John shook his head. ‘It has been a long time, Father.’
‘It is never too late to find forgiveness.’ The priest placed a hand on John’s back. ‘Tell me.’
John lowered his head and looked at his hands. For a moment, it seemed as if he could still see them covered with blood. ‘I do not wish to be forgiven for what I have done.’
‘And why is that?’
‘I killed my brother.’
‘Why?’
John’s jaw clenched as long-buried memories came to the surface. ‘He sold my father to the Normans. They strung him up as a traitor. I watched him die…’ John felt tears in his eyes and wiped them away.
‘It was vengeance, then.’
‘Yes. But it was not justice.’
The priest nodded. ‘I understand. I too killed someone I loved.’ John looked up, surprised. The priest smiled. ‘I was not always the old man you see now. Once I was young, with a beautiful wife.’ He sighed. ‘I found her in bed with my closest friend. I killed them both, with these hands.’ He held up his hands, gnarled and wrinkled. ‘I stabbed them to death, and then I ran away. I entered the priesthood and ended up here.’ The priest turned his blind eyes upon John. ‘I hated myself. I wanted to die. But hating myself did not bring them back. And it will not help you, either. God does not want our hate, but our love. It took me a long time to learn that. Too long.’
The priest fell silent, and they sat side by side while the candles on the altar burned down. Finally, John knelt before the altar and bowed his head. He prayed silently, then rose and added a silver coin to the old priest’s cup.
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘I will pray for you,’ the old man replied. He held out his hand towards John and made the sign of the cross. ‘Go with God, my son.’
The sun had not yet risen when Yusuf and the others rode away from the funduq, quickly leaving it out of sight in the pre-dawn gloom. The innkeeper had warned them that bandits had struck several caravans nearby, and Yusuf had decided to leave early, skipping prayers in the hope of slipping past unseen in the darkness. No one spoke, and the only sound was the faint clip-clop of their horses’ hooves over the dusty ground. Yusuf kept his hand on his sword and scanned the dimly visible terrain around them for signs of danger.
The darkness gave way to soft, morning light as the sun rose dull red before them, revealing a barren landscape, unmarked by a single tree or boulder. Low, rolling hills rose up ahead, and the dusty track they followed headed straight for them. Yusuf spurred his horse forward next to their Bedouin guide. ‘If there are bandits about, those hills would be the perfect place for them to set an ambush,’ he said. ‘Is there another way?’
Sa’ud shook his head. ‘The hills stretch for miles in either direction. Going around will cost us at least a day. Better to push straight through.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘Very well. But we will ride fast and avoid the hilltops so as not to be seen.’ He raised his voice. ‘Have your weapons ready, men.’ Yusuf took his short, curved bow from where it was tucked into the saddle behind him and strung it as he rode. He then slung it over his shoulder, along with his quiver. The other men did the same.
Sa’ud spurred his horse to a canter. Yusuf kept pace, John beside him and the other men bringing up the rear. The track they were following snaked into the hills, and the sound of their horses’ hooves echoed loudly off the steep slopes on either side. Yusuf scanned the hilltops as they rode, expecting at any moment to see a bandit staring back at him, but there was nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief as they rode free of the hills and into a broad valley, which sloped downwards to a sparkling river. More hills rose on the far side of the water.
Ahead, Sa’ud kept up the pace, but then reined to a stop as he reached the edge of the wide, shallow river. His horse immediately plunged its nose into the stream and began to drink. ‘We should pause to water the horses,’ he suggested. ‘There will be no more water until we reach Tell Bashir.’
John rode up beside Yusuf and leaned close. ‘I don’t like this. We are too exposed here. We should move on.’
Yusuf scanned the hilltops on either side of the river and saw nothing. Beneath him, his horse was wet with sweat and breathing heavily after the long canter. ‘Our horses will not last much longer without water,’ he said. ‘And I’d rather face bandits than walk through the desert to Tell Bashir.’ He raised his voice. ‘We will let the horses drink, but be ready to ride, men.’ Yusuf dismounted and led his horse to the edge of the river, where he stood holding the reins while it drank thirstily. He unstopped his waterskin and also drank, keeping his eyes fixed on the hills on the far side of the river. He saw nothing and turned to examine the hills they had just traversed. He was just looking away when out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of sunlight on steel. He looked back, but saw nothing.
John walked over, leading his horse. ‘I think we’re being watched.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘I saw it, too.’ He turned to shout to the men. ‘Saddle up!’ Yusuf was pulling himself into the saddle when two dozen riders in chainmail broke from the hills behind them and came thundering across the valley. ‘Follow me!’ Yusuf shouted. He grabbed the lead rope for the mule carrying the gold and then kicked his horse’s sides, sending it splashing across the shallow river. As he emerged on the far bank and urged his horse towards the hills, Yusuf glanced back over his shoulder. The bandits were approaching the river, but it looked as if Yusuf and his men would reach the hills before they crossed. Just behind Yusuf, John was yelling and pointing forward. Yusuf turned to see another twenty bandits pouring from the hills ahead of them, only a hundred yards away. They had bows in hand, and they reined in and released a volley. Yusuf heard the arrows whiz past, and there was a cry of pain behind him. He turned to see one of Shirkuh’s men fall from the saddle, the feathered end of an arrow protruding from his chest. Yusuf veered to the left, riding away from the archers and up the valley floor. John and the mamluks followed, spreading out to create a barrier between Yusuf and the bandits.
‘We can’t outrun them!’ John shouted. ‘Not with the mule. We have to leave it.’
Yusuf shook his head. ‘Without the gold, we won’t even get into Tell Bashir.’ He looked back and saw that the archers were almost within range. The other bandits had splashed across the river and were angling across the valley, gaining fast. ‘We’ll lose them in the hills!’
Yusuf turned his horse and headed for a gap between two sheer rock faces. John and Sa’ud followed, while the mamluks pulled up behind them to block the passage and protect their escape. Yusuf kicked at the sides of his horse and pulled at the lead, urging the mule to keep pace as he cantered along a narrow trail that snaked between the steep-sided hills. Behind him, he could hear shouts and cries of agony as the bandits reached the mamluks. Then the shouting stopped, replaced by the thunder of hooves as the bandits charged after them. The rumbling grew steadily louder, and then an arrow hissed past Yusuf. The bandits were almost upon them.
Up ahead, the trail turned sharply to the right. Yusuf rounded the corner and shouted ‘ Stop!’ He reined in, and John and Sa’ud pulled up beside him. ‘Quick, your bows!’ Yusuf turned his horse and swung his bow from his back. He nocked an arrow and drew the bow taut. The first bandit rounded the corner, and his eyes went wide. Yusuf let fly, and the man dropped from the saddle, an arrow in his throat. Four more bandits rounded the corner in quick succession. John fired first, taking the lead rider out. Sa’ud’s arrow also found its target. Yusuf hurriedly nocked another arrow and let fly. The arrow lodged in the chest of the leading bandit’s horse, causing it to rear and throw its rider. The other bandit pulled up short as the injured horse — whinnying and eyes rolling — reared again and again, blocking the narrow path.