Eagle st-1

by Jack Hight

  John rose and pulled Reynald up beside him. ‘Shall I place him in the prison?’

  ‘No,’ Nur ad-Din said. ‘We are not savages like him. Give him a house in town and slaves to serve him as befits his station. The sooner he is ransomed, the better. I do not wish to see him again.’

  ‘Yes, malik.’ John grabbed Reynald’s arm and guided him from the room.

  ‘What did he say?’ Reynald asked as they passed through the palace entrance hall and out to the citadel grounds.

  ‘You will be given you own house and slaves until you are ransomed. And he remarked that your customs are very different from theirs.’

  ‘Damn right. I have nothing in common with those heathen savages.’

  ‘Indeed,’ John murmured.

  The next day Yusuf stood before the mirror in his chamber, dressed in his finest caftan of red silk. He smiled and leaned close to the mirror to be certain there was nothing caught between his teeth. He straightened his caftan one final time, and satisfied, left his room and headed to the harem. The entrance was framed by two eunuch guards. ‘I have come to see Asimat,’ Yusuf said.

  ‘You are expected,’ one of the eunuchs replied. He led Yusuf down a long hallway, dimly lit by burning tapers. As they approached the door to Asimat’s chambers, Yusuf was surprised to see Gumushtagin exit her rooms. When the bald eunuch saw Yusuf, he smiled ingratiatingly.

  ‘Salaam, Yusuf.’

  ‘Salaam, Gumushtagin. What brings you to the harem?’

  ‘One of the few advantages of being a eunuch: I have free access to Nur ad-Din’s apartments.’ Gumushtagin gave Yusuf a hard look. ‘But you are not a eunuch.’

  ‘I am here to visit Asimat.’

  ‘You spend a great deal of time with Nur ad-Din’s wife.’

  ‘At his bidding.’

  Gumushtagin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, of course. Ma’a as-salaama, Yusuf.’ Gumushtagin gave a small bow and stepped past him.

  ‘Allah yasalmak,’ Yusuf replied to the retreating figure, then turned and waited while one of the eunuch guards entered Asimat’s chamber and announced him.

  ‘You may enter,’ the guard told Yusuf.

  Yusuf stepped into the room to find Asimat seated in one of the windows, half a melon in one hand and a spoon in the other. She was wearing a simple, white cotton caftan. One of her maidservants sat on a cushion at her feet, reading from a book. The servant stopped reading when Yusuf entered.

  ‘My lady,’ Yusuf said and bowed.

  Asimat whispered something to the servant and then rose. ‘Salaam, Yusuf,’ she said. ‘Come, sit.’ She gestured towards the centre of the room, where silk cushions sat on the thick carpet. Yusuf waited for her to sit and then sat across from her. The maidservant closed the book and went to the loom.

  ‘Would you like some refreshment?’ Asimat asked, holding up the melon in her hand. Yusuf nodded. ‘Kaniz!’ Asimat called, and a moment later a female servant appeared carrying half a melon. She handed it and a spoon to Yusuf. The pulp of the melon had been mashed and mixed with crushed ice. Yusuf spooned out some of the mixture, which trailed wisps of cold air.

  ‘Ice in the summer; how is it possible?’ he asked.

  ‘In winter it is brought from the mountains near Baalbek and stored under straw in a cellar beneath the palace. It is a rare luxury.’

  Yusuf swallowed the spoonful of chilled melon and closed his eyes to savour the cool sweetness. ‘Delicious.’

  ‘I am glad you enjoy it, and I am glad that you have returned to Aleppo alive, if only so that I could see you again.’

  The woman at the loom stopped her work and looked over. Yusuf paled. ‘Careful what you say, Khatun.’ There was an awkward moment of silence, during which Yusuf fingered his golden belt. ‘You have been well since I last saw you?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Better. You were right: tears will not help me. If I wish to have a son, I must take my future in my own hands.’ She met Yusuf’s eyes and did not look away.

  Yusuf cleared his throat and glanced towards the loom. ‘I am sure that Nur ad-Din will be happy to hear that you are eager to try again.’

  Asimat frowned. ‘He has taken yet another favourite, who he hopes will give him an heir. I fear I will never have a son by him.’

  ‘But you said-’

  ‘It is best not to speak of it,’ Asimat said, cutting him off.

  ‘What shall we talk of, then?’

  ‘I hear that you fought bravely at the battle at Jacob’s Ford. Tell me about it.’

  ‘It was glorious,’ Yusuf said with a grin. He went on to describe the battle in detail, gesturing with his hands to indicate the position of the two armies. Asimat followed him closely, nodding with interest. ‘We crushed them,’ Yusuf concluded. ‘Hundreds of Franks were killed and thousands more taken prisoner. Their king was lucky to escape.’

  Asimat’s forehead creased. ‘And after all that, you let them go? You did not pursue them?’

  ‘We could not. The Roman Emperor was leading an army from the north. We had to make peace.’

  ‘I see. And did it strike you as strange that Nur ad-Din did not learn that the emperor was on the march until just after he defeated the Franks?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘An army as large as the emperor’s would be hard to conceal.’ Asimat lowered her voice. ‘Sometimes I think that Nur ad-Din does not wish to conquer the Christians.’

  ‘That is mad!’ Yusuf spluttered. ‘He speaks of nothing but driving them from our lands.’

  ‘Yes, and the emirs and sheikhs follow him because of this. The people gladly pay their taxes to support his wars. But with the Franks gone, there will be nothing left to unite our people. I think Nur ad-Din fears that if he defeats the Franks, then he will lose his kingdom.’

  Yusuf’s forehead creased. He had never even considered such things. ‘Nur ad-Din will crush the Franks,’ he insisted. ‘Usama is making peace with the Roman Emperor now. We will have no more to fear from him. Then, once King Baldwin is dead, we will strike again.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right. But if Nur ad-Din does not move against them?’

  ‘Then someone will.’

  ‘You?’

  Yusuf shook his head. ‘I am only the Emir of Tell Bashir.’

  ‘Yes, but your ambition burns bright, Yusuf.’ He opened his mouth to speak, but Asimat held up a hand, stopping him. ‘Do not deny it. I have seen the same flame burning in Nur ad-Din. But if you want to be great, then you must seize your destiny.’

  ‘Be careful what you say, Khatun,’ Yusuf said stiffly. ‘I am a man of honour, and Nur ad-Din is my lord.’

  ‘Nur ad-Din had a lord once, too.’ Asimat glanced towards her maidservants and then continued in a whisper. ‘His father, Zengi, was found murdered in his own bed.’ Again, her dark eyes found his. ‘Sometimes you must seize what you want, Yusuf.’

  Yusuf forced himself to look away. ‘Why are you telling me this? Do you think me a traitor?’

  Asimat smiled. ‘No, of course not. But not all of Nur ad-Din’s subjects are so loyal. If you do not act, then someone will. Gumushtagin, for instance.’

  ‘Is that what he was here for? To plot against Nur ad-Din?’

  ‘Gumushtagin is far too clever to discuss his plans with me, and I would never support him. But you…’ Asimat met his eyes and lowered her voice still further. ‘I will help you, if you help me, Yusuf. We can take both our destinies in hand.’

  Yusuf’s eyebrows rose. ‘Surely you do not mean-?’

  Asimat held his gaze for a moment longer, then looked away. ‘No,’ she said brusquely. ‘Forget I spoke. You should go.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Go!’ Asimat said with finality.

  His brow knit, Yusuf rose and left the room, the unspoken words churning in his head.

  Yusuf returned to his chambers to find Faridah lounging on his bed in a satin robe. ‘You look very handsome, my lord,’ she said.

  Yusuf looked away, embarrassed. ‘Wha
t do you mean?’ he asked gruffly.

  Faridah smiled. ‘You have no secrets from me, Yusuf.’ She crossed the room to him. ‘You have been to see Asimat. You would never take such care for me.’ She untied the belt of his caftan. ‘Be careful of her, my lord. Nur ad-Din favours you. Do not throw away his generosity.’

  ‘I have Nur ad-Din’s permission to visit Asimat.’

  ‘All the more reason to be careful.’

  Yusuf turned away from her. He shrugged off his caftan and dropped it on the floor. ‘Do not lecture me, woman. I know what I am doing.’

  Faridah moved close behind him and put her arms around his waist. ‘Does Nur ad-Din ask you to dress in your finest clothes when you meet his wife?’ she murmured in his ear. ‘I cannot stop you from wanting her, Yusuf, but I will stop you from acting the fool. If I can see that you are infatuated with her, then others will, too.’

  ‘There is nothing to see,’ Yusuf lied.

  ‘Then you will not go to her again?’

  Asimat’s words flashed through Yusuf’s mind: ‘I will help you, if you help me.’ Did she want him to give her a son? And what would she give in return? Yusuf rubbed his forehead, trying to bring order to his thoughts. This was madness. Nur ad-Din was his lord. And yet… An image of Asimat’s dark eyes flashed through his mind.

  ‘I do not wish to speak of it,’ he said at last. He pulled away and went to his trunk to retrieve a plain white caftan.

  ‘If you do not speak to me, then I cannot help you. Tell me, my lord. What did she say to you?’

  Yusuf sighed and turned to face her. ‘She wants me to give her a son.’

  Faridah’s eyes widened. She came to him and took his hands. ‘You cannot.’

  ‘I know,’ Yusuf snapped, then continued more softly. ‘But she promised me-’

  ‘What?’

  Yusuf met her eyes. ‘The kingdom.’

  ‘This is madness. Remember what happened to Nadhira. Nur ad-Din will have her stoned, and you executed.’

  Yusuf nodded, but even as he did an image rose unbidden in his mind: the curve of Asimat’s body beneath her caftan. Faridah frowned, then slapped him hard. ‘How dare you!’ Yusuf spluttered. ‘Are you mad, woman?’

  ‘It is you who have taken leave of your senses! I will not let you ruin yourself over this woman. We will leave for Tell Bashir.’

  ‘No,’ Yusuf said firmly. ‘My lord has need of me.’

  ‘You are not thinking of your lord, but of his wife. We will go. That is the only way to put her from your mind.’

  Yusuf hesitated, and Faridah raised her hand again. Yusuf caught her wrist. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You are right, Faridah. I will return to my lands until Nur ad-Din calls for me. I will think no more of Asimat.’

  John crossed the sunny square at the heart of Aleppo and stepped into the souk where medicine was sold. Long ago Yusuf had told him that, for a price, anything could be bought in the souks of Aleppo, and it appeared he was right. The street that held the market was covered over with long strips of wood set half an inch apart, and diffuse light filtered through, illuminating a dizzying array of goods. John stepped around several herb-filled baskets that overflowed the small shops and spread into the street. Other stores sold more refined drugs — powders in clay pots and brightly coloured liquids in glass jars. John passed a thin Saracen who was boiling a deep-blue liquid over a small flame, sending the steam through a tube to collect in a glass jar, where it was now a pale green. John looked away just in time to avoid running into a doctor who was pulling a patient’s tooth right there, in the middle of the street. Beyond the doctor, a dark-skinned man with a full head of bushy, black hair was holding up a jar containing a black, viscous substance and loudly proclaiming its ability to cure baldness.

  John ignored them all, striding through the market until he came to a narrow alleyway that opened off to the right. He hesitated at the entrance, clenching and unclenching his fists. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but what other choice did he have? He thought of Zimat, of what she had told him last night. He had to protect her, no matter what the cost. He took a deep breath and entered the alley.

  The light was dimmer here, and John had not gone far when he tripped over the outstretched legs of a beggar. He began to offer his apologies, then grimaced in disgust and backed away. The beggar was a leper, his face and arms covered in sores that formed blotches of white against his darkly tanned skin. Amorphous bumps deformed his face, cruelly exaggerating his brow. He held out a mangled hand missing two fingers. ‘Charity, good sir. Charity for a poor leper.’

  ‘Stay back, devil,’ John growled and drew his dagger.

  ‘Leave him be, John.’ John looked up to see Ibn Jumay standing in the alleyway. ‘Leprosy is not a judgement from God, it is a disease,’ the Jewish doctor said. ‘So long as you do not touch him, it is not contagious.’ He tilted his head, eyeing John quizzically. ‘What brings you here, friend?’

  ‘I came to see you. Yusuf told me that you have a practice in town.’

  ‘Indeed. The man you were about to knife is one of my patients. Come, step inside.’ He led John into a brightly lit room that opened off the alley. A broad table — large enough for a man to lie down upon — took up most of the floor space. The walls were covered with shelves lined with clay jars. John took one down and peeked inside to see black, withered leaves. ‘Tea,’ Ibn Jumay informed him. ‘It helps with the digestion. But that is not what you are looking for, I’d wager.’

  ‘No.’ John put the jar back. ‘I–I-’ he began and faltered. He could feel himself flushing red. ‘There is a woman.’

  ‘Ah. You have got yourself into a bit of trouble, have you?’ John nodded, and Ibn Jumay patted his shoulder. ‘You are not the first, John. Nor will you be the last. Luckily, the laws of Islam are lenient in this regard. One moment.’ The doctor went to the shelf on the far wall and began pulling down jars and looking into them. Finally, he found the one he was looking for and set it on the table. He scooped out a spoonful of dried leaves and dropped them into a pouch. ‘Mix this with boiling water and have her drink it.’ He met John’s eye. ‘It will cause her to expel the child.’

  John felt suddenly nauseous. He lowered his eyes and fumbled in his coin purse for payment. He held out a dinar, but Ibn Jumay shook his head. ‘That is not necessary.’ He placed the pouch in John’s outstretched hand.

  As John stared at the pouch, he felt tears form and run down his cheeks. Finally, he dropped the medicine on the table. ‘I cannot,’ he mumbled and hurried out of the door. ‘There must be another way.’

  John strode through the gate and into the sunlit grounds of the citadel. A mamluk regiment was training on the field, and John skirted around them as he made his way towards the palace. He was almost there when Yusuf emerged.

  ‘John!’ he called. ‘I was just coming to see you.’ Yusuf frowned as he came closer. ‘Are you well, friend? You look ill.’

  ‘I am fine.’

  ‘That is good, because we have a long journey ahead of us. I have decided to leave Aleppo.’

  John felt his stomach tighten. He could not leave. Not now. His mouth was impossibly dry, but he managed to ask, ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I go now to take my leave of Khaldun and my sister. I will meet you in the barracks afterwards to arrange our departure with Qaraqush and Turan.’

  John nodded. He watched Yusuf leave the citadel grounds, but when Yusuf had gone, John did not go to the barracks. Instead, he hurried to Yusuf’s quarters in the palace. He found Yusuf’s bedchamber empty. ‘Hello?’ John called. Faridah entered from the next room. She wore a thin cotton nightgown through which John could see the outline of her breasts and the curve of her hip. He looked away.

  ‘Yusuf is not here,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I have come to speak with you.’

  ‘We should not meet alone. You should go.’

  John met her eyes. ‘You said once that if I needed a friend, I could come to you. I am desper
ate, Faridah, and you are the only one who will understand.’

  ‘What of Yusuf?’

  ‘I cannot speak to him of this.’

  Faridah studied him. ‘You look terrible,’ she said at last. ‘Wait here.’ She passed back into her room, and when she returned a moment later, she wore a green silk caftan. ‘Have a seat,’ she told him, and they sat across from one another on cushions. ‘What is bothering you, John?’

  John looked away. He felt suddenly awkward. ‘I–I cannot leave Aleppo.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There is someone-’ John began, but could say no more.

  ‘A woman?’ Faridah prompted. John nodded, and Faridah smiled. ‘This is a good thing! Yusuf is your friend, but he does not own you. You do not need to sacrifice your life to him. You should be with this woman. Yusuf will understand.’

  ‘No. It is not any woman.’

  Faridah arched an eyebrow. ‘Who?’ John lowered his eyes and did not speak. ‘Who?’ Faridah demanded.

  ‘Zimat.’

  ‘Yusuf’s sister!’ Faridah gasped. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘She loves me. She desires a divorce from Khaldun.’

  ‘Yusuf will never allow it. You are his friend, but you are still an ifranji. It would bring shame to his family.’

  ‘Then what should I do?’

  ‘You should leave Aleppo with Yusuf. It is for the best. Do not see Zimat again. Forget about her.’

  ‘I cannot.’ John paused and took a deep breath. ‘She is pregnant.’

  Faridah’s eyes went wide. ‘She carries your child? Are you sure?’

  ‘Zimat says that the child is mine.’

  ‘Then you must get rid of it. There are herbs-’

  ‘No!’ John said, more loudly than he had intended. ‘I cannot kill the child.’ He met her eyes. ‘I will tell Yusuf. I cannot live with these secrets.’

  ‘No. He will kill you!’

  ‘Then we will run away, to the kingdom of Jerusalem.’

  ‘And do you think Zimat will be happy amongst the Franks?’ Faridah demanded. ‘She is the wife of an emir, surrounded by luxury. What will her life be like as the wife of a simple soldier? What future will there be for your child?’