by Jack Hight
‘Well said,’ Khaldun agreed, slapping the floor for emphasis.
Asimat flushed red. ‘I see,’ she said tersely. ‘I am not feeling well, Husband. Please excuse me.’ Nur ad-Din nodded, and Asimat rose.
‘Makin!’ Nur ad-Din called, and a mamluk stepped into the room. ‘Escort Asimat back to the palace.’ Asimat pulled her veil over her face and followed the mamluk out into the courtyard.
‘May Nadhira and I also be excused, Husband?’ Zimat asked Khaldun. He nodded, and the two women rose. ‘We will leave you men to your talk. Good-night, brothers,’ Zimat said. She gave a small bow, and they left.
‘I fear I will have no peace tonight,’ Nur ad-Din said with a sigh when they had gone. ‘I have made Asimat unhappy.’ He cocked his head as a thought came to him. ‘She seems to like you well enough, Yusuf. Perhaps you can amuse her. You will visit her, tomorrow.’
Yusuf’s eyes went wide. ‘Are you sure, my lord?’
Nur ad-Din smiled. ‘You are an honourable man. I am sure I can trust you. But remember this,’ he added, and his smile faded. ‘I am no Frankish wine merchant. If you touch my wife, I will have your head.’
John shivered in the chill night air as he stepped out into the courtyard, leaving the mamluks behind him in the gatehouse. The men were laughing and joking as they played at dice, but John had no stomach for their good spirits. He walked to the fountain at the centre of the courtyard and stood staring at the main door into the villa, light peaking out around its edges. Zimat was there, just beyond that door. How long had it been since he last saw her? Three years? And now she was married with children. John doubted if she would even remember him. He sighed and looked up at the bright stars above.
The door to the house opened, spilling bright light into the courtyard. A mamluk stepped out, followed by a veiled woman. John’s heart quickened. He examined her closely, and their eyes met as she passed around the far side of the fountain. The woman looked quickly away. She was not Zimat. John watched as she stepped into a litter. As the gate swung open, four burly mamluks emerged from the gatehouse and carried the litter away. The gate was just swinging closed when John heard a creaking sound behind him. He turned to see a veiled woman standing in a shadowy doorway that opened into the courtyard from the side.
‘Zimat?’ John breathed.
‘John,’ the woman whispered. ‘Come quickly.’
John stepped through the door, and the woman closed it behind him. She took his hand and led him down a dimly lit hallway and into a bedroom on the right. She shut the door and removed her veil as she turned to face him. It was Zimat. Her face was thinner and her features sharper than when John had last seen her, but she had the same enchanting, dark eyes. John opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His mouth felt dry and his heart pounded. He had played this moment out a million times in his mind, but now that it had come, he felt awkward and confused.
Zimat stepped close. ‘I thought you would be happy to see me, John. Surely you have not forgotten me.’
‘Of course not.’ He embraced her, and she pressed her head against his chest. Her hair had been oiled and smelled of jasmine, as he remembered. After a moment she began to sob quietly, her shoulders shaking. ‘What is wrong?’ John asked. ‘What has happened?’
‘Do you still love me?’ Zimat asked.
‘You know I do,’ John whispered and kissed her. Her lips were soft, and her mouth, when she opened it to him, tasted of honey. But after a moment she pulled away to once more bury her face in his chest.
‘I never stopped loving you,’ she murmured, ‘even when I was in the arms of my husband.’
‘Your husband-’ John’s brow furrowed, and he gently pushed Zimat away. ‘I should go. Khaldun will be missing you.’
‘No, he is more interested in his new wife, Nadhira. He has not visited my bed in weeks.’
‘Why? Surely he is pleased with you.’
Zimat lowered her head. ‘I have borne him two daughters, but no sons. It is not my fault. None of Khaldun’s concubines has produced a male child.’
‘I see. So now you come to me for comfort,’ John said, his voice hardening. ‘And I was fool enough to believe you loved me.’ He stepped past her and put his hand on the door. ‘I will not be your toy, Zimat. And I will not put both our lives at risk just so you may spite your husband.’
Zimat grabbed his arm. ‘Wait! There is more that I must tell you.’ John lowered his hand. ‘Khaldun’s new wife is not faithful to him. She sleeps with another, hoping he will give her a son.’
‘Why tell me this, not your husband?’
‘Because he would not believe me, and because Yusuf will want to know. The man that Nadhira lays with is Turan.’
John’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’
Zimat nodded. ‘I have seen them together.’
‘You were right to tell me,’ John said.
‘You will tell Yusuf?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’ Zimat stepped closer to John and placed a hand on his chest. She looked up at him with her dark eyes. ‘I have missed you, John. May I see you again?’
John hesitated. He knew he should say ‘no’, but as he looked into her eyes, he felt his resistance crumble. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘but how?’
‘Come to my chambers at night.’
‘I cannot. It will cost both of us our lives if I am seen.’
Zimat flashed a brilliant smile. ‘You won’t be. I will tell you how.’
The next morning Yusuf presented himself at the door to the harem, which occupied its own wing of the palace. He was met by the tawashi — the chief eunuch in the service of Nur ad-Din’s wives. ‘You are expected,’ he said, and led Yusuf to Asimat’s chambers. At the door, he paused and turned to Yusuf. ‘I will be watching,’ he said. Then he knocked and pushed the door open. Sunlight from a row of broad windows on the far wall spilled into the room, illuminating the saffron-yellow carpet, a canopied bed in the corner and a large loom at which two servant girls sat, passing a pair of shuttles back and forth as they wove red and gold threads into a weft of tautly stretched, white wool fibres. The only other furniture was a washbasin. Asimat sat in one of the windows, reading. She looked up from her book and frowned.
‘Forgive me for disturbing you, my lady,’ the tawashi said with a bow. ‘May I present Yusuf ibn Ayub. He has come at the request of lord Nur ad-Din.’ The eunuch bowed again and backed out, closing the door behind him.
The girls at the loom kept working, ignoring Yusuf. Asimat stared at him fixedly. The soft morning light illuminated her from behind, outlining her form underneath a thin caftan of green silk. Yusuf shifted awkwardly and looked away, then looked back. ‘Well?’ Asimat demanded.
‘Nur ad-Din-’
‘My husband has sent you to cheer me,’ Asimat said, cutting him off. ‘I do not need cheering. You may go.’ She returned to her book. Yusuf did not move, and after a moment, Asimat looked up. ‘Why are you still here?’
‘I am sorry, Khatun, but you are misinformed. You husband did indeed send me to cheer you, but that is not why I am here. I have come because I wish to speak with you.’
Asimat’s eyebrows rose. ‘That is unfortunate, because I do not wish to speak with you.’
Yusuf felt himself flush, but he held his ground. ‘In that case, my lady, I will do the talking.’
Asimat sighed in exasperation. ‘Since it seems I cannot get rid of you, what did you wish to discuss?’
‘Damascus. You visited the city when Nur ad-Din took it.’
Asimat stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well,’ she said, rising from her seat in the window. ‘Come, we will speak in the gardens. Kaniz, bring me my veil.’ One of the servants left the room and came back with a white silk veil, which Asimat pulled over her face. She opened the door to find the tawashi waiting just outside. ‘I wish to visit the gardens,’ she told him.
‘Of course, Khatun,’ the eunuch said. He clapped loudly, and a moment later a dozen
eunuch guards marched into the hallway. They surrounded Yusuf and Asimat as they left the palace, heading across the broad open space within the citadel towards the gardens on the far side. Asimat walked ahead of Yusuf and did not speak. She did not turn to look as they passed the mamluks training in the middle of the field. Finally they came to the gardens. Asimat took a gravel path that passed through an orange grove and into a large rose garden containing dozens of varieties in shades of red, white, yellow, pink and orange. The eunuch guards waited outside the garden.
Asimat stopped before a rose bush covered in loose, pink blossoms. She picked a flower and smelled it. ‘A damask rose. They were first cultivated in Damascus. They always remind me of my childhood.’
‘I, too, spent much of my childhood in Damascus,’ Yusuf said. ‘My family lived in Baalbek, but we had a home in the city, not far from the great mosque.’
‘I know it well,’ Asimat said. ‘I was rarely allowed outside the palace. Most of what I know of the city, I saw from the windows of my room. It faced the mosque. I used to watch the people in the market square behind the mosque and wonder what it would be like to be one of them.’
‘Surely you do not regret your place in life. You are married to the greatest ruler in all of the East, perhaps in the world.’
Asimat sighed and dropped the rose. ‘No, I do not regret my place,’ she said as she resumed walking. ‘But I remember once visiting the orchards of Damascus to pick mangos. I must have been five or six. As I was carried to the orchards in a litter, I saw two children my age playing in one of the gardens beside the road. They seemed so happy.’
‘I too visited those orchards,’ Yusuf said. ‘They are beautiful, a paradise. But the people there are not so happy. They lead a hard life.’
Asimat nodded. ‘I miss Damascus. Seeing it again after all these years was hard. I had not visited it since my marriage. That was long ago, just before the Christian siege.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Fourteen, barely a woman. Nur ad-Din was more than twice my age. I was terrified of him. I begged my father not to send me away, but it was an important alliance. It could not wait.’ She smiled. ‘I was wrong to be afraid. Nur ad-Din is a kind man.’
‘And yet he says you are unhappy.’
‘I have not given him a son,’ Asimat explained. ‘You heard Nur ad-Din last night. That is my one duty as a wife, and I have failed.’
‘You are young still.’
Asimat shook her head. ‘After eight years, what hope do I have? I have donated to the mosques and prayed to Allah, but my prayers have not been answered. I fear they never will be.’ They walked on in silence, their feet crunching on the gravel, until they reached the end of the path. ‘What of you?’ Asimat asked. ‘Do you have a wife?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You should.’ Asimat turned and began to retrace their path through the garden. ‘A man needs sons to carry on his legacy.’
‘I have no legacy, not yet.’
‘But you are Emir of Tell Bashir and a trusted councillor of Nur ad-Din.’
Yusuf shook his head. ‘I have accomplished nothing. My father and uncle started with no lands and no name. Shirkuh has become atabek of Nur ad-Din’s armies, and my father is wali of Damascus. I shall surpass them both.’
‘I do not doubt it. Nur ad-Din is right to expect great things from you. I see much of him in you.’
Yusuf met her eyes. ‘Do you?’
‘You have the same confidence, the same thirst for greatness. And you will have your chance in the years to come. We will go to war with the Franks. If you survive, you will rise to great heights.’
Yusuf grinned. ‘I do not plan on dying.’
‘I thought not,’ Asimat said, smiling back. They had reached the end of the path leading from the rose garden, and the eunuch guards stood nearby. Asimat stopped and turned to face Yusuf. ‘I must apologize for my rudeness earlier. I have enjoyed our talk, Yusuf. We shall speak again soon, I hope?’
‘If Nur ad-Din wills it, my lady.’
‘Until then.’ Asimat gestured to the guards, and they surrounded her as she headed towards the palace.
Yusuf picked a rose bloom and absent-mindedly plucked its petals as he watched her walk away. She was halfway back to the palace when she glanced back over her shoulder towards him. Yusuf smiled. He held the rose to his nose and inhaled. ‘Asimat,’ he whispered.
Yusuf was still smiling when he returned to his chamber. He found Faridah waiting for him. She stood at the window, looking out towards the grounds of the citadel. She was wearing a thin cotton robe, through which Yusuf could see the curve of her back and buttocks. ‘I saw the two of you from here,’ she said, her back still to him.
Yusuf crossed the room and placed his hands around her waist. He kissed her neck. ‘Surely you are not jealous of Asimat.’
‘Of course not.’ Faridah pulled away and went to sit on the bed. ‘I owe you my life, and I ask for nothing more. I know that there will be other women.’ She met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘But Asimat is the wife of your lord.’
Yusuf came over and sat beside her. ‘I am not a fool,’ he said.
Faridah touched his shoulder. ‘And I am not blind. I have seen Asimat. She is beautiful, and she is young.’
Yusuf reached beneath Faridah’s robe and ran his hand up her side to caress he breast. ‘You are hardly old.’
‘But I cannot bear children, and soon you will want a son.’ She looked away. ‘You will want someone younger.’
Yusuf touched her cheek and turned her face towards him. There were tears in her eyes. He brushed them away and kissed her. ‘You will always have a place in my household, Faridah.’
‘And in your heart?’ Faridah whispered. Yusuf nodded. ‘Then that is all I ask.’ She kissed him, sliding her arms around his back and pulling him down on top of her. He pulled her robe aside and began to kiss her breast.
There was a loud knock at the door, and Yusuf pulled away. Faridah sat up, pulling her robe back around her. ‘What is it?’ Yusuf demanded.
The door opened, and John entered. ‘Excuse me, Yusuf. I must speak with you.’ He glanced at Faridah. ‘In private.’
‘I have no secrets from Faridah,’ Yusuf replied, rising. ‘What is it?’
‘Your brother, Turan. He has committed adultery with Khaldun’s new wife, Nadhira.’
‘Zimat’s husband,’ Yusuf whispered, his jaw tight. He went to the window and gripped the sill as he looked out. Turan again. Always Turan. The fool would be the ruin of their family. Yusuf wondered if he truly loved Nadhira or if he were using her to get revenge against Khaldun for winning Baalbek. It hardly mattered. Yusuf turned back to John. ‘How do you know this?’
John refused to meet his gaze. ‘I cannot say.’
‘Cannot say? I am your lord!’ Yusuf snapped. ‘You will tell me.’
‘I am a free man,’ John replied quietly. ‘I will not tell you.’
Yusuf’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was it Zimat?’ John said nothing, and Yusuf crossed the room to him. ‘I will say this only once: Zimat is my sister. If you stain her honour, I will kill you myself.’
‘I understand.’
Yusuf nodded, then turned away to pace the room. ‘Send for Turan,’ he told John. ‘I will know the truth of this from him.’
‘He is not in the citadel. I saw him leave for town earlier today.’
Yusuf stopped pacing. ‘Do you think he went to-?’ John nodded. ‘Saddle my horse. I will go to Khaldun’s home.’
‘I will meet you at the stables,’ John said and left.
Faridah rose and went to Yusuf, putting her arms around him from behind. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.
Yusuf picked up his sword belt and pulled it tight around his waist. ‘I do not know.’
‘Open up!’ Yusuf shouted as he pounded on the gate of Khaldun’s villa. John stood behind him, holding the reins of their horses. ‘I am Yusuf ibn Ayub, come to see Khaldun. Open this gate!’
The gate creaked open a few feet to reveal two eunuch guards. ‘Our lord is not here,’ one of them said in a high voice. ‘He left for Baalbek this morning.’
‘Then I will see my sister, Zimat.’ Yusuf tried to push past the guards, but they grabbed his arms, stopping him.
‘You cannot enter,’ the first guard said. ‘Khaldun has told us to admit no guests while he is absent.’
‘Not even my brother, Turan,’ Yusuf growled. The two guards exchanged a nervous glance. ‘Shall I tell Khaldun what you have allowed to take place in his absence?’
The second guard paled. ‘I will take you to your sister. Come.’
Yusuf turned to John. ‘Make sure no one leaves or goes to warn Turan.’ John nodded, and Yusuf followed the eunuch guard inside. They crossed the villa courtyard and entered the carpeted room where Yusuf had feasted the night before. They passed through into a corridor on the right, then turned sharply right again into a long hallway with rooms opening off to either side. The guard knocked at one of the doors.
‘Enter,’ Zimat called from inside, and the guard pushed the door open. Zimat, dressed in a simple white caftan, stood at the centre of the room. ‘Brother!’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank Allah you have come.’ She went to Yusuf and embraced him.
Yusuf gently pushed her away. ‘Is it true?’ Zimat nodded. ‘Why did you tell John and not me?’
‘I wanted to tell you, but I did not know how. Khaldun was there, and he would never believe me.’ Her face twisted into a scowl. ‘That slut Nadhira has blinded him.’
‘You should not have spoken to John,’ Yusuf told her. ‘He is a man and a Frank. You could be whipped for seeing him alone.’
Zimat lowered her head. ‘I did not know what else to do. Someone had to know.’
‘Very well. But you are never to see John again. You must promise me.’
Zimat looked away. ‘I promise.’
‘Now tell me, do you have proof of what you say about Turan?’