‘The lady Asimat,’ Saqr declared. ‘Mother of Al-Salih.’
‘Leave us,’ Yusuf said to his men.
When the men had filed out, Asimat removed her veil. Her skin was still milky white and smooth, her face long and thin with a small nose and full lips. She had a fragile beauty, but Yusuf knew that she had a will of steel. When they had been lovers, she had been willing to betray her husband Nur ad-Din to put Yusuf on the throne. He had refused and put an end to their relationship. Asimat had not understood. She had scorned him for what she saw as weakness.
‘It has been a long time, Yusuf,’ she said.
Yusuf ignored her use of his informal name. He did not want these negotiations to become personal. ‘You have come to negotiate on behalf of Gumushtagin?’
‘On behalf of Al-Salih.’
‘You know my terms. I want Gumushtagin delivered to me, and a treaty between Aleppo and Damascus. If either is attacked, the other will come to its defence.’
Asimat seemed to be considering his proposal, but when she spoke her response surprised him. ‘I said once that you were too honourable to be great. I was wrong.’
‘I am a man of honour,’ he said stiffly.
‘Is that why you have led your army against Aleppo, against your lord Al-Salih?’
‘I move against Gumushtagin, not Al-Salih.’
Asimat dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. ‘Gumushtagin is nothing. The palace guard seized him this afternoon, just after your speech. Al-Salih rules in Aleppo now.’
‘Alhamdulillah. I rejoice to hear it.’
‘Do you? I understand the Caliph in Baghdad has invested you with the government of all Syria.’
‘As regent for Al-Salih. I will not make war against our son.’
‘He is hardly your son,’ she snapped. ‘He has known no father but Nur ad-Din.’
That blow hurt, but Yusuf did not let it show. ‘Nevertheless, I will not move against him. Everything I have done has been to secure his kingdom. What do you suppose would have happened had I not defeated Saif ad-Din? Do you think he would have allowed Al-Salih to keep Aleppo?’
Asimat did not reply. She walked to the table at the centre of the tent and poured herself a cup of water. She sipped at it. Then she sat down amidst the silk cushions on the thickly carpeted ground. She met his eyes. ‘You do not care for my son, Yusuf. Do not lie and tell me otherwise.’
Yusuf sat across from her. ‘I have told you. What I have done, I have done for him.’
‘No. Surely you knew what would happen when you refused to fight Nur ad-Din. Gumushtagin revealed our secret to Nur ad-Din. You would have let our son die!’
‘I was willing to die, too.’
She looked at him coldly. ‘I was not. It was I who had Nur ad-Din killed.’ Yusuf recoiled at this. ‘Do not look at me like that. I loved Nur ad-Din. It is you who are responsible for his death, not I.’
‘I was prepared to let him kill me,’ he repeated.
‘Your life is your own to give,’ she hissed, ‘but not mine, and not that of our son!’ She took a deep breath and looked away, collecting herself. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. ‘The night that Nur ad-Din learned of our affair, he beat me. He promised to have me stoned, but not before he brought me your head on a plate. And he swore that Al-Salih would be tortured and crucified.’ She looked to Yusuf, her dark eyes burning with rage and sadness. He looked away. He did not know what to say. ‘So do not dare tell me that you are loyal to Al-Salih! And do not speak to me of your honour. What sort of honour is it that sacrifices the lives of women and children?’
Her dark eyes dug into him as she waited for him to speak. ‘What do you want of me, Asimat?’ he asked.
‘Our son Al-Salih will remain the ruler of Aleppo. In addition, he will have Azaz and the other towns near Aleppo.’
‘It will be done.’
‘That is not enough. You will marry me and officially adopt Al-Salih as your son.’ Yusuf blinked in surprise. ‘Your word is not enough for me, Yusuf, not anymore. Al-Salih must be your son. That is the only way he will be safe.’
Yusuf studied her as he considered her proposal. She was still beautiful, shockingly so. ‘There was a time when I would have given anything to marry you,’ he said softly. ‘Allah works in strange ways.’
‘Do you accept?’
‘Yes. Once Gumushtagin is delivered to my camp in irons, I will marry you.’
Yusuf stood across from Asimat on the grassy field at the centre of the citadel in Aleppo. They were both dressed in white. During the previous day’s henna ceremony, twisting patterns in dark brown had been traced on the little finger of Yusuf’s right hand. Asimat’s hands and feet had been decorated and her dark eyes — the only part of her face not covered by her veil — were outlined with kohl. Imad ad-Din stood between them. He was giving the marriage khutba, a brief sermon rejoicing at the marriage and calling Allah’s blessing on the bride and groom. The hundreds of guests waited patiently, the leading emirs of Aleppo mingling with the commanders of Yusuf’s army. Al-Salih stood in the front ranks of the crowd. He was dressed in luxurious robes of silk and gold and his sparse adolescent beard had been filled out with kohl. Shamsa stood with the veiled women. She had arrived the previous day, along with Yusuf’s sons.
Shamsa and Asimat both had wills of iron, and Yusuf had feared that sparks would fly when they met. But Shamsa had surprised him. When she arrived she asked to meet Asimat alone. They spent the night in a locked and guarded room. The next morning Shamsa had told him that she approved of the marriage. ‘Asimat does not love you,’ she had informed him, ‘and she wants no sons by you. She is no threat to me. And she is clever. She will make an excellent wife.’
‘I call on all of you to witness this marriage,’ Imad ad-Din declared as he finished the khutba. He turned to Yusuf. ‘Saladin Yusuf ibn Ayub, King of Syria and Egypt, will you take this woman, Asimat bint Mu’in ad-Din Unur?’
‘I will.’ Yusuf stepped to a table that sat between him and Asimat and signed the marriage contract. It specified the mahr, or bride gift — fifty thousand dinar and the towns of Menbij and Bizaa — and it officially declared Al-Salih to be Yusuf’s adopted son.
Imad ad-Din turned to Asimat. ‘Will you accept this man, Saladin?’
‘I will,’ she said loudly. She too signed the marriage contract.
‘May Allah bless your union,’ Imad ad-Din declared.
The crowd roared its approval. Yusuf went to Al-Salih first and kissed the boy on both cheeks. ‘I am your father now,’ he said, ‘but you remain my lord.’ He knelt before Al-Salih.
The boy’s face twisted into a scowl. He turned his back on Yusuf and walked away. Yusuf rose. He could understand Al-Salih’s anger. To him, Yusuf was a stranger and a rival. It was bad enough that he had been forced to sign a treaty with him; it was a further insult that Yusuf had married his mother. The boy no doubt hated him. Yusuf hoped that would change in time.
It was time for the marriage feast. The men would meet in the great hall of the palace, while the women would celebrate with food and dance in the harem. But first there was one more task. Yusuf turned to Qaraqush. ‘Bring him.’
Qaraqush nodded to a mamluk, who hurried away. A moment later the crowd parted as Gumushtagin was pulled forward, shackles around his wrists and neck. He had been brought to Yusuf’s camp shortly after the meeting with Asimat, but Yusuf had refused to see him. He had entered Aleppo and ordered Gumushtagin thrown in the palace dungeon. After four weeks Gumushtagin looked a broken man, walking with his head down and his shoulders stooped. He was pushed forward to stand before Yusuf.
‘I swore that I would kill you if we ever met again,’ Yusuf told him. ‘I am a man of my word.’ He took the sword that Qaraqush handed him. The guards pulled on the chain that led from Gumushtagin’s neck, forcing him to kneel.