by Jack Hight
‘Rome fell.’
‘Only when it became corrupt,’ John interjected.
‘Perhaps that is why God has sent us,’ Reynald said. ‘He has called on a stronger race to wipe you corrupt heathens from this earth.’
‘A stronger race?’ Yusuf smiled in the face of the insult. ‘Yet you are our prisoner.’
Reynald’s cheek twitched. ‘You defeated us through trickery at Jacob’s Ford.’
‘Strategy, not trickery,’ John said. ‘Perhaps if you had read more books, then you would know the difference.’
Reynald turned towards John. ‘So you take his side against me? Do not forget that you were once my man, John, bound to me by oath. But you Saxons are all alike — faithless dogs. King William was right to crush your people.’
‘At least my people have honour.’
‘That is always the answer of the weak.’
‘I am strong enough to beat you,’ John growled.
‘I’d like to see you try, you and your sodomite friend!’
John began to rise, but Yusuf put out a hand to restrain him. ‘Perhaps we can settle this argument in a more civilized fashion,’ he said to Reynald. ‘I shall hold a tournament in the citadel. If you wish to prove your strength in combat, then you can do so there.’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Good,’ Yusuf said and rose. ‘I will see you soon, Reynald. Come, John.’
Yusuf was at the door when Reynald called out to him. ‘A tournament must have a prize. If I win, then I can do as I please with the women.’
Yusuf stopped and turned. He looked to the servant Mary, who stood in the corner, her eyes wide and her legs visibly shaking. He turned back to Reynald, and took a deep breath. ‘So be it.’
Yusuf could hear the ring of steel on steel over the roar of the crowd as he paced in the dim shadows beneath the arena stands. In the ring, John and Qaraqush were facing off in the second to last round of the tournament. Yusuf had sought the shade because he could not bear to watch his two friends fight. Above, the mamluks who packed the stands stood and stamped their feet, sending a shower of dust drifting down. There was a final roar, and then the crowd fell quiet. The contest was over. Yusuf stopped pacing and waited for John and Qaraqush to emerge.
Nur ad-Din had agreed enthusiastically to Yusuf’s idea for a tournament. He had promised a twentieth of Reynald’s ransom — a fortune — to the tournament’s victor. Hundreds of mamluks had volunteered to fight. Yusuf had selected seven men to compete along with Reynald. That morning, John, Qaraqush, Reynald and al-Mashtub had all advanced. After a break for refreshments and prayer, the tournament had resumed with John fighting Qaraqush. As Yusuf watched, two mamluks removed a section of the wall around the ring, and John and Qaraqush stepped through, leaning on one another. Both men’s chainmail was soaked with sweat. Qaraqush was holding his right wrist, which was swollen and red. John limped slightly and had a nasty bruise on his right cheek.
‘Who won?’ Yusuf asked.
‘John,’ Qaraqush grumbled. ‘Damn near took my hand off.’
‘It was a close match,’ John said. ‘I was lucky to win.’
‘ Hmph,’ Qaraqush snorted. ‘Luck my foot; you were better than me. I just hope you beat that Frankish bastard, if it comes to that.’ He nodded towards Reynald, who was approaching the entrance to the ring. The tall, heavy-set Frank wore an open-faced helmet and an iron breastplate over chainmail. He ignored the three friends as he stepped past them into the ring. The huge mamluk al-Mashtub came next, wearing chainmail that left his bulging arms bare.
‘Take care of that pig for us,’ Qaraqush told him.
Al-Mashtub grinned. ‘With pleasure.’
‘Do not underestimate Reynald,’ John warned. ‘He made short work of his last opponent.’ Indeed, Reynald had battered his first adversary into a bloody mess. The combatants’ blades were blunted, but they could still do serious damage. It was not unusual for people to die in tournaments. ‘Reynald is dangerous.’
‘So am I.’
Yusuf stepped forward and kissed the huge mamluk on both cheeks. ‘Allah protect you.’ Al-Mashtub nodded and headed into the arena. The mamluks moved the section of wall back into place, closing off the ring behind him. Yusuf turned to John and Qaraqush. ‘Come. Let’s watch.’
They emerged from beneath the stands and went to a ramp that led up into the arena. The match had already started, but the crowd of mamluks parted readily as Yusuf made his way to the front row. John and Qaraqush squeezed in beside him. Directly across from them, Nur ad-Din was seated between Shirkuh and Gumushtagin. Yusuf nodded to the king, then turned his attention to the action in the ring, a circle of beaten earth some ten yards across, bordered on all sides by a low, wooden wall.
The two combatants stood a few feet apart, both already breathing heavily. Reynald’s sword flashed in the bright sunshine as he raised it high above his head before swinging down at al-Mashtub. The mamluk parried the blow, and the two men’s swords locked together at the hilt. They strained against one another, but strong though he was, Reynald was no match for the size of al-Mashtub. With an audible grunt, the huge mamluk shoved Reynald away. The Frank stumbled backwards towards the wooden barrier that surrounded the ring. He slammed into it just in front of Yusuf, and his head snapped back, spraying Yusuf with sweat. The crowd roared. Reynald reached up to straighten his helmet, then gripped his sword with both hands and strode back towards al-Mashtub.
‘Come on, al-Mashtub! Beat the son of a whore’s face in!’ Qaraqush shouted. He turned to Yusuf and added more quietly, ‘I’ve got two dinars on him to win it all.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Yusuf murmured. He turned to John. ‘My money is on you to take the prize.’
‘I’m not here for the prize,’ John replied. ‘I’m here for Reynald.’
The crowd roared and Yusuf looked back to the ring. Reynald had gone on the offensive, spittle flying from his mouth as he hacked down again and again, pushing al-Mashtub back across the ring. Finally, al-Mashtub sidestepped a blow and countered, catching Reynald in the side. The Frank stumbled back, bellowing in pain. The crowd stood, cheering. ‘Finish him!’ Qaraqush shouted. ‘Finish him!’
Al-Mashtub advanced, sword held high. Reynald backed away, then, with a roar, he charged. Al-Mashtub hacked down, but Reynald parried the mamluk’s blade before slamming into him, shoulder lowered. He caught al-Mashtub in the chest and drove him backwards, smashing him into the wall of the arena. Al-Mashtub raised his sword, but Reynald grabbed his arm, pinning it against the wall. With his other hand, Reynald smashed the pommel of his sword into al-Mashtub’s face, crushing his nose and spraying the crowd with blood. He swung again, but this time al-Mashtub caught his wrist. The mamluk slammed his forehead into Reynald’s face, snapping the Frank’s head back. Blood ran from Reynald’s broken nose, matting his blond beard.
But Reynald still had al-Mashtub pinned against the wall. The Frank grinned madly, then head-butted al-Mashtub, once, twice, three times. Al-Mashtub dropped his sword and his knees buckled. Reynald held him up, his left forearm under the mamluk’s chin while he smashed him in the face twice more with the pommel of his sword. Finally, Reynald released al-Mashtub and stepped back. The mamluk slumped to the ground, unmoving.
The crowd fell silent. Reynald spit at al-Mashtub, then raised his arms and strode to the centre of the ring.
‘The man is an animal,’ Qaraqush whispered.
Yusuf turned to John. ‘You are next, my friend. Allah protect you.’
John prayed silently as he knelt beneath the stands, his forehead against the pommel of his sword, which he held pointed towards the earth. He heard footsteps approach, boots crunching on the hard ground. ‘Prayers won’t do you any good, Saxon.’ John did not need to open his eyes to know that it was Reynald who spoke. ‘I’ll see you in the ring.’ John remained kneeling until he heard Reynald walk away. Then he crossed himself and rose.
John entered the ring to find Reynald waiting
for him, his sword held casually over his shoulder. John ignored him. He walked to the centre of the ring and bowed towards Nur ad-Din, then he turned to face Reynald. ‘I have a score to settle with you. It is because of you that I was made a slave. You sent Ernaut to murder me outside Damascus. You tried to kill me yourself outside Tell Bashir.’
‘Maybe now I’ll finish the job.’ Reynald swung his sword from his shoulder and held it in front of him as he stepped towards the centre of the ring. John raised his sword, and the two men faced off only a few feet apart.
‘Fight!’ Nur ad-Din shouted, his voice drowned instantly by the roar of the crowd.
John circled to his right, and Reynald mirrored him, keeping his distance. ‘Why do you serve that infidel?’ Reynald asked, nodding towards where Yusuf sat. ‘Can’t get enough of your sodomite friend?’
John said nothing. He sprang forward and slashed at Reynald’s side. Reynald parried the blow and countered with a vicious cut at John’s head. John spun out of the way and resumed circling, but Reynald was no longer mirroring him. The Frank stood in the centre of the ring, turning in place to follow John’s movements. ‘Are you afraid of me, Saxon?’ Reynald taunted. ‘Come here and fight.’ John kept circling. Suddenly Reynald charged forward, hacking down at John’s head. John blocked the blow, and their swords locked. John strained against Reynald, their faces only a few inches apart. He could feel the Frank’s breath hot on his face. Reynald’s swollen, purple nose and blood-caked beard made him look like some crazed demon.
‘Tell me, Saxon,’ Reynald sneered. ‘When you and the Saracen do it, do you prefer the bottom or the top? I bet you take it. You seem the type. Your father certainly was.’
John shoved Reynald backwards so that their swords disengaged. ‘What do you know of my father?’ he growled and resumed circling.
Reynald grinned, showing blood-stained teeth. ‘I know he was a Saxon dog who got what was coming to him, strung up like the traitor he was.’
John’s knuckles whitened as his grip on his sword tightened. ‘Do not dare speak of my father!’ he snarled. He could hear the blood pounding in his temples.
‘Did you think you could escape your past by fleeing England, Saxon?’ Reynald sneered. ‘I know your story. A priest on pilgrimage from England told me. Your father was a traitor, plotting against the king with those other Saxon pigs. Your brother at least had the courage to turn him in. And you killed him for it. Stabbed him in the back, no doubt, like the cowardly dog you are.’
With a roar, John charged, hacking down at Reynald with all his strength. Reynald blocked the blow, and John swung again and again, driving his opponent backwards. Then John swung down, and there was nothing there. His sword bit into the earth, and a moment later Reynald’s sword hit him in the side, snapping a rib. John staggered away, gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain that came with each breath. Reynald was on him immediately, swinging for his head. John blocked the blow but intense pain shot through his side, causing him to cry out. He tried to counter-attack, but Reynald easily knocked the blow aside, then stepped forward and punched John in the ribs. John gasped in pain and stumbled back until he hit the wall. He clung to it for support, the world spinning around him. He saw a flash of metal out of the corner of his eye and barely managed to raise his sword in time. John blocked the blow, but his sword went flying from his hand. A second later, the pommel of Reynald’s sword smashed into John’s face. He swayed and then slumped to his knees.
John hung his head. The pain that he felt was nothing compared to the shame that flooded through him. He had failed. Perhaps this was God’s punishment for violating his oath, for killing his fellow Christians at Banyas. Or perhaps it meant that there was no God, only brute strength, and John was not strong enough. He felt cold steel pressed against his neck and looked up to see Reynald standing over him. ‘Do it,’ he whispered. ‘Finish me.’
‘That would be too good for you, dog,’ Reynald smirked. ‘Some day, you will burn for betraying your people and your faith, and I will be there to watch.’ He spat in John’s face, then kicked him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. John lay there unmoving, shuddering with each painful breath.
‘I cannot believe it.’ Yusuf stood in the stands, clenching the wooden barrier in front of him. Around him the crowd was silent as they watched Reynald walk to the middle of the ring and raise his arms in triumph. A mamluk hissed his disapproval, and soon the entire crowd was hissing. Across the ring, Nur ad-Din shook his head in disgust. Reynald just grinned.
‘I will wipe that grin off his face,’ Yusuf muttered. He stood on his bench, then vaulted over the barrier to land in the ring. ‘I challenge you,’ he called to Reynald.
The Frank turned to face him. ‘Challenge me?’ he snorted. ‘I have already won your tournament. I have beaten the best you have to offer.’
‘You have not beaten me.’
‘And why should I? I already have what I want. The slaves are mine now, to use as I please.’ He turned away and walked towards the exit of the ring.
‘You said a Frankish knight is worth ten Saracens, yet you have defeated only three,’ Yusuf called to him. ‘Are you afraid to fight one more?’
Reynald turned back to face him. He took Yusuf’s measure and then laughed. ‘I will fight you, runt,’ he said and raised his sword. ‘And you are the one who should be afraid.’
Yusuf smiled and turned to Nur ad-Din. ‘He will fight me!’ he shouted in Arabic. The crowd roared.
‘On one condition!’ Reynald shouted over the crowd. ‘If I win, then I go free.’
Yusuf translated the request for Nur ad-Din. There were shouts of protest and hisses from the crowd. Nur ad-Din raised his hand for silence. ‘And if you lose?’ he asked Reynald.
‘If I lose, then I will abide by your rules so long as I am your prisoner, and once I am ransomed, I swear that I will leave these lands. I will never fight the Saracens again.’
Nur ad-Din stroked his beard as he considered the proposal. Finally he nodded. ‘I accept.’ He turned to Yusuf. ‘If you lose, then you will pay his ransom; one hundred and twenty thousand dinars.’
‘I do not have half that sum,’ Yusuf protested.
‘Then you will return Tell Bashir to me.’
Yusuf looked to John, still slumped on the ground, then to Reynald, standing proud and defiant. He turned back to Nur ad-Din and bowed. ‘Yes, malik.’ Again, the crowd cheered.
Yusuf went to John and knelt beside him. ‘Come, let’s get you out of here.’ Yusuf took John’s arm and helped his friend to rise.
‘You crazy bastard,’ John croaked. ‘You don’t have to do this for me.’
‘I am not doing it for you. I do it for the slave girls in Reynald’s household. This tournament was my idea. I thought Reynald would be beaten easily. Those girls do not deserve to suffer for my mistake.’
They left the ring and entered the dim area under the stands, where Ibn Jumay was waiting to take John. The doctor helped him away, and servants came forth bearing armour for Yusuf. He stripped off his caftan and slipped on a leather jerkin and breeches, then pulled the heavy coat of chainmail over his head. He strapped on his helmet and was sliding his left arm through the straps of a small, circular shield when Shirkuh appeared, a scowl on his face.
‘Are you mad, nephew? If you lose, then you will have nothing.’
Yusuf met his eyes. ‘I will not lose.’
Shirkuh stared at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well. But do not underestimate this man. He is a snake, and like a snake, he is dangerous.’ Shirkuh kissed Yusuf on the cheeks. ‘Allah protect you, young eagle. Do not fail.’
Yusuf re-entered the ring to the applause of the crowd. He crossed to where John’s sword lay and picked up the blade of dark, curved steel. Then he turned to face his opponent.
‘Come to avenge your Saxon lover, infidel?’ Reynald asked.
‘I have come to teach you a lesson, dog,’ Yusuf replied as he adopted a fighting stance — knee
s bent, legs wide, sword held at an angle before him.
Reynald raised his blade. ‘Come on then.’
‘Fight!’ Nur ad-Din called.
Yusuf sprang forward immediately, lunging at Reynald’s gut. The Frank moved to parry, and Yusuf changed direction, spinning to his left and slashing down so that he caught Reynald on the side of his knee. He finished his spin and stood facing Reynald.
‘Jesus!’ the Frank cursed, limping slightly as he backed away. He flexed his knee, his face tight with pain as he straightened it. ‘Infidel pig!’
‘That is your first lesson,’ Yusuf told him.
‘I’ll teach you something,’ Reynald roared and charged. Yusuf retreated, moving back until the last second, when he jumped to the side. Reynald crashed into the wall of the arena, the wood splintering in the middle. Yusuf slashed across his back, and Reynald roared in pain. He spun around, his eyes wide and nostrils flared.
‘That is your second lesson.’
Reynald growled and charged again, hacking down at Yusuf. Yusuf blocked with his shield, but the weight of the blow left his shield dented and his arm numb. He sidestepped the next blow and swung out, catching Reynald in the side of his helmet. The Frank stumbled back, his helmet dented and blood running down his face. Immediately, Yusuf went on the offensive, slashing at Reynald’s waist. Reynald managed to parry, but Yusuf reversed the blow and hit the Frank just under his left arm. Reynald cried out in pain and lowered his sword. Yusuf swung for his head to finish him. At the last second, Reynald raised his bare left arm and knocked the blow aside. Yusuf heard a crack as the Frank’s forearm broke. Grimacing in pain, Reynald swung up with his sword, catching Yusuf in the ribs and knocking him to the ground.
Yusuf looked up just in time to see Reynald’s sword arcing down towards him. Yusuf blocked with his shield, but felt something snap in his arm. Reynald swung down again, but this time his sword bit into the earth as Yusuf rolled out of the way. Yusuf sprang to his feet and ducked under an attack. He parried another strike, but the strength of the blow sent his sword flying from his hand. He raised his shield and backed away until he came up against the wall of the arena. The crowd had fallen silent; Yusuf could hear the snap of pennants atop the arena.