“If I am to plead the cause,” Kenneth said boldly, for it was not his place to question God’s representative upon this holy crusade, “might I not know the nature of the cause? Is it an extension of the truce?”
For a moment the archbishop’s eyes flashed, but then he stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, “It will be better to tell you some of the truth than to spawn rumors. But, at peril of your immortal soul, I mark this secret between yourself and this council. We seek agreement from Saladin to a lasting peace, and the withdrawal of our armies from Palestine.”
“Saint George,” Kenneth said in astonishment, forgetting himself briefly. “But—”
“Good knight,” the archbishop interrupted him wearily, “we have told you the nature of your mission. Do not tax our good nature too sorely.”
Murmuring “My lord,” Kenneth again bowed his head. “I will deliver your message and return at once, God willing.”
“God is willing,” the archbishop said dryly. He touched the knight faintly on the shoulder. “Bless you, my son, and God keep you.”
Kenneth thought, going out, that he would need God’s protection, for he knew well enough the hardships of the great desert, which would have made the journey treacherous even if the land were peopled by allies instead of by enemies.
* * * *
By evening he had made arrangements to leave in the early morning hours. Before retiring, he checked the wound on his head and found it healing nicely, the pain almost completely gone. He smiled and thought of the gypsy wench; everything she had done for him she had done well. Perhaps he would see her again when he returned from his mission.
He shed his clothes and dropped to his bed. He had not quite drifted off to sleep when Krouba, sleeping on the floor beside him, roused him with a low, warning growl.
At once Kenneth grabbed his sword and called, “Who goes there?”
There was a rustle of movement near the door of his hut, and a throaty feminine voice said, “Hush, don’t rouse the camp.” In a moment Elaine had slipped into the bed with him.
“I thought you had gone back to your own camp,” he said.
“What kind of doctor would I be if I did not check on my patient?” she asked in a petulant tone. “Perhaps you have a fever, Sir Knight. You are warm to the touch.”
“And getting warmer,” he said with a chuckle, drawing her nearer.
* * * *
He left just at dawn the following day. Elaine did not awaken and he was loath to disturb her. He left Krouba in the care of his servant and set out while the camp was just beginning to stir.
He journeyed for that entire day and into the second. Syria’s burning sun had again begun to descend to the horizon when he paced the sandy deserts which lie near the Dead Sea. There the waves of the Jordan pour themselves into an inland sea from which the waters do not escape.
He had toiled among cliffs and rock walls, and leaving those rocky regions had come to that great plain where in ancient days the accursed cities provoked the dreadful vengeance of the Almighty.
The effort, the dangers, the thrust of his journey were forgotten in a burst of emotion as he viewed these scenes, long familiar to his imagination but now looked upon for the first time. There was the once fair and fertile valley of Siddim, now a parched and blighted waste, condemned to eternal sterility.
The sun shone upon this scene of desolation with almost intolerable splendor. All life seemed to have hidden itself from the burning rays but for his own solitary figure moving through the shifting sand at a slow pace and his horse, whom he was now leading.
He admitted again what he had already had ample occasion to realize, that the dress of the crusaders and the accoutrements of their horses were ill suited to the country through which they traveled.
He had donned full armor for the journey, not knowing what he might encounter. In the fashion of the day he wore not only a shirt and an undertunic, but a hauberk—a coat of linked mail—with mail gauntlets. As if this were not enough weight, there was in addition the triangular shield which hung round his neck and a barrel helmet of steel; under the helmet he wore a coif-de-mailles—a hood and collar of mail. His lower limbs too were sheathed in flexible mail, as were his feet.
Over all this he wore an embroidered surcoat, the purpose of which was to protect his armor from the burning rays of the sun.
As for weaponry, on one side he wore a stout quillon dagger and on the other a long, broad, single-edged falchion, its handle forming a cross. He carried a long, steel-headed lance, with one end resting on his stirrup and at the tip a little pennoncel to dally with whatever faint breeze might pass his way.
Nor was his horse clothed less weightily; he wore a heavy saddle hung with mail, covered in front with a peytrel of leather and mail and behind with a padded crupper to cover the loins. A mace hung from the saddlebow; the reins were secured by chainwork while the chamfroy over his face was in fact a steel plate, with openings for the eyes and nostrils and having in its middle a sharp spike which gave the beast the appearance of the famed unicorns, which some claimed to have seen here in Araby.
Many crusaders had died in the burning climate, their end no doubt hastened by the weight of their armor. But to Kenneth it was only an inconvenience.
The Good Lord he had come here to serve had cast his limbs in a mold of uncommon strength and endowed him with a constitution as strong as his limbs, which he took as a sure sign that he was to take up sword in His cause.
Traveling as he did alone, he had had time to ponder some matters that were much on his mind of late. Since coming to the Holy Land, his slender purse had melted away. Many of his fellow crusaders, as he well knew, made it a policy to replenish their wealth at the expense of the Palestinians, but he had exacted no gifts from the natives nor held any prisoners for ransom, both of which practices were common. The small party he had brought with him from Scotland had gradually dwindled. This alone did not particularly alarm him, as he was accustomed to think of his good sword as his safest escort and his own thought as his best companion.
Still it behooved him to face the fact that his straits were dire, and aside from spiritual privileges he saw no rewards that would come to himself as a result of this campaign. He had come without permission of his father, who had more than one reason to be offended, and so he could probably expect little welcome when he returned to Scotland.
Nature had begun to make demands for refreshment and repose, so he was glad when he saw two or three palm trees in the distance which he was sure marked the well he had been told to watch for. His good horse too, who had plodded forward with steady endurance, now lifted his head, expanded his nostrils, and quickened his pace.
Rest was not to be gained so easily however. As he gazed at the distant cluster of trees it seemed to him as if something was moving among them. The distant form separated itself from the trees and began to move toward him with a speed that soon indicated a mounted horseman. His turban, long spear and green caftan, which floated behind him in the wind, revealed that he was a Saracen cavalier.
“In the desert no man meets a friend,” as an Eastern proverb has it. The Saracen, flying as if borne on the wings of an eagle, did not come as a friend. Kenneth mounted his horse, disengaging the lance from his saddle and, seizing it with his right hand, placed it in rest with its point half-elevated. He gathered up his reins in his left hand, put spurs to his horse and prepared to meet the charge of the stranger.
The Arabs are born horsemen, and this one was no exception. He came on at a speedy gallop, managing the horse more with his seat and the suggestions of his body than by use of the reins. He wore at his arm a lightweight round buckler—or shield—of rhinoceros skin, ornamented with silver