Chapter VIII
"Now let me tell you about my work," Guy said. "As I told you, I have some honour in my own country, even though I am a younger son. Here in what we Franks call 'Outremer' I have lands given to me because of valour in battle and from them I have my living. I also earn money by acting as guide to pilgrims and escorting them to dangerous places, like Jericho and the Jordan River. My squires share in this work."
"And this will be my work also?"
"In part, and for this reason you must be prepared to enter Christian churches, to learn Christian customs and, if you are able, some of the Frankish languages. You will not be expected to worship in these places or to do more than show common respect for those who pray, even if their fashion of praying is different to yours."
"I am willing, O Guy."
Guy grinned broadly. "Good lad. In fact, we are making such good time that I may be able to show you some of these holy places today. See, already we are at the top of Ma'ale Adummin, the Red Ascent."
Despite Guy's words, it was well past noon when we reached Bethany, where he pointed out to me the church of Saint Lazarus. We stopped to visit the underground tomb of the holy man who, Guy told me, had died and after four days was brought back to life by the Prophet Isa, on whom be peace. The guardian of the tomb seemed to know Guy and greeted him warmly, but when I made to follow Guy into the doorway the man shouted at me and blocked the way.
Guy turned back and said something in his own language which caused the guardian to step back and gape at me in amazement.
"He is surprised that a Bedu should be my squire," Guy explained. "But I told him to look well at you, for you will doubtless return with pilgrims - and he always welcomes pilgrims and the gifts they bring."
The man followed us suspiciously all the way down to the tomb of the holy man which, to my surprise, was empty. Down there he scowled at me and said something else, gesturing towards his head.
"Ah yes," Guy spoke to me in my language again. "It is the custom among the Franks to show respect for a holy place by baring the head. It would be courteous if you were to do so also."
I hurriedly took off my keffiyeh and the guardian's frown disappeared, though he still seemed far from happy. I wasn't happy either, for without the covering on my head I felt naked and uneasy. I was glad when we returned to our horses and I could follow Guy's example and cover my head again.
From there we rode around a shoulder of Jebel Zeitun and came in sight of al-Quds. On our right was another church which, Guy told me, marked the place where the Prophet Isa, peace be upon him, prayed to God for deliverance, and we went within and climbed down a long flight of stairs to a shrine at the bottom. There was also a cave nearby and a garden of olive trees, and we saw all these things and Guy told me their meaning and significance.
By the time we had seen all these things it was getting late and we had to make haste to enter the city before the gates closed. We clattered up the road to the Gate of Saint Stephen, where the soldiers on guard greeted Guy by name and looked suspiciously at me, and then into the narrow streets of the city.
Of course, I had been to al-Quds before, but on previous occasions I had gone with my father to help look after the sheep and goats we were selling. All I had seen was the cattle market and the streets of the bazaars where we bought wheat and jewellery. Now, with Guy, I was seeing a different part of the city, where Franks crowded the roadways, jostling, shoving and shouting in their own tongues. Suddenly I felt very much afraid but I tried to cover my fear by gazing about me boldly.
Truly these Franks were worth seeing. Every one of the men was a giant: huge brawny arms with muscles like those of a champion; huge strong legs, often covered with iron; huge thick necks, many of which looked wider than the heads they supported. Each man carried a sword or other weapon by his side; some were girded with long, plain swords that almost dragged on the ground while others wore thin, light weapons that were little more than long daggers. One man had a spiked ball on a chain and several bore heavy iron maces.
The street sloped down to a junction and as we came to it we had to rein in our horses because of a commotion in the crossroads ahead of us. I looked to the right to see the cause of all the noise and saw a giant of a man, at least a head taller than those around him, thrusting his way through the crowd towards us. His great yellow beard was gathered in a single thick plait and hung almost down to his waist, while on either side of his bare head his hair hung in two plaits bound about with cord. His blue eyes darted from side to side, noticing everything in his path, but his lips were smiling and from time to time he reached down with a broad hand and gently put a child or a woman out of his way.
At his side was a great axe with a broad head and an iron shaft and my wrist ached at the thought of wielding it. My eyes followed him as he strode past and that was when I gasped. Strapped to his back was a huge sword, its hilt fastened between his shoulder blades and its tip almost dragging on the ground. Guy, who was pressed up against me by the crowd, turned and grinned.
"That is one of the Varangian guards of the Emperor in Byzantium. I believe that they come from a country called England, though some come from even further north, from Norway or Sweden, lands of perpetual snow."
Almost as astonishing were the Frankish women, who walked openly in the streets bare headed and without veils and who talked as loudly as the men themselves. Indeed, often they shouted to men they knew, raising their voices in public without shame. Some, like our women, had black hair, but others had yellow hair that was almost white and there was every shade in between, from dark brown to bright, golden yellow. At first, when I saw an unveiled woman, I averted my eyes in embarrassment, but no one else seemed to notice anything out of place and soon I found myself staring openly at these women.
They talked freely to each other and to the men and I saw a man coming towards us with a woman holding his arm, but as they passed us a second man spoke to the woman, whereupon she let go of the arm of the first man, who went on, and stayed speaking to the second. Surely, I thought, this must be a woman of ill-repute, yet she was walking openly and no one else stared or seemed disturbed by her wanton behaviour, not even when she finished her conversation and walked after the first man all by herself.
Guy brought me to my senses by banging me in the ribs with his elbow.
"Is this not the time of prayer for you?" he asked.
I looked up at the sky and flushed guiltily.
"Yes," I replied. "I am late. The time has nearly passed."
"Well, don't get down off your horse here. I don't think these people would be very happy to see a Muslim at prayer in their midst. Come, let us turn into this street."
He pulled at his reins and turned his horse up a side street that was much quieter than the busy thoroughfare we had been following. The lane, which was flanked by high, blank walls, turned sharply and Guy stopped by a door. He leaned down from his saddle and rapped sharply on the wood. A long moment passed and then I heard a rattling sound and the door opened.
"Ali!" Guy spoke with a glad ring to his voice, "Salaam aleikum."
"Aleikum as-salaama," the man within returned. "Guy, how are you?"
"Al-hamdu-lillah," Guy replied. "I have brought my new squire to you, for I think it is the time for the evening prayer and he wishes to pray with you."
"The evening prayer?" The man sounded puzzled.
"Come on, Fuad, down you get. Ali ibn Tabas will show you the way to my house later."
I climbed a little stiffly from the saddle, for I was not used to riding for such a long distance. Ali, the man of the house, came fully out from the doorway and his face lit up when he saw me.
"Fuad, welcome. Guy, I thought you were joking when you said that your squire wanted to pray with us."
"You know that I never joke about another man's religion," Guy clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Look after him, he is not used to big cities."
Guy shook his reins and rode slowly down the street and around the next corner. Ali helped me lead my horse through the door and into the courtyard where a couple of donkeys looked up inquisitively from their manger.
"Welcome, in the name of God. We have already prayed, but my house is your house. Come, wash and pray."
Ali showed me a fountain of running water that issued ceaselessly from a small copper pipe fixed into the wall of the courtyard. I took off my weapons and handed them to him, then washed my head, hands and feet. When I was ready Ali led the way across the courtyard to the shadow of the arches that surrounded it and pointed to a pile of small mats.
"Here are prayer mats. Choose one and spread it here, the qiblah is towards that window."
He pointed to the direction of Mecca and I spread out the mat as he indicated. I held up my open hands as if a book were resting on them and silently repeated the opening sura of the Holy Quran. Then I knelt and bowed down so that my head touched the ground, a sign of humility before God, while I repeated the names of God. I raised my head and made requests for the safety of my family, and of myself in this great city. Finally I turned my head from side to side to greet the two guardian angels that stand by the shoulders of every True Believer.
When I had finished I rolled up the mat and Ali came forward and we exchanged kisses on both cheeks.
"Indeed, you are of the Household of Faith, Fuad. Come, have something to eat before you go to the house of Guy of Orleans."
He took my arm and guided me to an inner room, where we sat down on the carpet spread on the floor. He clapped his hands and a servant came at once.
"Bring food, Mustafa, our guest is hungry."
The servant disappeared again and while we waited Ali began to question me concerning my affairs.
"So," he said when my tale was finished, "you have taken service with Guy. He is a good man, even though he is a Nasrani. He has many Muslims in his household, but I think he called you his squire?"
"That is so," I agreed.
"Hmmm. He has many Nasrani squires and also a few Muslim ones. These are young men who serve him and in exchange receive training in the use of arms and in what the Nasranis call courtesy. Every great man among the Franks has one or more squires, but Guy is different, for many of those who come to him leave again after a short time and find service with another, but those who stay, stay for far longer than normal. In fact, I cannot think of one who has left him after staying with him for longer than half a year." He paused and regarded me with a slight frown. "Has he spoken to you of his affairs."
"Yes," I told him. "He told me that he works for peace and not for war."
"That is true," Ali nodded. "But do not be deceived: for a man of peace he does a great deal of fighting. You will see plenty of battles and you must be ready for them. Sometimes your enemies will be among the Franks - and a good Muslim like yourself will rejoice at that - but sometimes you will have to fight your own people. Are you ready for that?"
"I have already done so," I grinned and touched my sword.
"True, true. Well, of this you can be sure: if Guy d'Orleans chooses to fight a man, whatever his religion, you will be fighting in a good cause."
