Deleted Scene #5

 

Ailin’s Crossbow

 

 

As the book draws to a close, we encounter the terrifying Niall Ua Dubhghail’s brother Ailin, who joins Hood’s growing company. In this passage, cut from Chapter LXII, Hood questions Ailin on the inspiration for his oud-slash-crossbow.

 

 

THE IRISHMAN STARED at him, unblinking. For what seemed an age there was no sound but the wind in the tress and the crackle of the fire. “It’s the last thing I want,” he muttered, then swung the bow about and shot its bolt into the trunk of the lookout tree. Micel felt the mob lurch around him.

“Hold!” bellowed Hood. All froze on the spot.

“I meant only to show my worth. Now you see what kind of minstrel I am. What kind of music I bring. I can be of use to you, or not; do with me as you will.”

“I would have done anyway,” said Hood, and smiled. He made him wait, then – a little longer than the Irishman had made him wait before finally shooting. “I like you, Irishman,” he said at length. “I think you may be worth a great deal to us.” Micel felt the tension in the surrounding mob begin to unwind. The Irishman, it seemed, had passed the test. “And as for this...” Hood gestured towards the instrument, and shook his head in wonderment. “This is one of your ‘improvements’?”

“I got the idea from a drunken Arab,” said the Irishman. “A man I believed might lead me to my prey.”

“The Saracens’ holy book forbids them intoxicating liquor,” said Took with a scowl, as if doubting the the Irishman’s story. He had evidently not been amused by the display.

The Irishman nodded, and fixed Took with a hard gaze. “Exactly so. And with every draught he looked heavenward and gave an apology – just like a Christian monk during the act of fornication.” All within earshot chuckled, with the exception of Took. “You and I know that a thing being forbidden doesn’t mean it isn’t done. Not among them. Not among us. And especially not here, in this forest. That’s why I’m here.”

Hood’s eyes had narrowed during the Irishman’s speech, but at the end, a broad grin broke out across his face. He laughed.

“Tell us more, master minstrel,” he said “You intrigue me.”

“I had learned the Arab was a friend of the one I sought,” the Irishman began. “He had been with him in Jerusalem, during the last days of Saladin. The Arab would not divulge why – not for love nor money. But he let slip that his friend – this man, this Christian – had entered the city disguised as a troubadour, and had brought with him a deadly weapon hidden inside an instrument.”

Took, Lyttel and Hood exchanged looks. Took seemed as if he would speak, but Hood silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“So you emulated him,” said Hood, with a nod. “To know your enemy you must become your enemy...” He seemed to Micel to be quoting someone.

The Irishman nodded in return. “Partly that,” he said. “Though to be honest with you, if I see a good idea anywhere I’ll take it for my own, whether my enemy’s or not.”

Hood grinned with delight. “A man after my own heart.” Then his eyes narrowed again. “Now, this prey of yours. Tell us about him...”