Chapter III
The shadow had moved by about a span when the first man began to groan. The Frank and I both leaped to him, pulled him into a sitting position and leaned him back against the wadi wall.
"Water," the man groaned again. "For the love of Allah."
"Get him some water," the Frank ordered.
I shook my head. "The sons of Jibrin will receive nothing from these hands," I said.
The Frank stared at me for a long moment and then grinned. "They will never be thy guests, eh boy?"
He stood up and strode over to the water skin and brought it back. He held it to the wounded man's mouth and helped him drink, then splashed a little water on his face. The man looked up at him in gratitude and then his glance fell on me and his face changed. I glared at him, willing that he should see the death that awaited him.
"Now," said the Frank, "thou art in my mercy, thou son of shaitan, but my mercy has a price. What is thy name, dog?"
The man stared up at him, his mouth hanging half open, and said nothing. The Frank prodded him with his foot.
"Speak, dog, or I will turn my back on thee. See, yonder is one of the Bani Ibrim who is eager to speak to thee, though I suspect that his message is sharp and made of iron."
"I have nothing to say to thee, kaffir." The man spat on the ground at the Frank's feet.
I expected the Frank to become angry at the insult, for it is wrong to call a Nasrani an infidel and it is dishonourable to be spat at, but the Frank remained calm. He stepped back out of range of the man's spittle and spoke quietly.
"Or perhaps thou wouldst prefer me to send him back for the women of his tribe? I believe that they too would be eager to speak with thee. There is a little matter of men killed and sheep and horses stolen." The man's face turned pale and the Frank grinned and continued. "They say that to die at the hands of women is dishonourable - not to say painful - but the choice is thine."
The man swallowed hard and finally found his voice. "I am Ibrahim ibn Quafis, called by some abu Jelal," he said. "My father is employed by the Sultan. He will pay for me."
"Ha!" The Frank sounded triumphant. "Well, we shall see. First, though, I desire to know thy business on this side of the Jordan."
"Nothing," the man protested. "We came, my friends and I, merely to . . ." his eyes fell on me and he hesitated, "merely to find some sheep that were missing."
"From thy flock or his?" The Frank gestured towards me. "Well, never mind. When camest thou hither?"
"Three days ago, Sid. We crossed the Jordan while it was yet dark of the third morning before this."
"Really?" The Frank lowered his voice to a whisper. "And on which day did ye draw water from Bir ash-Sharif?"
"Bir ash-Sherif?" The man looked startled. "We never . . ."
"Truth," the Frank observed, drawing his dagger, "is from Allah. Those who do not speak truth are cast into the Pit and it is my pleasure to assist them on the road to Jehunam."
"Sidi, Sidi," the man's voice changed to a whine and he struggled to sit up straighter, "My memory is bad. My head hurts. It was four days ago that we crossed the Jordan and three nights ago that we were at Bir ash-Sherif."
"How many were with thee?"
"By Allah, Sidi, we three are alone."
"And three, alone, came into the land of thy enemies?"
"We travelled only by night, Sidi," the man pleaded.
"As raiders and theives do," the Frank remarked.
"Sidi, we came only against the Bani Ibrim. We had no quarrel with the Franks. The Bani Ibrim are our enemies and we sought but to take a few sheep and goats."
"Am I a sheep or a goat?" the Frank demanded.
The man swallowed and looked from the Frank to me.
"Sidi," his voice was uncertain and death was in his face, "the gifts of Allah are not to be despised."
The Frank laughed and put away his dagger.
"Well, to be a gift of Allah is better than to be a sheep. Peace. Now let us see what tale thy friend tells."
We walked over to the third man, the one who had been struck in the face by my stone, but as soon as we turned him over we knew that we would get no tale out of him. His body was limp and unmoving and there was no breath in him. We stood up and looked down at the body.
"Well, may God have mercy on him. I did not know he was in such a state," the Frank said, making some sort of sign on his breast with his hand. He stroked his beardless chin and then looked up at me.
"What is thy name, boy?"
"Fuad ibn Hassan ibn Tallal ibn al-Hajji of the Bani Ibrim, Sidi."
"Well now, Fuad of the Bani Ibrim, there is only one matter remaining. What do you want to do with Ibrahim?"
"I shall kill him," I raised my sword threateningly.
"Well, such is thy right," the Frank nodded, but his face was grave. "Nevertheless, consider: thy brother's blood is avenged by this other man, who died at thy hand. Furthermore, Ibrahim has stated that his father will pay a good ransom for him. Finally, there is the little matter of my honour, for I have received him into my mercy and though I am but thy guest, yet the honour of the guest touches also the honour of the host."
My heart swelled within me to have this Frankish warrior claiming to be my guest and submitting his honour to me, for after all, I was only a youth. And yet, I thought, I am of the Bani Ibrim and we recognise no man as our master. I raised my head proudly.
"Very well, O Frank whose name I do not know. In the name of the all-Merciful, take this man of the Bani Jibrin."
The Frank grinned. "Fair enough. My name is Guy d'Orleans, which means Guy from the city of Orleans. My name is held in some respect in my own land. Now, as to this man of the Bani Jibrin, my honour is enough for me and I thank thee for saving it. His ransom I give to thee, for he fell by thy hand."
We walked back to the bound man and the Frank drew his dagger again. The man shrank away from him, but the Frank squatted down and cut through the strips of material that held him.
"Thou art in my mercy, Ibrahim ibn Quafis, but it is the gift of this young man here. What is thy ransom?"
Relief flooded over the man's face. "My father will give two hundred dinars for me and I resign the horses and the weapons." He spoke proudly.
"Good," said the Frank. "I will be thy messenger, at least as far as Jericho and possibly even further. Where is thy father to be found?"
The man groped in his robe and drew out a small metal object. "Here is my seal, Frank. When you come to Jericho ask for the house of the merchant Abd al-wahid, who sells wheat. He is my father's agent."
"Among men of honour, these matters are easily arranged," the Frank remarked. "Now art thou the guest of this young man, whose name is Fuad. Be not in a hurry to leave him so long as there are stones on the ground and he has his sling." He laughed easily and stowed the seal in the pouch from which he had taken the coin earlier. "Fuad, thy sheep are waiting, but first come, let us speak apart."
We walked a short distance away and the Frank lowered his voice.
"If thou wilt follow my advice, do not leave this man here with swords and horses to hand. Bury the weapons, tether the horses out of sight but place him on one and keep fast hold on the reins. Let him accompany thee with the sheep and then in the evening thou mayest give him into the care of thy father. Then come back for the horses and the weapons."
"It shall be as you say, G - G -" I stumbled over the difficult name.
"Guy d'Orleans." The Frank smote me on the shoulder and laughed, then he strode away and mounted his horse. "Go in peace, Fuad."
"Go with God, Guy de - de -"
The last thing I heard was the Frank's laughter as he rode away down the wadi.
