Blaze of Silver (16 page)

Kamil kept his voice low. “I abhor the rules of your game,” he said. “Whatever you say or promise, I know you will do exactly as you please.”

The Old Man pulled Amal closer to him. “Maybe I will, maybe I won't,” he said, his lips like razors, “but not knowing quite
what
I will do is all part of your punishment.” His eyes were opaque. “You cannot see into my heart, Kamil. If you could, you might find things that surprised you.” He waited for a second, then let go of Amal and clapped his hands together. He was suddenly tired and being tired made him petulant. “Prepare my bed,” he ordered his servants. Then he dismissed Kamil. “Go away now. We will finish our discussion in the morning. The contest will be in the afternoon and by dusk the winners, whoever they are, will have claimed victory.”

Kamil got to his feet. The Old Man held up his hand for he had one last thing to say. “Now, Kamil, I put no guard on you but if you leave this camp, within five minutes the blood of all those you care about will flow freely into the sand.” He waved as Kamil walked off. The young man was almost at the caves when he heard his name called once again. “Kamil,” shouted the Old Man, full of joy because his bath was steaming, “may your dreams be sweet!” Then he cackled.

Kamil began to run but the entrance to the caves was barred by two brawny soldiers. “Out of my way,” Kamil ordered. They did not budge. Amal slunk from the shadows. “There is to be no conversation between you and the earl,” he said staring at his feet.

“What has Will been told?”

Amal shrank away. “He has been told nothing. The Old Man is going to speak to him in the morning, but alone.”

“So I will not know what's said?”

Amal shook his head. “You will never know,” he said, “just as the Old Man never knew why you would not be a son to him.”

“May I speak to Ellie?”

“She does not wish to speak to you.”

“Will you tell her of the Old Man's game?”

Amal looked terrified. “No,” he whispered, “of course not. I can do nothing I am not told to do. My family …”

Kamil turned away, then turned back. “Will your family be proud of your part in this?” he asked.

“They will be alive,” was all Amal could say, and Kamil, shaking his head, left him.

The night deepened. Had Kamil not been pacing about, the scene could not have been more peaceful. Well-fed soldiers snored by fires while those on watch wrapped themselves in blankets, thankful that tomorrow this charade would come to an end. Even those guarding the silver-stuffed wagons were dozy as they trod slowly back and forth across the cave entrance. Some quietly told stories. There was, for this moment, no fear in the air, for the servants of the Old Man of the Mountain were frightened of nobody except their master and he was asleep.

Will and Ellie sat close together, their backs to the wall. They had recognized the Old Man because his reputation as a treacherous Assassin, an implacable enemy to all rulers in the Christian West and a rival to many in the Muslim East, was well known even in England. But why Kamil should have agreed to deliver the silver to him was a mystery. Kamil was not just a traitor, Ellie declared, but a wretch, his allegiance not to
the Muslim people but to a common criminal. Will let her rail on. It seemed better that way for at least Ellie still seemed to believe that once the ship was loaded Kamil would keep his word and let them go.

But Will was full of trepidation. It did not seem possible to him that Kamil, having been so loyal to Saladin and the Saracen cause, had stolen the ransom silver for the Old Man. The more he thought, the clearer it became that Kamil himself had been tricked and that he was no longer in command. Will leaned hard against the wall and his head pulsed. If Kamil was no longer in command, he and Ellie were unlikely to be freed. He jumped as a guard kicked more driftwood onto a dying fire. In the dancing light, Will saw images of Ellie and the Old Man, vile images that dried his mouth and sickened his stomach. At dawn he began to pray. Was God not supposed to help those who believed in him? But though he listened hard for God's answer, Will heard nothing at all.

In the early hours of the morning, Kamil walked along the bottom of the cliff. It rose, sheer, above him, a wall of blotched white grooved by shadows. Outside the furthest reaches of the camp, about half a mile away, the shingle grew rougher and Kamil slithered over the stones as the ground dipped, worn down by a small stream flowing bumpily toward the shoreline. Without thinking, Kamil began to follow the stream upward to where it disappeared darkly into the rock. The rock looked completely solid from below but at close quarters it was evident that it had cracked, forced open thousands of years before when the stream was a torrent driving its way to the sea. Now that the water was
just a gentle trickle, its steep descending path would be possible for a man, or even a horse if it was brave, to climb up. Kamil's heart beat hard. Had he been on his own, his escape route was right here in front of him. He could vanish in a trice. But he never even thought of it. Will and Ellie might hate him, they might never trust him again, but he would not desert them to save his own skin. He retraced his steps and went back to the caves to find Hosanna. He did not know where else to go.

The horse was half dozing, his head between his knees, and Shihab had lain down beside him. When he heard Kamil, Hosanna blinked and roused himself, shifting so that the young man could put his arms around his neck and rub his face against the horse's mane.
What shall I do, Hosanna?
Kamil begged silently.
Help me
. Hosanna stood for a while, providing a rock to lean on, until eventually Kamil left him.

As Hal and Elric woke to continue their journey to Richard at the imperial court, so the camp on the beach began to stir, although quietly so as not to disturb the Old Man. Only when his personal servants emerged from his tent, rushing to satisfy their waking master's ever-changing demands, did they dare to raise their voices. When the Old Man at last appeared, dressed this morning all in crimson, there was a shiver of expectation. It was the Old Man's boast that if his crimson tunic was laid in water, the blood of thousands would seep from it. He wore it jauntily. It suited him.

Men were at once put to work to create a jousting arena. It was to be situated some way away from the caves, on the sand near the water's edge. The Old Man, juggling oranges again, was scrupulous in asking Kamil about the rules. Was there a special way the jousting list should be set up? How many lances should each knight have? How far apart should Kamil and Will be when mounted? If they did not kill each other with the lance, the Old Man had a fancy for swords. Was that in keeping with the spirit of the game? And then, was it
customary for competitors to bow to the audience? He had heard that a lady's favor was often sought. Was that right? Kamil would not answer but with each refusal the Old Man's smile grew tighter and Amal's face grew paler. “Oh well,” the Old Man said eventually, with studied carelessness, “bring out the girl. We'll see if you remember the rules better when she is here to remind you.” Amal gave a strangled cough. The Old Man inspected him and, with new malice in his voice, asked if his faithful servant was unwell. He was in a peppery mood.

Kamil intervened. “There is no need to bring Ellie out,” he said, and at the sound of his voice the Old Man metamorphosed at once into a kindly grandfather listening to advice from a grandson. “You may institute any rules you wish,” Kamil told him, sounding as sarcastic as he dared. “Will and I should be at least twelve ships' lengths apart. Before we begin, we will bow to the audience and Ellie should give a token to whichever one of us she wishes. Then we will take our places and when the trumpet sounds we will advance. When one of us lies dead, the winner will take off his helmet to receive his applause.”

“Applause!” Now the Old Man looked genuinely delighted. He dropped his oranges and began at once to clap. A dozen servants rushed toward him. He looked at them with some amusement. “No, no”—he flapped his wrists—“I don't want anything. I'm just practicing. These Christian tournaments are full of fun. We have a rare treat in store.” The servants, not sure how to respond, fell to their knees. The Old Man looked sorrowfully at them. “They never laugh unless I tell them to,”
he complained. “I wish I had people about me who were less servile.” He leaned forward and pinched Kamil's arm conspiratorially before turning to Amal. “How many years have you served me, Amal?” he asked.

“All my life, Excellency,” Amal answered.

“And do you like me?”

The terror on Amal's face was almost comic. In different circumstances, even Kamil might have laughed. “L-like you, Excellency?” Amal stammered. “I am a servant. It is not a word I know.” He could not hide his dismay.

“You see?” The Old Man blinked. “It is a great burden.”

“I will go and see that the horses are made ready,” Kamil said shortly. He could bear sitting here no longer.

At once the Old Man was sharp again. “You will not. When it is time, your horse will be brought to you. Until then you will sit here, beside me, and as we sit I can imagine to myself how well we would have got on together had you chosen a different path.” Kamil had no choice but to obey.

The day dragged by. The only time Kamil was alone was when the Old Man went to speak to Will and Ellie. He had them brought out of the cave and showed them the preparations under way. Kamil could not see their faces but he could hear as the Old Man, most politely and in perfect Norman French, told Will that in the interests of fair play, he was to be allowed a chance to kill Kamil and regain Richard's ransom.

“Why?” asked Will at once. “You hate my king and you want all the silver. Why should you give it back to me?”

“Indeed,” said the Old Man, and his smile was brilliant, “but you see I don't expect you to win. Kamil and I came up with this idea because Kamil tells me that he wants to bring that red horse back to Arabia and that he cannot do that if you are alive. He has some honor left, you know. So he will be fighting to the death. Not only that”—he glanced lasciviously at Ellie—“but our little tournament will sort out the fate of this delightful girl. You, madam, are to form part of Kamil's prize. He seems to like that idea very much. Now”—he turned back to Will—“it only remains for you to accept the challenge.”

Ellie was too shocked to move but her voice did not desert her. “We were promised our freedom once Kamil had delivered our silver. Is it not honorable, even for a Saracen, to keep promises?”

“Oh! Is that what he told you?” The Old Man seemed full of remorse. “I am sorry he deceived you. But,” he added more cheerfully, “we will have a splendid time.”

Ellie began again. The Old Man listened for a moment, then grew bored and tapped his fingers together. Ellie's voice trailed off. “So will you fight, Earl?” the Old Man inquired, “for this girl, for your horse, and for your king's ransom?”

There was only one answer Will could make. “I will fight as a Christian knight against a foreign traitor,” he said coldly. “I do not know what treachery has brought us here or where the treachery begins or ends. But I know one thing: that you are an evil man, perhaps the most evil of all men. Come, Ellie, we will not listen any longer.”

When the Old Man returned to Kamil, all pretence
at benevolence had vanished. Sniping at his servants, he juggled his oranges high and with venom. When the time came for Kamil to prepare himself, the Old Man let him go without a word.

An hour before dusk the bugler raised his instrument and blew one long, strong note. The scene could hardly have been more picturesque. The tournament list was ready on the beach and, midway between the cliffs and the sea, two makeshift thrones had been set on a dais, their yellow silken canopies billowing gently in the breeze. On the larger throne sat the Old Man and on the smaller sat Ellie. On each side, and forming a semicircular human fence reaching down to the water's edge, the Old Man's followers were crowded together, all pushing to the front so that nobody should miss out on the spectacle. Quite a distance behind, outside the mouth of the cave, the packhorses and riding horses were tethered, with Sacramenta among them. At the bugler's note, Shihab and Hosanna emerged, Shihab decked out in silver and Hosanna in gold. Sacramenta threw up her head and whinnied at them but neither horse replied. The unfamiliar hands that held them made them uneasy and Shihab, particularly, was very agitated. Her skin quivered as if a thousand tiny insects were biting it and she barged about, pushing against Hosanna and nearly knocking her handler over. Hosanna was calmer but held his head high so that the grooms struggled to settle the headpiece of his bridle in place.

Will had been given back his armor, cleaned and oiled, and had been helped to put it on by two servants who treated him as if he were an honored guest rather
than a prisoner. Will knew why. Knights going to their death had an aura about them that all civilized people respected. These men, though followers of the Old Man, were not savages. They spoke courteously and were at pains to ensure that Will was physically comfortable. It was almost enough to make him smile. But he could not smile, not with Ellie sitting so close to the Old Man that she was reflected in the jewels of his turban; not with the Old Man playing nonchalantly with his dagger. Then there was Amal, folding his hands over and over, obviously wanting to say something to him that Will did not care to hear. Amal was a villain. Taking his helmet, Will turned on his heel.

Another bugle blast bounced off the cliffs and as it drifted out to sea, Will was invited to step forward. He did so at once, for he did not want to appear reluctant. He heard Sacramenta whinny again and bid her a silent farewell. Ellie heard her too, and, much as she tried not to, she could not stop herself echoing the mare: “Will! Will!”