Here I am with my new story. Please keep in mind that I am not a native speaker and have had no beta during translating it from Polish to English, so please forgive me any mistakes. If you know Polish or are just curious how the story looks in original, feer free to contact me. Please read and tell me what you think of it. I am open for any suggestions as long as they are not offensive. Thank you!

Chapter 1

„Be careful! This equipment is worth more than your whole village!"

A young Arab helper flinched under the weight of a massive box. With a silent reproach he looked at a man standing in the sun of Jerusalem.

He was slim and tall; he used to carry a fashionable walking stick, even though he didn't need it. The man was just smoking cigarettes, giving orders and yelling at everyone. He was, with no doubt, the one to rule in the camp.

„Quciker! I'd like to start working before sunset, but if you keep working like this, I'll start tomorrow!"

The Arabs, whose skin was burnt with sun, came back to the inside of the Holy Sepulcher. They kept on taking big boxes and chests to the sanctuary, where others servants were unpacking them and putting them in right places.

„Sir, would you like a cup of tea? It's nearly 5 o'clock." A young and frightened maid said. The man just shook his head and snapped: „Don't you see how busy I am now? Not now, just leave me!"

„I'm sorry, sir" The girl whispered and left the man alone.

He caressed the top of his artistic walking stick, as if it had been a woman's cheek. He looked at the Holy Sepulcher; it looked like a sandy ring, bitten with time, too fragile to even touch it, but still to majestic to raise a hand on it.

Then he felt the wind on his face. The blow was so strong that it carried tons of sand with it; the man felt the painful grains in his eyes and mouth, when he suddenly found himself lying on the ground. The only thing he could feel was the sour taste of sand.

„Sir, are you alright? Please, give me your hand, I'll help you up!" The maid screamed as she jumped towards him.

He shook his head. His walking stick was lying beside him, covered with golden dust.

„I'm fine, it's just sand. Go back to your work."

The Holy Land was charming as always. Shining copules, sandy buildings and colorful arabesqes... Everything seemed to be full of undisturbed, beautiful life, telling it's own story over and over again.

People had always been wodering why was Jerusalem so magical. Some used to say that because of various cultures living there; the others claimed that the city's history was like a sack with no bottom. But Bernard Foster had his own point of view.

When he was a child, his father took him on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Then he met a boy, who would never reveal his name. He told Bernard that in the place where they had been standing once was a great palace of the kings. Bernard, fasdcinated with the story, years later decided to travel to Jerusalem again. Then he faced the city during the crusades and stayed there forever.

Now, as a man is his fifties, he still could smell the middle-aged spices and hear the music filling the streets.

He was walking slowly along the old walls, breathing in the scent of booths and sand. For a moment he thought he had seen women in colorful robes, dancing to the music, and fully armed knights in cloaks with red crosses.

„The Templars..." he whispered to himself.

He stopped for a while to fully enjoy the sight, but everything disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Jerusalem, A.D 1185

The chamber was very sultry. The scent of incense was mixing with the smell of rotting flesh; the thick smoke was dancing under the ceiling.

The insipid light of candles was reflecting in the colorful glass, which were the walls decorated with. Those reflections seemed to make the animals and creatures on the walls come alive, making them almost mystical.

Two Arabs, dressed in white, were walking around a majestic bed hidden under a canopy. In their hands they were holding oils and bandages. Sometimes they were murmuring something in Arabic to each other, listening to the shallow breath of a man on the bed.

The King was dying.

„Who is here?" The king asked.

One of the physicans came closer to hear his lord better.

„I am here, My Lord. Abdul. And Khalib is also here."

„Good" The king whispered. „I would like to see my sister before I pass away."

The Arabs looked at each other with troubled eyes.

„She is in Ascalon now, My Lord."

„Then call her here. I have not much time."

One of the physicans bowed his head, even though the monarch couldn't see it. Quickly, he turned in his heel and stepped out of the sultry chamber, walking towards one of the guards.

To be continued...