Yusuf rolled his prayer mat and rose. In the courtyard he found Ubadah playing at mock swordplay with the former vizier of Egypt. Shawar had been betrayed by his chamberlain Dhirgam and had fled Cairo with an army at his heels. He had arrived in Aleppo months ago, seeking help to retake his kingdom. He was a tall, thin man with a striking face — glittering eyes and sharp features that looked as if they had been chiselled out of stone. His hair and beard were shaved in mourning. He had vowed to not let them grow until he was once again ruling from Cairo. Ubadah mimicked a lunging blow, and Shawar clasped his hands over his chest as if he had been struck. He staggered backwards, swayed for a moment and toppled to the ground.
Yusuf clapped. ‘Well done, Ubadah!’ The boy grinned.
‘Ah, Saladin!’ Shawar rose and flashed a dazzling smile. Yusuf could not help but smile back. Shawar was a man of unfailing optimism, and Yusuf found his good humour contagious. He was one of the few who could lift Yusuf from his dark moods, and the two had become close friends. They hunted together and often dined at one another’s homes.
‘It is Friday. Why were you not at prayers?’ Yusuf asked Shawar with mock severity. ‘What is your excuse this time?’
‘I longed to come, as Allah is my witness,’ Shawar replied. ‘But I am a Shia, and your mosques are filled with Sunnis. I fear I would not be welcome.’ The Shia and the Sunni Muslims had split over who should lead Islam after the death of Mohammed. Over the centuries these differences had hardened into a mutual animosity that sometimes erupted into war. ‘If you have not breakfasted,’ Shawar continued, ‘then I would like to offer you the pleasure of my company.’
Yusuf laughed. ‘I am sure it is my sister’s company that you seek, but no matter. You are welcome in my home.’
With Ubadah in tow, the two men set out across the broad square at the heart of Aleppo, walking in the shadow of the citadel. Yusuf wove around local merchants and farmers, who were setting up their carts. He stopped at one and paid four fals for two melons, which he gave to Ubadah to carry. They left the square and walked through the narrow lanes to Yusuf’s new home, a two-storey structure with a courtyard that opened on to the street. Zimat was sitting at the courtyard fountain chatting with Faridah, Yusuf’s concubine. Ubadah ran to his mother and began excitedly describing his mock battle with Shawar.
‘I fear he dealt me a mortal blow,’ Shawar proclaimed with a smile. He bowed low. ‘My ladies,’ he said, although he looked only at Zimat. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum. It is an unexpected pleasure to see you today.’
‘Ahlan wa-Sahlan,’ Zimat murmured and managed a small smile. She liked Shawar, that much was clear. The occasions when Yusuf had invited the former vizier to dinner were some of the few times in the last months that Yusuf had seen his sister smile. He had even considered offering her to Shawar in marriage.
‘Wa ‘alaykum as-salaam,’ Faridah said.
Shawar nodded at her and turned back to Zimat. ‘Your brother has invited me to breakfast. I hope my presence will not be too burdensome.’
‘Brother! You should have consulted me!’ Zimat complained. Faridah rolled her eyes. It was obvious that Zimat was not truly angry. ‘I have nothing prepared that is fit for a guest.’
‘I purchased melons.’ Yusuf nodded to the fruits Ubadah carried.
‘I will see what can be done. Come, Faridah.’ Zimat took the fruits, and the two women headed for the kitchen. Ubadah followed.
Yusuf led Shawar inside. They sat amidst cushions and Yusuf poured tea. Shawar sipped at it before clearing his throat. ‘When do you think Nur ad-Din will respond to my request for aid?’
Yusuf shrugged. ‘I have presented your case to him many times. He gives no answer.’
Shawar sighed. ‘As much as I enjoy your hospitality, friend, I long to return to Egypt. It is a paradise. The fields are green. The air is warm.’ He winked. ‘The women are beautiful. You would like it. Faridah is a beauty, but she grows old. You could use another woman.’
Yusuf thought of Asimat and frowned.
‘I did not mean to offend, Yusuf,’ Shawar hurried to assure him. ‘But I can see that you are unhappy here. You need a fresh start. Help me to retake Egypt, and I will offer you a place at my court. I could use a man of your vision and experience.’
‘I would gladly follow you to Egypt, friend, but the choice is not mine to make. I serve at Nur ad-Din’s pleasure. I will go if he commands me.’
‘Surely he will!’ Shawar declared and launched into a speech that Yusuf had heard many times. ‘I will make Nur ad-Din the overlord of Egypt and give him a third of the kingdom’s revenue, if only he helps me retake Cairo. He must act. Every day he waits, the traitor Dhirgam grows stronger, and his allies the Franks with him. I ask only-’
He fell silent as Zimat entered, followed by two servants carrying trays loaded with dishes of sliced melon, steaming flatbread, olives, dates, soft cheeses, broad beans in garlic, boiled eggs and apricot jam. Zimat sat while the servants placed the dishes on the ground before Yusuf and Shawar.
‘Such a feast!’ Shawar exclaimed. ‘You have outdone yourself, Zimat.’
‘It is nothing.’
‘You are too modest. Such a meal would put to shame the chefs of the Egyptian caliph himself.’
Zimat blushed and busied herself pouring more tea. Yusuf could see that his sister was pleased. Perhaps if Yusuf went to Egypt, she could come with him and marry Shawar. She would like that.
‘Tell my sister what you told me about the pyramids,’ Yusuf suggested to Shawar.
‘They are a marvel!’ Shawar described the incredible structures while they breakfasted. Yusuf was sure he was exaggerating, but Zimat listened wide-eyed.
They were finishing breakfast when one of Nur ad-Din’s mamluks arrived. ‘You are wanted at the palace, Emir,’ he told Saladin. ‘Asimat has given birth to a son.’
‘A son?’ Yusuf murmured. His son. He suddenly felt dizzy and placed a hand on the floor to steady himself.
‘Are you well, friend?’ Shawar asked.
‘Of course.’ Yusuf forced a smile. ‘The kingdom has an heir, Allah be praised.’
‘Perhaps now that Allah has blessed him, Nur ad-Din will listen to my request.’
‘I will ask him.’
‘Shukran,’ Shawar said and bowed, a hand over his heart. ‘You are a true friend, Saladin.’
Yusuf entered the antechamber to Nur ad-Din’s apartments to find that his uncle Shirkuh and the eunuch Gumushtagin had arrived before him. Shirkuh was handing his sword and dagger over to the guards who protected the king. Gumushtagin saw Yusuf first.
‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Saladin,’ he said. Yusuf nodded curtly.
‘Young eagle!’ Shirkuh cried. He embraced Yusuf and kissed him three times, the appropriate greeting between male relatives. ‘Have you heard the news? An heir to the kingdom! Perhaps this will finally dispel the dark cloud our lord has been living under.’
‘Inshallah, Uncle.’
Yusuf removed the belt that held his sword and handed it to one of the guards. Another guard pushed the door open and waved them inside. ‘The Malik is in his study.’
They found Nur ad-Din bent over his broad desk, lost in thought as he studied an architect’s rendering. The king had changed much in the six months since his defeat at Butaiha. His black hair was now peppered with grey, his once tanned face was sallow and he had dark circles under his eyes. Deep lines of worry creased his forehead. Nur ad-Din was not yet fifty, but he looked like an old man.
‘Malik,’ Gumushtagin said. ‘We have come at your bidding.’
Nur ad-Din straightened. ‘Friends!’ Yusuf saw that the fire had returned to his bright, golden eyes. The king grinned, and his tired face seemed suddenly youthful again. He rounded the table and embraced first Shirkuh and then Yusuf. ‘I have a son! I have named him Al-Salih. Allah has blessed me! From this day, I shall redouble my efforts to serve Him. The great mosque shall be rebuilt, and I shall establish a madras in Aleppo, a school of learning greater than any the world has ever known.’