Fahkr didn’t reply, but hung a large gold medallion with Saladin’s monogram on it around Arn’s neck. Then he took him by the arm and led him out to the street. Arn still felt a bit naked in his borrowed clothes, since he missed the weight of the chain mail. He was also bareheaded, and his short blond hair gleamed, making it impossible for him and Fahkr to walk along the street unnoticed. He seemed to arouse greater curiosity in the company of Fahkr than with Moses ben Maimon; as if it was more natural for a Jew and a Christian to walk together than for a Christian to walk with the sultan’s brother.
A bit vexed by all this attention, Fahkr led Arn into the great bazaar located next to the mosque and bought a piece of fabric that Arn could wrap around his head a few times. Then Arn had to choose between some light Syrian mantles in the next stall; when he saw the blue color of the Folkungs held out to him by an eager merchant, he made up his mind at once. Shortly after making these purchases it was as if Arn and Fahkr finally melted into the crowds among the stalls.
Now Fahkr led him through the winding alleys of the bazaar until they came to an opening leading to a courtyard, where there were piles of Christian weapons and shields and helmets. Fahkr explained that it was Saladin’s express order that Arn should now select a new sword, preferably the most beautiful one he could find. As Saladin said, he owed Arn a costly sword. The merchant had separated all the Christian swords into two small piles and one giant one. In one of the two small piles lay all the articles of great value, swords that could have belonged to Christians of royal lineage, decorated with gold and precious stones. In the little pile next to it lay the swords that were considered the next finest, and in the large pile all those that were of lesser value.
Arn went straight over to the large pile and pulled out one Templar knight’s sword after another and looked at the number marks. When he had found three swords with the proper size numbers, he compared them hastily and then handed one of them to Fahkr without hesitation.
Fahkr gazed with disappointment at the plain, unembellished sword and emphasized that Arn was passing up a fortune out of sheer stubbornness. Arn said that a sword was considered a treasure only by men who could not use it. A Templar knight’s sword of the proper weight and size, such as the one he had just handed to him, was the only thing he would ever want to hang at his side. Fahkr tried to persuade him otherwise. Arn could choose the most expensive sword, sell it, and then buy the inexpensive one, which he could probably get for one or two dinars, and keep the difference. Arn snorted at this suggestion and said that it would hardly be honoring Saladin’s gift to behave in such a manner.
But Fahkr wouldn’t let him take the sword at once; instead he handed it to the merchant and whispered something that Arn didn’t hear. Then they left the bazaar without the sword and made their way to Saladin’s palace, where they would spend the evening and night. Perhaps Saladin himself would come home to Damascus tonight, and in that case Al Ghouti was one of the men he would want to see immediately; it was important to stay nearby, Fahkr explained.
Saladin’s palace was located far from any of the larger buildings around the great mosque. It was a simple two-story house with few decorations, and if it hadn’t been for the forbidding Mameluke guards outside the gate, nobody would have guessed that this was the sultan’s residence. The rooms that they walked through were sparely furnished with rugs and cushions, while the walls were adorned only with beautifully painted quotations from the Koran, which Arn amused himself by reading and reciting as they walked past.
When they finally came to one of the rooms facing a long balcony covered by an arcade, Fahkr served cold water and pomegranates and then sat down with an expression that was easy to understand. Now he wanted to turn to more serious matters.
What remained of the Christian reign in Palestine were Tyrus, Gaza, Ashkelon, Jerusalem, and a few fortresses, Fahkr told Arn with restrained triumph in his voice. First they would take Ashkelon and Gaza, and then it was Saladin’s desire that Arn should accompany him. After that they would take Jerusalem itself, and Saladin also wanted to have Arn on hand as advisor when that time came. Saladin himself would convey this wish to Arn as soon as they met, so it would be wise for Arn to prepare his mind for what attitude he would take.
Arn replied sadly that of course he had known for a long time that things would go this way, and that the Christians had only themselves and, above all, their own sins to blame for this great misfortune. And indeed he was no longer bound by his oath to the Knights Templar. But it would be too much to ask that he join the side of his former enemy.
Fahkr tugged at his thin beard and replied pensively that Arn had probably misunderstood the sultan’s wish. It was not a question of asking Arn to draw his sword against his own, but rather the opposite. A sufficient number of Christians had already been killed or driven from their homes in flight; that was not the issue any longer. But it would probably be best to allow Saladin to explain all this himself. Arn would, as he no doubt already had divined, still be released when the time was ripe, for Saladin had not spared Arn at the Horns of Hattin only to kill him later. Nor was Arn a prisoner for whom they could demand a ransom. But it would also be best if Arn spoke with Saladin in person about this. In the meantime they could discuss what Arn should do with his freedom.
Arn said that as far as he was concerned his twenty years of service in the Holy Land were at an end. If possible, he wanted to journey home to his own country as soon as that could be arranged. Yet he was concerned because even though he had indeed served the time bound by his oath, the Rule required that he be relieved of his duty by the Grand Master of the Order of the Knights Templar; otherwise he would be counted a deserter. And he had no idea how that could now be arranged.
Fahkr was apparently mightily amused by Arn’s musings, and he explained that if Arn rubbed his thumb twice on the oil lamp in front of him, this wish could easily be granted.
Arn gave his Kurdish friend a dubious look and searched for an explanation for the jest in his eyes. But when Fahkr merely nodded stubbornly toward the oil lamp, Arn reached out and rubbed it with his thumb.
“See now, Aladdin, your wish is fulfilled!” shouted Fahkr happily. “You shall have any document you want, signed and sealed by the Grand Master’s own hand. For he is also our guest here in Damascus, although in somewhat less friendly circumstances than those rightfully vouchsafed to you. Simply write out your document, and the matter will be arranged at once!”
Arn didn’t find it hard to believe that Gérard de Ridefort was a prisoner in Damascus, because he had never believed that the man would fight for God’s Mother to his last drop of blood. But would he sign anything at all?
Smiling, Fahkr just shook his head and assured him that it would be so. And the sooner the better! He called a servant and ordered the proper writing implements to be brought from down in the bazaar. Then he promised Arn that he would be able to watch as the Grand Master signed his name.
A little while later a servant trudged upstairs with parchment and writing tools, and Fahkr left Arn alone to compose the document after having a small writing desk brought in. Then he went to spend some time in prayer and in preparation for the evening meal.
Arn sat for a while with the blank parchment in front of him and the quill pen in his hand, trying to see clearly both himself and the world’s order at this extraordinary moment in time. He was to write his own document of release. And this was happening in the sultan’s palace in Damascus, where he sat on soft cushions before a Syrian writing desk with his legs crossed and with a turban wrapped around his head.