Выбрать главу

‘This is it,’ John said as he slid from the saddle.

Yusuf dismounted and pounded on the gate. ‘Open up!’ he shouted. He knocked again, then stepped back to wait.

The blind man had stopped singing. He looked towards Yusuf with white, milky eyes. ‘That is an evil place,’ he lisped. ‘I hear things at night, horrible things.’

The gate creaked open, and Yusuf turned away from the old man. A mamluk guard stood in the gateway, blocking the entrance to the home’s courtyard. Yusuf nodded in greeting. ‘We are here to see Reynald.’

The guard’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘He is in there.’ He jerked his head towards the door on the far side of the courtyard.

‘What is he doing?’

‘Only the devil knows. We don’t set foot in the house. It is an unclean place.’

Yusuf glanced at John, who shrugged. Yusuf turned back to the guard and handed him his reins. ‘Look after our horses.’ He strode towards the house, with John following. Yusuf reached the door and pushed it open. They stepped into a rectangular reception room, bare but for a large rush mat in the centre of the wooden floor. The house was silent. No one came to greet them.

‘Is anyone here?’ John called. ‘Reynald?’

They heard the slap of sandals approaching, and a moment later a slave girl entered from a door to the right. She was a young Frankish woman, blonde and pale with a purplish bruise on her left cheek. She bowed when she saw them, then straightened and without speaking pointed down the hallway she had just come from.

As soon as Yusuf entered the hallway he heard something — a muffled whimpering. He turned to John, who raised an eyebrow. The noise grew louder as they continued on, the slave girl trailing them. Yusuf stopped at an open doorway at the end of the hall and saw the source of the muffled cries. A naked slave girl with a gag in her mouth was standing facing away from them, her hands against the far wall of the room. Reynald was behind her, grunting and panting, his breeches around his ankles and his hands on her hips.

‘Excuse me, my lord,’ John called out.

‘I said I did not wish to be disturbed!’ Reynald roared without turning around.

‘Lord Reynald,’ Yusuf called more loudly. ‘I wish to speak with you.’

Reynald glanced behind him, and his face went red. He shoved the girl aside and pulled up his breeches. ‘Mary!’ he shouted at the girl behind Yusuf. ‘Take them to the front and make them comfortable.’ He turned to Yusuf. ‘I will be with you in a moment.’

Yusuf followed Mary back to the reception hall, where she provided them with silk cushions and urged them to sit. She left and returned a few minutes later with tea. Shortly thereafter, Reynald entered, now dressed in a loose-fitting cotton tunic. He sat across from them. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’ he asked.

‘Nur ad-Din has asked me to speak with you,’ Yusuf said. ‘The slaves who serve you are his property. They are not for you to use as you please.’

‘What is the worry?’ Reynald leered. ‘They are spoiled now, anyway. Nur ad-Din can add them to the price of my ransom.’

Yusuf frowned. ‘You have been our prisoner for nearly five years. Your countrymen do not seem eager to pay for your return.’

‘The bastards! Patriarch Aimery has turned them against me.’

‘Be that as it may, it does not appear that you will be leaving any time soon. Nur ad-Din wishes you to know that he will treat you as a guest so long as you behave as a guest should. If you continue to abuse his hospitality, then he will have you thrown in the dungeon.’

‘I see,’ Reynald grunted. ‘So I cannot touch the girls?’ Yusuf shook his head. Reynald glared at him. ‘I cannot leave this place, and I cannot please myself. I might as well be in the dungeon. What am I supposed to do here?’

‘I will bring you books, if you desire.’

‘Books?’ Reynald snorted. ‘Books are for priests. I have no use for them.’

Yusuf’s eyes widened. ‘You cannot read?’

‘I have spent my life in combat, not wasting daylight on books.’ Reynald pointed a thick finger at Yusuf. ‘That is why one Frankish knight is worth ten of you Saracens. You are too cultivated, too learned by half. You are practically women, with your silk robes, perfumes and bath-houses. No wonder you have to hide your women away in harems: so real men will not take them.’

Yusuf wanted to reach out and slap this uncouth barbarian, but he restrained himself. He took a long sip of tea, then set the small cup aside. ‘Learning and cultivation do not make one weak. Throughout history, the civilized man has repeatedly triumphed over the savage: Alexander over the Persians; the Romans over the Gauls; the Prophet over his enemies.’

‘Rome fell.’

‘Only when it became corrupt,’ John interjected.

‘Perhaps that is why God has sent us,’ Reynald said. ‘He has called on a stronger race to wipe you corrupt heathens from this earth.’

‘A stronger race?’ Yusuf smiled in the face of the insult. ‘Yet you are our prisoner.’

Reynald’s cheek twitched. ‘You defeated us through trickery at Jacob’s Ford.’

‘Strategy, not trickery,’ John said. ‘Perhaps if you had read more books, then you would know the difference.’

Reynald turned towards John. ‘So you take his side against me? Do not forget that you were once my man, John, bound to me by oath. But you Saxons are all alike — faithless dogs. King William was right to crush your people.’

‘At least my people have honour.’

‘That is always the answer of the weak.’

‘I am strong enough to beat you,’ John growled.

‘I’d like to see you try, you and your sodomite friend!’

John began to rise, but Yusuf put out a hand to restrain him. ‘Perhaps we can settle this argument in a more civilized fashion,’ he said to Reynald. ‘I shall hold a tournament in the citadel. If you wish to prove your strength in combat, then you can do so there.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’

‘Good,’ Yusuf said and rose. ‘I will see you soon, Reynald. Come, John.’

Yusuf was at the door when Reynald called out to him. ‘A tournament must have a prize. If I win, then I can do as I please with the women.’

Yusuf stopped and turned. He looked to the servant Mary, who stood in the corner, her eyes wide and her legs visibly shaking. He turned back to Reynald, and took a deep breath. ‘So be it.’

Yusuf could hear the ring of steel on steel over the roar of the crowd as he paced in the dim shadows beneath the arena stands. In the ring, John and Qaraqush were facing off in the second to last round of the tournament. Yusuf had sought the shade because he could not bear to watch his two friends fight. Above, the mamluks who packed the stands stood and stamped their feet, sending a shower of dust drifting down. There was a final roar, and then the crowd fell quiet. The contest was over. Yusuf stopped pacing and waited for John and Qaraqush to emerge.

Nur ad-Din had agreed enthusiastically to Yusuf’s idea for a tournament. He had promised a twentieth of Reynald’s ransom — a fortune — to the tournament’s victor. Hundreds of mamluks had volunteered to fight. Yusuf had selected seven men to compete along with Reynald. That morning, John, Qaraqush, Reynald and al-Mashtub had all advanced. After a break for refreshments and prayer, the tournament had resumed with John fighting Qaraqush. As Yusuf watched, two mamluks removed a section of the wall around the ring, and John and Qaraqush stepped through, leaning on one another. Both men’s chainmail was soaked with sweat. Qaraqush was holding his right wrist, which was swollen and red. John limped slightly and had a nasty bruise on his right cheek.

‘Who won?’ Yusuf asked.

‘John,’ Qaraqush grumbled. ‘Damn near took my hand off.’

‘It was a close match,’ John said. ‘I was lucky to win.’

‘ Hmph,’ Qaraqush snorted. ‘Luck my foot; you were better than me. I just hope you beat that Frankish bastard, if it comes to that.’ He nodded towards Reynald, who was approaching the entrance to the ring. The tall, heavy-set Frank wore an open-faced helmet and an iron breastplate over chainmail. He ignored the three friends as he stepped past them into the ring. The huge mamluk al-Mashtub came next, wearing chainmail that left his bulging arms bare.