The Samaritans

(A story of Faith, Hope and Charity, but the greatest of these....)

"Is he dead, Abba?" the boy said as his father, Najiv, knelt beside the figure sprawled near the dead horse.

Najiv shook his head. "Bring me a waterskin from the donkey, Nahman, hurry!"

The boy returned quickly with the waterskin. Together they lifted the knight's shoulders. The crusader moaned in pain. Nahman brought the skin to Griffin's lips.

"Leshtot, drink," the boy said softly to the knight.

Griffin began to drink. Surely he was home again, back in his father's house, and this was his mother giving him honeyed tea to drink.

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The hooves of Rahman's stallion made no sound as rider and horse ploughed through the soft sand. He could feel the cold of the desert winter on his face but not through the thick cloak wrapped around him.

Rahman did not mind the cold any more -- he had fought for almost two years under SalahDin, but at last, he was going home! After a long siege, their army had finally recaptured Jerusalem from the infidels.

More weeks passed as negotiations between the Sultan and the Christian leaders of the fallen city dragged on, but ultimately, an agreement was reached and a ransom paid. Not everyone was satisfied though, especially when stories of the last siege were remembered -- of how Jerusalem swam in Muslim blood when the first crusaders came almost a century before.

Rahman's lips thinned -- he, too, was not satisfied.

The wind picked up again and this time the Saracen felt the chill through the cloak, he drew the garment closer around him; only three days more and he would be home. He urged his mount faster -- he had been parted from his loved ones for far too long.

He was about to turn east when Rahman noticed a donkey standing alone at the top of a dune.

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"Le'at," Najiv said to Griffin, "don't drink too fast."

"Father, we're not alone," Najiv heard the fear in his son's voice. His eyes turned to where Nahman was staring; coming towards them was a Saracen warrior astride a warhorse.

"What do we do?" the boy's voice trembled.

There was nothing they could do -- they were unarmed and in the middle of the desert! Najiv did not even consider running, he knew he could not leave the injured crusader.

The stallion stopped and Rahman dismounted. Both man and boy seemed harmless enough, but years of warfare had taught him caution; Rahman unsheathed his saif and approached.

"Is he dead, brother?" he asked Najiv, pointing to the knight, with his sword,

"No, acha, but he has a raging fever and is too weak to move," Najiv answered.

"You are Hebrew, then?"

Father and son nodded. Rahman sheathed his weapon, knelt by Griffin's side, and gently removed the helmet from the fallen knight's head. Curls of hair as gold as the desert sand tumbled around the young man's face.

Then he placed one hand on Griffin's brow, the knight's lips moved wordlessly. Rahman opened his cloak and took out a small bag hanging from his belt. He reached for the waterskin, emptied the bag's contents into it and gave the skin to Najiv.

"Make sure he drinks that every hour until sunrise," he said. Then he turned to Nahman,

"We must keep him warm. Help me build a fire."

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Griffin felt warmth and a gentle hand on his forehead. He tried to open his eyes, tried to speak, but could only manage a moan.

"Shhh, drink ," someone said, then he felt arms lifting him.

Father and son eased the crusader back onto the Saracen's cloak laid out on the sand. Rahman approached, knelt beside them and once again felt Griffin's brow.

"The fever is gone," he said.

"Will he live?" Nahman asked.

The Saracen shrugged. They sat around the fire in silence. Rahman looked up and scanned the dark desert sky, until he saw the North Star, the star that would guide him back to his family.

"Where were you headed?" Najiv asked.

"Home."

"So were we, when we chanced upon him," Najiv said, nodding towards Griffin, "I wonder where he was headed."

"Probably home, too," Rahman answered, "Jerusalem has been re-taken."

"That is a good thing, then," the boy chimed in.

Rahman stared at the fire. Maybe it was good -- for now, for him, and maybe even for this old man and his son. But he doubted it would be -- for the knight. If Griffin did not die from the fever, he still would not survive long in the desert winter -- alone.

But why should he worry about this infidel's fate? The young knight and those cursed Crusaders came with only conquest in their minds. They did not deserve any mercy.

A low moan escaped from the knight's lips, then one word:

"Mama..."

"He is calling for his mother," the old man said.

"Is there anything else we can do?" the boy whispered.

The Saracen touched the prayer beads that hung from his belt.

"There is nothing to be done now, it is far too late, it is best that we all get some rest," Rahman answered as he lay down and closed his eyes.

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Rahman woke Najiv and the boy before sunrise.

"The knight might survive but only if he can reach the Crusader camp at the other side of the nearest town. I will take him there."

"That may be dangerous for one man, acha. We will go with you," Najiv said.

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Griffin's mother rose from her prayers. She had prayed at her prie-dieu for hours on end, since her son had left to join King Richard almost three years ago. Her knees had become rough from kneeling, but she had made a promise to the Virgin: bring Griffin home safe and she would pray twice as many hours.

Closing her missal, she made the sign of the cross, bowed to the crucifix on the wall and left the small prayer room. She went to her solar, gathered up her needlepoint and sat near the window. There was nothing to see outside except an expanse of white snow.

What was winter like in the Holy Land? The few letters of her son that had reached her all told of the bitter cold wind but, instead of snow, there was only sand -- a 'stark landscape of gold' was what he had written.

A soft knock interrupted her musing.

"Enter," she said softly, then smiled widely at the young man who opened the door.

"Mama, you are late for breakfast, again."

She held out her arms. Griffin entered and knelt at his mother's feet.

The End