Chapter IX
Several slaves came into the room, carrying dishes and bowls, which they set on the floor in front of me.
"Eat, in the name of God." Ali gestured hospitably and settled himself back against the wall to watch.
I did not need to be urged twice, for at the smell of the food I suddenly felt very hungry indeed. Some of what was in the dishes was strange to me, but I ate with confidence, certain that a good Muslim like Ali would not serve anything that was not halal. My confidence was shaken, however, when Ali picked up a jug and poured out a cup of red liquid and set it before me.
"How strict are you, Fuad? Will you drink wine?"
I gasped. "But - but - the Prophet -"
Ali laughed. "Oh yes, I know that in Mecca wine would be regarded as a grievous sin, but we are less strict here. After all, if the Khalif, the Commander of the Faithful, can drink wine, why should not we lesser folk follow suit?"
"But I have never -" I began.
"Well, I shall not force you," Ali grinned widely, "but be sure that the squires of the Lord Guy will do their best. A tree grows strong by bending and sometimes it is better to bend than to break."
"Never," I vowed, "never shall these lips taste that which the Prophet, on whom be peace, has forbidden."
Ali shrugged. "Then your first battles may well be in Guy's own household. These Nasranis eat pig meat and even that which is allowable is not killed in the halal manner. Never mind, brother. If you are hungry, come here and welcome."
I thanked him for his kindness and began to question him about the Franks and their religion, and also concerning their kings and their customs. Ali had much to tell me, all of it interesting and much that was disgusting. I learned with astonishment that the Franks do not wash before their prayers and that their holiest men are also the filthiest. Those who had been longest in the land had adopted some of our ways - and Guy was a shining example - and were clean and courteous, but those newly arrived from their own countries were arrogant and dangerous.
I found an example of this not long after I left the house of Ali. He sent a slave with me to show me the way to Guy's house and we set off together through the streets. Within minutes I was hopelessly lost - I who could find my way blindfolded in the desert - but I believe that the incident happened not far from the Hospital of the Knights of St John.
It was dark and difficult to see where we were going. As we walked up the street a couple of men dressed in long, dark-coloured garments came towards us, carrying a torch. They were talking and laughing noisily, but I, having never seen the effects of wine, thought nothing of it. The slave, however, turned aside into a doorway and hid himself there. He attempted to draw me in beside him but I stood out boldly, curious to see what manner of men these were.
As they came past, the flickering light of their torch fell on me and at once the men stopped. They said something to me in their own language and when I did not answer they seemed to become excited. Several times I heard the word "Muslim" and also "Mohammed", so I guessed they were talking about me. Their breath smelled foul, like some breeze straight from the Pit, but though I greatly desired to leave them there was not room for me to push past and in any case I dared not leave the slave lest I be totally lost, so I simply smiled at them to try and show that I meant no harm.
Their voices became louder and louder and then, without any warning, two of them lunged at me while the third held the torch higher and shouted encouragement. I did not have time to draw my sword - and in any case I would not have known how to use it, nor could I disentangle it from my girdle to use it sheathed as a club. I fell to the ground, kicking, scratching and biting at the hands and feet that struck at me. Behind me the slave screamed, a shrill, unnerving sound.
Abruptly the door at our backs opened and two men holding torches appeared. They said something in loud, commanding tones and my attackers drew back, breathing heavily, but with enough breath to shout a defiant reply.
"Who are you?" one of the men from the building asked me.
I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, my chest heaving.
"I am Fuad ibn Hassan," I gasped.
"Well, Fuad ibn Hassan, what are you doing here in Jerusalem?" The man lifted his torch higher and leaned forward to peer at me. "You are not from Jerusalem, I think?"
"No, Sid. I have taken service with the Lord Guy de - Guy de -"
"Guy d'Orleans?"
"Yes, Sid."
Both men came forward and stared at me. One of them spoke to the men who had attacked me and gestured dismissively with his hand. The men snarled something in reply and the man started toward them, his hand on the hilt of his sword. At that they went off down the street, grumbling as they went, and I watched their torch turn the corner and disappear.
"So," the first man said, "you have taken service with Guy d'Orleans, eh?" He looked at the second man. "Another one, Simon."
The second man grunted.
"Well, make sure you serve him faithfully, Fuad ibn Hassan."
"Oh, I will, Sid. I will."
"Give him this message: tell him that the Lord Fulk delivered you from your attackers."
"Yes, Sid." I stood up and felt myself gingerly. I seemed to be all in one piece though I was puzzled by the whole affair.
"Why did those men attack us?" I asked.
The Lord Fulk snorted. "Pilgrims. Just come off the boat and been celebrating their arrival in the Holy City, by the sound of them. They seem to think that it is their duty to attack every Muslim they see. Never mind, Fuad. I doubt they will cause you any more trouble, but beware of pilgrims when they are drunk. Can you find you way from here?"
"No, Sid, but this one has been send to guide me."
I pointed to the slave and the two men half turned and looked at him. He bowed low and said something in the Frankish tongue.
"Ah, Ali ibn Tabas. Go in peace."
The slave turned and started off up the street. I salaamed the two men and then hastened after him before my dazzled eyes lost him in the darkness.
"Who were those men who rescued us?" I asked when I caught up with him.
The slave stopped and stared at me. "Sid, they were of the Temple. Did you not see the cross they wore?"
"The Temple!" I exclaimed. Even in the desert we knew that they of the Temple were the fiercest ghazis of the Nasranis, men sworn to destroy the True Faith and to attack Muslims wherever they might be found. I felt my knees go weak at the thought that I had met such enemies of religion.
