On the day of his second birthday, naked Shams walked up to Fatima, extended his hand, and said, “Look, Mama.” The imps exploded in laughter at the sight. Layl joined in. Proud and beaming, Shams held a turd in his hand.
“Ah,” said Fatima. “I am happy that you are able to do that on your own. However, we do not hold such things on our birthday. The world is here to celebrate. We must be as clean as we can be.” And, as swiftly as a hummingbird’s wing fluttering, Fatima extended her finger, her fingernail elongated into a sharp sword, and she cut her son’s hand off. She bade his arm to replace the hand with a new one. “Now, that is better. Let us get you ready for the feast.”
“I will do their hair,” cried Elijah.
“I do the shoes,” said Ishmael.
Noah conjured a fountain of warm water in the middle of the chamber, and the imps bathed the twins of light and dark. Adam garlanded them with scents. Jacob and Job dressed them in silk and satins. Ezra studded their outfits with jewels, and Isaac crowned them with gold.
Fatima led the glorious twins into the grand hall. The royalty of the land oohed at Shams’s exquisite beauty and aahed at the sight of the colorful parrots circling above him. The emir’s wife snatched Shams and carried him to the center of the room. She held him up for admiration. “Behold my son.” The notables lined up to pay their respects. One by one, they bowed before the baby emir and kissed his hand. And on this day of his second birthday, Shams performed his first miracle. The turban of the seventh person in the receiving line, a prince from a far-off land, intrigued Shams. As the man bowed, Shams removed his turban. Embarrassed, the prince tried to cover his bald head, but Shams was even more intrigued with the scalp. The boy touched it, and the prince jumped back in pain. The emir’s wife began to apologize, though suddenly the prince was no longer listening. He brought his hands before his eyes. Surely he had felt something tickling them. He felt his head, and there it was. The entire room saw a full head of hair growing on the once-bald prince.
A man ran to the front of the line, pointing to his bald spot. “Touch me,” he called. “Touch me.” Another bald man joined him, and then there were three and four. The line was no more. A woman shoved through. “Can you do moles?” she yelled. Another held her infant son and shouted, “Cleft lip.”
The emir’s wife tried to retreat, but she had no place to go. The mob of notables surrounded her on all sides. Shams began to wail.
“Everyone will have his turn,” pleaded the emir’s wife.
“No, they will not.” Fatima held her hand up, and the green parrot, Job, flew above the melee. She raised her hand again, to stop the violet parrot, Adam, from joining his brother. Suddenly, the royalty of the land were frantically scratching their skins. Fleas gorged themselves on noble blood. Elijah descended from above and lifted Shams. As soon as Shams joined Layl in Fatima’s arms, the fleas disappeared.
“Be not afraid,” the emir’s wife said, still scratching her arms. “Please stay. The fleas are gone, and we will burn sage to make sure they remain away.” Her arms turned redder and redder. “Do not leave. My son will heal you all. He will perform the great miracles. He is the chosen one. I am his mother.”
“I think we have had enough excitement for the day.” Fatima led her sons and her parrots out of the hall.
Al-Awwar whinnied, pranced, and quickened his trot. “Yes,” Baybars told his horse. “We approach home.”
When Commander Issa, the ruler of Damascus, heard the news of the approaching slave army, he was forced to march his troops out of the city to greet the new leader of the king’s army, his nemesis, Prince Baybars. Issa paid his respects, but his heart was engulfed by flames of hatred and envy. “And when will the rest of the troops arrive?” the commander asked, and Baybars replied that none were forthcoming. Joy cleared a place for itself in the commander’s heart. “I am much impressed. The king must consider you a great hero, Prince Baybars, to assign you so few warriors to battle Halawoon’s thousands of men.”
Prince Baybars said, “Perchance, my commander, you will be so generous as to lend us troops to help us defeat the fire-worshippers.” Commander Issa said he would be more than happy to oblige the prince, but his men were needed to police his city.
Sitt Latifah waited at the gates of the city for her much-loved son to arrive. As her eyes alit on the prince astride his warhorse, she ran to him. Baybars jumped off his horse, knelt before his mother, and kissed her hand, which had two tiny age spots that had not been there when he last kissed it. She kissed his hair. “Look,” she announced to the city’s denizens. “See my glorious son, the great warrior Baybars. My child returns home leading an army, just as my dream foretold. Bask in his brilliance.” Sitt Latifah held a banquet that night for Baybars’s army. “My son,” she said, “in my dream you led a powerful army and vanquished God’s enemy, Halawoon. It is bound to happen. I do not doubt the courage and valor of your fighters, but I expected a larger number of men to be under your command.” Prince Baybars explained that the king felt more troops were unnecessary. “I do not wish to disagree with kings,” Sitt Latifah said, “but I refuse to send my son into battle lacking. I will call the archers. From far and wide they will come to pay their debts to our family. A thousand of the finest bowmen you will have.”
Othman and Harhash excused themselves from the feast. They kissed Sitt Latifah’s hand and said, “Pardon our rudeness, but the moon is high. It is our time.”
The following day, Othman and Harhash returned accompanied by one hundred disreputable-looking men. Othman told Baybars, “These men will fight for you, my lord.” Baybars asked if they had repented. “Surely, one and all,” Othman replied. “They agreed to repent if I performed a miracle. Yesterday I showed them the way into Issa’s secret coffers. They were duly impressed, and all have repented this morning.”
All one hundred said, “God be praised,” and patted the bags of gold on their belts.
“And so our army grows,” said Baybars.
One thousand archers on horseback arrived to join the slave army. Sitt Latifah greeted them. “You are men of honor. This is my son. Follow him and I will continue to provide your sons with the finest bows for generations to come. We are grateful.”
Baybars bade Sitt Latifah farewell, and the slave army marched out of the city. They were scarcely a league away when they noticed dust rising behind them. A Damascene troop of a thousand men was trying to catch up. Their leader rode a glorious roan. “I will follow you, my prince,” said Sergeant Lou’ai. “My men and I will fight the infidels.”
Baybars said, “Your honor knows no limits, my sergeant. By saving my life once before, you paid your debt to me a thousand times.”
“We are almost twenty-five hundred men,” Othman said to Harhash. “I am now an honest man, but the blood of greed still runs through my veins. The more we have, the more I want.”
Harhash replied, “Greed for a just cause is justified. I ride with you.”
“Greed?” exclaimed Layla. “Wanting more men is a sign of sanity. The women in Damascus are knitting mourning shawls. Halawoon’s army is thought to be at least thirty thousand strong.”
The slave army stopped in Hamah for a rest. Layla told Othman, “I do not wish to spend the night here. It is much too hot and the accommodations are lacking. Take me to the shore. We can spend the night in the Fort of Marqab near Latakia.”
“Fort of Marqab?” cried Othman. “That is out of our way. We are heading to war.”
“Accommodations?” scoffed Harhash.
“I am glad you approve, dear Harhash,” Layla said. “Tell our master we will rejoin you in two days, before you reach Aleppo, after I have had a good rest and breathed gentle sea breezes.”