Doctor Who and the Crusaders by David Whitaker Page A

narrowing with expectancy, watched almost with fascination as his tongue appeared and ran over his top lip. Her heart started to beat faster, certain now that she had been betrayed in some way, and she took a step to one side. A hand gripped hold of her arm and twisted it behind her cruelly and the face of El Akir was thrust into hers, the livid scar suddenly picked out by a shaft of moonlight, heightening it and making it a symbol of terror.
    In a few seconds, the Emir had tied a piece of cloth tightly around her mouth, while Ferrigo bound her hands in front of her with a piece of rope El Akir produced from his belt. She made no attempt to struggle but just stood listlessly, while the two men made her helpless, the heavy weight of despair robbing her of any resistance, any thoughts of escape. El Akir led her to where two horses had been brought just inside thestable doors.
    ‘You have settled my terms?’ inquired Luigi Ferrigo sharply. El Akir lifted Barbara up on to her horse, and then mounted his own, holding both reins in his left hand. He leant across, slipped a rope through those securing Barbara’s hands and looped the other end around his right wrist.
    ‘I have arranged your audience with the Sultan and his brother. You are to dine with them tonight.’
    Barbara turned her head and stared down at the merchant contemptuously, wondering how he could hand over the body and soul of a human being for such a trivial reason.
    As if he read her thoughts, Luigi Ferrigo turned away as the Emir urged the horses to a gallop so swiftly that the impetus had Barbara grabbing desperately for the long mane of her steed.
    Luigi Ferrigo staggered backwards as the horses shot away, a cloud of dust spraying up and covering part of his robe. With a muttered curse, he reached for the gloves at his belt, intending to brush himself. He stared at the single glove in his hand, wondering where its fellow was. He started to go back on his tracks, his eyes bent on the ground, searching out every dark corner.
    The two horses galloped away from the palace through the town of Ramlah, startling the few people who were in the streets and making them step into doorways and press themselves against the walls. One look at the hard, set face of the Emir, bent forward low over his mount, urging every inch of speed out of it, was enough to make them turn their faces away and close their minds to questions, although some of them wondered who the beautiful girl could be whose hair streamed out behind her.
    The horses sped out of the town and into the surrounding country, across fields baked hard in the long summer, everyyard adding to El Akir’s triumph, every inch increasing Barbara’s desperation and despair.
    Luigi Ferrigo had failed to find his glove and would have put the affair out of his mind as a trifling matter, except that somehow it irritated him. He was a careful man and the gloves had been specially designed for him, and had been very costly. More than this, he had covered every inch of the ground he had walked, except, of course, for that part of the palace he and Barbara had covered so secretly. The merchant had no intention of venturing back there again, merely to find a piece of wearing apparel. Finally, back in his room, bored with the problem of the missing article, he made a complete change of clothes to be ready for his audience with Saladin and tossed the single useless glove on to a window ledge. He stared out of the window, trying to forget the expression in the beautiful girl’s eyes as she looked down at him from the horse. Then a servant entered and announced he had come to conduct him to the Great Sultan.
    All thoughts of the events of the earlier part of the evening now fell away from him as he planned his approach, discarding this idea, adopting another. The servant conducted him to a wide archway guarded by two magnificently tall fighting warriors of the Sultan’s own race, the Kurds, and into a large, pleasant chamber