The Kabbalist Read Free

a
drawer and retrieved a cloth bag, which he tucked under his belt. He then rushed
back through the corridor to the synagogue. Breathing heavily, he flung open
the synagogue doors leading to the street, and his heart almost burst with
fright when he bumped into a bearded Saracen warrior who was standing outside.
    Yaakov froze in his
place, paralyzed with fear.
    The soldier, unnerved
by Yaakov’s sudden appearance in the empty alley, hesitated, perhaps initially
mistaking the bearded Jew for a Saracen. It took him a few seconds to regain
his senses before he raised his curved sword in the air and cried “ Alla Hu
Akbar! ” – “God is the greatest!”
    Yaakov resigned himself
to his fate. He tried to cry out the traditional Jewish prayer ‘ Shema Yisrael! ’
– ‘Hear, oh Israel!’, however, the words refused to leave his mouth. He just
stared at the warrior and waited, numbed with terror, for the blow to land.
    But what he now saw was
incomprehensible.
    The Saracen’s arm,
which was making its way up, fist clutching sword, suddenly detached from its
body. The arm and sword completed a short arc on their way up, separated, and
then fell down slowly, landing on the cobblestones at Yaakov’s feet. The
Saracen’s face contorted, transformed into a horror mask. He turned his head to
stare at the stump, where his right arm used to be, and which now spurted blood
like a fountain. His mouth opened in a scream of ultimate pain.
    But no sound came out.
At one stroke, the Saracen’s head disappeared, removed by a mighty blow of a
sword. The headless body collapsed onto the cobbled ground, and the bearded
head immediately followed, hitting the stone and rolling, until it stopped at
the feet of the terrified Yaakov, it finally resting next to the severed,
bleeding arm.
    Yaakov thought he was
going to faint.
    Only now he noticed the
huge knight towering over the lifeless corpse. The knight’s garments, visible
through his mail, had once been white, but were now soiled with blood. The man
though, looked calm and unafraid. Amidst the blood stains that covered the white
robe, Yaakov noticed the Red Cross of a Templar knight.
    The knight was looking
straight at him. The probing gray-blue eyes burned into Yaakov’s brain, and he
knew he would never forget them, as long as he lived.
    “Run away, Jew, save
yourself,” said the man in French. “You were just given your life back. If you
value it, run to the port and try to get out of here.”
    The Templar retraced
his steps and disappeared into a crossing alley. A moment later he came back
running past Yaakov, who was still planted in his place, shocked and trembling.
The knight was now carrying upon his shoulders a dangling, lifeless body,
seemingly an injured comrade. He turned west and disappeared in another alley.
    Yaakov stood there, still
shaken, for a few minutes longer, staring at the point where his savior had
disappeared. He then shook himself free of his paralysis and started running in
the opposite direction, towards the port.
    *    *    *
    The port was in chaos.
Throngs of people, most of them civilians, shoved and jostled their way onto
the docks, trying to secure a place for themselves and for their dearest on one
of the crowded vessels. Some ships belonged to the various Christian communities
of the city, and Yaakov knew he could not hope to board them, but there were
some ship owners who took the opportunity to make a profit and sold passage to
the highest bidders. On one of those ships, the ‘Sea Falcon’, Yaakov identified
Roger de Flor, a well-known character in Acre.
    De Flor was a Sicilian
of dubious reputation, an adventurer and a hired captain in the Templars'
service. He was now standing at the entrance to the gangway of a small ship,
bargaining with a group of people. Yaakov had no time to wonder. Roger had
never been an owner of a ship of any kind, but he must have confiscated one of
the vessels at anchor, to seize a once-in-a-lifetime business