‘That is enough for today,’ Imad ad-Din shouted over the rain. ‘The emir in Damascus has sent for me, and it will be a long ride in this storm. I will return in two days, and we will resume your studies. Until then, think well on what we have said today.’

‘Aiwa, ustadh,’ the Yusuf replied. Yes, teacher.

Yusuf went to John, who grinned at him. ‘Just like home!’

Yusuf shook his head in wonder at his strange friend. ‘Come!’ he shouted. ‘We must return home. There will be feasting tonight to celebrate the first rains of the year.’

The two boys sprinted out of the temple. Yusuf pulled himself into the saddle of his horse and gestured for John to mount behind him. They rode off at a canter, the horse’s hooves splashing in the ankle-deep water flowing down the streets. By the time they arrived at the villa, dusk had fallen. They stabled the horse and headed straight for the kitchen and its warm fires. Inside, preparations for the feast were already underway. Pots hung over the fire releasing mouth-watering smells. Bread was baking in the oven. And people were everywhere: kneading dough at the long table in the middle of the room, chopping vegetables, carrying pails of goat’s milk in from the pantry and adding wood to the fire. Basimah stood in the middle of it all, her hands on her hips as she issued orders. When she noticed Yusuf and John, she frowned.

‘What are you two doing there dripping on my kitchen floor?’ she demanded. ‘The governor of Baalbek is coming tonight. Go and make yourselves presentable.’

John stood against the wall in the dining room, directly behind Yusuf. The low table was crowded with food: crisp, freshly baked flatbread; a steaming vegetable stew; and whole, roasted partridges that had been marinated in a mixture of yoghurt, mint and garlic. John’s mouth watered, but he would have to eat later with the other servants. For now, his role was to stand silent behind his master, ready to do anything he was asked.

Half a dozen of Ayub’s mamluks, led by Abaan, sat at the foot of the table. Yusuf and Selim sat near the table’s head across from Khaldun, the eldest son of Mansur ad-Din, the governor of Baalbek. John studied Khaldun with special interest, for he was to be Zimat’s husband. She had met him for the first time that evening, before the men went to the dining room and the women retired to the harem – the section of the house forbidden to visiting men. Khaldun was thin, with long black hair and pinched features. His father was a plump man with an exceptionally long, curly beard. He sat to the left of his son, and to his left, at the head of the table, was Ayub. The space between Ayub and Yusuf was empty. Turan had not yet arrived.

Ayub frowned as he looked towards the door for at least the tenth time. ‘I apologize again for my son’s tardiness,’ he said to the governor. There were footsteps in the hall, and Ayub’s face brightened. ‘Ah, this must be him.’

But it was not Turan. The doctor Ibn Jumay entered, followed by a Frank in dark priest’s robes. The priest was thin and tan, with a narrow face and brown, tonsured hair. John’s eyes widened in recognition. It was the same priest that he had met his first day in the Holy Land, all those months ago.

Ibn Jumay bowed towards Ayub. ‘Greetings Najm ad-Din. And to you, Mansur ad-Din. I apologize for my late arrival. The rains slowed my return from Jubail, and I did not learn of your invitation until I reached home. I came straightaway.’

‘You are welcome at my table, Ibn Jumay,’ Ayub said. He looked to the priest and scowled. ‘And who is this that you have brought with you?’

‘I am William of Tyre,’ the Frank declared in passable Arabic.

‘I met him in Jubail,’ Ibn Jumay explained. ‘He is a priest and my guest at my home in Baalbek.’

‘If he is your guest, then he is welcome here,’ Ayub said, although his gravelly voice sounded far from welcoming. ‘Sit, both of you.’ The mamluks made room at the centre of the table, and William and Ibn Jumay sat down across from one another.

Ayub held up a piece of round flatbread. ‘We shall begin without Turan. We feast tonight to thank Allah for the rains He has sent us.’ He broke the bread in half. ‘To Allah! And may our crops grow tall and our livestock fat under this rain.’ He dipped his bread in the stew and ate. The others at the table followed suit.

Mansur ad-Din was toying with his beard as he examined the Frankish priest. ‘Tell, me. What brings you to my lands, William of Tyre?’

‘Curiosity. I have long wished to see the temple of Baalbek. It was a Christian church once. I was at the home of William of Jubail when Ibn Jumay visited to treat the lord’s son. Ibn Jumay offered to escort me to Baalbek, so I came.’

‘It is dangerous for a Christian to travel in Muslim lands,’ Ayub noted. ‘You might be taken for a spy.’

‘I am a man of God. I carry no arms, and I mean no harm.’

‘If you carry no arms,’ Mansur ad-Din noted, ‘then you will be easy pickings for bandits and thieves upon your return.’

William smiled. ‘God will watch over me.’

‘ Hmph.’ Ayub’s forehead creased. ‘When you return, I will send two men to escort you back to Christian lands.’ He looked to Ibn Jumay. ‘How did your patient fare?’

Ibn Jumay sighed. ‘Not well, I fear. He is dead.’

‘You could not cure him? I have never known you to fail before.’

‘Oh, I could have saved him from his illness, but I could not save him from his own people.’ Ayub’s eyebrows arched questioningly, and Ibn Jumay continued. ‘My patient was a knight, the nephew of the lord of Jubail. His thigh was cut in one of their tournaments, and an abscess formed. By the time I arrived, it had grown so large that the man could no longer walk. I applied a poultice to his leg, and the abscess opened and began to heal.’

‘So how did he die?’ Ayub asked.

Ibn Jumay frowned. ‘A Frankish doctor arrived. He called me a charlatan and had me chased from the sick man’s room, but I listened at the door. This madman asked the knight if he would rather live with one leg or die with two. When the knight replied that he would rather live with one leg, the doctor sent for a man with a sharp axe. It took two blows to sever the leg. Blood was everywhere. The Frankish doctor could not stop the bleeding. I watched the knight die while a man-at-arms held me back.’

‘Bloody savages,’ Mansur ad-Din muttered.

‘Not all our doctors are such butchers,’ William noted. ‘But alas, there are some such among us. We have much to learn from your people.’

‘The Franks do not seem interested in learning,’ Ayub replied. ‘Only in taking. Look at what happened at Damascus. The ruler befriended you, and yet you sent your crusaders against his city.’

‘There are many among us who did not wish to attack Damascus,’ William said. ‘Queen Melisende believes that there can be peace between our peoples. Her son, Amalric, believes the same.’

‘But Amalric is not king, nor is Melisende. Baldwin rules in Jerusalem.’

‘He rules alongside his mother. She is still the true power, even more so after the failure to take Damascus.’

‘A woman ruling over men!’ Mansur ad-Din scoffed.

‘But a wise woman,’ William countered.

‘ Hmph,’ Mansur ad-Din snorted. ‘Still a woman.’

At that moment, Turan entered with Taur trailing behind him. Both walked stiffly; John guessed they had ridden far that day.

‘Where have you been?’ Ayub snapped at Turan.

‘I was in town. I was delayed by the rain. I apologize.’

‘Apologize to our guests, who you have insulted.’

Turan bowed. ‘My apologies honoured governor, Khaldun.’

Mansur ad-Din, his mouth filled with partridge meat, waved his hand dismissively. ‘It is of no matter.’

Turan sat down, and Taur took up his place next to John. Ayub studied his son. ‘Tell us, Turan. What were you doing in town?’

Turan hesitated, his eyes roving the room as if searching for the answer. ‘I-I was with friends, practising swordplay.’

Mansur ad-Din brightened at this. In his younger days, the governor had had a reputation as a swordsman. ‘My son tells me that you are quite fearsome with a sword, Turan.’

Turan sat up straighter. ‘None my age can best me.’

‘And what of you, young Yusuf?’ Mansur ad-Din asked. ‘Are you also a terror with the sword?’

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