Chapter IV
As soon as he had disappeared I picked up the water skin and walked over to my prisoner.
"Drink," I offered, tipping the skin towards him.
"From your hand I receive this," the man said as he held his hand to his lips.
"From my hand," I agreed, thereby taking him under my protection as my guest. When he had drunk his fill I squatted down and put the water skin on the ground. "Can you ride?" I asked.
The man looked at me in surprise. "To where shall I ride?"
"The Frank would have me keep you by me," I told him, "and endure the heat of the day and the boredom of watching the flock, but among men of honour this is not necessary. If you ride up the wadi you will find the tents of my people. Tell them that you are the guest of Fuad ibn Hassan. My father is there and he will help you to bury your companions."
"By Allah, Fuad ibn Hassan, this shall be remembered to your honour among the tents of the Bani Jibrin. I, Ibrahim ibn Quafis, have spoken."
I caught his horse and helped him onto it, then watched him ride slowly away up the wadi. As soon as he was out of sight I gathered up the fallen weapons and buried them, as the Frank had advised, in the sand of the wadi bed. The remaining two horses I caught, one I rode and the other followed with its reins fastened to the saddle of the first.
The sheep were grazing peacefully nearby and it was not difficult to gather them together, for they came at my calling. I spent the rest of the day wandering slowly towards ash-Shahid, where the grazing was indeed plentiful, and then leading the flock slowly back to our tents again in the evening. There were two new graves on the bank opposite the sheep's head rock, with large stones at foot and head, but no one had disturbed the buried weapons. I dug them up swiftly and carried them in my arms back to the tents.
There was much talking around the fire that evening. I described the battle as I had seen it, making sure that everyone knew that I, Fuad ibn Hassan, had defeated two warriors of the Bani Jibrin with my sling. Ibrahim laughed a little ruefully and said that it was true and swore that he was going to forsake swordsmanship and take up the sling as soon as he returned home. Everyone admired the weapons I had brought home and Ibrahim confirmed that they were indeed from Damascus, the gift of the Sultan, may God protect him. He spoke of the jihad that was being prepared and of the thousands of soldiers posing as pilgrims, who had come up from Misr to swell the Sultan's army.
"I have never seen so many men in one place," he exclaimed, staring into the fire. "Wallah, but they are God's innocents. They know nothing of the desert, nor of the sea either."
He then proceeded to tell us tales of how these soldiers from Misr had tried to mount a camel as one would mount a horse and how they camped too close to the spring in Jericho, so that their thirsty horses had stampeded to the water and destroyed half the tents. The funniest story, however, concerned those who had gone to visit the Salt Sea and tried to drink its water. Everyone knows that the water of the Salt Sea is far too salty to drink, but these men were so ignorant that they made the attempt and spent the rest of the day complaining of excessive thirst! We all laughed heartily.
As we finished laughing we heard the sound of heavy hooves coming up the wadi and at once we fell silent.
"Franks!" my father hissed. "What are they doing at night?"
"There is only one," I pointed out. "Listen!"
Several men grabbed up the swords I had brought back and ran lightly to the door of the tent.
"A Frank, alone at night!" My father sounded jubilant. "Allah is great! Today we shall have two ransoms."
I followed him out into the moonlight, half suspecting who the lonely rider might be but hardly daring to believe it. The night was clear, so that I saw the Frank when he was still quite some distance down the wadi. I also saw the dark shadows flitting from rock to rock as they took up positions for an ambush. I am sure that the Frank did not see them, for we of the Bani Ibrim are skilled in such matters, but perhaps he sensed their presence, for he drew rein and threw back his head.
"Fuad! Fuad ibn Hassan! Art thou there?"
I ran forward, yelling to the men to hold back.
"He is my guest!" I shrieked. "This is the Frank I saw today. His name is G - G - something. O Frank! Come forward. I am your sacrifice. Welcome in our tents."
The Frank shook his reins and his horse ambled forward. The black shadows of his would-be attackers emerged from the darkness and escorted him to where my father and I stood, waiting to welcome him.
"Ahlan wa sahlan," my father said, giving the man his hand to help him dismount.
The Frank swung himself down from the saddle and handed me the reins of his great horse. "See to his safety, Fuad. I will come myself shortly and care for him."
I led the horse over to where our own beasts and the three horses of the raiders were gathered, and tethered it to a post that was firmly rooted in the wadi bed. I wondered whether I should remove its saddle but in the darkness I feared to touch it lest there be some secret of Frankish devising that I might discover or damage and thus anger my guest. I squatted down and waited.
About the time that it might take to say one's prayers twice passed and then the Frank came out of my father's tent and called my name softly. I rose up at once.
"Here I am, Sidi."
He came straight towards the sound of my voice, picking his way easily between the resting animals and making soothing noises the while, so that none of them were disturbed or frightened.
"Thou didst not remove the saddle?" His voice was slightly accusing.
"No, Sidi. I did not know whether it was proper for me to touch it. I have never been so close to the horse of a Frank before."
"It is well," he said, bending low and reaching beneath the horse's belly. "The wise are slow to meddle with what they do not understand. Nevertheless," he straightened up and slipped the saddle off his horse's back, "I think that thy eyes are open to see and quick to learn."
I rejoiced in his praise. "I do my best, Sidi."
"So, then. Show me how the sons of Ibrim care for their beasts."
I ran and fetched the equipment from our tent and then set to work to brush and wipe down his horse. At first I was cautious, for it truly was an enormous creature and I had to stand on tiptoe to reach its back, but I quickly found that it was gentle and understanding, bending its head so that I could reach its neck and sniffing at me with gusts of warm breath as I worked. When I had finished I ran to fetch water and also a little fodder that my mother had cut for my father's favourite horse.
All the while the Frank stood nearby, watching me but offering neither help nor criticism. When at last I was finished and stood before him, he smiled at me, his smooth white face clear in the moonlight.
"That was well done, Fuad. Now come, let us speak openly before the men of thy tribe."
We returned to the tent and food was set before our guest, my father loudly lamenting that the Frank had refused to allow him to slaughter an animal so that proper honour might be done to the guest of his son. The Frank ate the bread and greens that my mother had prepared and my father and I ate a little with him lest he should be shamed. The others, who, like us, had already eaten, sat by and urged him, in the name of the Compassionate, to eat more and not to be ashamed to eat. Finally the meal was finished and my younger brother brought water to wash our hands and then came with small cups of bitter coffee.
"Now," the Frank said, belching mightily, "Let us talk. First of all, I wish to thank Ibrahim ibn Quafis for sending me to Abd al-wahid, the merchant. From him I learned all that was necessary and so I do not need to go to Kerak - and for that I am grateful. The road is long and hard and not everyone loves Raynauld de Chatillon."
At the sound of that name a hush descended on the tent and one or two muttered curses in their beards. The Frank looked round at us and smiled.
"Yes, even in al-Quds, even among the Franks, he has many enemies. To our shame, however, I admit that he also has many friends. Well, he is in God's hands." He dismissed the unpleasant subject with a wave of his hand. "The second reason why I came back here tonight was that Abd al-Wahid has given me gold, two hundred dinars, as the price for Ibrahim ibn Quafis. Fuad, thou art his conqueror. Accept this money at his hands."
He leaned over and handed a heavy bag to our enemy who, by right of hospitality, was sitting in our midst among our council. Ibrahim's face showed astonishment and relief as he took the bag and felt its weight. He looked about him until he spotted me and then held out the bag to me.
"Fuad ibn Hassan, here is the agreed price. Count it if you will, that all may see that men of honour keep their word."
I took the bag from my enemy who was rapidly becoming my friend.
"Among men of honour, counting is not necessary," I told him. I held out the bag to my father. "Abi?"
My father took the bag with a grunt and passed it through the curtain to my mother. Two hundred dinars would make a good addition to the wealth of our tribe.
"Ibrahim ibn Quafis, be pleased to remain with us tonight as our guest and in the morning we will send you away with all honour."
"Mashallah," Ibrahim nodded. "As God wills."
The Frank looked at him directly.
"O Ibrahim, be not angry at the manner of thy downfall. Even on the field of battle the bravest of men may be overcome without shame by an arrow shot at random. How much less shame, then, to be struck by one who is most skillful?"
Ibrahim smiled ruefully and raised his hand to massage the lump and graze on his forehead. "There is no anger, O Frank, but next time I come into the lands of the Bani Ibrim it shall either be in peace - which before God is my desire - or with an iron helmet and a keen eye for young men with slings."
Everyone laughed and benedictions and good wishes were heaped upon his head, together with words of comfort for his companions who had died.
"Tell their mothers," my father commanded, "that they died with honour, fighting naked against an armoured Frank and that the men of my tribe will remember them as shahid - martyrs who died in jihad."
I glanced at the Frank and saw that these words caused him some shame. I was intrigued to notice that his white face was now very red. Among us, when we are ashamed, our faces grow dark, which is why we speak of blackening someone's face, but among the Franks things are different, no doubt because their skins are white to begin with.
