bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’ He slipped the book into his saddlebag. ‘I accept your gift.’
They left the fields behind and rode back to the citadel. In the courtyard a dozen young mamluks were training under the supervision of Qaraqush. Yusuf paused to watch them. The boys rode in a circle around the courtyard, firing arrows at a target that hung from one of the walls. Only one arrow had struck home so far, but the boys would improve with time. They were no older than ten, slaves newly taken from the distant Turkish steppes. By the time they reached eighteen and were freed, they would be skilled warriors.
Yusuf dismounted and handed his reins to John. ‘I will see you at dinner after evening prayers,’ he said, then entered the citadel’s keep and went to his quarters. When Yusuf opened the door, his eyes widened. Faridah lay naked on his bed, her entire body covered with swirling patterns drawn with henna. She was well past thirty now and more voluptuous than when Yusuf had first met her, with wider hips and a softer body. But her hair was the same fiery red and her face unlined. She was, Yusuf thought, even more beautiful. ‘Id milad sa’id,’ she purred. Happy birthday.
‘I am not a Frank, Faridah. To my people, the day of our birth is but another day.’
Faridah arched an eyebrow. ‘Then you do not wish to receive your present?’ She pulled a blanket over herself.
Yusuf went to the bed and pulled the blanket back. With his forefinger, he lightly traced the swirling patterns of henna, his finger moving down her stomach to between her legs. Faridah gasped, and Yusuf smiled. ‘Allah has told us the greatest joy is in giving.’ He began to kiss her when there was a knock on the door. Faridah rose and passed into her own quarters. Yusuf turned to the door. ‘Enter!’
Turan came into the room, a letter in his hand. ‘This has come from Aleppo.’ Yusuf took the letter and went to the window, where he broke the seal. ‘Is it from Nur ad-Din?’ Turan asked.
Yusuf nodded. ‘King Baldwin is dying. Nur ad-Din has called me back to Aleppo to help him prepare his campaign against the Franks.’
‘Then you must go. I will tell Qaraqush and John to prepare our departure.’ Turan headed for the door.
‘Wait, Brother,’ Yusuf called. ‘I admit that I had doubts when I made you my second-in-command, but you have served me well these last few years. Now I have another, greater service to ask of you.’
‘Name it, Brother.’
‘The campaign against the Franks may last for many years. I want you to stay here, to rule Tell Bashir while I am gone.’
Turan frowned. ‘I would rather fight by your side.’
‘I know, but I need you here to make certain that my lands flourish.’
Turan hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He had changed greatly since Nadhira’s death. ‘Very well.’
‘Thank you, Brother.’ Turan left and Faridah re-entered the room. Her lips were pressed in a thin line of worry. ‘Nur ad-Din has called for me,’ Yusuf told her.
‘I heard.’ She met his eyes. ‘And Asimat?’
Yusuf smiled to reassure her. ‘You need not worry. She means nothing to me.’
NOVEMBER 1161: ALEPPO
Upon his arrival in Aleppo, Yusuf went straight to Nur ad-Din’s apartments to present himself. He met Shirkuh in the antechamber, just leaving the king’s quarters. ‘Yusuf!’ Shirkuh beamed and embraced him. As they exchanged kisses, Yusuf noticed for the first time that he was now taller than his uncle. ‘How have you been, young eagle?’
‘My lands flourish. And you, Uncle?’
Shirkuh frowned. ‘Nur ad-Din has me riding across his kingdom and beyond to purchase more mamluks.’ He shook his head. ‘Our king is a man possessed. Gumushtagin has convinced him that Allah will not give him an heir until he rids our lands of the Franks. Nur ad-Din speaks of nothing but defeating them. He works without stopping. He has not left his study for days.’
‘Surely Allah will favour such devotion.’
‘Inshallah,’ Shirkuh grumbled. ‘Try to get him to rest, if you can.’ He placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘You must come to Khaldun’s to meet your nephew. I will see you there tonight.’
‘Tonight,’ Yusuf agreed. Shirkuh left, and Yusuf stepped forward so that the guards could search him. They took his sword and dagger, then led him into Nur ad-Din’s quarters. Yusuf followed the mamluk through the first room, where he had dined before, and into Nur ad-Din’s study. A massive desk dominated the room, covered with papers and maps. More papers had spilled on to the floor. Nur ad-Din leaned over the desk and marked an x on one of the maps. Yusuf noticed that the tips of his fingers were ink-stained.
‘My lord,’ Yusuf said quietly.
Nur ad-Din looked up and his face brightened. ‘Yusuf! You have returned.’ He waved Yusuf forward. ‘Come, look at this.’
The map before Nur ad-Din showed the Frankish lands. ‘What are these?’ Yusuf asked, pointing to one of the dozens of x s that had been marked on the map.
Nur ad-Din grinned. ‘I have sent scouts into the Frankish lands. These are places where the terrain will give us an advantage. At that one, Hattin, our enemy will be exposed and without water. If we can lure them to one of these spots, then the battle will be half won.’ Nur ad-Din stood straight and clapped his hands together with satisfaction. ‘The time has almost come. Usama has been to the court in Jerusalem. He reports that Baldwin will die any day now.’
‘Then we attack in the spring?’ Yusuf asked eagerly.
‘No. Baldwin’s brother Amalric is said to be half mad, an idiot who stutters and laughs at nothing. The longer he reigns, the weaker the Franks will become. And I must be sure that the emperor in Constantinople will not intervene. We will wait a year, and in the meantime I will prepare an army the likes of which the world has never seen. That is why I have called you here. I want you to work with Gumushtagin to collect a special tax to help fund the coming war.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘I will of course serve as it pleases you, my lord, but perhaps my talents could be better used elsewhere.’
Nur ad-Din shook his head. ‘I prize your honesty, Yusuf. I need you to make sure that every fal collected makes it into my coffers. Gumushtagin is clever with money, but I do not trust him as I do you.’
Yusuf placed his hand over his heart and nodded. ‘Thank you, malik. I will not fail you.’
‘Good,’ Nur ad-Din murmured as he turned his attention back to the map. He dismissed Yusuf with a wave of his hand. Yusuf was at the door when Nur ad-Din called out to him: ‘Wait, Yusuf. There is one more thing. I want you to visit Asimat.’
Yusuf felt a sudden tightness in his chest. ‘Asimat, my lord?’
‘She suffered another miscarriage recently.’ Nur ad-Din sighed and massaged his temples. ‘She has been impossible these last months, and you always seem to cheer her.’
Yusuf swallowed hard. ‘Very well, my lord. I shall do my best.’
John wiped nervous sweat from his forehead as he waited outside the gate to Khaldun’s home. He and Yusuf had left the citadel after evening prayers, and the air had cooled with the setting of the sun. Still, John’s caftan was soaked and his stomach was tying itself in knots. He had never been this nervous, not even on the eve of battle.
‘How old do you think Khaldun’s son is now?’ Yusuf mused. ‘He must be nearing his third year.’
‘Three years and seven months,’ John said quietly.
Yusuf glanced at him sharply, then smiled. ‘Is that so? You never cease to impress me, John.’
The gate swung open, and they stepped into the courtyard, which was lit by torches burning in brackets on the walls. At the far end, Khaldun was striding out from his home to greet them. A young boy trailed behind him.
‘Yusuf!’ Khaldun called as he approached. The two men met near the fountain in the centre of the courtyard and exchanged kisses. Khaldun gestured to the boy, who was peeking out from behind his legs. ‘This is my son.
