A Blood Red Horse

by K. M. Grant

  William, turning at the sound of the trumpet, saw Richard’s horse fall and knew at once what he must do. As Kamil’s sword hit the ground he leaped off Hosanna and handed him over to his king. The time for the ultimate sacrifice had arrived, and William was not found wanting. Richard took Hosanna without a word, and William silently helped him to mount. He touched his horse’s white star, then stepped back. Kamil was watching and, without thinking, immediately placed his horse right in front of William. He told himself that he should not protect his enemy from the last of the arrows. But he never moved.

  Now, apart from the cries of the wounded, silence fell. The whole world seemed focused on two men: the king and the sultan.

  They faced each other without speaking. It was only as they steadied and, as if at a prearranged signal, began to charge toward each other that the deafening roar erupted once more.

  Hosanna, galloping, sidestepping, turning and wheeling, was covered in sweat. Nevertheless, his hooves seemed barely to touch the ground. He appeared to sense Richard’s every thought, to understand every tactic as again and again Richard lunged forward. Both men grunted as they raised their swords and attempted to find the opening that would finish the other off. Hosanna made no sound but, with a dexterity Richard had never encountered in any other horse, flowed round the sultan’s stallion, leaving it flat-footed. Slowly, remorselessly, it became clear that the king was wearing the sultan down. Kamil, still mounted, tightened his grip on his sword. If Saladin was killed, then nobody would stop him finishing Richard off himself. He prayed that he could do it and spare the red horse.

  Now the Christians began to shout that the king was the victor. Their cries filled Richard with new impetus, and suddenly, the chance was there. Just as he had been taught, Hosanna reared as Richard raised his sword to deliver the deathblow to Saladin, the mortal enemy of Christendom.

  It was for just this moment that a lone Saracen archer had been waiting. Taking deadly aim, he fired one steel-tipped arrow. It struck true. Richard’s blow was never delivered. Saladin wheeled away, calling to the emirs to come after him. They all obeyed except one, who, leaping from his saddle and dropping his sword, ran over to where a red horse lay in the sand.

  23

  By the time Kamil reached Hosanna, Richard and William were standing over his body. William, stunned and speechless, was unable to take in what had happened. He was supposed to die with his horse. Then he had given him to the king. Now both he and the king were standing unharmed while Hosanna was lying with an arrow close to his heart. He did not hear Gavin calling his name. Even when Gavin ran toward him, William could not move. Only when Kamil arrived did William make an inarticulate sound and begin pulling off his armor so that he could kneel more easily. Kamil dropped to his knees and took Hosanna’s head in his arms. He did not bother to hide his anguish. William knelt down beside him, and as he did so, Kamil gently moved the horse’s head into William’s lap. Then he turned his attention to the arrow. The horse lay so quietly it was difficult to tell if he was breathing, but Kamil pulled the arrow out anyway. Hosanna quivered, then was still. William looked for Gavin.

  “The ointment that Brother Andrew gave Ellie,” he said. “It’s here, in my pouch. Get it out.” Gavin, fumbling, did so. William laid Hosanna’s head gently down while he opened the little casket and pushed its contents into the deep hole the arrow had made. “Would the arrow have been poisoned?” he asked Kamil. He had to know.

  Kamil shook his head. “But it has gone in too deep,” he whispered. “I don’t know what can be done.”

  Suddenly there was a thudding of feet, and Hal burst through. When he saw Hosanna lying motionless and the huge hole with blood welling to fill it, he was wild. “There must be something we can do,” he cried.

  William shook his head. But Hal would not give up. He struggled for something to say as he ripped off his shirt and tried to stanch the wound. But it seemed hopeless.

  After a few moments Hal rocked back on his heels, tears streaming down his face.

  “Aren’t we supposed to believe in God’s power?” he cried at the king. “We can’t just do nothing. I prayed when I went unarmed into Jaffa, and God protected me. Maybe he could help Hosanna. At the very least we should pray. What else is there?”

  All around them the groans of the wounded added to their despair. The glory of the battle had vanished, and only its dreadful aftermath remained.

  The king said nothing. William did not look at Kamil’s face as he said, “It does not matter to Christians which way they face when they pray, but I’m told it matters to you. Which way is Mecca? If we are all to pray together, well …”

  Kamil hesitated, then pointed. His face was expressionless.

  Richard uttered a small exclamation and walked away. There were some things he would not do. But William, Gavin, Hal, and Kamil, turning their backs on Hosanna, knelt together. Gavin, nervous and unsure, nevertheless began. God, Allah, Christ, Mohammed—it all seemed so much more complicated now. The only certainty was that they all, both Muslim and Christian, wanted the same thing.

  “Here, Lord,” he said, hoping he was not going to offend anybody. “Here lies a Great Horse. We ask that his death and the deaths of so many countless others are not in vain. We are in confusion. Show us your will. Amen.”

  Then Kamil began. “Our hearts are protected from that unto which you, O Muhammad, callest us,” he said. “In our ears there is a deafness and between us and you there is a veil. In our anxiety and sadness, let Allah show us the right path, the one of righteousness and piety.”

  They all murmured their assent, then prayed silently, each lost in his individual thoughts. As they did so, behind them Hosanna, gathering the breath that had been knocked out of him, opened his eyes and began to move. Slowly and with a great effort, he rose to his feet. When William and Kamil turned round, they found the horse standing, his nose on the ground, the blood from his wound making a small channel in his side. They all rushed to support him, linking hands and, between them, shouting for others to help, they almost carried the horse the long, bitter mile back through the city gates and into a stable. The sun beat down, seeming to mock their efforts. On the way Kamil whispered urgent instructions to Hal, and the boy scarcely nodded before rushing to find Kamil’s stallion. He mounted and galloped through the dead and dying to Saladin’s camp.

  The sultan was pacing round his pavilion, beside himself with worry over Kamil. How could the boy have stopped himself rushing to the red horse? Saladin was not angry, but he was terrified that with the horse apparently dead, Kamil would not escape alive. When he heard Hal’s unfamiliar voice, he rushed out just in time to witness his soldiers pulling him off Kamil’s horse.

  Baha ad-Din heard Hal’s cries of indignation. He shouted at the soldiers and then, with his own hands, dragged Hal into Saladin’s presence, shouting for an interpreter.

  When the interpreter arrived, the sultan was standing over the boy, a fierce expression on his face.

  “Ask him why he is here,” Saladin ordered. “Ask him, where is my emir, Kamil ad-Din, whose horse he has?”

  Hal could say only one word. “Hosanna,” he said, urgently. “We need medicine for Hosanna. The Saracen man has sent me. Please, please help us.”

  Saladin stared. “The Saracen man,” he said. “Is he safe?”

  Hal was beside himself. “Safe? Of course he’s safe. He’s with my master, William, and Gavin and oh, please. Can’t this wait? The emir says to send dressings and oil and anything you have. I know you can save Hosanna. He said so.”

  “Kamil said so? What proof do I have?”

  Hal was whispering now, all the energy draining out of him. Saladin would never believe him. But he answered the sultan anyway. “I have no proof. But he did say so. He said it was for honor, love, and Allah, or something like that. But he also said I must be as quick as the wind or the red horse would die. Maybe it is too late already.”

  Saladin looked at Baha ad-Din, and the old m
an nodded slowly. “I think the boy is telling the truth,” he said. “That horse … well, the truth seems to follow him.”

  Nevertheless, Saladin did not make his voice any gentler as he turned once again to Hal. “Honor, love, and Allah. That’s what he said?”

  “Yes, oh yes,” said Hal. “I swear by Hosanna.” He knew that it was a sin to swear on anything but God. But to the frantic boy, even if what he had done merited hell, it was worth it.

  Saladin was silent for an eternal half minute. Then clapping his hands, he summoned two servants and issued his orders.

  In ten minutes Hal found himself back on Kamil’s stallion, leading a sumpter horse with packs bulging full of medicines and spices. Behind him a wagon was making slow progress. Every minute the boy urged the packhorse to go more quickly. As he reached the gates of Jaffa, Hal felt as though he had been away for weeks, though it was in fact just over an hour.

  William was waiting by the stable door and shouted to Kamil as soon as he heard Hal’s voice. Kamil came at once.

  “The sultan is good,” he said as he unpacked the wine, turpentine, cumin, and honey, together with strong-smelling balms made of different oils and ground herbs.

  “The sultan is good,” echoed Hal, rolling up his sleeves and doing whatever Kamil told him to do. Hosanna was already lying on a bed of thick reeds, and Kamil immediately began to plug his wound with some evil-smelling unguent, covering it with a silk bandage.

  “We must use a poultice to get out any infection,” he said. William nodded. “And we must keep the flies off.” For the next couple of hours, the two of them worked as one, cleaning the wound, preparing the poultice, and trying to keep the horse cool.

  In the wagon Saladin had sent slings and wood to make a litter. “You can take the red horse home without him having to stand all the way,” explained Kamil. Home. William could not take in the concept. For the moment it seemed to him that his home was here, in this small stable in this foreign city, working with a man whom he had come here to kill but who was now joined with him in saving the life of a horse they both loved.

  “You must thank the sultan,” William said quietly when the immediate activity was over and Hosanna was comfortable. As he sat looking at the horse William took out a small knife, leaned down, and cut off a hank of Hosanna’s mane. He gave this to Kamil.

  Kamil took it and, as he did so, said softly, “In the name of honor, love, and Allah.”

  William nodded. “In the name of honor, love, and Allah,” he repeated. At such a moment William thought, surely God would not care by what name he was called. Without saying anything further, Kamil put the hank of hair in his belt, touched the horse’s neck, and got up. Outside, his stallion was waiting. Taking its reins, Kamil vaulted on and slipped unnoticed through the city streets and out of the gate. Then he urged the horse into a gallop and was soon lost to view.

  24

  After the great battle at Jaffa, the mood changed in Richard’s camp. It was as if the sight of ships standing in the harbor all ready to carry them home served to remind the soldiers just how long they had been away. Two years of unimaginable hardship had taken their toll. This mood was reflected among the knights and soldiers left at Acre. There was no more talk of storming Jerusalem. Richard was glad.

  Equally, as a relieved Saladin greeted Kamil on his return from Hosanna’s sickbed, he also became aware that even his most ferocious emirs were not pushing for another assault on the city. The sultan listened carefully as Baha ad-Din reminded him that many of his soldiers’ farms lay in ruins because the men had put their duty to holy war above their work on the land.

  But it was worse than that. Both armies had raided villages and destroyed crops without any thought for the people who lived there. Providing food for soldiers had become more important than worrying about hungry children. Furthermore, just to compound matters, both Christians and Saracens had taken pains to destroy what they could not use themselves in order to deny it to the enemy. The result was that in some Muslim villages, Saladin was almost as unpopular as Richard. Baha ad-Din did not shrink from telling Saladin that, in his view, and in the view of many good Muslims, it was time to exchange swords for plowshares—for the moment at least.

  Richard had even more reason to go home. Before setting out for Jaffa from Acre, he had had news that his prolonged absence had put his lands and even his position as king under threat. At home his brother John and King Philip of France were plotting. The English and Frankish barons who had not taken the cross were unsure whether it was worth keeping Richard’s throne warm for him. If Richard did not come home, they did not want to find their loyalty misplaced and misinterpreted. It was becoming abundantly clear that Richard’s subjects needed to see him for themselves.

  However, there was just one more thing that the Christians had to do before going home. If they could not take Jerusalem as warriors, they would at least visit it as pilgrims. Swallowing his pride, Richard sent a messenger to Saladin to ask for safe passage for his men, which Saladin granted without hesitation. Richard himself refused to go, on the grounds that it would be humiliating for him to accept Saladin’s charity. Accepting horses under the laws of chivalry was one thing. Accepting the “safe conduct” pass that Saladin offered was quite another. Richard would go to Jerusalem in his own good time, brandishing his sword rather than leaning on a pilgrim’s staff.

  Gavin and William thought differently. As they walked together to perform one of their hourly checks on Hosanna they agreed that to come all the way out and not see the holy places seemed wrong. They felt they owed it to their father, and although they did not say so aloud, each also wanted to be able to describe to Ellie something other than death and destruction. Picking their way through Jaffa’s narrow streets, they passed men nursing wounds that would never heal and others in mourning for fathers, sons, and brothers whose bones were whitening all over Palestine.

  “We’ll go to Jerusalem,” said Gavin, and William nodded his agreement.

  He opened the door into Hosanna’s stable and immediately his spirits lifted. Just a week after Hosanna had limped in at death’s door, it was now a cheerful place. The horse’s wound was healing well. As William ruefully remarked to Hal, Hosanna would always carry both the dent caused by William’s sword and a scar from the Saracen arrow.

  Hal smiled. But Hosanna’s scars were not uppermost in his mind anymore. The only thing he thought of was home. The loss and then the return of Hosanna, together with the horse’s almost miraculous survival, seemed to Hal to be as much luck as any horse could have in a lifetime. What was more, Hal thought to himself, I have survived, too. He had no wish to tempt fate any further and just wanted to see his mother again.

  “Will you go to Jerusalem if we are given permission to visit as pilgrims?” William asked him, idly plaiting Hosanna’s mane.

  Hal considered. “Will you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said William. “After all, we have a lot to thank God for.”

  Hal did not really agree. God, after all, had been as responsible for the bad things as the good. He considered saying as much to William but was suddenly shy. He was only a squire, after all, not a knight. What did he really know about these things? He moved on to practical matters. “Who will look after Hosanna while I am away?”

  William laughed. “I think the plan is that we should go in three different lots,” he said. “Between you, Gavin, and I, we should manage both to see Jerusalem and look after Hosanna.”

  Hal nodded. “It will be something to tell my mother,” he said, then, struck by a new thought, his eyes filled with a new worry. “Assuming she is still alive,” he said. William patted his shoulder.

  The brothers planned well. Gavin went in the first, Hal the second, and William in the third and last company. Having seen Gavin and Hal come safely back, William set off under the leadership of the bishop of Salisbury, a holy man in whom everybody found much to respect. It was the second week of September and the skies were cloudless.
As he put on the rough pilgrim’s tunic Old Nurse had packed so long ago, William reflected on all that had happened since the Hartslove contingent had met the king at Vezelay in July 1190. He joined his fellow pilgrims near the front of the procession, obediently intoning Hail Marys as the bishop instructed. But his thoughts were far away. Things that had seemed so certain in the great hall at Hartslove seemed uncertain now. His father had not been invincible; his own horse, whom William had imagined would be loyal only to himself, had flourished in the hands of the enemy; his king had made mistakes and misjudgments. William shuddered as he remembered some of the sights he had seen. Was any city, even the holy city itself, worth all that suffering, all those shattered bones, all that torn flesh, all the screams of agony? A city, after all, was just bricks and mortar. If God was so good, could this kind of thing really be his will? Then he shook himself. Here he was, on a journey to Jerusalem. He must think only of that for the moment.

  Unhindered by the enemy, the journey to Jerusalem took three days. Most of the pilgrims were on foot, and they marveled at the difference between this journey and the terrible and fruitless winter journey they had endured. Although the sun’s heat sapped their energy, without their armor they could travel in relative comfort. As they passed through the hills from which, two months before, they had begun their retreat to Acre the soldiers and knights gave a small cheer.

  William trudged along the dusty route trying to concentrate on Christ and his suffering rather than the mutterings of the men walking next to him. Many remained unconvinced that Saladin’s assurances of safety could be trusted. Eventually William turned round and gently chided them for their suspicions. He himself had no doubts. A man who sent medicines for Hosanna would keep his word.