Indeed, something like that had happened just previously. A peasant farmer from al-’Ala53 came galloping to my father and uncle (may God have mercy upon them both), and told them, I saw a detachment of Franks coming from the direction of the desert – they’ve lost their way. If you march out against them, you’ll be able to take them.’
So my father and my two uncles departed at the head of a body of troops to confront that lost detachment, and who should it be but the Cerdagnais, the lord of Tripoli, at the head  of three hundred horsemen and two hundred Turcopoles54(those are archers for the Franks). Once they saw our comrades, they mounted their horses, charged at our comrades and routed them. They then stuck to their trail. A mamluk belonging to my father, called Yaqut the Tall, circled back around towards them while my father and uncle (may God have mercy upon them both) watched him. He thrust his spear at one of their horsemen who was alongside another of their knights (for they were both pursuing our comrades), and struck down both horses and horsemen at the same time. Now, this Yaqut was always mixed up in crimes and wrong-doings, and he had done one deed for which he still had to be disciplined.
But every time my father would think about punishing him, my uncle would say, ‘Brother, by your life, grant me his guilt, and don’t forget that spear-thrust.’
Then my father would pardon him because of what his brother said.