The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 11: A Doom Delivered

Ríg rigorously washed his hands in the water that flowed from the porcelain ewer held by Jacob. The bar of lye-and-potash soap did much to remove the blood and grime on his exposed skin. The filthy matter sluiced into the basin, deepening the red as he cleaned. Neither Ríg nor Jacob spoke. The groans and mutterings of wounded and dying men filled the silence.

Jacob's thoughts kept returning to the events of the last couple hours. He'd followed Ríg's command to accompany him, but found only carnage awaiting when they'd entered the medical ward of the Krak des Chevaliers. There'd been much activity as surgeons and volunteers strove to save the lives of four men who'd been critically wounded in the mission's return from the east.

Three of the patients had died from their injuries and the expedition's leader (and Grand Master Arcadian's brother) Mercedier, had survived a surgery to his abdomen. It was too early to tell if the man whose hand Ríg had just amputated would live.

That patient's name was Roberto, a bearded Hospitaller knight in his early twenties, who hadn't yet regained consciousness. Jacob had fainted shortly after seeing Ríg set to work on Roberto's destroyed hand, which had been crushed by a horse's hoof in the ambush two days' ride from the Krak.

He awakened to Ibn-Khaldun calling his name and the sight of the man holding a vinegar-filled sponge under his nose. He also saw the assistant placing a still glowing flat-iron strip onto a stone shelf to cool. The smell of burning flesh from the cauterization filled the air, and Jacob noticed Ríg moving to the wash area to clean up. The boy had thanked Ibn-Khaldun and, embarrassed that he hadn't been able to stay conscious, volunteered to help wash the area. His face flushed at the memory of the moment when he realized what his new friend intended to do to the injured knight, Roberto.

"Are you all right?" Ríg asked, stepping forward when he saw the glazed look in the boy's eyes. "You're not feeling faint again, are you?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I was just remembering the knife and the saw. For some reason, I thought that you'd just chop the hand off with a sword, bind it and move on. When you went more slowly at the beginning, I ... I just couldn't look."

Ríg nodded in understanding. "You can't just hack the hand off—that's why I started slicing higher, on the forearm." He exchanged a glance with Ibn-Khaldun. "I still don't know if he'll make it. Sepsis might've set in past the point where we can do anything."

"It's cauterized, balmed, and wrapped," the Muslim scholar said. "We can do nothing now but pray."

"I think you should go to your mother, Jacob." Ríg began, then interrupted himself, "Wait, I almost forgot: Marcus." He looked at Ibn-Khaldun. "We should just duck in and see him. He's going to be fine, thank God. I only wish the price hadn't been so high for Roberto here. Jacob, why don't you come with us before seeing your mother? You can meet Marcus, and say 'bonjour.' "

Pellion entered the ward behind Jacob. "Ríg," he gasped, putting his hands on his knees until he caught his breath. "Oh, good, you're still here. You're really needed in Father Arcadian's chamber."

"We'll be there shortly," Ibn-Khaldun replied. "Tell them no more than a quarter hour."

"They've had me running all over. Arcadian's in his quarters and the rest of the knights are assembled. Brother Mercedier is starting to wake up, and Brother Perdieu is very upset that they're waiting for hissquire to arrive. He didn't like it when I told him you were helping in surgery—I think his exact words were, 'I don't want him using any blade but a sword, and I don't want him cutting anything except Saracen necks!' They all want to hear what news you've brought from the East, Master Khaldun."

"Confound you Pellion, Son of Gaidon!" Ibn-Khaldun exclaimed, "What did I just say? Who do you fear more, Boy? Perdieu or me?"

Pellion paled, and Ríg looked curiously at the old man. "You sir—but you, I respect. I'm sorry."