‘Gumushtagin is no longer your lord. I am. Nur ad-Din has decreed it.’
‘Yes, but Nur ad-Din is far away, and the Seljuk Sultan is paying us well for Tell Bashir – one thousand dinars.’
Yusuf looked Qaraqush in the eyes. ‘I will give you two thousand.’
‘And where will you find two thousand dinars?’ Qaraqush scoffed.
‘That is my concern, but I promise: you will have your money.’
Qaraqush frowned. ‘I think you lie.’
‘I do not expect you to believe me. But you have nothing to lose. If I am defeated by your champion tomorrow, then you will be rid of me. If I win, then you can hold me hostage until the sultan’s men arrive. If I do not get you the money before then, you can sell me to the sultan. But if I do succeed, then you will swear loyalty to me and to Nur ad-Din.’
Qaraqush grinned. ‘You are a bold one, Yusuf. You will make a great leader, if you do not die first.’ He placed his hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘If you defeat my champion and find the money, then I will gladly swear loyalty to you.’
‘I have one more condition,’ Yusuf warned. ‘Until the sultan’s men arrive, you and your men must do as I say. I will be in command here, as Nur ad-Din has decreed.’
Qaraqush burst out laughing, his head tilted back and his shoulders shaking. ‘By Allah, you are brash. First win your fight. Then we shall see.’
‘Wake up!’ John jerked awake to find Yusuf shaking his shoulder. It was morning, and pale sunlight streamed through the cell window. John sat up. He could hear dozens of voices outside. Occasional snatches of conversation floated through the window. ‘The little one won’t last one minute-’ ‘The Frank either-’ ‘Al-Mashtub will fight. I saw him kill a man with one blow-’
‘They started gathering after morning prayers,’ Yusuf said. He smiled. ‘One minute? They’re in for a surprise.’
John shook his head. ‘Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Remember what I taught you.’
Outside, the crowd began to roar, and a moment later, John heard the rasp of the door’s bolt. The door swung open, and he blinked against the sudden brightness. A mamluk stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light.
‘Come,’ the guard said. ‘It is time.’
John followed Yusuf out of the cell. The courtyard was crowded with dozens of mamluks, who stepped aside to create a narrow path. As John passed, they leaned close, spitting insults: ‘Frankish bastard!’ ‘Son of a donkey!’ ‘Male whore!’ ‘Your mother is a slut!’ John thought back to Acre, when, newly arrived in the Holy Land, he had fought the Saracen prisoner. Now he was the one being led to the slaughter. John shook the thought from his head. He would not die in this god-forsaken frontier town, not if he could help it. He walked on stone-faced, following Yusuf into an impromptu ring that had been marked off in the dust of the fortress courtyard.
Qaraqush was waiting for them in the centre of the ring. He pointed to John. ‘You first.’
John stripped off his tunic so that he wore only his breeches. ‘Remember,’ Yusuf told him, ‘fight to the end. If you lose, you die.’ John nodded. Yusuf clasped his arm. ‘Good luck. Allah yasalmak.’ God keep you safe. Yusuf stepped back to the edge of the ring, and John turned to await his opponent.
‘Nazam!’ Qaraqush called.
The crowd cheered as the young, bald-headed guard from the night before stepped forward. He had already stripped to his waist, and his well-defined stomach and chest glistened with oil. That would make it hard for John to grab hold of him. John could hear men in the crowd placing bets over how long the fight would last. Then Yusuf shouted, ‘I’ll take the Frank to win! I will take all comers!’ He was immediately crowded about by mamluks.
Qaraqush chuckled and turned to John. ‘What is your name?’
‘John.’
The mamluk commander frowned at the foreign-sounding name. He turned and gestured to John’s opponent. ‘I present to you Nazam!’ he roared to the crowd. ‘Our fiercest warrior, he has already killed six Franks. Today, he fights another: Juwan. They will fight until one of them is unconscious, or dead.’ Qaraqush stepped out of the circle. ‘Fight!’
Nazam circled left, his movement smooth and assured. John shadowed him, keeping the ring between them. The crowd was close behind him, yelling insults. Someone shoved John in the back, and he stumbled into the centre of the ring. Nazam attacked immediately, stepping forward and levelling a straight right at John’s chin. John ducked the blow and slammed his shoulder into Nazam’s gut. He tried to wrestle the mamluk to the ground but slid off his oiled skin. Nazam spun away and moved to the far side of the ring.
John turned to face him, careful now to keep distance between himself and the crowd. He edged towards Nazam. Suddenly the mamluk sprang forward and snapped off two quick jabs. John stumbled back, his right eye already swelling. Nazam grinned, and the crowd roared, calling for him to finish the Frank. Nazam pressed the attack, delivering another left jab that caught John on the chin. The mamluk put all his weight behind a straight right, but this time John knocked the blow aside with his left arm. He stepped inside Nazam’s reach and threw a vicious uppercut that caught the mamluk in the jaw, snapping his head back. Nazam stood unsteadily, blood running down his chin from where he had bitten his tongue. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed. The crowd fell silent.
John rolled Nazam over and knelt on his chest. He raised his fist threateningly, but Nazam did not respond. He was already unconscious. John rose. The mamluk warriors around him were looking on wide-eyed. Qaraqush entered the ring, his brow knit. Then he grabbed John’s right wrist and raised his arm high. ‘The winner!’ he shouted. Several of the men spat. John walked over to Yusuf amidst silence.
‘You just made us ten dinars,’ Yusuf told him, sliding a handful of coins into a pouch and handing it to John.
‘Be careful out there,’ John replied. ‘My opponent was over-confident. Whoever you fight, he’ll be ready for you.’ Yusuf nodded and pulled off his tunic. He was thin, his ribs showing clearly, but John knew that he was stronger than he looked. ‘Allah yasalmak,’ John called as Yusuf stepped into the ring.
‘Al-Mashtub!’ Qaraqush yelled. ‘You’re next.’
The crowd parted, and a bear of a man stepped forward. He was easily a foot taller than Yusuf and perhaps twice as heavy. He had thickly muscled shoulders, a barrel chest, and his biceps were thicker than Yusuf’s thighs. The giant grinned when he saw Yusuf, revealing a broad gap between his front teeth.
‘Mary, Mother of Jesus,’ John whispered.
‘You said you wanted to face my best man,’ Qaraqush told Yusuf. ‘Allah save you.’ He stepped out of the ring. ‘Fight!’
The crowd roared. Al-Mashtub raised his huge fists – like twin mallets – and headed straight across the ring. Yusuf began to circle away, and Al-Mashtub charged, moving surprisingly quickly for his size. Yusuf just managed to jump aside, and the huge man went barrelling into the crowd, bowling over three men.
Yusuf waited in the centre of the ring while Al-Mashtub turned and lumbered back into the circle. The huge mamluk advanced more slowly this time. Yusuf tried to circle away, but Al-Mashtub shadowed him, keeping the smaller man in front of him. Yusuf was running out of space, and Al-Mashtub was almost on top of him.
‘Move!’ John shouted. ‘Don’t let him get a hold of you!’
Yusuf stepped forward and snapped off a jab, catching Al-Mashtub in the chin. Al-Mashtub swung, but Yusuf ducked and got off two more quick blows to his gut. It looked like he had punched the side of an ox. Al-Mashtub did not even wince. He tried to grab Yusuf, but the smaller man ducked away and sprinted past him.
‘He’s a slippery bastard,’ the mamluk to John’s right spat as he handed a few coppers to the next man along. ‘I was certain that runt wouldn’t last a minute.’
Al-Mashtub moved in again, and Yusuf hit him with a quick combination – two left jabs to the chin and a right to the gut – before dancing away. The giant mamluk’s lower lip was split and bleeding, but he kept bulling his way in, trying to get a hold of Yusuf. Yusuf continued jabbing and slipping away. As the fight wore on, John noticed that some in the crowed had started to cheer for Yusuf.
Al-Mashtub closed again, swinging in a wide arc for Yusuf’s head. Yusuf ducked the blow and delivered an uppercut to the chin, then two quick blows to the gut. ‘Get out!’ John yelled, but it was too late. Yusuf stayed in close to deliver another right to the head. Al-Mashtub caught the blow in his huge hand. He jerked the smaller man
