the first stone.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Your brother trusts me. Every time I come to you, I betray him.’
Zimat’s lips pressed together in a hard line. ‘I do not wish to have this discussion again. Either we betray my brother, or we betray our love. We have made our choice.’
‘It is not that simple,’ John muttered. He rose and began to dress.
Behind him, Zimat sat up in bed. ‘Do not go, not yet.’
‘It will be dawn soon,’ John replied as he laced up his boots. ‘The army leaves just after sunrise. I must help Yusuf organize the men.’
‘Yusuf’s shadow,’ Zimat said bitterly. She turned away from him. ‘You love him more than me.’
John sat beside her. ‘I owe Yusuf my life.’ He reached out and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘But you are the reason that I remain in the East. In Tripoli, I could have taken a ship for England. I stayed because of you. I love you, Zimat.’
‘I know.’ She turned to John, and he kissed her, pulling her close to him. Finally she pulled away. ‘When will I see you again?’
‘I do not know when we will return.’
Zimat looked away, blinking back tears. John kissed her forehead, then rose. He went to the door and put his head against it, listening to make sure the hallway was empty before cracking the door open.
‘John,’ Zimat called softly. He turned. ‘Come back to me.’
‘I will,’ John whispered, and left.
MAY 1157: NEAR BAALBEK
‘O Allah, have mercy upon me,’ Yusuf murmured. He knelt on his prayer rug, which he had laid out on the sand beside the Orontes River, facing south-east towards Mecca. Men knelt all around him. As Yusuf prostrated himself, touching his forehead to the ground, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Nur ad-Din, who knelt a few feet to his left. Beyond the malik were thousands more men, stretching for over a mile along the banks of the river, all facing Mecca and all with their foreheads to the ground. Only John stood out. He was kneeling nearby under a tree on the riverbank, praying in his own way.
Yusuf sat back on his heels, and as he spoke the final words of the magrhib – the evening prayer – he looked across the river at the green fields, which stretched away to craggy mountains, their peaks lit golden red by the setting sun. The last time Yusuf had visited those mountains, he and John had tracked and killed the panther that Yusuf now wore as a winter cloak. That seemed so long ago. They had left Aleppo over a week ago, and tomorrow they would pass through Baalbek on the way south to the Frankish stronghold of Banyas. And then the war against the Franks would begin.
Yusuf finished his prayers and began to roll up his mat. All around him men were heading up the gentle rise that separated the riverbank from their camp. Yusuf stood and began to follow them.
‘Yusuf!’ It was Nur ad-Din. A servant had taken his prayer mat, and he was standing alone beside the river, his shoulders slumped. ‘Come here.’ Yusuf walked over, his boots crunching softly on the wet sand. Nur ad-Din turned to face him. ‘We will reach Banyas soon. Do you think the men ready?’
‘Yes, malik.’
‘Good, good,’ Nur ad-Din murmured. He sighed and turned to look out over the river. The glow had left the distant mountains, and the fields beneath them were now grey in the darkness. A single locust in one of the trees along the riverbank began its song, and a moment later the evening was full of their sound. Yusuf noticed that Nur ad-Din had closed his eyes. Yusuf opened his mouth to speak, but Nur ad-Din spoke first. ‘Asimat miscarried last night. It was a boy. I should not have brought her with me on this campaign.’
‘Is she well?’
Nur ad-Din glanced at him sharply, then nodded. ‘She is alone in her tent. She has sent away the doctors, the midwife, even her servants.’
Yusuf placed his right hand on Nur ad-Din’s shoulder. ‘It is not your fault, malik. Such matters are in the hands of Allah.’
Nur ad-Din shrugged off Yusuf’s hand. ‘Then why has Allah cursed me?’ he demanded, his voice rising. ‘I have built mosques to glorify Him. I have given to the poor. I have launched this campaign against the Franks in His name. What more must I do before He gives me a son?’ He glared at Yusuf, who shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of what to say. Nur ad-Din sighed and turned back to the river. When he spoke again his voice was soft. ‘Perhaps when I have driven the Franks from our lands, then Allah will bless me. Inshallah.’
‘Inshallah,’ Yusuf echoed.
They stood in silence, listening to the locusts and the gentle burble of the river. Finally, Nur ad-Din turned to face Yusuf. ‘I did not call you here to burden you with my troubles. I want you to go to Asimat. She refuses to speak with me, and besides, I have little talent for gentle words.’ He placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘She likes you. Make sure she is well. Comfort her for me, if you are able.’
‘Yes, malik.’
‘Good.’ Nur ad-Din released Yusuf and straightened, all sign of weakness suddenly gone. He nodded curtly. ‘Now go. Her guards will be expecting you.’
Yusuf walked up the sandy hill that bordered the river. At the top, he looked back. Nur ad-Din was still standing alone on the riverbank. Yusuf turned and headed down the far side of the hill. Before him, the plain was dotted with hundreds of white tents, like flowers after a rain. He headed for Nur ad-Din’s huge tent, which was easy to find. Asimat’s smaller tent sat beside it, guarded by a dozen eunuch soldiers. As Yusuf approached, their captain gestured for him to enter and then followed, taking up a position just inside the door.
The tent’s interior was brightly lit by two oil lamps that hung from the ceiling. Thick carpets covered the floor, and a screen of thin cloth divided the tent in half. Beyond the screen, Yusuf could make out the dark outline of a hammock slung between two tent posts, and standing beside the hammock, the form of Asimat. She moved to the flap in the middle of the screen and passed through. Her eyes were red and her face pale, but she managed to smile when she saw Yusuf.
‘Salaam, Yusuf. I am glad that you came. Sit.’ She took a seat amidst silk cushions, and Yusuf sat across from her. ‘I have news for you. I have found you a wife.’
Yusuf’s eyebrows shot up. He had not expected this. ‘A wife?’
‘As I promised. She is Usama’s daughter – a good match. She is beautiful, and healthy. She will bear-’ Asimat faltered, looking away to hide her tears. ‘She will bear you many children.’
‘Are you well, Khatun?’ Yusuf asked softly. ‘Your child-’
‘I do not wish to speak of it,’ Asimat snapped and angrily wiped away her tears. ‘I am fine, as well as can be expected while travelling with an army.’
‘You did not wish to come?’
‘No. I do not like war. I have never understood this eagerness of men to kill one another.’
‘But the Franks have broken their treaty with us. They have slaughtered innocent Bedouin.’
‘So we shall slaughter them in turn?’
‘We only return in kind the suffering that they visited upon us when they took our lands. They do not belong here.’
‘They do not belong?’ Asimat laughed, a hollow sound with no merriment in it. ‘Tell me, Yusuf. Do you remember a time when the Franks were not here?’
‘No, my lady. They arrived before I was born.’
‘And your father?’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘If the Franks have held their kingdom for longer than you or your father have been alive, then what gives you more of a right to the land than they? The Romans held these lands before us. Perhaps the Franks feel that they, too, have merely reclaimed lands that were once theirs.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘But it is our duty to fight them.’
‘Perhaps,’ Asimat murmured. ‘But I have had enough of death.’ She looked away, her hand on her stomach.
Yusuf reached out to comfort her, then glanced at the eunuch guard still standing in the doorway and thought better of it. ‘What happened to your child is different,’ he said gently.
