Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

I held up my hands to her, palms empty. “Please,” I said. “Do not move. Quiet now. It will be all right.” I kept my voice calm and low.

She looked at me and fell silent as we appraised each other.

Slowly, I reached for the cup, lifting it in front of me. I held it out for her, but she did not take it. In fact her eyes grew narrow and suspicious.

“Please. Drink.” I held the cup near my lips, then reached out with it again. She sat there as silent as a stone.

“She won’t drink it unless you drink first,” Robard said. “She thinks you might be trying to poison her. I’ve heard Assassins often use poisons to kill an enemy.”

At the sound of Robard’s voice, she turned to look at him, studying him intently for a moment before returning her gaze to me. While she watched, I took a long sip of the waxroot tea, then held the cup out to her again.

Finally she sat up straight, reaching for the cup with her good arm. She took a small sip. The tea was bitter and she made a face at the taste, but I held up a sprig of the plant as she drank, hoping she would recognize it and realize what the tea was made from. She nodded and drank again.

We were silent while she drank her tea. When she finished, she handed me the cup and lay back down on the ground. I added more limbs to the fire, and in a few minutes she had fallen fast asleep again.

While she slept, I removed my tunic, turning it inside out so the sleeves were inside the garment. I pushed the saplings through the armholes. By tying the front of the tunic closed I created a very crude stretcher. It should hold the Assassin long enough for us to get away safely.

I sat it on the ground next to the sleeping girl, motioning for Robard to help me lift her onto the stretcher. Surprisingly he did so without complaint, and when we had her nestled safely there, we each picked up our end and carried her out of the campsite and into the woods.

We had delayed our departure long enough. Her companions could return at any moment with a larger force. We took off at a slow trot, heading east. For the first few minutes the girl whimpered in pain as she bounced along on the litter. After a while, though, her cries ceased and she fell unconscious again.

We didn’t speak or stop to rest. It was difficult to make good time. Robard had taken the front, and as he ran, I heard him mutter under his breath. Words and phrases like crazy plan and stubborn and what am I doing filtered back to me on occasion.

After running for nearly an hour, I estimated we had traveled three leagues. We stopped to rest. I had some figs and dates in my satchel, and Robard and I wolfed them down hungrily. We were breathing hard and sweat was streaming off our faces. For a moment I wondered if we were doing the right thing. Would Sir Thomas or Sir Basil do as I had done? In enemy territory where silence and stealth is of the utmost importance, would they crash loudly through the woods to carry a wounded enemy to safety? After thinking on it a moment I realized that yes, they would have.

Robard knelt a few paces away, scanning the trail ahead of us. I took the water skin to him and offered him a drink.

“Tristan, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going. This is dangerous. With the noise we’re making and the fact that we won’t be able to draw a weapon until we put down the litter, we’re at a big disadvantage. Anyone, bandits or Assassins, could be upon us before we even know it,” he said.

I knew Robard was right, but I still felt that we needed to make sure the Assassin was well enough before we left her behind.

“How much longer until we reach Tyre, do you think?” I asked.

Robard shrugged.

Then a voice from behind us said, in perfect English, “Well, since you’re headed in the completely wrong direction, I’d say never.”

At the sound of the voice I was so startled I visibly jumped in the air. Robard let out a gasp and fumbled at his bow, but when we turned at the sound, we saw the girl standing behind us, her wounded arm held loosely at her side.

We stared, dumbstruck. Though pale and somewhat unsteady on her feet, she otherwise seemed well enough.

“Who are you?” Robard asked, not quite sure what to do. The look on his face was comical. My hand had flown to the hilt of my sword at the sound of her voice. Now I felt ridiculous and dropped it to my side.

“I am Maryam,” she said, looking at me. “Your name is Tristan, correct?”

I nodded.

“I thank you for tending to my shoulder. It is painful and will be for a while, but I appreciate your efforts,” she said.

“It was nothing,” I answered.

“I helped,” Robard said. I shot Robard a glare. If helping constituted complaining and gathering water, then yes, he had helped.

“Yes, and thank you as well,” she said, looking at him.

She spoke perfect English, apparently able to understand us the entire time she had been conscious.

“How is it you speak English?” I asked.

“I come from a small village near Jerusalem. My father owned a farm nearby, and we traded there when Christians occupied the city. It was necessary to learn English to make a living,” she said.

Robard and I were unsettled. First we were attacked. Then we discovered that one of the attackers was a girl. Next we learned she spoke English. What next?

“Why are you headed to Tyre?” she asked.

I had no intention of telling her the true nature of my mission. Or even that I carried dispatches for the Templar Commandery there. She was an enemy after all. I decided to use Robard’s excuse, glancing at him first and tilting my head, hoping he was wise enough to play along. “We are hoping to find a ship to England. Our conscription is over,” I said. Robard nodded in agreement, understanding the need for a ruse.

Maryam looked at me a moment as if she didn’t quite believe me, but did not press it.

Now that she was standing, the color was slowly returning to her face. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, glimmering in the moonlight.

“I helped,” Robard reminded her.

She laughed. It sounded like music. “Thank you, Archer, even though it was your lucky shot that hit me,” she teased. She appeared to bear him no ill will for having wounded her in the first place.

Robard’s eyes narrowed. He was not quite sure what to make of her. He muttered under his breath, but the phrase lucky shot, my arse stood out.

“How did you find us in the woods?” I asked.

She looked at me, then stared off, either not knowing or not wanting to say.

“I’m not sure. We were patrolling. Ahmad, our leader, saw the boulders and thought that it might make a good hiding place for enemies. He spotted you and ordered an attack,” she said.

I wondered then if she was lying. Her explanation didn’t make sense. There were dozens of outcroppings of boulders in the area. Out of all of them they had stumbled across ours? Had we made some mistake? Her answer seemed vague, and I wondered if we had accidentally revealed ourselves somehow. Did she hope we might make the same mistake again, leading her companions directly to us?

“Why were you sleeping in the daytime? Why travel at night?” she asked.

“We thought it safer. This area is full of bandits as well as Saracen patrols. And Assassins, as we’ve learned. With just the two of us we thought it better to travel by night.”

She accepted my explanation with a nod. “Well, shall we get started?” she asked.

“Get started? What do you mean?” Robard asked.

“To Tyre, of course.”

Robard coughed and asked to speak to me privately. We ventured a few paces away.

“Tristan, I can understand you treating her wounds. I can even understand carrying her to safety, but we cannot trust her. She’s an Assassin for heaven’s sake! What if she’s leading us into a trap? She seems well enough to travel alone now. I say we leave her and make our way to Tyre on our own,” he said.