by K. M. Grant
Raq made a motion with his hands. “You must make up your own mind,” he said. “I shall say nothing. We know too much about each other now, you and I.”
Kamil took a deep breath. “Then arrange it,” he said, and turning on his heel to hide his anxiety, he went to find his horse.
Two weeks later Kamil found himself riding fast through the desert very early in the morning. He was accompanied by an unknown man to whom he had been introduced by Raq. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly that Kamil had had no time to be nervous. And now Hosanna felt so fit and keen that even in the bitter cold it was still a pleasure to be out. The dark did not seem threatening to Kamil. It felt like a friend. Raq had approached him the day before and introduced the man who was now acting as guide. The guide had whispered that Kamil should be mounted and ready by midnight. He would come and find him. The man had done exactly that, and they had set off without exchanging another word.
The rain made the ground into sludge. But it soon ceased to fall, and as the pair rode up off the plain heading north, the going became lighter. Kamil was amazed at the ability of the horses to find their feet in the dark, but neither stumbled. He leaned forward and ran his hand down Hosanna’s neck. Hosanna, concentrating on keeping his feet, did not acknowledge his caress.
They sped on through all the hours of darkness and all the following day and night. They rested only for two or three hours at a time. When dawn broke on the third day, they had reached the bottom of a group of small mountains, the peak of the highest glimmering with a light scattering of snow. Kamil felt no sense of exhaustion, nor did Hosanna. As they began to push up, following a gorge cut by a river, the red horse scrambled and climbed with no apparent effort. The guide’s horse was struggling now, but Hosanna, right up behind it, was tireless.
All day they followed the river, until, at last, as darkness fell, they began to climb more steeply. Farther and farther up they went, the air growing thin. The sides of the gorge closed in on them, until Kamil felt almost claustrophobic, and for the first time he began to wonder what he was doing. If the sultan found out where he was, it would mean certain death. But when the gorge opened out again and the guide intimated that they would camp for the night where a tumbling stream offered water for the horses, Kamil reassured himself.
The sultan will not find out, he reasoned, watching the other man, almost out of nothing, conjure up a fire. Kamil took the food and drink that he was offered. The sultan and Baba ad-Din think I have gone to consult the imam in Jerusalem to see about strengthening my knowledge of the Koran, he thought as he shared his bread with Hosanna. They will never know the truth. Nevertheless, Kamil did not sleep well.
They rose again at dawn and were away twenty minutes later. Above their heads eagles circled. The guide was anxious to push on. The going was very steep now, and the rocks offered an uncertain foothold. Kamil could not disguise his relief when the guide pulled up.
“We have arrived,” he said, indicating that Kamil should go in front of him through a great gash in the side of the gorge.
Kamil went through the gash, scrambled up a little more, then found himself riding along a ledge. To his right, the drop was well over sixty yards and sheer. He caught his breath and put his hand on Hosanna’s mane to stop himself feeling dizzy. The horse flicked back his ears and stepped carefully over the fallen debris that lay in his way. The ledge seemed to lead nowhere, but there was no turning back and the guide was pushing him on. Kamil felt suddenly sick. Was this a trick? However, just before the end of the ledge, completely invisible until you were right beside it, was another gap in the rock face. Kamil turned and found himself riding through spiky grass again as the path opened into a small hidden plateau between two peaks. He drew in his breath sharply. It was stunningly beautiful, with the sun’s rays just beginning to push against the brooding shadows cast by the rocks.
In front of him, some rough buildings had been constructed, with roofs made of straw and mud. They were very simple. From a hole in the roof of one, smoke rose. About fifty men were standing outside, apparently ready to greet him. All were heavily armed.
Kamil dismounted. He let Hosanna go but hoped the horse would stay near him. He was disappointed when a small boy came and led him away.
The men said nothing. They were dressed in long blue tunics with daggers strapped to their arms and sword belts round their hips. Their beards were dyed a curious shade of red. As Kamil approached, they parted, and the boy found himself in front of a small, rather round man sitting on a chair cracking walnuts.
He looked up, and his smile sent his whole face into creases. “Greetings, my friend,” he said, spitting out some shell. “I am Rashid ed-Din Sinan. But I am better known as the Old Man of the Mountain. My friend Abdul Raq tells me you wanted to see me.”
Kamil swallowed hard. He suddenly felt weak.
Sinan looked at him kindly. “Come, sit,” he said, and one of his men ran off to get another chair. “Catch your breath. May I offer tea?”
Kamil nodded. “Tea for our visitor,” said Sinan, and immediately a table was brought. Cups and sweets were laid out.
Sinan allowed Kamil to take his time, making pleasant conversation about the weather and complimenting Kamil on his horse. Kamil began to relax. Gently Sinan brought the conversation round to the crusade and Saladin’s desire for a truce.
“What a good man the sultan is,” he said, rather to Kamil’s surprise. “But how misguided. Allah needs strong men these days, for strong deeds must be done.” Sinan sighed.
Kamil was quick to agree. “With a truce we will never get rid of the Christians,” he said. “Surely that cannot be the will of Allah?”
Sinan paused to consider. “It is my view that it is not,” he said. There was silence.
“Kamil,” said Sinan at last. “There are important and difficult things to be done. Things that are right are often not easy. Are you prepared for such things?”
Kamil nodded slowly. But Sinan was not ready to confide in him just yet. The Old Man paid careful attention as he asked the boy questions about the Koran. Soon he abandoned questions and began to weave a web of ideas. He talked for a long time. Kamil was spellbound by his voice and by the apparent truth of his words. He nodded his head many times.
“If we are to create a perfect world as Allah commands,” Sinan said at last, “we must be prepared to show perfect obedience. Are you prepared?”
Kamil nodded again.
“Let me show you,” said Sinan. He got up and took Kamil back through the gash in the mountainside. In single file they walked to the end of the ledge and looked down at the drop to the rocks below. Kamil began to breathe more quickly.
“Look up!” Sinan commanded. Kamil, his head reeling, did as he was told. Above him on a rocky outcrop, two men stood on guard duty. Sinan clapped his hands, and the men stood to attention.
The Old Man of the Mountain spoke only three words. Then the two men, without hesitation, walked to the end of the ridge and, making not even the smallest of sounds, jumped. The only scream was Kamil’s. Sinan put out his arm and steadied him as the bodies of the men shattered on the rocks below. Kamil was covered in sweat.
Sinan, apparently unmoved, waited for a moment or two. Then he spoke in a calm and even voice. “Never betray your feelings,” he said. “That is the first rule.”
He stood patiently as Kamil pulled himself together.
Sinan went on. “These men you see here would do anything, not for me, but for Allah, I asked them to die for Allah, and they have. Could you do the same?”
Kamil could scarcely take in what had just happened. But mesmerized by the Old Man’s voice, by his power, and by his unassailable logic, he nodded slowly. “I hope I could,” he whispered.
“My boy,” said Sinan. “Death is what some men do best. But yours is a different path. Allah expects something else from men of your quality. He will give you the strength to do whatever is asked of you just as he gave those men the strength t
o do what was asked of them. To every man his unique moment of glory.”
Kamil was silent. He could not trust his voice.
“Now,” said Sinan, guiding him back along the path and through the gash, “let us talk of other things. Tell me a little about yourself.”
They returned to the table as if nothing had happened. Kamil sat down, trying to hide his shaking legs. With gentle probing from Sinan, he told him of his father’s death and of the vengeance he had failed to take, killing the son but leaving the knight alive. He did not mention, however, how he had come by the red horse, or his failure to kill William. Something stopped him. As Kamil spoke, the Old Man nodded and smiled, for all the world like a benign elderly grandfather. When he had finished, Sinan showed him where he could rest before his return journey and settled the boy down with his own hands.
“Was your father Muhyi ad-Din?” he asked as he stood in the doorway of one of the huts. “The learned scholar?”
“Yes,” said Kamil. “Did you know him?”
Sinan nodded. “He was a fine man,” he said softly. “Now sleep.”
To his surprise Kamil fell asleep almost at once. The reference to his father had filled him with relief and confidence. For the first night in many months, he slept without dreaming.
A few hours later he was awakened by a man bearing hot spiced tea. He drank it, then straightened his clothes and went out. Hosanna was already saddled and waiting for him. Sinan was holding the horse’s rein and stroking him. Though he tried to pretend it was something to do with just waking up, the sight made Kamil shiver. There was something about the way the Old Man was touching Hosanna that made him feel uneasy.
“It has been good that we met,” Sinan said, handing the reins to Kamil. “When we are ready, you will get a message telling you what to do. Remember, it is for Allah that we act, not for ourselves. The crusaders have defiled our land long enough. Men like your father deserve more than you killing one small boy and Saladin making a truce. He would expect great things of you, and your chance to perform great things will come soon. Meanwhile, keep close to the sultan and try to guide him along the right paths.”
Kamil nodded. He dismissed his feeling of foreboding. Instead, he was filled with gratitude. This was the leader he had been looking for. He thanked the Old Man for his hospitality. Sinan accepted his thanks and patted him on the arm. “Now,” he said, “the guide will take you back. Take care on your journey. We will meet again.”
Kamil swung himself onto Hosanna and smiled. “Until then,” he said softly, and chided Hosanna for his impatience as he followed the guide out onto the ledge once more.
16
After his return to Saladin’s camp, it did not take long for the call to come. While he was waiting, Kamil was especially attentive to Saladin. He did not let his hostility to the idea of a truce completely vanish lest the sultan suspect something was up, but he was polite and smiled at the sultan when their eyes met. Saladin noted aloud that the boy’s temper had improved since his visit to Jerusalem. Kamil seemed to be offering constructive suggestions instead of harsh criticism. He said as much to Baha ad-Din in Kamil’s hearing.
“Young boys do grow up,” was Baha ad-Din’s only response, but he, too, was pleased by Kamil’s behavior. Riding out with him was a pleasure again. “Perhaps the imam at Jerusalem and the horse between them have made him see sense.” The sultan seemed to nod, and all three shared breakfast.
Abdul Raq now spoke to Kamil only occasionally and never asked about the meeting with the Old Man. When they did meet, Kamil told him briefly what the sultan was thinking, but did not hang around for pleasantries. Two weeks after his visit to the mountains, however, Raq found Kamil in the red horse’s tent. The sky was dark, but the rain was holding off. The red horse kept his distance as Raq slithered through the tent flap, but Kamil chose not to notice.
Raq smiled. “Well,” he said, “I am here both to admire your horse and to tell you that the time has come. Are you ready?”
Kamil nodded, his heart thumping. He stood up and gave Hosanna an apple.
Raq watched, but his expression never changed. “The sultan is to be assassinated,” he said.
Kamil gasped.
“Don’t worry,” Raq said. “You are not to perform the deed yourself. You are simply to provide the opportunity. You are to ask the sultan if he would like to try your horse and if you can go out together the day after tomorrow, early in the morning. Suggest that it might be nice if it would just be the two of you, since you have something to say to him in private. You will indicate that you wish to apologize for your previous opposition to his plans. The assassins will find an opportunity.”
“Is that all?”
Raq looked at the boy curiously. “Not quite. The assassins will be waiting behind the rocks about two miles from this camp. You and the sultan will swap horses, and you will encourage the sultan to gallop round the rocks to test the red horse’s speed. There will be an ambush.” Raq paused. “In order that you are not suspected of treachery, the red horse will also be killed. Everybody knows how fond you are of the animal and will never imagine you could be party to anything that would involve his death.”
Kamil stood absolutely still. What little color there was left in his face drained away. Raq got up. “Do you understand?” he asked.
Kamil swallowed. “This order comes from the Old Man?”
“Directly,” said Raq. “He said that this challenge would be a true test of your faith in Allah and of your respect for your father.”
“Yes,” whispered Kamil. “Yes, I see.”
“We will not speak again until it is over,” said Raq, and he slunk off.
Kamil left the red horse’s tent. He could not look at him. In his mind Kamil replayed his meeting with Sinan over and over again. He could hear him talking, explaining why such sacrifices were the only way and why they should be seen as a true test of Kamil’s love for Allah. Kamil steeled himself. He must do as he had promised. But his heart felt like lead. He got a groom to feed and brush Hosanna, saying that he did not feel well.
The next day Kamil approached the sultan as if in a dream, extolled the virtues of his horse, and asked if they could ride out together, “Just like in the old days.”
“Come and try my red horse,” he said, trying to keep in his mind’s eye the vision of his father lying in his own blood while the knight with the mark like a teardrop shouted in victory. “He truly is a wonder. You would enjoy him. And I have something I would like to discuss with you.”
Saladin smiled. “It will be a great pleasure, Kamil,” he said, and agreed to meet the boy early the following morning.
It was Saladin himself who told his bodyguards to remain in the camp. “I shall be safe with Kamil,” he told them as the winter sun tried its best to give out some heat. “And the crusading knights are some distance away. It is good to go out alone sometimes.”
Kamil could scarcely believe that the plan was going without a hitch. He should have rejoiced, but he could hardly breathe.
The guards were not happy. But they nodded as Saladin and Kamil mounted their horses and rode off. Hosanna, bright gold in the morning light, his mane and tail like spun silk, strode out well. After half a mile or so, the two men swapped horses. Kamil tried to smile as he handed Hosanna over. Oh! But the horse was so beautiful!
Hosanna carried the sultan with ease and executed the maneuvers asked of him with spirit and joy. He even reared on command and made Saladin laugh.
Finally, unable to bear the tension a moment longer, Kamil urged the sultan to gallop round the rocks.
“You have not tried him at full speed,” he cried, his voice hard and loud. Saladin nodded, then paused. If he was alarmed by Kamil’s white face, he did not show it.
“I have never asked you,” he said, still in a conversational tone, “what this horse’s real name is.” For a moment Kamil thought wildly that he would tell Saladin the whole tale. But he could not. When he opened his mouth, howe
ver, what came out was almost as unexpected.
“The horse?” he cried. “Oh, the horse is called Hosanna.” Hosanna, hearing his name for the first time in almost five months, turned his head and looked directly up at Kamil’s face.
At that moment Kamil knew he could not do what was asked of him. But it was too late. Saladin was already urging Hosanna into that peculiar floating gallop that was special only to him. Kamil was paralyzed with horror. Then just as Saladin neared the rocks, he found his voice and his spurs. Digging the steel hard into the sultan’s horse, Kamil shouted and raised his whip above his head in an effort to make it go faster. But his voice mocked him in the wind. Hosanna was too far away. Now Saladin was almost at the rocks. Soon he had disappeared. Kamil was crazy with horror. “No! No!” he howled.
Then he was at the rocks himself, turning behind them. It took him a moment to understand what he saw. Standing on the ground, apparently uninjured, was Saladin. Hosanna, unharmed, was beside him. Baha ad-Din was there, too, leaning down. At his feet, dead, lay Abdul Raq and one of Saladin’s most trusted servants. Both bore the mark of Baha ad-Din’s dagger in their hearts. Saladin said nothing. Kamil, stunned, uncomprehending, and breathing heavily, dropped off his horse.
“I am ready to die, too,” were the only words he could think to say as he knelt in the sand.
Saladin looked at him. “Kamil,” he said gently, “do you think the one true Allah could ever demand what the Old Man demanded?”
Kamil, sobbing now, shook his head.
“I had you followed the day you went up the mountain,” the sultan went on. “I did not tell Baha ad-Din until yesterday, because I wanted to see what you would do. But let’s not speak of that just now.” And sitting Kamil down, Saladin took from his horse’s saddlebags his own, much-thumbed copy of the Koran. He opened it and showed Kamil how, although the great book speaks of blood and revenge, it is also full of passages relating to righteous conduct, truth, and beauty, things combined in the horse Kamil had been ready to sacrifice in the name of hate.