The Saracen’s Oath
Mary Pattison
And the wrath of the mighty Saladin was terrifying in its ferocious intensity. All men feared him, friends and enemies in equal measure. His retaliation was swift when it was justified but it was always fair. He was an intelligent, educated and well read man and a brilliant soldier and tactician and he was my friend.
This was where the torn manuscript ended abruptly and it slipped from the hand of the injured Saracen onto the earthen floor of the inn. As he slipped into a sleep of deep delirium he wondered how such a description of his friend Saladin had come to be hidden in the ruins of an English tavern called the High Tarn In his troubled dreams the big Saracen relived his journey with his friend from their Kurdistan homeland to the centres of learning in Egypt.
He relived the bloody battles he had fought at Saladin’s side and the horrors they had undergone as they witnessed the massacres perpetrated by the Lion heart’s army all in the name of religion. He had almost lost count of the number of times that the holy city of Jerusalem had changed hands and each time it was bloodier, more terrible in its cruelty than the last. When the fever had abated and the big man had regained his senses he had lost all memory of the past and his cowardly attackers.
Time passed, his wounds healed and he became grudgingly accepted by a few of the scattered native population. His skill with herbs and the unfamiliar potions he concocted were still regarded with suspicion by many of his neighbours. Some even professed that they would rather die than have his heathen mixtures pass their lips.
He continued to suffer many dreams relating to his years fighting the holy wars as a commander in Saladin’s army. One dream in particular came with disturbing regularity. An Englishman was dressing his wounds and as the Saracen tried to thank him for his mercy the man replied in a soft voice.
“I require no thanks my friend I only ask you to spare the life of one of your enemies as I have spared yours”
And with that gentle request the man melted into the swirling mist of the bloody battle - field and that was the moment the Saracen swore an oath, that one day he would journey to a far away foreign land to seek out the man who had saved his life.
And now after many years in a cold, inhospitable country the Saracen longed to return to the warmth of his homeland and make his pilgrimage to Mecca before he became too old and infirm to make the hazardous journey.
But before he could make that pilgrimage he had one last service to perform for his neighbours. He warned them that no infant child would survive if it was born in the vicinity of the old inn. This was taken by his neighbours to be a threat against their children and the Saracen was dragged from his bed in the dead of night and stoned to death. They even renamed the High Tarn Inn as the Saracen’s Oath to deter any foreigner from ever setting foot in their village again.
Hundreds of years later when the old tavern had long been forgotten, the land was finally brought into use as building land to house the expanding population. But a great sickness assailed the people; particularly the newborn infants and the land and buildings around the High Tarn once again fell into disuse.
It was only in recent times when the papers which the Saracen had deposited with an ancient university were discovered, that the full impact of the Saracen’s oath and his subsequent warning to the villagers was fully appreciated.
A group of scientists and archaeologists from the university were dispatched to High
Tarn and this lead to the discovery of a new inert gas which was later named Radon. The Radon gas had been seeping up from the earth and the rocks on which High Tarn and the surrounding farmsteads had been built.
But it was all too late for the brilliant scholar who came from the East. This erudite man who had made such an earth shattering discovery, had been stoned to death by the very people he was trying to save.
Mary Pattison
And the wrath of the mighty Saladin was terrifying in its ferocious intensity. All men feared him, friends and enemies in equal measure. His retaliation was swift when it was justified but it was always fair. He was an intelligent, educated and well read man and a brilliant soldier and tactician and he was my friend.
This was where the torn manuscript ended abruptly and it slipped from the hand of the injured Saracen onto the earthen floor of the inn. As he slipped into a sleep of deep delirium he wondered how such a description of his friend Saladin had come to be hidden in the ruins of an English tavern called the High Tarn In his troubled dreams the big Saracen relived his journey with his friend from their Kurdistan homeland to the centres of learning in Egypt.
He relived the bloody battles he had fought at Saladin’s side and the horrors they had undergone as they witnessed the massacres perpetrated by the Lion heart’s army all in the name of religion. He had almost lost count of the number of times that the holy city of Jerusalem had changed hands and each time it was bloodier, more terrible in its cruelty than the last. When the fever had abated and the big man had regained his senses he had lost all memory of the past and his cowardly attackers.
Time passed, his wounds healed and he became grudgingly accepted by a few of the scattered native population. His skill with herbs and the unfamiliar potions he concocted were still regarded with suspicion by many of his neighbours. Some even professed that they would rather die than have his heathen mixtures pass their lips.
He continued to suffer many dreams relating to his years fighting the holy wars as a commander in Saladin’s army. One dream in particular came with disturbing regularity. An Englishman was dressing his wounds and as the Saracen tried to thank him for his mercy the man replied in a soft voice.
“I require no thanks my friend I only ask you to spare the life of one of your enemies as I have spared yours”
And with that gentle request the man melted into the swirling mist of the bloody battle - field and that was the moment the Saracen swore an oath, that one day he would journey to a far away foreign land to seek out the man who had saved his life.
And now after many years in a cold, inhospitable country the Saracen longed to return to the warmth of his homeland and make his pilgrimage to Mecca before he became too old and infirm to make the hazardous journey.
But before he could make that pilgrimage he had one last service to perform for his neighbours. He warned them that no infant child would survive if it was born in the vicinity of the old inn. This was taken by his neighbours to be a threat against their children and the Saracen was dragged from his bed in the dead of night and stoned to death. They even renamed the High Tarn Inn as the Saracen’s Oath to deter any foreigner from ever setting foot in their village again.
Hundreds of years later when the old tavern had long been forgotten, the land was finally brought into use as building land to house the expanding population. But a great sickness assailed the people; particularly the newborn infants and the land and buildings around the High Tarn once again fell into disuse.
It was only in recent times when the papers which the Saracen had deposited with an ancient university were discovered, that the full impact of the Saracen’s oath and his subsequent warning to the villagers was fully appreciated.
A group of scientists and archaeologists from the university were dispatched to High
Tarn and this lead to the discovery of a new inert gas which was later named Radon. The Radon gas had been seeping up from the earth and the rocks on which High Tarn and the surrounding farmsteads had been built.
But it was all too late for the brilliant scholar who came from the East. This erudite man who had made such an earth shattering discovery, had been stoned to death by the very people he was trying to save.