Eagle

Chapter 19

JUNE 1163: ALEPPO

John crouched atop the gatehouse of Khaldun’s home and looked down into the dark courtyard. He had only been to visit Zimat a dozen times since his return to Aleppo over a year ago; they both knew how dangerous each visit was. But tonight the sky was moonless and the streets dark. It was a night for thieves — or lovers.

John dropped down into the courtyard and pressed himself against the wall. After a moment he crept to the side door and slipped inside. As he walked down the hallway past Ubadah’s room a board creaked beneath his foot. He froze. There was no sound of movement in the house, and he continued on to Zimat’s room. He pushed the door open. The room was dark and he could just make out Zimat asleep in bed. John entered and closed the door softly behind him. He removed his boots and breeches, then sat beside Zimat, gently pushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. She smiled in her sleep. John kissed her lightly on the lips, and her eyes opened.

‘You should not have come,’ she murmured, but her smile said otherwise.

‘I had to see you. It has been too long.’ He pulled off his caftan and started to get into the bed beside her. Zimat pushed him back.

‘Wait. Let me look at you a moment longer.’ John stood naked, self-conscious as he began to harden. ‘Your zib is happy to see me,’ Zimat teased. ‘Bring it here.’ She pulled the sheets back, and he slid into bed beside her. ‘I am glad you came,’ she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. With her finger, she gently traced patterns on his bare chest.

John stroked her hair. ‘I have news,’ he whispered. ‘Yusuf says the new Frankish king, Amalric, is gathering an army. I met him once, when I first came to the Holy Land. He was only a boy and now he is a king.’

‘ Shhh,’ she said, putting her finger to his lips. ‘I do not wish to discuss the Frankish king.’

‘What do you wish, my lady?’ Their eyes met, and her hand moved down his chest, past his stomach. ‘That is what I was hoping for,’ he murmured and rolled over so he was on top of her. He kissed her soft lips, her neck. She moaned softly. Then her body stiffened. Her eyes were wide with fright. John turned and saw Ubadah standing in the doorway. John had not seen him for months, and the boy was taller, his face thinner. He looked more like John than ever.

‘Mother, what are you doing?’ the boy demanded. ‘Who is that man?’

‘It is nothing, my son.’

Ubadah’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is him,’ he spat. ‘The ifranji! I will tell Father.’ The boy disappeared from the doorway.

‘No, wait,’ John called. He grabbed his caftan from the floor and pulled it on as he chased after the boy. He caught Ubadah in the hallway and grabbed his arm. The boy began to scream: ‘Father! Father!’

‘Quiet,’ John hissed, lifting the boy from the ground with one arm and clamping his free hand over Ubadah’s mouth. He turned to move back down the hall when behind him a door opened. Khaldun stepped out.

‘Ubadah?’ he called sleepily.

The boy bit the hand John held over his mouth. ‘’Sblood!’ John cursed and pulled his hand away.

‘Father!’ Ubadah cried. ‘Help!’

John ran back to Zimat’s room, kicking the door shut behind him. Zimat had pulled on a robe and was sitting on her bed, her face buried in her hands. John handed Ubadah to her, and she clutched the boy to her chest. ‘We are lost,’ she cried. ‘Khaldun will kill us both.’

John found his belt and drew his dagger. ‘I will not let him touch you,’ he promised. He moved to join her on the bed and stumbled as the floor lurched beneath him. ‘What is happening?’

The shaking grew worse, becoming a rolling as if he stood on the deck of a ship at sea. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, and the washbasin in the corner fell over with a loud crash. Ubadah began to cry. ‘It’s an earthquake!’ Zimat shouted. ‘We must get out.’

John took Ubadah from her, and they headed for the door. Suddenly it swung open, and Khaldun stepped into the room, sword in hand. When he saw John, his eyes went wide. ‘You!’

Then the ceiling above Khaldun collapsed, and he disappeared amidst the debris and dust. John put his arm around Zimat and pulled her back against the wall opposite the door. The shaking was so violent now that they could barely stand. They sank down against the wall, and John pulled Zimat and Ubadah close to him, holding them in his arms.

‘God save us,’ he whispered. ‘Naudhubillah.’ Then there was a loud crack above them. John threw himself over Zimat and the boy just before the rest of the ceiling collapsed.

‘Oh, yes,’ Yusuf breathed as he lay on his back in Asimat’s bed with her on top of him, her hands on his chest and her hips moving rhythmically. She moaned in pleasure, then arched back as she began to move faster. The bed shook beneath them as they climaxed together. Asimat stopped and looked down at him, a smile on her face, but the shaking did not stop. Yusuf heard shouting and men running in the hall.

‘An earthquake,’ he whispered.

‘You must go,’ Asimat said as she rolled off of him. ‘The guards will come for me.’ Yusuf climbed from the bed and began to pull on his breeches. ‘There is no time for that,’ Asimat hissed. She took his other clothes and cast them out of the window. ‘Go!’

Bare-chested and barefoot, Yusuf slipped out of the window just before the door to the room crashed open. ‘Khatun!’ a guard called. ‘Come with us. We must leave the palace.’

Yusuf began to inch his way along the ledge. The trembling was growing worse, and after only a few feet he stopped to keep himself from falling, his fingers digging into the thin cracks between the stones. Still the shaking worsened. To his right, a section of the ledge, where he had stood only moments before, buckled and fell away, dropping down the sheer slope. Yusuf felt the earth roll under him, and to his left, a stretch of wall ten feet wide shook and then collapsed outwards, spilling stones and a screaming eunuch guard into the void. The man’s cry was cut short as he hit the rocks below.

Yusuf managed to edge forwards and swing through the gap opened up in the wall. He found himself in a hallway and crossed to the far side, where he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Five eunuch guards rushed by, pulling two women in nightgowns after them. Not one of them even looked at Yusuf as they sprinted past and rounded a corner further down the hall. There was a deafening rumble and the corridor filled with dust as the ceiling in the hallway to the right collapsed. Yusuf pushed away from the wall and ran in the opposite direction, after the guards. He was rounding the corner when he collided with the eunuch, Gumushtagin. The two men staggered back, staring at one another in surprise.

‘Yusuf!’ Gumushtagin exclaimed. ‘What are you doing in the harem?’

‘I–I wanted to make sure that our lord was safe.’

Gumushtagin’s eyes narrowed as he took in Yusuf’s lack of clothing. ‘You came straight from your room?’ Yusuf nodded. ‘You lie,’ the eunuch hissed. ‘The path across the palace is blocked. There is no way through.’

Yusuf opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Gumushtagin sneered. ‘The Honourable Emir Yusuf — our lord will be most interested to hear what you were doing in his harem.’

Just then, the floor lurched beneath them, knocking both of them to the ground. The wall to their right collapsed outwards to reveal the night sky. The floor buckled and tilted sharply, sending them both sliding towards the gap. As his feet slid out into space, Yusuf managed to grab hold of a piece of the wall that still stood. With his other hand, he grabbed Gumushtagin’s wrist as the eunuch slid past into the void. Yusuf strained to hold on to the eunuch as he dangled over the rocks far below.

‘Don’t drop me!’ Gumushtagin squealed. ‘Don’t drop me!’

The jagged stone that Yusuf held to keep from falling was cutting into his fingers, and Gumushtagin’s wrist was slowly slipping through his hand. ‘Hold on to me!’ Yusuf shouted, and the eunuch locked his free hand around Yusuf’s wrist. Gritting his teeth, Yusuf managed to pull Gumushtagin up until he could grab hold of a section of the wall. Then, slipping his fingers into the cracks in the broken floor, Yusuf crawled up to a flat section. He reached back and pulled Gumushtagin up after him. The two lay there, gasping.

Again, the floor began to roll beneath them. Yusuf got to his feet. ‘It’s not safe here. We must get out of the palace.’ He helped Gumushtagin up, and they made their way through corridors littered with fallen stones. The stairs leading to the ground floor were still intact. They hurried down, through the rubblestrewn entrance hall and out into the night. Yusuf looked back. Jagged holes had appeared in the walls of the palace, and to the left, an entire wing had collapsed.

He turned around. A crowd had gathered near a gap in the wall, where a section some twenty yards wide had fallen outwards. Yusuf started that way when Gumushtagin grabbed his arm. ‘You saved my life. I will not tell Nur ad-Din what I saw tonight.’ Yusuf nodded and turned to go, but Gumushtagin did not release him. He leaned close. ‘I will say nothing, but I will not forget. You ruined my plans for Tell Bashir, Yusuf. If you cross me again, then I will tell Nur ad-Din what I know.’ He released Yusuf. ‘I will be watching you.’

‘I understand.’ Yusuf hurried on and found Asimat on the edge of the crowd, standing safe beside Nur ad-Din. ‘My lord,’ Yusuf said and bowed. ‘Praise Allah, you are safe.’

The king had a far-off look in his eye. He did not appear to see or hear Yusuf. ‘Allah has sent us a message,’ he murmured. ‘He is angry with me. We must attack. We must attack.’

‘Go,’ Asimat told Yusuf. ‘Our lord is not well. I will tend to him.’

Yusuf waded into the crowd, looking for Faridah. Everywhere, servants and mamluks from the palace were on their knees wailing. Others hurried from person to person, looking for friends or loved ones. Yusuf found Faridah sitting with her head down and her knees drawn up to her chest. She was covered in grey dust. Qaraqush knelt beside her.

‘Faridah!’ Yusuf cried. ‘Thank Allah you are well.’

She looked up. The right side of her face was covered in blood. Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Yusuf,’ she whispered as tears came to her eyes. ‘You’re alive!’ He knelt down and embraced her. Yusuf could feel her shaking as she sobbed against his shoulder.

‘I found her in the rubble,’ Qaraqush told him. ‘She was lucky to survive.’

‘Have you seen John?’ Yusuf asked.

Qaraqush hung his head. ‘No. No one has.’

Yusuf nodded. He felt a pain in his chest as he clutched Faridah to him. Tears began to form in his eyes, and he released her. He would not let his men see him cry. He turned away and went to look out past the gap in the wall. The scene in the town below was hellish. Fires had spread, filling the air with black smoke and illuminating entire city blocks that had collapsed into rubble. Yusuf looked to the street where Khaldun’s house had stood. He could not see the house amidst the rubble and clouds of smoke.

‘Zimat,’ he whispered.

Yusuf led Qaraqush and a dozen mamluks into the city, dodging past debris. The facade of the great mosque had collapsed outwards, spilling massive stones into the main square. A fire raged in the shattered remains of the mosque. Yusuf passed a soot-covered imam who was tearing at his grey beard and shouting repeatedly, ‘Allah has forsaken us! Allah has forsaken us!’

Yusuf turned down a crowded side street. Some men and women were weeping openly. Others stood dumbstruck as they stared at the ruins of their homes. Here and there, men dug frantically through the rubble. Yusuf reached the end of the street and stepped past the broken gate to Khaldun’s street. There were fewer people here, and the air was thick with choking black smoke. He passed a young girl covered in grey dust, stumbling down the centre of the street and calling loudly for her mother. Yusuf crawled over a pile of rubble that had spilled into the street from a collapsed building and came to the wall around Khaldun’s home. The wall still stood, lit brightly by a fire blazing across the street. A eunuch guard sat in the open gateway, his head cradled in his hands. As Yusuf approached, he saw that the man’s scalp was wet with blood.

‘Where is my sister, Zimat?’ Yusuf asked. The guard looked at him dumbly. ‘Khaldun, your master. The boy Ubadah. Where are they?’ The guard turned away, shaking his head. Beyond him, Yusuf could see that the home had collapsed into a pile of stones, wooden beams poking out here and there. Yusuf hurried through the gate, crawling on to the ruins. ‘Zimat!’ he called out. ‘Khaldun!’ He turned back to where Qaraqush and his men were waiting in the street. ‘Search the rubble. Find them!’

Yusuf’s men spread out across the remains of the house, and he crawled forward over the debris. He had scrambled far ahead of his men when he heard a sound, like the mewing of a cat. It came from a large mound of rubble just ahead of him. Yusuf put his ear against the mound. It was no cat that he had heard; it was a woman crying out, her voice muffled by the rubble. Hurriedly, Yusuf began to pull aside debris. The crying grew louder. He pulled another stone aside and could see through a crack into a space beneath the pile of rubble. ‘Zimat!’ he called into the crack.

‘I am here,’ she called back weakly.

‘Hold on! I’m coming.’ Yusuf was frantically pulling stones away. He could see Ubadah, lying motionless, and Zimat’s arms holding him. They were huddled in a narrow space in the rubble. He pulled another stone aside, and he could see Zimat’s face. He grabbed a large, flat rock and straining, rolled it aside. Zimat lay before him, curled around Ubadah. Over them, shielding them both, crouched John. He was covered in dust, and blood ran from the back of his head. He looked up at Yusuf, and their eyes met.

Yusuf took a step back, his face pale. He blinked in disbelief. ‘John?’ he murmured. ‘What are you-’ He stopped as he realized what he was seeing. The blood began to pound in his temples. ‘What is this?’ he whispered.

Behind him, he could hear Qaraqush shouting: ‘My lord, did you find something?’ Yusuf turned to see the mamluk some twenty yards off, making his way towards them.

Yusuf turned back to John, who had extricated himself from the rubble. He had taken the boy from Zimat and was helping her up. ‘You must go,’ Yusuf hissed at John. He took Ubadah from him. ‘Go!’

John nodded and scrambled away, around the pile of rubble. Yusuf put his head to Ubadah’s chest and heard his heart beating. He turned towards Qaraqush. ‘The child lives!’ he shouted. ‘Zimat too!’

The shouting awoke Ubadah, who looked about, confused. ‘What happened?’ He looked up and saw that Yusuf was holding him. ‘Uncle?’

‘Yusuf!’ Qaraqush called. He had stopped only a few feet away. His eyes were fixed on something at his feet. ‘You must come and see this. Leave the boy.’ Yusuf handed Ubadah back to Zimat and stepped over the rubble to Qaraqush. The mamluk pointed at a gap in the debris. ‘There.’ Half of Khaldun’s face was visible through a pile of masonry and fallen beams. His eye was open, staring sightless up at the heavens. Qaraqush put his hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘I am sorry, Yusuf.’

Ubadah had broken free of his mother and now appeared at Yusuf’s side. ‘What is it?’ His eyes fell on his father’s face. Yusuf lifted up the boy and carried him away, but it was too late. ‘Father!’ Ubadah cried. ‘What has happened to my father?’

Yusuf began to speak, then looked at Ubadah’s face. The words died on Yusuf’s lips. He did not know what to tell the child. His father lived, but Khaldun was dead.

The sky was beginning to lighten when Yusuf, covered in soot and dust, finally returned to the palace. His room was gone, so the guard at the door directed him to another, in a wing of the palace that had not been damaged. He entered to find Faridah waiting for him.

‘Zimat and the boy?’ she asked.

‘They live.’

‘Thank Allah.’ Faridah crossed the room and embraced him. Yusuf stood stiffly and looked straight ahead while she held him. She let go and stepped back. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘John,’ Yusuf whispered. ‘He has betrayed me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Zimat’s child — it is John’s.’

‘Does Khaldun know?’

‘He is dead.’

‘What will you do?’ Faridah asked.

‘My duty — I will avenge the honour of my family and of Ubadah.’

‘By killing the child’s father?’

‘His father is already dead.’ Yusuf strode past her to the window, where he looked out on the ruined city. Fires still burned here and there.

‘You know better than that, Yusuf. The boy still has a father.’

‘He must never know.’ A tear ran down Yusuf’s cheek, making a track in the soot. ‘I will take John hunting. We will ride into the desert, and I will finish this.’

Faridah approached from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do not,’ she said gently.

Yusuf spun around and slapped her backhanded, snapping her head to the side. ‘Quiet, woman!’ he hissed. ‘It is none of your business.’ Faridah said nothing. Yusuf could see the red print of his hand on her cheek. After a moment he reached out and gently touched it. ‘Forgive me.’

‘I will. But if you kill John, will you be able to forgive yourself?’

Yusuf turned back to the window. ‘I thought he was my friend,’ he murmured. ‘How could he?’

‘Perhaps he loves her-like you love Asimat.’

‘This is different.’

‘Is it?’

‘John is not just one of my men. He is my friend. Does that mean nothing?’

‘It should — for both of you.’ Faridah embraced him from behind, her chin on his shoulder. ‘Do not do this thing, Yusuf. You will regret it.’

‘I must.’

‘No. You do not want his blood on your hands.’

‘What I want does not matter,’ Yusuf said, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘The earthquake was a sign, a warning from Allah. I have been living without faith, without honour. It must stop. Friend or no, John must die.’

John rode along the ridge of a tall dune, lit gold by the sun setting behind him. Yusuf rode just ahead, the sand spilling away from his horse’s hooves and sliding down the steep slope. They had been riding all day, leaving Aleppo far behind them to the west. They had come to hunt, Yusuf said, but he had ignored the few signs of game that John had pointed out. Yusuf had hardly said a word during the long journey. He rode with his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, and John followed, unwilling to disturb his friend’s silence, afraid of what Yusuf might say.

The wind picked up, and John could hear the hiss of the sand as it blew towards them. He pulled a fold of his turban across his mouth and squinted against the stinging sand. After short time the storm passed, leaving him and his horse covered in a thin layer of grit. His horse shook its mane, sending sand flying. John blew his nose and picked grit from his eyes.

They rode down from the dune on to a flat waste of hard-baked sand, broken here and there with ridges of red, flaky rock. There was no vegetation, no life anywhere, and the only sound was the soft crunch of their horses’ hooves on the ground and the gentle whisper of the wind. John spurred his horse up alongside Yusuf’s. ‘It reminds me of our trip to Tell Bashir, all those years ago,’ he said.

‘ Hmph,’ Yusuf grunted, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.

‘We were so young, only boys. We have come a long way, haven’t we, my friend?’

Yusuf glanced at him. ‘A long way,’ he murmured and spurred forward to ride ahead of John.

They rode out of the sandy waste and up a ridge of rock. Their horses’ hooves clattered on the hard surface, sending pebbles skittering. At the top of the rise they looked down into a shallow ravine, a thin stream of water flowing at the bottom. ‘This looks like a good place to camp,’ John suggested.

‘No, just a bit further.’

They rode north along the ridge while the sky faded from golden red to a dark violet speckled with innumerable sparkling stars. A new moon rose, bathing the landscape in silvery light. John could see his breath, drifting upwards in the night sky. He pulled his cloak more tightly about him. Still, Yusuf rode on, holding the reins with one hand while with the other he fingered the eagle hilt of his dagger. Finally, John rode closer and touched his friend’s arm. ‘Yusuf.’

Yusuf started. ‘What is it?’

‘We should make camp. Before the night’s cold settles.’

Yusuf nodded. ‘Yes, you are right. It is time.’ He pointed to a wide, flat spot beside the stream below. ‘Down there.’

They picked their way down a narrow track to the water’s edge. ‘I’ll gather wood,’ John said as he slid from the saddle. The wind had died, and the soft crunch of his boots in the sand was loud in the silence. Yusuf had also dismounted and was busy with his saddle. John wrapped his horse’s reins around one of the bushes on the riverbank, and the horse lowered its head to drink. He removed its saddle and patted its side. Then he headed upstream to look for wood.

Some thirty yards from camp, he found a pile of dry driftwood. He knelt down and began to gather up branches when behind him he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn — the hiss of steel sliding against leather. He turned to see Yusuf, sword in hand. His friend’s mouth was set in a hard line.

‘What is this?’ John asked as he stood.

‘You know,’ Yusuf said, his voice trembling. ‘You lay with Zimat. Ubadah is your son. Admit it.’ He took a step closer and raised his sword. His eyes had narrowed dangerously, and his lips were stretched back in a snarl. ‘Admit it!’

John met Yusuf’s eyes and knew that his friend meant to kill him. He had feared this day since the first time he lay with Zimat. He would not fight it. He owed Yusuf his life and more. He sank to his knees in the sand. ‘I lay with her. The child is mine.’

‘How could you?’ Yusuf shouted, taking another step towards John. ‘I warned you not to touch her. I thought you were my friend!’

‘I am.’

‘You are a dog, like all Franks!’ Yusuf kicked out, catching John on the chin.

John slumped forward, hands cradling his face, then pushed himself back upright. He spat blood from his mouth. ‘I am a Saxon. And I am your friend.’

‘I must kill you,’ Yusuf said. His eyes shone with tears as he brought his sword to John’s neck. The steel was cold. ‘You have stained the honour of my family. You have betrayed my faith in you.’

John met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘Then we have both betrayed our masters,’ he said softly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Yusuf lowered his eyes. The sword shook in his hands, the sharp blade drawing a thin trail of blood from John’s neck. ‘This is different,’ he said at last. He drew the sword back, preparing to strike.

‘I love her,’ John whispered.

Yusuf began to swing down, and John closed his eyes. But the blow never came. John opened his eyes to see the blade hovering inches from his neck. Yusuf’s face was contorted in a strange mixture of anger and pain, his forehead creased, jaw clenched and eyes wet with tears. He cast his sword aside and strode away.

John let him go. He finished gathering wood and then returned to their camp. Yusuf was sitting against his saddle with his back to John, staring at the dark waters of the stream. John dropped the kindling and set about building a fire. When the blaze was crackling, he pulled up his saddle and sat facing the flames. After a moment, Yusuf turned around. They sat across from one another, staring at the blaze in silence.

Finally, one of the logs burned through and collapsed, sending a spray of sparks into the night sky. John leaned forward to poke at the fire with a stick, then added another branch. He sat back and looked across the flames to Yusuf, who was still staring straight ahead, his features shadowy in the firelight. ‘You asked me once why I came to these lands,’ John said to him. Yusuf did not reply, and John continued. ‘I was raised in Northumbria in the town of Tatewic, far from here, in England. It is a green land, so different from here. But my land too has been conquered, and by the same Franks who conquered the holy city of Jerusalem.’

‘But you are a Frank.’

‘No, I am a Saxon. My father was a thane, an emir amongst my people. Before the Normans came, we were a family of great lords. When William the Bastard claimed England for himself, my family joined the other thanes to fight him. We lost almost everything. Still, we were some of the lucky ones. The Normans killed hundreds. Worse, they burned crops and slaughtered livestock, leaving thousands more to die of hunger. We lived, but my father never forgot.

‘He was a good man, my father. He taught us to fight and to farm the land. He raised my older brother to follow him as thane; even after the wars, we still had a smallholding and a few serfs. He sent me to the nearby abbey every day to learn the French and Latin of our invaders. I was to become a priest.’ John stopped, looking into the fire and battling old memories. It seemed he could see the face of his father in the flames.

‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked.

‘My older brother was not satisfied with the little that was left to us. He made a deal with the Norman king. He accused the remaining Saxon lords in our county of treason, including my father. They were all hanged, and their lands seized by the Normans. In return, my brother was given the land of our neighbours. I could not forgive him. I killed him, my own brother.’ John looked away.

‘You did your duty,’ Yusuf said quietly.

‘Yes.’ John swallowed. ‘But killing him did not feel like justice. I could not forgive myself for what I had done, and I feared the Normans would hang me for a criminal. So I fled. The Pope has promised redemption to all who take up the Cross. I went to France and joined the crusade. I thought my capture at Damascus was God’s punishment for my crime.’ He looked away from the fire, to Yusuf. ‘Now I know it was a gift. I will never forgive myself for what I did, but God has granted me a new life, a new brother.’ Yusuf met his gaze. ‘Can you forgive me, Brother?’

Yusuf’s forehead creased, but he said nothing. They sat beneath the endless stars while the fire burned to nothing. When the last flames had vanished and the embers had turned to ash, Yusuf rose and stretched. He looked down at John. ‘You know that you can never marry her.’

‘I know.’

Yusuf nodded. He stepped over the ashes and held out his hand. John took it and Yusuf pulled him up. ‘Come then, friend. Let us return to Aleppo.’