Dateline: Jerusalem, 1187
It was the last day of the longest and bloodiest battle of the crusades, little remembered by
historians because the
pope had just been discovered to be a woman in liturgical
drag earlier that month. The forces of
Salah al-Din Yusuf bin Ayub had just captured
Jerusalem. The
Christians were totally routed, fleeing and screaming and in some case pausing to kneel and pray for deliverance. Those who did died quickly at least, decapitated by the
great curved swords of
Saladins men. Those who ran out into the desert died of their wounds or thirst, blackened and croaking for water.
If one can, for a moment, picture the very edge of this chaotic and sanguinary event, A solitary figure can almost be made out. He is Hossein, a much lauded and feared
kurdish general, long favored by
Saladin, but sadly reduced because of bad business choices between
crusades to contract work, sometimes leading
janissaries sometimes beating the slums for
conscripts, sometimes (as now) actually fighting. Hossein is fat, robed, bearded and be
turbanned. He is a man of greatness reduced to chasing these
uncircumsized dogs through the midday heat instead of lying in the coolness of a tent drinking
coffee. Moments ago he nicked one of the
swine eaters on the leg and followed the fleeing man through the dust, hoping that he would bleed out so he could have his head removed and Hossein could feel complete in his duties (Hossein was a great beliver in duty and
piety and clearly nothing satisfied
Allah more than the deaths of these dogs). So fat middle aged Hossein scrurries after the fleeing coward and finally, finally the man collapeses and rolls over onto his back to meet his death face on. Hossein trudges up, an
educated man he prepares a taunt for the man to take to his Christian hell with him. As the great sword is raised, Hossein looks deeply in the man's eyes and asks:
Where is your savior now?
The sword swings down, the head rolls. Hossein feels briefly better, his
headache abates somewhat. He wanders off in search of
sherbert.
Warning: Some historical events are conflated, others invented. This is a work of
fiction. But I bet it happened.