The governor nodded, face dark. “This will be hard on them—but we shall make it clear that the barbarians would be harder still.”
“They would indeed. Any who wish to leave, my men shall guard for a day’s ride away.”
“Pray Allah that all shall wish it!”
They did. Criers went out into every street and alley, telling the whole populace what they could expect during the siege, and what their fates would be if the horde unthinkably won. By morning all the civilians had packed their valuables, loaded their carts, and lined up at the gate to wait for dawn. The sun rose, and the train of civilians rolled out. Soldiers fell in on each side of the caravan to guard them for the promised day’s ride. Couriers had already gone ahead to plead for sanctuary from other cities. Only a thousand men remained within Jerusalem, and they marched on the palace in a body. Warned by a sentry, the governor came out to meet them. “What means this assembly?” he called.
All the men bowed, and the oldest, a stocky man with grizzled hair and beard, called out, “We wish to share our city’s fate, my lord! All here have ridden as soldiers except the youngest, men in their late teens who wish to learn. We shall join your army, if you will have us!”
The governor grinned and said with pride, “Glad I am to have you. Now it can never be said that the men of Damascus all ran when the invader came. Sit down upon the ground and wait—my officers shall come to give you weapons and begin your drill.”
The order went out for the soldiers to enter the town, to take whatever housing they could find, but not under any circumstances to steal or defile the residences in any way. Tafas also made it clear that when they had beaten the barbarians and ridden out of the city, every house should be as they had’ found it, only cleaner. Mindful of the punishments the Koran imposed, the men took his orders seriously. Most of the soldiers found shelter. The few remaining set up tents in public squares that had formerly held bazaars. When the muezzin called the faithful to evening prayer, Damascus was once again full, and only the holes made by tent pegs showed where the army had camped outside the walls the night before.
But in the hills, a quarter of the army were camped unseen under the boughs of trees, small fires smokeless. The soldiers returning from escorting the civilian caravan rode in to join those camps. They spoke softly, laughed even more softly, and waited for the barbarians to surround the city.
When the prayers were done, Tafas bin Daoud stepped forth before his men on a balcony of the palace. “Here we are, and here we shall stay,” he called out, “until the invader has been banished!”
The army roared approval.
Tafas raised his hand and looked up to heaven, his face solemn. “May Heaven be my witness! I swear that I shall stop these barbarians or die in the attempt!”
A buzz of awed conversation answered him as the men realized for the first time how close they were to death. Then, faces firmed, brows darkened, the soldiers raised their hands and looked up to heaven to bear witness as they shouted the same oath their leader had.
Tafas beamed down upon them and called out, “Many of us will die, but we shall stop the barbarian here, then chase him back whence he came! We who die will be the most blessed, for we will surely waken in Paradise!” His fist punched high into the air and he shouted, “Death to the invader, freedom for Islam, and Paradise for us!”
The men stared, spellbound, for he seemed to swell, to grow, to become something more than a mere man. Once again he was the Mahdi; once again, they realized, they had enlisted in a holy war.
Then all their fists punched high and they shouted, “Death to the invader, and Paradise for us!”
At last the drumbeat slowed and the overseer commanded, “Ship oars!”
With groans of relief the slaves heaved their oars out of the sea, pushed forward until the handle was near the side of the ship, and lowered them. Matt followed suit and could feel the huge blade jar into whatever device held it in place, out of the way of heavy water traffic. A few minutes later the whole ship slowed abruptly, pitching the slaves forward, but the old hands were ready for it and braced themselves on overhead beams. Matt, not being an old hand, slammed into the small of the back of the man in front of him.
“Watch out, you landlubber!” the man snarled in Hebrew.
“Sorry,” Matt answered in Merovencian, but it came out as an apologetic mumble—he still couldn’t move his lips and tongue enough to form words.
“Oh, mute, are you?” the Jew said, softening. “Well, you know what happens now, lad, after we ship oars. Brace yourself and hold your seat!”
“Mmm-mmm-mm!” Matt nodded and slid back onto his bench.
“You always so kind to dumbies, Jew?” sneered a neighboring oarsman in a pidgin dialect made up of all the oarsmen’s languages.
“Our God teaches us to be merciful to the unfortunate, Moor,” the kind one retorted. “I thought your Koran said something about alms-giving.”
“Well, yes,” the Moor conceded, “but that’s money.”
“Oh, you have money?” The Jew shrugged. “Myself, I have no coins—but I can at least give a little kindness.”
Matt’s heart warmed to the man. He hoped he’d be able to find him again, after he got out of this.
He did sooner than he thought. The ship docked with a jar that shook his molars—that was what the Jew had meant by saying “You know what comes now,” and Matt hadn’t. He’d braced himself, though, thanks to the man’s advice, so he was sitting straight when the blacksmith came down the row, striking off the shackles of half a dozen slaves—those captured at sea, and one or two others besides.
“This one, too,” the overseer said, pointing his whip at Matt.
“Why?” The blacksmith frowned. “He’s just learning his trade.”
“Captain says he can make a nice profit off him, and buy two for the price.” The overseer shrugged. “Myself, I wouldn’t think he’s worth that much, but Captain says some people will pay through the nose for a mute.”
Matt considered the implications and shuddered. He hoped his potential buyer only wanted a confidential servant.
The slave market was a new low in humiliation, with people yanking his mouth open to look at his teeth, poking him in the ribs, squeezing his shoulders, and punching his arms. He kept reminding himself that he could get out whenever he wanted, and felt a huge surge of sympathy for his fellow slaves, who couldn’t. He wondered how successful he would be in mounting a worldwide antislavery campaign. His mind started considering possible ways and means, and he found himself including the little brown cat in them. Talk about the perfect spy …
Though maybe he would prefer one who couldn’t be bribed with tuna.
He went for a decent price, but nothing earthshaking. His new owner led him away by the rope that tied his hands, and Matt reflected that the police must be very good in Egypt, because any determined slave could have knocked down such a buyer and escaped easily.
The buyer led him to a rowboat, said, “Get in and take the oars!” then knelt down to tie Matt’s rope to a thwart, loosed one hand from it, then boarded behind him. He cast off the mooring line and said, “Row straight out to sea.”
Matt turned and stared at the man as though he were crazy.
“Row!” The buyer produced a mean-looking little whip from inside his robe. “Straight out, as I tell you, or you’ll be sorry for it!”
Matt revised his opinion of the police. This man, apparently, was sure of his ability to win if he tried to fight him. Well, he hadn’t been planning a mutiny anyway—he was curious enough to want to see where the journey led.