Chapter 31
Darin saw them first. He raised his arm and shouted out to Broderic above the noise of hooves and jingling harness. They reined in their horses.
“It’s Agravain!”
The two young knights surveyed the three riders at the other side of the plain. There was no mistaking the brown and orange shield and surcoat of the big knight in the middle. They watched as Sir Agravain and the other two men put on their helmets and drew their swords.
“I don’t think it’s polite conversation they are looking for,” murmured Broderic, reaching for the helm hanging from his saddle.
Darin did the same, then dressed his shield and took his sword in hand. “Traitor knights! We can take them.” He spurred his steed forward.
Dart reared, snorting wildly. All his energy, pent up for so long on board ship, surged through him as he galloped in a headlong charge to meet the enemy, nostrils flaring, scenting battle. Darin cast a sidelong glance at his friend, who was leaning forward in his saddle, right arm extended in front of him, sword pointing the way ahead. Darin smiled grimly—Broderic’s fighting style had ever been flamboyant, but effective nevertheless. Then he turned his attention to the knight with the plain green shield who was bearing down on him.
They met with a crash of sword on shield. Dart’s pace was too hectic for there to be time for more than one blow, but Darin quickly reined him in and turned to face his opponent again. He saw out of the corner of his eye the man who had met with Broderic, lying motionless on the ground; Broderic was now moving in to engage with Agravain.
Darin and the knight with the green shield began hacking at each other with their swords. Try as he may, Darin could find no opening. At length, in a fit of impatient anger, he slashed at his opponent with such fury that the knight’s charger staggered and reared back. Almost losing his seat, the rider grabbed for the reins with both hands and his sword fell to the ground. Disarmed, he regained his saddle and galloped away from the field of battle, back towards the slope to the shore.
For a moment, Darin contemplated pursuing his foe, but then thought better of it. Broderic was being hard pressed by Sir Agravain, a knight renowned for his horsemanship and skill with the sword. He turned Dart and rode at them.
“Agravain!” he yelled. “Throw down your sword!”
Broderic and Agravain suddenly stopped raining blows on each other; they were staring at the city walls. Darin looked over his shoulder. A troop of horsemen came galloping out of the corner gate, tunics and headgear all bright colours, the sun glinting on steel breastplates and curved scimitar blades.
Before they had time to think, the three knights were surrounded. Mounted warriors jostled them closely; one of them, the lavishness of whose dress marked him out as leader, barked some command in a guttural tongue unknown to them. His gestures, however, were not difficult to understand. The three knights sheathed their swords. Two men then dismounted and picked up the wounded knight who had fallen in his encounter with Broderic; he groaned as they slung him over one of their horses.
Still surrounded by the exotic warrior troop, they rode in through the gates and made their way uphill along a street barely wide enough for them to pass through two abreast. Their progress was followed by the innumerable hooded figures crowding the narrow streets that led away on either side—men with bronzed faces in long grey or brown robes. More people scrutinized them from the rooftops and doorways of the windowless buildings lining the street.
Eventually they came to the top of the hill. A wide flight of shallow stone steps brought them to an open paved area, bounded at the far side by a high wall. Sentries dressed in the same manner as the horsemen stood on guard by a huge archway, carved all over with intertwined, stylized flowering trees and closed by elaborately wrought iron gates. Seeing the approaching cavalcade, they quickly threw open the gates and stood aside.
The company now left the daylight behind them and entered a long, gloomy gallery. Everyone dismounted. The leader called out and men came from one end of the gallery to lead off the horses; from the other end, two figures in white robes emerged from the shadows bearing a stretcher. The wounded knight was carried away. The leader then gestured for the three knights, accompanied by an equal number of his warriors, to follow him through a further archway.
They stepped into a sunlit courtyard, in the middle of which a sparkling fountain splashed its waters into a basin lined with tiles, richly decorated and glazed in vibrant blue, purple and orange. The pillars supporting the rows of arches that opened onto the courtyard from the covered walkways on three sides of it were all similarly tiled. Darin caught the sound of women’s laughter coming from the dim recesses at one side.
Opposite them, the fourth side of the courtyard was a dazzling white wall with broad windows flanking another splendid archway. Passing through it, they found themselves in a lofty hall. Light from the courtyard and from high casements at the other end of the chamber fell on a scene of sumptuous splendour. Glazed tiles, in the same jewel-like colours as the courtyard, covered every inch of ceiling, floor, walls and pillars, artfully arranged to trace an intricate web of arabesques and geometric patterns over the entire hall. All around were couches draped with rich silken fabrics, patterned rugs in subtle green and purple hues and small ebony tables with delicately carved legs, inlaid with ivory. Ornate jugs and bowls of gold or silver, and the dim gleam of polished red copper, all added their notes to the great symphony of colour that overwhelmed them.
Men in embroidered robes of a magnificence to match their surroundings sat, strolled at ease about the chamber or stood in groups conversing. They glanced over at the newcomers, but seemed not to pay much attention to them. Darin felt a nudge. Broderic was pointing down the room to their right.
In the corner of the chamber was a raised dais. On it stood a low table covered with purple velvet; upon that, lay a huge single-bladed axe, by far the biggest Darin had ever seen. Even from where he stood, the exquisite workmanship was evident. The long handle, bound in green leather, was studded with gold and emeralds. The head of the axe was enamelled in green and chased with gold; the blade was of shining steel. A battered leather case lay beside it.
“The object of our quest,” whispered Broderic.
At that moment, a burst of wild music came from the doorway next to the dais—cymbals, drums and the reedy wailing of some blown instrument. All the men in the hall fell silent and rose to their feet; then, with one accord, they dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the ground as two figures appeared in the doorway.
The courtiers were soon on their feet again, but kept their heads respectfully bowed as the two passed amongst them. One of the men who had just entered the chamber had a dark, narrow face with a long, thin black beard hanging from his chin; he wore a robe of blue silk and a tall conical hat. As he walked, he glanced from face to face with quick, shrewd eyes. The imposing personage by his side stood a head taller than any other man in the room; with patrician features and aquiline nose, he fixed his gaze constantly before him, as if intent upon some reality other than the great hall thronged with courtiers.
“Sultan al-Din!” said Darin under his breath.
The man in the conical hat exchanged a few words with the leader of the soldiers guarding Darin, Broderic and Agravain. He then whispered something in Sultan al-Din’s ear. The sultan turned his head and regarded the three knights from Logres. He took a step towards them and addressed them in their own tongue, in perfectly modulated tones.
“So. Stranger knights, guests in our realm, squabbling outside our city walls!”