Eagle st-1

by Jack Hight

  Each man looked right and whispered, ‘Peace be upon you.’ Then they looked left and repeated the phrase. They rose. Prayers were over. The servants began to gather up the prayer mats while the mamluks headed back to the gatehouse.

  The main door to the house opened and Zimat appeared in the doorway. She was still holding Ubadah. ‘Brother!’ she called to Yusuf. ‘Welcome! Come inside and let us feast your arrival.’

  John watched as Yusuf went to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘It is good to see you, Sister.’ He reached out and tousled Ubadah’s hair. ‘Your son is a handsome little man. He resembles his father.’

  A smile tugged at the corner of Zimat’s mouth. She looked past Yusuf and her eyes met John’s. ‘I know,’ she replied.

  ‘She is my lord’s wife. She is my lord’s wife,’ Yusuf whispered under his breath as he approached the harem. At the entrance, the eunuch guards barred his way. ‘I have come to see Asimat at Nur ad-Din’s bidding,’ Yusuf told them.

  One of the guards nodded. ‘Follow me.’ The guard led him to Asimat’s room and showed him inside. On the far side of the room, Asimat sat on a cushion across from one of her servants. They were bent over a games board, and stepping closer, Yusuf saw that they were playing shatranj. Asimat moved her horse — two spaces forward and one to the side — to threaten the servant’s shah. She did not greet Yusuf.

  ‘My lady,’ Yusuf said and bowed.

  Asimat looked up and frowned. ‘It is you.’ The servant rose silently, and Yusuf took her place. He could feel the servant’s eyes on him as she went to stand by the door.

  ‘Nur ad-Din says that you have not been well,’ Yusuf said. Indeed, now that he was sitting across from Asimat he noticed dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, usually carefully combed, now fell unkempt about her shoulders. She was still beautiful, but damaged somehow.

  ‘There is no mystery. I grow old and I have no son. That is all that ails me.’

  ‘You are still young, Khatun.’ He smiled. ‘You will have a son.’

  ‘By who? Nur ad-Din?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He does not come to my bed any longer. He plants his seed in younger women. Who, then, will give me a child?’ Yusuf looked away. ‘Who?’ Asimat snapped loudly.

  ‘I only wished to cheer you,’ Yusuf murmured.

  ‘There is nothing you can do for me.’ She met his eyes. ‘You are a coward.’ Yusuf blinked in surprise at the insult. ‘I offered you everything, and you fled,’ Asimat hissed, her voice low so her servant would not overhear. ‘You will never be anything but the Emir of Tell Bashir, a god-forsaken fort in the middle of nowhere. You do not have the courage to be more.’

  Yusuf felt his face flush red. ‘I have courage, Khatun,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘But I have honour, too.’

  Asimat’s eyes narrowed, and she searched his face for a long time. ‘You have too much honour,’ she said at last. ‘That is why you will never be great.’ She turned her attention back to her game and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ‘You may go now.’

  Late that night, Yusuf stood with his back pressed against the stone wall of the palace, his bare feet clinging to a thin ledge of stone no more than six inches wide. He looked down to the ground far below, where white rocks at the base of the cliff that fell away from this side of the palace gleamed in the moonlight. He had crawled out of his window in the palace and was now making his way along the ledge towards Asimat’s chambers. He inched his right foot further along the wall. As he did so, the piece of ledge beneath his left foot gave way. Yusuf teetered, his heart hammering in his chest, but managed to stay upright. Below him, the chunk of ledge clattered off the wall and disappeared into the darkness far below. ‘By Allah,’ Yusuf whispered to himself. ‘What am I doing?’

  He clung to the wall while his heart slowed. He knew he should turn back, but he could not. Asimat’s words had stung and festered in his heart: ‘You are a coward… That is why you will never be great.’ He had to speak to her, if only to show her that she was wrong. He was no coward, and he would be more than the Emir of Tell Bashir. Much more.

  Yusuf continued along the wall until he came to a window. He knew this was Shirkuh’s chamber. It was dark. Yusuf slipped past and continued on his way. He traversed three more dark windows without incident and then came to a row of brightly lit, arched windows, which stretched along the wall for thirty feet. Yusuf peered inside and saw three guards on the far side of the room standing at attention beside a pair of double doors and facing out towards the window. Yusuf crouched down, trying to get below the windows, but it was impossible on the narrow ledge. ‘ Yaha!’ he cursed under his breath. There was no way to pass without being seen.

  Or was there? Yusuf turned himself around so that his cheek was pressed firmly against the stone wall. Then he bent down until he could grip the rough stone of the ledge with his hands. ‘Allah protect me,’ he whispered and slid his feet off the ledge, lowering himself so that he hung from his hands, his body dangling over the rocks below.

  Yusuf began to move slowly along the wall, shifting his hands over a few inches at a time. Looking up, he could see bright torchlight spilling out from the windows above. He was only a quarter of the way across, and already his fingers were beginning to burn with fatigue. Yusuf grit his teeth and kept moving. He glanced up — halfway there. He began to move faster. His hands were in agony now; his knuckles felt as if they were on fire. He reached his left hand a bit too far along the wall and it slipped off, leaving him hanging by one hand. He felt his grip slipping and looked down to the ground far below. Grunting with the effort, he swung his left hand back up to the ledge. He closed his eyes against the pain and forced himself to keep moving, one hand after the other. When he opened his eyes, the arched windows were behind him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upwards, his legs scrabbling against the wall, until he managed to get one foot up on the ledge. He stood slowly, pressing himself into the wall. He stayed there for a moment, panting and flexing his hands. When his pulse finally steadied, he moved on.

  Asimat’s window was the second one he came to. Yusuf peered inside, but could see nothing in the darkness. He hesitated for a moment, then squeezed through the narrow opening. He froze, his heart beating violently. To his left, he could make out a washbasin, and to his right, Asimat’s bed. He crept towards it. Asimat was asleep, lying on her back. It was a hot night, and she had kicked off her covers. She wore a nightgown of almost transparent silk, through which Yusuf could see the outline of her side, the gentle curves of her breasts and her nipples, dark against her pale skin. Her hair lay over half her face. She looked peaceful. Then she opened her eyes and screamed. ‘Help! Guards!’

  Yusuf knelt beside her and clapped his hand over her mouth. ‘It is me, Yusuf,’ he whispered.

  Her eyes went wide. She pulled his hand away. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed. She looked away to the door; the sound of footsteps was coming along the hall. ‘You must hide. Now!’

  Yusuf ran back to the window and slipped through just as the door banged open. He pressed himself against the wall, out of sight. He could hear several eunuch guards troop into the room.

  ‘What is it, Khatun?’ one of the guards asked. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘It was nothing, a nightmare,’ Asimat replied. Yusuf glanced through the window and saw that she had risen from her bed and was confronting half a dozen guards. He ducked back out of sight.

  ‘Are you sure, my lady?’ the guard insisted. ‘I can leave a guard here if that will make you more comfortable.’

  ‘That will not be necessary. You may go.’

  Yusuf heard the guards march out and the door close behind them. A moment later, Asimat leaned out the window. ‘Are you mad?’ she demanded. ‘Why have you come here?’

  ‘I came to see you. I thought-’

  ‘You thought what, you fool! Nur ad-Din will kill us both if the guards find you here.’

  ‘I am sorry. I will go.’ Yusuf began to edge away.
<
br />   ‘No. The guards will be more alert now. You should wait. Come in.’ Asimat disappeared back into her room.

  Yusuf moved to the window and swung inside. Asimat was standing beside her bed, slipping a silk robe over her more revealing nightgown. ‘Well?’ she whispered as she tied the robe closed. ‘Now that you are here, what did you come for?’

  Yusuf moved closer. ‘You said once that you would help me if I helped you.’ He looked into her eyes — two black pools in the darkness. ‘What did you mean?’

  ‘You know what I meant.’

  Yusuf shook his head. ‘No. I must hear you say it.’

  ‘Then you are not the man I hoped you were.’ Asimat turned her back to him. ‘There are some things that cannot be said. They are too dangerous.’ She stood silently, her long black hair illuminated by the soft moonlight falling through the window. Yusuf’s eyes moved from her shoulders to the curve of her hips beneath her silk robe, and down to her bare calves.

  He swallowed, then moved to her and put his hand on her side. He gently turned her so that she was facing him. ‘I am the man you hoped for,’ he whispered and kissed her. Her mouth opened to his. He moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her close against him so that he could feel her stomach and breasts against him. After a moment, he pulled away. ‘I will give you a child,’ he told her.

  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.’

  Chapter 18

  MARCH TO APRIL 1162: ALEPPO

  Yusuf 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 M
ary 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.’