Lionheart's Scribe (15 page)

Rashid shrugged. “Then there is no use talking further,” he said. “You had better go.”

“I'm sorry,” I began, but what could I say?

“It is of no consequence,” he answered. “Go.”

A man nearby looked over at Rashid curiously. Had he heard him speak? This was getting too dangerous.

“I will,” I said quickly, “but I'll be back. Tomorrow. At this same time. Wait for me here.”

Without waiting for his reply I melted back intothe shadows and stumbled up the stairs. The heat of the sun felt blessedly welcome as I finally emerged into the dazzle of the courtyard.

What am I to do? I cannot leave him there. But to help him, even if I could, would be treason. Besides, he obviously does not trust me now and does not want my help.

What am I to do?

The sixteenth day of July

I woke up this morning with a plan. With two plans, truth to tell, although I was not too certain about the second one. I was determined to help Rashid escape, and I believed I knew how to persuade him to accept my help. I owe him my life, so I must do this. But I resolved that he had to give me his word that he would not involve any of the other prisoners. I can justify saving his life because he saved mine, but I cannot justify setting free any of the other Muslim soldiers.

Late this afternoon I made my way back to the hidden cranny in the courtyard. This time I took with me the dagger I use for cutting meat when I eat. I crept down the dark stairs and peered into the dungeon. I did not see Rashid, but set to work anyway. I began working around the grate with the point of my dagger, loosening it wherever possible. I worked as quietly as I could so as not to attract the attention of any of the prisoners. I was so immersed in my work that a sudden whisper startled me. Rashid was leaning against the wall below.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled.

“I'm loosening the grate,” I whispered.

“I said I did not want your assistance,” he hissed. “Besides, you said there was no way out for me.”

I had thought long and hard last night about what I should say to him.

“I want to help you,” I replied. “You saved my life and I repaid that debt with an insult. I did not mean to and would not do so again, but I was in shock over the aftermath of the battle. That is no excuse, I know, but now I must help you and I have worked out a plan. Please let me tell it to you and then you may decide.”

“What is it?” The tone of his voice was still cold, but I was sure I could detect a hint of interest in it. I took heart.

“If I can get this grate off,” I said, “you must go through it when no one is watching you and then take the branch of the tunnel that leads up into the city. Dressed as you are now, in the garb of a Muslim soldier, you would have no chance, but if you were clothed as a simple farmer you could mingle with the crowds in the market and then make your way out the gate. The guards check all who come in closely, but they do not bother much with those going out.”

“Where would I get such clothing?” Rashid asked. There was definitely a growing interest in his voice. I hurried on.

“I will buy it for you in the market,” I said. I had counted the few coins I had hoarded away in my pack, made some inquiries and knew I had enough to buy him an old, used robe. “I couldbring a robe down here, bundle it up and leave it in the passageway. When you got out you could change, and creep up the stairs and into the courtyard. If you escaped at night you could hide in the courtyard until morning, then slip out and mingle with the Muslim people in the market. Those who wish to leave the city are still being allowed out with no checks, so you could make your way to the gate and leave. I do not think there would be a problem.”

“What about the others?” He cast a quick glance around. “I could not leave my fellow soldiers.”

This was what I had feared.

“No.” I shook my head although he could not see me. “If more than one of you try to escape you will all be caught. Besides, I can procure no more than one robe.”

“If all of us escape, there are enough of us to fight our way out.” His voice was suddenly hard.

I stopped my work. “If all of you escape and you fight your way out, many Christians will be killed. I can justify helping you escape, but I cannot justify that.” I made my voice just as hard. “If I do not have your word that you will do this alone, I will work no further. I will not help you escape.”

“And you believe I would honor my word?” he asked quietly.

“I know you would,” I said.

And I do believe that. If I am wrong, then God have mercy on me for I will have the deaths of many innocent people on my soul. But I do believe that Rashid will honor his word.

“I cannot leave them,” Rashid said then.
“That
would not be honorable.”

“They will be traded for the Christian prisoners that the sultan holds,” I said. “That was part of the treaty.”

“Then I should wait with them,” he answered.

“Would it not be wiser for you to escape if you can?” I was desperate to convince him. “You could carry word back to your sultan about the condition of your soldiers here. Persuade him to go ahead with the exchange of prisoners as soon as possible. You would do them more of a favor that way, I am certain of it.” I had another reason for wanting Rashid to escape and that had to do with my second plan, which I then broached. “Moreover,” I said, “if you escape now, you could help a Muslim child escape as well.”

Rashid stiffened. I could see he was restraining himself with difficulty from turning and looking up at me. “What do you mean?” he asked.

I told him about Yusra. “She is not happy here and will never be happy here. I am afraid that eventually the queen will lose patience with her and send her off into slavery,” I said. “Besides, if you have a child with you, the guards will take even less notice of you.”

Rashid was silent for a several long moments. I dug away at the grating and bit my lip in order to keep silent while he made his decision. Finally he spoke.

“Yes,” he said. “I could take her with me. I could give her into the care of my aunt. She would be welltaken care of and she should be with our people. It must be torture for her to live amongst you Christians. And our sultan must be told how desperate we are here.” He took a few restless paces away from the grating, then whirled and paced back. He leaned against the wall again. “I will do it then. But how?”

One whole side of the grating came free.

“I will get this grate free by tomorrow, I'm certain,” I replied. “Tomorrow night I will come back with Yusra.” I stopped for a moment. I had not yet worked out how I would accomplish that, but I plowed on in any case. I would solve that problem when I came to it. Then an even greater problem presented itself. “Will you be able to climb up through the grate unobserved?” I asked.

“At night they take away the torches. It is deepest black in here then,” Rashid answered. “No one would see.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Good,” I said. “I will work away here today as long as I can, then return tomorrow and finish. Tomorrow night you will be free.”

By the time I left the grate was almost completely loose. It will be no problem at all to do the rest of the work tomorrow.

Now I am pondering how I will get Yusra away from the queen's house. It should not be too difficult. I know the girl sleeps in the back, in the cooking area. The door is bolted at night, but she would be able to open it from the inside. I will make occasion to speak with her tomorrow and tell her to wait for me as soon as night falls and be ready to fleewith me. She is so anxious to return to her own people I am certain she will comply. We will have to avoid the guards, but I know where they are stationed so that will not be difficult.

It occurs to me that helping Yusra is probably just as traitorous as helping Rashid, but I intend to do it anyway.

The seventeenth day of July

That silly, impatient girl! She has ruined everything. For herself at least.

I awoke this morning and reported to the king as usual, but his household was in a tizzy. It seems that Yusra tried to creep out of the queen's house early this morning and was caught by one of the guards. The queen was furious. After I finished my duties with the king I asked leave to go to Queen Joanna's house and see the girl. It was granted, but reluctantly.

“That ungrateful little wretch,” the queen snapped as I made my bow to her. “After all we have done for her she tries to sneak away at the first opportunity.”

“May I speak with her, Your Grace?” I asked as humbly as I could.

The queen turned to one of her maidservants. “Bring the child in,” she ordered.

Yusra entered, pushed ahead by the maid. She had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“What happened, Yusra?” I asked. “What did you think you were doing?”

“I did not think,” she answered. “I heard theadhan, the call to morning prayer, and I knew my people were just outside this house and I had to go to them. I had to!”

“But you know no one here. How would you know where to go? How could you be certain the Muslims here would accept you? Take care of you?” I said.

She looked at me as if I were the child. “It matters not if other Muslims know me, Matthew. They would take me in and care for me, just because I am Muslim. All I would have to do would be to say, ‘Ashadu an lailaha illallahu, Muhammadur rasullallah'—I bear witness that there is no god but God and Muhammad is his messenger—and they would recognize me and care for me immediately. Would not your Christians do the same?”

I could not answer. Truth, I was not certain they would. Certainly no one had shown me any kindness when I was left alone after the death of my parents. Vulgrin had only taken me on as apprentice because of his promise to my father—that and the fact that he could get a great deal of work out of me for very little compensation. Before I could collect my thoughts, Queen Joanna broke in.

“We have been too lenient with her, Matthew. She will be bolted into a room with my most trusted servants at night from now on. This must not happen again.”

It crossed my mind that the queen had been willing to let this girl be sent into slavery. Why would she not now just let Yusra go? It was not a thought I could express though. I have come to know Queen Joanna well enough to understand that although she is the most kindly of ladies, she has inherited the same pride and stubbornness as her brother, the king. Both of them are always certain that they know best and cannot be turned once they have set their mind to a matter. Queen Joanna seems determined to save this child, according to her beliefs. I am sure she would deem it a sin to return the child to the infidels now.

Is it? By helping her to escape, would I be sinful as well as traitorous? My life is becoming very confusing.

It was with a heavy heart that I returned to Rashid's prison late this afternoon. I took with me a robe that I purchased at one of the market stalls. It was old and smelly and very ragged. Rashid would not be comfortable in it, I was certain. And I was afraid that once he knew he would not be able to save Yusra, he would refuse to go.

My fears were justified. He was waiting for me when I arrived. His face was grim and he was staring at his fellow warriors with a frown.

“I have the robe,” I whispered. “It is here beside the grate.” Then, as quickly as I could, I told him what had happened to Yusra. As I spoke I continued to work and the grate suddenly came free. It almost fell to the ground, but I caught it just in time and propped it back in place.

Rashid did not seem to notice. He was still staring at his comrades. “That is unfortunate,” he said without turning around. “The child should be with us. She will never be happy with you.”

“I know,” I answered.

“This changes the situation,” he said then.

“Perhaps I should stay after all. I should not leave my fellow men here.”

“But King Richard and King Philip are getting impatient,” I whispered urgently. “You must tell your sultan that.”

He hesitated still.

“If I could only be certain that I am doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“You are,” I insisted. “I am sure of it.” I was desperate for him to agree.

He sighed, then straightened his shoulders as if he had come to a decision. “Very well. I will go. But there is no need now for you to return tonight,” he went on. “When all is quiet and the torches have been taken away I will make my own way out.”

I was about to object, then stopped. He was right, but every bit of me protested. I wanted to be there to help him.

He looked directly up at me then. “I spoke harshly to you, Matthew,” he said. “I should not have done so.”

“You had good reason,” I said.

We stared at each other silently, knowing full well that this was most likely the last time our paths would cross.

“Assalamu alaikum,” he said finally.

This time I answered with all my heart. “And peace be with you,” I replied.

I left and did not go back. It is late now and dark. I wonder if he has made his escape.

The eighteenth day of July

There was no outcry over any escaped prisoner. If Rashid did make it out, no one has noticed.

Later …

I returned to the staircase this evening. The robe is gone, the grate stuck firmly back in place. There has been no news of any escaped prisoner being captured. I can only believe that Rashid is free and safe.

I suppose I should feel guilty about what I have done, but I do not. It was necessary.

The twentieth day of July

I have been working from early morning to late at night with the king. There has been no time to see Yusra. I know not how she fares, but I fear that she is very unhappy.

King Philip is meeting daily with King Richard and the two kings squabble incessantly over the spoils we have captured in this city. Now yet another matter has arisen to divide them even further. Both King Guy of Jerusalem and Conrad of Montferrat, who contests Guy for the kingship, have formally submitted claims as king of Jerusalem. I deem the matter ridiculous as even though we have captured Acre, we are still a very long way from recapturing Jerusalem, but no one has asked for my opinion. Of course, King Philip supports Conrad and King Richard maintains that Guy is still the rightful king, even though he lost the city to the Saracens. King Richard's rooms arefilled with angry voices and shouted insults and I am supposed to record it all faithfully. No, not faithfully. When I wrote down the arguments as I heard them, insults and all, King Richard ordered me to leave out the vituperation. History is not to know what a wealth of swear words both kings possess, I see.