By Rose de Sharon
Disclaimer: the same as in chapter 1.
Chapter 4
(Princess Yasmina's POW)
… A moan…
Mika'il!
I turn back to see my angel bending over his saddle, clutching his side, his eyes squeezed shut. Oh no, God, no! This man cannot die after saving me, he cannot!
I reach out to him, and say:
"I am Salah al-Dìn's sister".
Mika'il doesn't react; he just bit his lower lip so hard a rivulet of blood runs down his chin, mingling into his beard. The pain he feels must be terrible and there is only one way I can help him.
I must take him to my brother's camp, forty miles up north, and entrusting him to the care of his very skilled physicians.
But will my brother accept? Mika'il is a Christian knight and the relations between Christians and Muslims haven't been good. The massacre of my caravan will exasperate my brother's wrath against Jerusalem, even if he holds the leper king in high esteem. When I will tell Salah about De Châtillon's executions, he would have no peace until the red demon's head falls on the ground!
My brother has a strong mind and he would never avenge his pride on this innocent man. But I do know some of his advisors would resent the presence of a Christian in their camp, even if he were a hero.
Mika'il opens his eyes again in agony, and looks at me.
"I am Salah al-Dìn's sister" I repeat, cursing the fact we don't speak the same language.
But he seems to understand, as he says:
"Saladin?"
A ghost of a smile appears on his bloodied lips, and he bows his head to me in a battle-weary, wounded salute.
"I am Balian, the baron of Ibelin."
It is no use talking to me, Mika'il: I cannot understand your words. But we must be swift: his wound is bad and if blood loss and infection don't kill him, the desert's heat will certainly do. Besides, even if the Templar cowards have fled, they can still come back to make sure not witnesses are left alive to tell what happened.
Mika'il draws his sword back in its scabbard and groans as the movement has been painful for his wound. He holds out his hand to me and I climb on the horse, just behind him. The beast snorts when it feels the extra weight, but it seems to understand the grimness of our situation.
"Salah al-Din" I say, pointing to the direction of the North, and Mika'il kicks his heels into the horse's flanks, moving the beast to our goal. We leave the battlefield ground, darkened with smoke and blood, and I swear on my faith to Allah the Merciful I will come back to give my people a proper burial!