‘I thought you were dead,’ she said.
‘I thought I would never see you again.’ He approached, but she backed away.
‘No-I cannot.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I cannot give myself to you, John. Not again. Not after what you have done.’
‘But I-’
‘Sit.’ She gestured to the cushions on the floor. John sat, and she settled herself across from him. He could smell the sweet fragrance of her oiled hair. He had not realized how much he missed it.
‘What happened to you at Butaiha?’ she asked. ‘Yusuf said he saw you struck down.’
‘I was. But not killed. I was taken to Jerusalem, where I was to be burned as a heretic and a traitor. The King pardoned me in return for my service.’
‘I see.’ She met his eyes. ‘Has there been anyone else? Another woman?’
‘Of course not. I became a priest so that I would not have to marry another.’
‘Then why did you not return?’ There was a plaintive note in her voice. ‘You said you would never leave me.’
‘I had no choice. I gave my word to King Amalric. I owe him my life.’
‘You owe me your love. You promised you would return.’
‘I am here now.’
She shook her head. ‘It is too late. I have asked Yusuf to find me a new husband.’
‘You were promised to another before, when we first met in Baalbek.’
‘We are no longer children, John. I have a son now.’
‘He is my son, too.’
‘He believes that Khaldun is his father. He would only despise you more if he knew the truth. Instead of the son of an emir, he would be an ifranji, the very thing he despises most. He would hate himself, and hate you the more for it.’
John’s mouth set in a hard line. He was angry, but not at Zimat. It was the bitter truth of her words that stung him. ‘Why did you wish to see me?’ he asked.
Zimat looked away, but not before John saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I thought you dead, only to have you appear in Aleppo. How could I not see you? I–I wanted to say farewell.’ She rose, and he did likewise. He began to cross to her, but once again she backed away.
‘Let me hold you,’ he said. ‘I know you still love me, Zimat.’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot.’ She turned and began to climb the stairs.
‘Zimat!’ John called, but she did not stop. She disappeared up the stairs without looking back.
AUGUST 1165: ALEPPO
Yusuf sat in the saddle and squinted against the sun as he followed the flight of his bazi. Beside him, John and Ubadah were doing the same. The hunting falcon was a magnificent creature, steel grey with a brown head and white chest. Its wingspan was more than four feet across. From this distance Yusuf could just hear the tinkle of the tiny bells attached to its ankle. On the ground below the falcon a pair of lean salukis were creeping towards a patch of brush where Ubadah had spotted a rabbit. Suddenly they lunged, and the rabbit bolted. The falcon made its sharp call — kiy-ee, kiy-ee — and dived, plunging from the sky at incredible speed. It pulled up at the last second, the rabbit in its claws. It flapped away a distance and settled down with its prey.
Ubadah spurred towards the falcon. Yusuf and John followed at a slower pace. When they arrived, Ubadah was holding up the rabbit. ‘Look, Baba!’ he called to Yusuf.
Baba. Father. The boy seemed not to have noticed the slip. Yusuf turned to John. He looked as if he had been slapped.
‘Bring it here,’ Yusuf told Ubadah. He tied the rabbit to his saddle alongside three others, then called the falcon. It landed on his gloved arm. He attached the jesses so that the bird would not fly off, and then slipped a hood over its head. ‘Come. It is time we returned to the city.’
They rode back in silence. The negotiations had dragged on for several months. William mostly ignored Yusuf, spending his time with Raymond of Tripoli, who had taken advantage of his captivity to start a library. He had asked for William’s assistance, and the two of them spent many an afternoon searching for books in the souk. John spent most of his days with Yusuf, though he had not seen Zimat again. John and Yusuf seldom mentioned the negotiations. Yusuf knew that it was a waiting game. When both sides were desperate then the talks would begin in earnest, and they would go quickly indeed.
The city gates were less than a mile off now. Yusuf took the rabbits from his saddle and handed them to Ubadah. He had hoped that spending time with John would help the boy overcome his hatred of Franks, but Ubadah had refused to even acknowledge John’s presence. ‘Ride ahead and give these to your mother,’ Yusuf said.
When the boy had cantered off, Yusuf turned to John. ‘You should put Zimat from your mind, friend.’
John started. ‘How did you know I was thinking of her?’
‘It is written on your face. You must try to forget her. You are a priest, and she is to be married next month.’ Yusuf could see that the news pained his friend.
‘Who is the husband?’
‘His name is Al-Muqaddam. He is an emir. A brave warrior and a good man. It is a kindness on his part to marry Zimat. She is no longer young.’
‘I still love her, Yusuf.’
Yusuf placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘My uncle told me once that to be great, a man must learn to rule his passions.’
‘I do not wish to be great,’ John murmured and spurred ahead, into the city.
‘Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!’ John stood in the central square of Aleppo in the dim dawn light and listened as the strident call of the muezzins came from all parts of the city. A few men and women crossed the square on the way to the mosque. Beggars sat around the periphery, some sleeping and some requesting alms from the passers-by. Half a dozen farmers had arrived from the countryside and were setting up stalls to sell their produce. But the part of the cobbled square that John had sought out was empty. Almost ten years ago he had stood in the same place and watched as Zimat’s now dead husband, Khaldun, stoned one of his wives to death for infidelity. Zimat had run that risk once to be with him. She had loved him with a passion that had surprised him.
John left the square and wandered at random through the streets, so foreign and yet so familiar. Negotiations had been concluded the previous day. Amalric would pay one hundred and fifty thousand dinars for Bohemond. Constantine was released for only a hundred and fifty silk robes. Yusuf had confided that Nur ad-Din would have let him go for free in order to win the goodwill of the Emperor Manuel, but paying no ransom would have insulted Constantine’s stature. Reynald had not been ransomed, nor had Raymond or Hugh. William explained that Amalric was in no hurry for Raymond to return, because with him gone, the king would rule Tripoli as regent.
Their work done, John and William were to leave the following day. John would not go without Zimat, not again. Long ago, she had begged him to take her away with him to Frankish lands, and he had refused. He would not make the same mistake twice.
He arrived at the gate to Yusuf’s home and knocked. The gate swung open, and Saqr waved him inside. ‘Saladin is at the citadel,’ the mamluk told him.
‘I will wait for him inside.’
‘Are you certain? He may not return for some time.’
‘I will wait.’
John sat amidst the cushions in the dining-room and a servant brought him tea. No sooner had she left than he rose and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He opened the first door he came to, and found an otherwise empty room dominated by a loom. The next room was an empty bedchamber, as was the next. He opened the final door on the hall to find Zimat sitting on her bed.
‘John!’ she gasped. She stood. ‘You should not be here!’