Eagle (45 page)

Her only answer was to reach out and run her hand through his hair. Then she pulled his head down towards her and kissed him, running her tongue lightly over his lips. While they kissed, she took his hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipple was hard. Yusuf’s breathing quickened, and he felt himself stiffen. He kissed her harder while untying her robe and pulling it from her shoulders. He put his hands under her nightgown, encircling her thin waist, and then running them up her sides to grasp her breasts. She slipped her hand inside his caftan, and he gasped with pleasure as she grasped his zib. She moaned softly as he began to greedily kiss the long curve of her neck. He felt her breath hot in his ear. ‘Give me a son,’ she whispered, ‘and I will give you a kingdom.’

MARCH TO APRIL 1162: ALEPPO

Y
usuf sat in the council chamber, his eyes on the carpet before him. Nur ad-Din was talking, but Yusuf found it harder and harder to meet his lord’s eye. Indeed, he hardly heard a word the king said. Yusuf’s mind kept drifting back to thoughts of Asimat: the feel of her body as it moved under him, their whispered promises. He had visited her many times in the past months. Each time he swore to himself it would be the last. But always he returned. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

‘Yusuf!’ Nur ad-Din called. Yusuf looked up. He met Nur ad-Din’s eyes, then quickly looked away. ‘I was speaking to you.’

‘I am sorry, my lord. I did not hear.’

‘I see.’ Nur ad-Din studied Yusuf for a moment. ‘You look as if you had a long night, my young friend. Gumushtagin tells me that he visited you to discuss collection of the tax from Homs, but you were not in your chamber.’

Yusuf felt himself redden. Did Gumushtagin suspect something? Yusuf looked to the eunuch, seated beside Nur ad-Din. Gumushtagin returned his gaze impassively, revealing nothing. ‘I—I—’ Yusuf began.

‘With a woman, were you?’ Nur ad-Din suggested. Yusuf nodded. ‘
Ah ha
! So you are human after all. I am glad to hear it. Your Faridah is beautiful, but one woman is not enough for a
young man. You should enjoy yourself, just so long as you don’t create any mischief. Stick to whores and virgins.’

‘Yes, malik.’

‘Now, I was asking you about Baalbek. Gumushtagin tells me they have sent seven thousand dinars in payment. He says they could send more.’

Next to Yusuf, Khaldun, who was Emir of Baalbek, spoke up. ‘That is all we have, my lord. I told Gumushtagin—’

Nur ad-Din raised his hand to stop him. He looked to Yusuf. ‘You were raised in Baalbek, Yusuf. Can they pay more?’

Yusuf glanced at Khaldun, then nodded. ‘Ten thousand.’

‘Good,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘I need every fal I can find to put our army in the field.’ He paused and looked around the room at his emirs. ‘War is coming. King Baldwin is dead.’ There was a murmur of excitement. ‘We will gather our men and watch the new king, Amalric. When he makes a mistake, we shall strike!’ The men pounded the floor to show their approval. ‘Now go,’ Nur ad-Din told them, ‘and bring me more men.’

Yusuf began to leave, but Nur ad-Din called for him to remain. ‘I have a special task for you, Yusuf. It concerns our Frankish prisoner, Reynald.’

‘He is still here?’

‘His subjects do not seem eager to pay his ransom, and I begin to see why. I have had disturbing reports of his behaviour. It is said that he beats his servants, has raped one of them even. You speak Frankish. I want you to speak with him.’

‘And what shall I tell him, my lord?’

‘Tell him that I have treated him as a guest, but if he continues to spit upon my hospitality, then I will be happy to treat him as a prisoner.’ Yusuf nodded. ‘And Yusuf, take this opportunity to observe Reynald. He may be a savage, but he is a powerful man amongst the Franks. Find out what drives him, how he thinks. I wish to know as much about my enemy as possible.’

Yusuf reined to a halt outside the gate of a nondescript house, one of over a dozen sandwiched together on this narrow street not far from the citadel. A gap-toothed, blind beggar sat next to the gate, singing softly to himself. Yusuf looked to John.

‘This is it,’ John said as he slid from the saddle.

Yusuf dismounted and pounded on the gate. ‘Open up!’ he shouted. He knocked again, then stepped back to wait.

The blind man had stopped singing. He looked towards Yusuf with white, milky eyes. ‘That is an evil place,’ he lisped. ‘I hear things at night, horrible things.’

The gate creaked open, and Yusuf turned away from the old man. A mamluk guard stood in the gateway, blocking the entrance to the home’s courtyard. Yusuf nodded in greeting. ‘We are here to see Reynald.’

The guard’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘He is in there.’ He jerked his head towards the door on the far side of the courtyard.

‘What is he doing?’

‘Only the devil knows. We don’t set foot in the house. It is an unclean place.’

Yusuf glanced at John, who shrugged. Yusuf turned back to the guard and handed him his reins. ‘Look after our horses.’ He strode towards the house, with John following. Yusuf reached the door and pushed it open. They stepped into a rectangular reception room, bare but for a large rush mat in the centre of the wooden floor. The house was silent. No one came to greet them.

‘Is anyone here?’ John called. ‘Reynald?’

They heard the slap of sandals approaching, and a moment later a slave girl entered from a door to the right. She was a young Frankish woman, blonde and pale with a purplish bruise on her left cheek. She bowed when she saw them, then straightened and without speaking pointed down the hallway she had just come from.

As soon as Yusuf entered the hallway he heard something –
a  muffled whimpering. He turned to John, who raised an eyebrow. The noise grew louder as they continued on, the slave girl trailing them. Yusuf stopped at an open doorway at the end of the hall and saw the source of the muffled cries. A naked slave girl with a gag in her mouth was standing facing away from them, her hands against the far wall of the room. Reynald was behind her, grunting and panting, his breeches around his ankles and his hands on her hips.

‘Excuse me, my lord,’ John called out.

‘I said I did not wish to be disturbed!’ Reynald roared without turning around.

‘Lord Reynald,’ Yusuf called more loudly. ‘I wish to speak with you.’

Reynald glanced behind him, and his face went red. He shoved the girl aside and pulled up his breeches. ‘Mary!’ he shouted at the girl behind Yusuf. ‘Take them to the front and make them comfortable.’ He turned to Yusuf. ‘I will be with you in a moment.’

Yusuf followed Mary back to the reception hall, where she provided them with silk cushions and urged them to sit. She left and returned a few minutes later with tea. Shortly thereafter, Reynald entered, now dressed in a loose-fitting cotton tunic. He sat across from them. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’ he asked.

‘Nur ad-Din has asked me to speak with you,’ Yusuf said. ‘The slaves who serve you are his property. They are not for you to use as you please.’

‘What is the worry?’ Reynald leered. ‘They are spoiled now, anyway. Nur ad-Din can add them to the price of my ransom.’

Yusuf frowned. ‘You have been our prisoner for nearly five years. Your countrymen do not seem eager to pay for your return.’

‘The bastards! Patriarch Aimery has turned them against me.’

‘Be that as it may, it does not appear that you will be leaving any time soon. Nur ad-Din wishes you to know that he will
treat you as a guest so long as you behave as a guest should. If you continue to abuse his hospitality, then he will have you thrown in the dungeon.’

‘I see,’ Reynald grunted. ‘So I cannot touch the girls?’ Yusuf shook his head. Reynald glared at him. ‘I cannot leave this place, and I cannot please myself. I might as well be in the dungeon. What am I supposed to do here?’

‘I will bring you books, if you desire.’

‘Books?’ Reynald snorted. ‘Books are for priests. I have no use for them.’

Yusuf’s eyes widened. ‘You cannot read?’

‘I have spent my life in combat, not wasting daylight on books.’ Reynald pointed a thick finger at Yusuf. ‘That is why one Frankish knight is worth ten of you Saracens. You are too cultivated, too learned by half. You are practically women, with your silk robes, perfumes and bath-houses. No wonder you have to hide your women away in harems: so real men will not take them.’

Yusuf wanted to reach out and slap this uncouth barbarian, but he restrained himself. He took a long sip of tea, then set the small cup aside. ‘Learning and cultivation do not make one weak. Throughout history, the civilized man has repeatedly triumphed over the savage: Alexander over the Persians; the Romans over the Gauls; the Prophet over his enemies.’

‘Rome fell.’

‘Only when it became corrupt,’ John interjected.

‘Perhaps that is why God has sent us,’ Reynald said. ‘He has called on a stronger race to wipe you corrupt heathens from this earth.’

‘A stronger race?’ Yusuf smiled in the face of the insult. ‘Yet you are our prisoner.’

Reynald’s cheek twitched. ‘You defeated us through trickery at Jacob’s Ford.’

‘Strategy, not trickery,’ John said. ‘Perhaps if you had read more books, then you would know the difference.’

Reynald turned towards John. ‘So you take his side against me? Do not forget that you were once my man, John, bound to me by oath. But you Saxons are all alike – faithless dogs. King William was right to crush your people.’

‘At least my people have honour.’

‘That is always the answer of the weak.’

‘I am strong enough to beat you,’ John growled.

‘I’d like to see you try, you and your sodomite friend!’

John began to rise, but Yusuf put out a hand to restrain him. ‘Perhaps we can settle this argument in a more civilized fashion,’ he said to Reynald. ‘I shall hold a tournament in the citadel. If you wish to prove your strength in combat, then you can do so there.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’

‘Good,’ Yusuf said and rose. ‘I will see you soon, Reynald. Come, John.’

Yusuf was at the door when Reynald called out to him. ‘A tournament must have a prize. If I win, then I can do as I please with the women.’

Yusuf stopped and turned. He looked to the servant Mary, who stood in the corner, her eyes wide and her legs visibly shaking. He turned back to Reynald, and took a deep breath. ‘So be it.’

Yusuf could hear the ring of steel on steel over the roar of the crowd as he paced in the dim shadows beneath the arena stands. In the ring, John and Qaraqush were facing off in the second to last round of the tournament. Yusuf had sought the shade because he could not bear to watch his two friends fight. Above, the mamluks who packed the stands stood and stamped their feet, sending a shower of dust drifting down. There was a final roar, and then the crowd fell quiet. The contest was over. Yusuf stopped pacing and waited for John and Qaraqush to emerge.

Nur ad-Din had agreed enthusiastically to Yusuf’s idea for a
tournament. He had promised a twentieth of Reynald’s ransom – a fortune – to the tournament’s victor. Hundreds of mamluks had volunteered to fight. Yusuf had selected seven men to compete along with Reynald. That morning, John, Qaraqush, Reynald and al-Mashtub had all advanced. After a break for refreshments and prayer, the tournament had resumed with John fighting Qaraqush. As Yusuf watched, two mamluks removed a section of the wall around the ring, and John and Qaraqush stepped through, leaning on one another. Both men’s chainmail was soaked with sweat. Qaraqush was holding his right wrist, which was swollen and red. John limped slightly and had a nasty bruise on his right cheek.

‘Who won?’ Yusuf asked.

‘John,’ Qaraqush grumbled. ‘Damn near took my hand off.’

‘It was a close match,’ John said. ‘I was lucky to win.’

‘
Hmph
,’ Qaraqush snorted. ‘Luck my foot; you were better than me. I just hope you beat that Frankish bastard, if it comes to that.’ He nodded towards Reynald, who was approaching the entrance to the ring. The tall, heavy-set Frank wore an open-faced helmet and an iron breastplate over chainmail. He ignored the three friends as he stepped past them into the ring. The huge mamluk al-Mashtub came next, wearing chainmail that left his bulging arms bare.

‘Take care of that pig for us,’ Qaraqush told him.

Al-Mashtub grinned. ‘With pleasure.’

‘Do not underestimate Reynald,’ John warned. ‘He made short work of his last opponent.’ Indeed, Reynald had battered his first adversary into a bloody mess. The combatants’ blades were blunted, but they could still do serious damage. It was not  unusual for people to die in tournaments. ‘Reynald is dangerous.’

‘So am I.’

Yusuf stepped forward and kissed the huge mamluk on both cheeks. ‘Allah protect you.’ Al-Mashtub nodded and headed into the arena. The mamluks moved the section of wall back
into place, closing off the ring behind him. Yusuf turned to John and Qaraqush. ‘Come. Let’s watch.’

They emerged from beneath the stands and went to a ramp that led up into the arena. The match had already started, but the crowd of mamluks parted readily as Yusuf made his way to the front row. John and Qaraqush squeezed in beside him. Directly across from them, Nur ad-Din was seated between Shirkuh and Gumushtagin. Yusuf nodded to the king, then turned his attention to the action in the ring, a circle of beaten earth some ten yards across, bordered on all sides by a low, wooden wall.

The two combatants stood a few feet apart, both already breathing heavily. Reynald’s sword flashed in the bright sunshine as he raised it high above his head before swinging down at al-Mashtub. The mamluk parried the blow, and the two men’s swords locked together at the hilt. They strained against one another, but strong though he was, Reynald was no match for the size of al-Mashtub. With an audible grunt, the huge mamluk shoved Reynald away. The Frank stumbled backwards towards the wooden barrier that surrounded the ring. He slammed into it just in front of Yusuf, and his head snapped back, spraying Yusuf with sweat. The crowd roared. Reynald reached up to straighten his helmet, then gripped his sword with both hands and strode back towards al-Mashtub.