Tease from Two Horses For A King-
A servant appeared carrying a chased silver tray heaped high with delicacies, and after finding suitable cushions the men sat down to eat. Within minutes the servant appeared again and produced two more trays. Now the meal looked formidable.
“This is Mehshi, eggplants stuffed with beef and rice and nuts, this one is Zai Atar, minced beef, and this is cheese manakish.
Richard’s nostrils dilated regally at the exotic vapors and his royal pupils at the colorful presentation.
“And this is Kibbeh. It’s minced lamb and bulgar wheat. It’s very popular where I was born and with a rice crust they call it there Kubbat Kalab.”
Richard took a napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth.
“And here is my favorite, Kebab Karaz, lamb meatballs with cherries, pine nuts, sugar and pomegranates. We have the Armenians of Aleppo to thank for this.”
“Would you like wine? I have a local vintage from the slopes of Mount Tabor.”
“But what about you?"
“I gave up drinking years ago, and it is forbidden."
Richard arched his eyebrows.
“Oh, yes! I was untamed in my youth!”
Richard furrowed his forehead as neatly as any English farmer.
“It’s true. I had a young man’s measure of wine, women, and song. I paid no attention to the Profit's words. There was a time I was toying with alcohol and gambling.”
Saladin cast his gaze out onto the encampment and the hills wandering beyond in every direction.
“But then Allah in a merciful expression of ultimate wisdom wrung me out like a lamb-skin and set my feet upon a more committed path.”
“The path you’re on to this day.”
“Yes, the path of a true believer." He looked up. "Praise be Him whose strength lifts me up and will not suffer my feet to falter.”
“At times I begin to think my only strength comes from inside.”
Saladin noticed that Richard, even though he was sitting on the largest velvet cushion in the tent, that his legs hung over in all directions. He was a citadel of strength, a giant, whereupon when he looked at his own image reflected in silver incense burned that hung nearby, his reflection seemed slight, almost inconsequential. Yet he was a tower of faith.
“You may think that’s true. But you also know how a citadel may be surrounded by enemies and fall. Surrounded by adversity, starved, it gives up hope, if it has nothing outside to draw upon for sustenance.”
“Yes,” Richard answered, “I’m well aware of that.”
Richard’s aspect grew sullen. The statesman saw it at once.
“We should take care. Our simple words wrangle too many meanings. We’re discussing food, not war, not politics, not religion. Sustenance is the subject at hand…so eat!”
Eventually they cleared their plates and were content. In late afternoon the wind changed direction. To capture this effect Saladin ordered attendants to open another section of his tent and close still others. They were sitting almost dead center; this gave them a new view. Saladin had placed his pavilion on a rise. From here you could see east. Richard took note that this particular view could not be seen from the walls of Acre.
Stretched below were row upon row of tents, organized like a portable city. Certain rows were given over to merchants, others to blacksmiths, and on particular corners, ones marked with apricot banners sporting black Arabic script, long lines of men snaked forth. There were several of these and Richard wondered what they were.
“Those banners with writing, what do they say?”
“One moment.”
A courier arrived just then and Saladin excused himself for a second. The courier was young, exhausted, covered with dust, and could barely stand up straight.
“See they quarter your horse and rest here tonight. Tomorrow take the dispatches to Cairo. Are you still riding The Rose of Damascus?”
“Why yes, Caliph, that’s her outside.”
“Her mother was Jazmynn, known for her sure-footedness, and her father, Abu Zeyd, known for his courage and strength. Take care of her. Still the same color too, like a pearl?”
“Yes, Excellency, like a pearl that shimmers back and forth between deadly shadow and fertile light.”
“Ha! Well spoken! Tell my attendants to give you a fragrant bath with rose petals. Have the groom give The Rose of Damascus a portion of dates and camel’s milk. Both rider and horse should spoil each other at times, it strengthens their bonds.”
The King of England looked out over the hills dotted with many colored tents. Cooking fires rose up from portable tent city and curled into the sky and dissipated.
When Saladin returned he made an apology. “I was official business, my dispatches. It takes over a week to receive one from Damascus.”
“You’re closer to home than I am,” replied Richard. “Mine take almost a month.”
“We’re fortunate compared to the soldiers writing home. But to answer your question, the banners you see are scribes. Many of my common soldiers can’t read or write. The scribes are their secretaries and post masters, and write letters for them.”
“I see.”
“It’s expensive to send them, and slow. But then carrying on a war far from home is expensive too. You know that.”
“Only too well.”
“I would rather spend my dinars hiring teachers in Reed City and have an informed populace of thousands that make good decisions, rather than stock an armory with a million Damascus blades.”
“It’s true. War can be a costly endeavor.”
Saladin gazed over at the Koran left open on a folding rosewood stand. His prayer beads marked the page where he’d been reading. Nearby, frankincense and myrrh smoldered in an incense burner whose smoke spiraled like an angel to the top of the tent.
“And the cost of a life is not figured in Paradise,” he said, “It’s calculated by the number of tears shed by those left behind here on earth.”
“The worst bloodletting has yet to come.”
“You mean Jerusalem, naturally.”
“Naturally, it’s come to that. But as generals we must do what we can to keep losses down.”
“I agree, and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I may have found a solution. In ancient times a victory in battle was often decided by combat between two champions. The common soldiers were spared.”
“You mean the Greeks? Paris versus Menelaus?
“Exactly. Like David versus Goliath.”
“But my best knight, the Flemish baron James d’Avesness is dead.”
“So is el-Tawil, my knight with a will of fire. But I know the names of two more champions, Richard and Saladin. See the chess board in the corner? That will be the field of battle.”
The chessboard squares were rosewood and camel bone. The black chessmen were iron wood and the white were ivory. The code of chivalry would be tested, and the ability of a knight to protect the weak and oppressed, and how a general might minimize his casualties.
“One game?” said Richard, raising his eyebrows, tugging on his beard.
“On such an auspicious occasion,” smiled Saladin, with eyes like a hawk, “let it be two out of three.”
“Done.”
©Steven Hunley 2013
https://youtu.be/1PMjG3xF2ts Saladin last scene Kingdom of Heaven
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