tweezer-pointed tongs. "You –" He selected an old crone. "Start here in the middle and move toward Mecca." The Emir stepped back and admired his handiwork.
Now ..... He raised his hand, the symbol of a curt order to his guard. "Now, we will resume the parade and leave the chicken-plucking to our people... for the time being."
The crowd gave him a laugh for that, which was what he wanted. The look on the captain of the guard's face was just a little more than odd, though. Yet he joined the parade, but not before personally testing the ropes that held Casca to the olive tree.
The procession moved on down toward the mosque. There were now no soldiers guarding Casca, but that didn't help him one bit. The peasants had crowded in, gleefully watching the two with tweezers pull the hairs from his chest, one by one. There were a few gaming souls, and they began to make bets as to which would be reached first: Casca's eyebrows... or the family jewels.
As for Casca, he was not too sure he could get out of this by himself – but there sure as hell wasn't anybody to help him.
There was one possibility. Over his left big toe he could see that the limb that held his left foot had a sharp bend in it. It was tough wood, but... He began jerking his body with each pull of the tweezers, covertly putting the force on the left leg. The crowd loved that, thinking it was a pain reaction.
How did I let myself get into all this... But it could have been worse.
Both Yousef and his men, and Bu Ali and his Mamelukes were now aware of Casca's predicament. For Bu Ali it was a problem he couldn't solve. For Yousef it was a great deal simpler: he immediately dispatched an archer to the roof of the building across the street.
Bu Ali had not gotten to be the captain of Mamud's Mamelukes by keeping his head in his ass. Nor had he risen from the rank of Novice in the Brotherhood of the Hashishi by being stupid. He was a damn good soldier. Standing now in the shadows of a building fifty feet up from the mosque, and with a clear view of Casca's olive tree and the crowd around it, he was now the typical tactical commander with the usual impossible situation to solve. Well, what did a commander usually do when he had no solution to the problem? Yeah ... Send in the enlisted men. Bu Ali thought about that, turning to look at his available "army." Standing behind him were three men, scimitars scabbarded at their sides, bows unstrung and strapped with arrows to their backs. The fourth man guarded the tied-down horses. A couple of the town peasants mingled with them, not paying them any attention since the religious procession had brought all kinds of people to town. Beyond the horse line, on the next street, some rather ragged-looking shepherds were holding a highly restless flock of sheep, keeping them from coming down this alleyway into the main street in front of the mosque until the procession was over. Apparently the sheep were without water, which was one reason they were milling around and bleating. But next to them there was also a flock of goats in the same predicament. Separating the two flocks was a farmer astride an ass that was hitched to a small cart piled high with hay. The procession had sure screwed up farm traffic this morning.
Sheep... Goats... Hay...
Bu Ali thought about that. He looked back at the olive tree. He could see the branches swinging. Not much chance of Casca getting loose, though. And by now the Emir had been in the mosque a pretty long time. The rites would be over any minute, and once the Emir's bodyguard had Casca, there would be no chance whatever to free him.
Not that there was any chance now. The look in the eyes of his men underscored the point. They were watching him, Bu Ali, with the same cynical stare enlisted men the world over have from time immemorial given a commander they don't think can hack it. Knowing his men – he had trained them and knew their abilities – Bu Ali respected their judgment. He couldn't
Now ..... He raised his hand, the symbol of a curt order to his guard. "Now, we will resume the parade and leave the chicken-plucking to our people... for the time being."
The crowd gave him a laugh for that, which was what he wanted. The look on the captain of the guard's face was just a little more than odd, though. Yet he joined the parade, but not before personally testing the ropes that held Casca to the olive tree.
The procession moved on down toward the mosque. There were now no soldiers guarding Casca, but that didn't help him one bit. The peasants had crowded in, gleefully watching the two with tweezers pull the hairs from his chest, one by one. There were a few gaming souls, and they began to make bets as to which would be reached first: Casca's eyebrows... or the family jewels.
As for Casca, he was not too sure he could get out of this by himself – but there sure as hell wasn't anybody to help him.
There was one possibility. Over his left big toe he could see that the limb that held his left foot had a sharp bend in it. It was tough wood, but... He began jerking his body with each pull of the tweezers, covertly putting the force on the left leg. The crowd loved that, thinking it was a pain reaction.
How did I let myself get into all this... But it could have been worse.
Both Yousef and his men, and Bu Ali and his Mamelukes were now aware of Casca's predicament. For Bu Ali it was a problem he couldn't solve. For Yousef it was a great deal simpler: he immediately dispatched an archer to the roof of the building across the street.
Bu Ali had not gotten to be the captain of Mamud's Mamelukes by keeping his head in his ass. Nor had he risen from the rank of Novice in the Brotherhood of the Hashishi by being stupid. He was a damn good soldier. Standing now in the shadows of a building fifty feet up from the mosque, and with a clear view of Casca's olive tree and the crowd around it, he was now the typical tactical commander with the usual impossible situation to solve. Well, what did a commander usually do when he had no solution to the problem? Yeah ... Send in the enlisted men. Bu Ali thought about that, turning to look at his available "army." Standing behind him were three men, scimitars scabbarded at their sides, bows unstrung and strapped with arrows to their backs. The fourth man guarded the tied-down horses. A couple of the town peasants mingled with them, not paying them any attention since the religious procession had brought all kinds of people to town. Beyond the horse line, on the next street, some rather ragged-looking shepherds were holding a highly restless flock of sheep, keeping them from coming down this alleyway into the main street in front of the mosque until the procession was over. Apparently the sheep were without water, which was one reason they were milling around and bleating. But next to them there was also a flock of goats in the same predicament. Separating the two flocks was a farmer astride an ass that was hitched to a small cart piled high with hay. The procession had sure screwed up farm traffic this morning.
Sheep... Goats... Hay...
Bu Ali thought about that. He looked back at the olive tree. He could see the branches swinging. Not much chance of Casca getting loose, though. And by now the Emir had been in the mosque a pretty long time. The rites would be over any minute, and once the Emir's bodyguard had Casca, there would be no chance whatever to free him.
Not that there was any chance now. The look in the eyes of his men underscored the point. They were watching him, Bu Ali, with the same cynical stare enlisted men the world over have from time immemorial given a commander they don't think can hack it. Knowing his men – he had trained them and knew their abilities – Bu Ali respected their judgment. He couldn't
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