‘No, I will come. I will stay with your army so that I may see the people of Alexandria are not harmed.’
‘Very well. We have an agreement.’ Amalric stuck out his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Yusuf clasped it. ‘My men will leave the city tomorrow,’ he said. He looked to John. ‘I will see you again soon, friend.’
Yusuf was the last of his men to leave the city. He rode in the dust kicked up by the long column of soldiers, most of whom walked on foot, their horses long since eaten. The people of Alexandria crowded about them on either side, shouting insults and making the sign of the evil eye. They called Yusuf khayin: traitor. They had trusted him to defend their city, and he had failed. Yusuf knew that there would be little he could do once he left Egypt to prevent the vizier from punishing the citizens of Alexandria. The people knew it, too.
‘You will roast in hell!’ a final voice called after Yusuf. Egyptian troops lined both sides of the road outside the gate. After Yusuf’s men had filed between them, they entered the city. Yusuf watched for a moment and then turned away. His men continued east, marching to join Shirkuh and the rest of the army where they waited near the city of Tell Tinnis. Yusuf rode south into the Frankish camp. He was stopped at the perimeter and led to the king’s tent. Amalric and John were waiting for him. Shawar was there, too.
‘Saladin!’ Amalric rose to greet him. ‘God grant you good day. It is a pleasure to see you again.’
Yusuf gave a short bow. ‘King Amalric.’ He did not greet Shawar.
‘My army will begin the journey to Jerusalem tomorrow,’ Amalric said. ‘Until I receive news that Shirkuh has left Egypt, you will travel with us as my guest. John will show you to your quarters.’
Yusuf followed John to a nearby tent. The floor was thickly carpeted. The camp bed looked comfortable enough. There was even a lap desk with paper and ink.
‘I trust you will be comfortable,’ John said.
Yusuf nodded. The two friends stood in awkward silence. So much had happened since that day at Butaiha when John had saved Yusuf’s life. Yusuf had hated himself for abandoning his friend to die. But John was alive.
‘How did you come to be at the court of the Frankish king?’ Yusuf asked at last.
‘I was to be executed as a traitor, but King Amalric spared me.’
There was another silence, during which John poured them each a cup of water. He handed one to Yusuf. ‘How are the men? Qaraqush? Al-Mashtub?’
‘The same as ever, only thinner.’
‘You look half starved yourself. I shall find you some food.’
Yusuf nodded. He had been hungry for so long that he had grown accustomed to ignoring the dull ache in his belly. But now, faced with the prospect of eating, his stomach awoke with a growl. John returned with a loaf of hot bread and some lentil stew. Yusuf tore into the bread and drank straight from the bowl.
John managed a smile. ‘You eat like a wolf after a long winter.’
Yusuf finished the soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I eat like a starved man after a long siege.’
‘Was it very hard?’ John asked.
Yusuf nodded. ‘I am glad to be done with Egypt. I hope I never see these lands again.’ He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. It was not just the hardships he had suffered during the siege. Shawar’s betrayal had wounded him. ‘What of you, friend?’ He gestured to John’s vestments and the cross hanging from his neck. ‘You are a priest now?’
‘Yes.’
Yusuf shook his head in wonder. ‘Why?’
‘It was that or marry.’
John did not need to say more. Yusuf knew he had become a priest because of Zimat, because he would not marry another. ‘I have taken Zimat and Ubadah into my household. I am raising him as my own son.’
‘Thank you, brother.’ John hesitated for a moment. ‘How is Zimat?’
‘After Butaiha, she thought you dead. She hardly spoke for months. She is better now. I have begun to look for a new husband for her.’
John’s face registered not pain but rather a despairing resignation. Yusuf had seen that expression before on men he had killed, the moment they realized that they would die. ‘That is good,’ John managed, although his broken voice belied his words. ‘She should forget me. It is for the best.’
‘She will never forget you.’ John winced, and Yusuf saw that his words of comfort had only hurt more. He searched for a way to change the topic. ‘What is Jerusalem like?’
‘A strange city. The Franks have driven out all the Jews and Muslims, and now it is half empty. Beautiful but empty.’
‘I would love to see it.’
‘Perhaps you shall, one day.’
‘No, sooner. I do not relish the thought of riding to Damascus alone once I am freed. Do you think Amalric will allow me to accompany the Christian army as far as Jerusalem?’
‘I am sure of it.’ John smiled. ‘It will be good to travel with you again, brother. Like old times. Do you remember our first trip to Tell Bashir, all those years ago?’
‘How could I forget? You saved my life.’ Yusuf met John’s eyes. ‘You could have come back to us at the beginning of the siege, John. I would have welcomed you.’
‘I have given my word to Amalric, and to God.’
‘I understand. I will not ask you to break your oath.’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘It is strange to see you in a priest’s garb, strange that we are now enemies.’
John placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘We do not have to be. Perhaps I can best serve you here, with the Christians. I can help bring peace between our people.’
‘Your king, Amalric, does not strike me as a man of peace, John. He brought his army to Egypt readily enough. And Nur ad-Din has vowed vengeance for the defeat he suffered at Butaiha.’
‘Perhaps we can change their minds. If we can be friends, then who is to say all the Franks and Saracens cannot learn to share the Holy Land.’
Yusuf smiled. ‘You have become a dreamer, John. Your people hate my people. Nothing can change that.’
‘I pray that you are wrong.’ John met his eyes. ‘I have sworn an oath to Amalric, but I do not wish to be your enemy, Yusuf.’
‘Nor I yours.’ Yusuf forced a laugh. ‘Such weighty talk! I am simply glad we are together.’
John’s forehead creased. For a moment Yusuf thought he would say something more about the awkward position in which they found themselves, but then John smiled. ‘Me, too, brother,’ he said. ‘Me, too.’
Chapter 6
NOVEMBER 1164: JERUSALEM
‘So you are forbidden to fight?’ Yusuf asked. He was riding along the dried-up bed of a wadi with John at his side. Amalric and the constable Humphrey rode a few paces ahead. A hundred of the king’s knights followed behind. The rest of the army had dispersed, the sergeants and lords returning to their lands.
‘I am forbidden to draw blood.’ John reached into his saddlebag and produced a mace — a wicked-looking club with a heavy head of grooved steel. ‘I can still fight.’
‘But if you smash a man’s skull, will he not bleed?’
‘Yes, but the mace does not draw blood, it only crushes the skull. The blood comes later. It is an after-effect.’
Yusuf laughed. ‘That is ridiculous!’
‘Perhaps, but if you plant a seed and later a tree appears, does that mean that you made the tree grow? No. God did that. You only planted a seed.’
‘So you smash their skulls, and God makes them bleed?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I will never understand your faith.’
It was another version of the conversation that they had been having since leaving Alexandria. Yusuf could make no sense of the strange rules by which his friend now lived. He had marvelled at John’s tonsure, his vestments, the fact that he was expected to live in a church with other religious men. He feared that the man he had known had disappeared beneath that tunic and cross.
The road left the valley floor and began to angle uphill over rocky ground. They rode past olive groves and grapevines. Here and there, goats grazed.