The Saracen

by Tony Roberts

  He was wearing Casca’s stamina out. Casca paused and eyed the resolute man. Every time they had clashed, it had been Casca’s move and Meurtrier’s counter move. The Frenchman still waited, hardly breathing while Casca’s lungs were working hard. Casca stepped to the left and Meurtrier made a slight adjustment to his right but no more, so that he was still facing Casca.

  Dust billowed up from the arid ground of the practice yard, irritating eyes and noses. Casca wiped his face with the back of his hand and glared at his opponent. The fine, reddish dust filmed Meurtrier’s clothing and face, but he stood calmly, unmoved. All round, a wall of silent and expectant men stood, waiting to see their champion end the life of yet another challenger, as had happened on many previous occasions.

  Annoyed, Casca threw off his helm, exposing his sweaty brow to the warm air. The only advantage he had was that he had less armor on and was cooking less under the sun. The watching men hardly dared to breathe; they knew the fight was on a knife-edge. Casca was stronger than anyone else they’d seen fight their champion, but Meurtrier hardly seemed to have been bothered. They knew the counter attack would only be a matter of time, and they’d seen him destroy his opponents when he made his move.

  The sawing of Casca’s breath was virtually the only sound to be heard during the brief periods of rest in between combat. Nobody else dared to say anything. The atmosphere around the two warriors was almost heavy enough to slice with a sword.

  High above, the two maid servants watched the fight from their narrow window, fascinated by the scene. Eleanor found her prayers distracted and she turned in irritation to the two girls. “I am trying to pray to the Lord for our salvation,” she said with asperity, “can you not please kneel here and join me in prayer?”

  “But my lady,” one of them protested, “one of those fighting is the beast that hurt us so badly! We are hoping the other man slays him as divine retribution.”

  Eleanor got up and came across with a sigh. So much for prayer, she thought and pushed the others out of the way so she could look down out of the narrow opening. She had no difficulty in spotting the crowd, almost at the foot of the drop that went from the window, and gasped as she caught sight of Casca. Even at that distance, she recognized his face.

  “Our prayers have been answered!” she exclaimed, clutching her hands to her breast. “He will rescue us! Thanks to the Lord!”

  The two servants looked puzzled and stared over their lady’s head at Casca, wondering who the devil he was and how he could possibly excite their mistress so. He looked too rough for her, even if he was well built and manly. They might well be the ones he would give his attention to, but surely such a lowly soldier as that was too poor to even think of being with the Lady Eleanor!

  Casca had no thoughts for women at that moment. Meurtrier was now advancing, deflecting Casca’s slashes left and right and relentlessly pushing him back towards the edge of the yard. Once Casca came up against the wall it would be over. Casca dodged left, then checked and went right, spinning round past the other’s blade and backed towards the middle of the courtyard once more. He’d bought himself some time but nothing more.

  Meurtrier smiled behind his mask. This man was no fool but he was inferior and he knew he had him now. It was only a matter of time. “Clever move,” he said, “but I won’t let you do that again.”

  Casca’s heart beat wildly. This bastard was too good. He had one chance only and he’d best get it timed right or he’d be finished and the poor girl up in the top parts of the castle would be humped senseless and then thrown away, most probably. He backed off as Meurtrier advanced, then stepped to his left. Meurtrier had seen this one before and was already moving to his left – Casca’s right – to anticipate the change in direction. However Casca had guessed right and kept on going left, striking the shield on the practice frame as hard as he could.

  The weighted ball swung round and caught Meurtrier full in the head, snapping his head back, and Casca lunged forward slamming himself into the stunned knight, sending both over in a ball. Casca ended up straddling his opponent’s chest, sword tip pressed into Meurtrier’s throat, smiling down at him.

  It took a moment for Meurtrier to realize he’d been bested and his one eye bulged through the mask up at Casca in rage, shock and shame. Volumes of obscene language uttered from the mask and Casca tutted, waggling a finger at the prone knight. “Do you yield or do I drive my sword into the ground through your throat?”

  “Kill him!” screamed one of the women from the window. Casca twisted his head and looked up. He grinned and felt exultation. He’d caught sight of Eleanor in front of the yelling servant and the young noble woman had clearly seen him, even though she’d made no sign of recognizing him. Clever girl, he admitted to himself. Now he knew exactly where she was.

  “I think your fans don’t like you anymore, Frenchman.”

  “Stupid bitches, only good for screwing.”

  “Do you yield or not?” Casca repeated, his voice harder. He leaned a little on the sword and it pressed into the knight’s throat.

  “I yield!” he snarled. Casca nodded and got up, keeping his sword in hand just in case.

  Meurtrier stood up angrily and retrieved his sword. “You resort to trickery to defeat me. It was not a fair outcome! I was the better man!”

  “Perhaps you were,” Casca admitted, “but you lost. These men all saw it,” he waved at the stunned onlookers. “Your invincibility has been ended. They’ll spread the news. So what will you do now, Meurtrier the Beatable?”

  Meurtrier growled and pulled off his helm. “I should kill you right where you stand.”

  Casca shook his head. “Even you cannot break the Code of Chivalry. Your name would be despised by everyone. Not even your lord would be able to stand for that.”

  Meurtrier spat on the ground at Casca’s feet and stamped off, fuming. Some of the guards watched him as he went, their faces a mixture of fear and amazement. The warden regarded Casca warily. He knew Casca had been inferior but somehow he’d won, and was therefore a man to respect. Casca looked up and bowed extravagantly to the watching women. The servants giggled and waved back, while Eleanor stepped back into the room, her heart full of hope.

  “Forget those women, they are the Lord’s,” the warden advised.

  “Servant girls?” Casca turned, surprise in his voice.

  “Ah, maybe not those. Their mistress, however, is his.”

  Casca shrugged. “I don’t care about one woman. I want those other two. Fighting always makes me horny. I want both at the same time.”

  The warden’s mouth opened. “By God’s Holy Word, you expect a lot!”

  “I deliver a lot, too,” Casca smiled at the warden. “Now, do I have some quarters I can rest in and be attended by the two servant women?”

  The warden’s mouth opened, closed, opened and closed again. Casca thought he looked like a particularly grotesque species of landed carp. The warden finally nodded weakly. It was all too much for him to cope with. Let Reynauld de Chatillon deal with this upstart bastard. He’d be happy to see the Lord of Kerak deal with him. “Very well.” He beckoned one of the guards over. “Take this man to one of the chambers on the first level of the inner ward. NOT the top level, understand?”

  The guard nodded and beckoned Casca to follow him to the tunnel and the inner part of the castle. Casca breathed deeply. He’d managed it! All he had to do now was to arrange the escape.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Casca relaxed and studied his new surroundings. One wall had an opening through which sunlight streamed. It wasn’t an arrow slit but neither was it a mullioned wide window either. He could put his head through it and look down a sheer drop to the lower level of the castle. Of the other walls, the one opposite to the window had the only way out of the apartment, a wooden door. To the right was another opening but this led to a garderobe. The left hand wall contained a fireplace.

  The floor was of square flagged stone, and the ceiling was of wood
, supported on huge beams that rested in wall corbels shaped like lion heads. A rough wooden bed lay with one end pushed against the wall with the door in it and plain basic cupboards stood against the wall with the window set in it. A small low table lay at the foot of the bed, under which rested a small chest.

  Casca sat on the bed and unbuckled his sword. His huge gamble had paid off and he lay flat out, hands behind his head. He had to get the girls out fast, before Reynauld returned, and before one of the few people in the castle that had seen him at the small skirmish bumped into him. He was confident that whoever had taken Eleanor from her father hadn’t seen him so that wasn’t a problem. What added to his trouble were the two servants. He hadn’t anticipated them being around, thinking they would have been either disposed of or placed elsewhere for the use of the garrison.

  So he had three to get out of Kerak, not one.

  There came a knock on the door and a guard opened it, pushing into the room two maid servants. The guard shut the door and Casca briefly caught sight of a second guard standing on the other side of the doorway. The warden wasn’t taking any chances.

  Casca got up and faced the two apprehensive women. One was plump, the other fairly thin. Both were dark haired and brown eyed. Latin stock, no doubt about that. They were probably in their early twenties or late teens. It was hard to tell. Both stood in the room nervously, hardly daring to look him in the eye.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he said gently. “I’ve come here to get you out. You understand?”

  The thinner one looked up and nodded. “Mistress told us so,” she said. She spoke with a provincial French accent, fairly low class. Casca knew the type and grinned. The other one, a rosy-cheeked individual, smiled in return and looked down self-consciously.

  “So where is your chamber from here?”

  “Oh, easy. Out here,” the thin one said, pointing to the right, “at the end is a staircase. Go up, turn left and along the corridor to the third door. It’s guarded like this one is.”

  Casca nodded. The guards would be a problem, and once he got going, time would be of the essence. He had the glimmer of an idea, but he needed to check one thing first. He looked at the plump girl. “Come here, what’s your name?”

  “Giselle,” she said, hesitantly.

  “Well, Giselle, come closer, I won’t bite, I promise.” Giselle moved slowly forward, then caught her breath as Casca put his hands on her arms and looked at her critically. He then pulled her arms up over her head. Giselle looked at the other servant in surprise. What was he going to do? Casca appraised her figure as her breasts moved up and outwards. “Keep your arms up there a moment” he said and smoothed her dress in, making her breasts stand out the more. He then ran his hands over her thighs, causing Giselle to gasp, half in shock, half in pleasure.

  Casca looked at her and smiled. Giselle breathed harder. Somehow she knew he wasn’t going to have sex with her but this was very, well, erotic. She hadn’t been touched like that before, even prior to or during sex. It excited her. Her friend regarded her with a knowing look and made her look down to her nipples which were standing very proud. Giselle gulped and shut her eyes. She felt his hands smooth over her ass, pressing in ever so gently. Her legs began to shake. She knew if he touched her….there….she’d orgasm. She half wished he would!

  His hands left her and she opened her eyes. He was standing in front of her smiling, not leering. “Thank you, Giselle.” He turned and looked at the window and suddenly she realized what he had been doing. He’d been distracting her from his intention of sending her out of the window!

  “No! I couldn’t!”

  Casca turned back to face her, his face serious. “Giselle, I would be holding the rope. You can fit through there and it’s the only way out. The exit is guarded and we’d never make it. Out here is the only way.”

  Giselle began shaking her head, so Casca moved up close and touched her, his hands smoothing her dress one more. “Giselle, you will, I’ll show you. Trust me.” He ran his hands over her breasts and she shuddered, tingling. “Oh, Ma Mere!” she breathed, and felt his hand slip lower. Now she knew she would…. “aaahhhhhh!!!”

  Giselle’s fellow servant watched in envy then looked down at the floor as her cries filled the room. Lucky bitch. She heard movement and saw Giselle being lowered onto the bed. Then she saw the man beckon her over.

  “I’ve been a long time without a woman, and I get two at once. Lucky me,” he said, a twinkle in his grey-blue eyes. She couldn’t say no and felt herself automatically walk over to join them on the bed. The next moment she was being kissed and, moaning, sank back onto the bed.

  Outside in the corridor, the two guards stood there stolidly, gritting their teeth as the noises from the room grew in intensity and frequency. One gripped the haft of his spear so tight he threatened to break it. Batard!

  ____

  The two servants returned to Eleanor a couple of hours later, presenting her with a piece of paper upon which Casca had written a short note. Eleanor read it - the two maid servants couldn’t read so they had no idea what it said - and caught her breath. He planned to get them out that very night! She looked up at the two smiling women. “We are to get ready for our escape tonight,” she whispered, tugging the two away from the door. “I am to wear one set of clothes and leave the rest behind,” she said with some dismay. Being from a less-well-off noble family, every dress was important.

  She shrugged philosophically. Eh bien, if it meant she lived, it was worth the price. She eyed her two maid servants. “What are you two so pleased about?”

  The look on Giselle’s face said enough. Eleanor pursed her lips. “Stop thinking of his loins and help me get ready you silly woman!” Privately she was disappointed the rough soldier had bedded these two wenches, but maybe that was just as well, someone of her social position could hardly lie with someone like him.

  The sun set in the west, throwing a burning red canopy over the rocky scrubland, highlighting the castle with the day’s last light. Casca buckled his scabbard tight and checked his clothing one last time. He’d worked off some tension with the two girls and it had been good. The last time he’d enjoyed a woman had been before he’d been washed up on Japan’s shores. Must have been at least three years ago.

  He was alert and relaxed. Giselle’s fears over the window had been partially soothed and he felt she trusted him now. Time would tell if she could. He flexed his arms and drew his sword, then he began slicing up the sheets of the bed into strips, twisting them and tying the ends together, testing them thoroughly. They held and he grunted in satisfaction. He leaned out of the window and looked down. The drop looked to be fifty feet to the bottom. He looked at his improvised rope. He’d got sixty feet from the two sheets so that should be more than enough. He tied one end to the bed leg and left the rest roughly piled on the bed.

  Next he made his way over to the door and listened. This wouldn’t be so pleasant but it was necessary. He threw the door open inwards with a sudden jerk, and the two guards turned in surprise. He slashed down viciously at the one to the left, cutting him through the shoulder and down into the chest cavity. The guard gurgled and collapsed in a heap, and Casca pulled the bloodied blade out of the falling corpse and turned to the second man who was raising his spear in shock.

  Casca gave him no chance, smashing the pommel of his sword into his teeth, breaking them and his lower jaw, then rammed it into his solar plexus, taking what wind there was out of him. He slid the blade of his weapon into his ribs to finish him off, then quickly glanced about to make sure it had been unnoticed. Nobody was around.

  Relieved, he dragged the two corpses into the room and through into the garderobe, sitting one on the seat and the other in an untidy heap at his feet. He returned to the corridor and shut the door behind him, swiftly making his way along the passage to the stairs and up. The walls were solid rock, having been carved out of the hillside, and it kept the heat out very effectively. No wonder they needed fireplaces h
ere.

  The top of the stairs opened to a long passage and guards could be seen outside one of the doors; the women were in that one, Casca had no doubt of that. Gripping his sword he went along the passageway as fast as he could. The guards turned and reacted quickly, spears dropping and pointing towards him. Casca swung his sword, smashing one spear tip off, and he ducked away from the second and felt it pass harmlessly above his right shoulder. He rammed the blade into the guts of the first guard and held him close.

  The second tried to stick him but only succeeded in sinking his spear into the body of his comrade. Behind him the door opened and the women were framed there, eyes wide in horror. Casca shoved the dead man into his colleague and both fell in a heap. Casca found skewering the second man too easy, but he couldn’t afford to let him live and ruin the escape plan.

  “Okay,” he breathed, let’s go!”

  Eleanor and the two servants ran quickly after Casca, fear sending them on their way. Down they went and along the passage to Casca’s chamber. They filed in and Casca shut the door, dragging a cupboard across to block it, just in case. He grabbed the rope, peered out of the window, and seeing nobody down there on guard, threw it out. He looked down and saw the bottom flop onto the ground. “Good, it’s long enough!”

  He dragged the bed up against the window and beckoned to the first of the servants, Giselle’s friend Monique. “Monique, you go first. I’ll hold the rope and let you down.” He hauled the rope up and tied the end round the shaking girl. She looked as though she might refuse, but Eleanor nodded curtly and Monique, quivering in fear, backed out, clutching onto the rope for dear life. Casca paid out, finding the girl fairly light, and Giselle kept on peering out as her friend descended away from them, spinning round as she caught the rock as she went.

  “Okay she’s down!” Giselle said excitedly. Monique untied the rope with difficulty and Casca hauled the rope up again. He tied it to Giselle and smiled encouragingly. Giselle began sobbing; suddenly it was all too much. “I-I can’t!” she blubbered.