The afternoon sped quickly by as they climbed through rough rocky terrain and made camp in a cave.
Rosalind paused to glance about their new shelter. The place was large and cavernous. They’d lit only a few torches and had to hope that any smoke would be well diffused by the time it reached the opening fifty or so yards away. How she would have loved to cook a hearty meal, as they had been able to in the courtyard at Jezeer, but they had ample dry provisions to get them through these next days.
She sent heavenward a silent thanks for their Sufi guides. Her group never could have found such a place on their own. Surveying the sleeping area she had set up for the girls, satisfaction filled her—although she would be cautious to watch for the poisonous vipers of which their guides had warned them.
Surely they would be safe enough, if only for a time. The rest and peace from earlier that afternoon yet echoed through her heart, but she wondered how long it might last, for already pressure and fear were threatening to crowd it out. Those moments in God’s presence had reminded her of swimming deep in the pool near her home when she was a child. So serene, so wondrous. Sparkling lights and bubbling swishes.
Yet being human, she always had to surface for air once again.
The children seemed subdued as they sat in a circle listening to Abu-Wassim telling tales of this region. He seemed to understand that what they needed more than anything was a parental figure, for all but Sadie had at least one family member at risk in Jezeer. Although she had done her best to nurture the children, they needed the steadying hand of Abu-Wassim.
Finding no other work with which to busy herself, Rosalind scooched her way into the circle between Sadie and Sapphira. Sapphira smiled and took her hand. Rosalind noted that Sapphira likewise held Rabia’s hand to the other side of her. She had never expected to trust these Sufi Moslems so completely, but as Sapphira clearly felt the same, Rosalind could find no reason to second-guess her instincts.
Randel sat quietly in a shadowed corner with the armor and weapons they had brought along. As Abu-Wassim continued his enchanting tale, Randel checked over every piece of equipment. Rosalind considered joining him, but he appeared enthralled in his task, and he likely needed this time alone with his thoughts.
A scuffle in the long tunnel leading toward the mouth of the cave caused them all to freeze in silence. The men, Sadie, and Jervais stood and readied their weapons.
“It is only me,” came a vaguely familiar voice from the tunnel.
Abu-Wassim and Hassan relaxed instantly, which told them all that it must be Wassim returning from his time at guard. The Sufi family spoke French well and communicated with ease.
Wassim’s smiling face appeared from the dark tunnel as the flickering torches illuminated it.
“All is well?” his father asked.
They had climbed a good way from the trail, but their lookout point not far away allowed them to keep a distant eye on the passage. Wassim nodded and grabbed for a skin of water, drinking deeply before answering. “A small contingent of enemy scouts passed by but detected nothing. Hassan, can you relieve me for a time? My eyes were drifting closed in that smoldering sunlight.”
Hassan jumped up and grabbed a few supplies.
“I imagine they will come back this way before nightfall, so keep a careful watch for them.”
“Of course.” Hassan headed out.
Wassim took another long draught of water and then said, “I did sneak in close enough to overhear one thing that caused me concern, though.”
“What is it, son?” asked Abu-Wassim.
Randel joined the group.
Wassim wiped his mouth with the long rough sleeve of his woolen tunic. “One of them mentioned the girl with the white hair and blue eyes. I fear they might be looking for us specifically. How would they know about Sapphira? Do you think someone betrayed us?”
Rosalind’s heart clutched in her chest, and she wrapped an arm protectively about Sapphira.
Randel’s eyes squinted in contemplation. “Surely not. Perhaps the story has reached them from Tripoli. Tales of our arrival must be spreading.”
Sapphira bit her lip but said nothing.
Randel turned to her and smiled briefly. “There is no need to fear. We had already planned to stay out of sight. And they cannot know anything for certain.”
“Of course not,” Rosalind said.
“Nothing needs to change.”
“But perhaps you can all wear head coverings when we travel, so that if we are spotted from a distance, we shall not draw notice.” Rabia sucked in a sharp breath, as if she had surprised herself by speaking.
“Do not be shy, daughter. That is an excellent plan.” Abu-Wassim smiled to her. “It will be especially helpful to hide the blondes, and your Issobelle with her hair of fire. It is always best to cover the head in this climate anyway.”
Issobelle tossed her curling locks. “I suppose it would be hard to miss us here.” But she sounded rather pleased with that fact.
“Tell us more of the Saracens, Abu-Wassim.” Randel lowered himself cross-legged on the floor with the rest of them. “How do they think? What do they value?”
Abu-Wassim shook his head. “Not many Europeans ask such questions, but it is wise to understand one’s opponent—to see them as real people with real hopes and desires. I applaud you, Sir Randel.”
Rosalind felt such pride in Randel, although she knew she had no real right to such an emotion. Despite the game they had played along this trip, he did not belong to her.
“No need for praise,” Randel said. “Just share with us all that you can.”
Abu-Wassim rubbed his bearded chin for a moment as he considered the questions. “From what I have witnessed, most crusaders fight for power, or money, or fame. Some of the better ones fight for honor and religious ideals. But all of these motives are quite different than the typical Saracen.”
“So tell us, please,” Randel said, “why do they fight?”
“Many are fueled by hatred, a powerful force. Most Europeans grow disenchanted after a time and then leave. But the Moslems have nowhere else to go.”
A sadness washed over Abu-Wassim’s features. “You have stolen pieces of their homeland. It is a matter of honor and pride that they keep it. It is a religious command that they take over the whole earth. The crusaders have ruined everything they worked for centuries to accomplish.”
Their group glanced about at one another, clearly as surprised by this information as Rosalind was.
Abu-Wassim cleared his throat and continued, “And the early crusaders sinned greatly against my people. Rivers of Europeans flowed here. Not just well-trained knights and soldiers. Poor peasants. Starving, desperate people. They raped and pillaged. Some claim even . . .”
“Even what?” Sadie asked, her eyes wide.
“It hurts me to speak of such things, and I know not if it is true. But perhaps even . . . cannibalism.” Abu-Wassim bowed his head. “The Saracens believe these stories, and they hate you with a fierce passion.”
The cave grew very quiet. Several of the children shifted uncomfortably. They had all been so proud to join the grand tradition of the crusaders. But no one had ever told them such stories of atrocity.
Given the circumstances that Abu-Wassim had described, circumstances that generally matched details Father Andrew had taught them, Rosalind feared the rumors might be correct. Hordes of desperate peasants had indeed reached the Holy Land, likely without enough provisions, likely without enough leadership.
Anything might have happened.
“That is beyond horrible, and if it is true, I am so very sorry for it,” Sapphira said. “But I cannot help wondering something. Our Christian faith tells us that hatred is wrong. Jesus commanded us to love our enemy. I am sure many of us fall short, but do the Moslems not share this conviction?”
Abu-Wassim frowned. “Hatred of one’s enemy is permitted. Everything comes back to honor and purity, which they believe the crusaders have stolen from this land by polluting it with infidel influence. That shame must be avenged.”
Rosalind’s mind reeled.
Randel picked at a rock by his foot. “Bohemond calls them his Saracen neighbors. He wants to coexist with them. Is he wrong to think so?”
The son Wassim spoke up now. “My father speaks of lofty religious ideals. The average Moslem just wants to prosper and live at peace. But in many cases that hatred burns beneath the surface.”
“Do you hate us?” one of the twins squeaked out, speaking the question they must have all been wondering.
“Of course not.” Abu-Wassim’s smile was sincere and serene.
“Why are you so different?” Garrett asked.
“Most of the Saracens are of the traditional Sunni and Shiite Moslem faiths. We are of the minority Sufi Moslems, and we are nearly as hated as you yourselves. Although we adhere to basic Islamic teachings, we focus on the inner realms and seek to connect our hearts with the Divine. In this way, we have found a path of peace and love, and we believe that this is the truest form of Islam.”
Sapphira sat up onto her feet. Her eyes sparked with that special fire. “That is it! I knew you had searching hearts. Perhaps we are not so different.”
“I sense the same about you, dear child.” Abu-Wassim pressed his hand to his heart.
She bounced as she spoke now. “Have you ever stopped to wonder if perhaps the God you seek is in fact the God of the Christians? All Jesus taught about was peace and love.”
The same question had flashed through Rosalind’s mind.
But a flicker of hesitancy crossed Abu-Wassim’s face. “We do believe that Isa, as we call him, was a great prophet and an example of love. But our traditions are firmly based in Islamic teaching. The Quran is Allah’s final word to mankind.”
Rabia patted Sapphira’s hand. “One of our early leaders, Rabia al Basri, a poetess for whom I am named, might have wondered the same sort of things. She said, ‘In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church that dissolve, that dissolve in God.’ I do not think she made strong distinctions between the religions.”
“Perhaps.” Abu-Wassim cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “And I do not mean to imply that Sufis are the only Moslems with good hearts. I have met others among different traditions. Whatever our faith, I think we all know somewhere deep inside that the path of love is best. But many harden their hearts to that truth.”
He gazed slowly about the circle, looking them each in the eye. “I am blessed merely to know that we all seek God with the same sincerity. And if we truly seek Him, I believe we shall find Him.”
Sapphira’s smile stretched wide across her spritely face. “Our Scripture says so as well.”
“Now, did I tell you the tale of the wisest jinn?”
“What’s a jinn?” Sadie asked.
“Ah, they are supernatural creatures. Very powerful, sometimes good and sometimes evil, but responsible for much of that which we do not understand.”
“I want to hear!” shouted one of the twins.
“Tell us another story,” his brother said.
Abu-Wassim obviously wished to close the subject of religion, but the conversation had awakened something within Rosalind. Both a sorrow and a hope.
“I will pray for you,” she heard Sapphira whisper into Rabia’s ear.
“And I for you,” Rabia whispered back.