The Saracen

by Tony Roberts

  One of the Templars had made his way through the boulders and bore down on Guillaume and Eleanor. The tough soldier blocked the Templar’s attack and smashed him off his horse with his shield. Guillaume deliberately made his horse trample on the downed man. Eleanor shuddered and looked away, trying to block her ears from his piercing screams.

  The three Arabs bore down on the Templars’ right. The Christian knights there wheeled to confront them, hemmed in by the edge of the rocks. Their superior numbers meant they managed to keep the Arabs at bay but were trapped. Then Casca and de Beaucaire moved in on the opposite flank behind them. Casca yelled and his sword flashed in the sunlight. One of the Templars tried to block the blow but Casca’s blade had already passed the raised shield. It bit deep into the man’s chest and split the chainmail apart. The soldier screamed and seemed to fold over at the waist. He toppled off his horse and hit the ground hard. De Beaucaire passed the riderless horse and struck hard at a second man who deflected the blow in desperation. Outmaneuvered and outclassed the Templars turned and galloped off, leaving three of their number dead and one badly wounded; the captain leaned over the neck of his horse and limped in the wake of the others towards the castle.

  Casca shook his head at the unspoken question from the Arabs, and they reined in and directed insults at the retreating backs of the knights, mostly to do with impossible physical feats with camels. Casca smiled and turned to de Beaucaire. “I think we’d better go catch up the caravan before Reynauld comes out looking for you.”

  The French lord nodded and put out a hand. “I wish to thank you and your men in saving us. We saw your dust cloud and decided you may be safer to be with than Reynauld!”

  “True. You wish to travel to Damascus? I don’t think you’d be welcome there, though.”

  De Beaucaire shook his head. “We will travel with you as far as Boxra, then travel west to Tiberias and the court of Count Raymond. He will allow us to stay.”

  “That’s twice I’ve heard good things of Raymond. I’d like to meet this man.”

  De Beaucaire smiled, wiping his sword clean before sliding it into its sheath. “If you want, you can accompany my small party to Tiberias. I shall vouch for you, Rufus Longue.”

  Casca grinned and put his sword away. “I’ll give the good news to Ben Asid, the caravan merchant. He’ll be disappointed with my resignation, but I was only going one way with him anyway.”

  The seven slowly rode away from the boulders and followed the tracks of the caravan, Casca looking over his left shoulder to check if anyone else was coming after them, but the land remained clear. He wondered just what sort of enemy Reynauld would be to him and how much trouble it would cause him. He shrugged. Perhaps he’d find out in time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Reynauld was in a right royal rage; firstly he’d been interrupted in the pleasurable process of screwing the delightful young daughter of that nobody de Beaucaire, then to make things worse the bitch had escaped with her father. On top of that the men he’d sent to recapture them had been stopped by some bastard Arabs – only that one wasn’t an Arab but some pox-ridden scar-faced mercenary who spoke French and fought like the devil himself!

  The Lord of Kerak glowered at his guard captain whose shoulder was soaked in his own blood. The man could hardly stand and was supported by two of the templar knights. The huge hall echoed to Reynauld’s voice. “If I wasn’t needed in Jerusalem right now I’d ride out and find these people and stake them to a tree and let the crows eat their balls!”

  The others in the hall, a group of messengers and knights, listened to Reynauld’s tirade patiently. They’d heard many such outbursts from him before and were used to it. The only thing they wished to avoid was to incur that temper directly themselves. The guard captain sagged and Reynauld growled impatiently. “Bah! Take him to the hospital and treat the man! I’ll need him alive to identify this mercenary and when I get my hands on him I’ll pull him inside out from his asshole! Jarret!”

  A man stepped forward carefully, olive-skinned, dark haired. His form was muscular but lithe, and his face betrayed no emotion. In fact his features were totally nondescript which was ideal for his calling, that of a spy. He wore no armor but instead sported a dark green tunic and grey hose, and around his shoulders hung a black cloak. Just visible was a wide brown leather belt and the occasional glimpse could be seen of objects suspended from it but the cloak obscured what they were. “My lord?”

  Reynauld smiled. “Jarret, my special ferret. I have a task for you.”

  Jarret bowed. “You wish me to find the woman?”

  Reynauld smiled wider. “You guessed right. I suspect they’ll travel north, on the Damascus road, then head for Tiberias. Find her and bring her back here, or if that proves impossible, then find out where she is and where that swine of a mercenary is. I want that bastard. Kill de Beaucaire, he’s of no importance. He’ll probably snivel to that weakling Raymond if I know him.”

  Jarret bowed and backed away, leaving silently by the great double doors at the end of the hall. Reynauld’s smile vanished and he turned to the messengers and knights, standing by the long wooden table that dominated the floor space. Columns of stone held up the mighty roof and from these hung flickering torches and banners. At the back of the hall an ornate stone staircase led up to the balcony and split left and right. On either side, beyond the columns of pillars, the hall was shrouded in relative darkness but guards shuffled restlessly there, always present.

  “Now to business,” Reynauld leaned both fists on the table top. “I shall be gone a few days. My wife shall be in charge but do not let her change any of my standing orders or you’ll answer to me,” he directed his look at the guard sergeant who swallowed and nodded. “Keep on patrolling the border and kill any Muslim that strays too near. I don’t care about this blasted four-year truce, I never agreed to it.”

  “Of course, my Lord,” the guard sergeant bowed.

  “Good. Now I’ll be on my way to Jerusalem and to pat the new king on the head.” He snorted in derision. “A damned child-king! We need a man, not a baby!”

  ____

  The caravan had gone north along the trade route and Casca had time to talk to de Beaucaire as they went. He learned of the complicated political situation that had arisen in Outremer from the nobleman, while they sat round a camp fire one evening, the stars glittering brightly above, sheltered in a grove of trees by the road side. Guillaume sat on the other side of the fire, watching carefully and Eleanor sat next to her father; in fact she’d hardly left his side since her rescue, and had offered very little in the way of conversation.

  Ben Asid joined them after he had checked the camels and their valuable loads had been safely seen to. He had respected the scarred mercenary’s wish to call him Rufus in front of the westerners, but he did not understand why. Ah, so be it, he mused as he made himself comfortable, offering a mint flavored ch’a to his guests. The ways of these Franks can be mysterious indeed. And if Allah, in His infinite wisdom, makes things so, who was he, a humble merchant, to question such things?

  Casca smacked his lips over the sweet liquid. The drink had come from the east, from the lands of Chin, but the Arabs had put mint in it and made it a sweeter brew than the Chinese liked. Casca wasn’t sure which he preferred of the two; too much mint ch’a was sickly, while too much of the Chinese stuff made him piss like a horse.

  “So there are two factions in the Court in Jerusalem?” Casca put to de Beaucaire.

  “Yes, one led by Raymond of Tripoli who wishes to keep the peace, the other led by Reynauld and the Templars who wish for war. They have powerful friends at court and what with a child as king, things are not stable. I fear for the future.”

  Ben Asid raised an eyebrow as Casca translated what had been said into Arabic. “But has not your Raymond signed a four-year treaty with Salah ed-Din? Would the Christian lords not honor this?”

  De Beaucaire sighed and shook his head sadly. “It is complicated; I have t
ried to influence Reynauld and the others in his camp to come round to see the wisdom of Raymond but the Lord of Kerak is so bitter over his imprisonment those years ago he had no time for anyone wishing peace with Muslims. He indeed wishes to wage a war of extermination, but he cannot see that Outremer does not have the manpower to wage such a war. We are outnumbered and surrounded; it is only a matter of time before one of them does something stupid and starts a war we cannot possibly win.”

  “Who is Raymond?” Casca asked, having heard his name repeatedly.

  “Ah, Raymond. Cousin of the late king, he is regent for the infant Baldwin. The boy is sickly and it is feared he may die before he reaches adulthood. God knows what will happen if he does! Raymond wishes to keep the peace and he recently summoned all the barons and lords – I was still at sea at that time with Eleanor here – so I could not attend.” De Beaucaire smiled at his daughter who wanly responded before staring back down into the flickering flames and remained staring, lost in her thoughts. Casca was worried she was thinking too much of her ordeal.

  “At that meeting,” de Beaucaire continued, “Raymond pointed out the country had had a bad harvest over the winter and famine was likely. Indeed, you may notice there is a shortage of food here, something that does not make war desirable. So he proposed a four-year truce with Saladin,” and de Beaucaire grinned at Ben Asid and cleared his throat, “ah, Salah-ed-Din, as you say, Ben Asid.” The merchant inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  “I think your lord has gone north to quell a revolt, is that not so, Ben Asid?” Casca translated de Beaucaire’s words to the trader. He did likewise when Ben Asid spoke, for the benefit of the three French guests.

  “It is so, my learned guest. He has trouble with the emir of Mosul and his allies, the Seljuks. They threaten my lord’s northern frontier, so he has signed the truce with your Raymond in order to march north unmolested.”

  Casca nodded. It made military sense. “What about the food shortage?”

  “Thankfully the merchants have ensured a supply of corn across the border, so starvation is avoided,” de Beaucaire said with relief. “But that fool Reynauld cannot see that if we make war we will cut our own throats. And an additional problem is that the king’s mother, Sibylla, has remarried and her husband is another fool, Guy de Lusignan. If Baldwin dies young, I fear Reynauld and the Grand Master of the Temple will push for Guy to be made king, and that would be a disaster.”

  Casca picked up his ch’a cup. “We’d best drink to the long life for the king, in that case.”

  Ben Asid nodded. “I too, will wish for the young king’s health, for peace brings trade and trade brings wealth to me.”

  De Beaucaire smiled. “And to the lords of the lands. War destroys, so we ought to wish for peace, but we have fools in our midst who desire war and they are very strong.”

  Casca leaned back and thought for a moment. It was inevitable war would come; sooner or later. If big reinforcements arrived from Europe then the Crusaders would go on the offensive, but for now they were too weak to wage war. Salah-ed-Din was far too preoccupied in the north to bother with the weak Crusader state at present. But when he returned, that would be a different story. It all depended on the sickly young Baldwin surviving and keeping the war party at Court under control.

  “Does Raymond have any allies against Reynauld?” Casca asked.

  De Beaucaire nodded. “The Ibelins support him as does a man named Joscelin de Courtenay, the boy’s great uncle. De Courtenay holds Beirut while the Ibelins, Baldwin and Balian, have other castles and cities. But I fear it is not enough should the boy die. While he lives, and Raymond acts as regent, common sense holds sway in Outremer.”

  Ben Asid sighed and shook his head sadly. “Such foolishness is the work of vain and ambitious men. They work to further themselves to the sorrow of all others.”

  “No argument, Ben Asid,” Casca replied, standing up and yawning. He stretched and looked about, reassured at the sight of Ben Asid’s guards patrolling in the semi-darkness.

  “I have one more thing to speak about,” the Arab merchant ventured. “On the morrow I shall take my goods to Bosra, or as you have called it, Boxra. It is the last town before Damascus. It has a garrison and I believe that you would not be welcome there, my esteemed guest,” he inclined his head to de Beaucaire. “If I may humbly suggest you ride to the west at daybreak into the hills and from there you will be able to cross into Outremer, as you call it, and thence to Tiberias where Raymond is lord?”

  Casca looked at de Beaucaire who nodded in response. The French noble stood up, wincing at a pain in both legs – age did have its disadvantages – and bowed. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality, Ben Asid. On behalf of my daughter and myself, I would like to extend any hospitality to you should our roles be reversed in the future?”

  Ben Asid smiled and bowed in response. Casca cleared his throat. “Ah, Ben Asid, I think I would like to go see this Raymond, so with your permission, may I be released from your pay so I can accompany this small group to safety?”

  Ben Asid laughed lightly. “I bet my camel driver Abdul you would make such a request yesterday! It has been a most interesting time with you – ah, Rufus – and may Allah watch over you on your journeys!”

  Casca grinned. He bowed to Ben Asid in the Islamic manner, touching his chin, lips and forehead. “Aleikum salaam, Ben Asid.” He turned to de Beaucaire. “I will come with you to Tiberias. But I think I’d better change my style of clothing!”

  De Beaucaire nodded. “I’d feel safer with two guards than one, and Eleanor would too, I think. You’ve already proven your skill to me, so I accept. Come with me to my pack and I think between Guillaume and me, we can fit you up with at least the basics.”

  They all made their way back to their sleeping blankets, watched from the nearby thorny bushes by a pair of unblinking eyes. Jarret smiled evilly and made his plans.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ben Asid and his caravan were nothing but a distant cloud of dust in the distance as the four riders made their way westwards slowly along a steeply climbing track. Rocks littered the landscape and clumps of thorn bushes were scattered over the ground. The occasional gnarled tree relieved the dry-looking scenery and ahead rose a long range of hills. These were scarred with plentiful gullies that spoke of watercourses. As it was now summer it was likely these would be dry.

  De Beaucaire had said he thought the first Christian-held settlement they would come to was Beteras, but he had no idea how far off that was as he had never come this way before. Casca knew this area fairly well, having come this way over five centuries back when he had been part of the invading Muslim force that had first taken Syria from the Byzantines. The great battle that decided it was nearby, and Casca knew that ahead lay some steep climbs and dizzying drops into deep valleys.

  Guillaume led the way, following the track, not knowing really what lay ahead, but as he was the only one left of de Beaucaire’s household guards, he was to de Beaucaire the only logical choice. Casca brought up the rear while father and daughter rode together in the center. Casca was now wearing a worn sleeveless overcoat tied around his waist, colored a pale red with white lilies upon it. It was de Beaucaire livery and clearly marked him as one of the lord’s men. He had the chain mail hauberk he had obtained from Ben Asid under that, and his helm was of the simple conical type. Overall he presented a picture of a very poor soldier indeed. One he felt may be to his advantage as he might be underestimated as a result.

  Casca kept on turning round in the saddle and looking back. Something bothered him but he couldn’t say what it was, other than he felt a vague uneasiness. Maybe someone was out there tracking them, but he had no way of knowing as there was plenty of cover in these parts.

  Wiping his sweaty brow, he replaced his helm and trotted back to catch up with the two de Beaucaires. The father was friendly enough but Eleanor had hardly said a word since he’d first set eyes on her. Casca guessed she was still in shock, a
nd he had been warned off with a stern shake of the head by de Beaucaire when he had tried to broach the subject to him.

  “My lord,” he began, “perhaps I should lead, I have traveled these parts before and know of a road up ahead that will take us to where we wish to go.”

  De Beaucaire reined in and looked at his newest mercenary. “You didn’t mention this before, Rufus. You know the land hereabouts?”

  Casca nodded absently, turning his head once more to the rear, but the sun was shining now into his eyes and he could not make out much. “I have been in these parts many years ago, and I know some of the routes to take, better than Guillaume, I’d say.”

  De Beaucaire nodded and ordered Guillaume to swap places with Casca. The French guard came obediently back, and as he passed Casca, the Eternal Mercenary leaned towards him and quietly murmured: “keep a watch to the rear; I think we’re being followed.”

  Guillaume nodded, his eyes hardening a moment, then he was past and taking up his position to the rear. Casca trotted forward, then glanced back to de Beaucaire who indicated him to begin leading, and the climb up the steep slope to the plateau ahead resumed.

  ____

  Many miles to the south west stood the city of Jerusalem, the Holy City of three religions. People had fought and died over possessing it. What was certain was this would happen again and again. Currently the Christians held it, but they were arguing amongst themselves, something the Jewish population was used to and bore in stolid resignation. Christians had always been arguing ever since the Romans had converted to the religion some 850 years previously, and although others had ruled here since, the Christians always seemed to have the most vociferous arguments over the most stupid things.