Doctor Who and the Crusaders (10 page)

‘No, My Lord. In my ships at Tyre, I have stocks of leather harnesses and bridles for your horses, a quantity of swords and a thousand daggers of exquisite workmanship. I also have cattle and sheep. What I am suggesting is that these goods go against the goods I am to receive from you, or from your allies through your patronage and introduction.’

Saladin thought for a moment and then rose to his feet. Ferrigo stood up at the same time, out of politeness, wondering if the interview was at an end.

‘I like your proposition, merchant,’ remarked the Sultan, ‘but I would know more about you first. Now a matter has occurred here in my court which you shall help me judge. In this way, I shall see the truth of your mind and the quality of your heart.’

Ferrigo bowed, convinced that he was very near success. Saphadin moved to the archway, as the servant who had conducted Ferrigo to the Sultan’s chamber appeared. Something was passed between them, and as Saphadin returned, Ferrigo saw him tucking some dark object into the sleeve of his flowing robes. Then his attention was diverted as Sheyrah was led through the archway by a guardsman. She threw herself down full length in front of Saladin, who bent his head near the merchant.

‘This is purely a domestic matter, but since it concerns a person who is more of your way of life than ours, your advice will be welcome.’

Ferrigo bowed, rather complimented at the way the evening was progressing. The woman on the floor began to moan pitifully, begging her master not to blame her. Saphadin ordered her to be silent, in words that brooked no denial. The woman bit her lips and now kneeled on the floor, bending her
head down so that it touched the carpet.

‘A prisoner has escaped,’ said Saladin casually, ‘a woman I had hoped would divert my court. I had reason to believe she was a story-teller.’

Ferrigo suppressed the smile that itched at the corners of his mouth. This was ironic indeed. Then he looked towards the arch as another guard conducted in a tall, dark-haired young man, dressed in clothes that Ferrigo recognized as English.

‘Now we are all gathered,’ said Saladin. He reached down and raised the woman up slightly. ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Sheyrah,’ she stammered, half in a whisper.

‘Then listen to me well, Sheyrah! I shall not punish you if you tell me the truth. Where is the English lady you were serving?’

‘I do not know, Your Eminence, I swear I do not! She begged me to fetch her a cloak to wear, complaining of the cold. I went to search one out, and when I returned there was no sign of her.’

‘And that is all you know?’

‘I swear it! I swear it!’

‘Very well.’ Saladin looked across at the man in English clothes, turned his head to Ferrigo and whispered who he was. Ferrigo nodded.

‘Now, Sir William, do you know nothing of this affair?’

‘I do not, Great Sultan,’ replied the knight firmly. ‘I would not encourage a lady to venture out alone.’

‘I believe you. Nor do I believe she would go by herself.’ He looked at Ferrigo. ‘What is your opinion?’

‘This lady of whom you speak must have had a companion, an accomplice who helped her escape.’ He was glad to see the gleam of approval in the Sultan’s eyes.

‘Yes, that is indeed possible.’

‘But improbable,’ broke in Sir William. ‘She had no gold
pieces, or coin of any kind. Neither did she have any jewellery. This woman will tell you that I had to buy her a cloak to cover her.’ Sheyrah nodded in confirmation. ‘So you see, she had no way to bribe any of your people to aid her escape,’ continued the Knight. ‘I cannot believe that in the short time she was here she made such firm friendships that they would break their loyalty to you, Sultan, and help her.’

‘I like the way you reason,’ murmured Saladin. ‘Let us establish the facts we know of this mystery. The prisoner could not escape by herself, could not bribe her way to freedom.’ He turned to the Genoese merchant again, as if for his opinion.

‘I confess myself defeated,’ said Ferrigo, assuming a frown of concentration.

‘Come, merchant, come! Is there not another reason to explain this woman’s sudden disappearance?’

Ferrigo rested one arm upon another, his left hand to his chin, apparently deep in thought. Finally he shook his head.

‘No, Your Highness, I cannot unravel this problem.’

Sir William said, ‘She was abducted,’ and Saladin nodded.

‘Yes, Sir William, your mind is sharp. It was not a friend she had made in my court, but an enemy.’

‘El Akir!’

‘The same. But he was not alone. He could not tempt her from the safety of her room. Someone else must have led her to the Emir.’ He looked down at Sheyrah thoughtfully, and she shook her head vehemently.

‘It was not me,’ she wailed, tears rolling down her face, ‘I warned her of the Emir, El Akir. I liked the foreign lady…’

Saladin held up his hand and stemmed the flow of words.

‘I believe you, Sheyrah. Tell us what you discovered in the room, after the prisoner had vanished.’

Luigi Ferrigo watched, with a horrid fascination, as
Sheyrah produced a glove from the folds of her garments. As if in slow motion, Saladin reached out a hand and took it from the woman on her knees and held it up in front of his eyes. Suddenly his eyes darted towards the merchant, and they were as cold and hard as black pebbles on a beach.

‘Is this your glove?’ he asked in a merciless voice. The question seemed to hang in the room, and every face was turned towards the merchant. A nerve began to beat in his throat and he felt the sweat start out on his forehead.

‘No. No, it is not. Of course it is not,’ he stammered, incapable of seeing a way out of the trap the Sultan had laid for him. Dimly he saw Saphadin produce another glove and hand it to his brother, who placed the two together and matched them as a pair.

‘Then why did we find the one that pairs with it in your room?’

Sir William took three steps across to Ferrigo, shot out his hands and gripped him around the throat, forcing him to his knees.

‘You vile, treacherous dog! Where is she?’

He shook the hapless man violently, and then threw him down to the ground in disgust.

Saladin said, ‘We know where your friend has been taken.’ Sir William swung round and faced the Sultan, the question trembling on his lips.

‘El Akir has gone, and so have two horses from the stables. Questions will be asked in the town, but I have no doubt that the Emir has abducted her and taken her to his palace at Lydda.’

‘Will you send after her and demand that she be returned?’

Sir William stared at Saladin as he shook his head.

‘But why? Why not?’

‘Because she is just one woman, Sir William. El Akir, for all his villainies, is an ally. He commands an army upon which I may have to rely in time of battle. I cannot quarrel with him until his use to me is over.’

Sir William immediately started to plead with the Sultan to reconsider and Luigi Ferrigo, seeing that they were occupied, and realizing it might be his one last chance, suddenly sprang to his feet and ran towards the archway.

What vain hopes he had of rushing past the guards he knew would be outside the chamber, making his way to the stables, stealing a horse and fleeing from danger: no one can estimate. Desperation born of fear forced him to act without proper thought. A single, unhurried shout by Saphadin brought one of the guards into view in the archway, his curved sword ready for command. Saphadin brought his hand down
sharply, just as the merchant tried to slip past the guard, and with a swift circular motion the sword flashed through the air and struck down at Ferrigo, cutting deeply into the base of his neck. With a scream of pain, he fell out of sight of the watching men, around the corner of the archway. The guard took one short step and the sword was raised again. There was a piteous cry for mercy and then a half strangulated gurgle as retribution struck again, ending the life of a man who had lived by treachery and deceit.

The death of Luigi Ferrigo brought little satisfaction to Sir William in the long hours that followed. Other matters concerned the Sultan and his brother, Saphadin; there were incredible rumours that King Richard had offered his sister Joanna in marriage to Saphadin to bring the war to a speedy conclusion and achieve with peace what a trial of arms had failed to win, so the Knight was left to his own devices. His life was not unpleasant, for such was Saladin’s chivalry that it was natural for him to command that Sir William was well treated. Daily exercise was permitted, food and all manner of delicacies were provided and the rooms set aside for his use in the palace were well furnished and comfortable – but shadows appeared under his eyes and his face became thin and strained, sleep was difficult and relaxation impossible, for the Knight constantly tortured himself with a thousand horrific fears for Barbara in the hands of the vicious enemy who had seized and carried her off. Somehow he couldn’t rid himself of the thought that if only he hadn’t agreed to let her aid him in his pretence of being King Richard, all her troubles might have been avoided. Daily he sought such company as he was allowed, men-at-arms and servants, the philosophers and learned men whom Saladin loved to group around him at his court; anyone, in fact, who was prepared to sit with him and answer his questions about El Akir. A terrible picture
emerged, which did nothing to bring him peace of mind, for no one offered any consolation for the abducted girl, and nowhere could he find a person who could say that the Emir had a spark of mercy or a saving grace in his character, or remember one single act of human kindness he had ever done.

And then Sir William was told by his personal servant that a representative of King Richard had arrived at Ramlah, under personal truce, to seek the release of two prisoners. Sir William requested he be allowed to talk to the new arrival and soon a guard ushered in a young, well-bronzed figure who wore the white surcoat emblazoned with the cross so proudly.

‘I am Sir Ian, of Jaffa,’ announced the new arrival, ‘sent by the King to arrange your release, in company with the lady who was captured with you.’ Ian saw how the other man’s shoulders sagged listlessly, and a feeling of uneasiness crept over him.

‘She is here, Sir William, surely?’

‘She was here,’ replied the other, and related what had happened, until all the buoyant hopes that had helped Ian on his journey from Jaffa to Ramlah, began to sink in the depths of despondency as the grim story was unfolded. The two men stared out of the window, each fully occupied with his thoughts. Finally, Ian turned away.

‘Of course, I shall go to Lydda and search for her.’

‘Will Saladin permit you to do that? Wander freely within his territory?’

‘He cannot prevent it. I am here under personal truce, an emissary of King Richard. I must find her, Sir William, and take her back to Jaffa.’

Ian looked keenly at the Knight, trying to read the expression on his face. Eventually, their eyes met.

‘I hope you will find a way to settle the matter with El Akir, at least.’

‘What are you afraid of? Tell me about the man.’

‘I could talk to you about him from now until the sun rises again. He is a black-hearted villain, the worst kind of man alive.’ He sat down hopelessly on a small stool and leaned his arms on his knees, a tiredness creeping into his voice, as if he were putting into words, for the first time, thoughts that had haunted him for too long.

‘El Akir is one whose pleasures are inhuman. He will not spare his victims any humiliation his agile brain can well devise. He is a past master in the arts of torture, not simply of the flesh, but of the mind and soul as well. He does not kill lightly, because he prefers to prolong suffering, pain and mental anguish. Search into the darkest corners of your imagination, invent the worst misdeeds you can, and still El Akir will surpass them by a hundred-fold. All you can do, Ian, is pray that death has brought a merciful release; for there’ll be no hope for her alive.’

At this very moment, El Akir led Barbara’s horse over the brow of a hill and brought both the animals to a halt, staring down at the town of Lydda beneath them. Barbara had been given no food or water during the journey and the sun was so heavy on her unprotected head that she felt as if a steel band had been fixed tightly just above her eyebrows. The whole of her body felt weary with the enforced ride and the cords around her wrists had bitten deeply into the flesh, making the hands numb as the flow of blood had been stopped. She felt the Emir’s eyes on her and she lifted her head wearily, determined to hide as much of her suffering from him as she could. He pointed forward towards the town with one hand, pulling cruelly on the rope attached to her with the other. She
bit her lip as a stab of pain cut into her wrists and he grinned slightly.

‘There is Lydda. My army is encamped around it. A new life is about to unfold for you.’ He leaned towards her, a glitter of satisfaction mirrored all over his face. ‘There will be difficult lessons to learn and hard rules to follow. You will know sorrow and shame, sleep will be driven away by tears. You will hope to kill yourself, or try to make me kill you. But death will be far in the distant future, only to be given when all your colours have faded, your spirit is crushed and your mind has nearly gone.’