'I have considered all that you have told me,' he announced as I took my place before him, 'and I have concluded that you are a spy of the most dangerous variety: he who is without loyalty, and subject to no lord but himself. Therefore, I have decided that you will remain a prisoner.'
'It was a mistake,' I asserted. 'I should never have been brought here.'
'Yet, here you are,' the caliph said. 'Qismah! All is as Allah wills it so to be. There is no such thing as a mistake. If you are a captive, it is because that is what Allah intended. Who is wise enough to instruct God?' He gazed around, gathering the admiring glances of his retinue, then said, 'You will remain a prisoner.'
This pronouncement delighted Sahak, my faithless interpreter; it was all he could do to suppress his glee. But the next declaration jolted even Sahak. Regarding me coldly, the caliph said, 'What is more, if no one conies forwards to arrange your ransom in three days' time, you will be executed. In the name of Allah, this is my decree.'
I was in no way prepared for this decision. My thoughts instantly scattered far and wide. I thought of you, Gait, and all I had left back home, of Padraig arriving too late and finding my lifeless body hanging from the city walls, of Sydoni weeping over my grave… so many strange thoughts raced through my head that it took me a moment to recollect myself.
'My Lord Khalifa,' I said, trying to remain calm in the face of such an illogical and unjust pronouncement. 'I do not know why my friends have not come for me. I can assure you the ransom will be paid; however, three days is not enough time. It is a long way from Anazarbus to Damascus.'
'They could have come for you any time since your capture, but they have not,' the caliph pointed out. 'I suspect they are not coming, that these friends of yours are merely a ruse to prolong your duplicitous existence, and that it is pointless keeping you alive. Three days,' he declared, 'no more.'
The assembled onlookers murmured their approval at the caliph's display of judicial firmness. Steadying my voice to present a brave face, I replied, 'Then, as a nobleman, I beg the Wise Khalifa's indulgence to honour a last request.'
The idea sparked al-Mutarshid's interest. I think he had not expected me to think of that. 'Within reason, of course,' he said. 'What is your last request?'
'I would like to leave a message for my family at home in Scotland, so that they will know what happened to me.'
It was a simple thing, but possessed of a certain nobility, and I could see al-Mutarshid found the idea appealing. 'Very well,' he agreed, 'you shall write your message.' He looked at me with thoughtful curiosity. 'How, in the name of the Prophet, peace be unto him, do you expect this letter of yours to reach your family?'
'Exalted Lord,' I replied, 'it is not beyond your power to command such a thing to be done. Many pilgrims return to the West after their pilgrimage is completed. No doubt one of them would consent to take the message.'
'It will be done,' the caliph said, and the audience was concluded.
Amazed that he should have agreed so easily, I thanked him for his compassion and generosity, and was taken back to my cell. Knowing the Arab mind a little better now, I see I had obligated him with my request and he could not possibly refuse-without appearing a weak and arbitrary ruler in front of his advisors and liegemen. As he had so carefully cultivated himself as a fount of wisdom and learning among his people, he could not allow himself to appear less noble than the insignificant wretch he had just condemned.
Thus, I won the boon I asked. Had I known it would be that easy, Gait, I might have asked for something of greater consequence. Still, I was content.
The guards marched me back to my cell, where I spent the rest of the day and night praying that I might live long enough to fulfil my pilgrimage vow and recover the Black Rood. The next morning, Sahak appeared with a small square of parchment, a pot of ink, and a supply of quills-a gift of the caliph, he said, for my letter.
I was happy to have these things, and I told Sahak to thank the caliph for supplying them. 'He will kill you as he said,' the katib told me unhappily. 'It was no idle threat.'
I told him that no, I did not imagine that the great caliph was in the habit of making idle threats to impress the prisoners with his power. 'I shall be sorry to see you die,' Sahak said.
'Why? You have never liked me. There have been many times when you might have spoken up for me, yet you have not done so-and I, the man who helped save your people from Bohemond's attack.' I let him have the full brunt of my anger and exasperation. 'You might have done it out of charity for a fellow Christian, if nothing else.'
The miserable scribe hung his head. 'It is true,' he simpered. 'But there is more you do not know.'
'Yes?'
He hesitated, drawing his sleeve across damp eyes. 'The brooch…'
I stared at him, a sick feeling beginning to spread through me. 'What about it?'
Unable to look me in the eye, he lowered his head still further. 'I did not send it back to Anazarbus,' he muttered. Then, overcome by the enormity of his guilt, he turned and hurried away before I could call down heavenly wrath upon his worthless hide.
I sat down and thought long and hard about what he had told me. After the first storm of fury subsided, I began to survey my position more dispassionately. In the end, I decided that it did not matter whether Sahak returned the brooch as he had promised, or whether, as I suspect, he kept it for himself. Knowing that the Black Rood was among Ghazi's plunder, I wanted to stay close by no matter what. As the amir's captive, I remained close without arousing even the least shade of suspicion.
The Caliph of Baghdad's decree of execution was another matter, but one which was beyond my influence entirely. As I could do nothing to improve my position for the moment, I was content to leave it to the Swift Sure Hand.
Two days passed, but no one came for me, neither did Sahak appear at my door. I wrote my letter, taking time to ponder each and every word before putting it down so I would not have to blot it out. If, in God's eternal plan, I was meant to fall to the headsman's sword, I wanted my last message to be perfect.
The rest of the time, I paced the small confines of my cell, sometimes praying that Padraig would miraculously appear and come striding down the long prison corridor bearing a bag full of silver dinars to buy my release. 'I hope you have not been worrying,' I could hear him say. 'I was delayed a little. Still, all in God's good time. I will have you out of there before you know it.'
Needless to say, Padraig did not arrive.
On the morning of the third day since my last audience with Caliph al-Mutarshid, I awoke to rumbling in the guardroom above the prison cells-the pounding of feet and the clatter of weapons. At first, I thought an attack must be taking place, a raid on the city in reprisal for the destruction of Bohemond's army, perhaps. But then all went very quiet and I, along with the rest of the prisoners, sat waiting throughout the day for some word or sign of what was taking place beyond the prison walls.
Towards evening the guards returned to the guardhouse and our jailer brought our day's ration of food and water. He did not understand us, nor we him, so it was not until Sahak came the next morning that I learned of the arrival of an envoy from the Caliph of Cairo.
At the time, I did not consider this to be an event of much significance. But that is the way of things in the East. Alliances shift like sand on the wind. Loyalties ebb and flow with the tide. The restless wind sifts through the ancient realms and old orders are swept away in the twinkling of an eye. An emissary arrived from Egypt, and the future of the Holy Land changed.