John looked back at her. ‘Why do you?’
‘I am a woman. I am nothing without Yusuf – worse than nothing, a whore. But you are a man, a warrior. You could have a place of honour amongst the Franks.’
John shrugged. ‘Yusuf is my friend.’
‘He is a good man, but that does not change things. You will always be an ifranji to them. You will never be truly accepted here.’
‘I was not accepted amongst the Normans, either,’ John said bitterly. ‘I have no place amongst the Franks.’
She met his eyes. ‘And do you not wish for a woman? A wife?’
John held her gaze. ‘What are you asking me?’
‘We are the same, you and I,’ she whispered. ‘We could comfort one another.’
John felt his heart beat faster. It had been long since he held a woman. He found himself staring at the curve of Faridah’s large breasts beneath her tight caftan. He took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘He loves you, Faridah. I will pretend that I did not hear what you have just said.’
Faridah looked away, her cheeks reddening. ‘I only wanted you to know that I understand what it means to be a stranger in this land. If you need a friend, I am here.’
John nodded and left the tent.
Yusuf stepped into Nur ad-Din’s spacious tent to find the emir seated on the thickly carpeted floor, a map of Damascus laid out before him. Yusuf was surprised to see the emir’s wife, Asimat, seated to his left. A bald, fat- faced man in an elaborate caftan of scarlet silk sat to his right.
Nur ad-Din looked up and smiled. ‘Yusuf! I am glad that you have come. I can use your keen mind. Sit.’ He waved to a place opposite him. ‘You know my wife, Asimat. She insisted on returning with me to her childhood home, and to tell the truth, I am happy to have her. She knows Damascus better than any of us.’
‘My lady,’ Yusuf murmured with a nod in her direction.
‘And I believe you have not yet met the Emir of Bizaa,’ Nur ad-Din continued, gesturing to the portly man beside him. ‘Yusuf ibn Ayub, this is Gumushtagin.’
‘I am honoured to meet you.’ Yusuf met the eunuch’s eyes. ‘I have heard so much about you.’
‘And I you,’ Gumushtagin replied, his voice high-pitched. ‘I have long desired to meet my successor in Tell Bashir. I hope that you did not encounter too much trouble when you arrived.’
‘A few Frankish bandits, that is all. I captured their leader easily enough.’
Gumushtagin’s eyes widened. ‘You spoke to him?’
‘He had an interesting story to tell.’ Yusuf turned back towards Nur ad-Din. ‘Where is my father? I expected to find him with you.’
Gumushtagin answered for Nur ad-Din. ‘He is in Damascus, at the court of Emir Mujir ad-Din.’
‘On my orders,’ Nur ad-Din added.
‘Yes, of course,’ Gumushtagin agreed. ‘But we have not heard from him in weeks. Only Allah knows what has become of him.’
Yusuf swallowed hard. ‘Do you think he is dead?’
‘Or a traitor,’ Gumushtagin said evenly, his green eyes fixed on Yusuf.
‘You dare insult my family’s honour?’ Yusuf reached for his dagger, but then realized that it had been removed by the guard outside.
‘Peace, Yusuf,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘We are here to punish Mujir ad-Din for his refusal to join in the fight against the Christians. We should not waste our energy squabbling amongst ourselves.’ He turned to Gumushtagin. ‘There is no man I trust more than Yusuf’s father. Apologize.’
‘My apologies,’ Gumushtagin said with an insincere smile.
‘Good,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘Now, let us turn back to the business at hand. My clever wife, Asimat, says that we should establish ourselves in the orchards to the west of the city.’ He pointed to their location on the map. ‘I agree. This is where we shall conduct our siege.’
APRIL 1154: DAMASCUS
John rode beside Yusuf at the head of a column of men that stretched for miles over the arid, rolling hills. Ahead, spread out below them, was the city of Damascus, its thick walls rising up from the verdant orchards and gardens that surrounded it. Squinting, John could make out men atop the walls, their chainmail and iron helmets glinting in the sunshine. His hands tightened on the reins as he thought back to his first trip to Damascus, as part of the doomed crusade.
‘She is beautiful, is she not?’ Yusuf said, pointing to the city.
‘You will find the view less inspiring when you stand in the shadow of her walls,’ John replied. ‘Damascus is not an easy prize.’
‘But with the army Nur ad-Din has assembled, how can she resist?’
John’s forehead creased. ‘That is what the crusaders thought.’
They rode on in silence, following Nur ad-Din and Shirkuh. Turan rode beside them, but kept his distance from Yusuf. At the foot of the hill Nur ad-Din reined in his horse. ‘We will divide the army into columns and seize the orchards,’ he told them. ‘Tonight, we will camp before the walls.’
As the army trooped down the hill, the men were separated into columns, lined up before the many paths into the orchards. Shirkuh and Turan each rode off to take the lead of a column, but Yusuf’s men were selected to ride with Nur ad-Din. As John watched them form into a column four across, a memory flashed into his mind: One-Eye, the Frank, eating a mango when a spear burst from his chest.
‘I do not like this,’ John told Yusuf. ‘Those orchards are a deathtrap. In the crusade, we lost a quarter of our men taking them.’
‘We have no choice. We will follow orders and trust in Allah to lead us through.’
The column of men moved forward with Nur ad-Din riding at its head, and Yusuf and John just behind. John rode with his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes searching the low mud walls to either side for signs of warriors hidden behind them. He saw only the fronds of date trees shimmering in the breeze, and heard only the chirruping of birds over the rumble of the horses’ hooves. ‘Something is not right,’ he whispered. ‘Where are Mujir ad-Din’s men?
‘Perhaps he has kept them within the walls to better defend the city,’ Yusuf suggested.
Ahead, the walls of Damascus loomed larger and larger. They were headed for the Bab al-Faradis, or Gate of Paradise, which led into the city from the orchards. It was a massive structure, twice as high as the walls around it. Many of the men crowded atop the gate had bows in hand. John nervously fingered the hilt of his sword as Nur ad-Din led them on. In only a few more feet, they would be within bow shot of the walls.
‘What is Nur ad-Din doing?’ John grumbled. ‘He’s going to get us killed.’
‘Emir Mujir ad-Din would not dare let his men shoot at Nur ad-Din,’ Yusuf said. ‘They will speak, first. Then we will fight.’
Nur ad-Din finally reined in his horse only thirty feet from the gate. ‘People of Damascus!’ he called loudly. ‘Your emir has betrayed you. He has refused to join me in my fight against the Christians. He has betrayed his oath to me in order to make peace with the Franks. He does not deserve your service.’ He paused, gathering breath, then roared: ‘Open the gates to me! I have come for Damascus!’
There was silence, broken only by the nickering of horses and the distant call of birds. None of the men on the wall moved. Then the gate opened inward, groaning on its hinges. A man rode out, unarmed and dressed in a ceremonial silk caftan. As he came closer, John recognized him as Yusuf’s father, Ayub. Behind him came four armed men on foot, leading a prisoner in chains. The prisoner was a young man, with fat cheeks and a carefully trimmed beard. The procession stopped before Nur ad-Din.
‘Greetings, my lord,’ Ayub said and bowed in the saddle. ‘The city is yours. The leading nobles of Damascus have come to pay homage to you.’ He gestured to the man in chains. ‘And they have brought the emir, Mujir ad- Din.’
‘Bring him to me,’ Nur ad-Din said. Ayub waved, and the emir was pulled forward.
