Yusuf spotted Qaraqush nearby, speaking with the sheikh of the tribes who farmed the fields of Jibab al-Turkman. The mamluk general finished talking and walked over to Yusuf. ‘The sheikh says they saw a field of fire to the north last night.’
‘Campfires?’
Qaraqush nodded. ‘Saif ad-Din is close.’
Yusuf glanced at the shadows cast by the palms. They were slowly vanishing as the sun moved overhead. ‘We will move on at noon. The horses can drink again once we reach Aleppo.’
Qaraqush began to walk away but froze, his eyes on the ridge to the north-west. Yusuf followed his gaze and saw the flash of sunlight off metal. There it was again, and again. An army was cresting the ridge, and Yusuf’s men were spread out over the floor of the valley, in no position to fight.
‘Have the men mount up, now!’ Yusuf shouted to Qaraqush. ‘We will withdraw-’ he looked about and spotted a flat-topped mound near the horizon ‘-east. We will regroup at that hill. I will cover the retreat with my khaskiya.’
‘But my lord-!’ Qaraqush began. He was stopped with a hard stare from Yusuf. ‘Yes, Malik.’ The mamluk general strode away, yelling for the men to mount up and ride.
Yusuf called for his horse and then turned to Saqr. ‘The khaskiya will come with me. We will ride west and form a rearguard.’ Saqr’s brow furrowed, but that was the extent of his disapproval. He began shouting orders to the men of Yusuf’s private guard, and they quickly formed a column.
Yusuf swung into the saddle. Qaraqush was galloping from well to well, shouting and waving his sword. Men were running everywhere, getting in one another’s way as they searched for their horses. The camels and mules of the baggage train were still being loaded. If they lost them, then the campaign would be over. They would have to return to Damascus to gather fresh supplies.
Yusuf looked to the ridge, which was now covered with thousands of warriors, their helmets glinting in the sunlight.
‘What are they waiting for?’ Saqr asked.
‘Perhaps they were as surprised to see us as we were to see them. Inshallah, they will continue to wait.’
Yusuf led his personal guard through an orange grove and then across a field of brilliant green wheat that brushed his horse’s chest. They reached the edge of the irrigated land, and the wheat gave way to hard, dry ground. ‘We will hold here!’ Yusuf shouted.
His men spread out in a line one hundred yards across and five rows deep. With so few men they had no chance of stopping a charge, but they could perhaps delay it long enough to give the rest of the army a chance to regroup. Yusuf took his curved bow from his saddle and strung it. He then tucked the bamboo shaft of his light spear under his right leg, where it would be ready when he needed it. On the ridge a single rider was galloping along the enemy lines, waving a sword above his head.
‘They will come soon!’ Yusuf shouted to his men. ‘Arrows when they come in range, then spears. We will feint forward and then retreat!’ Yusuf took his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow while his message was relayed down the line. His horse nickered and flicked its ears. It could sense his tension.
There was a loud cry from atop the ridge, then another, and then a wall of noise as ten thousand men shouted at once. A wave of riders poured down from the ridge. Yusuf picked out a target and stretched his bow taught. To either side he could hear the twang of bowstrings as his men began to shoot. Yusuf let out his breath and then released. His arrow joined dozens of others, all black against the blue sky. Before his arrow reached its apex Yusuf had already nocked another and let fly. He shot again and again as all around him his men’s bowstrings sang. Dozens of enemy riders fell to be trampled by their comrades, but thousands more galloped on, closing rapidly. Yusuf slid his bow into his saddle and slipped his small, circular shield on to his left forearm. He looked back to the wells. His men were now all in the saddle, and the first of the camels were loaded and lumbering away.
Yusuf raised his voice. ‘We must hold them until the army is safely away. Now, men! Make those sons of whores eat dust!’
He spurred forward and his men fell in behind him. They surged across the plain like a spear tip driving towards the centre of the oncoming army. The men in the enemy ranks were close enough now for Yusuf to make out their faces. He picked out an older man with a greying beard and then rose in the stirrups and hurled his spear. It caught the man in the chest, knocking him from the saddle. Yusuf drew his sword just before he reached the enemy line. An enemy warrior thrust a spear towards his chest, and Yusuf veered away and raised his shield. The spear glanced off of it, but the blow was enough to knock him back in the saddle. He straightened and lashed out at the next rider, catching him in the throat and filling the air with a spray of blood. There were enemy warriors all around now, and Yusuf’s horse slowed as it weaved between oncoming attackers. He deflected blows with his shield and hacked to the left and right, while his men followed close behind to finish off those he missed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the enemy flanks turning inward to encircle them. They had stood their ground long enough. ‘Back, men!’ he shouted. ‘Retreat!’
Yusuf reined in, and he and his men wheeled their horses as if one. His guard allowed him to ride to their centre, and then they dug in their spurs and galloped away across the hard ground. Yusuf could hear the thunder of hooves behind him as the enemy gave chase. Arrows soon began to fall around Yusuf and his men. One hit Saqr in the shoulder, but the mamluk rode on as if unaware, crouching above the saddle, his head forward beside his horse’s neck.
They galloped back across the green fields around the wells and out on to the dusty plain beyond. In the distance Yusuf could see the mound where his army was gathering. Beneath him, his horse was beginning to labour, its breath coming in explosive bursts. Yusuf glanced over his shoulder. The enemy riders were so close they had begun hurling spears. One of his men was struck in the back and fell from the saddle. Yusuf flicked the reins. ‘Yalla! Yalla!’ he cried, urging a last burst of speed from his tiring mount. Ahead, his men had formed a battle line before the mound. They drew back their bows and a cloud of arrows filled the sky, arcing over Yusuf and his men to fall amongst the enemy. Yusuf heard cries of pain. He looked back and saw that his pursuers were falling back.
He slowed his horse and trotted to the line. Qaraqush came out to meet him. ‘Subhan’allah!’ the grizzled mamluk said. ‘You live.’ He noticed the arrow protruding from Saqr’s shoulder. ‘Bring a doctor!’
Saqr waved away his concern. ‘It barely penetrated the armour.’
Qaraqush turned back to Yusuf and handed him a waterskin. ‘When you charged into their lines, I thought you were a dead man. But we needed the time you bought us.’
Yusuf rinsed the dust from his mouth and spat. ‘Had they attacked sooner, they would have routed us.’
‘We were lucky. Allah favours us.’
Yusuf looked back to where Saif ad-Din’s army was occupying the wells and beginning to water their horses. He grinned. ‘He does, Qaraqush. We have found them at last!’
Yusuf stared up at the star-strewn sky. He located the constellations Al-Hirba’ and Al-A’sad: the Chameleon and the Lion. It had been a long time since he traced their shapes, but tonight he could not sleep. He had awoken with his heart racing after a particularly vivid dream. He could not remember its particulars, only that it had involved Asimat. It had been years since he saw her last. If he defeated Saif ad-Din’s army tomorrow, then he would see her again soon, in Aleppo. If he lost, he might well never see her again. He would lose Damascus, and Cairo would be next.