𝕭𝖆𝖚𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖎𝖓: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 6𝖙𝖍 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘

I

"One knows the man by the name he has." - Chrétien de Troyes

Following up was the checkup with Ahmed. She made haste after oversleeping and hurried to meet him. On her way down the corridor she is growing fond of, accompanied by rows of guards, the air outside seems cool as it breezes past the arch windows displaying the horizon of the village buildings. The smell is just as lively as the commotion of the villagers preparing themselves for another day.

"Excuse me, did you see my mentor come here earlier?" She asks one of the guards, wondering if she had just been too early.

"That won't be necessary." She turns around and sees Tiberias.

"I have come on the King's behalf. As we speak he is preparing his men for his encounter with Saladin. He wanted me to inform you of this.. and to not worry." He says as though he wasn't sure of the King's words. Saladin!? He is the emperor of my home. I do recall gossip about him wanting to conquer Jerusalem, claiming it was his to begin with.

"He!" She begins with her eyes widening. Her chest roared with rage and concern as she started drawing air deep into her lungs. He went out yesterday!! Only if I had known!

"He cannot be out like that with such a condition! Is there any way to have him come back- please he can't be going... he will certainly die." She exhales trying to remain calm and he goes to place a comforting hand on her shoulder but she instinctively flinches, to which he retracts.

"...I know, I had warned him but he only proceeded. Forgive me if I have worried you. I know your duties lie with his health so I pray that he returns as healthy as he was before." These words are comforting enough to ease her racing mind, but not her heart. She nods stiffly with pursed lips. Why is this hurting me? He is a King going forth with his duties. But he is also my responsibility- as well as Ahmed's... I may be overreacting.

"I see...I shall pray also." To which God? She is not sure, but she believes there is a God. It was never table conversation in her previous home to mention anything about religion. But it feels right.

*Ideal time to play and loop song*

Back in her room she kneels down, her head bowed to the ground as she saw Muslims back home do. She prays thoughtfully, sincerely and hopefully. After she stands and bows again, closing the prayer with her palms pressed together, she glances at the chaulmoogra oil on the table and snatches it before she leaves to walk her thoughts off. When she got outside she had expected that same commotion. But it was quiet. Quiet because everyone is gone.

Baldwin...

She runs around the deserted village streets, knocking on doors and checking the colonnades in case to catch someone running as she assumes they would be if their sick King had decided to go on war. Luckily a young child had zoomed past her, heading the direction of where she assumed the rest were. She wastes no time and sprints so fast she breezes past them, her twist dragging in the opposing winds and is already halfway the stretched desert terrain. This day had no snow. It had all melted, but she still felt shivery to the bone, her blood running cold. She cannot stop as she heaves, blood tasting like iron in her throat from the rush. Her eyes had watered above deciphering what can be in front of her but still she did not seize, hoping to find a herd of villagers gathering around somewhere. It is then on the horizon she spots what could have made her pass out. It isn't the two endless rows of horsemen with swords that could have done so, it is knowing Baldwin upfront. Her vision returns gradually, the number of men multiplying by thousands as it becomes less blobby.

Baldwin...

Moving before she could think, her sprinting became stomping from the lack of athleticism. The closer she gets the more numbed she feels. He Is my responsibility i can't watch- Suddenly her arm is grasped, the iron grip going unnoticed from the adrenaline.

"Lady! What are you doing!! You don't just waltz your way into a battle. You're a woman and unarmed!! Come now!" The man begins to drag her against her will but her focus remains unhindered whilst she yanks her arm continuously, shouting at him to let her go. Her boots gripped the sandy ground with so much intention that she nearly toppled forward for her weakened form was starting to go against her stubborn mind until she eventually gave in with a final yank to make him release her.

Baldwin...

Like everyone else did, she watches. Slowly breathing, the sound hoarse like she is suffocating, rarely blinking so as not to miss anything, her skin picking tic more vigorous. He moves forward, Saladin doing the same until they are an inch from each other's horse. Their voices are inaudible. but maybe it was from the countless times she had heard 'How long will this Leper last?' How selfish was one to think such a thing, it makes her boil with rage as her nails begin to dig into the raw, vulnerable flesh in her thumb, nagging away some layers, the sensation tingling to her. They are all watching, waiting for a sign of war before they need to evacuate. Some had their cattles in hand with a portion of their belongings. Children grasping their mothers tunic with confusion mixed with curiosity. The babies are crying as though they knew what was happening, they are probably waiting to be fed.

Then, Saladin turns and gallops away. Retreating with his army. Just like that. No, she can't relax yet. He has to be gone from her sight, or at least as far as far away will go. Baldwin does the same but marches directly towards where they are with a couple of his men accompanying him. The villagers stand uniform on opposite sides to make way for their king. She does not understand where he is going as the palace is another ninety degrees from their direction, But alas, he is safe. When he arrives his horse trots. She follows with her eyes as he comes along. Clearer and clearer. He passes, his amazing horsemanship doing him great justice. His form is perfect and steady, so much so you'd forget he is unwell. His white cape draped flawlessly on the horse. Back straight with elegance, chin up with confidence as he goes. She sees the gate to the castle open and pushes down the line, budging people out of the way in agitation to get closer to be able to see. Moments later he stops and dismounts as a ginger haired old man hurries along to greet him with a bow. Who's that? There is mumbling and she catches a hint. 'Raynald de Châtillon... criminal!..I heard... raped Saladins sister!...attack Muslim caravan... Zahara is left appalled by him. Her face scrunches up from immense disgust, her skin crawling with a familiar ick.

"On your knees."

She hears Baldwin's voices echo strangely. It sounded perilously low. The man obeys, tucking his head in.

"Lower."

At this point she was cringing at the man who she assumed has great power, now kneeling in front of a King.

"I am... Jerusalem."

Loud and clear. Her chest thumping with every syllable as adrenaline has caught her in the moment. That's right. She thinks. And without him this place is very much in the hands of destruction. She could not consider anyone else beyond the Palace walls that could possibly lead a Kingdom so prosperous with not only wealth but diversity and inclusion, without fail. Knowing the only person that can and is doing so suffers from Leprosy makes her ever more eager and desperate to render a cure.

"And you, Reynold, will give me the kiss of peace." With hesitation the man grimaced before taking a hold of his leprous hand, the slobbery sound making Zahara sorry for Baldwin to have to endure such a disgusting act. Just then he swings his riding crop and mercilessly whips the man. The shock makes her heart jump as the bickering increases amongst the villagers.

One. She counts.

Two, three, four! Wincing, she feels second hand embarrassment as he falls to the ground, holding his cheek.

But it is quickly replaced with concern and fear as she nearly sprints out of the line when Baldwin turns, losing his balance from his limb legs and falling to his knees.

As unnecessary as it is to say, both Zahara and this Author think he looks mighty in that stance, like a fallen warrior. He supports himself on his right arm as he attempts to stand again, to which two guards hurry to assist. She grips her arm to keep from going to him, but as he passes, being carried in a litter, she cannot help but follow them.