of pursuit. He saw nothing, and after a few hours he ceased to care. His mouth grew so dry that he could not summon spit. His muscles burned and his thoughts slowed. He became dizzy, but he staggered on after Yusuf. Finally, the sun set behind them. Yusuf stopped. ‘That is far enough.’
Groaning with relief, John lay down and stared up at the sky. Yusuf joined him, and they lay there without speaking while the world darkened around them. The fading light took the heat with it, and the air grew chill. John began to shiver in his sweat-soaked clothes and curled up on his side. He and Yusuf huddled together, back to back, and John could feel Yusuf shaking with cold. They lay awake, too miserable to sleep.
‘Do you think we’ll reach the river tomorrow?’ John asked.
‘I-inshallah,’ Yusuf replied, teeth chattering. ‘We w-won’t make it through another day without water.’
Then John saw something in the dark – a pinprick of light. He sat up and squinted into the distance. ‘I see something. Look, there.’
‘A fire,’ Yusuf said as he sat up.
‘The bandits?’
‘Or Bedouin.’
‘They would have water,’ John said, pushing himself to his feet. He began to stumble towards the light.
‘John!’ Yusuf called. ‘If it is the bandits, then you are walking to your death.’
John turned to face Yusuf. ‘What does it matter? Like you said, we’ll die anyway without water.’
‘You are right,’ Yusuf said and rose. ‘Let us go to meet our fate.’
Yusuf stood just beyond the reach of the firelight and peered into the camp. The flickering light played on the dark wool of three tents – large, rectangular structures with peaked roofs, which had been erected in a row to the right of the fire. The shadowy forms of camels were just visible in the darkness beyond the camp, and from behind them came the bleating of sheep. A piece of meat roasted over the fire, unattended. There was no movement anywhere.
‘Are they Bedouin?’ John whispered, leaning close to Yusuf.
Yusuf nodded. ‘But something is wrong. Someone should be tending the fire.’ He put his hand to his sword hilt and took a step forward into the ring of firelight.
‘Waqqif!’ a deep voice called from the darkness behind them – stop. Yusuf spun around to see four Bedouin step out of the night with bows drawn. A fifth man stepped past them, leaning on a long staff. As he approached, the fire lit his face which was leathery and tan, with a long, greying beard.
‘Who are you?’ the old man demanded in a gravelly voice.
‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, sheikh. I am Yusuf ibn Ayub, emir of Tell Bashir.’
One of the archers laughed at this. He was tall with a short, black beard and teeth that flashed white in the night. ‘You are far from your citadel, emir.’
The old man waved for him to be quiet. ‘Wa ‘alaykum as-salaam,’ he said to Yusuf. ‘I am Sabir ibn Taqqi, sheikh of this goum.’ A goum was several related families, living together. ‘And who is this?’ Sabir pointed to John.
‘My servant.’
‘What brings you to our camp?’
‘We were attacked by Frankish bandits. We have wandered far on foot. We need water and have come to beg your hospitality.’
Sabir looked into Yusuf’s eyes, and Yusuf returned his gaze. After a moment the old man nodded. ‘You are welcome in my tent.’ He raised his voice. ‘Wife! Prepare food for our guests.’ A veiled woman stepped out of one of the tents and began to turn the spit of roasting meat.
The archers surrounding Yusuf shouldered their bows, and Sabir led the way towards the fire. ‘Sit and warm yourselves,’ he said, gesturing to a wool mat that had been laid out beside the fire. Yusuf and John sat, and the other Bedouin men joined them around the fire. ‘Drink.’
One of the women handed Yusuf a waterskin. The cool water stung his cracked, dry lips, but he did not care. He took a long drink, then handed the skin to John. ‘Shukran,’ he said to Sabir, thanking his host.
Sabir nodded. ‘This is my brother, Shaad,’ he said, gesturing to the heavy-set man seated across from Yusuf. ‘And this is my cousin, Saqr, his son Makin, and my own son, Umar.’ Umar was the tall archer with the white teeth. In better light, Yusuf saw that he was a handsome man, with lean features and a prominent nose. He was fingering his dagger as he eyed John.
Suddenly Umar rose to his feet, dagger drawn. He stepped around the fire and tore the waterskin from John’s hands, tossing it to the side. ‘He has blue eyes,’ he growled. ‘He is a Frank!’ Umar grabbed the front of John’s tunic and held the dagger close to his face.
Yusuf sprang to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt. ‘If you kill him, then you will die,’ he said quietly.
‘Put your dagger away, Umar!’ Sabir barked.
‘But he is one of them!’ Umar protested.
‘He is our guest. It would shame us to do him harm.’
Umar released John and stepped back, shaking his head. ‘There would be no shame in it. I recognize him. He is one of the Franks who attacked us.’
‘Forgive my son,’ Sabir said as he pushed himself to his feet, leaning on his staff. ‘We were attacked by Frankish raiders two days ago. They killed Umar’s wife.’