Chapter XII
Hamed pushed open the door of the dining room and a delicious smell of hot food wafted out, together with the sound of young men talking, laughing and even shouting. I entered the room and stared about me in amazement at the customs of these Franks. There were six or seven young men of about my own age sitting at a long table such as you might see in a shop or in a merchant's counting house. On this table were placed their plates and cups, all in a row, and the young men were eating, some with their hands, some with knives and daggers, and some with curious carved implements like small ladles.
Mixed among the young men - who I guessed were es-Sid's Frankish squires - were young women. Some of them, poorly dressed, were serving the food but others, who were wearing fine gowns, were sitting together with the young men and eating at the same time as them.
"Come on, Fuad," Babrak called, pushing his way between the serving women.
He called greetings to the Franks in their own tongue and they returned his greetings and the greetings of Hilmi and Hamed. Then they noticed me and the room fell silent as they all stared at me.
"Come on," Babrak called again, slipping into an empty space on the benches on which the people sat and elbowing someone aside to make room for me. He patted the bench and reluctantly I went over and sat down.
Babrak spoke to the Franks again and I heard him say my name. To my surprise the other young men rose up and came towards me, holding out their hands in sign of peace.
"Take their hands and shake them, like this," Babrak instructed me.
I followed his example and the young men shook my hand very gravely, saying something that I presumed was their names, but they were such strange names and spoken so rapidly that I could not remember a single one of them.
After the young men came the women. I was struck dumb by their bold-faced shamelessness but I held out my hand - and if truth be told, my heart beat a little faster, for they were all fair-skinned as houris and several of them had yellow hair and laughing blue eyes. To my horror, however, the first girl ignored my hand and threw her arms about me and kissed me on the cheek. I felt my face go dark with embarrassment and at that everyone in the room, even the serving girls, laughed heartily and all the girls came up and kissed me one by one.
"Have they no shame?" I whispered to Babrak when the last of them had gone back to her seat.
"Among us Franks, this is not a matter of shame," a strange voice said.
I whirled and looked into the face of my neighbour, a young man with shiny yellow hair that fell gracefully to his shoulders.
"You - you speak Arabic?" I gasped.
The young man grinned. "Yes. All of us do, that is why es-Sid has chosen us."
"And pretty soon you will be speaking French," Babrak informed me. "In fact, it is the rule in this house that at breakfast we only speak French and in the evening we only speak Arabic, so come on, let's start. Bread, to the Franks, is 'pain', so say 'pain, s'il vous plait'."
I stumbled over the unfamiliar words, but the Frank beside me, who told me that his name was Charles, passed me the bread - and what strange bread it was! It was hard and crisp on the outside and white, spongy and tasteless on the inside. Charles also pushed various dishes of meat and olives and other foods in front of me, telling me their names and forcing me to repeat the strange words after him. I avoided the meat until Charles, seeing my hesitation, laughed and assured me that it was the meat of a cow. He was so kind that I dared not offend him by asking whether it was halal; Babrak and Hilmi were eating freely - I could not see Hamed - so I ate too.
After breakfast we young men, Franks and Arabs, went out into the courtyard and relaxed in the shelter of the vines. A group gathered around me and I had to tell them all about how I met es-Sid Guy. Half-way through the story Guy himself came into the courtyard and we all rose to greet him.
"Did you sleep well, Fuad?" he asked me.
"Al-hamdulillah," I replied.
"Good. Tomorrow I will ask you the same question in French. Make sure that you can answer me correctly. Charles, I want you and Hilmi to take him around Jerusalem: start with the tilt yard and go on to the Tower of David, then go round the Templars and the Hospital of St John. If you've got any time left, take him to the palace. Oh, and for goodness' sake, get him some decent clothes and Christian weapons."
He added some words in French and then dismissed us, turning to give orders to the other squires.
"Come on," Charles said. "Storeroom first."
There was an old man in charge of the storeroom. He greeted my companions respectfully and scurried round searching for Frankish clothes to fit me. At Hilmi's entreaty, I was allowed to go behind some casks where I removed my own clothes and put on the ones that had been found for me. I had long sleeves that went over my feet and legs, these the Franks called 'hose'; there was a very short, light coat which only came as far as my thighs, which was called a 'chemise'. Over this I had a small cloak and for my head a hat such as Jews wear, made of velvet.
For weapons the old man gave me a dagger half a cubit long and a straight sword that almost reached to the ground when it was buckled round my waist. The first one he produced was examined and rejected with scorn by Charles and Hilmi, even though the hilt was of ivory, but the second they permitted me to wear. Its hilt was plain iron bound about with leather thongs, but they declared that the metal was much superior to the first. I carefully transferred my sling from my old clothes to the new.
"If you ever get in a fight," Hilmi told me, "the first thing you do is take off your cloak and wrap it around your left arm. It's almost as good as having a shield."
"Or," Charles added, "draw your dagger and hold it in your left hand. That way you can both defend yourself and fight at the same time."
"Bah!" Hilmi scoffed. "You have to be an expert to do that."
"No you don't," Charles retorted. "It's simple."
I followed them as they argued their way along the narrow streets of al-Quds, through the gate in the city wall and down into what I later learned was the Valley of Hinnom. There, beside a large pool, was a crowd of Franks, both men and women, some talking, some eating food they had purchased from the pedlars who wandered through the crowd, but a solid line of people were standing with their backs to us, facing down into the valley. Guided by Hilmi and Charles, I pushed my way into a gap and found myself standing at a wooden fence, beyond which was a large square area of bare earth, surrounded by the wooden fence.
In the centre of the bare ground two Franks were fighting one another, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they struck and parried. I was surprised to notice that neither man was wearing armour - apart from iron helmets that covered their heads entirely - but both were thickly padded with quilts and leather. Just after we arrived one man swung his sword high above his head and brought it down in a sweeping arc, catching his enemy full on his left arm. The stricken man fell sideways to the ground, his sword flying out of his hand, and there was a ragged scattering of applause and cheering.
Instead of leaping on his fallen enemy, as I expected, the victor stepped back, pushed the tip of his sword into the ground and leaned on the hilt. A moment later his opponent rose up, rubbing his arm where the blow had landed, and the two men stood face to face, apparently talking in amity. I looked about me, bewildered, and spotted Charles a little distance away to my left. I left my place and went over to him.
"Why are they fighting?" I asked him, pushing my way in beside him.
"For exercise and for practice," Charles answered.
"So they are not enemies?"
Charles turned his head and looked at me in surprise. "Of course not! That is Sir Simon Montfitchet and the one leaning on his sword is Arnauld, Sieur de Carnac. They come down here every day and have a couple of rounds. Look, they're off again."
Sure enough, the one who had fallen walked over and picked up his sword again and in a moment the two men were fighting as hard as before.
"And in case you are wondering," Charles continued, "those are not real swords. They're practice weapons with blunt edges."
Now that I knew that there was no danger, I too could enjoy the spectacle and I cheered and shouted as much as my neighbours, as first one man and then the other gained an advantage or struck a successful blow.
"Do many people come here to fight?" I asked when the two men stopped for breath.
"Oh, sure. Most of us come here every day to practice, but you have to be keen to do it in the hot sun. I usually come down in the evening," Charles replied.
When the two warriors finally concluded the fight and walked off the field, as friendly as ever, Charles turned to me.
"Come on, let's see if you know how to use that sword you're wearing."
"No, no," I protested, ashamed to show my want of skill in front of so many people, but Hilmi, who had come up behind us unnoticed, joined Charles in insisting and when I saw that half a dozen other young men were already in the enclosure, I gave way.
We circled around the crowd of watchers and gave our names to a stout Frank who sat, laughing and joking with those around him, at a small table beside the entrance to the arena. He inscribed our names on a piece of wood covered in wax and then said something to Charles, who shook his head. The man gestured towards a pile of heavy sticks on the ground beside him and Charles picked up two of them, handing one to me.
"What's this?" I asked.
He laughed. "I'm certainly not going to face a learner with a real sword. One of us would be sure to get hurt. Come on."
