Swords From the West (15 page)

One of the Arab women came and pulled her back to the bed, and she sat there, listening. At home she had seen no more of war than the tournaments of Chatillon, but her kinsmen had borne arms, and she knew the sounds of a siege.

For awhile she watched the slit of blue sky deepening with the purple of sunset and wondered what was passing at the wall. The tumult, that had quieted, now grew apace, and the Arab girl went to the embrasure. Marguerite followed at once. The sun was setting behind the tower and crimson light flooded the rear of the wall and the gate. The villagers had withdrawn from it and four men stood close behind it-Sir John and Khalil and two men-at-arms with axes. Bewildered, she saw that they were taking down the massive iron bars that held the portals shut.

When the last bar was free, they swung back the gates, clear of the entrance. And then all four of them took their stand shoulder to shoulder athwart the threshold, Sir John and Khalil in the middle, a pace before the others.

Above their heads Marguerite beheld a thing that made her clasp her hands, and the girl beside her breathed heavily. A score of men in mail, Moslem and Italian, rushed at the open gate, sword in hand. They shouted as they ran, and the wailing cry of Islam echoed against the tower.

"Allah-il-allahi!"

And with a spring and crash the wooden engines on the wall shot their stones and iron bolts. Some of the running men were dashed from their feet and others flinched aside. The rest flung themselves on Sir John and the Kurd.

The two swordsmen planted their feet, bracing their shields. Above their heads the long, curved blades swung, and slashed down. First one, then the other stepped back, and leaped forward again. At times the axmen behind them would strike over their shoulders.

The men on the wall were hurling down heavy stones, and the engines crashed again, over the tumult of shouting and grinding steel. More of the Venetians flung themselves against Sir John, and the long sword whirled and slashed-parried and cut while Khalil yelped in exultation and the archers above plied their bows.

Then the pressure of the attack ceased, and Marguerite saw men running down the slope. The glow of sunset faded along the wall and the gates were shut. But soon another glow sprang up in the village, where the mounds of hay and thorn bush were burning, and the Damascus men were plundering the huts. The village Arabs thronged the wall to stare down moodily at this destruction of their property. But Ibrahim the Yamanite slipped through the postern door in the rear, and when things quieted down toward morning he managed to steal two good horses from the besiegers' camp. With these he departed on an errand for Sir John.

Marguerite climbed the winding stair and seated herself upon the sunny parapet of the tower the next noon, to the delight of the solitary archer who stood sentry and who now found something more agreeable to look at than the bare countryside and the purple cleft of the Jordan gorge. And Marguerite beheld, in the camp of the besiegers, her own pavilion and the tiny figures that were her serving women. In that pavilion were all her clothes and brushes and chests. And yet even in the pitiless light of midday the girl seemed cool and fresh.

For awhile she did not move, and perhaps she pondered the strange, hard land, the gnarled olive trees and the distant patches of grazing cattle-the heights of Moab, beyond the Promised Land. Only when a mailed tread grated on the stair she turned quickly.

A tall and grizzled man in a stained native cloak emerged from the stair and bade her a gruff good morning. This was old Renald-she knew him to be captain of the men-at-arms-and when he had scrutinized the camp under the sycamores she decided to make him talk.

"It was ill done," she observed, "to open the gate at vespers yesterday."

Renald grunted.

"'Twas Sir John's doing."

"But why?"

The old Norman turned upon her, scowling.

"Why, my lady? We ha' fourteen men, and they ha' near a hundred. If they had scattered around the wall we could not hold them off. So Sir John says, 'We will invite them in at the door,' and they had many a woundy knock from our bolts and bows. Fourteen men!" He shook his head gloomily.

"It was a sore and bloody onset," the girl sighed. "But it was Sir John's doing. Is he friend to Sir Reginald of Kerak?"

"Aye," Renald muttered.

"Then you have sent a rider to Kerak, for aid?"

"Belike. An Arab went off that way last night."

It seemed to the girl that the Norman captain had not answered frankly.

"Of course," she said, "you are safe now, within this wall, until aid comes."

"Wi' fourteen men? Nay, Kerak lieth distant three days' ride, and the castle lacks food for two days."

"Then you must make terms with the Mocenigos."

"Terms? Not Sir John. Not wi' yonder parings of the devil's hoofs. The Mount will make no composition wi' blethering slave sellers."

"But they are honorable merchants and men of property in the cities."

"I doubt it not. There's a-many cattle thieves and slave traders who are men of property, my lady." He nodded sagely. "If they were true men, would ye be here, my lady?"

Marguerite told herself that this man had not seen her carried off from the tent the day before. But she could not help understanding that Renald and the men of the Mount felt that this siege was her fault, and she thought for a moment, twisting within her fingers the strands of her heavy hair.

"Will you tell your lord that I would like to-to speak with him?"

She waited in her cell, until Khalil appeared in the door and made signs to indicate that Sir John slept. She did not know that both men had been afoot during the night, and she sat in the dark chamber until sunset, when the impassive Arab girl came with her tray. Marguerite did not try to talk to her. She was weary of the silence and doubt, and she wondered if the Lord of the Mount had been hurt in the fighting. The thought frightened her. At least the knight was master here and would let no other hand harm her. If he were dead ...

Straightaway she slipped out into the stair and felt her way down through the darkness. At the first turning she stopped, hearing men in talk within the hall below, and the familiar ringing voice of the knight. But they were speaking Arabic and the strange sound of it held no reassurance for her. Nor would she go down to be stared at by the men-at-arms.

Instead, she went back to her room. She had sent for the knight, and no doubt he would come after the meeting in the hall. Or at least send her a candle to light the room. But he did not come, and the tired girl felt hot tears upon her eyes. She threw herself down on the bed and cried herself to sleep.

And in utter darkness, late in the night, she was roused by a distant tumult. She ran to the embrasure, listening. Somewhere swords clashed and brush crackled. Torches flickered through the olive trees, and the darkness was astir with moving figures. Above the tumult rang out a battle shout that she knew well.

"Chatillon! Chatillon!" And again, "Kerak to the rescue!"

With a cry of delight she drew the hood of her robe over her head and ran down the stair.

Before evening of that day Khalil had forgotten all about the girl in the tower-even that Renald had asked him to tell Sir John that she wished to speak with him. While the crusader ate a hasty supper, the two talked earnestly, and at the end the Kurd threw up his hands.

"Art thou weary of life?" he wondered.

"Aye, weary of sitting here until we are beset," Sir John said grimly. "Hast thou any love for the Italian crossbows?"

"Nay, certainly." Khalil shook his dark head emphatically.

These powerful weapons, that drove their bolts through shield and armor, were heartily disliked by the Moslem warriors.

"Well, at night such bows avail not at all, and a sword is the best weapon. And thou knowest the Damascus men will flee if the Italians give way."

"That is true. But cattle and torches and these Arab sons of sloth are no fit weapons."

The crusader laughed, for he meant to press everything into service if only Khalil would agree to act with him.

"Thy people say," he suggested "'At night a dog may be a lion.' And our cattle may become something else. Khalil, the Franks outside offered me, before the fight at the gate, two thousand pieces of gold to give up the woman. Has it never befallen thee to know a girl more precious than two thousand byzants?"

"No," responded the Kurd, "never."

"It has befallen me." Sir John's eyes softened. "No hand but mine will be laid upon the girl I have brought hither, and the sons she will bear will be my sons."

Khalil nodded, intent on a calculation of his own.

"If the Franks offered two thousand pieces, they must have that and more in their chests, and the escort from Damascus will have much more. The spoil would be a good spoil. As thou sayest, it is better to go out than to sit here."

"Much better," agreed the knight. "Now I will go first, for the cattle and the herders wait. Ibrahim warned them, and Renald saw them at sunset from the tower."

Again the Kurd nodded.

"My part is easier than thine. But fail not to come, or we will be taken like sheep." He stood up and stretched lean arms with a smile. "It is written, and we may not read what is written."

So they went out together into the courtyard. And when Sir John's horse was led up, he glanced at the dark tower, thinking that he would like to have a word with his captive before setting out. But the women told him that she was asleep, and already he had delayed to argue with Khalil. He mounted to the saddle, spoke briefly with Renald, who was to hold the castle gate with one man and the village folk, and then rode from the narrow postern through which Ibrahim had slipped the night before.

For awhile the courtyard was astir. Khalil counted off the ten men-atarms who remained to accompany him, and he selected as many of the Arab youths, making certain that each one had arms and a horse. Then he waited patiently until Renald called to him that the tally candle showed an hour elapsed.

With his twenty following in file, Khalil left the postern and turned in the direction opposite that taken by the knight. Although the castle was between him and the camp, he led his horse carefully into the darkness, into a gully where the starlight did not penetrate.

The gully turned away from the castle, but Khalil and his men knew every rock of the path, and presently they assembled on rising ground that overlooked the distant embers of the besiegers' fires and the gloom of the sycamore grove.

Khalil peered down uneasily. He did not know how many men might be awake down there in the gloom under the trees, and besides, he could see almost nothing at all because he had Sir John's heavy battle casque on his head. And his left arm was already weary with the weight of Sir John's long kite shield. From side to side he turned his head like an uneasy wolf, seeing only the red glimmer of campfires and the yellow points of stars overhead.

"May Allah confound this steel pot!" he swore.

"What sayest thou, Lord Khalil? " a man-at-arms asked anxiously. "Yonder come the torches."

It had taken Sir John a good hour's persuasion to induce the wary Kurd to put the great helm on his head, but having given his promise to lead the attack, Khalil would not hold back. With a shout he spurred his horse and dashed down the slope.

"The Mount!" cried his men-at-arms. "The Mount!"

And they followed with a clatter of hoofs and jangle of mail, while the Arabs behind them gave tongue. A wailing cry greeted them from the darkness, and arrows whipped by them. They were entering the camp of the Damascus men, and the sentries were wide awake. Cymbals clashed by the tents and an Italian horn echoed the clash.

Khalil swerved past patches of brush and pulled his horse out of a long stumble. He rode down a dark figure that seemed to spring out of the ground, and he careened into a tent. The pole of the tent swayed and came down upon other figures that struggled beneath the cloth, while Khalil's horse reared frantically and its master cursed anew.

Something crashed against the steel at his ear, and he beheld clearly enough the red flames that sprang before his eyes. An arrow ripped the mail links from his shoulder, and he lifted his shield in time to ward the smashing blow of a war club. Then his horse jumped clear of the tangle and, because the cressets hanging about the camp had been lighted, he saw that the warriors of Damascus were swarming out like bees, sword in hand.

Sir John's men had followed his example, and a half dozen tents had been overturned, while horses and running men leaped about the confusion like minions of purgatory welcoming a new host of the damned. Khalil cut the turban from the head of a passerby, and peered about, sawing at the rein of his maddened charger. A scimitar blade smote the mail upon his shoulders and he wheeled and slashed behind him, his sword sweeping vainly through the air.

Then the clatter of steel dwindled, and he saw the Moslems peering behind them. A greater sound filled the night, a stamping of reckless hoofs, a tearing of brush and a roar as of a freshet coming down a mountain. A black mass swayed and bore down upon the far side of the camp and on a knoll above it a strange trumpet resounded.

"Kerak!" A clear voice shouted. "Chatillon! Kerak to the rescue!"

Torches flickered on the knoll, disclosing a horseman in full armor, a light steel cap on his dark head, a drawn sword in his hand. For an instant he halted there, and then repeated his battle shout and galloped down to the mass that was moving on the camp.

And Khalil laughed.

All this the Mocenigos had seen, when they were roused from sleep, and ran out to stare and listen. They were men of nimble mind, and when they heard the cry of Kerak both thought of the same thing-of a rope dangling from the bough of a tree and their own bodies dangling from the rope. For Reginald of Chatillon would do no less than that to any merchants who made shift to sell his niece as a slave.

Although not accustomed to war, they were equally swift to act. They hastened to their horses and, finding them saddled, called to the nearest Venetians. And with some dozen riders they galloped from the camp as if the foul fiend had been at their heels.