‘Fruit for the Sayyid,’ Hashim replied, his eyes narrowed as he wondered why Leopold was asking a question he already knew the answer to.
‘Show me!’ Leopold stared at Hashim as he opened the bag and held it out for Leopold to look in.
As he stared at Hashim, Leopold swung the blade off his shoulder, narrowly missing Hashim’s face and pulled down one side of the bag exposing the fruit, ‘What are you up to?
’I buy fruit for the Sayyid,’ explained Hashim, ‘as I have always done, as I did for the Sayyid de Chauvigny.’
‘He never trusted you Hashim,’ Leopold snarled, ‘and I don’t trust you, you’re as much a servant as I am,’ he plunged the blade into the bag and pulled it out with a pomegranate stuck on the end. ‘I’m watching you,’ warned Leopold, ‘one day soon you will make a mistake and your head will be mine!’
Hashim shielded his eyes as he gave a courteous bow before turning away from the German and slowly climbing the stairs to the balcony. Once he reached the top he resisted the temptation to look back and made his way to de Capo’s quarters, his eyes blazed with hate as he approached the door, but before he entered he closed them, took a deep breath and uttered a short prayer.
Chapter Thirteen
The atmosphere was tense. No one had refused. As instructed, Leopold made the oath first, followed by de Paganel. From midday until late into the evening de Capo stood at the side of the altar on the opposite side to Leopold and de Paganel and watched as each man entered the chapel, some cautiously, others belligerently. One by one they knelt before the cross, placing their swords against the holy bible, renouncing their oath to de Chauvigny and renewing it in favour of the King and Kingdom of Jerusalem. Ignoring de Capo they looked at Leopold and de Paganel who both gave a small nod, their approval of what they were about to do.
Father Erasmus was the Pope’s witness, but unable to hide his nerves throughout the whole incident he glanced nervously at the two knights. Efrayim wrote the name of each man as he made the oath, taking on the role father Erasmus seemed unable to do due to his nervous state, and prompting the men on the oath if they struggled with the words. By the end of the evening every fighting man had made the oath and the manuscript was handed to de Capo who rolled it and placed the wax seal of the Commander of the Castle of the Mount on the silk which bound it. Once that was done it was stored in the strong box padlocked to the floor and wall in his quarters. When de Capo had finished, Hashim closed and locked the door, placing the locking bar across to prevent any sudden entry.
De Capo watched curiously, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Protecting you,’ said Hashim, ‘I have heard men talk and some are reckless.’
‘You think I am in danger here?’
‘I know you are in danger Sayyid, you have forced them to do something unthinkable and there are those who will not forgive or forget, it is for this reason I will stay tonight.’
De Capo and Hashim made eye contact and neither man wavered until Hashim spoke softly, ‘You can trust me Sayyid, you have many friends who are not in this castle and I have the unbearable task of ensuring your safety.’
De Capo was more than a little bewildered by those words, ‘I don’t understand….who are you?’
‘I am your servant,’ said Hashim, ‘but there are men who owe you a debt for what you did with the Butcher, these men you can trust, even though they are your enemy!’
‘The prisoners?’ De Capo was mystified as he tried to think of a rational explanation for the situation he was in, surrounded by Christian knights and yet listening to a man who claimed he was safer with the enemy.
‘Please,’ said Hashim as he pointed at de Capo’s sword.
De Capo turned almost without thinking and allowed Hashim to remove his sword belt. As Hashim hung the weapon on the cross stand next to the bed, de Capo slouched at his desk. He pinched the top of his nose and yawned before rubbing his eyes. He had slept fitfully the night before and exhaustion was close. The Constable had placed him in charge of men who hated him and being unable to relax for a second was both wearing and unsustainable. He watched as Hashim poured some water for him and placed it next to the bed. He looked at the barred door and realised what Hashim had done was common sense. He finally nodded in agreement, ‘Very well Hashim, you can stay.’ He stood and spread his arms.
‘I am grateful Sayyid,’ said Hashim as he removed the surcoat and lifted his mail coif over his head,
‘Grateful?’ De Capo sighed, ‘I’m the one who should be grateful.’
Hashim smiled as he unbuckled the plate protecting his upper arms before removing the steel plate that covered his upper chest. The plate and mail were removed until de Capo wore only his padded gambeson and leather boots which were covered with steel scales. By the time those items had been removed both cross stands were adorned with his armour and weapons.
Weariness overtook him and he fell asleep within seconds of lying down.
Hashim partially closed the shutters, blew out the candles and unrolled his sleeping mat. As he lay down he thought about Ibrahim, ‘He will need men he can trust….I will think about this.’ Those words stuck in his head as he too closed his eyes and slept.
Chapter Fourteen
Juubaan al Jaludi longed for the comfort of home, the touch of his wife and the sound of his children. He knew the day would come when he could return and it was a day he would not have seen had it not been for the Christian knight who saved them from the Butcher. He stared through tired eyes across the arid landscape at the image of the city in the distance, an image that shimmered when the sun was high. Despite the dryness of the land there was water beneath, borne out by the prickly bushes and cantankerous looking trees dotting the land, and in some places where men had managed to dig wells and irrigate the land, there were crops grown where once there was nothing but dust.
Juubaan believed in this land and believed in the absolute right of his people to drive the invaders out. As he knelt, he pushed his fingers into the dry soil and held it loosely in his hand before letting the grains slip through his fingers, wondering at the madness infecting men enough to make them die in a land so far from their homes. The aroma of freshly cooked flat bread reached his senses and he felt his stomach grumble. He desired meat, but the apricots and dates offered to him would be sufficient to appease his appetite, and he knew young Kurjii would create an aromatic dip from the spices he carried with him.
The sun was rising in the east and the shadows were still long when he heard the sound of horses entering the small valley behind him and voices he recognised greeting Kurjii. Shortly after he felt the vibration of footsteps and looked around as Baktamar crouched beside him, ‘As-Salaamu `Alaykum.’
‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,’ replied Juubaan.
‘Your wife sends her undying love,’ said Baktamar with a smile, ‘and your children ask that their father, ferocious in battle and honourable at home and a rock to their mother return to them in one piece.’
Juubaan’s head inclined slightly as he grinned, ‘If all is well with my family, all is well with the world, thanks be to Allah, blessed be his name.’
‘And thanks be to the Sultan Baibers,’ said Baktamar, ‘he has given his blessing for us to remain here.’
‘The Sultan Baibers?’ Juubaan was confused.
Baktamar placed a hand on Juubaan’s shoulder, ‘We have a new Sultan.’
Juubaan shrugged, ‘It seems being a Sultan may be a dangerous occupation my Lord!’
‘Indeed,’ Baktamar replied, ‘but he has granted us one month to remain here and repay the debt.’
‘What happens after one month?’
Baktamar smiled, ‘We drive the Franks from this land!’
‘Thirty days is not long,’ Juubaan claimed, ‘I think Kurjii will be busy.’
‘Kurjii is a good cook,’ said Baktamar smiling, ‘we must keep his secrets hidden from the Sultan.’
Juubaan cocked his head to one side, ‘I would willingly all
ow you to suffer my own cooking,’ he joked, ‘if we could repay this debt quickly, but as you can see I still sit here and watch.’
‘We will watch together,’ said Baktamar, ‘and pray our brother is well.’ He turned and raised a hand at Kurjii who waved back before placing the food in a leather bag and carrying it up the slope to the two men.
The men Baktamar had bought with him dismounted and prepared themselves for a long wait.
Chapter Fifteen
Édouard le Boursier screamed at the young Arab boy who stood holding the bucket and ladle, mesmerised by the armoured men who fought each other in the scorching furnace that was the courtyard of the Castle of the Mount, ‘Water!’ Le Boursier glared at the young boy as he took a pace forwards and shouted in his native French, ‘J'ai dit eau que vous petit bâtard!’ ‘I said water you little bastard!’
The sounds of men grunting and cursing as they slammed their blunted swords into the shields, bodies and limbs of their comrades reverberated around the castle walls but the boy still made no indication he heard the call for water. Le Boursier’s shoulders slumped and he dropped the sword and shield that made his muscles ache and strode across the dusty ground towards the boy. The movement woke the boy from his reverie and he leapt into action and ran towards le Boursier who was angry, angrier than he had been for a long time. He was unbelievably hot and the sweat ran down his face in rivulets as he tried to wipe away the salty liquid from his eyes. He fell to one knee as the boy reached him and snatched the ladle from his small hand. Pulling his helmet off he ripped his mail coif from his head, plunged the ladle into the water and poured it over his head before gulping great mouthfuls.
He saw at least half a dozen men slaking their thirst from the servant boys around the perimeter of the courtyard. Taking deep breaths, he looked up at the sun, squinting as the heat struck his face and dried the water and sweat leaving white trails across his skin. He took another ladle full of water, tipped it over his head and glared at the boy who stood, waiting to be reprimanded for not hearing the call for water, or even worse, to be struck hard for the misdemeanour. Le Boursier simply waved him away and stood, helmet in hand and pulled his mail coif back over his head. He turned to his adversary who had himself removed his helmet and coif and fallen to one knee.
The sound of clashing blades and the dull thwack as blades struck blades and armour filled his ears as he walked back to where he dropped his shield and sword. He bent down, spat on the baked ground, cursed the man who had ordered this practice, and looked to his right as a man’s screams were preceded by the loud crack of a breaking bone. Training with sword, spear and axe in the midday sun was back breaking even when the only enemy was a wooden post but de Capo was making them fight in full armour, and fight each other. Although they used blunted swords, men were still being sent to the infirmary with broken bones and severe bruising. The infirmary had seen more injuries since de Capo took command, than in the preceding six months.
The grunts of the men became weaker the longer they practiced. The heat of the sun sapped their energy ten times faster than normal and as the day progressed, the injuries increased. Just five days since the oath taking and already eleven men had broken bones and most of the others had bruises and cuts, some as bad as those received in combat.
De Capo’s training regime was relentless, ‘When the injuries cease we will have made some progress,’ he told Leopold who queried the necessity of fighting in the midday sun, adding, ‘do you think the Muslim complains about the heat?’
Leopold glared angrily at de Capo and walked away to join de Paganel in berating the incompetent and teaching the inexperienced.
Le Boursier nodded at his opponent; a Burgundian called Roberge who replaced his coif and helmet and forced himself to his feet hefting his shield high on his left shoulder whilst holding his sword high above his right. The rules were simple; you fought until one man dropped, yielded or fell wounded unable to continue.
De Capo stalked the courtyard watching how each pair fought, and if either man did not fight hard enough, he would pair both men with fresh opponents. Leopold had cursed him, de Paganel had cursed him, but until they were told otherwise were all bound by the oath they had made. De Capo had made it abundantly clear he would punish any man who failed to carry out his orders.
‘Let us finish this,’ le Boursier said to Roberge who grinned and stepped forward pushing his shield high as his blade swept down towards le Boursier’s head.
~
Hashim walked to the side and slightly behind de Capo, his eyes constantly searching for danger to the Sayyid. As instructed, each morning he sat in the circle of men and sipped his tea until Ibrahim arrived and sat next to him, each morning Hashim told him all he had learnt about de Capo, his likes and dislikes, what he ate, how he treated his servants, how he treated his men, and explained what had happened the day before and what was planned for the rest of that day. He explained about Leopold and de Paganel, the feelings of the men and the loathing they all seemed to share for this one man.
Ibrahim asked questions, some apparently insignificant and others personal. Hashim answered them as best he could and if he didn’t know the answer he would promise to try and find out, but each day Ibrahim asked the same question, ‘Have they tried to kill him yet?’
Hashim had always answered truthfully, ‘No, but the rumours are it will happen soon.’
‘Allah, blessed be his name, works in ways we cannot hope to understand,’ said Ibrahim as he savoured the tea, ‘I have men who are willing to protect him, men he can trust.’
‘I will talk to him,’ promised Hashim.
A bond had quickly developed between de Capo and Hashim. A bond that was more than just a servant/master relationship, but Hashim was still wary about suggesting a bodyguard, ‘These men will not protect you Sayyid.’
‘I know,’ de Capo replied as he signed supply orders prepared by Efrayim, ‘but they will not go against the Constable, not unless the orders are illegal.’
‘In my world we have something called accidents Sayyid,’ Hashim said sarcastically, ‘perhaps in your world there is no such thing?’
De Capo signed a parchment, sat back and sighed, ‘You have told me what I have known ever since I arrived.’ He glanced at Efrayim, who sat with a small smile on his face before looking up at Hashim again, ‘and you still continue to tell me what I already know, why don’t you get to the point?’
‘You have friends Sayyid, men who will guard you, men you can trust.’
‘Friends?’
Hashim smiled and gave a gentle nod, ‘Friends Sayyid, good men.’
‘Who are these men?’
Hashim looked at Efrayim who gave a small nod of his ancient head, ‘They are the Sultan’s men, but they will guard you with their lives; that I promise.’
‘Saracens!’ said de Capo incredulously. ‘You want me to bring armed Saracens into this castle to guard me against Christian knights?’
‘These men,’ said Hashim softly, ‘these men you call Christian knights have black hearts….’
‘No!’ De Capo interrupted harshly, ‘No…that will never happen….my life is in no more danger now than when I came here and there have been no attempts!’
Hashim had to agree, so far there had not been an attempt on his life but he was never going to let his guard down. He was standing on the edge of the courtyard watching while twelve pairs of men sparred with each other. When one couple had finished another took their place. There were no meals during the day; the only refreshment allowed was water. Hashim was nervous even though he did not show it. He could see the looks these men gave de Capo and he wondered at his apparent lack of concern.
‘Who is that?’ De Capo pointed towards le Boursier who blocked and parried his opponent’s blows with a style he had not seen before.
‘His name is le Boursier, but they call him le Marteau, the hammer,’ replied Hashim, ‘his chosen weapon is a heavy steel hammer he wields with monstrous efficie
ncy, many of my people have had their heads crushed by this man.’
De Capo narrowed his eyes as he watched le Boursier wield the sword he had been forced to use. The man was strong, that much was obvious. To fight with a heavy war hammer could only be done by someone with exceptional strength but even in this heat that strength was being sapped. His opponent, Roberge was struggling to break through his guard but despite the skill he was also showing, his blade was easily blocked or knocked to one side by the Frenchman. Roberge finally made a mistake, dropping his shield just a fraction too low and le Boursier swung the sword with phenomenal speed striking Roberge on the side of his head with the blunted edge of his sword.
Despite the padding under the mail coif and the strength of the helmet, Roberge’s shield and sword hung limp at his side as his legs teetered. The blow to the head was crippling and one that would have killed instantly had the blade been sharp. The force of the blow was more than a sparring blow should have been, and Roberge’s eyes glazed over as his legs started to buckle.
The second strike was not only unexpected but unnecessary. As Roberge’s legs gave way le Boursier struck again and once more slammed his blade into the side of Roberge’s head. The wounded man fell to the side as his sword slipped from his hand and both man and weapon hit the hard baked ground with a thud. Le Boursier stepped forward and raised his sword ready to slam it into Roberge’s face, but before he could hack down he was dragged backwards by Leopold who grabbed his sword arm and yelled, ‘Enough!’
Le Boursier screamed in a blind fury and turned on Leopold who smashed a mailed fist into his face, the force of which made him stagger backwards before he stood and glared at Leopold with enmity in his eyes.
‘Stand down,’ ordered Leopold as he half pulled his sword, ‘if you still want to fight, I will fight you!’
Le Boursier wiped the blood from his mouth and held up the blunted sword angrily, ‘Why do we fight each other with these, we should be out there killing Saracens, instead we cower in here with a traitor!’ He spat on the ground and looked towards de Capo who was walking towards them, ‘Let him fight me!’