by K. M. Grant
“Do you object?”
Amal was frightened and answered quickly. “I do not,” he said. “What the Old Man has commanded shall be done. But,” he couldn’t help adding, “I’m glad Kamil is not my son.”
The woman said nothing as she showed Amal out, but when her own boy came home, she kissed him more warmly than usual.
It was not until much later that night that Amal discovered his booklet was missing. He had not looked inside his hat since leaving Hartslove. At first he was just puzzled and shook his clothes carefully, turning his hat inside out. But when he realized the booklet had, indeed, vanished, his long face became quite wild and he rushed back to the wagon, searching it from top to bottom, not caring about the comments and stares. Only when Kamil came and asked what was the matter did Amal try to regain some composure, saying that he was looking for a spare tunic, which he thought he must have left at Hartslove. Kamil commiserated, saying that he, too, had carelessly left something behind—his little comb. Perhaps he could give Amal a change of clothes? Amal had to pretend to be grateful but he could not sleep and, in the dawn, shed bitter tears.
The next morning, as they boarded the ship, Amal was very quiet. Though the loss of the booklet was a personal tragedy, Amal could not believe there was any real danger. Even if somebody found it, who could read it? He did not think Ellie would remember enough now that their lessons were over, and the words she had learned were mainly to do with horses. Anyway, it had most likely fallen out as Amal packed and by now the pages would be scattered. No danger, he decided. But that did not make him feel better. Now he had nothing physical to remind him of gentler times and was completely adrift from everything he knew and cared for. He tried reciting his children’s sentiments, for he knew them by heart, but felt himself barely a father anymore. Without his book he was just a cipher of the Old Man’s and his face, already shriveled, shrunk a little more.
Marissa was also silent but her silence was nothing to do with her thieving. She was silent with genuine horror. Already she could feel the cloister closing about her, suffocating her in incense and candle smoke. She must tell Will at once, endure Elric’s scorn and Ellie’s contempt, but say she could not do it. She practiced the words in her head, but when Will was in front of her, his face grim with responsibility, she found herself unexpectedly nervous. He would hate her and she wasn’t sure if she could stand that. So Marissa said nothing, only held on to the ship’s rail and watched the captain set his course for the Scheldt estuary, the quickest way to Arnhem and then on to Richard and the imperial court. She would have prayed for a shipwreck but with Will and Hosanna on board, even she could not quite manage that.
The others were too taken up with the effort of finding their sea legs to notice either Marissa’s or Amal’s preoccupations. Shihab, at last tied up and sweating in the hold, had refused to follow Hosanna’s steady lead over the ramp. Instead, she had cavorted and plunged about on the rickety planks until Ellie had to shut her eyes, certain that the mare would fall into the sea. Shihab refused to be fooled by the torches emitting a welcome brightness in the dark. She had been inside a ship once before and every fiber of her being was determined that she would never go in one again. In the end, it had been Amal who had persuaded her, taking her from Hal and muttering in Arabic as he slid an arm under her neck. Quite unexpectedly, the mare seemed to cling to him as a child clings to its mother. Kamil was impressed.
The wagons full of silver were soon tied in, one at each end of the hold and one in the middle for balance. Banked with sacks of sand to stop them from rolling, they looked firm enough. Nevertheless Ellie, who went to Shihab’s head once all the horses were safely installed, prayed that the restraints would not be tested. It was the first time she had been on a ship and everything excited her, from the creak of the ropes to the swinging of the lanterns. She knew from Will and Gavin’s tales that the sea was a most unpredictable friend, yet when the ship finally left the shore, its sail billowing just as she had imagined it would, she could not help leaning over the rail with Elric and waving at the townsfolk who had gathered to watch.
Looking even more threadbare than usual, Amal began the next, the most vital, stage of his work at once. As the ship crept down the coast and Will taught Ellie to play chess, the old Saracen sat with Kamil and mused aloud. What a good thing, he said, for King Richard to return home. Even Saladin had said that Richard was a great man and a worthy enemy. But, Amal sounded almost whimsical, what would the German emperor do with this huge ransom, all those silver marks and jewels? He shook his head and sighed. Perhaps the money would be used to build a fine palace or to give a feast for the poor. But, and he glanced sidelong at Kamil, he doubted it. In fact, he went on, it was rumored that the money had already been earmarked to finance another crusade, the biggest ever mounted, with siege machines that even the gates of Heaven could not withstand. When Richard was freed, he would return to the Holy Land and take his revenge for Saladin’s victories. Amal clicked his tongue and looked concerned. Then, so as not to overdo things, he left Kamil to himself.
Much later, as the wind got up and the sea became choppy, he found Kamil again, this time standing beside Hosanna. Most of the horses rested with their heads low, their ears back and their eyes dull with misery at the swell. Hosanna chose to deal with his discomfort by setting his legs at the four corners of his stall and pressing the whole length of his face against Kamil’s chest. Next to him, Shihab constantly shifted, always fidgeting, her silver coat slimy with sweat and already stained with tar and green damp where she had been buffeting herself against the partitions.
When Amal approached, Hosanna stamped a back foot and swished his tail. Kamil stroked his neck and said nothing. Nevertheless, Amal did not want to take that chance again. If the horse was always unfriendly, Kamil might grow unfriendly, too. Much later that night, when Kamil was asleep, Amal searched until he found the little triangular knife Kamil carried and slipped into the hold, watching until Hosanna was alone before approaching him once more. The horse whinnied loudly. Amal held his breath, expecting Hal. Nobody came, so Amal held the knife momentarily at Hosanna’s throat, then quickly moved and made a neat puncture on the crest of the horse’s neck at the point where the heavy fountain of mane was thickest. Into the puncture he rubbed some very finely ground white powder, afterward wiping his fingers carefully on the reeds that were scattered over the floor. The poison was not enough to kill—Amal had been very careful measuring out the quantity—Hosanna just needed to be dozy so that when Amal came near him he did not react. “Kamil trusts those you trust,” he murmured into the red ear already beginning to droop. “You must learn to trust me, red horse, until this business is over.” Then he patted him, cleaned the knife, carefully replaced it exactly where he had found it, and slept himself.
As they abandoned the coast for open waters, the wind turned into a gale. Several times, the galley was almost driven backward and several times the only things to be heard above the keening gusts and the groaning mast were the prayers of the sailors begging for either respite or early death. Ellie and Marissa, united in misery, huddled into a corner belowdecks and Elric was so sick that Will cursed himself for saying the boy could come.
Deep in the hold, Hosanna fought to keep his feet. The opiate that Amal had administered made every limb too heavy to move and slowed every reaction. With a huge effort, when Amal approached to keep up the dosage, Hosanna would pull away and when Will struggled to his side, would lay his head over his master’s shoulder as if to blow some understanding into his ears. But Will could not understand. When Amal commented on how calm Hosanna was, stroked the horse’s star, and dabbed away the beads of sweat with a silken cloth, Will was glad to tell Ellie that Hosanna’s initial dislike of Amal seemed to have vanished. How could Will tell anything was wrong when nothing felt right in this hideous cataclysm. “Bravest of the brave,” whispered Will to his horse as he slithered and slid in the stinking filth, for it was not possible to clear away the horses
’ waste. It was then that Hosanna closed his eyes, unable to fight any longer.
When the weather eased, Amal found more time to talk to Kamil and made sure to do it when standing close to the red horse. He could see how, when he stroked Hosanna and Hosanna did not object, Kamil relaxed. “Our people will need a strong leader to combat Richard,” Amal began to muse, always keeping his voice casually conversational. “After the great sultan Saladin died, Allah keep him, we lost our way. Now the great Christian horde will threaten again and who will save us?” He stroked Hosanna’s flanks, his long, thin fingers sliding up and down, making stripes in the grimy coat while Hosanna stood silent and unflinching. “It is the time for all men loyal to Allah, Mohammed his Prophet, and the memory of the sultan, to come home and defend our land. Ah, Kamil! How we need a man of courage, a man people can respect. Without such a man, even I, a poor horse dealer, know that Islam is doomed.” He shook his head and then knelt to pray.
He picked up his theme the following afternoon, and as he left the hold he patted the wagons of silver as if he had just remembered they were there. “Such a pity,” he murmured sadly, “that every coin, every jewel, and every plate will mark the death of one of our people. That is what King Richard’s ransom means for us. It is something, is it not, to know that we are touching the very means by which Christians will be paid to kill Muslims. Your friend Will is a good man, of course, but the rest are dogs.”
Over the following days, like poisoned honey, Amal’s words began to stick to Kamil’s soul. Just as Amal intended, in his mind’s eye Kamil began to see himself as the leader for whom his people were longing. Standing forward on the deck when the storms died down and staring into the night sky, he imagined himself entering the mosque at Jerusalem, honored and saluted as the man who saved his people from the Christian menace, a man blessed by Allah and celebrated in song and legend. Soon, he did not just listen, he was filled with new questions, which Amal answered carefully, hesitating just a little so that Kamil always believed he was leading and not being led. And all the while, Hosanna could smell deceit on the old Saracen’s breath and feel the treachery in his fingers. But though he stood, his head pressed against Kamil, Kamil never guessed.
By the time they crept into the Scheldt estuary, where they would exchange the ships for barges, Kamil was filled with both dread and exhilaration. Suddenly he saw his choice. This was the moment when he could either meet his destiny or shirk it. And it was clear, so clear he would never be able to pretend otherwise, where his duty lay. He must ensure that the ransom money was never paid. The money must either sink into the river mud or be used in the Saracen cause, and since to sink it into the mud would be a criminal waste, it should be used to unite the Muslim army and push the Christians out of the Holy Land once and for all. In this way, Kamil would save his people.
Yet though his logic was clear, Kamil found his conscience still troubled him. If the ransom was not delivered, Will would be suspected of treachery. He might even be hanged, for nobody would believe a de Granville had lost the ransom by mistake. Moreover, when it became clear that Kamil had taken it, nobody would believe that Will was not complicit. After all, the friendship between Will and Kamil was famous. They were seen everywhere together. People would think that the two of them had made some kind of arrangement from which both would eventually benefit. And if Will suffered from Kamil’s actions, then Ellie would suffer, too. Was any cause worth that? But, an inner voice was tantalizingly rational, if Will suffers and even dies, would that not make it more likely that Ellie would return to Palestine with you? Isn’t that what you want? Without Will, she would be yours. And she would understand. Wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t she? After mooring for the first night in the estuary, Kamil walked alone round the ramshackle village from which they had demanded hospitality. Despite the chill, he felt hot. Logic was all very well but it was not everything. I can’t do it, he thought. I can’t do it.
As if by magic, Amal appeared beside him and he knew exactly what to say. “Allah decrees,” he whispered, twisting the holy words as he had been trained to do, “that those who fight for his cause cannot stray from the true path for he will always guide them. Things done in his name cannot be wrong. Do you not also remember, Kamil, that Allah loves a noble man and that there is no man more noble than one who sacrifices personal friendships for the greater good? And Kamil”—this was Amal’s trump card—“Allah’s love for the noble man will surely extend to those Christians whose friendship you value. Do you not trust Allah enough to know that you can act in his name without fear? This is a rare moment, Kamil, an enviable moment in a man’s life. I have never had such a moment as is being granted to you. Seize it. If you don’t, and this ransom ensures that Jerusalem falls once again to the infidel, what will Allah say then?” He was nervous lest he had overstepped himself, but when Kamil, his face hard as iron, at once prostrated himself in prayer, Amal knew he had won. There would be no need to drug Hosanna anymore. Waiting patiently until Kamil got up, Amal boldly took his arm and drew him into the shadows.
10
Hosanna did not recover at once and was so sluggish and out of sorts that Will grew seriously worried and kept him on the barge, tended by Hal and Elric, when Ellie took Shihab off to ride the travel stiffness out of her joints. The silver mare was skittish. She seemed to know that the watery part of the journey was over, and as they followed the river path in the wake of the ponderous boats, she frisked about and shied, making herself difficult to sit on.
Kamil rode at Ellie’s side and every now and again felt the urgent desire to confide. It was mad but he wanted to tell Ellie what he felt he had to do and to explain why there could be no turning back now that he had made his decision. Some of the time, as they gaily leaped over the obstacles they found in their way, he was certain she would understand. Ellie knew so much about loyalty. She would know what the call of his people meant and admire him for taking up the yoke history was holding out to him. The rest of the time Kamil knew she would not understand at all. Like Will, Ellie trusted him absolutely. He knew that by the way she looked at him. It would be the work of a truly bad man to introduce fear and suspicion into green eyes so frank and open. And he was going to be that man. But surely, even if Ellie was bitter at first, in the end she would forgive him. Kamil repeated this over and over. He would believe it. He would.
For Will, every last buzz of excitement had vanished from the journey. Anxiety about Hosanna and the possibility of attack shortened his temper, and even Elric felt the sharp end of his tongue.
Marissa counted the passing miles with increasing dread. She, who was always so full of schemes, could not invent one now. As they inched through the wet October landscape along the muddy banks of the River Rhine, the only thing that sparkled was Shihab.
When attack came, it came at dawn. The wagons had been taken off the barges, for there was a good road and the waterways were becoming so busy with men shouting in a dozen languages that Will thought dry land offered greater security. He was wrong. As the sun crept over the soggy horizon and the damp horses were harnessed up, the whiz of an arrow made them all jump. The first fell short, but the second pierced the spine of the bleary-eyed Hartslove steward as he stumbled out of his tent. Scores of arrows followed and at first it was difficult to see their source. Will shouted instructions as he ducked, scanning the woods and eventually saw, with relief, that this was not a strategic rout but only a band of ragged mercenaries chancing their luck. Yet though their armor was rusty and their horses thin and unkempt, the attackers were all the braver for being hungry. They had heard about Richard’s silver and had come to claim it. Wielding jagged swords, they emerged from the trees shrieking their challenge.
But their greed was not matched by their organization and Will’s archers soon killed half a dozen. The ransom was never in danger. Nevertheless, five of the rabble somehow managed to climb onto Marissa’s wagon, slaughter the wagoner, and beat the horses into an unwilling trot. The rest of the marauders
scattered as Will swung himself onto the wagon as it jolted away. In a flash, Hal was after him, hauling him off. “Sir, don’t be foolish,” he panted as they tumbled to the ground. “What can you do alone? Quick. The horses are saddled. If we cut around, we can take them from the front.”
Elric was there at once with Will’s armor, helping him to shrug it on even as he ran for Hosanna. Hal spoke quickly. “No, no sir. Hosanna’s still not right. You need speed. You can’t risk it.” He was holding Dargent’s rein, and giving Will no time to reply, heaved him into the saddle. Will did not argue. “Send a dozen archers up the road, Hal,” he cried, “but keep the ransom wagons closely guarded, too. This may be just a diversion.” He found Kamil beside him on Shihab. Will nodded at him and Kamil gave a half smile. This might be the last thing he could do for Will. “They’ll not get away from the fastest horse in the world,” he said, and drew his sword.
Will and Kamil, with Hal on Sacramenta following behind, abandoned the track and plunged over marshy ground. Shihab leaped lightly while an eager Dargent floundered a little and Sacramenta followed in his footsteps. They caught the mercenaries at the next corner. Marissa had been pulled onto the roof and was being used as a shield by the band’s bearded leader. She refused to show any fear, though her eyes were wide, but was hissing like a rattlesnake, biting and kicking, scraping her nails down faces, and tugging beards and hair. The man was laughing and his friends were pulling at Marissa’s clothes.
“They’re drunk,” said Will, disgusted, wondering about tipping the whole wagon over.
Kamil took out his knife and it sat, slim and sleek in his hand. “Don’t.” Will grabbed his arm. “It’s too dangerous. You might hit the wrong target.” The men, seeing Will shake his head, laughed even more loudly and the smallest of them, crowing like a bantam, grabbed Marissa’s long plait, making her scream at last as he dragged her toward him. But his leader would not let go of her arms and soon Marissa was the center of a noisy tug-of-war. Will could wait no longer. Aiming Dargent straight at the wagon, he leaped onto the shaft, simultaneously pulling out his sword and defending himself from a ferocious attack from on high. Hal followed Will just as the Hartslove archers appeared, crossbows at the ready.