Disclaimer: the same as in Chapter 1.

Author's notes:

'Melek' is the Arabic word for 'King'

Chapter 10

(Imad's POW)

Allah is great! My lord Salah al-Din's physicians have pronounced Ibelin for being 'on the mend'. His side wound is healing nicely without any signs of infection and the fever has broken, which was the most feared, as it can be more lethal than any sword or arrow. The physicians have even said Ibelin should be allowed to walk for a little while today, under my supervision of course, in order to help him regain some of his strength.

My Master Salah al-Din has left for Jerusalem two days ago, with Princess Yasmina and fifty of his most trusted men as his escort. There, he will ask for an audience with Melek Baldwin IV and ask for Prince Arnat al-Kerak's head for his treacheries. This time, the leper child-king will have no choices than to grant my Master's wishes. The testimony of Princess Yasmina will be the final stitch in De Châtillon's shroud, assuming he would receive one! This bloodthirsty, arrogant red-haired pig deserves nothing but shame and a painful death after he has ruthlessly massacred hundreds of innocents, compromised the peace treaty my lord and the king have concluded, and dared to attack Princess Yasmina on her way to Damascus back from Cairo. I dare not imagine what would have happened to her without Ibelin's intervention!

For four days now, the young Christian has been resting under my tent. His presence is well known in the encampment but every man is aware that he benefits from both my lord Salah al-Din's protection and mine. I have stayed at Ibelin's bedside most of the time, leaving only to fulfill my duties – and even then, I entrusted Ahmed, my loyal servant, to act as Ibelin's bodyguard and caretaker. Not that I was worried the Christian would give me the slip – he was sleeping most of the time –, just following my own advice about being wary of any kind of bloodletting initiative from one of our soldiers.

I have found a walking stick to help my guest to accomplish his first steps, and I will lead him to our stables, where his gray horse has been tended. According to Ahmed, this stallion has been missing its master: a reunion will do well to both of them!

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(Later)

Well, it has been an interesting walk!

We left my tent by taking a few, cautious steps. Ibelin's hand was leaning heavily on the walking stick and he was clutching his side, and for a moment I thought he was going to fall on his face. I offered my help but he shook his head, saying he would be fine in a few moments.

I was doubtful, thinking the physicians may have been too optimistic in their promises of recovery, but by the time we have reached the place where our horses are fed and watered, Ibelin was indeed looking a bit better. His gray stallion was munching a mouthful of hay along with the other horses, yet it neighed loudly when it saw its master approaching, instantly forgetting its lunch.

"Sounds like you've been sorely missed, Ibelin!" I joked, even if deep down I was a bit amazed by the loyalty of the animal toward the young Christian.

Ibelin walked a bit unsteadily towards his horse, reaching out his hand to pet the velvety muzzle. The stallion snorted softly, resting its head on his master's shoulder as Ibelin spoke calming words to its ears. Ahmed told me the grooms have found this animal 'nervous', 'difficult to tend to' but it looks like the Christian knight has a way with horses!

"You know your horses, for sure!" I exclaimed.

Ibelin had a small smile, and answered: "I do… I have shod so many of them!"

Shod? Now that was a surprising piece of information! At the moment, I thought Ibelin was humoring me so I decided to play along. "You have farrier's skills? Is it part of a nobleman's son education in France?" I half-jokingly asked.

Ibelin did not respond at once. He kept on petting his horse, then he finally said: "Actually, I am a blacksmith."

This time, I really thought he was pulling my leg, but one look at his face told me Ibelin was telling the truth. But how in the name of God could it be possible? This man was a knight, the son of a rich lord, the champion of Princess Yasmina and – if I've heard correctly the rumors flying through Jerusalem – the winner of Princess Sybilla's heart as well. I confess I have laughed myself silly when I heard those rumors, wishing them to be true! What a good joke! But how could Ibelin be a blacksmith as well?

The young Christian sighed before turning to me, and said: "Imad, my mother was not of noble origin. He was a lord, she was a peasant, working as a washerwoman…"

His voice hesitated, but he didn't need to provide me with further details. I could feel my blood turning into ice in my veins. This chivalrous enemy and courageous warrior is the product of… a violation? I would never have thought Godfrey of Ibelin capable of such an abomination! I hate rapists, may they be of noble origins or humble peasants. Any time one of our soldiers have done this evil deed, either in wartime or in peace, I've had him paid the ultimate price.

Ibelin could see the confusion on my face, so he rushed to correct: "No, Imad, he didn't force her! My father was getting ready to leave for Jerusalem, and my mother was young, very beautiful. When he met her, she was flattered, bedazzled; he was like a brilliant shooting star in the dark night of her life. Their tryst was discreet, but when she found out she was with child, she was panic-stricken. The village's gossips started to fly around about her pregnancy and her mysterious lover. That's when Balian the blacksmith stepped up, offering my mother marriage."

"But the villagers couldn't leave them alone, could they?" I asked with a point of bitterness, knowing all too well how people, whatever their religion may be, love to slander out-of-wedlock children and their mothers!

"No. My stepfather gave me his name, his protection and his affection, but I got branded 'bastard' as soon as I was born. It got even worse when my half-brother added his own taunts to the villagers', like 'Devil's spawn'!"

The gray stallion nudged his master's shoulder. "Sorry, boy, I have no treat for you." Turning, Ibelin stroke his horse's muzzle again as I was mulling over those incredible revelations. Once more, this young man has succeeded in amazing me. I didn't care about him being born illegitimate, his courage and nobleness of mind have spoken for his valor far more loudly than any title or rank. I will never forget how he spared my life in the desert, and his generous gift of his horse and my freedom once we have reached Jerusalem.

But I could easily see in my mind the scandal and uproar within the Jerusalem royal court about Ibelin's presence among some of the richest and well-born Christian lords of the Holy Land. And I even had a hard time suppressing a laugh when I imagined the look on Lord De Lusignan's face when he heard about his wife being with this young man!

I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. "Ibelin, as far as I'm concerned, you are Godfrey's son. And my Master, Salah al-Din, has an enlightened spirit as he values a man's qualities rather than his title or his riches. "

Ibelin's dark brown eyes held a flashing light of gratitude, then he had barely time to say "Thank you" before his legs started giving up on him. I caught him just in time, put his arm around my shoulders so he could lean on me for support and I declared it was high time for my guest to be brought back to his quarters. Ibelin didn't protest, just nodded and we slowly walked back to my tent. I could see the Christian was sweating and he was stumbling blearily, barely able to use the walking stick, exhausted by both his ordeal and our conversation.

Just when we arrived at my tent's entrance, Ibelin raised his head and I could see a look of alarm on his face as he watched something across the camp. I turned my head to see our young imam was back from his duties my Master has assigned him, namely burying De Châtillon's latest victims, and he was looking at us with venomous eyes. Sure, the sight of us wasn't made to please him: me helping an enemy to get back on his feet!

"Imad? Who is this man?" asked Ibelin.

I shot back an angry glance at the imam, who turned his back and walked out with such contempt that I would have given him a piece of my mind if I hadn't been supporting Ibelin!

"He's an imam… a man of God." I answered.

The young knight said nothing more, but his face turned into stone and I understood he didn't have previous good experiences with God's servants. How could he, after his being born illegitimate and a peasant? But I was pretty crossed at our imam who had so deliberately disrespected in public one of my Master's guests!

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(Later)

All this happened this afternoon. Now it is night and Ibelin has fallen asleep hours ago, worn out by the efforts he did today. I entrusted him to Ahmed's care and I went for a ride with Antares, as I needed to get out of the encampment's atmosphere for a while.

After riding for an hour or so, I stopped to look at the stars, twinkling in the dark sky. Like my Master, I have always found great calm and joy watching God's most amazing mysteries displayed for all of us mortals to see. The stars' names sprang into my mind as I recognized them: Altair, Deneb, Vega, Aldebaran, Rigel, Betelgeuse, Antares, Sirius, and the constellations: Big Dipper, Lyre, Swan, Eagle, Hunter… oh, how brilliantly I see you shine in the desert sky!

I find myself watching the stars displayed in the Southern Hemisphere, in the direction of Jerusalem, and I pray Allah to grant my lord Salah al-Din success in his journey and a safe return among us.