Doctor Who and the Crusaders (18 page)

It was a woman’s cry. And just before it, there had been another noise, a slap or a crack of sound, some hard, unyielding matter meeting something else, something softer. Ian’s nerves tautened and he felt a thrill of horror playing over them, a ghostly finger touching each tiny strand. In a second he darted through the gates and was lost in the shadows of the grounds outside the main building, quite unaware that as soon as the gate was left unguarded another man appeared and ran through them.

Ian knew he had little chance inside the palace itself. Whatever rough idea he had about the position of the harem, other guards were sure to be about. One or two he might be able to surprise and bring down, but the chances of being overwhelmed were much too great. He made straight for the tree which grew so conveniently beneath the windows of the harem. A sudden movement alerted him, and he saw the guard straightening up and looking in his direction. As the guard’s hand flew down to his scimitar, Ian jumped forward and kicked out fiercely, the point of his boot taking the man in the middle of his solar plexus. The guard jack-knifed with a grunt and Ian fell beyond him, turning desperately to keep his advantage. The guard rolled in torment, struggling to get his breath to call for help. Ian jumped up, drew out his scimitar and brought the hilt of it down on the side of the man’s head.

Another moaning cry from above his head spurred him into feverish activity, and he started to clamber up the tree as fast as he could.

The man who had slipped through the gates when Ian
had left them had stood watching all this time, puzzled to see one of El Akir’s guards behaving so strangely. Then he turned and hurried off, avoiding the palace itself and making for the stables – for Haroun ed Diin had his own plan carefully worked out.

Ian scrambled upwards, ignoring the twigs and branches that scraped his hands and face, losing his badly-fitting helmet in the desperate rush to reach the top. In the peak of condition, he found his muscles answering every possible demand and some Divine Providence led his hands and feet to safe projections and strong boughs.

The fourth cry was louder now, and not just because he was nearer. He heaved himself upwards and stood on a thick arm of the tree and stared directly into the harem.

He saw a young girl of astounding beauty, tears streaming from her eyes, lying full length on the floor, pulling at the foot of a man who held a whip in his right hand. He saw the man lift his foot slightly and kick the girl away from him, and as his face turned to her, Ian distinctly recognized the livid scar which disfigured his face, knew the man to be El Akir.

Then Ian looked at the girl who was stretched out on her face on a long, low table. The ugly weals showed up across her back and the knuckles of her hands showed white as they gripped the edge of the table, waiting for the next blow to fall. He took in the scene in slow motion, like a film that was being shown at the wrong speed, so great was the shock of the drama in that room.

The girl on the table was Barbara.

Suddenly he heard shouts in the corridor beyond and El Akir cursed and strode to the doors of the chamber. At the same time, Ian heard a gradual roaring somewhere away on his right and a shower of sparks which rocketed into the air told him that a fire had broken out on the other side of the
palace. This was obviously the message being brought to El Akir, for he left the room, slamming the doors behind him with a muttered curse.

Ian immediately seized his opportunity and ran along the arm of the tree and jumped for the window, thankful there was no glass in the way. The girl who had been kicked by El Akir had rushed to Barbara, gesturing to the other girls, who started to hurry across the room. But when Ian appeared, as if by magic, they all stopped.

‘Barbara,’ he said urgently, jumping down from the window and crossing to her. She opened her eyes, which she’d kept screwed up tight, and stared at Ian as he knelt beside her.

The smile she gave him was a whole book of expressions, the sudden relief in her eyes mingling with an odd look of triumph that he had found her still defiant, still determined, still with plenty of reserves to withstand whatever trials and tortures El Akir could devise.

‘Have you something you can put on her back?’ said Ian to the girl beside him. She nodded and signalled to the little Indian girl, who ran away to a corner of the room.

‘Maimuna, this is Ian,’ said Barbara, faintly. ‘He’s come to take us away.’

Maimuna took hold of one of Ian’s hands, raised it to her lips and pressed it against her cheek. The Indian girl hurried to them with a little jar of salve. Maimuna thanked her and took it, asking her to listen closely at the doors and warn them if anyone approached. Then she bent over Barbara’s back.

‘I will be as soft and gentle as I can,’ said Maimuna. Ian moved around and bent down on one knee, his face near to Barbara’s, trying to ignore the little winces she gave as the girl started to smooth on the ointment with quick, deft little gestures.

‘Barbara, I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry. But I have horses
outside the palace gates… if we can only get to them.’

‘Can we climb down the tree?’

‘I think it’s the best way. If you can manage?’

‘Yes.’

She hunched her shoulders sharply, her teeth finding her lower lip, as Maimuna completed the last of her work. Ian unclipped the red cloak from around his throat and spread it over Barbara as she sat up. Ian noticed the sheen of perspiration on her face and he bent and kissed her gently on the forehead.

The little Indian girl suddenly gave an agitated cry and retreated towards them.

‘Quickly! You must hide. Someone is coming,’ she gasped. The girls in the room all shrank back in their accustomed positions, trying to find what comfort they could from a closeness to the walls; all except Maimuna.

‘Take her out of the window,’ she said rapidly. ‘I will delay him.’

‘He’ll kill you, Maimuna,’ said Barbara.

‘My life does not matter.’

‘It does matter,’ said Ian. ‘Stay here with Barbara.’

He drew his scimitar from its scabbard and ran over to the doors, just reaching cover as they were flung open and El Akir marched in arrogantly.

Ian stepped behind him and closed the doors, leaning against them. El Akir slowed to a stop aware that something was amiss. He looked at the red cloak Barbara clutched around herself, knew it as part of the uniform of one of his guards. He felt, rather than saw, that the women in the chamber were gazing at him in some sort of a new way, as if they were waiting for something expectantly.

He swung round, then crouched as he saw Ian. His hand sped down to the sword at his side and he unsheathed it.

‘What are you doing in here, carrion?’ he spat out viciously. ‘Don’t you know it’s death to be in my harem?’

‘Your death!’ Ian said.

He took two steps forward and lifted his blade. The Emir parried with a low cut, the two metals scraping together.

‘Are you mad?’ screamed El Akir, retreating a step or two. Ian made a huge downward cut, his blade flashing through the air. His opponent cut upwards defensively then twisted his wrist to slash sideways at Ian’s legs. Ian jumped up, striking hard at the other’s sword hand, just missing, his blade sliding off the hilt with a spark.

‘Guards!’ roared El Akir. ‘To the harem! Guards!’ He cut at Ian viciously, who felt the blade skim across his hair as he was forced to duck. He lunged forward, using the scimitar more in the fashion of an
épée
but El Akir knocked it aside and suddenly advanced with a series of hacking cuts and blows that had Ian defending desperately. Their hilts clashed and Ian jumped forward, forcing his weight behind his sword, trying to press both the blades back like scissors around his enemy’s neck. El Akir flicked his sword hand expertly and swayed sideways, letting Ian’s pressure impel him forwards. Ian staggered off balance and the Emir struck at his back. Ian heard the rip of cloth as the razor edge just grazed his clothes, missing the flesh by a hair’s-breadth. It was becoming quite clear that El Akir was a cool, dangerous swordsman, well practised in the art. He now tried to follow up his advantage, but Ian swung round his free hand and clubbed him on the cheek-bone, giving himself a temporary relief as the Emir tottered sideways, shaking his head from the blow.

Ian saw all the girls running now, directed by Maimuna, hurrying to the double doors. Some put their weight against it while others began to drag the couches and the chests and other furniture to block the door.

El Akir realized what they were up to and, thrusting at Ian so that he rocked back on his heels, turned and ran to the doors, his weapon circling above his head, ready to cleave the nearest girl in two. Ian reached down and pulled desperately at the rug and his enemy staggered and fell on one knee, giving Ian time to interpose himself and defend the girls. A hammer of blows descended on the other side of the door and a gruff voice shouted the Emir’s name.

‘Break down the door, you fools,’ he yelled, cutting once again at Ian, who eluded the attack with nimble footwork and responded so hard that he drew blood from a slight cut he made on El Akir’s left shoulder. The Emir smashed at Ian’s right leg, fortunately with the flat side of his scimitar but nevertheless numbing it. Seeing that Ian was handicapped for a moment, El Akir suddenly darted to one side and seized hold of Maimuna by the hair and pulled her off her feet. Ian made a desperate attempt to sever his enemy’s head from his body, but the blade swung away a foot short and El Akir dragged the screaming girl to the window. He pulled her, half fainting, to her feet, letting go of her hair and gripping her round the throat with his free arm.

The pounding on the doors was stronger now as more bodies were hurled against it. El Akir shouted to them to double their efforts then pointed his scimitar at Ian who was steadily approaching.

‘One more step and I’ll cut this girl in two.’

Ian looked at Barbara anxiously. She had managed to sit upright properly now, although unable to move without a hundred pokers of pain stabbing through her. Ian saw a change in her eyes, a slight frown and then realization as she raised her eyebrows. He looked quickly at El Akir for the answer. Behind him began to emerge the shape of a large, poorly dressed man, entering the harem by the same route Ian had taken.

Haroun stood on the window and put his hands round El Akir’s throat, so surprising him that the sword dropped out of his hand in terror. The man exerted all his strength and lifted the Emir off his feet.

For a second the two men were poised, El Akir pulling feebly at the hands around his throat, his tongue forced out between his teeth, his scar glaring redly as the blood pounded in his head. Then Haroun jumped down from the window, at the same time twisting his hands to the right. As his feet touched the ground, he pivoted, whirling El Akir like a throwing hammer. Suddenly he let go and fell on one knee.

El Akir hurtled through the air with a ghastly scream of fear and smashed high up into the wall opposite. There was a sickening thud as the Emir’s head struck the wall, then the body rebounded and slammed to the ground.

Haroun clasped his daughter in his arms and beckoned to Ian impatiently. Ian took hold of Barbara’s hand and hurried her to the window.