towards him and then locked his arms behind Yusuf’s back, hugging him to his chest and lifting him off the ground.
Yusuf’s arms were pinned to his side, and he struggled in vain to break his opponent’s grip. He kneed Al- Mashtub in the groin, and although the huge man’s eyes widened, he did not release Yusuf. Yusuf smashed his forehead into Al-Mashtub’s face, splattering blood as he crushed the giant man’s nose. Al-Mashtub grinned despite the blood running down his face, and he squeezed Yusuf tighter, forcing the air from him. Yusuf’s face shaded scarlet, then purple. He tried to head-butt Al-Mashtub again, but this time the mamluk pulled his head back out of the way. Yusuf thrashed wildly, desperate to escape. The veins on his forehead and neck bulged as he gasped for air.
Then Yusuf went still. Al-Mashtub grinned in triumph. Suddenly Yusuf opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into the mamluk’s thick neck. Al-Mashtub tried to jerk away, but Yusuf did not let go. Blood ran down the huge man’s neck, and he roared out in pain. He released Yusuf and began trying to push him away. But Yusuf clung to him. When Al-Mashtub finally managed to throw Yusuf off, the boy fell back with a piece of flesh in his mouth. Al-Mashtub stood wide-eyed in the centre of the ring, his hand to the ragged wound in his neck, blood oozing between his fingers.
The crowd had fallen silent. Yusuf stood and spit out the piece of flesh. He snarled, showing teeth stained red with blood. Then he clenched his fists and went on the attack, pounding four quick blows into Al-Mashtub’s stomach. Al-Mashtub swung at Yusuf’s head, but he ducked the blow and threw a wicked uppercut, followed by two more straight rights to the head. He skipped back out of the way at the last second, avoiding another wild punch from the mamluk.
Al-Mashtub was staggering now, covered in his own blood. In one last effort, he roared and charged. Yusuf was ready. He jumped aside and punched Al-Mashtub hard in one of his kidneys. With a cry of pain, the huge man fell to his knees, and Yusuf sprang on him from behind, wrapping his arms around his opponent’s throat. Al- Mashtub pawed feebly at Yusuf’s arms, but he was too battered and weak to put up much of a fight. His lips tinged blue and his eyes bulged. Then the huge man collapsed, unconscious. Yusuf rose and stood unsteadily, his chest heaving.
John stepped forward and put his arm around Yusuf to keep him from falling. ‘I can’t believe you bit him. I have never seen you fight like that.’
‘I did what I had to do to win.’
Qaraqush stepped into the ring. ‘By the prophet, I can’t believe it,’ he murmured as he took Yusuf’s hand and raised it. ‘The winner!’
As the crowd of mamluks cheered, Qaraqush turned towards Yusuf. ‘You’re a tough one, all right, Yusuf. Nur ad-Din was no fool when he sent you here. I will follow you, at least until the Seljuk Sultan’s men arrive.’ There were murmurs of approval from the crowed. ‘What is your first command?’
Yusuf gestured to Al-Mashtub. ‘Bring a doctor for your man and see that he is looked after.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and it came away streaked with blood. ‘I need a drink. I command you all to the tavern.’ He took the pouch with his winnings back from John and held it up. ‘I’m paying.’
Qaraqush slammed a cup down in front of Yusuf and filled it with wine from a clay jug. He slapped Yusuf on the back. ‘Drink your fill!’
Yusuf raised the cup and peered at the murky, red contents. He had never tasted alcohol; it was forbidden by the Prophet. The moment he drank it, he would be unclean. Yusuf’s grip tightened around the cup. He could hear Shirkuh’s final words to him: if he wanted to lead his men, then he first had to be one of them. Yusuf tilted his head back and drained the cup of wine, grimacing at the bitter taste. The men cheered and emptied their cups. They began to pound the long table with their fists. ‘More! More! More!’
‘Another cup for our brave commander,’ Qaraqush roared as he refilled Yusuf’s cup, splashing wine on the table in the process. Yusuf took a deep breath and drank it. The taste was not so horrible this time. Perhaps alcohol was not as bad as he had feared.
An hour later, as he slammed down yet another drained cup, Yusuf felt the world spin around him. He began to slip off the bench, but Qaraqush reached out and held him upright. ‘More!’ the men roared. Yusuf fumbled in the pouch at his belt and pulled out his last two dinars. He tossed one of them on the table. ‘Another round!’ he shouted. The men cheered, and the tavern keeper – a pot-bellied, smiling man named Zarif – brought more jugs of wine to the table. He set one down before Yusuf.
John came forward from his place in the corner and whispered in Yusuf’s ear. ‘I think you have had enough.’
‘Nonsense.’ Yusuf stood, gripping the table to steady himself, and held his cup high. ‘To my new men, the brave warriors of Tell Bashir. I shall lead you to riches and glory.’ The men roared their approval and pounded on the table. ‘From Tell Bashir, we shall conquer Damascus, Cairo-’
‘Jerusalem!’ one of the men suggested with a laugh.
‘Jerusalem!’ Yusuf agreed. ‘I shall be king, and I shall make you all lords.’ More pounding. ‘To glory!’
‘To glory!’ the men chorused.
Yusuf drained his cup and sat down with a thud, almost falling backwards off the bench. His stomach grumbled ominously as he straightened. ‘I do not feel well,’ he murmured.
Qaraqush clapped him on the back. ‘Nothing a woman cannot cure. Zarif! Let us have entertainment!’
‘Of course, ya sidi.’ Zarif clapped his hands. ‘Dancers!’
Yusuf heard the sound of tambourines and turned his attention to a beaded curtain at the far end of the room. A tall, lithe Frankish woman emerged, a tambourine held high over her head. ‘Faridah,’ Qaraqush whispered. She had long auburn hair and creamy-white skin. Her large breasts and narrow hips were covered by strings of shining copper discs that showed flashes of curly pubic hair and pink nipples. A brilliant jewel hung from her gyrating belly-button. She was veiled, but her eyes were visible – bright green and highlighted with kohl. They locked immediately upon Yusuf.
Three more women followed, beauties all, but Yusuf could not take his eyes from Faridah. She slowly crossed the room, her hips swaying in time to the beat of her tambourine as she weaved between the crowded tables. She came tantalizingly close to some of the men, but when they reached out to grab her, she spun away and continued dancing. And always, her eyes came back to Yusuf.
‘She’s got her eye on you, boy,’ Qaraqush winked.
Faridah reached Yusuf’s table, and he turned to watch her. She stopped before him, her hips still rotating, the tambourine held high as she slowly turned. Qaraqush reached out to grab one of her perfectly shaped buttocks, and she slapped his hand away. She turned back to face Yusuf, placing a hand on his shoulder and sitting on his lap so that her breasts were only inches from his face.
Yusuf flushed as Faridah’s eyes moved to the prominent bulge in his breeches. She leaned close and breathed in his ear, ‘Come.’ Then, she took his hand and led him from the table.
‘Lucky bastard,’ Qaraqush grumbled.
The rest of the men cheered as Yusuf followed Faridah through the curtain of beads and up a dark stairwell. He stumbled after her into a small room, where a single candle cast a flickering light over a wide bed. Faridah closed the door behind Yusuf and turned to face him. He did not move. He had no idea what to do next. She stepped close and pulled his tunic over his head. His breathing quickened as she proceeded to unlace his breeches. She gestured to the bed, and he sat. Faridah knelt before him and removed his boots. Then she took hold of his breeches and pulled them off. Her eyes widened when she saw his fully erect zib. Yusuf felt the room spin around him as the blood pounded in his temples.
Faridah stepped back and untied the string that held the dangling copper disks in place around her chest. It dropped to the floor, revealing her firm breasts. She untied the string around her waist and then removed her veil last of all. She was striking, her lips full and her cheeks soft curves. Her eyes had the faintest hint of wrinkles at the corners. She was older than Yusuf had expected, perhaps thirty.
She sat beside him. Yusuf’s hand trembled as she took it and placed it on her warm, soft breast. She met his eyes. ‘This is your first time?’ He nodded, and she smiled. She gently pushed him back down on the bed and straddled him. She bent forward, and Yusuf gasped as she kissed his neck, her tongue flicking over his skin. He reached out tentatively and ran his hand down her side.
Faridah moved down, kissing his chest, his stomach. Yusuf closed his eyes, dizzy with pleasure and wine. Then there was an ominous grumbling from his stomach. Faridah pulled back as Yusuf rolled over and vomited
