"Barbarians at the Gate" by Karen
The hauntingly familiar yet alien wailing echoed throughout the
night shrouded city.
The Imam in the highest domed tower was summoning the faithful to devotions.
Bennet du
Paris rested with his back to the stable wall that had once belonged
to a textile merchant.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste as the lingering blend of sweat, dirt
and burnt wool wafted
towards him mixed with the sweltering heat. From his vantage
point he watched heavily veiled
women lugging water from the tiled pools scattered across the city.
Men, just as
heavily cloaked, but with their faces bare, hurried along on business
of their own.
Bennet was distracted from polishing his sword, as a troop of armed
Saracen guards strode
by. After they passed Bennet glanced up at the evening
sky; a velvet blanket someone
had carelessly sprinkled with diamonds. He thought back to right
before they had set
sail for Outremer.
"Was it only two months ago that Eobar and I sat in taverns dicing,
drinking,
and regaling the serving wenches with tales of our heroism?"
He wiped sweat from his brow.
This heat feels like being baked inside a potter's firing kiln.
A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his helmet whose tips were
shaped like an
eagle's outspread wings. Bennet admired the intricate sculpting that
had gone into its
construction. He scraped the rust it had accumulated while on campaign.
It was still as
beautiful as when he had been presented with it as an initiate as a
Knight Templar.
It had also saved his life more times than he count on the fingers
of both hands.
If Eobar were here, he no doubt remind me again of the vow of poverty,
that paying
for something as extravagant as this helmet was no more than a useless
luxury.
Just then Eobar Barrington's cheerful refined voice interrupted
his train of thought.
He strode around the corner half hidden by the building's shadow. "There
you are."
His big war-horse not caring for the confined conditions, tossed its
blooded mane and
shuffled its feet. The harness jingled; Bennet who had been tensely
awaiting his friend's
return, nearly jumped out of his skin. He resentfully glared
at Eobar as if blaming him
for getting them involved in the Crusades.
"S, blood, Eobar. Do you want to wake everyone in the Quarter?"
"How are you?'
"I was worried something happened to you," Bennet replied, hoping
his voice
did not crack, somewhat mollified.
"Sorry for the lateness of my return. My task took longer
than I had
anticipated." Eobar wrapped his mount's reins around his wrist
then tied it to
a wooden hook that had been wedged into the muddy ground, and
then sat down
next to Bennet.
"Pay it no mind. I just thought you had been waylaid by one of these infidels."
"Careful, my friend. I have been among those 'infidels', and they
think much the
same of us. Saladin is a canny old fox, he can keep himself
and his troops holed
up in Jerusalem for months, while starving Lionheart's army out.
As for King Guy,
of Anitoch, Baldwin's chosen replacement..."Eobar shrugged and
tugged at his
gauntlets. When he had bared his hand, he then held it up in
front of
Bennet with the middle finger extended, "So there."
"You've actually been among the Moors? They punish a man who steals
bread
by cutting off his hand. To say nothing of what they would
do if they captured
a Christian knight!" Bennet said.
"What Lionheart does or does not do is none of my affair. As for
the infidels, they
have a word I find particularly intriguing. In Arabic, 'jihad'
means 'holy war.'"
"Lionheart does not strike me as the patient type. He's too impulsive.
It sounds like you think this entire campaign is futile."
"Bennet," Eobar said as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder,
unsure how to
soothe the younger man's nerves. "Regardless of what I think
of the secular
leaders of the Crusaders, as Templars our orders come direct
from the Grand
Master. We're both soldiers, knights. It is not our place to
second-guess our
leaders."
"I am not being entirely fair. Truth, as a knight sworn
to the crown, I could not
refuse the task laid upon me by His Holiness, the Pope;
to free the Holy Land
from the Moors," Bennet exclaimed, almost chanting the words.
Eobar philosophically noted the telltale look in his friend's
eyes, he interrupted,
"May I ask you something? Can you justify a war in
the name of faith?, "
he asked, which broke Bennet's bout of feverish zeal.
Not usually one to debate these matters, he decided to let the
matter rest
by simply asking, "Well, did you learn anything? Bennet changed
the subject,
desperate to avoid a protracted debate, since Eobar was could
outflank him on
almost every issue, and as much as he disliked admitting it to
himself, he did not
stand a chance in arguments.
Bennet knew Eobar in almost every mood: in combat,
in a tavern brawl, as they slept
only in a tattered cloak as they waited out a desert
storm. And he knew the sudden smirk;
which Eobar struggled to hide, was the face of a
man who did not want to
admit why he had been out late.
"I'll put in a good word for with the Grand Master. Something
to the effect
that it was my fault that made you late for checkin. I
wouldn't want us both in
trouble with the Old Man," Eobar offered as he untied his horse
and led out onto
the narrow streets.
"I would appreciate that. I don't suppose you'll mention anything
about your
nightly activities?"
"I can come up with something."
*****
The two men walked along in silence and ignored the sidelong
glances of locals
as they peered through their barred windows or through the slits
in their veils as
the hurried from one building to another.
The chapter house loomed into view out of the dense fog that covered
the
city all day. Far above, on the crest of the hill, they could
hear the clattering of metal
as the gate wardens were forced to stir out of their heat induced
slumber.
"Who goes there!"
"Eobar Barrington and Bennet du Paris!"
The wardens murmured to each other, as their voices carried on the still air. "Password"
Eobar nudged his mount toward the massive gate. then raised a
mailed fist to
pound on the door, the distinctive clanging of metal on metal
resounded eerily
in the moonlight.
"You slugs, open this door immediately, or I'll have you
written up for
shirking your duty," Bennet shouted.
"That wasn't the password," one warden whispered to his neighbour.
"Nah, too many words," the other whispered back.
"Kyrie Elesion!" Eobar shouted.
"Okay, that's it, stand back," the head warden shouted down to them.
The gates slid back on oiled hinges as the chains scraped against
their
moorings. The slid apart wide enough to permit entry for
Eobar and his horse,
and Bennet.
"Cutting it close, aren't we?" the guard offered as he pulled
the levers which
caused the gate to swing shut with a solid echoing thud. "The
Old Man is
expecting you," he added, accepting the reins Eobar thrust into
his hand, as his
companion pulled the brass handled lever. The gates slammed to,
the noise
starling Eobar's horse, he reared until he stood on all fours,
pawing at the air.
The sickenly sweet smell of sweat wafted to him, as the
horse sweated in its panic.
"Whoa, boy," the guard tried, making a trying for the dangling
reins A random
hoof shot out and the guard went flying to land which a soft
whoosh and a thud
near the far wall.
Bennet knelt next to the fallen man, and checked him for injuries,
"Just a glancing blow, but still you should have the field surgeon
check you out."
"Easy, easy, "Eobar whispered to his horse, as gently grabbed
the reins,
and succeeded in calming him down.
"I'm sure the Old Man would be," Eobar said, nodding his head
slightly to
thank the warden for helping calm his horse down, who finally
brought all
four feet to the ground.
"Then we had better not keep him waiting," Bennet replied.
****
They entered the Grand Master's office, Hugh DePayens, whose
chamber
was panelled in cherry wood with a fireplace burning near the
back wall.
Oil lamps and a narrow window provided the only light.
And everywhere was gold: on the lamps, the mantel, the ornaments
on Hugh's
desk. In these impoverished times. Gold was something
few would dare flaunt
so openly, but as the Grand Maste; Hugh could afford a bit of
social impropriety.
He ignored Eobar and Bennet as they stepped into the office,
instead concentrating
on the sheaf of papers he'd spent half the evening wading through.
Eobar
coughed, a daring gesture in the presence of a superior.
Hugh glanced while he took note of
his inferior officer's lack of decorum.
Having dispensed with pleasantries, he immediately launched into
a prepared
speech.
"There are two matters of import I which to discuss," Hugh began.
"As for the
first; Eobar Barrington I am seriously considering taking punitive
action against
you. Item: your casual way you treat your rank. You
seem to regard yourself
as no more than a commoner. A Templar of your rank in the
Order should
set a better example. I trust we understand one another," Hugh
said, his voice
radiating all the warmth of a hangman's noose.
"As for Du Paris," Hugh turned his steel grey eyes to Bennet.
"You have a great deal of potential, and perhaps I could have
chosen a better
mentor for you. Your father... God rest his soul, would have
been disappointed.
"You knew my father?" Bennet bristled, uncomfortable.
"Yes. A good man, a better friend. And as tragic as his
death was, it is sad
to say, good men are a rarity in these in these troubled times,
and few and
far between," Hugh whispered. "Be that as it may, " Hugh continued,
what is
done cannot be undone. In any case, there will be a reprimand
on each of your
service records."
"My Lord, if I am not overstepping my bounds,, why, could you
help me
understand why he...."Bennet trailed off, running his fingers
through his raven-black
shoulder length hair. <I wouldn't even be here if the Reynald
de Chatillion hadn't
told everyone that my father, nobleman that he was, married
a commoner,>
"I'll explain later," Eobar whispered.
"As for the second matter, a letter from St. Bernard.
According to this
Saladin is mounting an attack on Tiberuis' slopes.
"My Lord, I am only a low ranking knight. Why would you entrust
me with
this?" Bennet stammered, his face turning red as the firelight
outlined the
hollows of his superior's high boned cheeks. <My
father always said my fear
would get me in trouble one day, so why is it that the Old
Man looks almost
skeletal in the firelight>
"I have my reasons, young man," Hugh replied noncommittally as
he tossed the
letter onto the desk, causing a miniature dust devil to swirl
up.
"Eobar, alert Reynald de Chatillion. Tell him to order a
general militia.
We ride for Mt. Tiberius at dawn," Hugh ordered, then waved a
hand, dismissing
them from his presence.
****
Morning dawned with a clarity of sky and earth too brittle and
dazzling to look
at for long. It was said on clear days you could see forever.
That is if the
phalanx of both mounted and foosoldiers cared to notice.
A series of rocky peaks hemmed them in on three sides, and on
the fourth by the
sea of Galilee, whose waves restlessly broke against its slopes.
The knights had no leisure to spare on the scenery as they were
forced to maintain
their footing on the winding path in the mountain's stony skin
took all their
concentration.
"Thrice damned, its nothing more than a rut created by centuries
of travel
and this awful climate," Bennet thought. He shifted in his saddle
trying to ignore
the heat. He looked around, watching stoically as his fellows
urged their
panting steeds along the trail, some sliding on loose rock, cursing
as the horses
refused to go any further. At least I'm having better luck
them some.
He patted his horse's side, grateful for its single-minded obedience.
I suppose that's some comfort.
They had been marching since first light and with the hot desert
sun glared
shimmering and golden as the eye of a vengeful god, which it
had since they'd
set out that morning. From its position on its day ward
arc Bennet guessed it
to be around mid-day.
"If we were lizards, sunbathing in this heat would be almost pleasant,"
Eobar
muttered, pulling up beside Bennet.
"But we're not," Bennet laughed. "No, we're just men in armor."
"Good for the lizards." Eobar grinned. "Sometimes,
'they'," he nodded towards
the foot soldiers, "have it easier than us."
"Don't worry. We'll be sure to find water higher up in the
mountains"
Bennet grinned. "Everyone knows that."
"In the middle of a drought?" Eobar replied.
Just then both men twisted around in their saddles to watch the
seemingly
endless columns of marching foot soldiers and supply wagons trundling
along
behind them. "You know Saladin has more than twice as many
men as us,"
Bennet absently remarked.
The Grand Master pulled up beside them, "I would not order the
men
to this, unless time was not of the essence, despite the risk
of broken
legs, the pace must be increased."
"My Lord, caution is well advised, but let us not err on the side
of rashness.
As you recently pointed out to me," Eobar said.
"Time is of the essence!" Hugh shouted.
"Yes, I know," Eobar replied. Turning his warhorse to face
the army,
in a ringing baritone, he shouted: "Haste! Unless we already
be too late!"
Bennet spurred his mount nearer in time to hear his friend's whispered
comment:
"Alas, Lord God, the battle was never ours. The Kingdom is lost."
"What has happened to us?" Bennet muttered to himself.
****
"The Horns of Hattin," Hugh said, pointing towards the giant stone
teeth arcing
skyward, and even Bennet's modest hope of finding water to quench
their
thirst were dashed. The well was dry and the only stream was
blocked.
To make matters worse they discovered Saladin's army waiting
for them at the
far edge of the plateau.
"No!" Bennet gasped.
Hearing his whispered protest Hugh glanced at him.
"Methinks the Old Fox has stolen a march on us. Why so surprised,
young man?
Did we not anticipate such a manuver from our old foe?"
Squaring his shoulders, Bennet wordlessly agreed. "Hard pounding
this,
gentlemen. Shall we see who pounds the longest" Bennet
asked, snapping
the chain on his eagle winged helmet.
"The infidels!" Eobar growled as he watched Saladin make a stylized
gesture with
his hand across his throat. It was a signal to a small group
of soldiers armed with
firebrands to set the remaining dry grasses stubbornly clinging
to the mountain,
ablaze. Some of the men, unable to resist their thirst almost
as bad as the relentless
heat, rushed to the water, but were beheaded.
"There's no honour in that," Hugh grunted, puling his sword from
it sheath.
"Attack! he ordered as the Saracens horns blasted forth a brassy
challenge.
****
Bennet and Eobar fought back to back as the battle erupted around
them.
The sound of hooftbeats pounding and churning up the hard earth
beneath
them, boots slogging in blood. In the melee he had become separated
from
his friend, but there was no chance of locating him. One
man in full armor
looks much like another. Bennet gave up, cursing the helm
that blocked his
peripheral vision. He heard the scrape and hiss of arrows and
remotely isolated
that sound from the hundreds of others; the terrified screaming
of men and
horses, the pleas for mercy that went unheard, no quarter would
be given.
The Bishop of Acre, who carried a piece of the True Cross, was
cut down and
the precious relic captured.
However grievous the loss, Bennet did not have time to mourn or
regret,
by late evening they had been completely enclosed in a ring of
steel.
The Saracen forces began charging up the slope in endless droves
and
more and more knights fell to the curved blades. Suddenly some
of the
Frankish infantry broke formation and clambered full tilt, leaving
the army to
its own devices. Taking advantage of the confusion, Reynald,
who led the
column, used the speed of his horses to create a bridge over
the slain bodies
of his own comrades, giving them a path to escape.
Noting the charge, Saladin did not order his army to meet the
Crusaders
head-on, instead he opened the trap to give them enough rope
to hang
themselves. Once inside the trap, Saladin closed the opening,
sealing their
fate. He pressed his advantage, galloping through his own lines
all the way
to King Guy's red campaign tent, forcing the remaining Crusaders
to fall back.
***********
Meanwhile, at the fringe of the battle, Bennet had been thrown
from his
saddle. He stared glassy eyed up at a solid wall of granite
when an obsidian
needle thrust itself up from the mountain's skin. It was
as black and as
elongated as the peaks which gave the pass its name. It was like
a fang of
some beast and it shimmered in his sight from the heat it had
soaked up.
"A mirage. I must have suffered a blow to the head and now I'm
hallucinating."
Eobar?" he called as a drowning man clings to a lifeline
aboard a sinking ship,
he clung to the familiar sound of his friend's name. Shouting
over and over again,
heedless of the danger.
"You're alive," Eobar grimly observed, dragging his sword, and
wiped blood
from his face.
"No thanks to you," Bennet replied. "Lucky I have a hard head.
Excellent
helmet, by the way," he added, holding up the battered piece
of metal.
"It should be. I cost enough."
"What happened? Is the battle over?"
"Guy surrendered. Not that I blame him. We got slaughtered
out there.
This part I find hard to comprehend. Do you have any idea what
the Moors
do to captured enemies after a battle? NO? They've beheaded
everyone they
could, all the nobles and soldiers, except for King Guy and Reynald.
The rest
they are being sold, "Eobar said.
"Sold? To whom? Never mind, I do not wish to know. What
I want to know is:
I am going crazy?," Bennet asked.
'Yes." Eobar grinned.
"I am serious. Do you see that black tower?" Bennet pointed towards
a black
obelisk he had been staring at, the base of which was one tenth
of its height.
The dome surmounting it, was sheathed in copper. The open gates were
incised with
Egyptian hieroglyphics.
"My God!" Eobar gasped. "Where do you think you are going?"
"I don't know. I just feel drawn to it."
"Oh no you don't" Eobar grabbed a fistful of Bennet's cloak
and dug in his
heels trying to halt his forward motion. Bennet shrugged
him off and ran
towards the open gates.
"Wait! Eobar lunged forward the heavy weight of his armor
bringing him to his
knees. Cursing under his breath he tugged on the laces
and removed it piece by
piece. Down to his leather tunic, he picked up his ebony
blade and ran after
his friend. Just like entering the lion's den.
Eobar caught up with Bennet inside the tower in time to overhear
him shout.
"A quest for power. I know it resides within me. I can feel it!"
"That does not make it right," Eobar protested.
"This is destined, this is right. Don't try and stop me, Eobar.
I have to do this.
I did as My Lord beseeched, to whom do you plead fealty?"
"That depends greatly on which 'lord' issues those commands, and
what he is
telling you," Eobar replied. "I feel for you. The devil
has surely taken in an
interest in your fate."
Voice: "You have come too far to fail now, Bennet du Paris. Are
you willing
to sacrifice your very life to become one of the strong?"
"I am"
"Then prove it."
With that huge boulders came tumbling towards him, forcing him
back into a
corner. Bennet threw his arms up to protect his face when suddenly
a strange
electrical energy course through his body. He tried to force
it down, to deny it,
but something inside of him would not allow it; the energy turned
to a white hot
light from his eyes. It lanced out towards the boulder causing
it to explode.
Eobar could have wept, when he witnessed the boulder explode,
and the zeal
that overcame his friend; he knew that the man he had once known
own,. the man
that was closer to than blood brothers to him, was ever so slowly
slipping away.
Inside the boulder was a woman that stood six feet high. In the
center of her
forehead was etched a tattooed sigil from some script in an unknown
language.
Her marble black eyes seemed to bore into Bennet's and her black
skin
gleamed with the same sheen as Eobar's ebony blade. She was dressed
in red
from head to foot and he would have thought her exotically beautiful
if not for
the claw-like hands and the scales covering her neck and shoulders.
"Greetings, mortals, I am Scarab," she announced and bowed
to Bennet.
"Bennet du Paris, you were born with a magnificent gift and the
time has
come for its revelation. For you must use it, or die."
"I don't understand." Bennet stammered.
"To fully gain access to your powers, you must defeat me," Scarab said.
Bennet rushed forward with his sword drawn, striking at the Scarab,
drawing blood. The woman swept her arms out and knocked
his sword
from his white knuckled grasp. The blow sent the sword
spinning to land
with a metal clang and snap of broken metal well out of arm's
reach.
Bennet, responding to instinct, launched himself into the air
and flipped
over the Scarab, to retrieve his sword.
"You must use the power locked inside of you, that is the only way."
Again he felt the same energy coursing through him, like the blood
in
his veins. It engulfed his mind and he felt a sudden urge to
release it, or
go insane. The white-hot energy played about his clenched fists
from some
source inside of him. He made an effort and it came out
lancing straight at the
Scarab. The light surrounded her in a blazing light too
bright to look at, and
moments later the Scarab was reduced to ashes.
***
Eobar was startled out of his dark thoughts when he heard an
odd, jarring
sound; someone was applauding. It echoed hollowly in the huge
chamber.
"I am Shareed Well done, young man," addressing Bennet.
"I suspect your
savored every bit of that taste of true power? What would you
say if I could
tell you a way to keep that power?"
"How,...do I keep the power?" Bennet gasped.
"Don't do this, Bennet," Eobar whispered. "As we were once brothers
in all
but blood, I will keep my oath and tell no one what I have seen
and heard here,
but the only escape I may offer is that which my little friend
can deliver,"
Eobar said, gently laying the edge of his dagger against Bennet's
neck.
"I hope such desperate measures will not be needed."
Bennet felt the cold
hilt pressed against the pulsing vein in his throat. Eobar's
eyes were slotted
and hardly any trace of the friend he remembered reflected from
them.
Shareed stepped between the two men, holding them apart from one
another
by the length of his own arms. A slight pressure and Eobar was
forced several
steps back.
"You are one of the few, the strong, Bennet," Shareed whispered
into his ear.
He glanced over his shoulder at Eobar. "Such as he cannot understand
or they
do not wish to," Shareed cocked his head as if musing on a thought
that had just
occurred to him. <"This is not the time, in the future,
perhaps>
"Bennet you will be granted power like you've never dreamed,
but in order to
keep that power you must take the head of your closest friend
with his own
ebony blade."
"Why must I kill Eobar?"
"It is the only way to sever the ties that bind you to the life
you once knew,"
Shareed said and held out Eobar's ebony blade to him, bowing
in mock salute.
Drunk on power Bennet hefted the ebony blade, holding it out parallel
to the
floor. The cold hilt rubbed against his flushed skin, broke him
out of the
feverish trance he'd fallen into. He flinched from what
he took to be a look
of jealousy and hatred on Eobar's face. Suddenly he felt
an overwhelming urge
to kill. He lunged forward and slashed wildly. Eobar used
his knife to
parry the blow as best he could.
Shareed tossed Eobar a blade that had once belonged to Bennet
and broken
by the Scarab. Eobar was too preoccupied staving off some of
Bennet's wilder
blows to concern himself with how the blade had been whole again.
They circled one another and Shareed shrieked madly at the sight
of a gushing
cut on his left arm. Suddenly Eobar slipped on the beaten
earth floor of the
chamber, and Bennet used the opening to bring him to his knees.
He raised
the ebony blade above his head, the muscles in his arms
quivering with inheld
strain. He was just about to deliver the coup de grace, when
he looked down at
Eobar's face. "I am not afraid to die," he whispered.
Almost every fiber of his beingwanted to keep the power that was
being offered,
but he heard that final whispered declaration and something in
the back of his
mind snapped; he couldn't do it. Heaving the blade away
from him, he whirled
around to confront Shareed. "I deny you! I will not succumb to
temptation!
I will not kill Eobar!"
"Ungrateful wretch," Shareed muttered under his breath. Just then
the planes
of his face began melting like candle wax, his body stretched
and underneath
a tall, angular man emerged, with cat slit eyes and black hair.
With a snap of
his fingers the tower disappeared and both men blacked out.
*********
Conclusion
When Bennet regained consciousness, Shareed or the creature that
had taken
his place, watched him scramble to his feet inside a cavern with
dripping
limestone formations. "Where's Eobar? Who are you? Why have you
brought
me here?"
"How inquisitive. I am En Sabh Naur. Patience, your questions
will be
answered in due course. All you have to do is go inside that
ravine."
"It's a solid wall, there's no way through," Bennet protested in confusion.
"Have you not learned by now; there are things in this world that
cannot be
explained, that appearances can be deceiving. Just like the promises
of comrades,
like loyalty."
Bennet found himself nodding stupidly in agreement with the syrupy,
persuasive words of the other man. He pressed his hands against
the solid
rock wall and felt it give. He applied more pressure and gradually
his entire
body went right through the rock wall. "Now what?" he called,
his voice
somewhat muffled by the intervening rock.
"My herald, thou art unfit for what I desire of you. Mayhap centuries
from
now, in the new age you will find a place as one of my own!"
En Sabh Nuar
shouted.
"No! You can't mean to leave me here, buried alive!" Bennet shouted.
"Calm yourself, I do not intend for you to die, not just yet,
anyway. You will
sleep and when you awaken once more, there will come an Exodus."
En Sabh Naur said. He made a stylized gesture over the porous
rock wall and
incised a Egyptian hieroglyphic on its surface. That task completed
he nodded in
satisfaction. Turning around he was swept up into a vortex. When
it abruptly
ended as suddenly as it had begun. It left behind only
a pile of dust.