Forged in the Fire
The Sultan Saladin and his personal guards watched from a distance. A lathered bay struggled up the steep trail off to their right.
"A squire, he's little more than a boy," Saddam one of the scouts reported.
"He flees the Crusaders' camp. He seems distraught."
"Do not kill him. We will ransom him with our other captures," Saladin ordered. The started to mount up intent on the capture.
"Now where'd that one come from?" Hakim the captain of guards growled pointing. Eyes studied the new rider. The long limbed black horse was easily gaining on the exhausted bay. Coming in from a tangent he was intent on the squire.
"His horse is fresh. He must have been missed by our outriders," Hakim muttered. The Saracens waited and watched as the black's rider waylaid the boy. As the squire's exhausted mount struggled to the top of a hill, the warrior knocked the boy from the saddle. Anger was in every line of the two bodies as they faced off.
"It's one of those cursed bowmen," Hakim snarled spotting the bow hanging from the saddle.
"One of those hunters you can't seem to catch," Saladin chuckled. Hakim's continued tirades at their inability to stop or catch the hunters was a source of amusement for him. Suppressed laughter from the guards only added to Hakim's irritation.
"Look," Saddam grunted in surprise. Hakim's rant stopped in mid-word as they watched the hunter knock the squire down. Then as the squire rose he knocked him down once more.
Turning the hunter gathered the bay's reins and began to walk the trembling animal in a large circle. The boy came to his feet shouting angrily only to be ignored. Finally the yelling stopped. Head down with slumped shoulders the squire stood shifting from foot to foot. The bowman stopped as he reached the boy. The bay's reins were held out. A nod from the bowman and now the boy led his horse until it had cooled. Both horses were stripped and brushed out.
The squire flopped down on a rock seeming to radiate misery. Nudged by the bowman he accepted a cloth wrapped bundle. A gentle pat on the shoulder seemed to soothe the boy.
"Wiser than most of the cross carriers," Hakim grunted watching. The bowman had uncovered a hidden seap and watered the horses. He wore a dust colored robe and a turban with a loosed veil.
"Perhaps desert born this one," Saddam said thoughtfully.
"He covered the water again as is proper" Hassan a Lieutenant of the guards noted with a grudging respect.
"They are preparing to ride out My Lord," Hakim looked over at Saladin.
"Keep watch if they return to the Lionheart let them go. Many of the hunters have warned our people of danger. They have only hunted game and share their kill with the villagers," Saladin decided. "Of course they do seem to enjoy taunting you, old friend," Saladin grinned at his childhood playmate.
Long minutes later Saddam reported in "They ride for the infidels' camp".
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"My Lord their being pursued," a scout rode in fast.
"Who?"
"Mommar ben Sahid," the scout panted.
"Worse than those animals at Acre," Hakim spat.
"Better us than Mommar. We're closer Hakim. Take the infadels," the sultan ordered. Signaling his troop to follow Hakim raced off. Riding to intercept the pair before Mommar could overtake them.
Fleeing before the raiders the hunter spotted the second set of pursuers coming and changed direction slightly. It was a matter of timing whether they would make the camp or be captured. The two riders desperately spurred for the camp. It seemed they would reach safety avoiding capture.
Disaster struck and the game little bay mare went down under the boy. Pulling up the hunter slid from the saddle freeing his bow as he came. Before he could position himself he was overrun by the guardsmen of Saladin.
Sakim dove onto the bowman and a fierce struggle ensued. Fists, knives, feet, knees, elbows were all employed in the fight. The other guardsmen had dismounted and were attempting to secure the infidel with the least amount of damage to themselves. Hakim winced in sympathy at the sharp yelps coming from the pile of warriors. Curses filled the air while the Saracens tried to subdue the bowman. The twisting, writhing mass of bodies rolled over the rocky ground
Dismounting Hakim bent to check on the squire. A sharp yelp from behind and he was knocked from his feet. Somehow the hunter had freed himself. The bowman now sat astride the huge man's chest. It was all Hakim could do to hold back the infidel's wrist keeping the knife blade from his throat. It took six of the guardsmen to lift him off. They tried to keep him spread eagle and off the ground so he couldn't get enough leverage to free himself this time.
The enraged scream of a stallion filled the air and the bowman's black stallion charged. Releasing their hold on the infidel part of the warriors were now trying to drive back the horse. The obviously war trained the stallion seemed to be as dangerous as it's rider.
Taking advantage of the situation the bowman once more freed himself. Scrambling away from the guardsmen he stood guard over his fallen companion. Again the guardsmen piled on finally Omar slid a loop of cord around one wrist. Then with the help of Ari and Sahid they managed to bind both the man's wrists behind his back. They eventually managed to bind his kicking feet and tie them to his wrists. They backed off leaving him to struggle in the dust.
Hakim's pained squeal brought a smirk to the bowman's face and grins to his warriors.
"He bit me," Hakim cursed regaining his feet. "That black devil bit my ass." It had to be happenstance surely the horse really wasn't laughing at him. Although the whinny did seem to mimic laughter. Picking up the dropped bow Hakim reached for an arrow. "It is a shame but the stallion is simply to dangerous".
The bound bowman yelled in a strange tongue. Immediately the stallion settled, allowing itself to be led off by Omar. Hakim turned and began crooning in a strange language. Gently he petted the downed horse. A soft whisper of words and a knife appeared from seeming nowhere. He quickly ended the crippled mare's struggles. Wordlessly the blade was cleaned and replaced.
"Let's see about the squire," Hakim sighed bending to grab hold of the dead horse. Soon they had the boy free. A quick examination revealed nothing more than a bump on the head. Wildly the hunter began to fight the bonds when the youth moaned.
"I won't hurt him English," Hakim spoke in the Lingua Franca a mix of languages that was used to communicate between their people. The total lack of comprehension eased as Hakim calmly held the furious blue gaze with his own. Like a wild born falcon this one. The hunter stopped fighting as he watched how gently they handled his companion.
"A bump on the head and bruises," Hakim reported.
"Do you think he understands your words My Lord," Omar grunted nursing a sprained wrist.
"No but he understands my intentions," Hakim responded.
"So wild one, let us see what you've done to yourself," Hakim moved over to the trussed crusader.
"He's no knight," Sahid muttered indicating the lack of heavy armor and no personal device or coat of arms.
"A arms man then?" Ari questioned.
"No shield," Hakim disagreed.
"He was hunting perhaps the armor and shield were left behind," Akmid suggested.
"It is a fine stallion not one of the crusader's breed," Sahid indicated the beautiful animal.
"A crossbreed perhaps" Hakim said thoughtfully. The infidel flinched under the gentle impersonal touch as his injuries were tended.
"Nothing serious and surprisingly few hurts," Hakim looked at his men in disbelief. Not one of his own men had avoided some type of injury from the man or horse.
"My Lord, ben Sahid draws near," Omar warned.
"Jackal," Hakim hissed softly.