Alternate Generals II

It was a hot fight. The enemy had been herded and trapped here, but they had not been robbed of either their courage or their fighting skill. They contested every inch of that ancient paving, right up to the gate of the golden mosque.

Richard faced Saphadin there, the Saracen prince with his back to the barred door, and Richard too on foot, man to man and sword to sword. Richard was taller, broader, stronger; his reach was longer, his sword heavier. But Saphadin was quicker, and he had far more to lose. He drove Richard back with a flashing attack. He was smiling, a soft, almost drowsy smile, deep with contentment.

It was the smile of a man who had decided to die, and had chosen the ma

Richard waited, keeping sword and shield raised to defend against the whirling steel. He was aware, while he waited, of the battle raging around him. His men were gaining the upper hand, but they were paying for it. There were too many of them in too small a space, and their heavier horses, their heavier armor and weapons, were begi

It had to end quickly. Richard did two things almost at once: he firmed his grip on his sword as Saphadin's swirl of steel began to flag, found the opening he had been waiting for, and clipped the Saracen prince neatly above the ear; then, not even waiting for the man to fall, he spun and bellowed, "Now!"

They had all been playing the waiting game. Now they struck in earnest, as his reserves charged in through the Beautiful Gate, swarming over the enemy, surrounding him and bringing him down.

By noon it was done. The Temple of the Lord was taken. The defenders paid the price that the knights of the Kingdom of Jerusalem had paid at the slaughter of Hattin, where the kingdom fell and the Crusade was born: the high ones died or were held for ransom; the ordinary troops were chained and led away to be sold into slavery.

Saphadin was alive; Judah the physician had taken him in hand. Richard did not intend to let him go, not while he had value as a hostage. For the moment he was safe, and heavily guarded; Richard did not fear for the prince's safety among his own men, but the Old Man of the Mountain was another matter.

When Richard was certain that his army was under control, the packs of looters caught and hanged where they stood, and the cleansing of the city and particularly the Temple well begun, he went at last to the place he had dreamed of. He entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, that he had won back for Christendom, and laid his sword on the tomb in which the Lord Christ had risen from the dead.

It was near dark when he emerged. A flock of people waited for him, but he only took notice of the squire who knew where he could find a bath, di

Those were in the Tower of David, in what might have been the king's lodgings: rooms both wide and airy for a castle, fastidiously clean, and about them still a hint of eastern perfumes. Richard cared only that the basin for the bath was full and the water hot, and di

The bath was bliss on his aching bones, his bruises and the few small wounds. The servants were deft and quiet; one of them was adept at soothing away aches and the raw strain of exhaustion. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"So, king of Franks," said a soft voice in his ear, speaking Latin with an eastern accent, "are you satisfied with your bargain?"

Richard was abruptly and completely awake. He kept his eyes shut, his body slack. He was completely vulnerable here, naked in the bronze basin, and no weapon in the room, not even a knife for cutting meat.

The Old Man of the Mountain went on bathing him with a servant's skill. He shuddered in his skin, but he would never, for his life's sake, let this man see him flinch. "Did I not do well? Have you complaints of the gift I gave you?"

"I have no complaints," Richard said, deep and slow, as if half in a dream. So, he thought: the Old Man had never needed an interpreter at all. It was all part of the game he played, deceit upon delusion upon deception.

"Now you will do your part," the Old Man said.

"Yes," said Richard; a long sigh.

"Truly," said the Old Man. Richard felt a cold soft kiss at his throat, and the faintest, barely perceptible sting of the dagger's edge. "Remember. I can follow you wherever you go, find you wherever you hide. Keep your bargain, and your life is sacred to me. Break it, and you die."

"I understand," Richard said. He gathered himself inside, still in the dark of closed eyes, vividly aware of the steel pressed to his throat.

In the instant that it yielded, he struck: up, round, in a whirl of water. The dagger flew wide. The Old Man fell headlong into the basin. He was fully as strong as Richard had expected, but Richard was stronger. Barely; he was near to drowning himself when the thrashing slowed and mercifully stopped. He held the old monster underwater for a long while, not trusting even the letting go of the bowels that was a clear, and redolent, mark of death.

When his hands began to shake with weariness and the water began to grow chill, he let go, and called his guards and squires. They stumbled at the door: the servants' bodies were there, one stabbed to the heart, one strangled. "Bury them with honor," Richard said, "but hang this carrion from the wall."

They did his bidding, nor did he care what they thought, or what they said once they were out of his presence. Let them think what they pleased, as long as they rid him of the Old Man's body.

The Old Man's presence lingered long after his earthly remains were taken away, the basin emptied and scoured, and the room blessed by the nearest convenient prelate, who happened to be the Patriarch of Jerusalem. When all that was done, at last Richard could lie in the bed that had been prepared for him. Guards stood at the four corners of it; Moustafa, recovered, armed to the teeth, and grimly determined, lay across the foot.

Richard had not tried to dissuade them. It soothed their guilt, and let them feel that they were doing their duty after he had done it for them. He let sleep take him, even knowing who stood on the other side of it.

The Old Man of the Mountain was sitting as Richard had first seen him, under a screened canopy. In dream or in death he spoke all the tongues of living men; Richard heard him in good Norman French, with a fine grasp of ironic nuance. He sounded, in fact, a great deal like Richard's mother. "So, king of Franks. What of our bargain?"

"I kept to the letter of it," Richard said. "You asked me to set you free. I did exactly that."

The Old Man's mouth twisted. "And you said that I bargained like the Devil."

"So you did," said Richard, "and I bargained like a good Christian. We Franks are simple men. We do as we say we will do."

"Except when it suits you to do the opposite."

Richard shrugged. "The Devil is the Father of Lies," he said. "You didn't honestly think I'd let you run wild in this kingdom, did you? You gave me Jerusalem, and for that you have my perpetual gratitude. In return I gave you what all your Faithful yearn for: a swift death, and a speedy ascent into Paradise."

"Malik Ric," said the Old Man, shaking his head. "O king of Christian devils. Savor your victory; it's well earned. But watch your back. I may be dead, but my Faithful survive-and there is the whole of Islam waiting to descend upon you. Did you hope to see your England again before this year is out?"