Free Doctor Who and the Crusaders by David Whitaker

by his prisoners, a tall, richly-dressed merchant sat drinking at a table. El Akir had noticed him as he strode out of the palace, dismissing him as one of a dozen foreign merchants who sought to make profit from the war.
    It is always hard to understand a man without saving graces. All human beings have facets which make them admired, as much as those they may possess which dismay or repel. Those who knew El Akir found nothing to recommend him, for they recognized in him a man saturated with guilt, so much so that his life could only continue by laying extra evils, one above another, as if the man were tortured by the foul deeds he had committed and had to hide them by inventing fresh crimes; and far worse ones at that; curtaining off yesterday’s depredations with new villainies.
    All these things Luigi Ferrigo recognized; if not the actual details, certainly enough to know the type of man, for he was an expert judge of a particular sort of human nature. Ferrigo’s fault lay in his total inability to apply his judgement to all manner of men. Put him in the company of fools, cowards, villains or the greedy and he would find a way to make each one his cat’s-paw. Introduce him into a gathering of talent, honesty and good endeavour and he would withdraw within himself, become unapproachable and remote. So, as each man instinctively chooses the path in life he thinks will take him quickest to whatever his desires may be, Ferrigo’s way wasshadowy and devious. Some said of him that he’d rather earn one gold piece by guile than a fortune by straightforward dealing, while others were convinced he was so filled with the lust for riches, he would rise to any height, or sink to any depths to make a profit.
    A woman came out of the palace, keeping to the shadows of the arched walk surrounding the courtyard. Luigi Ferrigo sat back in his chair, giving every evidence of sleep, while El Akir, seeing the woman he had been waiting for, drew himself into a small alcove. As she passed by him, he stepped out and gripped her arm. She gave a little shriek of fear and would have fallen to her knees, if he hadn’t held her upright, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her arm painfully, almost bringing tears to her eyes.
    ‘Sheyrah,’ he whispered fiercely, ‘where is the foreign woman? Tell me and you shall be rewarded.’
    The woman stared into his eyes, frightened at the depths of hatred she saw. He shook her arm impatiently and with his other hand produced a ring from the pouch at his belt, a heavy thing of silver, clasping a large and beautiful yellow stone.
    ‘Take it! Tell me! You are attending her, I know you are – the Sultan ordered it.’
    As if the mention of Saladin gave her courage, she pulled her arm away and stepped back, rubbing the place where his fingers had gripped her. El Akir licked his lips and tried a slightly different approach. He held up the ring, so that it caught the light, and spoke more gently.
    ‘Bring the foreign woman to me, Sheyrah, and you shall have this.’ He looked at her to see what effect he was having and then took a step forward towards her as she shook her head stubbornly.
    ‘Then deserve my enmity!’

    ‘My Lord is greater than you,’ Sheyrah said defiantly. El Akir’s hand holding the ring bunched into a fist and raised slightly in the air. Sheyrah cowered back, expecting the blow, when suddenly Luigi Ferrigo appeared, fanning his face with his hand, as if he had decided to try the cooler pleasures of the shade of the archway. El Akir’s hand dropped to his side and Sheyrah hurried past him, disappearing into another part of the palace.
    ‘She was a fool not to take the ring,’ said Luigi casually and El Akir, who was just turning away, stiffened and swung around. ‘But perhaps you were asking too much for it.’
    The two men sized each other up for a few seconds and the Genoese knew he had the measure of his opposite number.
    ‘I have some wine on a table over there,’ he