a nearby sparrow, and then Yusuf began to laugh. John joined him, and soon they were both bent over, roaring with laughter.
‘Yusuf,’ John gasped between laughs, ‘you should have seen your face when it leapt for you.’
‘My face? When it hit you, you looked as if you were going to piss yourself!’
Their laughter faded as quickly as it had come, and they stood silent, staring at the mighty beast they had slain. John winced as he felt his right shoulder; his tunic was torn and bloody. Yusuf approached and gripped his other shoulder. ‘Thank you, John. I owe you my life.’
John shrugged. ‘I only did my duty, m’allim.’
Yusuf met his eyes. ‘Do not call me m’allim. I am your friend.’ John nodded. ‘Now come.’ Yusuf stepped forward, grabbed the spear with both hands and wrenched it free. ‘Let us take our prize home.’
Yusuf rode through the streets of Baalbek, leading the horse over which the dead panther had been slung. As he and John wound up the hill towards the villa, people came out of their homes and lined the streets to see the beast, some staring openmouthed, others cheering. The women stayed in the background, silent and veiled, but more than a few fluttered their eyelashes at Yusuf as he road past. He had a smile on his face as he left the road and trotted through the gate into the villa.
As Yusuf dismounted in the courtyard, his father came out to greet him, followed by Shirkuh. ‘Uncle!’ Yusuf shouted. He went first to greet his father, then turned to Shirkuh, who gripped him by the shoulders. ‘Ahlan wa- Sahlan,’ Yusuf said, and the two exchanged kisses.
‘Well met, young eagle.’ Shirkuh looked past Yusuf and nodded towards the horse that carried the black panther. ‘What have you caught?’
‘See for yourself.’
They gathered around the panther. Shirkuh whistled appreciatively and reached out to stroke the glossy black fur. ‘I’ve never seen one so big. It will make a fine cloak. Where did you kill it?’
‘The slopes of Mount Tallat al Jawzani, but I was not the one who slew the beast.’ Yusuf gestured to John. ‘It was John.’
‘Ah, yes. I remember him,’ Shirkuh murmured. ‘A useful man.’
‘My lord is the one who tracked it,’ John said quietly.
Shirkuh slapped Yusuf on the back. ‘Well done, nephew.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘And what brings you to Baalbek, Uncle?’
‘You, Yusuf. You are coming with me to Aleppo. It is time that you begin your service to our lord, Nur ad- Din.’
Ayub stepped forward. ‘Nur ad-Din is a man who values first impressions, Son. If you please him, then you will go far. You can become an emir, perhaps even the commander of his armies, like your Uncle Shirkuh.’
‘Or more,’ Shirkuh added. ‘It is no secret that Nur ad-Din has no son.’ Shirkuh turned to Yusuf. ‘I have told him great things of you, young eagle. Do not disappoint me.’
That night, John lay in the straw of the stable hayloft, Zimat pressed against his side, her head upon his chest. He looked down at her, trying to create a memory that he could carry with him. Zimat had, if possible, grown even more beautiful in the past two years as new curves appeared at her hips and breasts. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face John. A tear ran down her face, glistening silver in the moonlight. John gently brushed it away.
‘Do you remember our first kiss,’ he whispered, ‘when you came to me in the stable?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why did you come?’
‘To thank you. You saved me from Turan.’ A trace of a smile curled her lips. ‘And I was curious. You were so different from any of the men I had known.’
‘More handsome?’ John suggested playfully.
‘No.’ She laid her head back on his chest. ‘It is the way you looked at me. In the kitchen when we first met, you met my eyes and did not look away. My father would have had you whipped had he seen you.’
John stroked her hair. ‘I did not know any better.’
‘It is not just that you did not lower your eyes.’ Zimat looked up and met his gaze. ‘I felt like you saw me, truly saw me, as someone to love, not as something to possess.’
John frowned. ‘I could not possess you if I wished to. You will be married to Khaldun next spring.’
‘No!’ Zimat took his hand. ‘I cannot bear it. We will run away. You will take me far from here.’
John looked away. ‘We cannot.’
‘We can! I know where my father keeps his gold. I can take enough for us to reach Jerusalem.’
‘It is not the money. Your father is a powerful man. No one would take us in. There would be nowhere for us to hide between here and the Frankish lands. We would be caught, and I would be killed.’ John met her eyes. ‘And perhaps you too.’
‘I am not afraid to die. Better that than to lose you, to live as Khaldun’s slave.’
‘I will not be responsible for your death,’ John told her. ‘And there is another reason: your brother.’
‘He is your master. You owe him nothing.’
‘No, he is my friend, and I owe him my life.’
Zimat turned away. ‘You do not love me.’ She began to sob, her shoulders shaking.
John reached out and gently touched her cheek, turning her face towards him. ‘You know I do,’ he said as he welcomed her into his arms. He held her tight, her head against his chest, and they lay in silence for a long time. When Zimat finally pulled away, John’s caftan was wet with her tears.
She met his eyes. ‘I want to lay with you John, as a wife lays with her husband.’
‘But-’
Zimat put a finger to his lips. ‘I do not want my first time to be with Khaldun. I want it to be with you.’
‘Are you sure?’
Zimat nodded and slipped her caftan off her shoulders.
Yusuf stood in the courtyard behind his home and listened to the rhythmic chant of the muezzin calling the faithful to pray. For the first time since his tenth birthday, he would not complete his morning prayers. Shirkuh had declared that they would leave at dawn, and already the sky behind Mount Tallat al Jawzani was brightening, shading from pink to smouldering orange and incandescent white. Yusuf looked away from the mountain and turned slowly, taking in his home one final time. His gaze lingered on the leafy lime trees, under which he had spent so many summer hours reading; on the cell where John had been confined all those years ago; on the door to the kitchen, emanating comforting smells of yeast and spice.
‘Yusuf!’ John called, and Yusuf wiped away tears before turning to watch him approach. John had filled out since Yusuf had first met him. Now twenty, he had a broad chest and thickly muscled arms. ‘Our horses are ready,’ he said. ‘They are waiting for you.’
Yusuf nodded and headed for the front courtyard, followed by John. Their horses – two saddled and two more packed with Yusuf’s possessions – stood near the gate, next to Shirkuh and his men. Yusuf’s family was gathered in front of them.
Yusuf went to Selim, who had screwed up his face in an effort to master his emotions, and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. ‘I will see you soon, Brother. In two more years, it will be your turn.’ Selim nodded but did not speak. Yusuf embraced him. ‘Allah yasalmak.’
He turned next to Zimat. She would be married soon, and then she would be gone from his life, part of another man’s household. Indeed, this might be the last time they saw one another for many years. Zimat’s eyes were distant, looking past Yusuf, and tears ran down her cheeks.
‘Do not cry for me, Sister,’ Yusuf said.
Zimat flushed red, and her eyes snapped back to Yusuf. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I shall miss you, little brother. May Allah bring you fortune.’
Yusuf moved on to his mother. ‘You will do great things, Yusuf; I know it,’ she said. She bit her lip, holding back tears, then embraced him. ‘Always come back to me, my son.’
‘I will,’ Yusuf murmured, his voice choked with emotion. He faced his father last of all.
Ayub stood with his back straight, his face betraying nothing. He placed his hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘Remember, my son: you serve Allah first, our lord Nur ad-Din second, and your family third.’ He withdrew his hand and held out a bundle of folded cloth. ‘You are a man now. This is yours.’
