Eagle

Chapter 13

MARCH AND APRIL 1156: ALEPPO

Yusuf ’s breath hung in the air as he rode across white fields towards Aleppo, its distant walls dusted with snow that shone pink under the morning sun. Yusuf had spent the past year and more in Tell Bashir, collecting tribute and training his men. Now, Nur ad-Din had called for him. The malik was gathering his emirs in preparation for war. Eager to arrive for the campaign season, Yusuf had left as soon as the first tender green shoots had appeared in the wheat fields. He had ridden fast, keeping only John, Qaraqush and Al-Mashtub for company and leaving the rest of his mamluks and Faridah to follow at a slower pace. The snows had hit them on their first day out of Tell Bashir.

‘This weather does not bode well,’ Qaraqush murmured. ‘A bad harvest will mean little money for the campaign season.’

‘It’s only a dusting,’ Yusuf replied. ‘Inshallah, the crops will not suffer.’ He glanced at John, who rode with his eyes fixed on the distant walls. He had been quiet throughout the trip from Tell Bashir. ‘Come,’ Yusuf said. ‘The sooner we’re inside and before a fire, the better.’ He spurred his horse to a trot, and the others followed.

Yusuf nodded to the guards as they passed through the Jew’s Gate and into the narrow streets. The city was quiet, and Yusuf could clearly hear the crunch of their horses’ hooves in the snow. They crossed the deserted square at the heart of the city and clattered across the drawbridge that spanned the moat at the base of the citadel. They rode up the steep causeway, and as they approached the gate, the guards stepped aside for Yusuf.

The oval field that lay at the centre of the citadel grounds was crowded with mamluks on horseback, training on a course that had been set up near the periphery of the turf. Yusuf watched one of the riders gallop past, bow in hand. The rider jumped a low wooden barrier and, without slowing, drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and fired it at a suit of stuffed chainmail, complete with false head and helmet. The arrow hit the mannequin in the shoulder, and the mamluk galloped past, whooping victoriously.

‘Not bad,’ John said.

‘ Hmph,’ Qaraqush snorted. ‘I never saw an enemy killed by a blow to the shoulder.’

As Yusuf spurred his horse past the crowd of mamluks, he noticed that one of them was staring at him. The man was lean, his black hair and beard worn short. Yusuf looked more closely and blinked in recognition. ‘Khaldun!’

‘Yusuf!’ Khaldun rode over Yusuf and clasped his arm. ‘It has been too long, old friend.’

‘Too long, indeed. You look well.’

Khaldun grinned. ‘And I am the newly appointed Emir of Baalbek.’ His smile faded suddenly. ‘I am sorry, Yusuf. I know that Turan wanted the post.’

‘It is no less than you deserve.’

Khaldun placed his right hand over his heart and bowed slightly to signal his thanks for the compliment. Then he gestured towards John. ‘This is the ifranji who leads your personal guard, the one they call Yusuf’s shadow?’

Yusuf nodded. ‘His name is John.’

Khaldun rode forward and clasped John’s arm. ‘I have heard much about you.’

‘We met once before,’ John said quietly. ‘In Baalbek.’ Khaldun’s forehead creased; he clearly did not remember. ‘There is no reason for you to remember me. I was a slave then.’

‘Tell me about your wife,’ Yusuf said to Khaldun. ‘How is my sister?’

‘Zimat is here in Aleppo, and she is well,’ Khaldun replied, then scowled. ‘She has borne me two girls.’

‘Then surely a boy will be next.’

‘Inshallah,’ Khaldun said. ‘You must come to visit her. I have invited Nur ad-Din to my home tomorrow night to thank him for granting me Baalbek. Turan will be there, too. You should come. It will be just like old times.’

Yusuf smiled. ‘I will be there.’

The sun was just setting the next day when Yusuf left the citadel, John riding at his side. Khaldun had sent a mamluk for them, and they followed the man down the long causeway and out into Aleppo’s main square, which was dotted here and there with farmers packing up their carts. They left the square on a street that dead-ended after a hundred yards. The mamluk headed right, into a narrow alleyway with tall walls rising on either side. As Yusuf and John entered, the gate that protected the homes in the alleyway from thieves swung shut behind them. They rode past several wooden gates before coming to one that was open. The mamluk led them through into a courtyard with a fountain at the centre and tall palms growing around the edges. Turan had entered ahead of them and was dismounting his horse.

‘Greetings, Turan,’ Yusuf said as he slid from the saddle.

Turan nodded back. ‘Brother.’

Their mamluk guide gestured to a room built against the outer wall of the villa. ‘Your servant can wait there.’ John nodded and headed that way.

Yusuf and Turan followed the mamluk across the courtyard and into Khaldun’s home. They found themselves in a large, thickly carpeted room lit by braziers burning in the corners. Nur ad-Din was already there, seated on cushions across from the doorway. To his left sat Khaldun and a man that Yusuf did not recognize. The man had handsome features: a strong jaw, dark eyes, a smallish nose, and a carefully groomed brown beard. To Nur ad-Din’s left sat Asimat, and beside her Zimat and another woman, short and plump with broad hips, large breasts and brown skin the colour of desert sands after rain.

‘Yusuf!’ Zimat exclaimed when she saw her brother. She rose and crossed the room to embrace him. There were tears in her eyes.

‘Greetings, Sister. You are well?’

‘I am glad to see you. That is all.’

Yusuf gently extricated himself from her embrace. He bowed to Nur ad-Din. ‘Malik,’ he said, then turned to Khaldun. ‘Thank you for inviting me, my friend.’

‘Malik,’ Turan murmured, also bowing to Nur ad-Din.

‘Yusuf, this is Usama bin Munqidh, the emir of Shaizar,’ Khaldun said, gesturing to the man beside him.

‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Yusuf said.

‘And you,’ Usama replied. ‘I have heard much about you.’ ‘And this,’ Khaldun gestured to the woman beside Zimat, ‘is my second wife, Nadhira.’

‘My lord,’ she whispered, nodding in Yusuf’s direction.

‘Now, please sit,’ Khaldun said, waving them to their places. Yusuf sat across from Nur ad-Din, beside Usama. Turan sat to his left, beside Nadhira.

Servants entered and placed steaming bread and a dip of roasted eggplant and ground walnuts on the small tables next to each guest. ‘In the name of Allah,’ the diners murmured as they each tore off a piece of bread and began to eat. As he dipped his bread, Yusuf stole a sidelong glance at Asimat. Their eyes met, and he looked quickly away. He glanced at Turan, who was talking to Nadhira in hushed tones. Yusuf looked away as Nur ad-Din began to speak.

‘Usama has recently returned from a trip to the Frankish court in Jerusalem,’ he said.

‘What was it like?’ Yusuf asked.

‘A nest of vipers,’ Usama replied. ‘King Baldwin’s mother seeks to rule despite her son. A few years ago, he had to lead an army against Jerusalem to reclaim his throne from her. Still, her faction intrigues. And that is just within the king’s family. The Templars and the Hospitallers, Tripoli, Antioch and Jerusalem, all are at odds with one another. King Baldwin is at his wit’s end, and in his case, he did not have very far to go to get there. His brother Amalric has all the brains, but the man is cursed with a stutter and fits of laughter.’

‘We should move against them,’ Turan said. ‘They are divided and weak.’

‘But we have a treaty with the Frankish king, Baldwin,’ Yusuf noted.

Nur ad-Din frowned. ‘Yes, and I will honour my word. But the Franks, if all goes well, will not honour theirs. That is why Usama visited Jerusalem. One of the reasons,’ he concluded with a wink.

Usama spread his hands. ‘I have no idea what you mean. I visited Jerusalem only to serve you, my lord.’

Nur ad-Din laughed. ‘Me and the ladies of Jerusalem. I know you too well, Usama. I’ll wager that there’s more than one Frank in Jerusalem who will be expecting a suspiciously dark-skinned child.’

All eyes turned to Usama. ‘How can I help it,’ he asked, ‘when their women are so obliging, and their men so lacking in honour?’

‘Ah ha, you see!’ Nur ad-Din exclaimed. ‘You are a scoundrel.’

‘Do tell,’ Asimat said, her eyebrows raised.

‘If you insist, my lady,’ Usama said with a smile. ‘Just a few days ago, on my way back from Jerusalem, I passed through the valley of the Kadisha, where I found myself in the bed of a kind Frankish lady, the wife of a wine merchant.’ He paused as the servants entered with two more dishes — fragrant, roasted lamb with chickpeas and onions, and a dish of oranges and figs.

‘And how did you happen to find yourself in her bed?’ Khaldun asked.

‘It was an arduous journey,’ Usama said with a wink. ‘I was tired, which is what I told her husband when he returned and found us together. “What are you doing with my wife?” he demanded. I told him that I had come in to rest. I found the bed made up, so I lay down to sleep. “And my wife slept with you?” he asked. “The bed is hers,” I replied. “How could I prevent her from getting into her own bed?” The wine merchant, as you might imagine, grew quite upset at this. His face turned red and he shook his fist at me. And do you know what he said?’

‘I’ll kill you here and now?’ Yusuf offered. Usama shook his head.

‘I’ll have your balls for this, you Saracen bastard?’ Nur ad-Din suggested.

‘Not even close.’ Usama grinned as he anticipated the punch line.

‘Did he beat his wife for her infidelity?’ Khaldun asked.

‘No,’ Usama said. ‘He shook his fist and roared, “By God, if you do it again I will take you to court!”’

There was a moment of silence, and then Nur ad-Din began to roar with laughter. One by one, the others joined him, all except Turan and Nadhira. Yusuf examined his brother, who looked away and forced an unconvincing laugh.

‘But surely not all Franks are so permissive,’ Asimat said when the hilarity had subsided. ‘There must be some with a sense of honour.’

Usama nodded. ‘I have a theory regarding this. The longer the Franks remain in our lands, the more they adopt our ways. Eventually, they may even become civilized.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Turan snorted. ‘They will always be savages. It is in their nature.’

‘I am not so sure,’ Yusuf said. ‘I have a Frank amongst my men, a former slave. When I bought him, he was as dirty and savage as the rest of his kind. Now he dresses as we do. He reads and speaks Arabic. He is as civilized as any of us.’

‘You see!’ Usama declared.

Asimat turned her dark eyes upon Yusuf. ‘I should like to meet this Frank of yours.’

‘Of course.’

‘But is he a jealous man?’ Khaldun asked.

‘I do not know,’ Yusuf said. ‘I have never seen him with a woman.’

‘This is no man. He is a saint,’ Nur ad-Din declared. ‘Or a eunuch!’ He chuckled at his own joke.

‘And he proves nothing,’ Asimat added. ‘He may be civilized, but we know nothing of his sense of honour.’ She paused, glancing at Nur ad-Din. ‘Perhaps the Franks are not wrong to give their women more freedom.’

Nur ad-Din’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Freedom for what, Wife?’ he demanded, his voice rising. ‘To be prostitutes and whores? To bear other men’s children? No, women must be protected. Their place is in the home.’ He met Asimat’s eyes. ‘The good wife is the one who bears many sons. You do not need freedom to do that.’

‘Well said,’ Khaldun agreed, slapping the floor for emphasis.

Asimat flushed red. ‘I see,’ she said tersely. ‘I am not feeling well, Husband. Please excuse me.’ Nur ad-Din nodded, and Asimat rose.

‘Makin!’ Nur ad-Din called, and a mamluk stepped into the room. ‘Escort Asimat back to the palace.’ Asimat pulled her veil over her face and followed the mamluk out into the courtyard.

‘May Nadhira and I also be excused, Husband?’ Zimat asked Khaldun. He nodded, and the two women rose. ‘We will leave you men to your talk. Good-night, brothers,’ Zimat said. She gave a small bow, and they left.

‘I fear I will have no peace tonight,’ Nur ad-Din said with a sigh when they had gone. ‘I have made Asimat unhappy.’ He cocked his head as a thought came to him. ‘She seems to like you well enough, Yusuf. Perhaps you can amuse her. You will visit her, tomorrow.’

Yusuf’s eyes went wide. ‘Are you sure, my lord?’

Nur ad-Din smiled. ‘You are an honourable man. I am sure I can trust you. But remember this,’ he added, and his smile faded. ‘I am no Frankish wine merchant. If you touch my wife, I will have your head.’

John shivered in the chill night air as he stepped out into the courtyard, leaving the mamluks behind him in the gatehouse. The men were laughing and joking as they played at dice, but John had no stomach for their good spirits. He walked to the fountain at the centre of the courtyard and stood staring at the main door into the villa, light peaking out around its edges. Zimat was there, just beyond that door. How long had it been since he last saw her? Three years? And now she was married with children. John doubted if she would even remember him. He sighed and looked up at the bright stars above.

The door to the house opened, spilling bright light into the courtyard. A mamluk stepped out, followed by a veiled woman. John’s heart quickened. He examined her closely, and their eyes met as she passed around the far side of the fountain. The woman looked quickly away. She was not Zimat. John watched as she stepped into a litter. As the gate swung open, four burly mamluks emerged from the gatehouse and carried the litter away. The gate was just swinging closed when John heard a creaking sound behind him. He turned to see a veiled woman standing in a shadowy doorway that opened into the courtyard from the side.

‘Zimat?’ John breathed.

‘John,’ the woman whispered. ‘Come quickly.’

John stepped through the door, and the woman closed it behind him. She took his hand and led him down a dimly lit hallway and into a bedroom on the right. She shut the door and removed her veil as she turned to face him. It was Zimat. Her face was thinner and her features sharper than when John had last seen her, but she had the same enchanting, dark eyes. John opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His mouth felt dry and his heart pounded. He had played this moment out a million times in his mind, but now that it had come, he felt awkward and confused.

Zimat stepped close. ‘I thought you would be happy to see me, John. Surely you have not forgotten me.’

‘Of course not.’ He embraced her, and she pressed her head against his chest. Her hair had been oiled and smelled of jasmine, as he remembered. After a moment she began to sob quietly, her shoulders shaking. ‘What is wrong?’ John asked. ‘What has happened?’

‘Do you still love me?’ Zimat asked.

‘You know I do,’ John whispered and kissed her. Her lips were soft, and her mouth, when she opened it to him, tasted of honey. But after a moment she pulled away to once more bury her face in his chest.

‘I never stopped loving you,’ she murmured, ‘even when I was in the arms of my husband.’

‘Your husband-’ John’s brow furrowed, and he gently pushed Zimat away. ‘I should go. Khaldun will be missing you.’

‘No, he is more interested in his new wife, Nadhira. He has not visited my bed in weeks.’

‘Why? Surely he is pleased with you.’

Zimat lowered her head. ‘I have borne him two daughters, but no sons. It is not my fault. None of Khaldun’s concubines has produced a male child.’

‘I see. So now you come to me for comfort,’ John said, his voice hardening. ‘And I was fool enough to believe you loved me.’ He stepped past her and put his hand on the door. ‘I will not be your toy, Zimat. And I will not put both our lives at risk just so you may spite your husband.’

Zimat grabbed his arm. ‘Wait! There is more that I must tell you.’ John lowered his hand. ‘Khaldun’s new wife is not faithful to him. She sleeps with another, hoping he will give her a son.’

‘Why tell me this, not your husband?’

‘Because he would not believe me, and because Yusuf will want to know. The man that Nadhira lays with is Turan.’

John’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’

Zimat nodded. ‘I have seen them together.’

‘You were right to tell me,’ John said.

‘You will tell Yusuf?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’ Zimat stepped closer to John and placed a hand on his chest. She looked up at him with her dark eyes. ‘I have missed you, John. May I see you again?’

John hesitated. He knew he should say ‘no’, but as he looked into her eyes, he felt his resistance crumble. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘but how?’

‘Come to my chambers at night.’

‘I cannot. It will cost both of us our lives if I am seen.’

Zimat flashed a brilliant smile. ‘You won’t be. I will tell you how.’

The next morning Yusuf presented himself at the door to the harem, which occupied its own wing of the palace. He was met by the tawashi — the chief eunuch in the service of Nur ad-Din’s wives. ‘You are expected,’ he said, and led Yusuf to Asimat’s chambers. At the door, he paused and turned to Yusuf. ‘I will be watching,’ he said. Then he knocked and pushed the door open. Sunlight from a row of broad windows on the far wall spilled into the room, illuminating the saffron-yellow carpet, a canopied bed in the corner and a large loom at which two servant girls sat, passing a pair of shuttles back and forth as they wove red and gold threads into a weft of tautly stretched, white wool fibres. The only other furniture was a washbasin. Asimat sat in one of the windows, reading. She looked up from her book and frowned.

‘Forgive me for disturbing you, my lady,’ the tawashi said with a bow. ‘May I present Yusuf ibn Ayub. He has come at the request of lord Nur ad-Din.’ The eunuch bowed again and backed out, closing the door behind him.

The girls at the loom kept working, ignoring Yusuf. Asimat stared at him fixedly. The soft morning light illuminated her from behind, outlining her form underneath a thin caftan of green silk. Yusuf shifted awkwardly and looked away, then looked back. ‘Well?’ Asimat demanded.

‘Nur ad-Din-’

‘My husband has sent you to cheer me,’ Asimat said, cutting him off. ‘I do not need cheering. You may go.’ She returned to her book. Yusuf did not move, and after a moment, Asimat looked up. ‘Why are you still here?’

‘I am sorry, Khatun, but you are misinformed. You husband did indeed send me to cheer you, but that is not why I am here. I have come because I wish to speak with you.’

Asimat’s eyebrows rose. ‘That is unfortunate, because I do not wish to speak with you.’

Yusuf felt himself flush, but he held his ground. ‘In that case, my lady, I will do the talking.’

Asimat sighed in exasperation. ‘Since it seems I cannot get rid of you, what did you wish to discuss?’

‘Damascus. You visited the city when Nur ad-Din took it.’

Asimat stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well,’ she said, rising from her seat in the window. ‘Come, we will speak in the gardens. Kaniz, bring me my veil.’ One of the servants left the room and came back with a white silk veil, which Asimat pulled over her face. She opened the door to find the tawashi waiting just outside. ‘I wish to visit the gardens,’ she told him.

‘Of course, Khatun,’ the eunuch said. He clapped loudly, and a moment later a dozen eunuch guards marched into the hallway. They surrounded Yusuf and Asimat as they left the palace, heading across the broad open space within the citadel towards the gardens on the far side. Asimat walked ahead of Yusuf and did not speak. She did not turn to look as they passed the mamluks training in the middle of the field. Finally they came to the gardens. Asimat took a gravel path that passed through an orange grove and into a large rose garden containing dozens of varieties in shades of red, white, yellow, pink and orange. The eunuch guards waited outside the garden.

Asimat stopped before a rose bush covered in loose, pink blossoms. She picked a flower and smelled it. ‘A damask rose. They were first cultivated in Damascus. They always remind me of my childhood.’

‘I, too, spent much of my childhood in Damascus,’ Yusuf said. ‘My family lived in Baalbek, but we had a home in the city, not far from the great mosque.’

‘I know it well,’ Asimat said. ‘I was rarely allowed outside the palace. Most of what I know of the city, I saw from the windows of my room. It faced the mosque. I used to watch the people in the market square behind the mosque and wonder what it would be like to be one of them.’

‘Surely you do not regret your place in life. You are married to the greatest ruler in all of the East, perhaps in the world.’

Asimat sighed and dropped the rose. ‘No, I do not regret my place,’ she said as she resumed walking. ‘But I remember once visiting the orchards of Damascus to pick mangos. I must have been five or six. As I was carried to the orchards in a litter, I saw two children my age playing in one of the gardens beside the road. They seemed so happy.’

‘I too visited those orchards,’ Yusuf said. ‘They are beautiful, a paradise. But the people there are not so happy. They lead a hard life.’

Asimat nodded. ‘I miss Damascus. Seeing it again after all these years was hard. I had not visited it since my marriage. That was long ago, just before the Christian siege.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Fourteen, barely a woman. Nur ad-Din was more than twice my age. I was terrified of him. I begged my father not to send me away, but it was an important alliance. It could not wait.’ She smiled. ‘I was wrong to be afraid. Nur ad-Din is a kind man.’

‘And yet he says you are unhappy.’

‘I have not given him a son,’ Asimat explained. ‘You heard Nur ad-Din last night. That is my one duty as a wife, and I have failed.’

‘You are young still.’

Asimat shook her head. ‘After eight years, what hope do I have? I have donated to the mosques and prayed to Allah, but my prayers have not been answered. I fear they never will be.’ They walked on in silence, their feet crunching on the gravel, until they reached the end of the path. ‘What of you?’ Asimat asked. ‘Do you have a wife?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You should.’ Asimat turned and began to retrace their path through the garden. ‘A man needs sons to carry on his legacy.’

‘I have no legacy, not yet.’

‘But you are Emir of Tell Bashir and a trusted councillor of Nur ad-Din.’

Yusuf shook his head. ‘I have accomplished nothing. My father and uncle started with no lands and no name. Shirkuh has become atabek of Nur ad-Din’s armies, and my father is wali of Damascus. I shall surpass them both.’

‘I do not doubt it. Nur ad-Din is right to expect great things from you. I see much of him in you.’

Yusuf met her eyes. ‘Do you?’

‘You have the same confidence, the same thirst for greatness. And you will have your chance in the years to come. We will go to war with the Franks. If you survive, you will rise to great heights.’

Yusuf grinned. ‘I do not plan on dying.’

‘I thought not,’ Asimat said, smiling back. They had reached the end of the path leading from the rose garden, and the eunuch guards stood nearby. Asimat stopped and turned to face Yusuf. ‘I must apologize for my rudeness earlier. I have enjoyed our talk, Yusuf. We shall speak again soon, I hope?’

‘If Nur ad-Din wills it, my lady.’

‘Until then.’ Asimat gestured to the guards, and they surrounded her as she headed towards the palace.

Yusuf picked a rose bloom and absent-mindedly plucked its petals as he watched her walk away. She was halfway back to the palace when she glanced back over her shoulder towards him. Yusuf smiled. He held the rose to his nose and inhaled. ‘Asimat,’ he whispered.

Yusuf was still smiling when he returned to his chamber. He found Faridah waiting for him. She stood at the window, looking out towards the grounds of the citadel. She was wearing a thin cotton robe, through which Yusuf could see the curve of her back and buttocks. ‘I saw the two of you from here,’ she said, her back still to him.

Yusuf crossed the room and placed his hands around her waist. He kissed her neck. ‘Surely you are not jealous of Asimat.’

‘Of course not.’ Faridah pulled away and went to sit on the bed. ‘I owe you my life, and I ask for nothing more. I know that there will be other women.’ She met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘But Asimat is the wife of your lord.’

Yusuf came over and sat beside her. ‘I am not a fool,’ he said.

Faridah touched his shoulder. ‘And I am not blind. I have seen Asimat. She is beautiful, and she is young.’

Yusuf reached beneath Faridah’s robe and ran his hand up her side to caress he breast. ‘You are hardly old.’

‘But I cannot bear children, and soon you will want a son.’ She looked away. ‘You will want someone younger.’

Yusuf touched her cheek and turned her face towards him. There were tears in her eyes. He brushed them away and kissed her. ‘You will always have a place in my household, Faridah.’

‘And in your heart?’ Faridah whispered. Yusuf nodded. ‘Then that is all I ask.’ She kissed him, sliding her arms around his back and pulling him down on top of her. He pulled her robe aside and began to kiss her breast.

There was a loud knock at the door, and Yusuf pulled away. Faridah sat up, pulling her robe back around her. ‘What is it?’ Yusuf demanded.

The door opened, and John entered. ‘Excuse me, Yusuf. I must speak with you.’ He glanced at Faridah. ‘In private.’

‘I have no secrets from Faridah,’ Yusuf replied, rising. ‘What is it?’

‘Your brother, Turan. He has committed adultery with Khaldun’s new wife, Nadhira.’

‘Zimat’s husband,’ Yusuf whispered, his jaw tight. He went to the window and gripped the sill as he looked out. Turan again. Always Turan. The fool would be the ruin of their family. Yusuf wondered if he truly loved Nadhira or if he were using her to get revenge against Khaldun for winning Baalbek. It hardly mattered. Yusuf turned back to John. ‘How do you know this?’

John refused to meet his gaze. ‘I cannot say.’

‘Cannot say? I am your lord!’ Yusuf snapped. ‘You will tell me.’

‘I am a free man,’ John replied quietly. ‘I will not tell you.’

Yusuf’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was it Zimat?’ John said nothing, and Yusuf crossed the room to him. ‘I will say this only once: Zimat is my sister. If you stain her honour, I will kill you myself.’

‘I understand.’

Yusuf nodded, then turned away to pace the room. ‘Send for Turan,’ he told John. ‘I will know the truth of this from him.’

‘He is not in the citadel. I saw him leave for town earlier today.’

Yusuf stopped pacing. ‘Do you think he went to-?’ John nodded. ‘Saddle my horse. I will go to Khaldun’s home.’

‘I will meet you at the stables,’ John said and left.

Faridah rose and went to Yusuf, putting her arms around him from behind. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

Yusuf picked up his sword belt and pulled it tight around his waist. ‘I do not know.’

‘Open up!’ Yusuf shouted as he pounded on the gate of Khaldun’s villa. John stood behind him, holding the reins of their horses. ‘I am Yusuf ibn Ayub, come to see Khaldun. Open this gate!’

The gate creaked open a few feet to reveal two eunuch guards. ‘Our lord is not here,’ one of them said in a high voice. ‘He left for Baalbek this morning.’

‘Then I will see my sister, Zimat.’ Yusuf tried to push past the guards, but they grabbed his arms, stopping him.

‘You cannot enter,’ the first guard said. ‘Khaldun has told us to admit no guests while he is absent.’

‘Not even my brother, Turan,’ Yusuf growled. The two guards exchanged a nervous glance. ‘Shall I tell Khaldun what you have allowed to take place in his absence?’

The second guard paled. ‘I will take you to your sister. Come.’

Yusuf turned to John. ‘Make sure no one leaves or goes to warn Turan.’ John nodded, and Yusuf followed the eunuch guard inside. They crossed the villa courtyard and entered the carpeted room where Yusuf had feasted the night before. They passed through into a corridor on the right, then turned sharply right again into a long hallway with rooms opening off to either side. The guard knocked at one of the doors.

‘Enter,’ Zimat called from inside, and the guard pushed the door open. Zimat, dressed in a simple white caftan, stood at the centre of the room. ‘Brother!’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank Allah you have come.’ She went to Yusuf and embraced him.

Yusuf gently pushed her away. ‘Is it true?’ Zimat nodded. ‘Why did you tell John and not me?’

‘I wanted to tell you, but I did not know how. Khaldun was there, and he would never believe me.’ Her face twisted into a scowl. ‘That slut Nadhira has blinded him.’

‘You should not have spoken to John,’ Yusuf told her. ‘He is a man and a Frank. You could be whipped for seeing him alone.’

Zimat lowered her head. ‘I did not know what else to do. Someone had to know.’

‘Very well. But you are never to see John again. You must promise me.’

Zimat looked away. ‘I promise.’

‘Now tell me, do you have proof of what you say about Turan?’

‘You will see for yourself.’ Zimat led him down the hallway to another door. ‘This is Nadhira’s room,’ she whispered.

Yusuf tried the handle. The door was locked. He reared back and kicked the door, splintering the wood around the lock. The door swung open to reveal a room dominated by a large bed. Nadhira was on the bed, her legs wrapped around Turan, who lay naked on top of her.

‘I said we were not to be disturbed!’ Turan roared as he turned towards the door. His eyes widened when he saw Yusuf. ‘Brother!’ he gasped.

‘What have you done?’ Yusuf roared, drawing his sword. Turan scrambled from the bed and backed into the far corner, his hands over his crotch. Nadhira screamed and pulled a silk sheet over herself. ‘You have dishonoured our family,’ Yusuf growled.

‘The whore seduced me!’ Turan protested.

‘He lies,’ Nadhira sobbed. ‘He forced himself upon me. He made me.’

Yusuf looked from one to the other. His lips curled back in a snarl as he felt rage build within him. He stepped around the bed towards Turan, who cowered in the corner. Yusuf raised his sword, but then stopped. Shirkuh had told him that he must not allow his passions to rule him. Yusuf closed his eyes and forced himself to breath deeply. When he opened his eyes, his features had calmed, his mouth setting in a hard line. He picked up Turan’s caftan and tossed it to him. ‘Get dressed.’

‘What will you do to me, Brother?’ Turan asked as he pulled on his caftan.

‘Nothing.’ Yusuf turned away.

Zimat grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘He has shamed the family! Father would have him beaten!’

Yusuf pulled away from her. ‘I am not Father.’

‘Then I will not be punished?’ Turan asked.

Yusuf looked back to him. ‘You will come with me to witness Nadhira’s fate. That will be your punishment.’

Nadhira left the bed and approached Yusuf. ‘And what will happen to me?’ she asked, her hands trembling and her eyes wide with fright.

‘I do not know,’ Yusuf replied. ‘That is for your husband to decide.’

Yusuf stood with Turan and John in the central market square of Aleppo on a warm spring morning, the air heavy with the scent of oranges from the trees that ringed the square. The space was crowded as usual, but today the people had not come for the market. Veiled women stood whispering at the edge of the crowd, their children playing around them. At the centre of the square, grim-faced men stood silently in groups of threes and fours, their eyes on the street that led from Khaldun’s home. In their hands, the men held fist-sized rocks.

A murmur of anticipation ran through the crowd as they caught sight of Khaldun approaching on foot, his hand clamped around Nadhira’s arm as he pulled her along beside him. He had returned yesterday after a week in Baalbek, and Yusuf had gone immediately to tell him of Nadhira and Turan. Khaldun had not questioned Yusuf’s word. He had simply nodded and told Yusuf to meet him in the square after morning prayers. Yusuf noticed that Khaldun, too, carried a white stone in his hand.

‘Do we have to be here?’ John asked.

Yusuf nodded. ‘It is my duty. I am the witness to the crime.’

The crowd parted as Khaldun dragged Nadhira to the centre of the square. She was dressed in a white cotton caftan, with no veil, and her eyes were red from weeping. The crowd closed around her. Yusuf pushed his way to the front, pulling Turan after him. Khaldun released Nadhira and left her standing alone as he turned to face Yusuf.

‘This woman has been accused of adultery,’ Khaldun said, speaking loudly so that the crowd could hear. ‘Yusuf ibn Ayub, you witnessed her crime. Do you swear by Allah that she is guilty?’

The square fell silent. The men in the crowd seemed to be holding their breath as they waited for Yusuf to speak. He looked at Nadhira, who shook so strongly with fear that she was barely able to stand. Yusuf suddenly felt sick. He looked away from Nadhira and said softly, ‘I swear it.’

‘The punishment for her crime is death by stoning,’ Khaldun said. He moved to stand across from Yusuf and raised the stone he held. As the wronged party, it was his duty to cast the first stone.

Nadhira took a step towards Khaldun. ‘Please, Husband-’ she sobbed. ‘Forgive me.’

Khaldun said nothing, but his face contorted in a grimace as he hurled the rock at her. Nadhira cried out in pain as it caught her in the shoulder, spinning her around. A second later her screaming was cut short as another rock smashed into her mouth, breaking her jaw and spattering blood across Yusuf and Turan. Turan looked away, his face pale. Yusuf grabbed his jaw and turned his head, forcing him to watch. Nadhira lay curled on the ground, moaning as rock after rock slammed into her with a sickening crunch. Her eyes fixed on Turan, then a rock hit her in the face, crushing her right eye and knocking her unconscious. The stones continued to fall until her broken, bloodied body was barely recognizable as human.

Yusuf turned and pushed his way through to the edge of the crowd, where he bent over and vomited. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose to find that the crowd was already dispersing, the men hurrying away as if ashamed of what they had done. John and Turan remained standing near Khaldun, who knelt in the centre of the square, cradling the wrecked body of his wife in his arms.

Turan went to Khaldun and placed his hand on his shoulder. ‘Forgive me,’ he pleaded, his voice shaking.

Khaldun looked up, his eyes wet with tears. ‘Leave me,’ his said, his voice breaking. His lips curled back into a snarl. ‘Get out of my sight, you bastard!’

Turan backed away, and Yusuf grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the citadel. When they reached the moat, Turan stopped and turned to Yusuf, who was surprised to see tears rolling down his brother’s cheeks. He had never seen Turan cry.

‘I–I loved her, Brother,’ Turan said. ‘And she is dead because of me. I cannot live with her blood on my hands.’

‘You must make amends,’ Yusuf told him.

‘How? I will do whatever you ask.’

‘I need capable men. Will you serve as my second in command?’

Turan hesitated. His hands clenched into fists, and Yusuf half expected his brother to refuse, to explode in a rage. But his hands relaxed and Turan nodded. ‘You could have killed me. I owe you my life.’

‘Good.’ Yusuf put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘But that is not enough, Turan. It is not in my power to forgive you for what you have done to the two of them.’ He nodded towards the square. Khaldun was still there alone, Nadhira clasped to his chest. ‘For that, you must look to Allah.’

That night John sat on the bed in his room in the citadel palace, staring at the candle flickering on the table before him and fiddling with a copper fal. His hair was still wet from washing, and he wore a fresh white caftan. He glanced out of the window to where the crescent moon was rising above the horizon. He crossed himself and rose. Yusuf was dining with Nur ad-Din, and John knew that Khaldun was with them. Nur ad-Din was seeking to cheer him after his wife’s betrayal, and so they would dine late into the night, which meant that John had more than enough time. He ran a hand through his long blond hair, then picked up his sword and pulled it part way from the scabbard, checking his reflection in the blade. The lines of his face were harder than they had once been, and his short blond beard fuller. He sheathed the sword and buckled it around his waist. Then he blew out the candle and left.

The gate leading out of the citadel was guarded by four men, lit by torches burning in brackets. John recognized al-Mashtub amongst the men and nodded. The huge mamluk winked back.

‘What are you doing leaving so late?’ he asked. ‘Off to see a woman?’

‘I am going to church, to pray,’ John replied as he strode past and headed down the ramp leading to the moat.

‘Give her my regards,’ al-Mashtub called out behind him, and there was laughter in the gatehouse.

John headed across the moat and out into the city. The cobbled surface of the main square stretched away before him, empty save for a single homeless beggar, slumped in the middle and calling out for alms. John passed by the man and turned left, walking to the end of a wide avenue. A narrow alley, barred by an iron gate, opened off to his right. John looked both ways, then quickly scaled the gate, avoiding the sharp spikes at the top, and dropped over the far side. The alleyway was so dark that John could hardly see his outstretched hand before him. A dozen feet ahead, he tripped over a sleeping figure, who cursed him loudly before rolling over and dropping back to sleep. John continued on his way, counting his steps. After thirty-two paces he stopped. He felt the wooden gate to his left. Unless he was mistaken, this was the home of Khaldun, and Zimat.

John could see the top of the wall above him, silver in the moonlight. It was at least ten feet high. Luckily, the alleyway was no more than four feet across, and putting his feet against one wall and his hands against the other, he was able to slowly walk his way upward until he grasped the edge of the roof. Gripping it tight, he kicked off from the wall behind him and scrambled on to the flat roof of Khaldun’s villa. He crawled to the opposite side and looked down into the courtyard. The fountain burbled in the darkness, but he saw no movement. John took a deep breath and then dropped off the roof. His boots sounded loudly as he landed, and he scrambled back and crouched in a shadowy corner, his heart pounding.

A door in the gatehouse opened, shedding soft candlelight into the courtyard and illuminating the low fountain. A guard in chainmail, sword in hand, stepped into the courtyard just to John’s left and walked away along the periphery of the garden. He reached the far side and turned. John held his breath as the guard approached and then walked passed, close enough that John could have reached out and touched him. The guard did not stop. He finished his tour of the garden and, satisfied, re-entered the gatehouse.

John exhaled in relief and stood. The door that Zimat had shown him through was on the far side of the garden, lit by the bright moon above and in clear view of the gatehouse. John whispered a prayer to the Virgin, then slipped from the shadows and hurried to the door. It was locked. Cursing under his breath, he turned and went to the main door of the villa. He tried the handle, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was open. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Then he waited with his ear to the door. They were no sounds of alarm.

John turned away from the door to find himself in a large, carpeted entrance room with passages leading off to the left and right. He took the dark hallway to the right and crept down it. After only a few feet the passage turned to the right. John rounded the corner just as one of the doors further down the hallway opened. John quickly stepped back behind the corner.

‘Yes, my lady,’ he heard a female voice saying, then the slap of sandals on stone as someone headed his way.

John retreated into the entrance room and slipped into a corner, pressing himself against the wall. A moment later, a maidservant entered. She crossed the room without even a glance to the side, and exited through the passage on the far side. As soon as she was gone, John hurried back down the hall to the door of the room she had left. ‘Mother Mary, let this be the right one,’ he whispered and then pushed the door open.

The room was dark, but John could make out the dim outlines of a bed with a woman lying in it. She sat up. ‘Who is there?’ she asked. It was Zimat’s voice. ‘Khaldun?’

John stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘It is me, John.’

‘John!’ Zimat rose from the bed and rushed to him, throwing herself into his arms. ‘Praise Allah, you have come.’ She looked up and her mouth opened as she kissed him. She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

John pulled away. ‘I did not come for that, but only because I promised I would, and to tell you that we must not meet again. You know what happened to Nadhira. The same will happen to you if we are caught.’

Zimat lowered her head. ‘I was there,’ she whispered. ‘I did not think that Khaldun would kill her. I did not wish that for her.’

‘But you are your husband’s first wife again,’ John said gruffly. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’

‘No, what I want is you, John.’ She met his eyes. ‘I am property to Khaldun, no good unless I bear him a son. But you love me.’

John frowned. ‘I cannot betray Yusuf, not again. We were young and foolish before, Zimat. We should not make the same mistake twice.’

‘You think it a mistake?’ Zimat turned away. ‘Then go. You do not love me.’

John touched her shoulder. ‘You know I do.’

‘Then choose: you betray Yusuf, or you betray our love.’ Zimat turned and put her head against his chest. ‘You left me once, John. Do not leave me again.’

John hesitated, then put his arms around her. They stood silently for a moment while he stroked her hair, and then she began to untie his cloak. John took her hands, stopping her. ‘But if we are discovered?’

‘Then we will die together. It is a chance that I am willing to take. Are you?’

An image of Nadhira’s broken body rose in John’s mind, but he shook his head, dispelling the thought. How many nights had he dreamed of holding Zimat? She was right: it was a chance worth taking. He stepped forward and took her in his arms, kissing her soft lips. ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Yes.’