‘What do you mean?’
‘There is someone-’ John began, but could say no more.
‘A woman?’ Faridah prompted. John nodded, and Faridah smiled. ‘This is a good thing! Yusuf is your friend, but he does not own you. You do not need to sacrifice your life to him. You should be with this woman. Yusuf will understand.’
‘No. It is not any woman.’
Faridah arched an eyebrow. ‘Who?’ John lowered his eyes and did not speak. ‘Who?’ Faridah demanded.
‘Zimat.’
‘Yusuf’s sister!’ Faridah gasped. ‘Are you mad?’
‘She loves me. She desires a divorce from Khaldun.’
‘Yusuf will never allow it. You are his friend, but you are still an ifranji. It would bring shame to his family.’
‘Then what should I do?’
‘You should leave Aleppo with Yusuf. It is for the best. Do not see Zimat again. Forget about her.’
‘I cannot.’ John paused and took a deep breath. ‘She is pregnant.’
Faridah’s eyes went wide. ‘She carries your child? Are you sure?’
‘Zimat says that the child is mine.’
‘Then you must get rid of it. There are herbs-’
‘No!’ John said, more loudly than he had intended. ‘I cannot kill the child.’ He met her eyes. ‘I will tell Yusuf. I cannot live with these secrets.’
‘No. He will kill you!’
‘Then we will run away, to the kingdom of Jerusalem.’
‘And do you think Zimat will be happy amongst the Franks?’ Faridah demanded. ‘She is the wife of an emir, surrounded by luxury. What will her life be like as the wife of a simple soldier? What future will there be for your child?’
‘Then what?’ John demanded, his jaw clenched. ‘I leave the woman I love? I leave my child to be raised by another man?’
Faridah nodded. ‘If you truly love Zimat, then you must do what is necessary to protect her and the child.’
‘And what about when the child is born? What if it has blue eyes or blond hair?’
‘Pray to God that it does not.’
APRIL 1158: TELL BASHIR
John stood atop the gatehouse of Tell Bashir, his wet clothes clinging to him and rain running off his nose as he stared out at the road from Aleppo. He held a long strip of leather, which he methodically wrapped and unwrapped around his right hand. The two mamluks on watch were hunkered down under their cloaks. ‘What the devil do you suppose is hounding al-ifranji?’ one of them whispered.
‘Maybe he lost at dice.’
‘Maybe he has lost his mind.’
John heard the words, but he paid no more attention to them than he did to the rain. It was seven months since they had left Aleppo and almost nine months since Zimat had told him that she had ceased to bleed, that she was with child. John expected news of her delivery any day, and so he stood here at the gate whenever he could, his eyes fixed on the winding road from Aleppo.
John thought he saw movement in the distance. He squinted, trying to penetrate the curtain of rain. He could just make out a group of riders at the edge of town. John turned to the men on watch. ‘Someone is coming. Inform the emir and prepare to open the gate.’
The men scrambled away, and John turned back to watch the riders approach. As they drew closer, he could see that there were five of them. They splashed down the muddy street through the centre of town and up the short ramp to the gate, where the man in the lead pushed back his hood. It was Yusuf’s younger brother, Selim. ‘Open the gates!’ he called. ‘I come with news.’
John watched as Selim entered and was led into the citadel’s keep. John bowed his head and took a deep breath. ‘Please God,’ he whispered. ‘Let the child have dark eyes.’ Then he descended from the wall and strode across the muddy courtyard to the keep. He went to Yusuf’s chambers and found the door open. Stepping inside, he found Yusuf kissing Selim on each cheek. Turan stood to the side, smiling.
‘John!’ Yusuf exclaimed. ‘Selim has brought good news.’
‘Yes?’ John asked, barely able to keep his voice from shaking.
‘You remember my sister, Zimat? She has given birth to a son!’
‘A son,’ John whispered hoarsely. He turned to Selim. ‘You have seen the boy?’ Selim nodded. ‘What is he like?’
‘He is a healthy child.’
‘And who does he favour?’ John asked urgently. ‘His mother?’ Selim frowned, confused by John’s interest. ‘The boy is only a babe, but he has his father’s eyes.’
John sighed in relief. ‘Il-Hamdillah,’ he murmured. ‘God be praised.’
Chapter 17
Yusuf could see his breath steaming in the air as he and John sat in the saddle atop a small rise just outside Tell Bashir. They had ridden out to inspect the harvest. It was autumn, and the fields were covered with golden wheat. Slaves moved between the rows of stalks, their scythes flashing in the sun. The wheat rippled in a sudden breeze, and Yusuf pulled his fur cloak more tightly about him. He thought of the panther he and John had tracked down in the mountains above Baalbek. How long ago was that? Yusuf counted on his fingers.
‘What are you thinking of?’ John asked.
‘Time. It has been nine years since we left Baalbek.’
John nodded and gestured to the workers around them. ‘I remember when I was a slave working in your father’s fields. It seems like yesterday.’
‘I was fascinated by you,’ Yusuf chuckled. ‘You were so foreign.’
‘And I hated you. I hated all Saracens.’ John sighed. ‘We were so young then.’
‘We are not so old now.’
‘But we grow older.’ John reached into his saddlebag and removed a book bound in finely worked black leather. He held it out to Yusuf.
‘What is this?’
‘A gift. You are twenty-three today.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘It is just another day.’ He tried to hand the book back, but John would not take it.
‘Open it.’
Yusuf opened the book at random. The pages were covered with beautifully drawn Arabic script. He read: ‘If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. If a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.’
‘It is the New Testament, part of our holy book.’
A smile tugged at the corner of Yusuf’s mouth. ‘You wish to convert me, John?’
‘No. I want you to know your enemy.’
Yusuf looked at the book for a moment longer, then placed the palm of his right hand over his heart and
