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.’
‘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
OCTOBER 1152: BAALBEK
J
ohn 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 morning 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.’
‘I am not afraid to die. Better that than to lose you, to live as Khaldun’s slave.’
‘I will not be responsible for your death,’ John told her. ‘And there is another reason: your brother.’
‘He is your master. You owe him nothing.’
‘No, he is my friend, and I owe him my life.’
Zimat turned away. ‘You do not love me.’ She began to sob, her shoulders shaking.
John reached out and gently touched her cheek, turning her face towards him. ‘You know I do,’ he said as he welcomed her into his arms. He held her tight, her head against his chest, and they lay in silence for a long time. When Zimat finally pulled away, John’s caftan was wet with her tears.
She met his eyes. ‘I want to lay with you John, as a wife lays with her husband.’
‘But—’
Zimat put a finger to his lips. ‘I do not want my first time to be with Khaldun. I want it to be with you.’
‘Are you sure?’
Zimat nodded and slipped her caftan off her shoulders.
Yusuf stood in the courtyard behind his home and listened to the rhythmic chant of the muezzin calling the faithful to pray. For the first time since his tenth birthday, he would not complete his morning prayers. Shirkuh had declared that they would leave at dawn, and already the sky behind Mount Tallat al Jawzani was brightening, shading from pink to smouldering orange and incandescent white. Yusuf looked away from the mountain and turned slowly, taking in his home one final time. His gaze lingered on the leafy lime trees, under which he had spent so many summer hours reading; on the cell where John had been confined all those years ago; on the door to the kitchen, emanating comforting smells of yeast and spice.
‘Yusuf!’ John called, and Yusuf wiped away tears before turning to watch him approach. John had filled out since Yusuf had first met him. Now twenty, he had a broad chest and thickly muscled arms. ‘Our horses are ready,’ he said. ‘They are waiting for you.’
Yusuf nodded and headed for the front courtyard, followed by John. Their horses – two saddled and two more packed with Yusuf’s possessions – stood near the gate, next to Shirkuh and his men. Yusuf’s family was gathered in front of them.
Yusuf went to Selim, who had screwed up his face in an
effort to master his emotions, and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. ‘I will see you soon, Brother. In two more years, it will be your turn.’ Selim nodded but did not speak. Yusuf embraced him. ‘Allah yasalmak.’
He turned next to Zimat. She would be married soon, and then she would be gone from his life, part of another man’s household. Indeed, this might be the last time they saw one another for many years. Zimat’s eyes were distant, looking past Yusuf, and tears ran down her cheeks.
‘Do not cry for me, Sister,’ Yusuf said.