Kingdom (21 page)

‘Let me hold you,’ he said. ‘I know you still love me, Zimat.’

She shook her head. ‘I cannot.’ She turned and began to climb the stairs.

‘Zimat!’ John called, but she did not stop. She disappeared up the stairs without looking back.

AUGUST 1165: ALEPPO

Yusuf sat in the saddle and squinted against the sun as he followed the flight of his bazi. Beside him, John and Ubadah were doing the same. The hunting falcon was a magnificent creature, steel grey with a brown head and white chest. Its wingspan was more than four feet across. From this distance Yusuf could just hear the tinkle of the tiny bells attached to its ankle. On the ground below the falcon a pair of lean salukis were creeping towards a patch of brush where Ubadah had spotted a rabbit. Suddenly they lunged, and the rabbit bolted. The falcon made its sharp call –
kiy-ee, kiy-ee
– and dived, plunging from the sky at incredible speed. It pulled up at the last second, the rabbit in its claws. It flapped away a distance and settled down with its prey.

Ubadah spurred towards the falcon. Yusuf and John followed at a slower pace. When they arrived, Ubadah was holding up the rabbit. ‘Look, Baba!’ he called to Yusuf.

Baba
. Father. The boy seemed not to have noticed the slip. Yusuf turned to John. He looked as if he had been slapped.

‘Bring it here,’ Yusuf told Ubadah. He tied the rabbit to his saddle alongside three others, then called the falcon. It landed on his gloved arm. He attached the jesses so that the bird would not fly off, and then slipped a hood over its head. ‘Come. It is time we returned to the city.’

They rode back in silence. The negotiations had dragged on for several months. William mostly ignored Yusuf, spending his time with Raymond of Tripoli, who had taken advantage of his captivity to start a library. He had asked for William’s assistance, and the two of them spent many an afternoon searching for books in the souk. John spent most of his days with Yusuf,
though
he had not seen Zimat again. John and Yusuf seldom mentioned the negotiations. Yusuf knew that it was a waiting game. When both sides were desperate then the talks would begin in earnest, and they would go quickly indeed.

The city gates were less than a mile off now. Yusuf took the rabbits from his saddle and handed them to Ubadah. He had hoped that spending time with John would help the boy overcome his hatred of Franks, but Ubadah had refused to even acknowledge John’s presence. ‘Ride ahead and give these to your mother,’ Yusuf said.

When the boy had cantered off, Yusuf turned to John. ‘You should put Zimat from your mind, friend.’

John started. ‘How did you know I was thinking of her?’

‘It is written on your face. You must try to forget her. You are a priest, and she is to be married next month.’ Yusuf could see that the news pained his friend.

‘Who is the husband?’

‘His name is Al-Muqaddam. He is an emir. A brave warrior and a good man. It is a kindness on his part to marry Zimat. She is no longer young.’

‘I still love her, Yusuf.’

Yusuf placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘My uncle told me once that to be great, a man must learn to rule his passions.’

‘I do not wish to be great,’ John murmured and spurred ahead, into the city.

‘Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!’ John stood in the central square of Aleppo in the dim dawn light and listened as the strident call of the muezzins came from all parts of the city. A few men and women crossed the square on the way to the mosque. Beggars sat around the periphery, some sleeping and some requesting alms from the passers-by. Half a dozen farmers had arrived from the countryside and were setting up stalls to sell their produce. But the part of the cobbled square that John had sought out was empty. Almost ten years ago he had stood in the same place and
watched
as Zimat’s now dead husband, Khaldun, stoned one of his wives to death for infidelity. Zimat had run that risk once to be with him. She had loved him with a passion that had surprised him.

John left the square and wandered at random through the streets, so foreign and yet so familiar. Negotiations had been concluded the previous day. Amalric would pay one hundred and fifty thousand dinars for Bohemond. Constantine was released for only a hundred and fifty silk robes. Yusuf had confided that Nur ad-Din would have let him go for free in order to win the goodwill of the Emperor Manuel, but paying no ransom would have insulted Constantine’s stature. Reynald had not been ransomed, nor had Raymond or Hugh. William explained that Amalric was in no hurry for Raymond to return, because with him gone, the king would rule Tripoli as regent.

Their work done, John and William were to leave the following day. John would not go without Zimat, not again. Long ago, she had begged him to take her away with him to Frankish lands, and he had refused. He would not make the same mistake twice.

He arrived at the gate to Yusuf’s home and knocked. The gate swung open, and Saqr waved him inside. ‘Saladin is at the citadel,’ the mamluk told him.

‘I will wait for him inside.’

‘Are you certain? He may not return for some time.’

‘I will wait.’

John sat amidst the cushions in the dining-room and a servant brought him tea. No sooner had she left than he rose and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He opened the first door he came to, and found an otherwise empty room dominated by a loom. The next room was an empty bedchamber, as was the next. He opened the final door on the hall to find Zimat sitting on her bed.

‘John!’ she gasped. She stood. ‘You should not be here!’

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. ‘I will not leave you, Zimat. Not again.’

‘You must go!’

‘Marry me instead of Al-Muqaddam. I can take you away to Frankish lands. We can be together!’

‘Ubadah would have no future. What would he become? A merchant? A priest like you?’ She said the word
priest
with scorn.

‘We do not have to go. I will stay. I will serve Yusuf.’

She shook her head. ‘It cannot be, John. Do you not understand? Al-Muqaddam is an emir. With him as his father, Ubadah can become a great lord. You could never give him that.’

‘But I am his father.’

‘That is why you must go,’ she said, her voice beginning to break. ‘You must do what is best for our son.’

‘But I love you.’ He crossed the room and took her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, and she kissed him back, tentatively at first and then hard. His hands slid down to her waist, and he pulled her to him.

‘No.’ She pushed him away, tears in her eyes. ‘I must think of Ubadah. You must go, before we are discovered.’ He nodded and went to the door. ‘John,’ she called, stopping him. ‘I—I do love you.’

John could find no words to reply. His heart ached as if it were bruised. He turned and left to return to Jerusalem, to his solitary life as a priest, to a people that were more foreign to him than the Saracens.

Chapter 8

AUGUST 1167: TYRE

J
ohn sat beside William at one of the tables in the great hall of the Archbishop of Tyre’s palace, the location that had been chosen to celebrate Amalric’s marriage to Maria Komnena. John recognized several of the nobles and prelates seated around them: the grand masters of the Temple and Hospital, Humphrey of Toron, Hugh of Caesarea and Bohemond of Antioch, who John had helped to ransom two years ago to the day. John winced. Even now, it pained him to think of those days in Aleppo.

A trumpet sounded, and the guests stood. The doors to the hall swung open, and Amalric entered with his new wife on his arm. Maria looked like a frightened girl, despite her golden crown. She had no chest, and her blue-silk caftan hung from her as if she were a boy. Her wavy hair, which had been bleached blonde with lemon juice and sunlight, was held back in a tight bun that accentuated her high forehead. She had a weak chin, a pug nose and a smallish mouth with lips that seemed to be in a perpetual pout. Her eyes, ringed with black kohl, were red from crying.

The king and his new queen were followed by the seneschal, bearing the king’s sceptre, and the chamberlain with his sword. Then came the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Archbishop of Tyre, and half a dozen envoys from the emperor’s court in Constantinople. The procession reached the seats at the head
table
, and Amalric spoke. ‘Thank you for coming to celebrate this joyous day! Eat, drink, enjoy yourselves!’

The king sat, and his guests followed suit. William and John were at a side table some distance away. John nodded towards Maria. ‘She looks miserable.’

‘She could have done worse. Amalric is a kind man.’

‘And there is more than one palace servant who has benefited from his kindness. He will not be faithful to her.’

‘At least he will not beat her.’

John thanked God that he was not a woman, to be sold like chattel simply to seal an alliance. He busied himself with the duck breast on his plate.

At the head table, the emperor’s chief representative stood. With his double chin, fat fingers and soft body, the duke Thoros looked like an overweight merchant, but it was said he had the ear of Emperor Manuel, and that made him a man to be reckoned with. He raised a goblet of wine. ‘To King Amalric and Queen Maria; long may they reign together!’ He quaffed his drink. The men in the hall followed his example.

When the goblets had been refilled, it was Amalric’s turn to propose a toast. ‘To Emperor Manuel, long may the friendship between our kingdoms endure!’ Again, the goblets were quaffed.

‘You are of Manuel’s family now,’ Thoros said, loudly enough that his voice reached John. ‘He will stand by you whenever and wherever you have need.’

The hall quieted. The Hospitaller Gilbert, who sat at the king’s table, leaned forward. ‘Will he fight with us in Egypt?’

Thoros nodded. ‘You are his ally.’

John looked to William and whispered, ‘Did you negotiate this?’

William shook his head. ‘Only the marriage.’

‘Easy, Gilbert,’ Amalric was saying. ‘We have had peace with Egypt and Syria for two years. We should not be so eager to seek war. Let today be a day of celebration.’

‘Yes, sire,’ Gilbert replied. ‘A day to celebrate the alliance that your marriage has sealed, an alliance that can open the Kingdom of the Nile to us. We came close last time. With a fleet to better supply our army, we could have taken Alexandria and then Egypt. Manuel can provide that fleet, and his armies will prevent Nur ad-Din from striking the Kingdom while we are gone. We will be free to take Cairo itself!’

Amalric frowned. ‘I signed a treaty, Gilbert. I swore an oath.’

Heraclius spoke from his place just beyond Gilbert. ‘Oaths made to an infidel mean nothing, sire.’

William cursed under his breath. ‘Heraclius! I should have known he was behind this.’

John’s eyes were on Amalric. ‘M-my word means something,’ the king said, his uncertainty manifested in the return of his childhood stutter. ‘Even w-when given to an infidel.’

‘Then honour your word, sire,’ Heraclius said, speaking loudly so that all in the hall could hear him. ‘You have taken an oath before God to protect the faithful. What better way to do so than to liberate Egypt from the infidel? There are thousands of Christians living there, and with the Land of the Nile in our power, our Kingdom will be invincible.’

The envoy Thoros nodded. ‘The crown of Egypt would be a fitting present to your new wife. It will take time to plan the assault, but I am sure the Emperor’s fleet could be available by the autumn of next year.’

All eyes turned to Amalric, who was tugging at his beard.

‘The riches of Alexandria and Cairo, sire,’ Gilbert said. ‘The Kingdom of the Pharaohs. It lies waiting for you.’

Amalric took a long drink and then looked to his new wife. ‘W-what do you ad-ad—What do you suggest, Maria?’

The girl shrank back into her chair in wide-eyed terror. She looked to Thoros, who nodded. ‘I should like to be Queen of Egypt,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Then so be it!’ Amalric raised his goblet. ‘To Egypt!’

OCTOBER 1168: ALEPPO

Yusuf stood before the door to Gumushtagin’s quarters in the palace and took a deep breath to steady himself. He had not met the eunuch in private since his return from Egypt three years ago. He had hoped that Gumushtagin was done with him, but that morning a messenger had come to request a meeting. Yusuf dared not avoid the summons. He had just raised his hand to knock when the door swung open.

‘Saladin!’ Gumushtagin flashed his false smile. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum.’

‘Salaam,’ Yusuf replied curtly.

Gumushtagin affected not to notice his unfriendly tone. ‘Come in. Come in.’ Gumushtagin closed the door behind them and carefully latched it. ‘Tell me, Saladin, would you like to be Vizier of Egypt?’

Yusuf blinked in surprise and then shook his head. ‘I found nothing but hunger and suffering there. I wish to never see Egypt again.’

‘That is not to be. Nur ad-Din will hold council this afternoon. This is why.’ The eunuch held out three locks of dark hair.

‘What is that?’

‘See for yourself.’ Gumushtagin handed Yusuf a roll of parchment. ‘This came today via messenger pigeon from Cairo.’

Yusuf read the tiny script:

Nur ad-Din, King of Syria, defender of the faith, my land has been invaded by the ifranj. I ask for your aid to repel the infidel invader. The locks of hair are from my wives
.
They beseech you to come and rescue them from the outrages of the ifranj. Do not delay. If you answer my call, I promise you a third of the land of Egypt as fiefs for your emirs
.

Yusuf noted the caliph’s seal at the bottom. Seals, however, could be forged. ‘Is it authentic?’

‘We received four such messages. There can be no doubt; the Caliph himself has asked for our help.’

‘What of Shawar? He rules in Egypt.’

‘The Caliph appoints the Vizier. And it is Al-Adid who has called for our help.’ Gumushtagin met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘It is an opportunity that cannot be missed.’

Yusuf frowned. ‘I told you: I want nothing to do with Egypt.’