Disclaimer: the same as in Chapter 1!
Author's note: this is the conclusion of the story, and I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers for taking the time and care to send their appreciation! Very special thanks to PadawanCassy, Sunniva and Matteic.
(Salah-al-Din's POW)
It is the dawn of a new day, and Lord Tiberias is getting ready to leave my encampment, along with his knights, the Hospitaler monk and Balian of Ibelin, son of Godfrey.
Imad and I are standing nearby the entrance of my tent, and I am sad our warfare circumstances have prevented me to give young Ibelin the full extend of my gratitude towards him. If our countries weren't enemies, I would have given him a prince-like treatment in my Damascus palace! But war will be here soon, with its usual tangled web of alliances, deceptions, conspiracies, rumors and distrusts. Many warlords I know would never understand why I allowed a Christian knight to stay a few days at my camp to recover from his injuries… and even less why I let him go free without asking for a ransom.
I'd rather be damned to the seven depths of Hell than dishonor myself in such a fashion, keeping my sister's savior as a hostage! Unfortunately Imad is right, some of my own men definitively resent Ibelin's presence in my camp – I am especially thinking about our young and ambitious mullah, who has been throwing venomous glares at the Christian ever since he was able to walk again.
The best way to keep Yasmina's champion safe is to send him away. It's like setting free a caged bird: a part of you rejoices at its gained freedom, yet you know you will miss its presence in your life. I glance at Imad and I can see that he's also concerned about Ibelin leaving so soon, not fully recovered from the wounds Prince Arnat al-Kerak have inflicted him. Knowing my secretary, he would have enjoyed endless conversations with Ibelin about life, our countries, and hawk hunting!
The young Christian has goodness within his soul and his heart, thus making him give fair treatment towards men and women of any religion. I remember his father, Godfrey, and how he has fought my armies with great courage and intelligence. Yet, there is a difference between Godfrey and Balian: the father reached virtue only at the end of his life. The son is born virtuous: his actions are led by his enlightened soul. He will succeed where his father has failed.
Isn't it amazing how our past deeds find their ways in our present and future? The issue of a man I've fought years ago saves my dear sister's life! According to Yasmina, the young man is a malak (angel), which is why she keeps on calling him 'Mika'il' even if she had learned his real name long ago. She hasn't seen him since he was brought to my camp, due to discretion and cautiousness women have to follow in a warriors' encampment, but she's a smart and resourceful lady: she will find a way to bid him farewell!
I sigh, cursing inwardly those war times for the thousandth time. Yet, I also give thanks to Allah for allowing me to meet this interesting man. I can only hope the trinkets I've ordered to be discreetly deposited in Ibelin's saddlebags – pearls, diamonds and sapphires – will give the young baron a glimpse of my gratitude toward him. It will also give him the opportunity to go back to France rich and safe, before war turns the Holy Land into a bloodbath, but somehow I doubt he will turn from his duty to protect the weak and defenseless.
The Christian knights have mounted, as well as the Hospitaler monk. Lord Tiberias comes up to me with Ibelin in tow – still looking pale and worn out from his ordeal, yet holding his head up high – and thank me again for taking care of his protégé. I politely protest, assuring Lord Tiberias my hospitality was inadequate to pay my debt towards my sister's champion. Ibelin blushes (this earning a small chuckle from Imad), and then I shake his hand: the young man looks surprised, but he answers with a firm grip. It gives me the opportunity to feel the calluses he bears on his hand. This young man is used to hard work, unlike that arrogant prick Guy de Lusignan who, according to Imad, looks down at Godfrey's son!
Finally, Ibelin and Tiberias get ready to leave, too. Yasmina's champion owns a gray horse who nickers softly, then it keeps itself very still when his master mounts him. It feels like the beast knows his master is recovering from an injury, and tries to help in any way it can. For sure, Ibelin has a way to earn respect, even from animals!
A servant clad in brown trousers and vest, sporting a white turban on his head, suddenly steps out of the crowd and approaches our departing guests, holding a pouch made of leather in his hand, just like the ones we use to carry almonds to eat during a trip. I cannot see his face since a portion of the white cloth veils it, but the servant raises his head. His gaze meets mine and I could recognize those beautiful obsidian eyes anywhere.
Yasmina!
My noble sister, disguised as a servant, walks freely toward her champion!
I am absolutely amazed but before I can even react, she approaches young Ibelin and slips the pouch in his hand. The Christian is as surprised as I am, but something entangled in the laces closing the pouch attires his attention – some kind of dried herb for all I can see. He looks at Yasmina and smiles, squeezing her fingers for an instant. This action was so brief nobody except Imad and I have noticed this silent exchange of thanks. But how in God's name Ibelin has managed to recognize Yasmina, clothed like a man and covering her face?
The "servant" humbly retires just before disappearing in the crowd, followed by a bunch of veiled handmaidens. No one of my men pays any attention to "him" since they are more interested in looking the Christians leaving my camp. Soon enough, the valorous enemies have disappeared in a cloud of dust and sand, heading for Jerusalem and the upcoming war.
I turn back into my tent, just in time to hide the huge smile spreading on my face!
Did I say "smart and resourceful lady"?
That's the understatement of the year!
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(Balian's POW)
It won't be long before we reach Jerusalem now. But the whole trip was a blur to me: I still feel weak, even if my wounds don't hurt much now and I know the convalescence might take a while. Lord Tiberias insists I will stay at his house for the time being, until I am fully back on my feet. De Châtillon's execution has muzzled the king's brother-in-law and his Templar friends, but that's just a reprieve before they start conspiring against King Baldwin IV once more. Lord Tiberias fears for me and he has no doubts De Lusignan will seek revenge for his ruined plans! My father's city house isn't safe enough, Ibelin is too far and I can't possibly stay at the palace since Guy haunts it.
For the moment, I wish I could sleep right here and there! The ride has exhausted me more than I will admit. We have stopped for a short rest and a drink of water but without dismounting. Lord Tiberias never leaves my side, eyeing me worriedly. I'd like to reassure him about my state of health but I don't think he'd believe me.
"So, what did she give you?" asks Brother Michael, appearing out from nowhere.
Lord Tiberias looks confused, but I smile before asking the Hospitaler:
"How did you know?"
"The disguise was very thorough, but she couldn't hide her hands, which were too fair and delicate to be a servant's!"
As usual, Brother Michael seems to be enjoying a private joke, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter, but Lord Tiberias can't make head or tail of whom we are talking about.
"Brother? I don't understand what you mean. Who gave Balian what?"
"I am talking about the woman who gave Balian the pouch just before we left Saladin's camp, my lord."
"She was Princess Yasmina, Saladin's sister." I say, taking out the pouch from under my shirt and holding it out for Lord Tiberias and Brother Michael to see.
Lord Tiberias looks stunned!
"Princess Yasmina? Balian, are you sure?"
I fiddle briefly with the barley entwined in the pouch's laces, before answering: "Yes, my lord, I am. The first time I saw her, she was holding a bouquet of barley ears in her hand… That was her only weapon against Renaud de Châtillon. The barley field lady, that's how I called her before learning her real name."
Brother Michael encourages me to open the pouch. As I do so, dozens of tiny, green-colored glass fragments fall into my hand! Lord Tiberias whispers "My God!" while the Hospitaler's smile increases. I have never seen anything like this before in my life, these fragments are finely shaped and their color reminds me of a church' stained-glass window, sparkling when sunlight filters through it. Here, these glasses shine so beautifully under the desert's sun! For a short time I forget about fatigue and pain, amazed by this display of green light resting in the palm of my hand.
"Lord Tiberias? What are these glassworks?" I ask, intrigued by the lady's present.
"You are not used to see this world's riches, Balian. These «glassworks» are precious gems, called emeralds. And by the beauty of them, it could easily pay a princess' ransom!"
I cannot help but feel humbled by the lady's incredible generosity and kindness, yet I feel there is another meaning in this present of gems. I look at the Hospitaler and, sure enough, he has this mischievous look on his face. Then he speaks out:
"According to the Saracens, the archangel Michael has wings of emerald green. My guess is Princess Yasmina wanted express her gratitude the same way her brother did. You will find Saladin's presents carefully hidden in your saddlebags, Balian."
Lord Tiberias looks incredulously at the monk. He gets ready to ask a question, then thinks better of it and turns to his men, ordering them to regroup as we leave at once. I place the emeralds back into the pouch, feeling embarrassed. I am a former blacksmith turned knight by my father's will, how could I be worthy to receive treasures from a king and a princess? The only precious present I've received in my life is the ring Sybilla gave me after our first night together, when we dropped our respective social masks to become a man and a woman in love.
I feel the Hospitaler's gloved hand resting briefly on my cheek, and then he says: "We should go now, Mika'il." before spurring on his horse to follow the group of departing riders.
And leaving me flabbergasted.
How did he know this name?
THE END!