In the darkness, the fort was like a gray fist with an upraised finger. Standing where a narrow, rutted street gave way to the ring of clear space surrounding the stronghold, Zeki squinted at it, striving vainly to spot some weakness that had hitherto eluded him.
His sergeants had urged him to stay behind cover even after dark, but he wasn’t worried. The last three days had shown that all the expert archers were on his side, which made it all the more galling that he had thus far failed to dislodge the wretched infidels from their stolen refuge.
Behind him, someone coughed. Zeki turned and then hesitated when he beheld, not the subordinate he might have expected to interrupt his ruminations, but a stranger.
The newcomer was stooped, perhaps not a hunchback but on the verge, with long arms and big hands. He wore a striped aba, the sleeveless coat of a Bedouin, and a kufeya held in place with an igal of camel wool. The headwear shadowed a dark-eyed saturnine countenance with a grizzled mustache and beard so bushy as to essentially conceal the mouth.
“You need to stay back,” Zeki said, trying not to sound brusque. There was no reason to take out his ill humor on fellow Muslims. “My men and I have commandeered the area until such time as we storm the citadel and destroy the Franks.”
Perhaps the stranger grinned. The hair covering his lips made it impossible to be sure. “How is that going?” he asked.
“That’s a matter for soldiers,” Zeki snapped, no longer caring if he was rude.
The Bedouin raised one of those big, long-fingered hands. “Forgive me, Captain. I don’t mean to pry. It’s simply that, like every good man, I yearn for the day when the Faithful will drive these savages into the sea.”
“I appreciate that—“
“So I offer what help I can, which is more than you might suppose. My name is Ibrahim, and, appearances to the contrary, I’m an educated man. In my youth, I studied in Dar al-Ilm, the great library of Tripoli. You see me clad as a nomad because I now travel seeking wisdom unrecorded in any of its hundred thousand books.”
Zeki cocked his head. “I don’t entirely understand.”
Ibrahim spread his hands. “Perhaps we could explore the subject more fully indoors? The night grows cold.”
Well, why not? It was indeed getting chilly, and Zeki wasn’t accomplishing anything as he was. Perhaps the stranger had stumbled across a manual on siege-craft wading through his hundred thousand volumes and could provide some sound advice. Stranger things had happened.
Zeki led the self-proclaimed scholar into the house in which he’d taken up residence for the view the windows afforded of the citadel. The woman who lived there served them humus and raki, the latter white from being mixed with cold water, and then she, her husband, and their three children left their guests to their deliberations.
Ibrahim sipped the lion’s milk and sighed. “Delicious. And now, Captain, would you care to tell me how a capable soldier like yourself comes to find himself barred from his own stronghold?”
Zeki’s cheeks grew warm. It was the last story he wanted to tell… or then again, perhaps it wasn’t. Everyone else in the village knew it already, and maybe it would be a relief to unburden himself.
“Well,” he began, “I’m like you. I want to help rid our country of the Franks.”
“While playing a hero’s part in the jihad?”
Zeki’s face grew warmer still. “I wouldn’t put it like that, exactly.”
“Please understand, I’m not criticizing. A soldier is supposed to want to fight the enemy.”
“I agree. But my father doubted my ability–”Zeki pushed away the thought that events had proved his father right–“and he serves the Governor and is highly placed enough that Yaghi-Siyan actually knows him. When it became clear the invaders meant to march on Antioch, he prevailed on our lord to station me here, in theory removed from any danger.”
“That must have been frustrating.”
“It was.” Zeki sipped his anise-flavored drink. “And when I received word the Franks had foraging parties ranging far from the city, I was eager to find and destroy one. But I’m not an idiot, however it looks! Yes, I took most of my men on patrol, but I didn’t leave the fortress unattended.”
“So what happened?” Ibrahim asked.
Zeki took another drink. “As near as I can make out, the Franks must have observed the village without being spotted in their turn. They figured out there were only a few soldiers left in the fortress, and that night they sent horsemen wearing turbans galloping up to the gate. In the dark, a person could mistake them for riders returning from the search, and one of them spoke our language and pleaded to be let in. Somebody obliged, and the infidels killed him and his comrades, too. Then, in the morning, they began stealing what they came for, beating and otherwise mistreating people while they were about it, even though no one was resisting. Until their sentry sighted my patrol returning, and, knowing their wagons couldn’t outdistance our pursuit, they retreated back into the stronghold. Now they’re inside, and I’m outside.” He sighed. “Farcical, is it not?”
“Embarrassing, certainly. Until you dislodge them.”
“I’m trying. But the Franks’ commander knows something about resisting a siege. More than I know about mounting one, if the truth be told. My training focused on maneuvering mounted archers on the battlefield.” He took a breath. “But I will get back inside. I may not know much about sieges, but I’ve seen the engines an attacking force brings against a stronghold. The village carpenter couldn’t manage a tower on wheels, but I’ve got him working on a battering ram with a roof to shield the men swinging it back and forth.”
“I trust he knows how to contrive an apparatus that can punch through the heavy reinforced wood of the gate and withstand burning oil.”
Once again, Zeki was uncertain if the wanderer was mocking him. “Do you know how?”
Ibrahim shook his head, his bushy beard swishing across the front of his aba and the brown cotton tob beneath. “I’m not a siege engineer, either. But I can offer assistance if you’re willing to accept it.”
Zeki frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I told you I seek wisdom in the trackless spaces of the world. It is there one hears the jinn and afrit whispering in the wind.”
“You’re talking about sorcery?”
“I understand if that perturbs you.”
“Do you? The Prophet said magic is one of the seven noxious things.”
“Certainly, it is knowledge that weighs on the mind. But if a man uses it in the service of Allah, it is not a sin.”
Zeki snorted. “I doubt my imam would agree.”
“It is your decision, of course, but I implore you to consider carefully. Is it not your duty to retake the fortress as expeditiously as possible? Don’t those who suffered abuse deserve to see the infidels punished?”
Ibrahim didn’t add, Don’t you want to avenge your humiliation? But the thought hung in the air between them.
“Consider, too,” the scholar said, “that if working magic is a sin, it will be my sin, not yours.”
Running his finger around the rim of his cup, Zeki considered. He didn’t want to be the sort of sophist who rationalized his way past the clear intent of the teachings of the Quran. But he also didn’t want word of the current fiasco to reach his superiors – or worse, his father – before he managed to put matters right.