Ubadah, greet your uncle.’
The boy stepped out from behind Khaldun and bowed. ‘Salaam ‘Alaykum, Uncle,’ he said shyly.
Yusuf lifted Ubadah from the ground and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Wa ‘Alaykum as-Salaam, little man.’ The boy giggled, and Yusuf set him down. ‘I am glad to meet you at last, Ubadah.’
John had not moved from the gate. His body felt leaden, beyond his control. Ubadah had dark brown eyes, but other than that his resemblance to John was remarkable: the same straight, narrow nose; the same arch of the brow; the same square chin. The boy’s hair was sandy brown – light for a Saracen. There was no doubt in John’s mind; Ubadah was his child.
‘Come, John,’ Yusuf called. ‘Introduce yourself to my nephew.’
John approached woodenly and knelt before the boy. His mouth was dry, and it was all he could do to speak. ‘Salaam, little one. I am pleased to meet you.’
Ubadah stood wide-eyed, then his lower lip began to quiver. ‘Ifranji! Ifranji!’ he bawled and ran to Khaldun, who lifted him up and held him close.
‘I am sorry, John,’ Khaldun said, laughing. ‘I fear I may have told my son one too many stories about the terrible Franks.’
John felt a tightness in his chest and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. He forced himself to smile. ‘I understand,’ he managed. Khaldun’s laughter faded as he looked from John to his son. He looked back at John and frowned. John struggled to control his emotions as he met Khaldun’s eyes.
‘Where is my sister?’ Yusuf asked, breaking the tension.
‘She is not well,’ Khaldun said, turning to Yusuf. ‘She asked that you pardon her absence.’
‘It is nothing serious, I hope.’
Khaldun shook his head. ‘A passing indisposition.’ Somewhere nearby, a muezzin took up his strident call. John looked up and saw that the light had faded from the sky, which was now an inky black, speckled with stars. ‘It is time for the isha’a,’ Khaldun said. ‘We will pray here.’ He pointed to a streak of white on the wall of the courtyard. ‘I have marked the direction of Mecca.’ As servants came out from the house with prayer rugs, Khaldun turned to John. ‘You may wait in the gatehouse, if you wish.’
‘I will stay and pray to my God,’ John replied. He stepped back into the shadows near a side door of the house and knelt. He bowed his head but kept his eyes on the men before him.
Yusuf, Khaldun and Ubadah went to the fountain and began to wash their heads, arms and feet in preparation for prayer. They were joined in the ritual ablution by the Muslim servants and mamluks of the household. The men finished washing and stood before their prayer rugs, their backs to John. They began to pray, chanting the first lines of the rak’ah: In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. John knew that the isha’a had four rak’at, taking maybe ten minutes. The men prostrated themselves near the end of the first rak’ah, and he quickly rose and silently slipped through the side door. At the door to Zimat’s room he stopped. He pressed his ear against it, but at first he heard nothing over the chanting outside. Then he made out a faint sound – crying. John opened the door.
Zimat sat in bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked up in surprise as John entered, and he saw that her face was streaked with tears. ‘John,’ she breathed.
‘I feared you would have forgotten me,’ he said as he closed the door.
Without a word, Zimat rose from the bed and ran to him, burying her head in his chest. ‘How could I forget you? I see you every day in our son.’ John held her and stroked her hair. He could feel the knots in his stomach begin to relax. Then Zimat pulled away from him. ‘Why have you come back?’ she demanded. She turned her back to him. ‘Why did you leave me?’
John placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I had to. I could not take you with me to live amongst the Franks. Your son – our son – would have had nothing. You would have had nothing.’
‘I would have had you.’
John gently turned her so that she was facing him. He lifted her chin so that he could look into her dark eyes. ‘You can still have me, if you want me.’
‘You know I do.’ John leaned forward to kiss her, but she put her hand to his lips. ‘But you must promise to never leave me again.’
John took her hand and kissed it. ‘I promise.’ He pulled her against him and kissed her. Her lips were even softer than he had remembered.
The door to the room started to open, and they jumped apart. Their son, Ubadah, stood in the doorway. His eyes widened, and then he screwed up his face and began to cry. ‘Ifranji,’ he bawled, pointing at John. ‘Ifranji!’
Zimat went to him and swept him up into her arms. ‘There, there my sweetness,’ she cooed. ‘He is not an ifranji. He is a friend.’ The boy quieted, and Zimat looked to John. ‘You must go.’
‘But what if-’
‘I will deal with my son and Khaldun. Go!’
John left the room and slipped back out into the courtyard. The men were prostrate, just finishing the final rak’ah. They sat up and murmured in unison: Greetings to you, O Prophet, and the mercy and blessings of Allah. Peace be unto us, and unto the righteous servants of Allah. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah. And I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger.
Each man looked right and whispered, ‘Peace be upon you.’ Then they looked left and repeated the phrase. They rose. Prayers were over. The servants began to gather up the prayer mats while the mamluks headed back to the gatehouse.
The main door to the house opened and Zimat appeared in the doorway. She was still holding Ubadah. ‘Brother!’ she called to Yusuf. ‘Welcome! Come inside and let us feast your arrival.’
John watched as Yusuf went to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘It is good to see you, Sister.’ He reached out and tousled Ubadah’s hair. ‘Your son is a handsome little man. He resembles his father.’
A smile tugged at the corner of Zimat’s mouth. She looked past Yusuf and her eyes met John’s. ‘I know,’ she replied.
‘She is my lord’s wife. She is my lord’s wife,’ Yusuf whispered under his breath as he approached the harem. At the entrance, the eunuch guards barred his way. ‘I have come to see Asimat at Nur ad-Din’s bidding,’ Yusuf told them.
One of the guards nodded. ‘Follow me.’ The guard led him to Asimat’s room and showed him inside. On the far side of the room, Asimat sat on a cushion across from one of her servants. They were bent over a games board, and stepping closer, Yusuf saw that they were playing shatranj. Asimat moved her horse – two spaces forward and one to the side – to threaten the servant’s shah. She did not greet Yusuf.
‘My lady,’ Yusuf said and bowed.
Asimat looked up and frowned. ‘It is you.’ The servant rose silently, and Yusuf took her place. He could feel the servant’s eyes on him as she went to stand by the door.
‘Nur ad-Din says that you have not been well,’ Yusuf said. Indeed, now that he was sitting across from Asimat he noticed dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, usually carefully combed, now fell unkempt about her shoulders. She was still beautiful, but damaged somehow.
‘There is no mystery. I grow old and I have no son. That is all that ails me.’
‘You are still young, Khatun.’ He smiled. ‘You will have a son.’
‘By who? Nur ad-Din?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He does not come to my bed any longer. He plants his seed in younger women. Who, then, will give me a child?’ Yusuf looked away. ‘Who?’ Asimat snapped loudly.
‘I only wished to cheer you,’ Yusuf murmured.
‘There is nothing you can do for me.’ She met his eyes. ‘You are a coward.’ Yusuf blinked in surprise at the insult. ‘I offered you everything, and you fled,’ Asimat hissed, her voice low so her servant would not overhear. ‘You will never be anything but the Emir of Tell Bashir, a god-forsaken fort in the middle of nowhere. You do not have the courage to be more.’
Yusuf felt his face flush red. ‘I have courage, Khatun,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘But I have honour, too.’
Asimat’s eyes narrowed, and she searched his face for a long time. ‘You have too much honour,’ she said at last. ‘That is why you will never be great.’ She turned her attention back to her game and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ‘You may go now.’
