Read Online Doctor Who and the Crusaders by David Whitaker - Free Book Online
Authors: David Whitaker
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and slapped him viciously across the face.
‘You have no rights, no privileges, nothing except the benevolence of our ruler! But he will not side against me if you are too insolent. Remember, you are a prisoner here, not a free man.’ He turned to Barbara and eyed her appreciatively.
‘I came to learn your identity. That you are the King’s sister bodes well for me. I can serve both the Sultan and Malec el Adil, or Saphadin as you call him. The brother of the Sultan will rejoice to see the woman he has for so long admired. Bring them!’
El Akir turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Fortune had played no part in his achievements of the past. He was an Emir simply because he had murdered his brother. He had riches because he had stolen them. Behind the man lay a dark trail of evil, without one saving grace, without one worthy deed. Even the scar he carried on his face was an advertisement of one of the worst of his acts, when he had attempted, after he had murdered his brother, to capture the weeping widow, a woman he had envied and desired until the deed of fratricide was no longer simply for the title but just as much for the wife as well. But when he stood before her, his hand still holding the sword of death, telling the grief-stricken girl what he had done and what her future was to be, a sudden horror of him, plus a determination he should suffer for his crime, had made her find a desperate courage. She had seized up a heavy ornament and struck at him with all her passionate anger. Although his servants had run in and thrust their swords into her, as El Akir lay groaning on the ground, she still had strength enough to say he would carry the sign of murderer until the day he died. And now all women were his enemies and El Akir delighted in enslaving them. So his pleasure, as he strode towards the Sultan’s chamber, was great: a woman would be humbled, her pride destroyed, and he would find favour and perhaps the close confidence of Saladin and Saphadin.
He gained admittance to the chamber of the Sultan without delay and found Saphadin examining a map. The room was divided by a heavy silk curtain and behind it the Emir knew Saladin sat, meditating on the disposition of his armies, pondering on strategy and ready to hear without being seen.
‘Malec el Adil, I bring good fortune not only for him who rules over us, but for your delight as well.’
Saphadin looked up from the map, rolled it in his handsand walked over to a low couch heavily draped with fine materials. He sat down and gestured with his hand for El Akir to continue.
‘My brother hears you as I do.’
‘Know then,’ said El Akir, raising his voice slightly, ‘that I have the instrument to vanquish the invaders from across the seas and bring victory.’
Saladin, sitting on the other side of the curtain, heard the words and moved his head slightly, his interest caught. A man of slight build, with a somewhat melancholy face in repose which entirely altered once he smiled, Saladin was many of the things a leader of men needed to be. His force of personality was tremendous, although he did not fight as Richard Coeur de Lion did, at the head of his men. This was not through cowardice but simply that his position as Sultan of the mighty Moslem army forbade such action. He had simple tastes, with a hatred for coarseness and ostentation. His courts abounded with philosophers and well-read men. He was refined, courteous and generous. Above all, he had a fine sense of humour. None of these things was as important as the undoubted ability he had to command and control the vast armies at his disposal. Syrians, Turks, Arabs, each nationality divided into different tribes and loyalties, status and rivalry; each commander jealous of his position; every army anxious to gain success in the field.
Saladin’s personal position was only secure when his plans led to victory. He knew to the last degree how tenuous his hold was over the Moslem host
‘You have no rights, no privileges, nothing except the benevolence of our ruler! But he will not side against me if you are too insolent. Remember, you are a prisoner here, not a free man.’ He turned to Barbara and eyed her appreciatively.
‘I came to learn your identity. That you are the King’s sister bodes well for me. I can serve both the Sultan and Malec el Adil, or Saphadin as you call him. The brother of the Sultan will rejoice to see the woman he has for so long admired. Bring them!’
El Akir turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Fortune had played no part in his achievements of the past. He was an Emir simply because he had murdered his brother. He had riches because he had stolen them. Behind the man lay a dark trail of evil, without one saving grace, without one worthy deed. Even the scar he carried on his face was an advertisement of one of the worst of his acts, when he had attempted, after he had murdered his brother, to capture the weeping widow, a woman he had envied and desired until the deed of fratricide was no longer simply for the title but just as much for the wife as well. But when he stood before her, his hand still holding the sword of death, telling the grief-stricken girl what he had done and what her future was to be, a sudden horror of him, plus a determination he should suffer for his crime, had made her find a desperate courage. She had seized up a heavy ornament and struck at him with all her passionate anger. Although his servants had run in and thrust their swords into her, as El Akir lay groaning on the ground, she still had strength enough to say he would carry the sign of murderer until the day he died. And now all women were his enemies and El Akir delighted in enslaving them. So his pleasure, as he strode towards the Sultan’s chamber, was great: a woman would be humbled, her pride destroyed, and he would find favour and perhaps the close confidence of Saladin and Saphadin.
He gained admittance to the chamber of the Sultan without delay and found Saphadin examining a map. The room was divided by a heavy silk curtain and behind it the Emir knew Saladin sat, meditating on the disposition of his armies, pondering on strategy and ready to hear without being seen.
‘Malec el Adil, I bring good fortune not only for him who rules over us, but for your delight as well.’
Saphadin looked up from the map, rolled it in his handsand walked over to a low couch heavily draped with fine materials. He sat down and gestured with his hand for El Akir to continue.
‘My brother hears you as I do.’
‘Know then,’ said El Akir, raising his voice slightly, ‘that I have the instrument to vanquish the invaders from across the seas and bring victory.’
Saladin, sitting on the other side of the curtain, heard the words and moved his head slightly, his interest caught. A man of slight build, with a somewhat melancholy face in repose which entirely altered once he smiled, Saladin was many of the things a leader of men needed to be. His force of personality was tremendous, although he did not fight as Richard Coeur de Lion did, at the head of his men. This was not through cowardice but simply that his position as Sultan of the mighty Moslem army forbade such action. He had simple tastes, with a hatred for coarseness and ostentation. His courts abounded with philosophers and well-read men. He was refined, courteous and generous. Above all, he had a fine sense of humour. None of these things was as important as the undoubted ability he had to command and control the vast armies at his disposal. Syrians, Turks, Arabs, each nationality divided into different tribes and loyalties, status and rivalry; each commander jealous of his position; every army anxious to gain success in the field.
Saladin’s personal position was only secure when his plans led to victory. He knew to the last degree how tenuous his hold was over the Moslem host
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