through a herd of camels chewing impassively at their cuds as they watched the riders pass. At the edge of the tents, two mamluk sentries were waiting for them. ‘Halt, friend,’ one of them called. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I am Yusuf ibn Ayub, emir of Tell Bashir,’ Yusuf replied as he and the others dismounted. ‘I have come at Nur ad-Din’s request.’ He handed his reins to one of the sentries. ‘Take care of our horses,’ he said and walked past.
‘Yes, my lord,’ the sentry called after him.
Yusuf led the way between the Bedouin’s ramshackle tents – sprawling structures that held entire clans. Hard-faced men in patchwork leather armour lounged outside, chatting or tending their cooking fires. The Bedouin’s bravery was legendary, as was their greed. They had been known to put down their arms in the midst of battle in order to strip the bodies of the dead, friend and foe alike.
Past the Bedouin, Yusuf entered amongst the tents of the vassal lords who served Nur ad-Din. These tents were more luxurious: tall, round structures with several rooms, each surrounded by the tents of the emir’s men. Yusuf spotted Shirkuh’s standard fluttering in the distance, but lost sight of it as he wove his way through the maze of tents. He stopped when he came to a fire surrounded by a dozen men who he recognized as Shirkuh’s soldiers. They were eating, scooping boiled wheat out of a common pot.
‘I am looking for Shirkuh,’ Yusuf said to them. ‘Where is he?’
The men looked up from their food. One of them, a tall, muscle-bound man, grinned. It was Qadir, the man who had confronted Yusuf all those years ago on the practice grounds of Aleppo.
‘Look here, boys,’ Qadir said. ‘It’s the little bugger himself, all grown up.’
Yusuf raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you say?’
Qadir rose, towering over Yusuf. ‘You heard me, bugger.’
Yusuf smiled, then turned his back on the man. ‘John,’ he called.
Without a word, John stepped forward and punched Qadir hard in the groin. The huge mamluk grabbed his crotch and fell to his knees, eyes bulging. John hit him with an uppercut that snapped his head back, then a hard right to the chin. Qadir toppled into the dust, unconscious. John wiped his hands and stepped away.
Yusuf noticed that Selim was watching him wide-eyed. He winked at his brother, then turned back to the men around the fire. ‘Let us try again. Where is my uncle?’
A grey-haired man rose. ‘I will take you to him, my lord.’
Yusuf was approaching Shirkuh’s tent when Turan stormed out, scowling. He stopped short when he saw Yusuf and the others.
‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Brother,’ Yusuf called as he approached. He embraced Turan stiffly, and the two exchanged kisses.
‘Wa ‘alaykum as-salaam,’ Turan replied. His eyebrows rose as he noticed Faridah. ‘What’s this you’ve brought with you, Brother? She is delicious.’
Yusuf’s hand went to the eagle-hilt dagger that he always wore at his belt. ‘If you touch her, I will kill you.’
Turan’s smile faded. ‘I see you have not changed, Yusuf.’
‘Nor have you, Turan.’ The two brothers locked gazes.
‘Is that Yusuf I hear?’ Behind Turan, the tent flaps parted and Shirkuh emerged. He stepped past Turan and embraced Yusuf. ‘Welcome, young eagle!’ he said, and they exchanged kisses.
‘Salaam, uncle.’
Shirkuh turned to Selim and again exchanged kisses. ‘I am glad to see you returned safely.’ He looked to Turan. ‘What are you still doing here? I gave you an order.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Turan strode away.
Shirkuh turned back to Yusuf. ‘We have much to discuss, nephew. Selim, see that his servants are taken care of. Now come.’ He placed his arm around Yusuf’s shoulders. ‘Let us walk.’
Shirkuh did not speak as he led Yusuf past a few tents and up the gentle rise that bordered the river. He stopped at the top and looked out over the waters, which ran dark silver now that the sun had set. ‘I have heard good things of you, Yusuf,’ he began. ‘The caravans move without fear through your lands, and you have increased your tribute.’
‘The land is rich, and I have good men.’
‘If they are good, it is because you have made them so. When Nur ad-Din sent you to Tell Bashir, I feared the worst.’ Shirkuh lowered his voice. ‘I received your letter about Gumushtagin. You say he hired Franks to kill you.’ Yusuf nodded. ‘You should not trust such things to paper, Yusuf. Messengers too often go missing.’
Yusuf lowered his head. ‘I thought it important that you know, Uncle.’
‘ Hmph,’ Shirkuh grunted. ‘That is the least of Gumushtagin’s crimes. He is cunning, that one. And now he has our lord’s ear.’
‘But I thought Gumushtagin had been sent to Bizaa in disgrace.’
‘He was, but he has since earned Nur ad-Din’s trust. As a eunuch, Gumushtagin has access to the harem. He discovered an emir sleeping with one of Nur ad-Din’s concubines. Our lord was very grateful, but I am not so sure that Gumushtagin did not encourage the emir, only to betray him.’
‘What happened to the man?’ Yusuf asked.
‘He was bound, and his privates cut off and stuffed in his mouth. Then Nur ad-Din took a rod and beat him to death.’ Shirkuh sighed. ‘The emir was a good man.’
‘But he betrayed our lord.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Shirkuh turned to face Yusuf. ‘There is something we must discuss before you go to Nur ad- Din’s tent. I have heard that you have begun to frequent a Frankish whore.’
Yusuf flushed red. ‘Faridah? She is no whore. She is my concubine. I freed her.’
‘Once a whore, always a whore,’ Shirkuh grumbled.
Yusuf met his uncle’s eyes. ‘I am not concerned with her past. I – I love her.’
Shirkuh sighed. ‘Sit beside me, boy.’ They sat on the sandy dune, facing back towards the camp. ‘Look at all of this.’ Shirkuh waved to the thousands of tents before them. ‘As Nur ad-Din’s atabek, I have thousands of warriors at my command. And do you know why Nur ad-Din trusts me? Because I have learned to control my passions, because I know that if I give in to them, all of this -’ he gestured towards the camp ‘- could be gone in a night.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘Before you were born, your father and I lived in Tikrit. Ayub was governor of the city. Did he ever tell you why we left?’ Yusuf shook his head. Shirkuh sighed. ‘It was my fault. I was eighteen, only a little older than you are now. I fell for the wife of the commander of the castle gate. Her husband found out and beat her to death. I was furious. I confronted the man and killed him.’
‘And you were right to do so.’
‘No. I should have gone to your father. He was the governor. He would have had the man brought to justice. But I loved her, and so I did not think. I killed him.’ Shirkuh lowered his head. ‘The man was a nephew of the sultan. Your father and I were cast out of Tikrit as exiles. We lost everything. We were lucky that Nur ad-Din’s father took us on. Otherwise, we would have died in the desert.’ Shirkuh met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘Do not let your passions blind you as I did, Yusuf. You must govern your heart if you wish to rule men.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good. Now go. You should greet our lord, Nur ad-Din.’
John held aside the flap of Yusuf’s tent and gestured for Faridah to enter. She ducked inside, and he followed. Several lamps hung from the ceiling, shedding a dim light. Carpets had been spread over the grassy ground and cushions were scattered about. A low table held Yusuf’s writing implements. Faridah strode to the centre of the tent and removed her veil and head covering. With a sigh of relief, she shook out her long, auburn hair.
‘Do you need anything?’ John asked.
Faridah shook her head, and John began to leave. ‘John, wait,’ she called. ‘I wish to speak with you.’
John turned and met her dark eyes for a second, then looked away. ‘I should not stay,’ he mumbled and headed towards the tent flap.
‘I do not understand you,’ Faridah said. John paused. ‘You are a free man, now. Why do you still serve Yusuf?’
