The Dagger and the Cross by Judith Tarr

Author:Judith Tarr
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781611380736
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2011-08-09T07:00:00+00:00

21.

The sultan pitched his tent on the hill which he had taken, and ordered his army to make camp, as any good general should do after a battle. Then he had Guy de Lusignan and Reynaud de Châtillon brought to him in his pavilion. He spoke first to Reynaud, through his interpreter for Reynaud knew no Arabic. “So, sir. Do you repent now of your treachery against us?”

Reynaud was exhausted almost beyond endurance, filthy, blood-stained, and bone-dry, but he had lost none of his bandit arrogance. “If what I have done is treachery, then what is that but the practice of kings?”

Saladin’s eyes glittered, but he made no response. He called instead for his servant, who brought a cup of water cooled with snow and offered it to Guy. The king stared at it blankly for a stretching moment, as if at a dream of paradise. Then, trembling, he took it. He tried to drink slowly, but he was human and no saint, and he had had no water since the morning before. When half the cup’s contents had flowed deliriously down his throat, he caught himself with a start. His eyes met Reynaud’s. The lord of Kerak watched him as a starving man watches a king at the feast. Guy passed him the cup.

The sultan smiled. It was not an expression to set any man’s mind at rest, still less a king whom he had vanquished. He spoke in Arabic. The interpreter said, “My sultan says, ‘Say to the king: You, not I, have given him to drink.’”

That was to say, once a captor had fed his captive and given him to drink, that captive would be allowed to live. But Saladin would grant Reynaud no such grace.

There was a silence. Neither Frank moved to break it. The sultan gestured. His mamluks beckoned to the king. He hesitated, eyes on Reynaud, but the soldier-slaves were firm, if not disrespectful. Guy had no choice but to let them lead him to the outer chamber.

When he was gone, the sultan faced Reynaud. “You may still live,” said Saladin, “treacherous dog though you be. You have but to accept Islam.”

Reynaud laughed, and spat in the sultan’s face.

Saladin’s smile was even more terrible than before. He drew his sword. Reynaud did not, even yet, believe that he was in danger. It had always been his failing, to know that he was invincible. The fine Indian steel pierced him where he stood.

Saladin stood over the body. His face was calm, at rest. “Kings are not wont to murder one another,” he said to the dead man. The eyes stared up at him, wide and astonished. “But you,” said Saladin, “went beyond any king’s endurance. I swore a sacred oath that I would slay you. I, at least, am a man of my word.”

o0o

Aidan knew nothing of any of that. He had never lost a battle in his life, never been taken captive by any mortal man, never known what it was to be stripped of his weapons and driven stumbling through the camp of the enemy.

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