I am Ahmed bin Barak. Late of Jericho in the land of Palestine. I am a Christian. Once of the Eastern Rite, now of the Western Rite. Which you know as the Roman Church. You know my people as Palestinians.
I was born in the Year of Our Lord 1090. As I grew a talent with animals, most especially with horses became apparent. I determined to become a trainer of horses upon reaching my majority. This with the full support and assistance of my father and my mother.
But my first assignment was from a ferengi knight of no honor. A full year I spent training a new horse for him, but when the day came for me to deliver his animal and him to pay me he scorned and spurned me, calling me a common thief. He left me without so much as a groat or florin.
I had debts to pay. Debts gathered while training and caring for the horse. Debts that were to be satisfied from the fee paid. Without that fee I had to find another way to honor my obligations.
Fortunately, my family has a good name in the city of Jericho. So my debtors and I came to an agreement. I would become a teamster. A drayman, a drover. Transporting goods from Jerusalem and Jericho to the cities of the coast. To Gaza and Ascalon in the south, and Tyre and Byblos in the north. So for the next few years I plied the trade of a teamster, learning much of the ways of business.
And the ways of thieves and brigands. Most fled before my bolts and spear. A few went before God sooner than they expected. Once I slew a pair of ferengi knights who thought to gain booty through theft instead of honest battle. What passed between them and God I do not know, but I doubt me not that what they heard from The Lord was most uncomplimentary.
Such was my life. Until in the Year of Our Lord 1120 my master, The Greek, called me into his office. There he showed me a bag. A bag of red velvet of largish size. He asked that I take the bag to the land of the ferengi. To the land of France. There to deliver the bag and what it held to a chapel in a town in Southern France. And with the bag other items of import. But it was the bag that bore the greatest import. He pays me and he pays me well. I am a Christian and a man of honor, so I accepted his charge.
A year of travel it took us, my charge and I. Along the way I was joined by three others. I must confess that it has been a long day, and I have a vigil yet to perform. So I pray you shall forgive my forgetfullness, for I can't rouse their names from the depths of my memory. Perhaps next time.
I can say of them that one is a Greek. (I tease him for liking boys. He has become a friend, so I tease, as you would with a brother or boon companion. Courtesy is for the stranger, and for your enemies, etiquette.) The Greek is either under God's protection, or a witch. For he is fortunate indeed when times become perilous. I hope he is a witch and not a sorcerer, for the former is one who keeps to the old faith our Lord and Savior Jesus, called The Christ, did bring us out of in our days of ignorance, while the latter has sold his soul to Satan. He whom the fire-worshippers of the Zagros call Ahriman and the Muslim call Shaitan.
The second is a Skand, who worships the old gods of his people. He is doughty in a fight. But not to be trusted with anything of value. Ply him with ale, whores, and brawls and you can keep him out of trouble.
The third is a woman. I hesitate to call her a lady, for she has skills no lady need know. Still, she is good to have at your side in a fight. More importantly, she is good to have at your back in a fight.
And there shall I end this, the first part of my tale. You have been introduced to my companions and I. When next I write I shall speak of our arrival in the city of Marseille, our journey to the chapel, and what happened when we came nigh the place.
I was born in the Year of Our Lord 1090. As I grew a talent with animals, most especially with horses became apparent. I determined to become a trainer of horses upon reaching my majority. This with the full support and assistance of my father and my mother.
But my first assignment was from a ferengi knight of no honor. A full year I spent training a new horse for him, but when the day came for me to deliver his animal and him to pay me he scorned and spurned me, calling me a common thief. He left me without so much as a groat or florin.
I had debts to pay. Debts gathered while training and caring for the horse. Debts that were to be satisfied from the fee paid. Without that fee I had to find another way to honor my obligations.
Fortunately, my family has a good name in the city of Jericho. So my debtors and I came to an agreement. I would become a teamster. A drayman, a drover. Transporting goods from Jerusalem and Jericho to the cities of the coast. To Gaza and Ascalon in the south, and Tyre and Byblos in the north. So for the next few years I plied the trade of a teamster, learning much of the ways of business.
And the ways of thieves and brigands. Most fled before my bolts and spear. A few went before God sooner than they expected. Once I slew a pair of ferengi knights who thought to gain booty through theft instead of honest battle. What passed between them and God I do not know, but I doubt me not that what they heard from The Lord was most uncomplimentary.
Such was my life. Until in the Year of Our Lord 1120 my master, The Greek, called me into his office. There he showed me a bag. A bag of red velvet of largish size. He asked that I take the bag to the land of the ferengi. To the land of France. There to deliver the bag and what it held to a chapel in a town in Southern France. And with the bag other items of import. But it was the bag that bore the greatest import. He pays me and he pays me well. I am a Christian and a man of honor, so I accepted his charge.
A year of travel it took us, my charge and I. Along the way I was joined by three others. I must confess that it has been a long day, and I have a vigil yet to perform. So I pray you shall forgive my forgetfullness, for I can't rouse their names from the depths of my memory. Perhaps next time.
I can say of them that one is a Greek. (I tease him for liking boys. He has become a friend, so I tease, as you would with a brother or boon companion. Courtesy is for the stranger, and for your enemies, etiquette.) The Greek is either under God's protection, or a witch. For he is fortunate indeed when times become perilous. I hope he is a witch and not a sorcerer, for the former is one who keeps to the old faith our Lord and Savior Jesus, called The Christ, did bring us out of in our days of ignorance, while the latter has sold his soul to Satan. He whom the fire-worshippers of the Zagros call Ahriman and the Muslim call Shaitan.
The second is a Skand, who worships the old gods of his people. He is doughty in a fight. But not to be trusted with anything of value. Ply him with ale, whores, and brawls and you can keep him out of trouble.
The third is a woman. I hesitate to call her a lady, for she has skills no lady need know. Still, she is good to have at your side in a fight. More importantly, she is good to have at your back in a fight.
And there shall I end this, the first part of my tale. You have been introduced to my companions and I. When next I write I shall speak of our arrival in the city of Marseille, our journey to the chapel, and what happened when we came nigh the place.
