Free The Paths of the Air by Alys Clare

aren’t many stray Saracens wandering through the countryside, I can tell you! Should you not at least go to Hawkenlye and ask to see the dead man before he is put in the ground?’
    But instead of a reasoned response, Kathnir exclaimed, ‘You do not understand the gravity of the crime that this man committed! If you did, then you would help us!’
    â€˜It makes no difference what I understand,’ Josse began, ‘for I—’ For I cannot tell you what I do not know, he was about to say.
    He stopped himself. There was something he did know but that he had chosen not to tell the Saracens, but he had decided not to mention his former guest to this sinister and threatening pair.
    Kathnir was still watching him intently and Josse had the uneasy feeling that the Saracen saw straight through the subterfuge. Forcing a grin and a shrug, he said, ‘You say I do not understand the gravity of what this man has done. Won’t you tell me?’
    There was a long pause during which the two Saracens muttered to each other, their impatience and their frustration clearly evident even though Josse did not understand a word. Then Kathnir turned back to Josse and said, ‘My master’s younger brother was taken prisoner. He had been wounded in the fighting and he was taken to Margat.’ His mouth twisted into its wry smile. ‘Margat,’ he added, ‘is a fortress held by the Knights Hospitaller and even after the disarray that followed Hattin, the great Saladin did not succeed in taking it.’
    â€˜I know,’ Josse said softly, ‘about Margat.’
    And, he could have added, I heard the name only this morning. That was something he was going to have to think about very carefully.
    But not now.
    Kathnir was speaking and Josse made himself listen.
    â€˜My master loves his little brother dearly,’ the Saracen said, ‘and it was against his wishes that Fadil – that is the brother’s name – went off to fight, for my master judged that he was too inexperienced.’
    â€˜Where did the young man fight?’ Josse’s soldier’s soul was intrigued by this talk of war.
    â€˜In Antioch and Tripoli, on the eastern borders of those territories,’ Kathnir said. ‘When Saladin signed the Peace of Ramla with the Frankish kings, we sent an arrow high in the sky to show our enemy that they need not fear the flying arrow.’ His lean face creased in an ironic smile. ‘But a treaty signed in Jaffa has little effect upon a war of attrition being waged two hundred miles to the north, and many of my master’s kinsmen joined those who fought to push the Franks back towards the coast.’
    â€˜Aye, that I can understand,’ Josse murmured. He had heard tell of such skirmishes where, under the general aegis of fighting off the Christians, Muslim landowners took the opportunity to add to their territories.
    â€˜My master prayed for Fadil’s safety every day of his absence,’ Kathnir continued. ‘His grief when he learned that Fadil had fallen in battle was limitless, as was his joy at being told that he was not dead but merely injured. He had been unhorsed by a lance thrust and a Frankish sword bit deep into his shoulder. He was taken prisoner but, because of the severity of his wound, he was given into the care of the Knights Hospitaller, first at Crac des Chevaliers and then in their fortress of Margat.’
    â€˜And the Hospitallers nursed him back to health?’
    â€˜They did.’ Kathnir’s acknowledgement was grudging, as if it pained him to praise the enemy for their skill. ‘But then during the monks’ time in Outremer they have learned much of medicine from Arab doctors.’
    â€˜Aye, true,’ Josse agreed. Kathnir shot him a glance, surprise in his eyes. ‘Credit where credit is due,’ Josse murmured softly.
    Kathnir continued to stare at him for a moment. Then, resuming his narrative,