Heavenly Journeys (original)

 “My name is Balian.” The Christian said firmly. He looked down at his former Opponent's servant.

“Nassir.” the man said simply, holding his right hand to his chest. The introductions were complete, and for a moment neither spoke or moved.

Balian helped the other man to his feet and walked toward his own horse. “How far are we from Jerusalem?” He asked in an easy tone.

“At a steady pace we should be there just after midday.” Nassir replied quickly and quietly.

Balian tried to suppress a smile. The man had spoken in the tones of a commoner to a lord, or perhaps a lower ranked solider to his commander. 'He must be accustomed to it, from his master' Balian thought to himself. 'It's hard to unlearn your own upbringing'.

This was a truth he understood very well. Until a short time ago he himself had been a peasant and a blacksmith working for his lord in France. More than that, he had been a fatherless bastard. And having only known his father for a matter of days, he was again fatherless. But he was no longer a commoner.

They both mounted their horses and began to ride at a steady pace toward Jerusalem. He could not tell what thoughts or feelings filled his companion's head but Balian's mind was overflowing with memories of the last two weeks. Godfrey, the baron of Ibelin had come ot his forge, in a tiny village in France. His message had been brief: I am your father, please forgive me, will you come with me. Balian's only response had been indifference. Godfrey had told him they were headed to Jerusalem by Messina, and rode off.

The next morning a murder of rage had driven Balian to find and follow his father. The law, such as it was, had quickly followed. Godfrey had fought for Balian's freedom, and had received an arrow in the ribs during the battle. Balian had received both his father's title and blessing in the man's final moments. It only seemed right to continue to Jerusalem, as his father had wanted. The ship had crashed in the middle of the desert; Balian was the only human survivor. The horse he'd rescued from the wreck was in a strange way responsible for Balian's current state. Nassir's old master had challenged Balian for possession of it.

“If you'd known,” Balian began cautiously. Nassir slowed his horse down to listen. “...I mean, I have a rather mean look about me compared to my title. Would it have made a difference?”

“We still would have challenged you.” Nassir answered at once. “But it would have been on a more even plain from the start. Mummad al Fais has...had few equals among our own people. So he never learned to fight equals as well. Please, do not blame yourself.”

By this time they had almost reached the walls of Jerusalem. Nassir had stayed a few paces ahead of Balian while guiding him. Balian quickly pulled out in front. Out of the corner of his eye Balian saw Nassir lower his head slightly as he slowed his pace.

A few minutes later Balian and Nassir stood by a water trough, near a spice market.

“A very good horse.” Nassir stated, patting the neck of his steed.

Balian looked at the man for a moment. “Then take the horse, and be about your own business.”

Nassir raised his head sharply, confusion seared into his features. “this is your prize of battle. I am your prisoner, your slave should you wish it.”

Balian shook his head firmly. “No, you are not. I understand the custom, tradition, whatever one would call it. But I will not abide by it. I cannot.”

“If I may ask...why not?” Nassir's inquiry had been so slow and deliberate he once again might have been talking to a great lord. If nothing else, he was thoroughly surprised.

It took a moment for Balian to find an answer. “In my life in France, I was little better than a slave myself. I will never keep one nor suffer any to be kept if I can change it.”

Nassir lowered his head again, this time in deep thought, not submission. After a few moments he raised his head and looked Balian in the face, though not directly in the eyes. “If you will not keep a slave, will you let me follow you...as a servant?”

Balian let a broad grin spread over his face, but spoke with a restraint and gentleness as he answered. “If it is your choice to follow me, I accept your help.”

Nassir bowed his head. Looking Balian in the face he said. “Then where do we go?”

“I was headed to the hill where Christ died. Away from everyone. Are you ready?”

“A new chapter in my life has begun. I am ready to see what it will be. Let us go.”