The newly captured Frankish prisoners arrived next. Yusuf recognized them easily enough from Nur ad-Din’s descriptions. The first man was thickly set with straw-blond hair and florid cheeks covered in pale fuzz. That would be the young Prince of Antioch, Bohemond. Yusuf identified the next guest as Constantine Kalamanos, an olive-skinned young man in an elaborate caftan of blue silk. Raymond of Tripoli came next. He too was in his mid twenties, but he looked older due to his commanding presence. He was slender and straight-backed, with dark hair, a swarthy complexion and an aquiline nose that dominated his face. He reminded Yusuf of his father. Hugh of Lusignan entered last of all, followed by a mamluk with sword drawn. Hugh was an older man, his tanned face deeply lined.
The four captives had been shown inside when the final guest arrived. Yusuf had not seen Reynald de Chatillon in nearly three years. He had the same close-cropped black hair and beard, but his sharp features were now rounded. He looked to have gained a stone or two. Yusuf had not wanted to invite Reynald, but Nur ad-Din had insisted. The king was eager to see him ransomed at last. Reynald looked around the courtyard and his gaze settled on the dark window where Yusuf stood. Yusuf stepped back into his room.
There was a knock at the door, and Faridah entered. ‘Your guests are waiting.’ She crossed the room and straightened the belt of red silk that held his caftan.
Yusuf went downstairs and paused outside the dining-room, pressing his eye to a spyhole in order to examine his guests a final time. The Franks had been served wine and were talking amongst themselves. The half-dozen silent mamluks lining the walls were the only indication that some of the guests were also captives. Yusuf stepped away from the spyhole and entered.
‘My lords and honoured guests,’ he declared in Frankish, ‘God keep you all and grant you health and joy. Welcome to my home. I am Saladin, Emir of Tell Bashir.’ Reynald scowled, but the other men all stepped forward to greet him, telling him their names and murmuring formulaic replies of ‘God keep you’ or ‘And may health and joy be granted you by God’. Yusuf was pleased to see that he had guessed correctly regarding their identities.
He gestured to the circle of cushions that surrounded a low, round table in the middle of the room. ‘Please be seated.’ Yusuf allowed his guests to sit where they wished. He ended up between William and Raymond. Bohemond and Constantine sat to Raymond’s left, while John and Hugh sat to the right of William. Reynald sat directly opposite. When they were all seated, servants entered with steaming flatbread and a large bowl of badinjan muhassa, an aromatic dip of baked eggplant, ground walnuts and raw onions. Yusuf spooned a bit of the dip on to his plate and then scooped it up with a piece of bread. ‘In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful,’ he murmured, but paused with the bread halfway to his mouth. None of the Franks were eating.
‘Excuse me,’ William said. ‘May I say grace?’
‘Of course.’
William cleared his throat, and the Franks at the table bowed their heads. ‘Benedicite,’ the priest began in Latin as he made the sign of the cross over the food. ‘The Lord, merciful and compassionate, has perpetuated the memory of His wonders. He has given food to them that fear Him.’
‘Amen,’ the men murmured and began to spoon the dip on to their plates.
William took a bite and sighed with satisfaction. ‘You Saracens have a way with food that we Christians have not yet mastered. Thank you for having me in your home.’
‘After the welcome your king gave me, it is the least I can do.’
William chuckled. ‘I know the King’s cooks, and I believe I have the better end of the bargain.’
‘What are you saying?’ Constantine called from the left side of the table. He spoke French only poorly. William translated the discussion into Greek, and he and the governor of Cilicia began to speak across the table.
Yusuf was content to ignore William. Nur ad-Din had instructed him to act as if he were in no hurry to ransom the prisoners. He turned to Raymond. ‘I would love to hear about your part in the battle at Harim, if you are willing to tell the story.’
‘Of course,’ the Count of Tripoli replied. ‘Although I fear my role in the events was none too glorious. Your king, Nur ad-Din, led us on a merry chase. Then, just when we thought we had him-’ Raymond clapped his hands together ‘-the trap closed on us.’ As the meal progressed, Raymond described the encounter in more detail. While he talked, Yusuf kept an eye on the other guests. John was quiet and kept looking to the door leading upstairs. Yusuf felt for his friend, so close to Zimat and yet unable to see her. Last night, Yusuf had told his sister that John lived and that he was here in Aleppo. She had asked to see him and then retired to her room in tears. He had not seen her since.
Beside John, William was engaged in an animated conversation with Constantine and Bohemond. Hugh and Reynald spoke quietly. Yusuf noticed that when the roasted lamb with chickpeas arrived, Hugh ate with his hands, but Reynald used a fork. He had learned some manners during his time in Aleppo.
Raymond was concluding his story as the final dish was cleared away. ‘And so after nearly twenty miles of riding, I found myself stuck in that foul swamp with muck up to my horse’s chest. Our cavalry was useless and our infantry even worse off. Meanwhile, the Saracens rained arrows down on us. It was a bad end to a bad day, but it could have been worse. I am alive, and the good Lord has seen fit to teach me an important lesson. The next time I face the Saracens and they retreat, I will not come rushing after them.’
On the opposite side of the table, Hugh leaned forward. ‘The next time? And when might that be? We are prisoners here, if you have not forgotten, Raymond.’
‘Prisoner is a harsh word,’ Yusuf replied. ‘It is true that you may not leave the city, but while you are here, you shall be treated as honoured guests.’
‘Guests?’ Hugh snorted. ‘I would not have come to this dinner had I not been walked through the streets with a sword at my back. That is hardly the way one treats a guest.’
‘And one does not invite prisoners to dinner,’ Yusuf countered.
‘Nur ad-Din has been most generous,’ Raymond agreed in a conciliatory tone. ‘We lack for nothing; neither servants nor food nor books. And we are allowed to explore the city in the company of a guard. Compared to Aleppo, I fear that Tripoli seems a provincial town.’
Yusuf appreciated Raymond’s tact. ‘I have never been to Tripoli.’
‘It is not so busy or as prosperous as Aleppo, but it has its charms. It sits on a peninsula that curves out into the Mediterranean. That is one thing that I do miss: the smell of the sea.’ Raymond looked across the table to William. ‘Hopefully I will not have cause to miss it for long.’
‘I pray not,’ William agreed.
‘You p-pray?’ Bohemond slapped the table. Yusuf saw now why he was called Bohemond the Stammerer. ‘You are here to do m-more than pray, priest. When-’ He froze, his jaw tight and the veins in his neck bulging as he struggled to speak. ‘When will I be freed?’
‘Do not hold your breath,’ Reynald grumbled. ‘I have been here for nearly eight years.’
Constantine was sipping his wine, watching the conversation without fully understanding it. Bohemond whispered something to him, and the Roman’s lip curled in a sneer as he looked towards Reynald. He turned back to Bohemond. ‘Do not fear,’ he said in Greek. ‘We are too valuable to remain here long. Emperor Manuel will ransom us.’
‘What is that?’ Reynald demanded.
‘He said nothing to offend you,’ William said and quickly translated Constantine’s words.
Reynald sat up straighter. ‘And am I not valuable?’ He pointed to Bohemond. ‘I was Prince of Antioch before this stuttering fool stole my throne!’
William began to translate, but Constantine held up a hand to stop him. ‘I understood that well enough.’ He looked down his long nose at Reynald and switched to accented French. ‘I am a cousin of the Roman Emperor, and Bohemond is his brother-in-law. You are a nobody.’