The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 21

"I possess nothing of value," said Nicetas. "What can I put up against your mail shirt?"

Grinning, Ka.s.sar stepped closer to the Greek, bringing his face down till Nicetas's sharp-pointed nose almost touched his flat one. "You will spend the night in my tent whenever I want you." His thick fingers gripped Nicetas's chin, kneading the flesh of his face.

Nicetas blushed and pulled away, rubbing his chin, but still he smiled.

"If your hand is that rough, I do not wonder you need a new tent mate."

This time the boys all roared with laughter, and Ka.s.sar's eyes narrowed to angry slits.

Daoud had never before heard anyone speak openly of what all the boys were aware of but only whispered about. For more than a year Daoud had seen and felt his body changing and had been tormented by steadily growing needs within himself. He sensed that others of his khushdashiya were tormented by the same nearly unbearable hungers. He knew, from listening to the talk of older men, that the answer to all these yearnings lay in women. But julbans were forbidden the company of women.

He quickly learned how to relieve himself in solitude, and suspected many of the others did the same. But some, he was sure, made use of each other's bodies.

"I accept the contest," said Nicetas, staring fearlessly into Ka.s.sar's eyes.

"We must go to the naqeeb for permission," said Ka.s.sar. "But we will not tell him the stakes. He might get ideas about you." He grinned at Nicetas with such frank lasciviousness that Daoud, remembering how his captors had raped him years ago, wanted to smash his fist into the Tartar's big white teeth.

He followed Nicetas and Ka.s.sar as they went to Mahmoud's large silk tent and explained the contest.

"Yes," said Mahmoud, leading the way back to the practice field. "Put the one-handspan ring on, and you will ride fifty paces from the target.

You will cast until one of you misses and the other follows with a hit.

If both of you miss, you will be beaten for disturbing my rest."

The slaves changed the two-handspan target ring for the smaller one and began pulling on the guide ropes that swung the ring from side to side.

The naqeeb paced off the distance for Ka.s.sar and Nicetas.

At Mahmoud's command, Ka.s.sar rode down the field. He made a perfect cast, and his friends cheered. It was Nicetas's turn, and he flew past the target with his warbling scream, standing in the stirrups. There was something dance-like in the way he stood swaying with the jolting movement of his pony, left arm outstretched to balance himself, rumh poised to throw.

_He is beautiful_, Daoud thought.

Nicetas's rumh went perfectly through the ring. The cheer for him was lower; after all, n.o.body knew him.

Daoud called out, "G.o.d guides your arm, Nicetas!" Some of the other boys stared at him, and his face grew hot.

Both contestants made successful second casts. But when Ka.s.sar made his third throw, Daoud saw the ring wobble slightly. The rumh must have brushed its inner edge. Nicetas's third try, once again, was flawless.

"We cannot be at this till sunset," Mahmoud grumbled. "Move out to seventy paces." He paced off the new distance, and Ka.s.sar and Nicetas, stone-faced, not looking at each other, rode to the spot he pointed out.

To throw the rumh accurately from that distance would take great strength as well as a keen eye, Daoud thought. Looking at Nicetas's slender arms and narrow shoulders, he wondered if the Greek boy could manage it.

A wind rose, stinging Daoud's face with tiny sand particles. It was blowing from the east, across the field where the boys rode. Nicetas would be lucky to get his lance anywhere near the scaffold.

At Mahmoud's barking command, Ka.s.sar galloped out across the field. He half rose as he came abreast of the target, and Daoud saw his powerful shoulder muscles bunch under his thin robe.

There was a loud crack as Ka.s.sar's rumh hit the ring. Daoud saw black fragments fly though the air. He gasped in surprise.

Ka.s.sar's lance had hit the side of the target ring, and the desert-dried wood had shattered under the impact.

"Well." Mahmoud turned to Nicetas with a laugh. "The target is destroyed."

"Let us put another ring on," said Nicetas promptly, just as Ka.s.sar rode up.

Ka.s.sar's face was tight with fury. "The rings are different sizes. It will not be fair if you have a bigger ring to hit."

"I want a smaller ring," said Nicetas with a faint smile.

Mahmoud sent a boy galloping to the target pullers with the order to attach a new ring to the ropes. From where he stood, Daoud could not even see daylight through the new ring. In the distance he saw a whirlwind raising a cone of sand, a sand devil, spinning near the red cliff.

"Think that there is a crusader charging at you, and you have to hit him in the eye to stop him," Mahmoud suggested to Nicetas.

"If it were, I would not let him get close enough for me to _see_ his eye," said Nicetas dryly.

"Go!" Mahmoud roared.

Nicetas screamed across the field. The rumh flew.

Daoud cried out in amazement as the lance, no bigger than a splinter at this distance, shot perfectly through the ring.

Joy was a white light momentarily blinding Daoud. His heart was beating as hard and fast as if it had been he who had made the cast.

"Nicetas! Yah, Nicetas!" he cheered.

Loud cries of admiration went up. Nicetas retrieved his rumh and waved it over his head, standing in the stirrups as he rode back to the troop.

He jumped down from his horse, and Ka.s.sar, already dismounted, went to meet him. Ka.s.sar's heavy walk, his clenched fists, the rage in his face, told Daoud there was going to be trouble.

He felt hot anger surging up inside him, but he reminded himself again that Nicetas must fight his own battles.

The boys surrounded Ka.s.sar and Nicetas, the naqeeb with his green turban in their midst. Daoud pushed himself into the innermost circle.

"Bring me the mail shirt," said Nicetas.

"_I_ won," Ka.s.sar declared, glowering down at him. "I smashed the ring, a thing you are too weak to do." He looked away from Nicetas and moved his head from side to side, glaring around the circle of boys, challenging any of them to contradict him. No one spoke. No one wanted to quarrel with Ka.s.sar, especially on behalf of a boy no one knew.

Daoud felt angry words rushing up inside him, but he kept himself in check. To take up Nicetas's quarrel unasked would insult Nicetas. If things got too far out of hand, the naqeeb would intervene.

Daoud felt himself abruptly pushed to one side. He turned to protest, and then checked himself. It was Mahmoud, leaving the circle that surrounded Nicetas and Ka.s.sar. As Daoud watched in amazement, the gray-bearded naqeeb walked to his red-and-white-striped tent and sat down cross-legged on the carpet in front of it, calmly gazing at the sandstone cliffs as if what was going on did not concern him at all.

_He should be the one to declare Nicetas the winner_, Daoud thought, as angry now as he was astonished. _Is he, too, afraid of Ka.s.sar?_

"When you broke the ring, that was a miss," said Nicetas. "You lost. The shirt is mine."

"You will have to take it from me," said Ka.s.sar with a grin. "Come to my tent and you can wrestle me for it." Now he made the gesture encircling his forefinger that Nicetas had made before.

What would Nicetas do, Daoud wondered. He was not big enough to hurt Ka.s.sar--but if he yielded, Ka.s.sar would make a slave of him and subject him to abominations.

"I had heard that a Tartar never goes back on his word," said Nicetas.

"I see now that at least one Tartar is a lying jackal."

_Good!_ Daoud thought fiercely. In a battle of insults, he felt sure, the talkative Greek would have the upper hand over the dour Tartar.