‘Are you well, friend?’ Yusuf asked as he rejoined them. ‘You look upset.’
‘Perhaps it is something I ate,’ John murmured. He looked to William. ‘Why did Amalric divorce the Lady de Courtenay? The real reason.’
The priest frowned. ‘Politics. Agnes is the heir to Edessa, a vanished kingdom. It was a good marriage at first, but one with less and less value as it became clear that Edessa would never be recovered from Nur ad-Din. Still, so long as Amalric was only a prince, Agnes was a suitable wife. But when he became king-’ William shook his head. ‘He had to divorce her, even if he did not wish to.’
‘He loved her?’
‘You have met Agnes. What do you think?’
‘She is like a desert flower,’ Yusuf said.
‘Amalric was smitten the moment he saw her. Agnes wanted to wait for her father’s permission; but Joscelin was a prisoner in Aleppo, and Amalric did not wish to wait for a paternal blessing that might never come. He carried Agnes off by force and married her. The divorce wounded him deeply, but not as much as it hurt Agnes. She never forgave him.’
‘But you say he had no choice,’ John said.
‘She does not see it that way,’ William replied. ‘Amalric tried to soften the blow. He made her a countess with income from Jaffa and Ascalon. But he could not give her what she truly wanted: access to her children.’
‘Why not?’
‘There were those at court who feared that she would turn them against Amalric. So the Prince Baldwin is kept in the palace. His older sister, Sibylla, has been sent to the convent of Saint Lazarus where she is being raised by her great-aunt.’
John felt a sudden wave of sympathy for Agnes. Like him, she was kept from her children and her lover by politics. No one could know the pain she felt better than him.
‘You would do best to stop thinking of her, John,’ William said.
‘I was not-’
William held up a hand to stop him. ‘I have seen the effect Agnes can have on men, but it is the allure of a siren, calling men to their doom.’
Yusuf laughed. ‘You make her out to be a monster. I found her a charming woman.’
‘She is that,’ William agreed. ‘Too charming by half.’
They rode on in silence as the pale winter sun climbed into the sky and then began its slow descent. It was hovering just above the horizon, bathing the white stone buildings of Aleppo in rose-coloured light, when they reached the outskirts of the city. The road ran past stone houses set amidst pistachio and olive orchards. They crossed the tiny Quweq River, and the caravan that they had joined headed north to one of the caravanserais located outside the city wall. Yusuf led them east to the Bab Antakeya, an arched gateway framed by tall defensive towers. The gate led to an interior passage that turned sharply to the left and then back to the right. The walls of the passage were lined with men offering water, food and lodging. Yusuf ignored them, and the men paid John and William little notice. They were both dressed in caftans, and with their keffiyeh pulled down over their faces, they were indistinguishable from any of the other travellers.
They emerged from the gate on to a street so old that there were ruts in the stone paving from centuries of wagon traffic. They passed a series of souks on their left, and memories flooded back to John. He remembered walking through those markets, looking for the doctor, Ibn Jumay. He had sought a medicine to abort Zimat’s child, but he had not been able to bring himself to buy it. Soon, he would see that child for the first time in years.
They emerged into Aleppo’s central square. William whistled in appreciation of the citadel, which towered above them on its sheer-sided hill of white rock. At the base of the citadel, a guardhouse protected the bridge that ran across the moat. Three mamluks in chainmail stepped forth, spears extended. One, a thin young man, lowered his spear and grinned. ‘Saladin! You have returned.’
Yusuf slid from the saddle and embraced the man. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Saqr. I have brought an old friend.’ He gestured to John, who pulled his keffiyeh down to reveal his face.
‘Al-ifranji?’ Saqr asked, his eyes wide. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘As you can see, I am alive and well. I come with this man, William of Tyre, on behalf of the Frankish king.’
‘You are expected,’ Saqr said. ‘Come.’
They followed Saqr up the causeway and through the citadel’s main gate. At the palace, servants came forth to take their horses. Gumushtagin met them in the entrance hall. ‘Ahlan wa-Sahlan, Saladin,’ the eunuch said with his faint lisp.
John noticed that Yusuf flinched slightly before he nodded in greeting.
Gumushtagin turned to John and William. ‘Welcome, distinguished visitors. Nur ad-Din is expecting you.’ He led them to a set of double doors, where the guards searched them before pulling open the doors to reveal Nur ad-Din’s audience chamber. At the far side of the room, the king was seated cross-legged on a low, wide throne with a short back. Members of his court sat to either side on stools. John recognized Shirkuh and Selim amongst them. Yusuf approached and bowed low.
‘Saladin!’ Nur ad-Din greeted him. ‘Welcome home. Your uncle told me that you volunteered to stay with the Franks as a hostage. That was noble of you.’
‘King Amalric was a gracious host.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ Nur ad-Din looked past Yusuf to William and John. He waved them forward. ‘You are welcome at my court, William of Tyre. And I am pleased to see you again, John.’ John was surprised that Nur ad-Din remembered him, but then realized that he had also greeted William by name, and the two men had never met. John reflected on what Yusuf had told him about Nur ad-Din’s spies at the court in Jerusalem. Nur ad-Din had probably been informed the moment they set out for Aleppo.
‘We thank you for your kind welcome,’ William replied, ‘and we greet you on behalf of King Amalric of Jerusalem, who desires only peace and friendship between our two kingdoms.’
Nur ad-Din nodded. ‘You are no doubt weary after your long journey. I have set aside a suite for you in my palace. Retire there and refresh yourselves. Tomorrow, you will dine at the home of Saladin, where your countrymen who are enjoying my hospitality will join you. Now, my man will take you to your rooms.’ He gestured to a servant; a corpulent black man in a white caftan.
‘You are most kind, Malik,’ William said.
He and John bowed again and followed the servant out of the hall. ‘Why did he dismiss us so quickly?’ William asked John in a low voice. ‘What of the negotiations?’
‘They have already begun,’ John said. ‘Nur ad-Din wishes to show us the value of his captives. That is the purpose of tomorrow’s dinner. He has selected Saladin as his chief negotiator, hence the meal at his home. We will discuss the terms of ransom there.’
‘No, we will not. The Emperor Manuel’s cousin Constantine has been captured, and Bohemond is Manuel’s brother-in-law. Nur ad-Din will be eager to ransom them, so as to avoid any tension with Constantinople. That is to our advantage. We must show that we are willing to bide our time. We will wait for him to come to us with an offer.’
‘Nur ad-Din is a patient man. I fear we will be waiting a very long time.’
The next evening Yusuf stood at the window of his room as he waited for his Frankish guests to arrive. In the courtyard below the fountain burbled in the gathering dusk and Saqr and Al-Mashtub chatted by the gate. Prayers had finished only moments before, and the city had fallen quiet as the populace headed inside for their evening meals. The silence was broken by the clip-clop of approaching horses’ hooves. A moment later the gate swung open. A mamluk rode through, followed by John and the priest William. They dismounted and William headed straight for the entrance to Yusuf’s home. John hesitated for a moment before following.