He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. ‘I will not leave you, Zimat. Not again.’
‘You must go!’
‘Marry me instead of Al-Muqaddam. I can take you away to Frankish lands. We can be together!’
‘Ubadah would have no future. What would he become? A merchant? A priest like you?’ She said the word priest with scorn.
‘We do not have to go. I will stay. I will serve Yusuf.’
She shook her head. ‘It cannot be, John. Do you not understand? Al-Muqaddam is an emir. With him as his father, Ubadah can become a great lord. You could never give him that.’
‘But I am his father.’
‘That is why you must go,’ she said, her voice beginning to break. ‘You must do what is best for our son.’
‘But I love you.’ He crossed the room and took her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, and she kissed him back, tentatively at first and then hard. His hands slid down to her waist, and he pulled her to him.
‘No.’ She pushed him away, tears in her eyes. ‘I must think of Ubadah. You must go, before we are discovered.’ He nodded and went to the door. ‘John,’ she called, stopping him. ‘I–I do love you.’
John could find no words to reply. His heart ached as if it were bruised. He turned and left to return to Jerusalem, to his solitary life as a priest, to a people that were more foreign to him than the Saracens.
Chapter 8
AUGUST 1167: TYRE
John sat beside William at one of the tables in the great hall of the Archbishop of Tyre’s palace, the location that had been chosen to celebrate Amalric’s marriage to Maria Komnena. John recognized several of the nobles and prelates seated around them: the grand masters of the Temple and Hospital, Humphrey of Toron, Hugh of Caesarea and Bohemond of Antioch, who John had helped to ransom two years ago to the day. John winced. Even now, it pained him to think of those days in Aleppo.
A trumpet sounded, and the guests stood. The doors to the hall swung open, and Amalric entered with his new wife on his arm. Maria looked like a frightened girl, despite her golden crown. She had no chest, and her blue-silk caftan hung from her as if she were a boy. Her wavy hair, which had been bleached blonde with lemon juice and sunlight, was held back in a tight bun that accentuated her high forehead. She had a weak chin, a pug nose and a smallish mouth with lips that seemed to be in a perpetual pout. Her eyes, ringed with black kohl, were red from crying.
The king and his new queen were followed by the seneschal, bearing the king’s sceptre, and the chamberlain with his sword. Then came the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Archbishop of Tyre, and half a dozen envoys from the emperor’s court in Constantinople. The procession reached the seats at the head table, and Amalric spoke. ‘Thank you for coming to celebrate this joyous day! Eat, drink, enjoy yourselves!’
The king sat, and his guests followed suit. William and John were at a side table some distance away. John nodded towards Maria. ‘She looks miserable.’
‘She could have done worse. Amalric is a kind man.’
‘And there is more than one palace servant who has benefited from his kindness. He will not be faithful to her.’
‘At least he will not beat her.’
John thanked God that he was not a woman, to be sold like chattel simply to seal an alliance. He busied himself with the duck breast on his plate.
At the head table, the emperor’s chief representative stood. With his double chin, fat fingers and soft body, the duke Thoros looked like an overweight merchant, but it was said he had the ear of Emperor Manuel, and that made him a man to be reckoned with. He raised a goblet of wine. ‘To King Amalric and Queen Maria; long may they reign together!’ He quaffed his drink. The men in the hall followed his example.
When the goblets had been refilled, it was Amalric’s turn to propose a toast. ‘To Emperor Manuel, long may the friendship between our kingdoms endure!’ Again, the goblets were quaffed.
‘You are of Manuel’s family now,’ Thoros said, loudly enough that his voice reached John. ‘He will stand by you whenever and wherever you have need.’
The hall quieted. The Hospitaller Gilbert, who sat at the king’s table, leaned forward. ‘Will he fight with us in Egypt?’
Thoros nodded. ‘You are his ally.’
John looked to William and whispered, ‘Did you negotiate this?’
William shook his head. ‘Only the marriage.’
‘Easy, Gilbert,’ Amalric was saying. ‘We have had peace with Egypt and Syria for two years. We should not be so eager to seek war. Let today be a day of celebration.’
‘Yes, sire,’ Gilbert replied. ‘A day to celebrate the alliance that your marriage has sealed, an alliance that can open the Kingdom of the Nile to us. We came close last time. With a fleet to better supply our army, we could have taken Alexandria and then Egypt. Manuel can provide that fleet, and his armies will prevent Nur ad-Din from striking the Kingdom while we are gone. We will be free to take Cairo itself!’
Amalric frowned. ‘I signed a treaty, Gilbert. I swore an oath.’
Heraclius spoke from his place just beyond Gilbert. ‘Oaths made to an infidel mean nothing, sire.’
William cursed under his breath. ‘Heraclius! I should have known he was behind this.’
John’s eyes were on Amalric. ‘M-my word means something,’ the king said, his uncertainty manifested in the return of his childhood stutter. ‘Even w-when given to an infidel.’
‘Then honour your word, sire,’ Heraclius said, speaking loudly so that all in the hall could hear him. ‘You have taken an oath before God to protect the faithful. What better way to do so than to liberate Egypt from the infidel? There are thousands of Christians living there, and with the Land of the Nile in our power, our Kingdom will be invincible.’
The envoy Thoros nodded. ‘The crown of Egypt would be a fitting present to your new wife. It will take time to plan the assault, but I am sure the Emperor’s fleet could be available by the autumn of next year.’
All eyes turned to Amalric, who was tugging at his beard.
‘The riches of Alexandria and Cairo, sire,’ Gilbert said. ‘The Kingdom of the Pharaohs. It lies waiting for you.’
Amalric took a long drink and then looked to his new wife. ‘W-what do you ad-ad-What do you suggest, Maria?’
The girl shrank back into her chair in wide-eyed terror. She looked to Thoros, who nodded. ‘I should like to be Queen of Egypt,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Then so be it!’ Amalric raised his goblet. ‘To Egypt!’
OCTOBER 1168: ALEPPO
Yusuf stood before the door to Gumushtagin’s quarters in the palace and took a deep breath to steady himself. He had not met the eunuch in private since his return from Egypt three years ago. He had hoped that Gumushtagin was done with him, but that morning a messenger had come to request a meeting. Yusuf dared not avoid the summons. He had just raised his hand to knock when the door swung open.
‘Saladin!’ Gumushtagin flashed his false smile. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum.’
‘Salaam,’ Yusuf replied curtly.
Gumushtagin affected not to notice his unfriendly tone. ‘Come in. Come in.’ Gumushtagin closed the door behind them and carefully latched it. ‘Tell me, Saladin, would you like to be Vizier of Egypt?’
Yusuf blinked in surprise and then shook his head. ‘I found nothing but hunger and suffering there. I wish to never see Egypt again.’
‘That is not to be. Nur ad-Din will hold council this afternoon. This is why.’ The eunuch held out three locks of dark hair.
‘What is that?’
‘See for yourself.’ Gumushtagin handed Yusuf a roll of parchment. ‘This came today via messenger pigeon from Cairo.’
Yusuf read the tiny script:
Nur ad-Din, King of Syria, defender of the faith, my land has been invaded by the ifranj. I ask for your aid to repel the infidel invader. The locks of hair are from my wives. They beseech you to come and rescue them from the outrages of the ifranj. Do not delay. If you answer my call, I promise you a third of the land of Egypt as fiefs for your emirs.