‘That is always the answer of the weak.’
‘I am strong enough to beat you,’ John growled.
‘I’d like to see you try, you and your sodomite friend!’
John began to rise, but Yusuf put out a hand to restrain him. ‘Perhaps we can settle this argument in a more civilized fashion,’ he said to Reynald. ‘I shall hold a tournament in the citadel. If you wish to prove your strength in combat, then you can do so there.’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Good,’ Yusuf said and rose. ‘I will see you soon, Reynald. Come, John.’
Yusuf was at the door when Reynald called out to him. ‘A tournament must have a prize. If I win, then I can do as I please with the women.’
Yusuf stopped and turned. He looked to the servant Mary, who stood in the corner, her eyes wide and her legs visibly shaking. He turned back to Reynald, and took a deep breath. ‘So be it.’
Yusuf could hear the ring of steel on steel over the roar of the crowd as he paced in the dim shadows beneath the arena stands. In the ring, John and Qaraqush were facing off in the second to last round of the tournament. Yusuf had sought the shade because he could not bear to watch his two friends fight. Above, the mamluks who packed the stands stood and stamped their feet, sending a shower of dust drifting down. There was a final roar, and then the crowd fell quiet. The contest was over. Yusuf stopped pacing and waited for John and Qaraqush to emerge.
Nur ad-Din had agreed enthusiastically to Yusuf’s idea for a tournament. He had promised a twentieth of Reynald’s ransom – a fortune – to the tournament’s victor. Hundreds of mamluks had volunteered to fight. Yusuf had selected seven men to compete along with Reynald. That morning, John, Qaraqush, Reynald and al-Mashtub had all advanced. After a break for refreshments and prayer, the tournament had resumed with John fighting Qaraqush. As Yusuf watched, two mamluks removed a section of the wall around the ring, and John and Qaraqush stepped through, leaning on one another. Both men’s chainmail was soaked with sweat. Qaraqush was holding his right wrist, which was swollen and red. John limped slightly and had a nasty bruise on his right cheek.
‘Who won?’ Yusuf asked.
‘John,’ Qaraqush grumbled. ‘Damn near took my hand off.’
‘It was a close match,’ John said. ‘I was lucky to win.’
‘ Hmph,’ Qaraqush snorted. ‘Luck my foot; you were better than me. I just hope you beat that Frankish bastard, if it comes to that.’ He nodded towards Reynald, who was approaching the entrance to the ring. The tall, heavy-set Frank wore an open-faced helmet and an iron breastplate over chainmail. He ignored the three friends as he stepped past them into the ring. The huge mamluk al-Mashtub came next, wearing chainmail that left his bulging arms bare.
‘Take care of that pig for us,’ Qaraqush told him.
Al-Mashtub grinned. ‘With pleasure.’
‘Do not underestimate Reynald,’ John warned. ‘He made short work of his last opponent.’ Indeed, Reynald had battered his first adversary into a bloody mess. The combatants’ blades were blunted, but they could still do serious damage. It was not unusual for people to die in tournaments. ‘Reynald is dangerous.’
‘So am I.’
Yusuf stepped forward and kissed the huge mamluk on both cheeks. ‘Allah protect you.’ Al-Mashtub nodded and headed into the arena. The mamluks moved the section of wall back into place, closing off the ring behind him. Yusuf turned to John and Qaraqush. ‘Come. Let’s watch.’
They emerged from beneath the stands and went to a ramp that led up into the arena. The match had already started, but the crowd of mamluks parted readily as Yusuf made his way to the front row. John and Qaraqush squeezed in beside him. Directly across from them, Nur ad-Din was seated between Shirkuh and Gumushtagin. Yusuf nodded to the king, then turned his attention to the action in the ring, a circle of beaten earth some ten yards across, bordered on all sides by a low, wooden wall.
The two combatants stood a few feet apart, both already breathing heavily. Reynald’s sword flashed in the bright sunshine as he raised it high above his head before swinging down at al-Mashtub. The mamluk parried the blow, and the two men’s swords locked together at the hilt. They strained against one another, but strong though he was, Reynald was no match for the size of al-Mashtub. With an audible grunt, the huge mamluk shoved Reynald away. The Frank stumbled backwards towards the wooden barrier that surrounded the ring. He slammed into it just in front of Yusuf, and his head snapped back, spraying Yusuf with sweat. The crowd roared. Reynald reached up to straighten his helmet, then gripped his sword with both hands and strode back towards al- Mashtub.
‘Come on, al-Mashtub! Beat the son of a whore’s face in!’ Qaraqush shouted. He turned to Yusuf and added more quietly, ‘I’ve got two dinars on him to win it all.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Yusuf murmured. He turned to John. ‘My money is on you to take the prize.’
‘I’m not here for the prize,’ John replied. ‘I’m here for Reynald.’
The crowd roared and Yusuf looked back to the ring. Reynald had gone on the offensive, spittle flying from his mouth as he hacked down again and again, pushing al-Mashtub back across the ring. Finally, al-Mashtub sidestepped a blow and countered, catching Reynald in the side. The Frank stumbled back, bellowing in pain. The crowd stood, cheering. ‘Finish him!’ Qaraqush shouted. ‘Finish him!’
Al-Mashtub advanced, sword held high. Reynald backed away, then, with a roar, he charged. Al-Mashtub hacked down, but Reynald parried the mamluk’s blade before slamming into him, shoulder lowered. He caught al-Mashtub in the chest and drove him backwards, smashing him into the wall of the arena. Al-Mashtub raised his sword, but Reynald grabbed his arm, pinning it against the wall. With his other hand, Reynald smashed the pommel of his sword into al-Mashtub’s face, crushing his nose and spraying the crowd with blood. He swung again, but this time al-Mashtub caught his wrist. The mamluk slammed his forehead into Reynald’s face, snapping the Frank’s head back. Blood ran from Reynald’s broken nose, matting his blond beard.
But Reynald still had al-Mashtub pinned against the wall. The Frank grinned madly, then head-butted al- Mashtub, once, twice, three times. Al-Mashtub dropped his sword and his knees buckled. Reynald held him up, his left forearm under the mamluk’s chin while he smashed him in the face twice more with the pommel of his sword. Finally, Reynald released al-Mashtub and stepped back. The mamluk slumped to the ground, unmoving.
The crowd fell silent. Reynald spit at al-Mashtub, then raised his arms and strode to the centre of the ring.
‘The man is an animal,’ Qaraqush whispered.
Yusuf turned to John. ‘You are next, my friend. Allah protect you.’
John prayed silently as he knelt beneath the stands, his forehead against the pommel of his sword, which he held pointed towards the earth. He heard footsteps approach, boots crunching on the hard ground. ‘Prayers won’t do you any good, Saxon.’ John did not need to open his eyes to know that it was Reynald who spoke. ‘I’ll see you in the ring.’ John remained kneeling until he heard Reynald walk away. Then he crossed himself and rose.
John entered the ring to find Reynald waiting for him, his sword held casually over his shoulder. John ignored him. He walked to the centre of the ring and bowed towards Nur ad-Din, then he turned to face Reynald. ‘I have a score to settle with you. It is because of you that I was made a slave. You sent Ernaut to murder me outside Damascus. You tried to kill me yourself outside Tell Bashir.’
‘Maybe now I’ll finish the job.’ Reynald swung his sword from his shoulder and held it in front of him as he stepped towards the centre of the ring. John raised his sword, and the two men faced off only a few feet apart.
‘Fight!’ Nur ad-Din shouted, his voice drowned instantly by the roar of the crowd.
John circled to his right, and Reynald mirrored him, keeping his distance. ‘Why do you serve that infidel?’ Reynald asked, nodding towards where Yusuf sat. ‘Can’t get enough of your sodomite friend?’
John said nothing. He sprang forward and slashed at Reynald’s side. Reynald parried the blow and countered with a vicious cut at John’s head. John spun out of the way and resumed circling, but Reynald was no longer mirroring him. The Frank stood in the centre of the ring, turning in place to follow John’s movements. ‘Are you afraid of me, Saxon?’ Reynald taunted. ‘Come here and fight.’ John kept circling. Suddenly Reynald charged forward, hacking down at John’s head. John blocked the blow, and their swords locked. John strained against Reynald, their faces only a few inches apart. He could feel the Frank’s breath hot on his face. Reynald’s swollen, purple nose and blood-caked beard made him look like some crazed demon.
