‘Thank you, Brother.’ Turan left and Faridah re-entered the room. Her lips were pressed in a thin line of worry. ‘Nur ad-Din has called for me,’ Yusuf told her.
‘I heard.’ She met his eyes. ‘And Asimat?’
Yusuf smiled to reassure her. ‘You need not worry. She means nothing to me.’
NOVEMBER 1161: ALEPPO
Upon his arrival in Aleppo, Yusuf went straight to Nur ad-Din’s apartments to present himself. He met Shirkuh in the antechamber, just leaving the king’s quarters. ‘Yusuf!’ Shirkuh beamed and embraced him. As they exchanged kisses, Yusuf noticed for the first time that he was now taller than his uncle. ‘How have you been, young eagle?’
‘My lands flourish. And you, Uncle?’
Shirkuh frowned. ‘Nur ad-Din has me riding across his kingdom and beyond to purchase more mamluks.’ He shook his head. ‘Our king is a man possessed. Gumushtagin has convinced him that Allah will not give him an heir until he rids our lands of the Franks. Nur ad-Din speaks of nothing but defeating them. He works without stopping. He has not left his study for days.’
‘Surely Allah will favour such devotion.’
‘Inshallah,’ Shirkuh grumbled. ‘Try to get him to rest, if you can.’ He placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘You must come to Khaldun’s to meet your nephew. I will see you there tonight.’
‘Tonight,’ Yusuf agreed. Shirkuh left, and Yusuf stepped forward so that the guards could search him. They took his sword and dagger, then led him into Nur ad-Din’s quarters. Yusuf followed the mamluk through the first room, where he had dined before, and into Nur ad-Din’s study. A massive desk dominated the room, covered with papers and maps. More papers had spilled on to the floor. Nur ad-Din leaned over the desk and marked an x on one of the maps. Yusuf noticed that the tips of his fingers were ink-stained.
‘My lord,’ Yusuf said quietly.
Nur ad-Din looked up and his face brightened. ‘Yusuf! You have returned.’ He waved Yusuf forward. ‘Come, look at this.’
The map before Nur ad-Din showed the Frankish lands. ‘What are these?’ Yusuf asked, pointing to one of the dozens of x s that had been marked on the map.
Nur ad-Din grinned. ‘I have sent scouts into the Frankish lands. These are places where the terrain will give us an advantage. At that one, Hattin, our enemy will be exposed and without water. If we can lure them to one of these spots, then the battle will be half won.’ Nur ad-Din stood straight and clapped his hands together with satisfaction. ‘The time has almost come. Usama has been to the court in Jerusalem. He reports that Baldwin will die any day now.’
‘Then we attack in the spring?’ Yusuf asked eagerly.
‘No. Baldwin’s brother Amalric is said to be half mad, an idiot who stutters and laughs at nothing. The longer he reigns, the weaker the Franks will become. And I must be sure that the emperor in Constantinople will not intervene. We will wait a year, and in the meantime I will prepare an army the likes of which the world has never seen. That is why I have called you here. I want you to work with Gumushtagin to collect a special tax to help fund the coming war.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘I will of course serve as it pleases you, my lord, but perhaps my talents could be better used elsewhere.’
Nur ad-Din shook his head. ‘I prize your honesty, Yusuf. I need you to make sure that every fal collected makes it into my coffers. Gumushtagin is clever with money, but I do not trust him as I do you.’
Yusuf placed his hand over his heart and nodded. ‘Thank you, malik. I will not fail you.’
‘Good,’ Nur ad-Din murmured as he turned his attention back to the map. He dismissed Yusuf with a wave of his hand. Yusuf was at the door when Nur ad-Din called out to him: ‘Wait, Yusuf. There is one more thing. I want you to visit Asimat.’
Yusuf felt a sudden tightness in his chest. ‘Asimat, my lord?’
‘She suffered another miscarriage recently.’ Nur ad-Din sighed and massaged his temples. ‘She has been impossible these last months, and you always seem to cheer her.’
Yusuf swallowed hard. ‘Very well, my lord. I shall do my best.’
John wiped nervous sweat from his forehead as he waited outside the gate to Khaldun’s home. He and Yusuf had left the citadel after evening prayers, and the air had cooled with the setting of the sun. Still, John’s caftan was soaked and his stomach was tying itself in knots. He had never been this nervous, not even on the eve of battle.
‘How old do you think Khaldun’s son is now?’ Yusuf mused. ‘He must be nearing his third year.’
‘Three years and seven months,’ John said quietly.
Yusuf glanced at him sharply, then smiled. ‘Is that so? You never cease to impress me, John.’
The gate swung open, and they stepped into the courtyard, which was lit by torches burning in brackets on the walls. At the far end, Khaldun was striding out from his home to greet them. A young boy trailed behind him.
‘Yusuf!’ Khaldun called as he approached. The two men met near the fountain in the centre of the courtyard and exchanged kisses. Khaldun gestured to the boy, who was peeking out from behind his legs. ‘This is my son. Ubadah, greet your uncle.’
The boy stepped out from behind Khaldun and bowed. ‘Salaam ‘Alaykum, Uncle,’ he said shyly.
Yusuf lifted Ubadah from the ground and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Wa ‘Alaykum as-Salaam, little man.’ The boy giggled, and Yusuf set him down. ‘I am glad to meet you at last, Ubadah.’
John had not moved from the gate. His body felt leaden, beyond his control. Ubadah had dark brown eyes, but other than that his resemblance to John was remarkable: the same straight, narrow nose; the same arch of the brow; the same square chin. The boy’s hair was sandy brown — light for a Saracen. There was no doubt in John’s mind; Ubadah was his child.
‘Come, John,’ Yusuf called. ‘Introduce yourself to my nephew.’
John approached woodenly and knelt before the boy. His mouth was dry, and it was all he could do to speak. ‘Salaam, little one. I am pleased to meet you.’
Ubadah stood wide-eyed, then his lower lip began to quiver. ‘Ifranji! Ifranji!’ he bawled and ran to Khaldun, who lifted him up and held him close.
‘I am sorry, John,’ Khaldun said, laughing. ‘I fear I may have told my son one too many stories about the terrible Franks.’
John felt a tightness in his chest and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. He forced himself to smile. ‘I understand,’ he managed. Khaldun’s laughter faded as he looked from John to his son. He looked back at John and frowned. John struggled to control his emotions as he met Khaldun’s eyes.
‘Where is my sister?’ Yusuf asked, breaking the tension.
‘She is not well,’ Khaldun said, turning to Yusuf. ‘She asked that you pardon her absence.’
‘It is nothing serious, I hope.’
Khaldun shook his head. ‘A passing indisposition.’ Somewhere nearby, a muezzin took up his strident call. John looked up and saw that the light had faded from the sky, which was now an inky black, speckled with stars. ‘It is time for the isha’a,’ Khaldun said. ‘We will pray here.’ He pointed to a streak of white on the wall of the courtyard. ‘I have marked the direction of Mecca.’ As servants came out from the house with prayer rugs, Khaldun turned to John. ‘You may wait in the gatehouse, if you wish.’
‘I will stay and pray to my God,’ John replied. He stepped back into the shadows near a side door of the house and knelt. He bowed his head but kept his eyes on the men before him.
Yusuf, Khaldun and Ubadah went to the fountain and began to wash their heads, arms and feet in preparation for prayer. They were joined in the ritual ablution by the Muslim servants and mamluks of the household. The men finished washing and stood before their prayer rugs, their backs to John. They began to pray, chanting the first lines of the rak’ah: In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. John knew that the isha’a had four rak’at, taking maybe ten minutes. The men prostrated themselves near the end of the first rak’ah, and he quickly rose and silently slipped through the side door. At the door to Zimat’s room he stopped. He pressed his ear against it, but at first he heard nothing over the chanting outside. Then he made out a faint sound — crying. John opened the door.