by Ann Turner
Slowly, she rose from the bed and sat on the chair, resting her hands on her knees, afraid to move. The man backed away to the entrance of the tent and stood as sentry until the soldier who had escorted her to the tent reappeared. They conversed briefly, glancing towards Aubrette. The night guard was grinning and making signs of a sexual nature, which needed no translation to be understood. Both men laughed. Aubrette knew she had not been assaulted during the night, as she would have felt different in her body had either of the men succeeded in violating her. She shrank back, making herself small, not wanting to induce attention from either of these savages.
The night guard departed, leaving the other man who regarded Aubrette grimly. Assuming she must be hungry, he went to the table and silently offered her the drink and fruit to eat. Aubrette was reluctant to taste any of the refreshments, fearing they could be poisoned and she would be drugged and raped. Guessing her reluctant thoughts, he poured a cup of juice and drank from it first, before replenishing it and handing it to her.
‘There is nothing to harm you here. Pick a fruit and I shall take the first bite,’ he said.
Looking at the ripe and inviting fruit, Aubrette tentatively pointed at a juicy peach and he bit into it. Once assured it was fine for her to consume, she ate it. ‘See, you are safe. I have been instructed not to permit harm to come to you,’ he assured.
‘How long shall I remain?’
‘You are held as a lure. Once your usefulness has finished, my master shall decide your destiny.’ His reply was brisk.
‘And you will keep me safe from your sultan and the others here?’ she asked.
He nodded and repeated his promise to her. She flushed a little, though why she did not know. ‘Then is it not too much to ask the name of the man who is both my guard and protector?’
‘For the use it will have for you, I am Najid Maddy,’ he said, shortly.
‘How shall I spend my days?’ she asked.
Najid shrugged. ‘I shall stay by your side, but you are allowed to take the air. My master shall desire to speak with you; hold nothing back from him,’ he warned.
‘I shall not betray my king, country or religion.’ Her reply was brave, not revealing the sheer sense of terror coursing through her body.
‘You shall hold nothing back,’ he repeated, sternly.
Aubrette fell silent. She felt alone and hoped that her king would consider her important enough for him to retrieve her from the Saracens. After all, she was an attendant to his queen and wife to his constant companion. Perhaps being Hugh’s wife could have an advantage after all. It would only be a matter of days before the revelation of her situation was made known and then the king, Simon, even Hugh would come to rescue her and she would be free, safely delivered from this unfolding nightmare. This pleasing thought suddenly turned sour when she recalled Saladin’s warning that her rescuers, if they came, would be riding into a trap and would be slain. What greater prize would these infidels have than to announce that they had cut down and killed the mighty Lionheart.
The days passed. No reply arrived from King Richard, yet Aubrette still held hope for deliverance. When she was permitted to take her daily walk, or commanded to attend an audience with Saladin, Najid would attach a length of chain around her waist and hold the other end. He repeated that this would prevent any ideas she may have of escaping. Najid had behaved impeccably and had kept her safe from harm – even Sultan Saladin, when she was in his company, was courteous towards her. The night guard who regularly replaced Najid would not speak with her – whether he understood her or not, Aubrette did not know – but she had no desire to hold a conversation with him. His appearance frightened her, while Najid for all his menace made her feel strangely safe.
Saladin requested she dined with him, which she had no choice but accept. It would be unwise to refuse while she remained a captive in the Saracen’s camp. Najid, as usual, looped the chain, awkwardly reaching around her waist to secure it. She raised her arms to make it easier for him, feeling embarrassed at this enforced familiarity but knowing it was useless to complain. Neither looked into the other’s face, deliberately avoiding any eye contact.
He escorted her silently to Saladin’s splendid pavilion, unloosened the chain and departed. Aubrette looked back as he went; she had become accustomed to having him by her side. Tentatively, she approached the table at which Saladin, the fabled leader of the Saracens, sat on the most splendid chair, twirling the stem of a fluted glass of wine between elegant fingers. On the other side of a table, a second man, dressed in a similar style, sat watching her. Aubrette’s eyes flicked to his face and she saw a similarity, assuming the two men were related.
Saladin bowed his head in greeting and crooked a finger at Aubrette to approach him. Attempting to feign dignity and poise, she stood before him and went into a deep curtsey. He rose from his chair to look down on his hostage and slowly walked around her, his eyes never leaving her. He spoke to the other man, who replied quietly, before turning his attention back to Aubrette.
‘A messenger has been dispatched to your Christian camp, telling them of your capture,’ said Saladin, as he held out a hand to bring Aubrette to her feet.
‘Then I expect my deliverance anon,’ she replied, courageously.
Saladin chuckled. ‘You will have much time to wait for that day. Your king sent a reply stating that he would not risk his, or any of his men’s lives for you. You are of little importance to him. I had the messenger’s throat slit, so you must accept your circumstance and live as a guest of my brother and I. You shall be treated well, better than with your own kind. If your husband or any of Richard’s underlings foolishly attempt a rescue, they will be coming to their own suicide.’
The sultan led her to the table, where servants stood ready to wait upon him, his brother and their reluctant guest. Aubrette wanted to refuse the glass of fine wine and the dish of olives, but she was hungry. The food that Najid fetched for her was no better than what his army ate and the aromas filling the pavilion were mouth-watering. Her hosts spat the olive stones out, but she neatly took the stones from her mouth with her fingers, placing them on her plate.
‘I trust our soldier is looking after you?’ Saladin’s brother asked, as the servants quickly cleared the plates away and replenished their glasses.
‘He is,’ answered Aubrette. ‘My only complaint is that whenever we leave my lodgings, he has me tied to him as if I were his hound.’
The two men laughed and Saladin spoke. ‘He is your shadow, your protector and, in my absence, your master. I command my men and punish any dissent amongst them.’
‘So you are cruel to the men who obey and follow you?’ jibed Aubrette.
His laugh was now hearty. ‘Is your king better than I? My spies report that if one of Richard’s soldiers commit murder, then he is tied to the man he has murdered and buried alive with him. Richard and I, for all our differences, are very much the same.’ He sat back as the servants set plates on the table for the next course of their meal and then stepped back, bowing. ‘Eat, eat. If I decide to return you to your Christians, you can tell them you were treated well here.’ He waved his hand towards her, encouraging her to eat.
Aubrette answered the questioning carefully, attempting not to reveal any detail that might cause harm to her fellow Christians. Saladin and his brother, Al Adil, were no fools. They knew she was holding back on her replies and did not expect anything else.
The meal was brought to a halt by a messenger, who begged an audience with Saladin. He fell to his knees and put his forehead to the carpet before permission was given. The news was that the walls of Acre were on the verge of being breached and the garrison within were ready to bargain with the Christians for surrender. Instead of leaping to his feet to lead his army against the enemy, Saladin first made sure that Najid returned and reattached the chain to Aubrette, while he summoned his
generals to him. He gathered them around him and they discussed their move on the enemy. The sultan sent the messenger away to King Richard, stating that if Acre fell, the hostages in his camp would by executed in revenge. Aubrette could not understand all that Saladin spoke, but she knew from his actions and the tone of his voice that whatever happened this day would not be good for her. The brothers strode from the pavilion with their men following behind, leaving Najid watching them wistfully.
‘You want to be with them,’ she observed.
He looked round at her, disdainfully. ‘If you mean, do I want to slay Christians? Then yes,’ he replied, unpleasantly. She paled at his answer. ‘Come, I shall take you back.’ He was resigned to the task of guarding this unimportant female, and held out a hand to her. At the touch of his hand, she felt an unexpected shiver. He must have felt the same; their eyes met and they stood looking at each other, unsure what would occur next. Then, remembering his duties, Najid withdrew his hand, pulled on the chain and waited for Aubrette to pass him into the blistering heat outside.
In silence, and without exchanging looks, they walked back to the tent. He unchained her and she sat at her table, while Najid stationed himself by the entrance, deliberately not looking at her. The silence between them felt glaringly obvious. Her thoughts wandered to Simon and she wondered how he was faring during the battle. Would he return victorious or would his mutilated body be lying undiscovered? Then how would Rowena cope becoming a widow, pregnant, and now alone without her sister to comfort her.
News came that Acre had fallen to the Christians and that the Saracens had suffered a humiliating defeat. At the head of his depleted army, Saladin rode back into his camp. He looked ragged with weariness and defeat, while his men, some on horseback, others on foot, trudged behind him. Saladin ordered the prisoners taken during the battle to be held at the rear of the camp and guarded well. He then entered his pavilion, followed by his generals, to hold an autopsy. He needed to find out why Acre had fallen after so long and what they could do to bring Richard of England down.
Aubrette came and stood at the tent entrance, alongside Najid. She anxiously scanned the faces of the captives taken, hoping not see Simon one of the debilitated Christian men being herded towards a compound. An injured man stumbled and fell. For this, he was beaten severely, and left for dead where he lay, before his bloodied body was dragged away. She looked, watching the defeated army and was shocked at the sight of the many injured. These men looked exactly the same as the Christian soldiers, whom she had helped nurse back to health. She felt no pleasure at seeing the rout suffered by her enemy; they were husbands, fathers and sons, too.
‘Please let me help tend these men,’ she volunteered.
Najid looked at her in amazement. ‘What! So you can sneak back to your camp?’ he exclaimed.
‘No! So I can help these men! Look at them, Najid. They need help now. I have seen my own men like this and I helped them.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I give you my word as a Christian woman to not try to escape,’ she promised.
Najid hesitated, before picking up the chain. Saladin would hold him personally responsible if the hostage escaped; he had seen his master’s rage at those who displeased him, and it would result in his immediate execution.
A fleeting expression of anger crossed Aubrette’s face. ‘You will not need that. I want to help and cannot being chained to you,’ she insisted. Then, seeing that her eyes were gazing honestly and steadily at him, he agreed to trust her as long as he remained close.
Aubrette gave comfort to the wounded, bathing and dressing wounds, holding the hands of those who had no hope of survival and staying by their side. She talked gently to them, and even though her words were not understood, it was realised that she meant no harm. She helped the dying to depart the world with a kind voice, the last sound they heard. Najid offered what help he was able to – though it was little, as he was a soldier, not a physician. He was surprised at the way this woman conducted herself; she was a Christian and these men were Muslims. They were her enemy, but she appeared not to care about their religious differences.
She worked tirelessly until night fell. The physicians thanked her graciously, with Najid translating for them, and the women applauded her, smiling and offering small gifts of bangles and hair clips. She accepted each gift gracefully. Then, with her dress stained in blood and her hair hanging loose, tangled and matted with sweat and blood, Aubrette walked wearily back to her tent. She was hardly aware of the calls from the Saracen soldiers, which were ones of gratitude this time. Najid tucked her hand in his arm to help her trudge along, in an act of sudden tenderness. She looked at her hand fitting snugly into the crook of his arm and then up at Najid, who was smiling at her.
‘These men are your enemies, yet you helped them,’ he said.
She shrugged, tiredly. ‘Why not? We are all the same in God’s eyes.’
Najid smiled again. ‘Allah,’ he corrected, gently.
Aubrette yawned. ‘God, Allah – what difference?’ she sighed. She was drained, exhausted, and hardly able to keep her eyes open. The intensity of the past few hours had kept her going, giving her the strength to continue the good work, to save lives and offer solace, but this overwhelming tiredness she was now experiencing felt strangely good.
‘I will help you,’ Najid whispered and swept Aubrette into his arms to carry her back to the tent. She nestled into his warm chest, hearing his steady heartbeat. She murmured an appreciative thank you and slid her arms around his neck, feeling safe and secure in his strong grasp as sleep overcame her.
Najid stopped walking once he reached the tent and stood watching Aubrette, who was drifting between consciousness and sleep. The night breeze blew gently around them both, rippling the hem of her dress and brushing his tunic against his body, and he smiled. He was as guilty as other men of infraction towards women and the brutal slaying of the enemy, but watching this Christian woman’s sleeping face moved in him a gentleness that he had only ever shared with his family. The people who he loved with all his heart; those he had been forced to leave behind to fight in this Holy War.
He entered the tent, carried Aubrette to her bed and lowered her gently onto it, covering her with a light sheet. There was no need to attach a chain, as she would not try to escape tonight. She made a small sigh of contentment and her sleep deepened.
When the night guard came to relieve him, Najid said he would do the night watch. Once the man had departed, assuming with a roguish grin that Najid planned to have sport with the hostage, he pulled the chair over to her bed to sit and watch her as she slept. He also managed to sleep a little, knowing she would keep her word and not slip away during the night if she awoke.
Najid awoke with a start, his joints aching and complaining from sleeping in the uncomfortable chair. He immediately saw that the bed was empty. Aubrette had gone; she must have crept out during the night. How could he have been so foolish? How could she have exploited his good nature to abscond as soon as the chance arose? He uttered a curse on all Christians; they were untrustworthy and cheating people, every one of them. Suddenly, the thought of what Saladin would say, or do, when he discovered that the woman had escaped flashed before him. Najid considered drawing his scimitar and falling onto it, though wondered whether his retribution would be that severe seeing as the hostage was just a maid. A dozen horrifying thoughts sprang into his mind. In the very least, he would be flogged for failing in his duty.
To his sudden relief and disbelief, Aubrette entered the tent. She was smiling at him and wearing clothes borrowed from women in the camp, so that the bloodstains in her dress could be washed. She kept her hair loose and uncovered, though it was brushed and dressed with one of the clips that had been presented to her by the women. Najid did not know what to say to her. She looked so pleasing to his eyes, with her figure framed by a halo of light, and he felt drawn to her.
‘Di
d you think I had tried to escape?’ she asked, guessing from the expression on his face.
‘I… I did not know what to think. I thought you…’ Najid stammered, confused and relieved in equal measures.
‘I gave you my word not to escape,’ she reminded him. ‘I wanted to watch the sunrise.’
Najid sat down on the chair, heavily, and put his head in his hands. ‘Please do not do that again. If word reaches my sultan, he will dismiss me as your guard.’ He wiped his face with his hijab.
Aubrette laughed for the first time since her kidnapping. She found she was beginning to trust this man, who was becoming more of a companion than a guard as each day passed.
Hostages had been taken when Acre fell, and these men, women and children were being held in a compound close to where the Christians camped. They were terrified of what would become of them, as their captor was the scourge of all Muslims – the monster, Richard the Lionheart, who, they had been told drank human blood from skulls, wore a cloak made from human skin, edged in newborn baby hair, and made flutes from human bones. Word spread that they were to be ransomed if Saladin refused to agree to the terms, and if these rumours were true, none dared to think what could happen to them. The scared children were soothed by their parents with false pacifying words. Surely the Lionheart would not harm children; they would certainly be released.
Negotiations were arranged for the exchange of the prisoners. Saladin had requested that Conrad of Monteferrat be present in his stead. Once Richard had regained control of his temper at Saladin’s refusal to be present, he demanded a ransom of 200,000 gold dinas to be paid and the return of the pieces of the True Cross along, with the Christian hostages. Saladin accepted the surrender of Acre and the terms from Richard. He was told later that Conrad, now assuming he was equal to the English and French kings, took it upon himself to raise the flags of France, England, the Duchy of Austria and the Kingdom of Jerusalem over Acre.