Kingdom (20 page)

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.’

The bulging veins in Reynald’s temples revealed his building anger. ‘I had hoped to be ransomed at last,’ he growled. He looked to Yusuf. ‘Now I see that you have only invited me here to insult me.’

‘It is not I who has insulted you, Reynald.’

‘Have you not? You invite me here in the company of this usurping idiot. I know full well that Amalric will never ransom me, not so long as this boil-brained clot pole lives, and yet I must sit and watch the negotiations for his freedom.’ He paused and pointed a thick finger at John. ‘Worse yet, I must do so while this arse-licking Saxon, your Sodomite friend, looks on. And you say you have not insulted me!’

William’s gasp was audible. Yusuf glanced at John, whose knuckles showed white around the ceramic cup he clenched. He looked back to Reynald, who was taking a long drink of wine. ‘I shall have to ask you to leave, Reynald,’ Yusuf said quietly.

‘Why?’ Reynald smirked. ‘Have I offended you? Hit too close to the mark? You wouldn’t want your guests to know about your ungodly doings with this—’ Before Reynald could finish, John leaped to his feet, stepped straight across the table and smashed the cup into the side of his head. The cup shattered and blood ran from a cut just over Reynald’s ear. The heavy-set man sat stunned for a moment, then shook his head and, with a roar, lunged for John. Two mamluks rushed forward and pulled him away.

‘Get your cursed hands off me!’ Reynald shouted as Yusuf’s men dragged him from the room.

John had stepped down from the table. ‘My apologies,’ he murmured and then dropped the remains of the cup and followed Reynald into the courtyard.

‘Well then,’ William said, brushing crumbs from his white robe as he stood. ‘Perhaps we should all depart. It grows late, and we do not wish to intrude upon your hospitality.’

Yusuf rose as well. ‘I thank you all for coming. May God guide you and bring you honour and health. Ma’a as-salaama.’

‘Allah yasalmak,’ William replied and headed for the door. The other men added their goodbyes in a mixture of French, Greek and Arabic before also taking their leave. Yusuf followed them into the courtyard, where he found John standing in the dark shadows cast by the left-hand wall.

‘I am sorry,’ he said as Yusuf approached. ‘I fear I have insulted your hospitality.’

‘Nonsense. I wanted to hit the bastard myself.’

William walked over from the gate, where he had been seeing Reynald and the others off. ‘Allow me to apologize for John. He has much to learn as a diplomat.’

‘And Reynald?’ Yusuf asked.

‘Unfortunately, he is correct. Amalric has no desire to ransom him. The treasury in Jerusalem is low—’ He let the words hang in the air.

‘That is a matter to discuss another time.’ Yusuf turned to John. ‘Can you return tomorrow? I would like to speak with you.’ He lowered his voice so that only John could hear. ‘Zimat also wishes to see you.’

William spoke before John had a chance. ‘He would be happy to return.’

‘Tomorrow then, after morning prayers. Ma’a as-salaama.’

John examined his features in the bronze mirror in his chamber. He had woken early that day and gone to the baths, where a
barber
had cut his hair short and shaved him. What would Zimat think of the lines that creased his forehead and ran down either side of his mouth, of the grey hairs at his temples? There was a knock at the door, and John stepped away from the mirror and straightened his stole.

William entered. ‘Morning prayers have ended, John. It is time.’

‘Perhaps you should come with me. You are the King’s ambassador, not I.’

‘No. This is precisely why I asked Amalric to send you. My negotiations will take weeks, even months. God willing, you can move faster. Find out how much Nur ad-Din wants for Bohemond and Constantine.’

‘And Raymond and Hugh? Reynald?’

‘They are of no importance, but do not let Saladin know that. Show great interest in their ransom. Now go. You do not want to keep your friend waiting.’

John had no trouble retracing the path to Yusuf’s home. The gate was open. John entered the courtyard to find Ibn Jumay seated at the fountain, and beside him a boy of about seven years. John recognized him instantly as Ubadah. He had John’s straight, narrow nose and square chin, but he had his mother’s dark-brown eyes and fine, high cheekbones. Ibn Jumay was asking him something. The boy looked about as if searching for an answer, and his eyes settled on John. Ubadah spoke to Ibn Jumay, who looked over and smiled.

‘John! Welcome! As-salaamu ‘alaykum!’ Ibn Jumay had aged since John had last seen him. The Jewish doctor’s long beard and side locks were now flecked with grey. But he stood straight and moved with a young man’s ease as he approached.

The two men exchanged kisses on the cheeks. ‘Wa ‘alaykum as-salaam,’ John said. ‘It has been too long, friend. You are well?’

‘Yes, God be praised. I have my practice here in town, and Yusuf has me teaching young Ubadah. But what of you? How is life amongst the Franks?’

‘I miss my old friends.’

‘And you are missed. Wait here. I will inform Yusuf you have arrived.’ Ibn Jumay looked to the boy. ‘Ubadah, greet our guest.’

Ubadah scowled, but then rose and extended his right hand, grasping John’s with a firm grip. ‘Welcome to my home,’ he said in Frankish. ‘I am Ubadah ibn Khaldun.’

Ibn Khaldun. John felt a pain in his chest. His child called another man father – Khaldun, who had died in an earthquake two years ago. That was also the last time John had seen his son. ‘May God bless you and grant you joy and health,’ he told Ubadah, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. He switched to Arabic. ‘You speak French well.’

Ubadah shrugged. ‘Uncle Yusuf makes me practise.’

‘You do not like it?’

‘It is a filthy language, spoken by a filthy people,’ the boy said with surprising vehemence.

John took a step back, as if he had been struck. When he had recovered, he spoke in Arabic. ‘There are good men amongst the Franks, Ubadah.’

The boy glared at John. ‘I remember you.’ He spat at John’s feet and walked away.

Yusuf passed Ubadah as he entered the courtyard. ‘John!’ he called. ‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum.’

‘And upon you, peace,’ John replied as the friends embraced.

‘I see that you have already greeted Ubadah.’

John nodded. He was still upset from the encounter.

‘Good,’ Yusuf said. ‘Come inside.’

John followed Yusuf into the large reception room where they had dined the previous night. ‘Do you wish to discuss the ransoms?’ he asked. ‘King Amalric is willing to pay a high price for Raymond and Hugh of Lusignan.’

‘Is he? I thought that the coffers of Jerusalem were bare.’ Yusuf smiled. ‘I have known you long enough to see when you are lying, John. The King is not interested in Raymond
or
Hugh. He must ransom Bohemond and Constantine if he wishes to maintain his alliance with Constantinople.’

John’s forehead creased. ‘Am I that easy to read?’

‘To me you are. That is no doubt why William sent you. The priest is a clever man. He hopes for direct talk between us, not diplomacy.’

‘Then I shall be direct: how much for Bohemond and Constantine?’

‘Three hundred thousand dinars each.’ John gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘But I did not ask you here to discuss their ransom. Zimat wishes to see you.’

John’s mouth went dry. ‘Does she know I am a priest?’

‘I told her.’ Yusuf placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘She is not the same woman you remember. When she thought you dead, it changed her, John. I will leave you two to talk. I am sure I can trust the honour of a priest.’

John nodded. ‘Thank you, friend.’

Yusuf left the room, and a moment later, Zimat entered. Her long, lustrous black hair had not changed, nor had her slim waist, but the curves at her hips and breasts were fuller. Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying. They faced one another across the room, and neither moved. John’s heart was pounding so loudly that he was sure she could hear it.

‘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.