Kingdom (16 page)

Yusuf slumped against the battlement. Al-Mashtub came striding along the wall towards him. ‘You crazy bastard. I thought you were dead for sure when we went to seize the ram.’

‘I would have been, if not for Saqr.’ Yusuf looked to the young mamluk, who was still at his side. ‘You saved my life.’

‘I only did my duty, Emir.’

‘You did well. I need a new commander for my private guard. You shall lead my khaskiya.’

‘Shukran, Emir.’

Al-Mashtub spat towards the retreating Franks. ‘May you rot in hell!’ Then he grinned. ‘Look! Three men under a flag of truce. They wish to parley.’

‘Let us hope they seek peace,’ Yusuf said. The excitement of the battle was fading and the gnawing hunger in his gut had returned. ‘Have a list of our dead drawn up, Al-Mashtub. And have the wounded taken to the hospital. Saqr, you come with me. We shall meet with our enemy.’

John had stopped just beyond the edge of the Christian camp, behind Shawar and King Amalric. In the gathering dusk, he could just make out the southern gate of Alexandria. The gate opened enough to allow two figures to emerge.

‘Here they come,’ Shawar said.

‘I understand their commander’s name is Saladin,’ Amalric said. ‘What do you know of him, John?’

‘I have never heard the name.’

‘I am surprised at that,’ Shawar said. ‘He is Shirkuh’s most trusted adviser.’

John shrugged. The two men had stopped halfway between the Christian camp and the wall.

‘Come,’ Amalric said. ‘Let us meet him.’

As John approached, he saw that one of the two men was leaning on the other. John got the impression that he would have collapsed without the support. Having stopped only a few feet away, it still took John a moment to recognize the man as Yusuf. He looked terrible. His cheeks were sunken, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His mail hung loosely from his thin frame.

Amalric spoke first. ‘Greetings, Saladin. Peace be upon you.’

‘And upon you, King Amalric,’ Yusuf replied in flawless French. ‘I am honoured to meet you.’

Amalric tugged at his beard. ‘You speak our tongue well.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ Yusuf’s expression hardened as he turned to Shawar. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Vizier.’

‘A pleasure to see you again as well, Saladin,’ the Egyptian replied in Arabic.

As Yusuf turned to face John, his eyes widened and the blood drained from his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

‘Are you well, Emir?’ Amalric asked.

Yusuf pulled away from the young man supporting him. He stepped to John and embraced him. There were tears in his eyes as he kissed John on both cheeks. ‘I cannot believe it! I saw you struck down. I thought you dead, John.’

‘And I thought you were someone else: Saladin, righteous in faith.’

‘Nur ad-Din gave me the name after the battle at Butaiha.’

Amalric’s forehead was creased. He had not been able to follow any of this. ‘You know this man, John?’

‘Saladin was called Yusuf ibn Ayub when I knew him. He was my lord amongst the Saracens.’

‘Indeed?’ Amalric’s eyebrows rose. ‘The two of you must speak, later. Now, we have important matters to discuss.’ He looked to Yusuf. ‘The siege is over.’

‘I will not surrender,’ Yusuf replied.

‘You have no choice in the matter. Shirkuh has negotiated a truce.’

Yusuf looked to John. ‘Is this true?’

John nodded. He produced the treaty from a pouch at his waist and handed it to Yusuf.

Yusuf frowned as he read. ‘Both Shirkuh and Amalric will withdraw from Egypt,’ he murmured. ‘It will be left to Shawar. Why would Shirkuh agree to such a thing?’

Shawar smiled. ‘Your uncle is not entirely unreasonable. I will pay him fifty thousand dinars.’

‘You will pay the Franks too,’ Yusuf said as he continued to scan the treaty. ‘And they will be allowed to garrison troops in Cairo.’

‘They are my allies,’ Shawar said. ‘That is why the treaty favours them.’

‘You and your uncle will be given free passage to Damascus,’ John said. ‘That is what matters.’

‘And the people of Alexandria?’ Yusuf asked. ‘I have sworn to protect them.’

Shawar scowled. ‘They must be punished for their treachery.’

‘Then this meeting is at an end. I will not surrender the city if it means their slaughter.’

‘But your uncle has already signed the treaty,’ Shawar protested.

Yusuf straightened and looked down his nose at the vizier. ‘I have a duty to Allah greater than my duty to my uncle. I will fight if I must.’

‘Saladin is right,’ Amalric said. ‘The people must be spared.’

Shawar’s brow creased. ‘But—’

‘It is a small enough thing to bring this war to an end,’ Amalric told him. ‘There will be no reprisals, Shawar. Swear it.’

‘Very well,’ the vizier muttered.

‘What good is his word?’ Yusuf demanded.

‘It will have to be good enough,’ Amalric replied. ‘Or you can continue to defend the city, and the people will starve. It is your choice.’

‘I will honour the treaty,’ Yusuf said reluctantly.

‘There is one more provision,’ Amalric said. ‘As part of the agreement, we will take a hostage. He will stay with us until Shirkuh’s army has left Egypt. Your uncle suggested that you send your brother, Selim.’

‘No, I will come. I will stay with your army so that I may see the people of Alexandria are not harmed.’

‘Very well. We have an agreement.’ Amalric stuck out his hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, Yusuf clasped it. ‘My men will leave the city tomorrow,’ he said. He looked to John. ‘I will see you again soon, friend.’

Yusuf was the last of his men to leave the city. He rode in the dust kicked up by the long column of soldiers, most of whom walked on foot, their horses long since eaten. The people of Alexandria crowded about them on either side, shouting insults and making the sign of the evil eye. They called Yusuf
khâyin
: traitor. They had trusted him to defend their city, and he had failed. Yusuf knew that there would be little he could do once he left Egypt to prevent the vizier from punishing the citizens of Alexandria. The people knew it, too.

‘You will roast in hell!’ a final voice called after Yusuf. Egyptian troops lined both sides of the road outside the gate. After Yusuf’s men had filed between them, they entered the city. Yusuf watched for a moment and then turned away. His
men
continued east, marching to join Shirkuh and the rest of the army where they waited near the city of Tell Tinnis. Yusuf rode south into the Frankish camp. He was stopped at the perimeter and led to the king’s tent. Amalric and John were waiting for him. Shawar was there, too.

‘Saladin!’ Amalric rose to greet him. ‘God grant you good day. It is a pleasure to see you again.’

Yusuf gave a short bow. ‘King Amalric.’ He did not greet Shawar.

‘My army will begin the journey to Jerusalem tomorrow,’ Amalric said. ‘Until I receive news that Shirkuh has left Egypt, you will travel with us as my guest. John will show you to your quarters.’

Yusuf followed John to a nearby tent. The floor was thickly carpeted. The camp bed looked comfortable enough. There was even a lap desk with paper and ink.

‘I trust you will be comfortable,’ John said.

Yusuf nodded. The two friends stood in awkward silence. So much had happened since that day at Butaiha when John had saved Yusuf’s life. Yusuf had hated himself for abandoning his friend to die. But John was alive.

‘How did you come to be at the court of the Frankish king?’ Yusuf asked at last.

‘I was to be executed as a traitor, but King Amalric spared me.’

There was another silence, during which John poured them each a cup of water. He handed one to Yusuf. ‘How are the men? Qaraqush? Al-Mashtub?’

‘The same as ever, only thinner.’

‘You look half starved yourself. I shall find you some food.’

Yusuf nodded. He had been hungry for so long that he had grown accustomed to ignoring the dull ache in his belly. But now, faced with the prospect of eating, his stomach awoke with a growl. John returned with a loaf of hot bread and some lentil stew. Yusuf tore into the bread and drank straight from the bowl.

John managed a smile. ‘You eat like a wolf after a long winter.’

Yusuf finished the soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I eat like a starved man after a long siege.’

‘Was it very hard?’ John asked.

Yusuf nodded. ‘I am glad to be done with Egypt. I hope I never see these lands again.’ He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. It was not just the hardships he had suffered during the siege. Shawar’s betrayal had wounded him. ‘What of you, friend?’ He gestured to John’s vestments and the cross hanging from his neck. ‘You are a priest now?’

‘Yes.’

Yusuf shook his head in wonder. ‘Why?’

‘It was that or marry.’

John did not need to say more. Yusuf knew he had become a priest because of Zimat, because he would not marry another. ‘I have taken Zimat and Ubadah into my household. I am raising him as my own son.’

‘Thank you, brother.’ John hesitated for a moment. ‘How is Zimat?’

‘After Butaiha, she thought you dead. She hardly spoke for months. She is better now. I have begun to look for a new husband for her.’

John’s face registered not pain but rather a despairing resignation. Yusuf had seen that expression before on men he had killed, the moment they realized that they would die. ‘That is good,’ John managed, although his broken voice belied his words. ‘She should forget me. It is for the best.’

‘She will never forget you.’ John winced, and Yusuf saw that his words of comfort had only hurt more. He searched for a way to change the topic. ‘What is Jerusalem like?’

‘A strange city. The Franks have driven out all the Jews and Muslims, and now it is half empty. Beautiful but empty.’

‘I would love to see it.’

‘Perhaps you shall, one day.’

‘No, sooner. I do not relish the thought of riding to Damascus alone once I am freed. Do you think Amalric will allow me to accompany the Christian army as far as Jerusalem?’

‘I am sure of it.’ John smiled. ‘It will be good to travel with you again, brother. Like old times. Do you remember our first trip to Tell Bashir, all those years ago?’

‘How could I forget? You saved my life.’ Yusuf met John’s eyes. ‘You could have come back to us at the beginning of the siege, John. I would have welcomed you.’

‘I have given my word to Amalric, and to God.’

‘I understand. I will not ask you to break your oath.’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘It is strange to see you in a priest’s garb, strange that we are now enemies.’

John placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘We do not have to be. Perhaps I can best serve you here, with the Christians. I can help bring peace between our people.’

‘Your king, Amalric, does not strike me as a man of peace, John. He brought his army to Egypt readily enough. And Nur ad-Din has vowed vengeance for the defeat he suffered at Butaiha.’

‘Perhaps we can change their minds. If we can be friends, then who is to say all the Franks and Saracens cannot learn to share the Holy Land.’

Yusuf smiled. ‘You have become a dreamer, John. Your people hate my people. Nothing can change that.’

‘I pray that you are wrong.’ John met his eyes. ‘I have sworn an oath to Amalric, but I do not wish to be your enemy, Yusuf.’

‘Nor I yours.’ Yusuf forced a laugh. ‘Such weighty talk! I am simply glad we are together.’

John’s forehead creased. For a moment Yusuf thought he would say something more about the awkward position in which they found themselves, but then John smiled. ‘Me, too, brother,’ he said. ‘Me, too.’

Chapter 6

NOVEMBER 1164: JERUSALEM

‘S
o you are forbidden to fight?’ Yusuf asked. He was riding along the dried-up bed of a wadi with John at his side. Amalric and the constable Humphrey rode a few paces ahead. A hundred of the king’s knights followed behind. The rest of the army had dispersed, the sergeants and lords returning to their lands.

‘I am forbidden to draw blood.’ John reached into his saddlebag and produced a mace – a wicked-looking club with a heavy head of grooved steel. ‘I can still fight.’

‘But if you smash a man’s skull, will he not bleed?’

‘Yes, but the mace does not draw blood, it only crushes the skull. The blood comes later. It is an after-effect.’

Yusuf laughed. ‘That is ridiculous!’

‘Perhaps, but if you plant a seed and later a tree appears, does that mean that you made the tree grow? No. God did that. You only planted a seed.’

‘So you smash their skulls, and God makes them bleed?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I will never understand your faith.’

It was another version of the conversation that they had been having since leaving Alexandria. Yusuf could make no sense of the strange rules by which his friend now lived. He had marvelled at John’s tonsure, his vestments, the fact that he was expected to live in a church with other religious men. He feared
that
the man he had known had disappeared beneath that tunic and cross.

The road left the valley floor and began to angle uphill over rocky ground. They rode past olive groves and grapevines. Here and there, goats grazed.

‘All faiths have their mysteries, Yusuf,’ John said. ‘Is it logical that according to Islam, a man can marry five women, but a woman only one man?’

‘If a woman had more than one husband, then how would we know who was the father of her children?’

‘And why should that matter so?’

‘Why does it matter? Surely your faith does not welcome bastards.’

‘God loves all his children equally.’

‘Even the ones who do not deserve His love, the murderers and the thieves?’

‘Jesus forgave prostitutes and murderers alike. He teaches that all deserve to be loved.’

‘And what of you, John? Do you love all men equally? The Arab and the Frank? Christian and Muslim?’ He met John’s eyes. ‘Amalric and me?’

‘Not equally. But I pray for them all.’

‘And when you pray, whose victory do you ask for?’

‘I pray for peace.’

‘And when peace is not possible?’