Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,235

el kalb means ‘You son of a dog,’ which is a serious insult since the Saracens think dogs are unclean. To say In’al yomak is to curse the day you were born; I like that one myself. And In’a’al mayteen means ‘Damn your dead.’ But my turcopole friend Adam says the deadliest insult in Arabic is to call a man a fatah, even worse than calling someone a Sais.”

“Are you going to keep us in suspense? What does it mean?”

Guilhem’s grin had now spread from ear to ear. “It means ‘foreskin’!” he declared, roaring with laughter at the baffled expressions on their faces. When he got his breath back, he explained that the Saracens practiced circumcision as the Jews did, and the foreskin was the fold of skin cut off and cast aside.

Morgan and Walter recoiled in mock horror, bringing their knees up to protect their family jewels, and soon all three were laughing so loudly that they attracted annoyed glances from others trying to nap. Reaching for Guilhem’s wineskin, Morgan pretended to ponder this new curse and then shook his head. “I cannot see that being a useful insult once we go back to our own lands. Now ‘Damn your dead,’ mayhap. But if I were to call a man a ‘foreskin’ in a tavern brawl, he’d just stare at me in bewilderment.”

“But whilst he puzzled over it, you could hit him!” Guilhem insisted, and that set them off again. This time they made enough noise to vex all of the men who’d wanted to sleep, and Richard ordered the culprits to take turns standing guard. Walter volunteered to take the first watch, and Morgan and Guilhem drew further back into the shade. Soon they, too, were dozing.

Morgan’s languid dream-state was broken by a sudden shout. He jerked upright just as an arrow thudded into the tree trunk, so close he actually felt the rush of air on his skin. He instinctively ducked, hearing the high-pitched thrumming as another arrow sped over his head and, then, a muffled cry as it struck its target. All around him was chaos. Richard was yelling for them to mount up, the enemy bowmen screaming “Allahu Akbar!” as the men scrambled to their feet. But as the knights hastened to follow Richard’s example—he was already astride Fauvel, his sword drawn—the Saracens broke off the attack. As Richard charged after them, Morgan ran toward his stallion. As he swung up into the saddle, he heard his name called out, and he glanced back to see Guilhem stooping over a man who’d taken an arrow in his shoulder.

“Fulk? How bad is it?” He’d directed the question at Guilhem, but it was the wounded knight who answered, saying he thought he could ride if they’d help him up onto his horse. Morgan quickly dismounted and between the two of them, he and Guilhem managed to boost Fulk into his saddle. His face had contorted and he was sweating profusely, obviously in considerable pain. He assured them, though, that he could make it back to Jaffa on his own, and they had to take him at his word, for they thought Richard’s need was more urgent since they were all lightly armed, not having taken shields, lances, or helmets to go hawking. “Have them send a patrol out,” Morgan flung over his shoulder to Fulk as he and Guilhem spurred their mounts to catch up with the other knights.

Their companions were already out of sight, having disappeared into a copse of trees up ahead. Morgan made sure his sword would be easy to slide from its scabbard, for they could hear sounds of combat by now. But nothing had prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when they rounded a bend in the road. A savage battle was in progress. Bodies lay on the ground, a horse was down and screaming, another galloping in circles, his rider slumped over the saddle, and Richard and his knights were surrounded, fighting desperately against overwhelming odds.

“Mother of God,” Morgan whispered, horrorstruck, for it was obvious to him that they’d not be able to escape this trap; there were too many Saracens. But he could not ride away and leave his cousin the king and the others to die. As he unsheathed his sword, he saw Guilhem had made the same choice, for his sword was out now, too. Their arrival had been noticed and some of the Turks were turning their way. Morgan cried out, “Holy Sepulchre, aid