by Jack Hight
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 down 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.’
‘You did it!’ Umar spat, pointing his dagger at John.
‘My servant had nothing to do with this,’ Yusuf said. ‘Those same Franks attacked us. They killed ten of my men.’
‘You lie!’ Umar snarled.
‘Silence!’ Sabir roared. He examined John for a moment, then turned to Yusuf. ‘You swear that this man is your servant, that he had nothing to do with the Franks who attacked us?’
Yusuf nodded. ‘By Allah, I swear it.’
‘You would accept the word of this stranger over that of your own son?’ Umar demanded, red-faced. ‘I tell you: I saw this ifranji kill my wife. He must die!’
Sabir looked from his son to John, and then back to Yusuf. ‘There is only one way to prove that what you say is true, young emir. You will undergo the bisha’a.’
The blood drained from Yusuf’s face, leaving him pale, but he nodded. ‘I will.’
‘Then let it be done.’ Sabir drew a dagger from his belt and crouched down beside the fire. He plunged the dagger’s blade into the glowing coals. Women and children came out of the tents and gathered around the fire.
John stepped close to Yusuf. ‘What is going on?’
‘Bisha’a is a trial by fire, an old Bedouin ritual. I will lick the hot blade of the dagger three times. Then the sheikh will examine me. If my tongue is burned, I lie. If it is not, then I tell the truth.’
‘But that is ridiculous!’
‘It is their way,’ Yusuf said
and turned back to face the fire.
Umar crouched down with a wet cloth in hand, and pulled the dagger from the fire. ‘The blade is ready!’ he declared, holding it up for all to see. The dagger’s blade glowed red against the night sky.
Umar handed the dagger to Sabir, who brought it to Yusuf. The rest of the tribe pressed close as Sabir held the dagger out before Yusuf’s face. Yusuf could feel the heat radiating from the blade. ‘Now,’ Sabir commanded.
‘Allah protect me,’ Yusuf whispered under his breath. He extended his tongue and pressed it briefly to the glowing blade. The searing pain was excruciating. He thought he could already feel his tongue beginning to blister, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to show no sign of his agony. If he showed pain, it would be clear his tongue was burned. John would die.
‘Again,’ Sabir told him.
Yusuf licked the blade a second time. It felt as if a hundred angry wasps were in his mouth, stinging at his tongue. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. He dug his fingernails into his palms. Yusuf met the eyes of Umar, who was watching him closely, and forced himself to smile. Then, before Sabir even prompted, he licked the blade a final time. He could taste blood in his mouth now and felt himself grow faint. Sabir took his arm, steadying him.
‘Bring him water!’ Sabir shouted.
A woman presented a cup, and Yusuf drank. The cold water only worsened the ache in his tongue. He drained the cup and forced a smile. ‘Shukran,’ he said to the woman who had given him the water.
Umar pressed forward. ‘Examine him, Father. Let us see if he tells the truth.’
Sabir nodded. ‘Back!’ he shouted to the crowd. They retreated several feet, opening up a space around Yusuf and Sabir. Sabir turned to Yusuf. ‘Open.’