‘All the more reason to be careful.’
Yusuf turned away from her. He shrugged off his caftan and dropped it on the floor. ‘Do not lecture me, woman. I know what I am doing.’
Faridah moved close behind him and put her arms around his waist. ‘Does Nur ad-Din ask you to dress in your finest clothes when you meet his wife?’ she murmured in his ear. ‘I cannot stop you from wanting her, Yusuf, but I will stop you from acting the fool. If I can see that you are infatuated with her, then others will, too.’
‘There is nothing to see,’ Yusuf lied.
‘Then you will not go to her again?’
Asimat’s words flashed through Yusuf’s mind: ‘I will help you, if you help me.’ Did she want him to give her a son? And what would she give in return? Yusuf rubbed his forehead, trying to bring order to his thoughts. This was madness. Nur ad-Din was his lord. And yet… An image of Asimat’s dark eyes flashed through his mind.
‘I do not wish to speak of it,’ he said at last. He pulled away and went to his trunk to retrieve a plain white caftan.
‘If you do not speak to me, then I cannot help you. Tell me, my lord. What did she say to you?’
Yusuf sighed and turned to face her. ‘She wants me to give her a son.’
Faridah’s eyes widened. She came to him and took his hands. ‘You cannot.’
‘I know,’ Yusuf snapped, then continued more softly. ‘But she promised me-’
‘What?’
Yusuf met her eyes. ‘The kingdom.’
‘This is madness. Remember what happened to Nadhira. Nur ad-Din will have her stoned, and you executed.’
Yusuf nodded, but even as he did an image rose unbidden in his mind: the curve of Asimat’s body beneath her caftan. Faridah frowned, then slapped him hard. ‘How dare you!’ Yusuf spluttered. ‘Are you mad, woman?’
‘It is you who have taken leave of your senses! I will not let you ruin yourself over this woman. We will leave for Tell Bashir.’
‘No,’ Yusuf said firmly. ‘My lord has need of me.’
‘You are not thinking of your lord, but of his wife. We will go. That is the only way to put her from your mind.’
Yusuf hesitated, and Faridah raised her hand again. Yusuf caught her wrist. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You are right, Faridah. I will return to my lands until Nur ad-Din calls for me. I will think no more of Asimat.’
John crossed the sunny square at the heart of Aleppo and stepped into the souk where medicine was sold. Long ago Yusuf had told him that, for a price, anything could be bought in the souks of Aleppo, and it appeared he was right. The street that held the market was covered over with long strips of wood set half an inch apart, and diffuse light filtered through, illuminating a dizzying array of goods. John stepped around several herb-filled baskets that overflowed the small shops and spread into the street. Other stores sold more refined drugs – powders in clay pots and brightly coloured liquids in glass jars. John passed a thin Saracen who was boiling a deep-blue liquid over a small flame, sending the steam through a tube to collect in a glass jar, where it was now a pale green. John looked away just in time to avoid running into a doctor who was pulling a patient’s tooth right there, in the middle of the street. Beyond the doctor, a dark-skinned man with a full head of bushy, black hair was holding up a jar containing a black, viscous substance and loudly proclaiming its ability to cure baldness.
John ignored them all, striding through the market until he came to a narrow alleyway that opened off to the right. He hesitated at the entrance, clenching and unclenching his fists. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but what other choice did he have? He thought of Zimat, of what she had told him last night. He had to protect her, no matter what the cost. He took a deep breath and entered the alley.
The light was dimmer here, and John had not gone far when he tripped over the outstretched legs of a beggar. He began to offer his apologies, then grimaced in disgust and backed away. The beggar was a leper, his face and arms covered in sores that formed blotches of white against his darkly tanned skin. Amorphous bumps deformed his face, cruelly exaggerating his brow. He held out a mangled hand missing two fingers. ‘Charity, good sir. Charity for a poor leper.’
‘Stay back, devil,’ John growled and drew his dagger.
‘Leave him be, John.’ John looked up to see Ibn Jumay standing in the alleyway. ‘Leprosy is not a judgement from God, it is a disease,’ the Jewish doctor said. ‘So long as you do not touch him, it is not contagious.’ He tilted his head, eyeing John quizzically. ‘What brings you here, friend?’
‘I came to see you. Yusuf told me that you have a practice in town.’
‘Indeed. The man you were about to knife is one of my patients. Come, step inside.’ He led John into a brightly lit room that opened off the alley. A broad table – large enough for a man to lie down upon – took up most of the floor space. The walls were covered with shelves lined with clay jars. John took one down and peeked inside to see black, withered leaves. ‘Tea,’ Ibn Jumay informed him. ‘It helps with the digestion. But that is not what you are looking for, I’d wager.’
‘No.’ John put the jar back. ‘I-I-’ he began and faltered. He could feel himself flushing red. ‘There is a woman.’
‘Ah. You have got yourself into a bit of trouble, have you?’ John nodded, and Ibn Jumay patted his shoulder. ‘You are not the first, John. Nor will you be the last. Luckily, the laws of Islam are lenient in this regard. One moment.’ The doctor went to the shelf on the far wall and began pulling down jars and looking into them. Finally, he found the one he was looking for and set it on the table. He scooped out a spoonful of dried leaves and dropped them into a pouch. ‘Mix this with boiling water and have her drink it.’ He met John’s eye. ‘It will cause her to expel the child.’
John felt suddenly nauseous. He lowered his eyes and fumbled in his coin purse for payment. He held out a dinar, but Ibn Jumay shook his head. ‘That is not necessary.’ He placed the pouch in John’s outstretched hand.
As John stared at the pouch, he felt tears form and run down his cheeks. Finally, he dropped the medicine on the table. ‘I cannot,’ he mumbled and hurried out of the door. ‘There must be another way.’
John strode through the gate and into the sunlit grounds of the citadel. A mamluk regiment was training on the field, and John skirted around them as he made his way towards the palace. He was almost there when Yusuf emerged.
‘John!’ he called. ‘I was just coming to see you.’ Yusuf frowned as he came closer. ‘Are you well, friend? You look ill.’
‘I am fine.’
‘That is good, because we have a long journey ahead of us. I have decided to leave Aleppo.’
John felt his stomach tighten. He could not leave. Not now. His mouth was impossibly dry, but he managed to ask, ‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. I go now to take my leave of Khaldun and my sister. I will meet you in the barracks afterwards to arrange our departure with Qaraqush and Turan.’
John nodded. He watched Yusuf leave the citadel grounds, but when Yusuf had gone, John did not go to the barracks. Instead, he hurried to Yusuf’s quarters in the palace. He found Yusuf’s bedchamber empty. ‘Hello?’ John called. Faridah entered from the next room. She wore a thin cotton nightgown through which John could see the outline of her breasts and the curve of her hip. He looked away.
‘Yusuf is not here,’ she said.
‘I know. I have come to speak with you.’
‘We should not meet alone. You should go.’
John met her eyes. ‘You said once that if I needed a friend, I could come to you. I am desperate, Faridah, and you are the only one who will understand.’
‘What of Yusuf?’
‘I cannot speak to him of this.’
Faridah studied him. ‘You look terrible,’ she said at last. ‘Wait here.’ She passed back into her room, and when she returned a moment later, she wore a green silk caftan. ‘Have a seat,’ she told him, and they sat across from one another on cushions. ‘What is bothering you, John?’
John looked away. He felt suddenly awkward. ‘I-I cannot leave Aleppo.’
