Eagle st-1

by Jack Hight

  ‘At last,’ Waqar muttered. ‘I will gut the Frankish bastard myself.’

  Yusuf grimaced and spurred his horse forward, riding at a fast trot. He and his men passed through the city gate and wound through the town to the villa. As he rode into the courtyard, Yusuf saw Turan speaking with their uncle, Shirkuh, who had just arrived and was still covered with the dust of the road. Turan saw Yusuf and his eyes narrowed. Shirkuh grinned. ‘Nephew!’ he roared.

  ‘Ahlan wa-Sahlan, Uncle,’ Yusuf said as he slid from the saddle. He put his hands on his uncle’s shoulders and exchanged the ritual three kisses on the lips.

  ‘You greet me as a man now,’ Shirkuh noted. He squeezed Yusuf’s arm, feeling his hard bicep. ‘And by Allah, you are a man. Soon enough, it will be your turn to join me in the court of Nur ad-Din.’

  ‘My turn?’

  ‘Your father has decided that Turan is old enough to begin his service to his lord. I have come for him. We leave tomorrow for Aleppo.’ Shirkuh looked past Yusuf to Waqar. ‘And who is this?’

  ‘This is the Bedouin sheikh Waqar, father of Sa’ida,’ Yusuf informed him. ‘Waqar, this is my uncle, Shirkuh.’

  ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum,’ Waqar called out as he dismounted.

  ‘Wa ‘Alaykum as-salaam, sheikh. I mourn with you for your loss,’ Shirkuh replied, and the two men exchanged kisses. ‘Now come, all of you. Let us go in for refreshments. I am eager to see my brother.’

  Turan shook his head. ‘Later, Uncle. I must speak with Yusuf.’

  Shirkuh frowned. ‘But you insult our guest.’

  ‘My most sincere apologies, Sheikh,’ Turan said, bowing to Waqar. ‘After tomorrow, I will not see my brother again for many months.’ Waqar nodded.

  ‘Very well,’ Shirkuh said. ‘But do not be too long.’

  Yusuf followed Turan around the side of the villa to the rear courtyard, where Turan turned to face him. ‘I have a score to settle with you before I go, little brother.’

  ‘And I with you.’ Yusuf raised his fists. ‘You killed Sa’ida. Admit it.’

  ‘Who will make me? You?’ Turan turned in place as Yusuf began to circle around him. ‘Careful, Brother, your Frank is not here to save you this time,’ Turan said as he casually cracked his knuckles. Yusuf sprang forward and snapped off a jab, catching Turan in the jaw. Turan stumbled back, surprised. ‘You little bastard!’ He brought his fists up and began to circle, mirroring Yusuf.

  ‘Why did you kill Sa’ida?’ Yusuf asked. ‘Did she laugh at the size of your zib?’

  Turan’s face flushed red. He stepped forward and swung for Yusuf’s head. Yusuf ducked the clumsy blow and punched Turan twice in the gut before moving away, leaving his brother doubled over, hands on his knees.

  ‘I must have gotten close to the mark,’ Yusuf taunted. ‘Or was it that you could not get it up?’

  ‘I will kill you!’ Turan roared. He charged towards Yusuf, who stood his ground. At the last second, Yusuf jumped to the side and smashed his fist into Turan’s face before tripping his brother and sending him sprawling in the dust. Turan rolled over, furious, but Yusuf was on him immediately. He slammed his knee into Turan’s gut as he knelt over his brother and punched him in the nose, feeling a satisfying crunch. He hit Turan again and again, as his older brother vainly tried to defend himself. Turan’s nose was gushing blood and his lip was split, but Yusuf kept punching. He bared his teeth as the anger and frustration built up over so many years boiled over within him.

  ‘You bastard,’ Yusuf growled as he swung down. ‘ Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’ Yusuf swung again, but this time Turan caught his punch. He yanked Yusuf’s arm, pulling Yusuf off his chest. Yusuf tried to shake free, but Turan’s grip was like a vice. Turan rose to his feet and spun Yusuf around, putting him in a headlock. He pulled his forearm tight across his brother’s throat, choking him.

  ‘I did kill Sa’ida,’ Turan whispered in Yusuf’s ear. ‘It was that bitch’s fault my zib would not rise. And it’s your fault I married her in the first place. Shall I kill you, too, little brother?’ He squeezed tighter. Yusuf’s face was shading from bright red to purple, and he was starting to see spots of light dancing across his vision. ‘No smart replies now, eh? Can’t talk your way out of this.’

  Yusuf snapped his head backwards and Turan fell back, hands over his face. Gasping for air, Yusuf spun around to face him. But the air would not come. It was one of his fits. Not now, not now, Yusuf thought to himself. He dropped to his knees, his chest heaving as he struggled for air.

  Turan smirked, despite his swollen right eye and the blood running from his nose. ‘What’s the matter, little brother? Trouble breathing? And you wonder why I am Father’s favourite. You’re pathetic.’ Yusuf closed his eyes, shutting out Turan. He forced himself to breath evenly and slowly. He could defeat this. He must not try to catch his breath; it would come to him if he was patient. He opened his eyes and got to his feet.

  ‘Still fighting?’ Turan sneered, his teeth stained red with blood. ‘You should have stayed down.’ He surged towards Yusuf, who threw a jab, catching Turan in his bloodied nose. Yusuf slipped away and started circling. He grinned. His breathing had returned to normal.

  ‘I’ll wipe that grin off your face,’ Turan hissed. He stepped forward and threw a windmill punch. Yusuf ducked the blow and then unleashed a combination: two quick blows to the gut and an uppercut that snapped Turan’s head back. Turan stumbled backwards, his arms down. Yusuf stepped forward and threw two hard punches to his brother’s stomach, driving the wind out of him. Then Yusuf reared back and put all his force behind a straight cross that caught Turan square on the jaw. Turan’s legs gave out, and he sank to his knees, his eyes glazed. Yusuf looked past him and saw Shirkuh, watching impassively as he leaned against a corner of the villa.

  Yusuf put his hands on Turan’s shoulders and leaned close. ‘You will admit what you did to Sa’ida.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Turan mumbled, his head down. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her.’

  ‘Louder, Brother. I did not hear you.’

  ‘It was an accident!’ Turan cried. ‘I shoved her, and she fell. She hit her head on the table.’

  Yusuf’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘You are my brother, or else I would beat you to death like the animal you are.’ He let go of Turan, who slumped to the ground and lay unmoving in the dust. Yusuf headed towards Shirkuh. ‘You heard what he said, Uncle. He killed Sa’ida.’

  Shirkuh nodded. ‘Your father suspected as much. That is why he asked me to come for Turan. The boy needs to be taught a lesson.’ He gripped Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Turan is nearly twice your size, and you made him eat dirt.’

  Yusuf nodded towards the cell where John was being kept. ‘The Frank, John, taught me.’

  ‘He taught you well. I will speak to your father and see that he is released.’ Shirkuh drew a dagger from his belt and handed it to his nephew. The pommel was carved in the shape of a fierce eagle’s head. ‘Nur ad-Din gave this to me. He said I was like the eagle descending upon the hare, the terror of the Franks. Now it is yours.’

  Yusuf drew the dagger from its sheath and the dark-grey blade glinted in the sunlight. ‘Thank you, Uncle.’

  ‘You have the makings of a great warrior, Yusuf. Our lord Nur ad-Din has need of men like you. Soon enough, it will be your turn to join him in Aleppo, little eagle.’

  Part II

  Saladin

  ‘Leaders are not born; they are made.’ Saladin told me this. I do not know if what he says is true for all, but it was true for him. And the making of Saladin the Great was no easy thing. It almost killed him…

  The Chronicle of Yahya al-Dimashq

  Chapter 9

  OCTOBER 1152: BAALBEK

  John gripped his spear in both hands as he crept along a game trail, weaving through the tall cedars on the slopes above Baalbek. To either side, a dense undergrowth of ferns, shrubs and saplings disappeared into the early mo
rning mist. Ahead, Yusuf crept forward, scanning the ground for signs of their quarry: a black panther that had killed three villagers in the past month. They had first caught sight of the huge beast two days before. Now they had found its trail again.

  John paused as Yusuf bent down to examine the ground. In the two years since Turan left, Yusuf had added muscle to his thin frame, and in the last few months he had developed the beginnings of a black beard, which he filled out with kohl. John thought back to the reedy boy he had first met years ago. That boy was gone. Yusuf was becoming a man.

  Yusuf looked up from the trail and waved John forward. He approached and crouched beside Yusuf, who poked at the earth and raised two fingers wet with blood. ‘This kill was recent,’ he whispered. ‘We’re close.’

  Yusuf took his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. They walked in silence as the sun rose above them, burning off the mist and dappling the undergrowth with light. John caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and froze, his spear extended towards the woods on his right. Yusuf drew his bow taut. There was another flash of motion, and John spotted a deer bounding away from them, followed by its faun. The deer stopped, looked back for a second, then disappeared into the distant trees. Yusuf grinned sheepishly as he relaxed his bowstring. They moved forward again, but John stopped almost immediately.

  ‘Fresh droppings,’ he whispered, pointing to a pile of dung glistening in a patch of sunlight to the side of the trail.

  Yusuf nodded, then gestured to the branches above. ‘Keep your eyes open.’ After its kill, the panther would have dragged its prey up into a tree in order to eat in peace. The cat’s black coat would make it difficult to spot in the shadows. John and Yusuf crept forward and John noticed more signs that the panther had passed this way: the broken branch of a fern on the side of the trail; a trace of blood on a leaf; a single paw print in the dust. Then the traces ceased. A dozen feet ahead, Yusuf stopped and looked back. ‘I see no more sign.’

  ‘Perhaps the panther left the trail,’ John suggested. He took a step into the dense foliage to his right.

  ‘Don’t move!’ Yusuf hissed and pointed to a branch over John’s head. John looked up and saw two unblinking, golden eyes peering back at him. The panther was stretched out on a limb directly overhead. The beast was huge, easily five feet long and thickly muscled beneath its glossy black fur. It yawned, revealing long canines, startlingly white against its black coat.

  John looked back to Yusuf, who had drawn his bow and was sighting along the arrow. John whispered a prayer to the Virgin, then added another to Allah for good measure. Yusuf let fly, and the arrow buried itself in the panther’s right hindquarter. The animal screeched in pain. It’s golden eyes moved from the arrow in its side to John. The beast roared and leapt.

  John raised his spear, but the panther slammed into him, knocking it from his grip and flattening him. The huge cat swiped at John, raking its claws across the forearm that he raised to defend himself. Yusuf came running, and the panther looked to him. It snarled, then limped away into the woods. John sat up, gripping his left forearm, where three parallel gashes oozed blood.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Yusuf asked.

  ‘I’ll live.’ John extended his right hand, and Yusuf pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Forgive me, Brother. I missed.’

  John waved away the apology. ‘Come on,’ he said as he bent down to pick up his spear. ‘It’s getting away.’ Yusuf grinned and drew his dagger with the eagle hilt. He charged into the underbrush after the panther, and John followed at a jog. Leafy branches slapped against him as he ran through the forest. John leapt over a fallen tree, then ducked a low-hanging branch. Yusuf was just ahead, and John accelerated to catch up, but then skidded to a stop when he noticed a fresh smear of blood on the front of his tunic. He turned and examined the bush he had just passed. Sure enough, the leaves were splattered with blood. The trail led off to the right.

  ‘Yusuf!’ he shouted. ‘This way!’ John set off, scanning the ground ahead for signs of his quarry. He veered left as he noticed blood on a fern. There were no further signs, and John slowed, then stopped, scanning the brush around him. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. The beast was close; he could feel it.

  There was a roar behind him, and John turned just as the panther slammed into him, bowling him over and landing on top of him. The panther dug its claws into John’s shoulder and roared, its long canines only inches from his face. He could feel the animal’s hot breath. And then Yusuf slammed into the panther from the side, knocking it off of John. Yusuf sprang to his feet, but he had lost his dagger in his attack. Defenceless, he faced the big cat. It swiped at him, and Yusuf backed away so that John lay between him and the panther. The beast roared and sprang for Yusuf.

  With a cry of his own, John rolled and extended his spear, impaling the panther through the chest just before it hit Yusuf. The cat fell heavily, taking the spear with it. John scrambled away as it thrashed on the ground, screeching in agony. The panther’s cries quieted as its lifeblood flowed from it, and then it lay silent, dead. John pushed himself to his feet and looked across to Yusuf. They stood silent for a moment, the only sound the song of a nearby sparrow, and then Yusuf began to laugh. John joined him, and soon they were both bent over, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Yusuf,’ John gasped between laughs, ‘you should have seen your face when it leapt for you.’

  ‘My face? When it hit you, you looked as if you were going to piss yourself!’

  Their laughter faded as quickly as it had come, and they stood silent, staring at the mighty beast they had slain. John winced as he felt his right shoulder; his tunic was torn and bloody. Yusuf approached and gripped his other shoulder. ‘Thank you, John. I owe you my life.’

  John shrugged. ‘I only did my duty, m’allim.’

  Yusuf met his eyes. ‘Do not call me m’allim. I am your friend.’ John nodded. ‘Now come.’ Yusuf stepped forward, grabbed the spear with both hands and wrenched it free. ‘Let us take our prize home.’

  Yusuf rode through the streets of Baalbek, leading the horse over which the dead panther had been slung. As he and John wound up the hill towards the villa, people came out of their homes and lined the streets to see the beast, some staring openmouthed, others cheering. The women stayed in the background, silent and veiled, but more than a few fluttered their eyelashes at Yusuf as he road past. He had a smile on his face as he left the road and trotted through the gate into the villa.

  As Yusuf dismounted in the courtyard, his father came out to greet him, followed by Shirkuh. ‘Uncle!’ Yusuf shouted. He went first to greet his father, then turned to Shirkuh, who gripped him by the shoulders. ‘Ahlan wa-Sahlan,’ Yusuf said, and the two exchanged kisses.

  ‘Well met, young eagle.’ Shirkuh looked past Yusuf and nodded towards the horse that carried the black panther. ‘What have you caught?’

  ‘See for yourself.’

  They gathered around the panther. Shirkuh whistled appreciatively and reached out to stroke the glossy black fur. ‘I’ve never seen one so big. It will make a fine cloak. Where did you kill it?’

  ‘The slopes of Mount Tallat al Jawzani, but I was not the one who slew the beast.’ Yusuf gestured to John. ‘It was John.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I remember him,’ Shirkuh murmured. ‘A useful man.’

  ‘My lord is the one who tracked it,’ John said quietly.

  Shirkuh slapped Yusuf on the back. ‘Well done, nephew.’

  Yusuf nodded. ‘And what brings you to Baalbek, Uncle?’

  ‘You, Yusuf. You are coming with me to Aleppo. It is time that you begin your service to our lord, Nur ad-Din.’

  Ayub stepped forward. ‘Nur ad-Din is a man who values first impressions, Son. If you please him, then you will go far. You can become an emir, perhaps even the commander of his armies, like your Uncle Shirkuh.’

  ‘Or more,’ Shirkuh added. ‘It is no secret that Nur ad-Din has no son.’ Shirkuh turned to Yusuf. ‘I
have told him great things of you, young eagle. Do not disappoint me.’

  That night, John lay in the straw of the stable hayloft, Zimat pressed against his side, her head upon his chest. He looked down at her, trying to create a memory that he could carry with him. Zimat had, if possible, grown even more beautiful in the past two years as new curves appeared at her hips and breasts. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face John. A tear ran down her face, glistening silver in the moonlight. John gently brushed it away.

  ‘Do you remember our first kiss,’ he whispered, ‘when you came to me in the stable?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why did you come?’

  ‘To thank you. You saved me from Turan.’ A trace of a smile curled her lips. ‘And I was curious. You were so different from any of the men I had known.’

  ‘More handsome?’ John suggested playfully.

  ‘No.’ She laid her head back on his chest. ‘It is the way you looked at me. In the kitchen when we first met, you met my eyes and did not look away. My father would have had you whipped had he seen you.’

  John stroked her hair. ‘I did not know any better.’

  ‘It is not just that you did not lower your eyes.’ Zimat looked up and met his gaze. ‘I felt like you saw me, truly saw me, as someone to love, not as something to possess.’

  John frowned. ‘I could not possess you if I wished to. You will be married to Khaldun next spring.’

  ‘No!’ Zimat took his hand. ‘I cannot bear it. We will run away. You will take me far from here.’

  John looked away. ‘We cannot.’

  ‘We can! I know where my father keeps his gold. I can take enough for us to reach Jerusalem.’

  ‘It is not the money. Your father is a powerful man. No one would take us in. There would be nowhere for us to hide between here and the Frankish lands. We would be caught, and I would be killed.’ John met her eyes. ‘And perhaps you too.’