Chapter XXXIII
We went outside and untied our horses, then Harun led the way down a narrow lane for some distance till we came to a square in which there stood a water trough erected for both men and beasts. We let our horses drink and when they were satisfied Harun led them over to one of the houses and rapped on the door. It was opened by a plump woman with a wrinkled face and gray hair. She squinted up at us for a moment and then smiled broadly.
"Why, Master Harun, it is you! Come you in."
"Madame Melisdande, this is my companion Fuad," Harun said, drawing me forward.
"Oooo, nice to meet you, Fuad. You from Damascus too?"
"M-madame," I stammered, surprised to hear Harun speaking Frankish, "No. I am from al-Quds - I mean, Jerusalem."
"Well, you're welcome, wherever you're from."
"We'll see to our horses, Madame," Harun said.
"Ooo, of course. Silly me. You know where to go, Master Harun. I'll see you in the kitchen."
The woman withdrew and shut the door and Harun led the way down a street leading off the square and then turned into a mere alleyway behind the houses. He pushed at the third door on the right, which opened, and went in. I followed him into a small courtyard where there was a hitching post and a manger full of good straw.
"Lock that door, Fuad," Harun pointed to the door by which we had just entered. "If Charles turns up we can let him in later. These Nasranis are all pigs and thieves, as you saw for yourself in the gate."
He opened a shed door and brought out the equipment for brushing down our horses and set to work and I copied his example. At first we brushed in silence, then I spoke to him.
"That woman, Madam Melisande, she seemed to know you."
Harun laughed. "Oh, she knows me all right. I always stay with her when I have to come here. Although she sounds like a silly woman, she is actually very discreet - I would trust her with my life."
"And her husband?" I asked.
"She is a widow," Harun replied. "Her husband was of the castle and was killed back in the days even before Reynauld. Since then she lives by taking in travellers. She makes good roast chicken and I expect that shortly she will be out to ask one of us to kill the bird."
"Why?" I was surprised. "Can she not kill a chicken herself?"
"Of course she can," Harun put away the brush and led his horse over to the manger. "However she understands about halal and does this out of respect for our religion."
Sure enough I had barely finished brushing my horse when the woman appeared in the yard carrying a live chicken by its feet.
"Roast chicken, Master Harun?" she asked.
"Madame, you are too kind," Harun said, drawing his dagger and reaching for the chicken. "You remember what I like most."
The woman smiled complacently and stood back while Harun glanced up at the sun to establish the direction of Mecca, then muttered "Bismillah" and passed his dagger across the throat of the cockerell, allowing it to bleed and ensuring that the meat would be halal. When the bird was still he held it out to Madam Melisande.
"You're in your usual room," she said as she took it. "You'll share with Fuad?"
"Of course," we both said.
"Good. Supper will be ready in an hour or so. I'll call you when it's done."
"Thank you, Madame." Harun stepped closer to her. "You have other guests?"
"Not today," Madam Melisande said. "You won't disturb anyone."
"Thank you, Madame." When she had gone into the house Harun turned to me. "That means we can pray in safety. If there were other guests we should have to be careful lest they catch us and make trouble."
He led me into the kitchen where Madame Melisande was busy plucking the chicken. She rose and brought a jug of water, which she poured as we washed our hands, feet and faces in preparation for prayer. When we were clean we went up to a tidy little room overlooking the street. Harun shut the window and we prayed together. No sooner were we finished than Madam Melisande knocked on our door.
"Have you finished?" she asked, coming in. "There's a young chap downstairs asking for you. Says his name is Charles."
"He is our companion of the road," Harun said. "There is no problem."
"I'm glad to hear it. There is a man from the castle with him and they usually mean trouble."
She went out again and a moment later we heard Charles' voice bidding farewell to his unseen companion. The door slammed and footsteps came up the stairs. Charles entered the room and immediately held out Harun's saddlebags to him.
"These are yours," he said. "I give you my word that no one except myself has handled them."
Harun stood up. "We are both in each other's debt today, I think."
Charles passed him the bags and then held out his hand. "Or, perhaps, we are quits."
Harun took Charles' hand. "Forgive me. Men of honour do not speak of debts. You have honoured me with friendship and I have given you the same. It was the will of Allah that I should have first opportunity to serve you, that is all."
They embraced and then knelt down side by side on the floor and started to unpack and sort out the bags. Charles sighed.
"Would to God that those fools up at the castle could see things this way. I've just passed half an hour with the steward trying to convince him that you two are not spies and you are not going to sneak up in the middle of the night and slit all their throats. Then I had to endure a long lecture from him on the dangers you both pose to me and how I would be better waiting until there was a convoy of Christians going down to Aqaba." He looked up at us. "And I dared not tell him that I would sooner trust my life to two Muslims like you than to any one of the thugs and brigands up at the castle."
"Any news of Reynauld?" Harun asked after a pause.
Charles shook his head. "Nothing really. There was a messenger a week ago with news that they had captured some boats and killed a few unlucky devils, but that is all. They haven't got to Mecca, if that is what you mean."
"That, at least, is something," Harun said.
Charles looked at him. "When you report to the Sultan, please be sure to tell him that not all Christians are like Reynauld. There are those of us who would gladly live in peace, who hate what Reynauld does and who even pray that this venture of his will come to nothing. You have your holy places and now that we have ours, let us be friends."
Harun shrugged. "I will take your message, my friend, but alas, al-Quds is also a holy place for us. I do not think the Sultan will rest until he has retaken that city. I am sorry."
"Well, it will be as God wills," Charles said. "However, between you and me there is peace."
"There is peace," Harun answered. "And if you will be my protector amongst these Franks, I will be your protector among those of the Sultan."
