Chapter LIX
I returned to my lodging and bought some food from a vendor in the street outside. By the time I had eaten and prayed the sun was so low in the sky that I simply walked slowly back to the prison. It was dark by the time I arrived and I banged on the door.
"It's you," the guard grunted when he held up his lantern to my face. "Come in."
He led the way into the prison and through a room full of soldiers, who stared up at me when I entered.
"This is the one," the guard said. "He has the countenance of Abdullah ibn al-Qureishi to speak to the Frank."
"Of your kindness," I said, laying my hand on my heart and bowing to them all.
"Bismillah ar-rahim," they replied. "In the name of God the Compassionate. Go and speak with him. He dies on the morrow."
The first guard opened the door and ushered me out into the dark yard, then shut the door behind me, leaving me to pick my way in the darkness across to the darker shadow of the cage. I touched the bars and peered within. There was a black mound lying on the floor.
"Bon jour, ya Frank," I hissed.
The black mound stirred and sat up.
"Bon jour, ya Frank," I repeated.
"Bon nuit," the Frank replied. "Who are you?"
"I am a friend, ya Frank," I whispered.
"By St Dennis!" the Frank exclaimed. "Have you come to rescue me?"
I tilted my chin to indicate the negative and then realised that in the darkness the Frank probably couldn't see me. "La," I told him. "Non. I am alone, I have no money and only one camel. I cannot rescue you. With all my heart I wish I could."
The Frank shuffled over to where I was standing and peered out at me, his white face gleaming like a ghost's in the darkness.
"How did you learn my language?" he demanded.
"I am from al-Quds - Jerusalem," I told him. "I am in the service of Guy d'Orleans. He sent me here to discover what has happened to Reynauld and all of you."
"Never heard of him," the Frank said, sighing. "They killed all the others, you know."
"I know," I said. "People in the bazaar told me." I paused, uncertain whether to tell him the news, but then I decided that a ghazi deserved such knowledge. "They will kill you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! Are you sure?"
The young man shivered and brought his face close to the bars to stare at me.
"I am not sure. I can only tell you what the soldiers of this place told me."
"Oh God!" the Frank groaned. "Oh what can I do!"
"Do you want to live?" I asked.
The Frank looked at me intently.
"Of course," he said.
"Then listen, I will teach you the words of the Shahada, the profession of faith. Simply say 'La illahu, Allah illah wa Mohammed rasool Allah' and you will then be a Musselman. I am sure that they will spare your life."
"What must I say?" The Frank sounded astonished.
"La illahu, Allah illah wa Mohammed rasool Allah," I repeated.
"What does it mean?"
"Er - there is no god but Allah and Mohammed is the apostle of Allah," I told him. "If you say these words, you become a Musselman and of the Household of Faith."
"But I am a Christian," the Frank protested.
"Of course," I reached out and patted his hand. "But as a Christian they will kill you tomorrow. As a Muslim you will live as long as God wills. You must say these words, otherwise they will certainly kill you."
In the dim light of the stars I saw the Frank staring straight in front of him.
"You don't want to die, my friend," I whispered to him.
"By our Lady, I don't," the Frank whispered back and carried on staring at nothing. He took his lower lip between his teeth and chewed it, then suddenly he straightened up and turned to me.
"No. I will not do it."
"But you must!" I insisted. "I cannot rescue you. This is your only hope."
The Frank shook his head. "No. I am sworn to God, just as you are sworn to Guy d'Orleans. Would you break your word to your lord?"
"Of course not," I spoke proudly. "We of the Bani Ibrim do not eat a man's bread and then betray him."
"Neither do I." The Frank held his head up proudly. "I have eaten God's bread; I am sworn to His service; I shall not break my word. I shall not betray my Lord."
I argued and pleaded with him, but nothing I could say would move him. Finally he put me aside.
"Leave me, friend," he said. "I thank you with all my heart for your kindness, but I am determined. Let me sleep now lest men see my face looking tired and say that I was afraid of death."
"Go with God," I said to him and turned to walk away.
"Wait!" he said. "My name is Amalric of Bordeaux. My home is just outside the city on the road to Perigueux. Tell them in Jerusalem that I was not afraid to die for Christ. If you can . . ." his voice faltered for a moment, ". . . if you can, send word to my mother. Tell her that I loved her."
"Sid," I told him. "I will do what you ask."
"Will you come to watch me die?" Amalric asked.
"Oui, inshallah," I said.
"I thank you," he said. "I should like to think that there was one friendly face in the crowd when I die."
I paused for a moment but now he lay down with his back to me and said nothing more. I turned and walked softly away and back to the guardroom.
"Did you find out anything?" the guards asked me.
"He is nobody," I told them. "He knows nothing." I sat down on the floor with the other men. "Is it certain that he will die tomorrow?"
"It is certain," they said. "There is a great one of Qureish coming and the last of the prisoners will die in his presence."
"Where?" I asked.
"In the square outside the Great Mosque, like all the others," they told me.
