“You say he is a Walker?’ the Sami’s face was still mirrored in the Kadi’s recollection, the ice of his eyes flaring like blue fire. “But he does not first walk in the manner of the rightly guided!”
“Yes, he is an infidel,” the Kadi had returned, “By his own admission. Jabr Ali S’ad is very skillful. He has loosened the man’s tongue. Still, we are not the only ones who walk the unseen paths.”
“Then he is of the Order, I tell you. All the more reason to slay the man now, before he rests here in harmony. Why is he pampered? Why is he sent fine linen, and the hospitality of our table? No doubt he is an enemy, perhaps even a Templar; I warn you here and now! He should be chained in cold iron, and collared with the Lightstone. You know this. Why must I argue?”
“A Templar? I do not think so. He certainly did not shun the attention that was lavished upon him by the maids. No Templar will treat with women. Besides, his coming was written!” The Kadi remembered how he had extended the rolled scroll so the light from the lamp would illuminate the thinly traced script for the eyes of the Sami. “This was late received from Egypt. You have not seen it, and so how can you know the torment of my heart in this?”
The Sami eyed the parchment with disdain. “Written? How can the coming of a heathen be written? Do you inscribe such when you throw the scraps from your table to the dogs beyond the castle gate? How, then, would this be written in the tomb of the ancients? I tell you he is not the messenger you were told to expect. He bore no scroll, and his effects were strange to behold. He should be tortured until he speaks his charge. Perhaps he killed the one you waited for, and came here in his place. Ask him, and if he remains silent then his life should be forfeit.”
“That is not for me to judge,” the Kadi reminded his adversary. “Mine is for discernment here and now. Only the Sheikh may order the death of a Walker. You may read the scroll yourself, if you wish. You are initiated. You are rightly guided. Let your eyes read and see that I speak the truth in this. His coming was written. He arrived on the very day we were told to look for him. Do you still grasp the hilt of your dagger as the only greeting we can then make with this man? Perhaps it was necessary for him to assume this guise as a measure of protection. Do you not train the Fedayeen to walk among our enemies, eating as they do, and assuming their manner and speech? So do they become invisible in the enemy’s own tent, and our work is accomplished.”
The Sami folded his arms, unwilling to touch the scroll, let alone read it; resolved in his anger and resentment that the work of his servants, the Fedayeen, should not be his to fully command. “Then why would he hide his purpose now that he has awakened?”
“I do not know, and unless I have word from Egypt or the Sheikh comes, I must not judge harshly.”
“Egypt!” The Sami spat out the word, clearly displeased. “It is always the coming of the scroll that you heed and obey, yet your eyes are blinded to what is clearly before you. This man is a wolf! The infidels are a blight upon our sacred cities. They infest the rich valleys of Palestine like locusts and vermin, and you wait dutifully and receive the scrawl of unseen hands in Egypt. And another wolf is at large again, Arnot is on the prowl. Have you not heard?” The Sami took relish and strength from the uncertainty that arose in the Kadi’s eyes when he spoke of Arnot, the Wolf of Kerak.
“Yes,” he pressed on, “he has escaped the justice ordained for him, and somehow returned to Jerusalem unharmed! Twice now we have tried to kill the man, yet he escapes the knife as though charmed. Perhaps he, too, is a Walker—sent here by the Order to plague us.”
“You tempt fate,” the Kadi warned. “You may not have been so bold if the Sheikh had been here.”
“Oh? You think the Sheikh would not approve? You do not know all or decide every measure in the struggle against our enemies. It is said that only the hand that wields the sword may hold the scepter. Sometimes strong measures are required, not the soft hand. And I tell you that this stranger in the chamber of greeting is another wolf, here in our own fold. He should be tortured, or slain, but you will not accede. You send the maids to him instead.”
“Yes, I do not accede. The Sheikh is not here to rule on the matter and we swore that nothing of consequence should be done unless we are both of equal mind. Act without sanction, and the weave of events will come undone. The harmony will fail, and we will have only the song of bereavement for solace. Will you answer those who mourn when that happens?”
The Sami looked away, annoyed and headstrong to the last. “You are not the only one who receives instruction here.”
The Kadi remembered how he met the Sami’s gaze just then, and how they struggled with one another, each seeking to impose his will on the other. What did he mean by that? Was he, too, receiving guidance from without—from Egypt, from the wandering Sheikh, from Alamut?
“No matter,” he said at last, unwilling to try and charm that snake just now. The matter before him was burden enough. He had to assure himself that the Sami would not act rashly. “Your intentions and motives I have already discerned. You have been told not to interfere!” He had pointed a hard finger at the Sami when he spoke, and even now he regretted his manners, in spite of the anger he still felt heating the back of his neck. “And now you advise me to kill a man I have been told to greet with warmth and welcome. He is a Walker. His coming was written.”
“He is an enemy, I tell you—or he is in the pay of the infidels” The Sami was adamant. “You allow him to eat from our table like an honored guest. What might he be planning, even now, while we quibble here?”
“He is watched.”
“Watched? By Whom? The harlot’s maid?”
“I have appointed Mukasir in this matter, as I have said. He is watched by one who speaks the Saxon tongue—Jabr Ali S’ad.”
“Yes, I have heard that he called out in his fever—with words of the heathen tongue upon his lips. He condemns himself with his own speech!”
“You judge too quickly. Could it be that you are blinded by your own hatred and fear?”
“Speak for yourself and leave the verdict of my heart in peace.”
“I have done so, yet you persist in straying from the appointed path. I am Amir al Hakeem: Kadi General of Massiaf!” The Kadi was not pleased that he had to remind the Sami of that fact yet again. He had been forced to speak his name and title more than once in the last year. The Sami remained unwilling to heed the demands made of him, and it was very troublesome. Yet, in spite of his office, the Kadi knew in his heart that they were equals. Only one other could pass binding judgment on either man—the nameless one, the Sheikh.
“As you wish,” he said with reluctance. “The Sheikh will decide what we can not agree upon here. I have pigeons at the ready, and they will take wing for the Sea of Ravens and Alamut.” He waited on the Sami now, testing his resolve.
“I have sent as well to Alamut.” The Sami folded his arms. In truth, neither wished to tempt the judgment of the Sheikh, for it might be harsh, and unexpectedly cruel for them both.
As if realizing that their argument would lead them nowhere, the two men lapsed into silence while the Kadi poured spiced tea into a porcelain cup and passed it to the dour figure at his side. The Sami looked at the cup, then reached out to receive it. “I will drink with you again on this.” He had spoken the words with some reluctance. The Kadi watched how he raised the cup to his lips and drained it in one quick swallow, and seemingly with little satisfaction. While three cups were customary, he took only one and stood up abruptly.
“Yes,” he whispered, “you are Kadi General of Castle Massiaf, and I am the Sami here. So I will drink your tea on this, but one cup only. And you should remember the day you sat naked in my presence and drank another cup—do you recall it?” The Sami was referring to the initiation rite that had first brought the Kadi into the clan, many years ago. It was an all too obvious insult, and the Sami made it plain that he considered himself the elder, and therefore the wiser in all things, in spite of the title that had been conferred on the Kadi. “Do what you wish with this man, then. But remember that I will be watching from the shadows, even as I was watching you that day when you sat with me and drank your first cup. And remember also what was spoken to you on that morning—was it so long ago that you have forgotten?” He looked at the scroll when he spoke. “Nothing is written,” he whispered. “And everything is permitted.”