Eagle (49 page)

‘Yes,’ Yusuf murmured.

Faridah released him and stepped back. ‘Asimat has sent a message. You are to go to her quarters.’ Yusuf frowned. ‘You do not wish to see her?’ Faridah asked. ‘What has happened?’

‘I do not wish to discuss it.’ Yusuf went to the door. ‘I will return soon.’

When Yusuf reached the harem, one of the guards informed him that Asimat was in the gardens. Yusuf left the palace and crossed the citadel grounds to the rose garden, where the trimmed hedges were in full leaf and full bloom. The guards waiting outside nodded to Yusuf, and he entered, winding his way towards the centre of the maze of pathways. Looking back, Yusuf could see the guards’ heads rising above the hedges. Their eyes were fixed upon him.

Yusuf found Asimat at the centre of the maze, sitting beside a low, circular pool with water bubbling up in the centre. She smiled when she saw him. He bowed. ‘Khatun.’

‘I am glad you came,’ she replied, standing and moving to him. ‘I thought I had lost you in the earthquake, Yusuf. It made me realize something.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I—I love you.’

Yusuf stepped back. ‘Do not say that.’

‘Why not?’ Asimat’s brow furrowed. ‘Do you not love me?’

Yusuf looked away. ‘We must not see each other again.’

‘What do you mean?’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Look at me!’ Reluctantly, he met her eyes. ‘You love me. I know you do.’

‘It does not matter. I will not betray my lord.’

‘It is too late for that. You have already betrayed him.’

‘No.’ Yusuf took her hands in his and spoke urgently. ‘The earthquake was a sign, Asimat. What we are doing is wrong, but Allah has given us a second chance. We must return to the path of the righteous.’

Asimat pulled her hands from his. ‘A sign from Allah? Do not be foolish!’ Yusuf said nothing. He turned his back on Asimat,
but she grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face her. ‘You would give up the kingdom, then?’

‘If I must.’

‘I see.’ Asimat stood straighter, and the warmth faded from her expression. ‘You have greatness within you, Yusuf, but you fear it. To be great, you must be willing to seize your opportunity, no matter what the cost. You must be willing to betray anyone at any time. Anyone.’

‘And you, Asimat? Would you betray anyone to see your son on the throne?’ She nodded. ‘Even me?’ Asimat met his eyes, then looked away without speaking. Yusuf shook his head. ‘It is no wonder Allah has cursed your womb. You are everything I despise.’

Asimat slapped him, hard enough to snap his head to the side. ‘You do not love me, coward,’ she spat. ‘You never have.’ She turned and strode away.

Yusuf did not move as she left the garden. He knew he had done the right thing, but he felt ill, sick to his stomach. He picked one of the blossoms – a damask rose – and smelled it. ‘I do love you, Asimat,’ he murmured. Then he dropped the flower and crushed it under his boot.

AUGUST 1163: ALEPPO

‘Oh Allah forgive me; have mercy upon me,’ Yusuf murmured as he knelt on the floor of his bedchamber. He prostrated himself, then straightened as there was a knock on the door. ‘Enter!’ he called.

John stepped into the room, then froze. ‘I am sorry, Yusuf. I did not realize that it was time for prayers.’

‘It is not,’ Yusuf said as he rose. ‘But praying brings me peace. Now, what do you want?’

‘You are needed in the council room.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Your brother, Selim, has come from Damascus with news. That is all I know.’

Yusuf hurried through the palace and up the narrow spiralling staircase to the council room in its high tower. Nur ad-Din was there, along with Shirkuh, Gumushtagin and Selim. Yusuf entered and exchanged kisses with his brother.

‘Salaam, Selim. It has been too long.’

‘He has brought good news,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘King Amalric has made his final blunder. He is marching on Damascus at the head of an army.’ He looked at the men around him. ‘We will grind the Franks to dust against the walls of Damascus.’

‘It is not all good news,’ Shirkuh grumbled. ‘The Christian army has a head start on us. Damascus might fall before we arrive.’

‘We will reach the city in time,’ Nur ad-Din insisted. ‘And then we shall crush them—this time for good.’

SEPTEMBER 1163: DAMASCUS

Yusuf rode with Nur ad-Din and Shirkuh at the head of an army over ten thousand strong. They had been marching for nine days, heading west at first and then following the Orontes River south past the walled cities of Hama and Homs. After Homs, they had cut across the mountains, and today they would reach Damascus. Yusuf hoped that they would not be too late. The Frankish army had reached Damascus four days ago.

They were riding across a flat plain, following a gully that cut its way through the sun-baked earth, a thin trickle of water at the bottom. The plain seemed to stretch away endlessly, the distant horizon shimmering in the heat. Damascus was still hidden over the horizon when Yusuf saw a brown cloud rising high into the sky ahead.

‘What do you suppose that is?’ Nur ad-Din asked the emirs around him.

Yusuf squinted against the bright sun. ‘It looks like smoke.’

‘That it does.’ Shirkuh frowned. ‘I pray to Allah that we are not too late. If the Franks are in the city—’

‘Then we must hurry,’ Nur ad-Din finished his thought. ‘Come!’ He spurred his horse forward. Yusuf and the other emirs galloped after him, followed by thousands of mounted mamluks. The hooves of their horses drummed on the plain like thunder and sent up a tall plume of dust behind them. The city rose quickly above the oncoming horizon, the dark walls bordered by empty desert on the left and emerald orchards to the right. As they rode closer, Yusuf could see that the city was not on fire. The brown cloud came from the low hills to the west of the city, beyond the orchards.

Nur ad-Din raised his fist as he reined to a stop, and Yusuf pulled up beside him. ‘I don’t understand,’ Yusuf said. ‘There is nothing in those hills to burn.’

Shirkuh grinned. ‘That is not smoke, Yusuf. It is dust, kicked up by an army on the move. The Franks are withdrawing.’

‘Damascus has held again,’ Nur ad-Din exulted. ‘The Franks must have feared being caught between the walls and our army.’

‘They are not far off,’ Yusuf said. ‘If we push hard, then we can catch them.’

‘Patience, Yusuf,’ Nur ad-Din replied. ‘Our men have ridden far today, and we want them fresh for the fight. We will camp in the orchards where there is plenty of food and water.’

‘And the Franks?’

‘You will take an advance guard and trail them, sending messengers back to keep me apprised of their movements. Keep your men out of sight. I want the Franks to think we have let them escape. Then, when the time is right, we will surprise them as we did at Jacob’s Ford. And this time, we will not stop until we have driven every last Frank into the sea.’

SEPTEMBER 1163: PLAIN OF BUTAIHA

Low, rocky hills rose to either side of Yusuf as his horse picked its way along the floor of a ravine, walking in the footprints left by the Frankish army less than an hour before. He and his men had been following the Franks for two days, angling south-west across the plains and low hills that lay between Damascus and the Jordan River. Yusuf turned in his saddle to look at the forty hand-picked mamluks riding behind him. It was a small enough force that if they were seen, the Franks might take them for a band of raiders. Yusuf knew that further back, on the broad plain a quarter of a mile behind them, Nur ad-Din sat with his army, waiting for Yusuf to spring the trap. John was with them, riding in the baggage train where he would not be forced to fight his fellow Christians. Yusuf wished his friend were with him now.

Yusuf turned forward again. Ahead, the ravine turned to the north, but the trail beaten by the Franks headed straight on, out of the ravine and over the low rise before him. Yusuf reined to a stop.

Qaraqush rode up beside him. ‘What do you think?’

‘It is time,’ Yusuf replied. ‘We will follow their tracks.’

He spurred his horse up the gentle rise, then reined in sharply when he reached the top. A grass-covered plain lay before him, running towards the thin, silver ribbon of the Jordan River. The Frankish army was spread out over the plain, their plate armour glinting in the sun, pennants snapping overhead. They had stopped to water their horses. As Yusuf watched, a knight near the edge of the army pointed to him. He heard shouting in Frankish, carried to him on the wind. Yusuf did not move.

‘By Allah,’ Qaraqush murmured as he rode up alongside Yusuf. The other mamluks joined them, spreading out atop the hill. On the plain, the Christians began to mount their horses. A single knight spurred across the plain, followed by three more, then a dozen. ‘We should retreat,’ Qaraqush said.

‘Not yet,’ Yusuf replied. Hundreds of knights with lances in
hand were now charging towards them, followed by thousands of foot-soldiers. Yusuf waited until the closest knights were only a hundred yards off. ‘Now!’ he shouted as he wheeled his horse. ‘Retreat! Back to the army!’ Yusuf dug his spurs into his horse’s sides and galloped down the hill, his men thundering after him. He crouched in the saddle, his head close beside his horse’s neck as he raced along the wide ravine. He could hear the shouts of the Franks and the pounding of hooves. He looked over his shoulder to see the first Frankish knights cresting the hill behind him. ‘
Yalla
!’ he cried and flicked the reins, urging his horse to go faster. ‘
Yalla
!
Yalla
!’

Yusuf rounded a last curve and rode out of the hills and on to the plain where the Muslim army waited. The line of men stretched for a quarter of a mile. Mamluks on foot stood in front, long spears in hand. Behind them were thousands of mounted mamluks and Bedouin warriors, bows at the ready. Yusuf spotted Nur ad-Din’s banner at the centre of the line and headed for it. The line of foot-soldiers parted to let Yusuf through, and he pulled up before Nur ad-Din in a cloud of dust.

‘They’re coming! All of them!’

Nur ad-Din grinned. ‘Our time has come.’ He raised his voice to address the men around him. ‘Prepare to fight! Allah is with us!’

Across the plain, the Franks began to pour out of the ravine, spreading out as they thundered towards the Muslim lines under a cloud of dust. Yusuf thought back to his discussions with John, long ago in Baalbek. Nothing could stand up to a Frankish charge, John had said. Yusuf looked to Nur ad-Din, who was still grinning fiercely. ‘Perhaps we should retreat before the initial onslaught,’ Yusuf suggested. ‘To draw them in before surrounding them.’

‘Retreat?’ Nur ad-Din roared incredulously. ‘No, we will stand firm, Yusuf. Allah will give us strength.’ The closest Christians were nearing the line. Nur ad-Din drew his sword and waved it over his head. ‘Let fly, men!’

Yusuf nocked an arrow to his bow and picked out one of the charging knights. He released the arrow and followed its path until it was lost amongst thousands of others. The arrows momentarily dimmed the afternoon sun as they arced through the blue sky. Then they fell hissing amongst the Franks. Yusuf saw a knight at the front of the charge take an arrow in the chest, but his armour was too thick for the missile to penetrate all the way to his flesh. Here and there knights fell, their horses shot out beneath them, but the Frankish charge did not falter. The knights rode on, arrow shafts protruding from their armour. The nearest knights were only thirty yards away now, and their deafening war cry rolled over Yusuf. ‘
For Christ
!
For the Kingdom
!’

‘For Allah!’ Nur ad-Din shouted back, and all along the line the men echoed his cry. ‘
Allah
!
Allah
!
Allah
!’ Yusuf tucked his bow into his saddle and readied his sword and shield.

Then the first Franks hit them. Yusuf saw a knight speared off his horse by one of the foot-soldiers. The next knight suffered the same fate, and the next. Yusuf began to hope that the line would hold, but then a solid mass of knights hit the line at once. They smashed through the wall of foot-soldiers, trampling them underfoot. A heavily armoured knight, his face hidden behind the visor of his helmet, charged towards Yusuf with lance lowered. At the last second, Yusuf jerked the reins and his horse stepped to the side. The knight’s lance missed Yusuf by inches. Yusuf slashed out as the knight rode past, catching him in the throat and knocking him from the saddle. Yusuf turned to see another knight bearing down on him, and this time he could not avoid the long lance. He managed to block it with his shield, but the force of the blow sent him flying from his saddle to land hard on his back. Yusuf staggered to his feet, ready to defend himself, but there was no one to fight. The wave of Frankish knights had thundered past, driving the Muslim army before them and leaving carnage in their wake. Dead mamluks lay all about, many with the long shafts of lances protruding from their chests. Riderless horses wandered everywhere – some galloping
madly in fear, others cropping at the grass. Yusuf edged towards a horse, but it shied away, eyes rolling, and galloped off. Yusuf heard a roar behind him and turned to see an endless stream of Frankish foot-soldiers pouring from the hills and surging across the plain towards him.

Yusuf ran in the opposite direction, after his retreating army. The dust thrown up by the fleeing mamluks and pursuing Christians was far off, but closer, only a hundred yards ahead, Yusuf spotted Nur ad-Din surrounded by twenty mamluks of his personal guard. Nur ad-Din had halted his retreat and was waving his sword over his head, trying to rally the remnants of his army. Dozens of Frankish knights swarmed around Nur ad-Din’s guard, eager to strike down the Muslim king. As he ran, Yusuf glanced back to the Frankish foot-soldiers rushing across the plain. If Nur ad-Din did not retreat soon, he would be lost.

‘Yusuf!’ It was Qaraqush, riding up and leading a horse. Al-Mashtub and ten of Yusuf’s men were with him.

Yusuf swung himself up into the saddle. ‘To Nur ad-Din!’ he shouted and spurred across the field. They hit the Frankish knights from behind. Yusuf cut down two men before they could turn to defend themselves. The other Franks scattered as the rest of Yusuf’s men arrived. Yusuf rode up beside Nur ad-Din. The malik’s face was pale and his shoulder was stained with blood.