A Blood Red Horse (19 page)

“Ah, Kamil, you are cold. Come, I have a fire. When I have time, I must come and take a close look at your new friend. My emirs think it is very funny that you call him Red Horse instead of using whatever name the Christians gave him,” he said. “And I hear he is smart as well as beautiful.”

Kamil responded with a smile. “He is a good horse,” he said, and took his old place by the sultan's side.

Baha ad-Din was pleased. Maybe, at eighteen, Kamil was growing up. But he was soon to be disappointed. When Saladin brought up the question of a truce and outlined his reasons, Kamil's mood blackened.

“We cannot make peace after all they have done,” he said. “How can we make peace with people who do not think of us as human beings?”

“What they think of us is not the point,” said Saladin drily. “I am telling you, as my most trusted friends, that we cannot beat them.”

“If you would allow us to visit their camp at night, we could,” responded Kamil, clenching his fists. “There are other ways to beat them than open warfare.”

“And they are the wrong ways,” replied Saladin, watching the boy closely. “We all have certain rules of combat, the Christians as well as us. They broke them by massacring our unarmed captives. We cannot descend to that level. If we break the rules of combat, anarchy takes over.
We are not barbarians, for all the nonsense the Christians put about.”

Kamil was silent as Baha ad-Din and Saladin spoke of how a truce might be achieved and what its terms might be. Then he exploded.

“This is utter betrayal,” he said. “Truce means that the Christians keep the coast. Without the coast, how can we make Jerusalem safe? In reality truce means handing back our holy places to them eventually. It would be …” He stopped, looked furiously at Saladin, and then went on: “It would be treachery.”

The sultan half got up and reached for his sword. For a moment Baha ad-Din thought he was going to kill Kamil. Then he sat down again.

“Killing all the Christians is impossible, Kamil,” he said. “And anyway, it is not the way of Allah. My son, think hard. Show some foresight. Come, I depend on you. You may well be called to take over from me one day. Even a sultan cannot live forever. But I must see that you have a head as well as a heart.”

Kamil looked stunned. “Take over from you?”

“Yes,” said Saladin evenly. “Now. Let us pray, and when we have prayed, we will talk some more.”

Kamil prostrated himself and prayed hard. Maybe Saladin was right, but he did not feel it in his heart. In his heart all he felt was fury at himself for his failure properly to avenge his father and a deep hatred of the Christians in his land. After prayers Kamil left the sultan, but not before Saladin had ordered him most particularly to stay close at all times. Kamil bowed. The sultan's will was his command. Saladin smiled, but said nothing more.

* * *

Over the next few weeks Kamil again found himself several times in conversation with the man with the black beard, the one who had been so friendly after the Christian cavalry charge during which he had first spotted the red horse. The man had such an open, intelligent face and kind smile that Kamil was disposed to like him. He himself did not look out for the man, but more and more often they seemed to find themselves buying herbs and vegetables from the same woman at the market or taking shelter from the weather in the same cave. Once, when Kamil was returning to the camp on Hosanna, the man gave him a beautiful saddlecloth, “In praise,” so he said, “of a beautiful red horse.” Kamil began to think of him as a friend.

The man's name was Abdul Raq. He spoke well of the sultan and extolled the glories of the Muslim people. But he was no sycophant, and Kamil found that he had interesting views that he liked to listen to. Little by little Kamil began to confide his own hopes. He told him about Saladin's plans for a truce and how uncomfortable this made him feel. Raq never condemned the sultan, even sympathized and agreed with some of the things Kamil revealed that the sultan had said. But after a while he openly wondered what the sultan had in mind in the longer term.

One day, just before the Christian New Year, the two met as Kamil stormed out, bitter and furious, from the sultan's tent. Truce now seemed inevitable.

“You seem upset, my friend,” said Raq. “Let's walk a little until you cool off.”

As they walked, Kamil grew more and more careless of his words.

“Saladin has got it wrong,” he said at last. “Where is a true leader? Where can we find one who knows that the
only way we can extol Allah is to kill all the Christians who are polluting our soil? They have land of their own where they can worship in their own way. Why do they come here? Jerusalem is not their city, even though the prophet Jesus died there. If we make a truce, we will never be rid of them.”

Abdul Raq was silent for a moment or two.

“There is a leader,” he said eventually, keeping his voice low and not looking at Kamil, “who would think you very wise.”

“I wish I could meet him,” cried Kamil before he could stop himself.

Abdul Raq turned to look at him.

“It could be arranged,” he said quietly.

Kamil felt he was on the brink of something momentous. He looked at Raq. How far could he really trust this man?

Raq made a motion with his hands. “You must make up your own mind,” he said. “I shall say nothing. We know too much about each other now, you and I.”

Kamil took a deep breath. “Then arrange it,” he said, and turning on his heel to hide his anxiety, he went to find his horse.

Two weeks later Kamil found himself riding fast through the desert very early in the morning. He was accompanied by an unknown man to whom he had been introduced by Raq. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly that Kamil had had no time to be nervous. And now Hosanna felt so fit and keen that even in the bitter cold it was still a pleasure to be out. The dark did not seem threatening to Kamil. It felt like a friend. Raq had approached him the day before and introduced the man who was now acting as
guide. The guide had whispered that Kamil should be mounted and ready by midnight. He would come and find him. The man had done exactly that, and they had set off without exchanging another word.

The rain made the ground into sludge. But it soon ceased to fall, and as the pair rode up off the plain heading north, the going became lighter. Kamil was amazed at the ability of the horses to find their feet in the dark, but neither stumbled. He leaned forward and ran his hand down Hosanna's neck. Hosanna, concentrating on keeping his feet, did not acknowledge his caress.

They sped on through all the hours of darkness and all the following day and night. They rested only for two or three hours at a time. When dawn broke on the third day, they had reached the bottom of a group of small mountains, the peak of the highest glimmering with a light scattering of snow. Kamil felt no sense of exhaustion, nor did Hosanna. As they began to push up, following a gorge cut by a river, the red horse scrambled and climbed with no apparent effort. The guide's horse was struggling now, but Hosanna, right up behind it, was tireless.

All day they followed the river, until, at last, as darkness fell, they began to climb more steeply. Farther and farther up they went, the air growing thin. The sides of the gorge closed in on them, until Kamil felt almost claustrophobic, and for the first time he began to wonder what he was doing. If the sultan found out where he was, it would mean certain death. But when the gorge opened out again and the guide intimated that they would camp for the night where a tumbling stream offered water for the horses, Kamil reassured himself.

The sultan will not find out
, he reasoned, watching the other man, almost out of nothing, conjure up a fire. Kamil
took the food and drink that he was offered.
The sultan and Baba ad-Din think I have gone to consult the imam in Jerusalem to see about strengthening my knowledge of the Koran
, he thought as he shared his bread with Hosanna.
They will never know the truth
. Nevertheless, Kamil did not sleep well.

They rose again at dawn and were away twenty minutes later. Above their heads eagles circled. The guide was anxious to push on. The going was very steep now, and the rocks offered an uncertain foothold. Kamil could not disguise his relief when the guide pulled up.

“We have arrived,” he said, indicating that Kamil should go in front of him through a great gash in the side of the gorge.

Kamil went through the gash, scrambled up a little more, then found himself riding along a ledge. To his right, the drop was well over sixty yards and sheer. He caught his breath and put his hand on Hosanna's mane to stop himself feeling dizzy. The horse flicked back his ears and stepped carefully over the fallen debris that lay in his way. The ledge seemed to lead nowhere, but there was no turning back and the guide was pushing him on. Kamil felt suddenly sick. Was this a trick? However, just before the end of the ledge, completely invisible until you were right beside it, was another gap in the rock face. Kamil turned and found himself riding through spiky grass again as the path opened into a small hidden plateau between two peaks. He drew in his breath sharply. It was stunningly beautiful, with the sun's rays just beginning to push against the brooding shadows cast by the rocks.

In front of him, some rough buildings had been constructed, with roofs made of straw and mud. They were very simple. From a hole in the roof of one, smoke rose.
About fifty men were standing outside, apparently ready to greet him. All were heavily armed.

Kamil dismounted. He let Hosanna go but hoped the horse would stay near him. He was disappointed when a small boy came and led him away.

The men said nothing. They were dressed in long blue tunics with daggers strapped to their arms and sword belts round their hips. Their beards were dyed a curious shade of red. As Kamil approached, they parted, and the boy found himself in front of a small, rather round man sitting on a chair cracking walnuts.

He looked up, and his smile sent his whole face into creases. “Greetings, my friend,” he said, spitting out some shell. “I am Rashid ed-Din Sinan. But I am better known as the Old Man of the Mountain. My friend Abdul Raq tells me you wanted to see me.”

Kamil swallowed hard. He suddenly felt weak.

Sinan looked at him kindly. “Come, sit,” he said, and one of his men ran off to get another chair. “Catch your breath. May I offer tea?”

Kamil nodded. “Tea for our visitor,” said Sinan, and immediately a table was brought. Cups and sweets were laid out.

Sinan allowed Kamil to take his time, making pleasant conversation about the weather and complimenting Kamil on his horse. Kamil began to relax. Gently Sinan brought the conversation round to the crusade and Saladin's desire for a truce.

“What a good man the sultan is,” he said, rather to Kamil's surprise. “But how misguided. Allah needs strong men these days, for strong deeds must be done.” Sinan sighed.

Kamil was quick to agree. “With a truce we will never
get rid of the Christians,” he said. “Surely that cannot be the will of Allah?”

Sinan paused to consider. “It is my view that it is not,” he said. There was silence.

“Kamil,” said Sinan at last. “There are important and difficult things to be done. Things that are right are often not easy. Are you prepared for such things?”

Kamil nodded slowly. But Sinan was not ready to confide in him just yet. The Old Man paid careful attention as he asked the boy questions about the Koran. Soon he abandoned questions and began to weave a web of ideas. He talked for a long time. Kamil was spellbound by his voice and by the apparent truth of his words. He nodded his head many times.

“If we are to create a perfect world as Allah commands,” Sinan said at last, “we must be prepared to show perfect obedience. Are you prepared?”

Kamil nodded again.

“Let me show you,” said Sinan. He got up and took Kamil back through the gash in the mountainside. In single file they walked to the end of the ledge and looked down at the drop to the rocks below. Kamil began to breathe more quickly.

“Look up!” Sinan commanded. Kamil, his head reeling, did as he was told. Above him on a rocky outcrop, two men stood on guard duty. Sinan clapped his hands, and the men stood to attention.

The Old Man of the Mountain spoke only three words. Then the two men, without hesitation, walked to the end of the ridge and, making not even the smallest of sounds, jumped. The only scream was Kamil's. Sinan put out his arm and steadied him as the bodies of the
men shattered on the rocks below. Kamil was covered in sweat.

Sinan, apparently unmoved, waited for a moment or two. Then he spoke in a calm and even voice. “Never betray your feelings,” he said. “That is the first rule.”

He stood patiently as Kamil pulled himself together.

Sinan went on. “These men you see here would do anything, not for me, but for Allah, I asked them to die for Allah, and they have. Could you do the same?”

Kamil could scarcely take in what had just happened. But mesmerized by the Old Man's voice, by his power, and by his unassailable logic, he nodded slowly. “I hope I could,” he whispered.

“My boy,” said Sinan. “Death is what some men do best. But yours is a different path. Allah expects something else from men of your quality. He will give you the strength to do whatever is asked of you just as he gave those men the strength to do what was asked of them. To every man his unique moment of glory.”

Kamil was silent. He could not trust his voice.

“Now,” said Sinan, guiding him back along the path and through the gash, “let us talk of other things. Tell me a little about yourself.”

They returned to the table as if nothing had happened. Kamil sat down, trying to hide his shaking legs. With gentle probing from Sinan, he told him of his father's death and of the vengeance he had failed to take, killing the son but leaving the knight alive. He did not mention, however, how he had come by the red horse, or his failure to kill William. Something stopped him. As Kamil spoke, the Old Man nodded and smiled, for all the world like a benign elderly grandfather. When he had finished, Sinan showed
him where he could rest before his return journey and settled the boy down with his own hands.