Yusuf retrieved his own blade and turned to see the Frank staggering towards him. He wore a helmet that hid his face, but Yusuf could see enough of his sparse beard to know his opponent was a young man. The Frank attacked with a roar, hacking down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf turned the sword aside with his own blade and swung backhanded. The Frank surprised him by charging, slamming his shoulder into Yusuf’s chest before his blow could land. Yusuf stumbled backwards. He raised his sword just in time to parry a thrust that would have skewered him. The knight pressed the attack, and Yusuf gave ground. His knee ached, making him slow and clumsy. He stumbled, and the knight lunged to finish him. Yusuf just managed to sidestep the blow. He swung his sword up in a wide arc and hit his foe in the side of the helmet. There was a loud ring, and the knight fell to the ground, unmoving.
Yusuf raised his sword to finish him. Then he heard a familiar voice. ‘Yusuf, wait!’
‘Wait!’ John called again. He dismounted and took a step towards Yusuf. John removed his helmet and Yusuf’s eyes widened.
‘John? What-?’
‘Serving my king.’ John gestured to the prone figure that lay between them.
‘This is Baldwin?’
John nodded. Yusuf met his eyes. ‘This war could be over now. Let me kill him.’
‘I cannot.’
Yusuf hesitated for a moment and then raised his sword.
‘Yusuf!’ John took two steps forward. Yusuf paused, his sword held high. ‘Leave him be!’
Yusuf hesitated a moment longer and then swung down. John was already in motion. His blade met Yusuf’s steel only a handspan above the king’s prone figure. The two friends locked gazes.
‘You choose him over me?’ Yusuf demanded.
‘I choose to do my duty.’
Yusuf’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘I am your friend, John. Your brother in all but blood.’
‘He is my king.’
‘If Baldwin dies, the Kingdom will be in chaos. I can take Jerusalem. I can bring peace, to your people and mine.’
John shook his head. ‘I cannot let you kill him.’
John saw the knuckles of Yusuf’s hand whiten as he gripped his sword tighter. Then he swung for John’s head. John blocked the blow. Yusuf drove him back a few feet, slicing at his chest again and again. But Yusuf’s injured leg made his steps slow, and John turned each blow aside with ease. Finally he stepped back and lowered his sword. ‘I will not fight you, Yusuf.’
Yusuf’s only response was to attack with renewed vigour. He slashed at John’s side, and when John blocked the blow, he spun and swung for his head. John ducked, and for a moment Yusuf was completely exposed. John could have killed him, but he again stepped away.
‘Fight me!’
‘Never, Brother.’
‘I am not your brother. You have betrayed me to fight with the Franks.’
‘I did not betray you. I was captured by the Franks because I saved your life.’
‘You could have come back to us, but you chose not to. You betrayed me, just like you betrayed my sister. You used her and left her.’
John’s grip tightened on his sword. He felt the blood begin to pound in his temples. ‘I loved her,’ he said quietly. ‘I would have stayed with her.’
‘You made her into a whore!’
A roar boiled up from deep within John. He charged, hacking down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf sidestepped and swung for John’s side, but John was already spinning away, just out of reach of Yusuf’s sword. He attacked again, thrusting for Yusuf’s chest. Yusuf parried, and John swung backhanded for Yusuf’s throat. Yusuf ducked and lunged. John just managed to twist out of the way of the blow, but Yusuf’s blade still glanced off his side. The sudden pain in his ribs only made him angrier. He roared again and, gripping his sword with two hands, brought it slicing towards Yusuf’s unprotected side. Yusuf recovered from his lunge just in time to block the blow. Their swords met and locked together, bringing them close. Yusuf head-butted John, snapping his head back. John responded by kicking Yusuf hard in his injured leg. With a cry Yusuf fell to his knees. John slammed the flat of his blade down on his wrist, and Yusuf dropped his sword.
John kicked the weapon away. He was breathing hard and his pulse was still pounding in his temples. Yusuf looked up at him and closed his eyes. He was prepared to die. John raised his sword, but froze. A memory had risen unbidden in his mind: Yusuf standing over him while John knelt, waiting for his friend to kill him. Yusuf had spared him then.
John lowered his sword. ‘Go.’
Yusuf opened his eyes. They shone with tears. ‘Kill me,’ he pleaded. ‘Do you not see? I have lost everything. I have been humiliated. Kill me.’
John tossed his sword aside and then gripped Yusuf under his arms and pulled him to his feet. ‘It is only one battle, friend. Live to fight another.’ He shoved Yusuf away, towards the hills to the south. ‘Go!’
Yusuf hesitated for a moment and then limped away. John watched until he was sure his friend would reach the hills safely before turning and kneeling beside the king. Baldwin’s face was masked in blood. John carefully removed his dented helmet. There was an angry wound above the right temple, but it did not look fatal.
Baldwin’s eyes fluttered open. ‘John?’
‘I am here, sire.’
‘What happened?’
‘You have won the day. The enemy is fled.’
Baldwin reached up and touched the wound on his head. He winced. ‘How did I come to be here?’
‘You were knocked unconscious.’
Baldwin blinked, then nodded, remembering. ‘I thought he would kill me-You saved my life, John.’
‘I did my duty, sire.’
‘I will not forget it. I owe my life, and this victory, to you.’
Chapter 25
NOVEMBER 1177: MONTGISARD
John and Baldwin walked past scores of fallen Saracens as they crossed the plain towards where the first Christian tents had been erected. Most of the Franks were still running down the enemy, but a few hundred had begun to set up camp. Cooks were starting fires while other men gathered booty from their fallen enemies and piled it in camp, to be divided later. The men knelt as Baldwin passed on the way to his tent.
‘Hail, Baldwin!’ someone shouted.
‘Long live the King!’ another cried. ‘Long live the saviour of Jerusalem!’
John followed Baldwin into the tent. Reynald was already there, giving orders as to how the camp should be set up. His nose was swollen and crusted with blood. ‘Sire!’ he cried. ‘Thank God you are well.’ Then he saw John and scowled. ‘Guards! Seize that man!’
Two of Reynald’s men grabbed John’s arms.
‘Stop!’ Baldwin roared. ‘Release him.’
‘He struck me, sire,’ Reynald protested. ‘He broke my nose.’
Baldwin looked to John, who shrugged. ‘He was trying to signal the retreat.’
‘Is this true, Reynald?’
Reynald ignored the question. ‘I am the regent. This man assaulted me. He should be placed in irons.’
‘John saved my life.’ Baldwin drew himself up straight and looked down his nose at Reynald. ‘If anyone should be placed in irons, it is you, Reynald. Had I followed your advice, Jerusalem would now be in the hands of the Saracens.’