A Blood Red Horse (10 page)

Saladin was waiting for him when he returned to Jerusalem. The sultan had been worried. Kamil was not usually absent from his side for so long, particularly at important moments. The retaking of the holy places was not a time suddenly to go missing. Baha ad-Din had looked uncomfortable when Saladin had asked if he knew where the boy was, and Saladin had a feeling of foreboding. As soon as Kamil entered his tent, the sultan saw a new look in his ward's eye that he did not like.

“We have missed you, Kamil,” he said, keeping his voice very even—
dangerously even
, thought Baha ad-Din, who was standing behind the sultan and knew his master well. “What has kept you away from prayers this evening, the first in the city that has caused us so much blood and heartache?”

Kamil was silent. Saladin's voice became quieter still. “Kamil, I asked you a question.”

Baha ad-Din coughed. “You must answer,” he said. “Remember the debt of gratitude you owe to the sultan, who has looked to your welfare all these years.”

Kamil threw up his head, fighting to clear his mind. “I have been taking revenge,” he said. “In the name of Allah, of His Prophet, of the sultan, and my father, I have exacted a due penalty for the cruelty done to me by the infidel race that has polluted our land.”

Saladin looked at him for some moments, considering. “I will not ask the details,” he said eventually, much to the
relief of Baha ad-Din. “But do not leave me again without permission.”

Kamil shrugged and opened his mouth to speak. Saladin raised his hand. “I said, I will not ask for the details,” he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. “But I say this. Do not take revenge in my name, or in the name of Allah or Mohammed, His Prophet. The revenge you have taken is your personal responsibility. You must live with it. And die with it. The correct interpretation of the Koran is that you cannot worship Allah in blood. Whatever the provocation, try to remember this always.”

Kamil bowed, but his face was expressionless, and when Saladin invited him to pray, he mouthed the words wishing they could reach his heart.

For the next two years Kamil kept his own counsel and Saladin watched him. In matters of war, Kamil did not put a foot wrong, but when Saladin tried to speak to him about personal matters, he found the boy's eyes troubled and his lips silent. Baha ad-Din cautioned the sultan about pressing Kamil to talk, saying that he must be allowed to find his own path to peace of mind. The sultan listened to the old man, nodded, and reluctantly, with many misgivings, decided to bide his time.

As the sultan waited and watched Kamil, William, now reunited with Hosanna and happier than ever, was sitting in the great hall with his father, Ellie, Old Nurse, and the castle servants. A huge fire was burning, and the women were settled round it, sewing on to surcoats the crosses that all crusaders wore. William, Gavin, and their father would be taking the surcoats with them to the Holy Land when the de Granvilles accompanied King Richard there in July. The hall still smelled of Christmas, and the rushes on the floor were thick with berries fallen from the holly branches hung on the walls. Will threw bones for his wolfhound as he watched Old Nurse pack up rough pilgrims' tunics, “For when you get to Jerusalem and want to pray rather than fight.” He was paying little attention to Sir Thomas, who was trying to speak to him very seriously about the burden, both spiritual and physical, that accepting the sign of the cross entailed.

Ellie's face was mutinous, for women, as Sir Thomas made very clear, were not included. She stabbed her needle viciously into the silk of Gavin's surcoat, then cursed as she pricked her finger, and red droplets formed fuzzy patterns in the daffodil yellow. But William, although apparently
only half-listening, thrilled to his father's words. The cross meant that the pope had given his blessing to fight God's war, and that if they died, which William was sure they wouldn't, they would all go to heaven.

“We are pilgrim soldiers now,” said Sir Thomas. “We are going not just to fight but to pray as well. This is a very special calling. We will take our staffs as well as our swords—Ellie, don't say “God's teeth,” it is not ladylike—now where was I? Oh yes. When the killing is over, we will all do penance for it, and then we will see what every decent Christian longs to see: the True Cross, Calvary, the Via Dolorosa—all the places associated with Christ's life and death.” He sniffed. “Your mother and I talked of going once, when we were old. Now I am old and she's dead. That's my cross, I suppose.” Then he smiled. “Well, at least I have my two sons, and you, of course, Ellie dear. I shall be going to the Holy City in the company of my sons. What more could a man ask, eh?”

But William was no longer listening at all. He was bored with watching the sewing and, now that his father had finished, wanted to get back out to the stables. Since Hosanna's return from the monastery Sir Thomas and Sir Walter set tasks to test his fitness. The horse was back performing neat turns at speed, graceful reverses, and thundering charges as if he had never been ill. The horse could jump, too, and much to Sir Thomas's alarm, he and William could be seen flying over hedges, ditches, and walls. Nothing, it seemed, was beyond them. Now William wanted to check with Hal that the new saddlery he had ordered was going to be ready on time.

The following day, instead of hunting, he suggested to Ellie that they should go over to the monastery and take the monks a present. Ellie jumped at the chance. William
had given her Sacramenta to ride, and although she could not boast quite the skill that William exhibited, she could certainly ride better than many of the Hartslove knights. The two of them chattered away as they set off down the familiar route, with Sir Walter lagging behind, leading a packhorse laden with hares, cheese, and wine. Ellie had made a ring by twisting together some of the hairs of Hosanna's tail. Although she knew the abbot would disapprove, she thought she would give it to Brother Ranulf for his part in Hosanna's recovery.

“Please don't talk all the time about the crusade, Will,” she begged as they hugged their cloaks round them and the horses' breath billowed in the freezing air. “I know it is wrong to say so, but I'm sick of it already. You all put on your special ‘crusade faces' and then smile at me in that annoying way men have, as if you all have some special knowledge which, because I am a girl, I am too stupid to understand.”

“What nonsense, we don't put on any such faces,” said William, asking Hosanna to go from walk to canter and back to walk. “Look, Ellie, this is just the maneuver Father says is important in a battle.”

Ellie gave up.

“I'll race you,” she said.

“Aren't you a bit old for that, Ellie. I mean—” and here William did his favorite trick of imitating Constable de Scabious's thin treble—“You're going to be fifteen this year and should be more ladylike!”

Ellie pulled Sacramenta up, snapped off a hazel switch from the side of the track, and smacked William smartly across the back with it.

“You see!” exclaimed William. “Women can't be trusted.” And with that, he urged Hosanna into a gallop,
rejoicing to hear the horse's hooves crunching through the frozen grass and puddles.

Ellie leaned forward, and Sacramenta rose to the challenge. “Go on, girl, get your nose in front,” Ellie muttered. “That would teach him.”

But, of course, Sacramenta didn't, for fast as she was, she was no match for Hosanna, and Ellie had to be content with galloping up to the monastery gatehouse some way behind, holding her breath with slight anxiety as Sacramenta slithered over the ice that had formed in sheets where the going was rough.

William was already off Hosanna, and a bevy of monks, happily disobeying the abbot, were crowded round him. Ellie pulled up and looked back. Sir Walter was nowhere to be seen. Brother Andrew, who, despite the rigors of monastic life, would soon rival Old Nurse for size, immediately broke away from the rest.

“Miss Ellie,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

He disappeared for a moment, then returned with two huge books. Ellie dismounted. Brother Andrew was always showing her books. They were filled with pictures and words, which the monk told her were about medicines. Although nervous that William would think she was becoming girlish, Ellie was fascinated. She was envious of the ease with which Brother Andrew talked about great doctors of the past, how he could tell her what Aristotle thought and how he believed that so many diseases would eventually be cured. It was heady stuff, and when Brother Andrew returned, Ellie gazed at the words he showed her and longed to be able to read them herself. Today, he was telling her that they had just finished copying a book by the famous doctor Galen.

“This is something really special,” he said. “Galen lived
not so long after Christ, and what he didn't know about medicine is hardly worth knowing. I've made some very special ointments with his teaching in mind. Ointments that can cure anything. This book has taken us about two years to copy, but it is the future, Miss Eleanor, mark my words.”

“Is that a list of the medicines?” asked Ellie, peering at the words and pointing to the margin.

“Dear me, no!” said Brother Andrew. “Those are the names of flowers and herbs, and here, look, are the pictures to match. And there is a decorated letter
E. E
is what your name begins with.”

“Is it?” said Ellie, smiling at Brother Andrew's enthusiasm. “It's beautiful. Did Doctor Galen paint the letters, too?”

“No, no,” said Brother Andrew. “One of our monks thought to illustrate our copy himself. He's clever with his brush. Now, I have another book to show you. This one is most unusual.”

He put down his book of medicines and, with difficulty because the parchment was stiff, opened another. This one was full of pictures of animals. One, in particular, caught Ellie's eye.

“What on earth is that?” she exclaimed. She could tell the animal must be large because the man painted next to it was tiny.

Brother Andrew was very excited. “Yes, exactly,” he said. “What
is
that? Well, Miss Eleanor, it is what they call an elephant. Look, here is one of those
E
s again.
E
for elephant. This chronicle is written by a man whose name we don't know. He claims that this creature, whose name appears to be Abu L'Abbas, was given to the great emperor Charlemagne by Caliph Harun of Egypt—that's a country
on the edge of the world. It can carry anything, and can charge as fast as a horse. If you notice, its back legs seem to have knees that bend like ours. Isn't that curious? If we turn the page we'll see—ah! Here comes Sir Walter. I'd better put this book down inside. We don't want it ruined.”

Sir Walter, looking rather peeved, came to a halt beside Ellie. She tried not to look cross but could not help gazing longingly after Brother Andrew. What extraordinary things you could learn from books and what a surprise Brother Andrew would have if, one day, when he was showing Ellie a page, she could read the words to him instead of him reading them to her. Ellie's heart gave a small flutter. But now she turned to Sir Walter.

“The horse bearing gifts is rather slower than the others,” said the old knight pointedly.

Ellie gave a small, apologetic grimace. Sir Walter patted her shoulder.

“Never mind,” he said. “Crusading fever is infectious.”

Ellie frowned and began to unpack the panniers. “You are very patient with us, Sir Walter,” she said politely.

But Sir Walter was busy greeting the almoner, who was back, rubbing his chubby red hands together.

“Here,” said Ellie. “No books, Brother Andrew, but six hares and six flagons of wine to go with them. Sir Thomas sends his regards and hopes you are remembering to pray for him daily.”

“As if we would forget,” said Brother Andrew, his eyes lighting up in anticipation of a feast.

At that moment Brother Ranulf and the abbot appeared, and Brother Andrew tried to look more monk-ishly gloomy. He winked at Ellie as she handed over the last of the presents. She smiled, then left him and walked over to where the abbot was standing, his hands clasped
tightly together in front of him. Even though he was always very pleasant to her, she could almost feel his disapproval that a woman should come near his monks. She kept her eyes modestly down as she approached, congratulated him on the quality of the new bell recently installed, and then, on the pretext of asking Brother Ranulf something about Hosanna, managed to prize him from the abbot's side for just enough time shyly to hand over the ring.

“It's for you, from Hosanna,” she explained. “Before he goes to the Holy Land.”

Brother Ranulf was thrilled. “Thank you,” he said, quickly slipping the ring into his pocket. “I shall treasure that.”

“Now,” called Sir Walter, who could feel the cold seeping into his bones. “It is time we were off. Come on, you two.”

Ellie and William said their farewells and mounted their horses. Three monks helped Sir Walter onto his.

“Pray for us!” shouted William as the packhorse, freed from his burdens, set off at a resolute trot.

“God bless you all,” called the abbot. “May you get safely to Jerusalem,” and he sighed.

As Hosanna disappeared into the trees the almoner approached the abbot. “You know, Father Abbot,” he said conversationally, “that girl, Miss Eleanor, is really very bright. Would it not be the Lord's work to teach her to read? When she marries and has children, she could teach them in their turn.”

The abbot was too old and wise to snap. He let a moment elapse, then said, “Now, Brother Andrew. Look into your heart and tell me whether women are anything but trouble or not.”

Brother Andrew looked into his heart and found that the abbot was right. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose they are.”