Eagle (36 page)

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.’

AUGUST 1156: ALEPPO

Y
usuf stood before a bronze mirror in his palace chamber and examined his reflection. He had been to the baths, where a barber had trimmed his beard short and smoothed back his hair with sweet-smelling oil. Upon his return, he had dressed in a red satin caftan decorated with swirling patterns in silver thread. Yusuf straightened his collar, then leaned closer to the mirror and frowned at the patchiness of his beard. He went to a trunk and took out a small wooden box. He opened it, scooped out a handful of kohl – a mixture of ash and ghee – and rubbed it into his beard. He went back to the mirror and nodded in satisfaction.

‘Are you ready yet?’ John grumbled as he entered the room.

Yusuf quickly turned away from the mirror. ‘Yes. Let’s not keep her waiting.’

Yusuf led them across the palace to the harem entrance. They were expected, and the tawashi escorted them to Asimat’s room. He knocked, and a moment later one of Asimat’s female servants opened the door. Yusuf and John followed the tawashi into the room.

‘My lady,’ the eunuch declared. ‘Your guests.’ He withdrew, shutting the door behind him. The servant went back to the loom in the corner.

Asimat sat cross-legged, a writing table on her lap and her quill poised above the paper. She looked up and smiled. ‘Yusuf! And who is this you have brought with you?’

‘My friend, John,’ Yusuf said with a small bow. ‘You sent for us.’

‘Ah yes, the civilized Frank who, you say, is immune to the charms of women,’ Asimat teased. John’s cheeks reddened. ‘Come, sit,’ Asimat continued. ‘I am glad you came. I wished to see you before you departed.’

Yusuf frowned as he and John sat across from Asimat. ‘Departed? I have no plans to leave Aleppo.’

‘Nevertheless, you shall leave soon enough.’

‘For where?’

‘Frankish lands. Nur ad-Din will tell you at the council meeting tomorrow.’

‘You are better informed than I, Khatun.’

‘Of course. I am Nur ad-Din’s wife. You see him only during council meetings or hunts. The rest of the time, he is mine,’ Asimat concluded with a wink.

‘Perhaps you could tell me, then, what I will be doing amongst the Franks.’

‘I have told you enough already. You will find out the rest tomorrow.’ Asimat turned her gaze to John. ‘Is it true that you have not yet taken a woman?’

John flinched noticeably. ‘It is true.’

‘Is it because of your religion?’

‘No, Khatun.’

‘You do not like women then?’

‘No – I mean yes,’ John said, flustered. ‘I like them.’

‘I see,’ Asimat mused, her head tilted to the side. ‘And if you did have a woman, what would you do if you found her with another man?’

John looked away. ‘I do not know.’

‘Would you kill her?’

‘No, my lady,’ John said softly.

‘What then? Imagine the woman you love in the arms of another man. What would you do?’

John’s brow knit and he clenched his jaw. ‘I – I do not know.’

‘I see my questioning has made you uncomfortable,’ Asimat said. ‘You may go.’

‘Thank you, Khatun.’

Asimat watched John leave, and then her eyes turned to Yusuf. ‘Usama was wrong. It seems your friend remains a Frank at heart. He does not have our sense of honour.’

‘Perhaps John is right.’

Asimat arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You have heard what happened to Emir Khaldun’s wife, Nadhira?’

‘The girl who was stoned.’

‘It was my doing,’ Yusuf said bitterly. ‘There was no honour in that.’

‘You should not blame yourself, Yusuf. It is our law.’

Yusuf’s cheek twitched as an image of Nadhira’s mangled face flashed through his mind. ‘Have you ever seen a woman stoned?’

‘Yes,’ Asimat said quietly. They sat in silence for a moment, then her face brightened. ‘But let us talk of other things. I asked you here to tell you my good news: Allah has blessed me. I am with child.’

Yusuf was surprised to find that he was disappointed, jealous of Nur ad-Din. He lowered his gaze as he struggled to compose his features. ‘Praise be to Allah,’ he murmured, forcing a smile.

Asimat seemed not to notice his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Nur ad-Din is pleased. He will hardly let me out of his sight. He has three doctors attending to me, including a Jew who says he knows you. Ibn Jumay he is called.’

‘I have known him since I was a child. I would trust my life to him before any other.’

‘He tells me I must not drink wine while pregnant,’ Asimat pouted, then smiled. ‘But what of you? Have you found a bride yet?’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘You should be married soon, Yusuf. Shall I find a girl for you?’

Yusuf looked away. ‘That would be most kind, Khatun,’ he forced himself to say.

‘It is settled, then,’ Asimat said brightly. ‘I will speak to Nur ad-Din. By the time you return to Aleppo, I shall have found you a wife.’

‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum,’ Yusuf said, looking over his right shoulder while kneeling on the floor of his room. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum,’ he repeated as he looked left. His morning prayers finished, he rolled up his prayer mat and went to the window. The sun was just rising over the horizon. It was time for the council meeting. He left his room, heading for the council chamber, which sat atop the palace’s tallest tower. Nur ad-Din said it was the only place where he could be sure they would not be overheard.

Two mamluks stood at the entrance to the narrow, spiralling staircase that wound up to the council room. They searched Yusuf for weapons, then waved him through. He hurried up the stairs, glancing through the window slits as he passed. The hill on which the citadel sat fell away steeply below the tower, and the buildings of the town appeared tiny at this height. The stairs ended at a thick wooden door, guarded by another mamluk. The guard nodded to Yusuf and pulled the door open.

The council chamber was round and twenty feet across, with arched windows on all sides. Cushions had been placed along the wall, but the half-dozen emirs present were not sitting. Yusuf recognized Usama speaking with the fat-faced eunuch, Gumushtagin. Khaldun stood just apart from them, scowling grimly. There were black rings under his eyes. Yusuf crossed over to him. ‘Salaam, Khaldun. I have not seen you for many days. You have been well?’

‘Well enough.’

‘I am sorry about Nadhira.’

Khaldun’s face twisted into a grimace. ‘Sorry? For what?’

Across the room, the door opened and Nur ad-Din entered,
followed by Shirkuh. The emirs fell silent. ‘Welcome, my friends,’ Nur ad-Din said as he crossed the room and took a seat against the wall. ‘Please, be seated.’

The emirs sat in a circle in order of their seniority. Usama and Shirkuh sat to Nur ad-Din’s left and right. Yusuf found himself directly across from the king. ‘I have called you here because I have received important news from the Frankish court,’ Nur ad-Din said and looked to Usama.

‘While last in Jerusalem,’ Usama began, ‘I learned that the Frankish king, Baldwin, is secretly gathering troops in the Kadisha. On my way home, I passed through Tripoli, where I saw many Frankish knights arriving from overseas. And I heard rumours of raids against the Bedouin who live on the borders of the Frankish kingdom.’

‘Raids?’ Gumushtagin asked. ‘That would violate our treaty with Baldwin.’

Nur ad-Din nodded. ‘War is coming at last. I will send word to the emirs and sheikhs telling them to gather their men. We must prepare to strike!’ The assembled men nodded their agreement.

‘Where will we attack?’ Yusuf asked.

‘Acre,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘We shall take the Franks’ main port, cutting their lands in half and dividing Jerusalem from Tripoli and Antioch in the north. With Acre in our power, we can then turn south to take Jerusalem. Their kingdom will fall.’

‘Inshallah,’ several of the emirs murmured. Others slapped the floor to show their approval. Yusuf cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, malik, but if we strike at Acre, will this not leave Aleppo exposed?’

The emirs glared at Yusuf, but Nur ad-Din nodded. ‘You are correct, Yusuf.’ He turned to Shirkuh. ‘Tell them our plan.’

‘We will divide our army in two,’ Shirkuh explained. ‘I will command a force in Aleppo while Nur ad-Din will lead a larger army from Damascus. My men will march through the Kadisha
valley towards Tripoli, in order to distract the Franks and block them from attacking Aleppo. When the Frankish forces move against us, then Nur ad-Din will move on Acre, taking the castle of Banyas along the way.’