Lionheart's Scribe (20 page)

She took a deep breath and got her voice back under control. “You do not understand, Matthew. No one understands. I cannot live here. I am Muslim. And I am no longer a child. I am growing into a woman and there are customs I must observe, things I must do. I must be with my own people. I cannot stay here.” She drew the shawl she wore closer around her head. “I must dress like a Muslim woman. Obey the Muslim laws. I cannot do that here.”

I bit my lip. “Is there no way you can compromise? After all, you found a way to pray here.”

“They discovered what I was doing and made me stop,” she replied. “Father Aimar and the queen are determined that I shall embrace your faith. I have even pretended to do so out of fear of them. My faith allows me to do that, to pretend, but in my heart I am dying with the shame of it. I cannot keep on like this. Would you abandon your God, Matthew?”

What answer could I give to that? Of course I would not abandon my God. But if the Muslim God, the Christian God and the Jewish God are the same, as Rashid believed, why could this stubborn girl not worship in our way?

I know the answer in my heart, but I do not want to listen to it. Rashid would never have forsworn his faith and neither would I. Why should Yusra be asked to?

The twenty-second day of April

King Richard has returned. He has set up camp just outside the remains of the city walls. He summoned me to his tent last evening and I went armed with my writing materials. There followed a council meeting that lasted well into the night. I am weak with weariness, but exhilarated as well. I am working again.

There was much to discuss. Disturbing news has come from England. It seems that the king's younger brother, Prince John, has been fomenting trouble. There has never been any love lost between those two and the news is that Prince John is forging an alliance with King Philip. This cannot bode well for King Richard, but what can he do? He cannot abandon the crusade now.

The twenty-eighth day of April

More bad news. King Conrad has been murdered! Rumors are flying all around. Some people even have the temerity to suggest that it was done at King Richard's orders. Others believe it more likely that he was killed by Assassins, a band of heretic Muslims who hide out in the mountains and strike at crusaders whenever they can. In any case the situation here is in chaos. Does this mean that Guy is king of Jerusalem again? No one seems to know.

The fifth day of May

These lords and princes do seem to have their own standards of conduct. King Conrad's widow, Queen Isabella, who is still queen of Jerusalem, hasmarried Count Henry of Champagne. There was certainly no time wasted there! Count Henry is a nephew of King Richard's, so now King Richard is supporting his claim to the kingdom of Jerusalem through Henry's wife, the queen. My head swims with this nonsense. I write it all down faithfully for King Richard, then come here and record my disgust in my private journal. Blessed journal. What would I do without it?

The twenty-ninth day of May

King Richard is keeping me busy writing letters. There is yet more disquieting news from England. The conspiracy between Prince John and King Philip deepens. The prince seems to be lusting after the English crown, and King Philip—although he swore an oath that he would not do so—is readying himself to attack King Richard's Angevin empire in the Frankish lands. My king is in a foul temper. I know he is tempted to abandon the crusade and return to save his kingdoms. The other nobles and princes will not hear of it, however.

The thirtieth day of May

The council members met last night and decided that whatever King Richard did, they would attack Jerusalem. The king listened to this ultimatum like a man of stone. My fingers trembled as I wrote. The news was somehow leaked to the soldiers and they, with the exception of the Knights Hospitaler and Templar, of course, are celebrating. As I write this I can hear the men dancing and singing. King Richard stormed out of the meeting without a word and has secluded himself in his tent.

How does anyone think that this foray on Jerusalem will be any different from the last? Nothing has changed, except that Salah-ud-Din has had the winter to strengthen his walls and fortifications.

The second day of June

King Richard remains secluded in his tent. Meanwhile, the army prepares to march. The king faces a terrible decision. If he stays to lead the army and by some chance does succeed in taking and holding Jerusalem, he will be the most powerful king in Europe and no one will be able to stand against him—not even his cowardly brother, Prince John, or that deceitful traitor, King Philip. He will be the conqueror who restored the Holy City to Christendom. But suppose he fails again and by trying returns to England too late to save his kingdom. What then? I feel for him. Thank God I am not a king and I do not have to make such fateful decisions.

The fifth day of June

Finally King Richard emerged. He called another council meeting this morning. He has made his decision—he will lead the crusade on Jerusalem. He has pledged himself to stay in Palestine until next Easter. As he made the pronouncement his voice shook. The choice must have cost him dearly.

The advance on Jerusalem is underway. Again.

The sixth day of June

We marched at dawn today. Having decided to lay siege to Jerusalem the king seems a changed man. Once more he rides along the line of his soldiers, exhorting them and filling all with enthusiasm. Once more he leads them in their battlecry of “God wills it!”

He seems to have cast aside all doubts and has determined that this time he will be successful. So confident is he now that he is allowing Queen Joanna to accompany us. He made the offer to Queen Berengaria as well, but she refused. Queen Joanna, however, is delighted with the adventure.

King Richard is of so mercurial a temperament that he can convince himself of whatever he wants, it seems. This troubles me, I must confess, if only to these parchments.

Yusra has not tended to me since I became well and I do not see overly much of her, but she will accompany Queen Joanna, I hear. I have not forgotten my last conversation with her. Events have crowded in to push it out of my mind, but I have not forgotten. How I will help her I do not know, but help her I must. When I see her following the queen about, her face looks more and more sad.

The eleventh day of June

We have reached Beit Nuba again. My memories of this place are not good and I like it no more this time than last. Instead of being cold and miserable, the weather now is so hot that it fairly fries the brain.

Before I was constantly soaked with rain, now I am continuously drenched in sweat.

King Richard has decreed that we will wait here for reinforcements to come from Acre under the command of Count Henry of Champagne. Or should I now refer to him as King Henry? Truth, I do not know and care less. There were no attacks on us along the way. Our only losses were two soldiers who died of snake bite. Salah-ud-Din, it would appear, has withdrawn all his forces into Jerusalem and waits for us there.

The twelfth day of June

My birth day again. I am seventeen years of age now. It has been over a year since we left Messina, my home. I was so desperate to leave, to seek new adventures. Well, I have certainly had them and I am weary. I feel older than my seventeen years. How much longer will it be before I return? Will I ever return?

The twentieth day of June

And still we wait. The soldiers are getting restless. This morning the king sent for me.

“I am going on a foraging patrol, Matthew,” he said. “I must have some action. Would you come with me?”

“Most gladly, Sire,” I replied and limped as quickly as I could to ready my horse.

We met a small party of Turkish horsemen as we rode closer to Jerusalem and they let loose a few arrows at us, but when our soldiers returned the firethey wheeled and galloped off. Then we found ourselves on top of the hill that is called Montjoie, the hill of joy. There, for the first time, we could actually look down upon the Holy City itself. I was first up onto the brow of the hill. I reined my horse in and drank in the sight. Jerusalem!

The city slumbered, deceptively peaceful behind its massive walls. From this height I could look down on it all. Turrets and minarets sizzled and shone in the heat of the noonday sun. I saw a huge golden dome that I knew had to be the Holy Sepulcher itself, one of the holiest churches in all Christendom. I cannot describe the feelings that fought within me. To look upon Jerusalem! To think that we might retake it—that I might really walk its streets.

And then to think that we probably will not. And if we turn back this time I know I will never look upon it again. Our crusade will have failed. How could I bear that?

As I watched, the party of horsemen that had attacked us galloped up to a gate. It swung open to receive them, then closed again. We are so close!

At that moment the king rode up beside me. I heard him draw in his breath. Then, to my horror, I heard a sob. I stared at him in shock. He was weeping!

He raised his shield to cover his eyes. “I beg God not to let me look upon this city if I cannot deliver it,” he said. The words were so muffled I could barely hear them. Then he wrenched cruelly at his destrier's mouth—the only time Ihave ever seen him do so—and galloped back down the hill, away from the sight of Jerusalem.

I do not know for how long I continued to sit there, staring at the city.

The twenty-fifth day of June

Our soldiers made a successful raid on a rich caravan today and captured much booty.

The twenty-ninth day of June

Count Henry of Champagne—I refuse to call him king and no one else seems to do so either—arrived today with reinforcements. At first there was general rejoicing, but the celebration soon turned sour as scouts returned to say that the sultan had blocked up all the wells between here and Jerusalem. The summer heat rages and now we will have no water. Scouts also report that Salah-ud-Din has mustered an even larger army, which is waiting for us to attack Jerusalem so that it can cut off our supply line from the coast. The situation looks hopeless. A council meeting has been called for tonight.

Later …

We are to withdraw. King Richard looks stricken. I had never thought I would feel so much pity for a king.

The thirtieth day of June

Plans are being made to retreat. There is a desolate, defeated air to the whole camp. I must admit that I share it. Then I saw Yusra today and I was shockedat her appearance. She is thin and sickly looking. I called to her, but she would not look in my direction. This problem is serious and I must do something, but what?

The first day of July (early morning)

I lay awake all night. The beginnings of a plan are forming in my mind. I am trying to sort them out. I must do something for Yusra before we retreat—if she journeys to the Frankish lands with Queen Joanna she will never see her own people again.

Later …

I presented myself to Queen Joanna after the priests had said mass and we had broken our fast this morning. I asked her if Yusra could come and help me pack up my tent. She looked surprised, as well she might. I have so few possessions, I certainly need no assistance in stowing them away for travel.

She smiled, a kindly but knowing smile. I think perhaps she imagines that I have grown fond of the girl. In her mind that would solve the problem of Yusra very well. Marry her off to me and forget all this nonsense of her needing to be with her own people. The queen, of course, refused to marry a Muslim, but what would it matter for me, a lowborn scribe?

If only the solution were that simple. Of course I am fond of the child, but certainly not in that way. When she came out of the queen's pavilion and walked beside me to my own tent, however, I couldnot help but notice how graceful she is. Her face, framed by her shawl, is beautiful. To my surprise I felt an unfamiliar pang reach in and twist my heart. I am feeling it now, even as I write. I call her a child, but truly she is no longer that. She is a young woman …

Enough of such meanderings.

Once inside my tent I invited Yusra to sit down.

“I did not call you here to help me,” I said. “I do not need help. It was for something else that I wanted you here.”

For a moment she looked at me in alarm. I hastened to reassure her.

“I needed to talk to you,” I blurted out. I cannot for the life of me imagine why, but my tongue suddenly felt as thick as a horse's blanket. “I have a plan,” I went on, “to return you to your own people.”

She stared at me.

I hurried to tell her what had been boiling in my mind. As I spoke I saw her eyes brighten and color come back to her cheeks.

“It may not work,” I warned her.

“It will,” she answered, her voice fierce. “It
will!”

So now I am back here in my own tent, contemplating treason to my king yet again. The first time I did so had disastrous results and did no good in the end. I did not save Rashid—only gained his enmity and caused him to feel he had lost his honor. Will trying to help Yusra be just as futile?

I
could
marry her. Force her to convert to Christianity. Our priests would say that is the only way her soul can be saved.

And the thought is not unappealing.

But she will never be happy living with Christians. She would be desolate.

I am beginning to realize that it is not only kings who are faced with terrible decisions.

The third day of July

It is done. How do I feel? I wish I knew. I have never been so confused and so unhappy. It is possible that I have made the biggest mistake of my life.

This is what happened.

I arranged with Yusra to be outside the pavilion she shares with Queen Joanna just after midnight last night, when we could be certain that all the camp had settled for sleep. She did not anticipate any trouble sneaking out as she is not so heavily guarded here as in the city. After all, the thinking was, where could she go? In any case the queen trusts her now and does not worry about the possibility of her escaping any longer.