Chapter XVIII
We left the church and reclaimed our horses from the guardian, paying him what he demanded for looking after them and for the hay they had eaten. We mounted and rode down the hill away from the town and es-Sitt Ermintrude came up beside me and began to talk in Arabic. The whole way back to al-Quds she questioned me about my previous life with my family - where we lived, what our tents were like, how many brothers and sisters I have, whether my father has more than one wife, what sort of food we eat and dozens of other questions.
At last we arrived back in al-Quds. Trudy - for es-Sitt insisted that I call her by her name - jumped down into my arms and kissed me again, though this time I knew what to expect and did a better job of catching her. I took the horses into the stable and unsaddled them and rubbed them down. While I was doing this Charles and Babrak came in and talked to me until the work was finished.
"Right," Charles said, "Let's go down to the tilt yard."
"What for?" I asked. "After so much riding in the last few days, all I want to do is lie down."
"Es-Sid has commanded us to drill you in sword-play," Babrak told me.
"Why?" I demanded.
Babrak shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps he heard about how you tripped yourself up the other day."
I blushed. "Yes, but why today? Why now?"
Babrak shrugged again. "It is a command, so come along."
The next couple of hours were the hardest I have ever spent. I staggered home with every muscle aching from my exertions and my body black and blue from all the blows I had received, for neither Babrak nor Charles spared to strike me if I gave them opportunity - and I certainly gave them plenty.
"Same again tomorrow," Charles said as we parted.
I groaned in reply and Babrak laughed.
"Don't worry; you're definitely improving. Just remember, parry, parry and parry again until you see a clear opening. Never take a chance on a possible opening. The other man will be just as eager to keep his head as you are to keep yours and every attack is an opening for your opponent."
I did my best to put Babrak's words into practice the next day as both he and Charles took it in turns to fight with me. When I felt as if I could not keep my stiff fingers closed around the hilt of my mock sword they allowed me to rest for half an hour - but even that was part of the lesson, for we had to stand by the fence and watch others fight while my two teachers pointed out their faults to me.
One of these fights was another bout between Sir Simon Montfitchet and Arnauld, Sieur de Carnac, the men I had seen fighting on my first visit to the tilt yard. Now that I understood a little about the art of the swordsman, I could marvel at the formidable skill those two men showed as they slashed, thrust and parried at each other.
"Notice how they never stop moving," Babrak told me, for one of my faults was that I tended to stand still in one place and defend myself, as Charles said, "like a tree or a rock."
Sir Simon and Arnauld moved constantly, stepping forward to thrust, back to evade a blow, sideways to give impetus to a sweeping slash. Neither man moved far: indeed, they ended each fight almost exactly in the same positions in which they had started, but within that small circle they never stood still for an instant, and this despite the heavy padded garments they wore.
"Come on," Charles said, "Let's have another go."
He picked up his stick and gestured to me to enter the ring again. We fought on until dinner time, after which there was a short siesta and then we were out again, this time to open ground on the north of the city where Hamed gave me my first lesson in the use of the bow. I had only a long, simple bow such as the Franks use, and blunt arrows for practice. Hamed had a beautiful bow of horn and wood with ivory tips, and shot with real arrows whose iron tips were as sharp as daggers.
Mind you, it was as well that my arrows were blunted, for at first I shot everywhere except at the target and more than once the master of the archery field had to suspend the shooting while I ranged beyond the butts searching for arrows that had missed the targets completely. By the end of the day, however, I had learned the essentials of archery. I held my string still and drew by pushing the bow away from me, I held the string and not the arrow, and a swollen left hand taught me the importance of a wrist guard for protection against the slap of the string.
Even better, I could hit the targets with three arrows out of four and Hamed told me that I had done very well indeed for a beginner. In fact, he actually let me use his bow for a single shot. By Allah, that was a bow! You hardly felt the pull at all as you drew the arrow back, yet when you released the string the arrow shot away faster than a thought and for the first time my arrow landed within the white circle surrounding the black centre.
"Well done!" Hamed cried as he took back his bow. "Tell me, is it true what Charles and Babrak told me, that you can hit anything with your sling?"
"Only watch," I told him, pulling the sling out of my pocket and running my fingers through the strings to untangle them. There were no water-worn stones to be seen, but I did find a piece of white stone that was more or less regular in shape. I put it in the sling and started to swing it above my head.
"Watch the target," I yelled to Hamed and released the string. A second later the target quivered slightly, as it does when a hit has been scored.
"Where did it go?" Hamed asked.
"Go, look at the target, foolish one," I cried.
He walked over to the target, his hands in his girdle, and stared at it for a moment. Abruptly he bent forward and ran his fingers over the exact centre, then turned and came running back to me.
"Wallah!" he exclaimed, his eyes round. "By very God! You hit the exact centre. The mark of the stone was there." He slapped me on the back. "I shall have to speak of you with respect in future, O Fuad. Each man is the master of his own craft. Verily, I am your master with the bow, but you are my master with the sling."
We picked up our bows and I returned mine to the master of the field while Hamed packed his away in its special case. Hamed was silent was we walked down the slope towards the Damascus Gate, but as we passed the guards he suddenly came alive and grinned at me.
"Yet even so, ya Fuad, I know how to improve your skill on the sling."
"How?" I demanded, indignant that he should presume to teach me in what was mine.
Hamed grinned. "Come with me."
I followed him through a maze of narrow alleys until we came to a small shop that sold brassware. Hamed ducked under the hanging pots and pans and entered the shop.
"Ya Abdul!" he greeted the owner when the man appeared. "Salaam aleikum."
"Aleikum as-salaamat," Abdul returned. "Are you in health, Hamed?"
"Al-hamdu-lillah." Hamed smiled broadly. "And you?"
"Al-hamdu-lillah."
"Tell me," Hamed asked. "Do you still make that lead shot?"
Abdul's eyebrows rose. "And what does an archer want with lead shot?"
Hamed grinned. "That I might perfect my skill by placing it on your head and shooting it off with my arrows, ya Abdul."
"By Allah," Abdul grinned back. "Is my head of no more value than to be a pin cushion for your arrows, ya Hamed? or has your skill improved of late?"
"An arrow each side and you will have horns like Iskunderun."
"The only horns I am likely to have will be put there by my wife," Abdul grumbled.
"Well, we shall see," Hamed sat down on the merchant's bench. "This one here is a master of the sling." He pointed at me. "Yet he only uses stones and clods of earth. How much better will he be with a pocket full of your lead shot?"
Abdul nodded and disappeared through the curtain in the back of the shop. When he returned he was carrying a small wooden box which he handed to me. I nearly dropped it, it was so heavy, and I made haste to put it on the bench.
"Open it," Hamed ordered.
I lifted the lid and gasped. Inside the box were rows of shiny metal balls, smooth and gleaming. I picked one out and rolled it between my fingers.
"What are they?" I asked.
"They are lead shot," Abdul told me. "I used to make them for a certain Frank who was an expert with the sling. By Allah! If he aimed at anything, he never missed."
"Why didn't he just use stones?" I enquired scornfully. "I also never miss, and I use ordinary stones."
"Truly, and so did he. Nevertheless, he kept a few of these in his wallet at all times and when the matter was urgent or important, he would use one. It is smooth, thereby making the aim more sure, even when a wind is blowing. It is heavy, which causes the shot to travel further."
I nodded. The man's words made sense, for I knew that a stone would travel further than a clod of earth and a round stone more accurately than a rough one.
"How much are they?" I asked.
"Peace!" Hamed interrupted. "Let me do the bargaining or by the Prophet, this one will take your money and your skin also before he parts with anything. Now, ya Abdul, give me a good price - and remember that I am an Egyptian, the son and grandson of merchants."
"Twelve dirhams," Abdul replied. "By Allah, I would not quote such a price to any but yourself."
"And that is only because you know that I am a patient man and will not rise up and kick you down the street as you deserve," Hamed shot back. "Three dirhams."
"Three dirhams?" The merchant howled, raising his eyes and his hands towards heaven. "Do you seek to make a begger of me? Do you wish to see my wife selling herself to the Franks to put bread in the mouths of my children? At the very least give me ten dirhams."
"My offer to give you horns still stands." Hamed seemed unmoved. "Nevertheless, to spare your wife's virtue I am willing to allow myself to be robbed. I will give you four dirhams."
"Come, come, be reasonable." The merchant sat down beside Hamed and patted his knee. "You are the son of a merchant. You know how much things cost. I have to buy the lead, I have to buy the fuel to smelt it, I have to pay the workman who tends the fire and pours the molten metal. If I said to you, nine dirhams, how could I make a profit?"
"I know, I know." Hamed looked solemn. "And you have to buy the diamond that you put at the centre of each one. In view of such vast expenses, allow me to offer you five dirhams."
Abdul was silent for a moment, tugging at his lower lip while he eyed Hamed thoughtfully, then he turned to me. "You look like an honest young man," he said. "You be the judge. I ask for nine, he offers five. Let us split the difference and meet half way. Seven dirhams. It is my last price, for if I go any lower I might as well cut my own throat right now."
"Spare yourself," Hamed urged. "Fuad here needs practice with his dagger. If you wish to have your throat cut at least let him do it for you. However I judge that it is far better to split your price again and keep your throat uncut. Six dirhams, halfway between seven and five."
"Agreed," Abdul smiled. "Six dirhams and the box is yours."
"The box and its contents," Hamed warned him. "Let it be sent to the house of Guy d'Orleans this evening and you will be paid."
He opened the box and studied its contents for a long moment, then stood up. "Come on, Fuad. You can show me tomorrow what you can do with these."
"You drive a hard bargain," I said to him admiringly when we had gone a little way up the street.
"No," Hamed shook his head. "I know for a fact that he used to sell them to that Frank for no more than four dirhams the box."
"Really?" I was astonished. "But you have paid six!"
"Oh yes. You see, Abdul is the only man in Jerusalem who can make polished lead shot. Others can make stuff that looks as if the birds have been pecking at it, but his is smooth, as you saw. Let us first make him our friend and then we can do some more bargaining."
