David smiled back. “And thunder in my sword arm.” David patted him on the shoulder and returned to his horse.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Abdul jumped off the heavily-lathered horse back at Mount Alamut. He had ridden full tilt to deliver this news to Amir. If they were going to get back to the designated meeting spot by sunset, they had no time to lose. The English had very cleverly left them no time to plan any sort of intrigue. Abdul was in a panic to deliver the news, but he hoped the frenzied feeling he was experiencing would be infectious and Amir would be too preoccupied to take his displeasure out on the messenger.
He raced into the cave at the foot of the mountain that was frequently used for coordinating such operations. It was much less remote than the near impregnable fortress on top of Alamut. Amir was inside, waiting expectantly. “What took you so long?” he growled.
“The Dawnings, they did not come.”
“What?” Amir roared, leaping to his feet.
“They only just now sent a messenger.” Abdul deliberately did not mention the fact that the messenger was a Dawning. “He said they would only exchange the money for their brother if we met them in a place of their choosing, a meadow about a league west of the crossroads. He said we had till sunset or they would return to England with the money.” Abdul gasped the explanation out, still winded from his hard ride.
“Those Dawnings think they can dictate the rules to us?” Amir roared and hurled his terracotta cup into the wall, where it shattered. “I will show them not to play games with me.” Amir snatched a knife from the table and turned toward the cells where the Dawning prisoner was being held.
“Amir,” Bashir stepped forward. “If you kill him, we get nothing.” Amir stopped, looking at him with a slightly crazed look.
“Then I will just take a foot for their impudence.”
“He would not survive it!” Bashir implored him. “He is too weak. He would not survive.”
Amir fixed his crazed eyes on him once more before turning and hurling the knife in frustration against the same wall that had spelled the end for his cup just moments before.
“Let us take all our men,” Bashir suggested. “We will arrive at this meadow, overwhelm the Dawnings, and claim our money.”
“Actually,” Abdul piped up hesitantly. “They said if they see more than eight men approaching, they will not be there when we arrive and we will never see them again.”
“The arrogance!” Amir swore.
“We haven’t much time,” Abdul offered and then withdrew into the shadows, fearing he had overstepped his bounds.
Amir pounded his fist on the table. “I will slaughter every last one of these Dawnings with my own hands!” he roared. The cave stood silent while Amir regained control of himself. “Here is what we will do. Bashir, you collect thirteen other men, and we will ride out with the prisoner to meet them.”
“But they said—” Bashir objected.
“I know what they said!” Amir’s words were punctuated by his pounding of the table again. “The Dawnings are not making the rules here!”
“But what if—”
“They will not. We are not a big enough force to panic the arrogant Christians. They will not be sure if their message was communicated clearly or not; and when they see we have their brother, they will risk it. Our scouts reported that they are fourteen strong. We will be fifteen. The meadow of which they speak is about an hour’s ride from here. Abdul,” he said, jabbing a finger at him, “in a quarter of an hour, you will take everyone with you and ride to that meadow. That will give us time to complete our business and if necessary to stall them until you arrive.”
“But won’t they see us coming?” Abdul asked hesitantly.
“Not in time to react to it. If we went together they would see it. But if you are a quarter hour behind us, no warning can be sent in time to be of any value. They will not be warned of their impending doom until it is too late to react.” Abdul was unconvinced, but his doubt was quickly replaced by his fear of Amir. He nodded mutely and hurried out of the cave to prepare the men.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
“Nothing to say, Richard?” The voice asked after Richard had trailed off mid-sentence and not spoken again for hours.
“I get it now,” Richard whispered hoarsely. “I finally understand.”
“What is it you have come to understand?”
“That day on the battlefield, the day they put me in here...”
“Yes?”
“I did not survive.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have died, and this is Hell. It all makes sense now. That is why I have not seen any person except vague shadows since that day. It answers why I am always too cold or too hot. It is why I never have enough to eat, and why it is always dark.” He broke off in a coughing fit.
“But you are not alone. I am here with you.”
Richard smiled in the darkness. “And I even understand you at last,” he said. “You are the cruelest part of Hell. You are the endless misery, the fire and brimstone. You rest with me eternally to repeatedly dredge up the evil I have done and the wrongs I have perpetrated. And there is plenty to dredge up because I have lived a sinful life, and now I am reaping the reward for it. This is the eternity I have earned.” He broke into another fit of coughing.
There was only silence. But this silence was different from those that preceded his revelation. There was no expectation that anything would break the silence. It held a depth that was unfathomable and which made his once mighty heart begin to shrink in his bosom. How small and forgotten he was. How ironic that someone who had fed off of the adoration of others would now forever wither and crumble in anonymity, forgotten by both the living and the dead. Ironic indeed. Truly each man’s hell is of his own fashioning, devised by the very acts and deeds that earned him his place in the forgotten depths of the netherworld.
Richard was sitting with his back against the cold, damp wall. He felt to cry for his plight, but the tears did not come. He tried to force them, hoping for the cleansing it might bring. But there was to be no release. Instead he sat numbly and stared with unfocused eyes at the oblivion that stretched before him. He felt his body slide down the wall to his left and his head hit the floor. He was powerless to move his arms or legs. He did not even have strength enough to maintain his sitting position. It was as if a giant weight had settled on him that he could not bear up under. This was his eternity.
He began to imagine that he heard sounds off in the blackness: Metal scraping on stone, some faint voices exchanging words. Richard smiled faintly. It was amazing what the mind would invent to try and comprehend the incomprehensible.
More sounds now, a footfall, a bolt being drawn back. The filthy moist air of his cell seemed to swirl and before him stood the silhouettes of figures: ghostly images that no doubt had come to usher him to an even darker circle of Hell now that he had discovered the secret of this one.
Harsh commands were barked in a guttural language that Richard did not understand: the language of the damned. The silhouettes seemed to float in front of him. Then he felt himself being propelled by unseen hands. Up and into the darkness he was dragged.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
The fourteen men rode slowly across the field in the setting sun. The meadow was approximately two hundred yards long and about the same distance wide. It was enclosed on three sides by a thick tree line that light scarcely penetrated. And what did manage to pierce the canopy was only enough to illuminate the first few rows of trunks. It was blackness beyond that. The fourth side opened up to the main highway, which ran beside it out of the mountains and back into the desert. William and Henry rode in front with Neil and Anthony and their six companions fanned out behind them. Behind these rode the four knights of the chest, their burden still sitting atop the unfortunate sumpter horse that was led between the first two knights with the last two bringing up the rear, ever vigilant for treachery.
They ap
proached the small party of Moors, all mounted, horses shoulder to shoulder, some fifteen strong. The two center-most Moors sat with the gaunt figure of a man between them. William leaned over to Henry. “That's not Richard,” he said of the shriveled form that could scarcely keep himself upright in the saddle. There was a rope tied around his neck, the other end wrapped firmly around the hand of one of his guards. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was blindfolded. The reins of his horse were held by a giant of a man with long dark hair and a scar running down his left cheek. A memory stirred, and William leaned over to Henry again. “That's the giant!” he whispered urgently to Henry.
“What?” Henry did not understand.
“That's the giant who fought with John until he fled…when we were kids. This is a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap,” Henry muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He was not particularly interested in William’s ramblings at the moment. “But what choice do we have but to play it out?” They continued their slow, plodding advance in the fading sunlight and stopped fifteen feet shy of the mounted Moor line that was spread out flank to flank beside the remains of their prisoner.
“I am glad you were able to make it,” Henry said conversationally.
“You should consider yourself fortunate that we did not dispatch him for your treachery,” the one with the rope in hand said in heavily accented English.
“Now what good would that have done?” Henry asked casually. “We both have an objective here. Let us keep that in mind, and we may both get what we want. Now, where is our brother?”
“Who do you think this is?” the one with the rope asked, shaking the rope of his prisoner.
“That skeleton is not our brother. It appears that perhaps you have the wrong man or the wrong family.”
“This murderous dog is your brother!" He elbowed the gaunt, filthy figure in the rib sharply. “Speak. Let them hear your voice,” he ordered. The figure flinched but gave no other sign of life.
“Speak!” he repeated, raising his voice sharply. When no sound was forthcoming, he jerked the rope in his hand so sharply that the tall figure tumbled off of his horse, gasping for air.
William seized this opportunity to jump from his horse and race over to the prisoner in the guise of helping him. He would settle the question once and for all. The man with the rope started to protest, but the giant silenced him with a wave of his hand. There was little doubt about who was in charge.
William reached the figure and helped him into a sitting position. He removed the blindfold and could scarcely recognize the sickly figure before him as his once great brother. Richard’s eyes were dreamy and he did not seem to see William. “Richard? Richard? Can you hear me?” William tried to get his attention, but Richard did not respond. William quickly checked him over for wounds, but other than bruises and slight lacerations he could find nothing in the filth that covered him from head to toe. “It is Richard,” he called back to the group. “Neil, come and help me,” he said as he attempted to help his brother to his feet.
“Not so fast. Where's our money?” the man with the rope demanded.
William glared at him for a moment before turning back to the group and beckoning. “Bring the chest over,” he called. “Neil, now!” he repeated more forcefully. Neil hesitated only a moment before jumping down from his horse and hurrying over to them as fast as his heavy armor would permit.
The four knights of the chest slowly rode forward, their burden between them. After a long journey, they were relieved to deliver up this heavy charge safe and sound.
William put his head under Richard’s left shoulder and lifted him off the ground. He stumbled slightly under the weight as he found that Richard could not or would not support himself. He stumbled sideways a few steps and found himself in front of the giant’s horse. William looked up into the face of the man from so many years of nightmares. The long, stringy hair seemed unchanged, but his face looked harder and older than William remembered it. Nevertheless, he still seemed as intimidating as William remembered him. His larger than life presence had not simply been enlarged in William's imagination over the years. This man was immense.
The giant smiled his recognition and leaned down close to William. “You were very foolish to bring so many of your family along. But I thank you for it as you have made my job so much the easier. And this time there is no one to protect you.”
William’s heart grew cold with fear. He was aghast that the giant was as much as admitting to him his intention for treachery. He was unsure how to react. He briefly considered yelling a warning, “It’s a trap!” But that would only panic his men, who were already expecting a trap; and he and Richard were extremely vulnerable at that moment, particularly with his spear stowed safely on his horse. Whatever the Moors had in mind, he had already walked into it, and there was nothing to do but let it be sprung. Then Neil was there, sliding in under Richard's other arm, and together they began carrying him across the intervening distance to the extra mount they had brought. The Moor holding Richard’s leash reluctantly relinquished his grip on it as the chest was brought forward.
William could see the Moors slowly begin to fan out in a half circle with the giant in their center. He hastened his step without being too obvious about it. He feared that abrupt movements would startle the others and trigger the springing of the trap that much sooner.
The knights, too, moved slowly. They were setting the chest in front of the Moors as William and Neil were pushing Richard onto the back of a riderless horse, the reins of which were held by Anthony.
“Open it!” the Moor spokesman barked. Timothy removed a key from within his armor and threw it in front of the Moor as he had been instructed. The Moor glared at him and slowly climbed off his horse to retrieve the heavy key. He picked it up and looked around to make sure everything was as it should be. No tricks. Then dropping to one knee before the massive iron chest, he greedily fitted the key into the lock. He twisted it until the lock released with a snap. Grasping the heavy lid with both hands, he excitedly but almost reverentially raised the lid and peered inside. “What the—”
***
The leader of the band leaned forward in his saddle to try to get a better view of the clearing through the trees. The anxiety was plain on his face. He realized this was a good enough ruse at first glance, but their deception would be quickly discovered. Nevertheless, all they needed were a few moments; that would be enough. It had to be enough. Still, he hated that he was this far away. The tree line was too far away from the knights in the middle, but the distance did alleviate any suspicion of a trap.
He gripped his sword nervously as he watched two English knights usher a third person back to their party. He hated waiting, and he wished he could ride out now. He drew his sword when he saw the Nizari spreading out to encircle the knights. This was it, they were about to strike. He raised his sword as a sign for the men to prepare themselves. He just needed the signal.
A moment later it came! His arm plunged and he jabbed his heels into his horse’s flanks. His men exploded from the tree line. The group in the middle of the clearing froze as they grasped the scene before them. Just then another group of similarly clad men broke from the opposite tree line, and the two groups converged on the men in the middle.
***
Henry recognized the Moor armor on the charging men and shouted out a warning. “Treachery! Fall back, men! Fall back!”
The Moor giant stood in his stirrups and shouted, “Kill the Dawnings!”
Anthony, still holding the reins of Richard’s horse, pushed the wavering figure down over the neck of his horse to stabilize him and drove his spurs into the side of his own animal. It bounded forward with such force that he was scarcely able to retain his grip on the reins of Richard’s horse and stay in his own saddle.
William and Neil immediately moved to cover his escape and deter any would-be pursuers. A group of the encircling Moors charged, and William bounded forward to meet t
hem, spear in hand, swinging it in wide vertical arcs on either side of him. He caught the first Moor on his unprotected head, unseating him; a second on the opposite side saw it coming just at the last moment and, jerking violently backwards, lost his balance and fell out of his saddle. The other three passed by out of reach. William reined in his horse to turn for another pass. Then Neil was there. He rammed his heavy broad sword under the breastplate of the first. Instead of turning to pursue William, the remaining two turned on Neil.
Fencing from horseback was always awkward. The advantage the horse offered was that of height and leverage. It offered the rider the freedom to rain down blows with impunity on the infantry; however, when facing other mounted opponents at a standstill, the horse could quickly become a hindrance. Nevertheless, none of the combatants were willing to give the other the advantage by dismounting; therefore, they continued their awkward ballet as the horses clumsily sidestepped one another. The first Moor struck a heavy overhand blow, which Neil caught with the flat of his blade. But the nose of the rider’s horse bumped into the flank of Neil’s animal, causing it to canter away slightly. This moved him out of range of the second Moor’s strike. Neil then righted himself and struck back at his opponents, but both strikes were parried.
William wheeled his horse and rammed his spear into the throat of the first recently unhorsed Moor, then brought a heavy blow down on the top of the second retreating figure, cracking his skull and dropping him where he stood. He whirled his mount and thrust his spear into the exposed back of one of those fencing with Neil. Wrenching his weapon back violently, William stabbed at the second man; but his spear point was knocked aside. Nevertheless, this movement left the man exposed to Neil, who took full advantage of it and cut him out of his saddle.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 40