Kingdom (6 page)

The babe closed his eyes sleepily. Asimat took him back. She glanced at the maidservant and then spoke in a whisper. ‘He
is
your child, Yusuf. If Gumushtagin betrays us, we will die, all three of us. You must do anything to prevent that.’

‘I will not do his bidding forever. At some point we must stop him or else we will all become his pawns.’

‘I will deal with Gumushtagin, but now is not the time. Do as he says for now. Our son’s life depends on it.’

MARCH 1164: ON THE ROAD TO EGYPT

Yusuf sat astride his horse on a high outcrop of dark-brown stone that flaked and crumbled under his mount’s stamping hooves. Below him, mamluk troops rode four abreast into the shadowy mouth of a wadi – a dry riverbed lined with sand and gravel – which cut its way between the rocky hills. The long column of troops stretched away across the sandy plain Yusuf had just traversed, all the way to the shores of Al-Bahr al-Mayyit, the Dead Sea, whose rainbow waters glistened under an incandescent morning sun. Near the shore, the sea was rust-coloured from the algae that bloomed in the salty waters.
Further
out, the red mixed with pale whites and bright blue-greens. The army had been riding along the eastern shore for two days, keeping the sea’s waters between them and the Kingdom of Jerusalem. It had been nine days since they left Damascus.

A horse nickered behind Yusuf, and he turned to see Shirkuh and Shawar approaching, their mounts picking their way across the broken ground. ‘I have spoken with our Bedouin guides,’ Shirkuh said as he reined in beside Yusuf. ‘The land we must cross is unforgiving. The Bedouin call it Al-Naqab, the dry place. There will be no water until Beersheba. We will have to ride all day without stopping if we hope to reach it by evening.’

Shawar was looking to the sun. Now well above the horizon, it was baking the rocky soil, which radiated heat so intense that it had a physical presence. He wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘Is there no easier way?’

‘No. Not if we wish to stay clear of the Franks in Ascalon.’

‘Very well.’ Shawar straightened and flashed his winning smile. ‘A kingdom is worth a little suffering.’ He tapped his heels against the sides of his horse, which began to pick its way back down from the outcrop. Yusuf and Shirkuh followed.

They rode at the head of the army along the floor of the wadi. At times, the ravine was so narrow that they had to ride two abreast, the rock rising sheer on either side. At other times, it widened into washes that were broad and long enough to accommodate most of their army of seven thousand men. The trail they followed forked again and again, but always their Bedouin guides pushed on without hesitation. How they kept their bearings in this strange place, where every path looked exactly the same, Yusuf had no idea.

They rode in silence, stupefied by the heat, while the shadows that stretched across the wadi shrank to nothing and then stretched out again to cover the ravine, bringing blessed relief from the scorching sun. Finally, just as the sun was setting before them, they emerged from the hills on to a broad plain of coarse
sand
, which crunched under their horses’ hooves. A few miles later the ruined city of Beersheba came into view. The short stretches of wall that still stood were half buried in sand. A few Bedouin tents had been erected in their lee. At the sight of the approaching army, the Bedouin quickly rolled up their tents. They were gone long before Yusuf arrived.

A well sat at the centre of the town, and Shirkuh set men to work hauling up water for the horses. Yusuf left his mount with one of his men and walked away from the camp and up a sandy hill. He knelt to pray. Since he had no water, he rubbed his hands, feet, and face with sand. Then he spread out his prayer carpet and began the isha’a, the nightly prayer. By the time he finished, the tents of the army had sprouted all across the plain. As he walked back to camp he passed a dozen men digging a latrine for the army. Just beyond, he was hailed by Shawar.

‘Yusuf! I have found you at last. You must come and dine in my tent.’

‘I should see to my men first,’ Yusuf replied, although in truth, he had been planning to write his first report to Gumushtagin.

‘Your men will survive without you for one night. I, on the other hand, am in desperate need of good company. Come. Your uncle is already in my tent.’ Shawar saw that Yusuf still hesitated. The Egyptian winked. ‘Food is not the only delicacy on offer.’

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. ‘Very well.’ Gumushtagin could wait.

Shawar’s tent was impossibly luxurious. Yusuf had been sceptical when Shawar told him that he required twelve camels to transport his personal effects, but now he saw why. The low, sprawling tent was large enough to seat a hundred men. Lamps hung from the tent posts, illuminating deep carpets and shimmering screens of silk that separated off parts of the huge space. In the corner, two men were fitting together a polished wardrobe, which split in half for transport.

Shawar noticed Yusuf’s wide-eyed expression. ‘When I fled Egypt, I did not do so entirely empty-handed.’

Cushions had been spread in a circle, and Shirkuh was already seated and chatting with a man that Yusuf did not recognize. Yusuf sat beside his uncle, and Shawar took a seat across from him. Shawar gestured to the strange Egyptian. The man had darkly tanned skin and unexceptional features, save for his hazel eyes. ‘Al-Khlata is the civilian comptroller in Cairo. He sees that taxes are collected from the populace.’

Yusuf nodded towards him. ‘I am honoured to meet you.’

‘Now, let us eat.’ Shawar clapped his hands and veiled female servants in thin, almost transparent caftans stepped from behind one of the silk curtains. One of them came to Yusuf and placed a gold cup on the small, low table beside him. Yusuf was surprised to see it was filled with water. He had not expected Shawar to be so temperate.

Shirkuh was equally perplexed. ‘No wine?’ he grumbled.

‘Allah forbids alcohol, and as we march in his name, it is best to obey his laws,’ Shawar replied. ‘And besides, in the desert, water is more precious than wine.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Cairo! May we see her soon!’

‘To Cairo!’ the men replied and drank.

The servants entered with food. One brought Yusuf a basket of steaming flatbread and a dip of mashed broad beans. Another brought a green soup with pieces of fried garlic floating in it. Yusuf poked at it with his spoon.

‘It is an Egyptian speciality, made from diced jute,’ Al-Khlata told him.

Shawar nodded. ‘My cook came with me from Cairo. Thanks to him, I can dine as if I am in the caliph’s palace, even while in the desert.’ Shawar tore off a piece of flatbread, dipped it in the soup and ate, a signal for the others to begin.

Yusuf murmured, ‘In the name of Allah,’ and tried some of the bread. It was thicker and coarser than he was used to. The dip was creamy and rich, the soup light but savoury.

Shawar washed down the bread and soup with a swallow of water. ‘Al-Khlata tells me that Beersheba was once a great city.’

The comptroller nodded. ‘There was a great church here, huge buildings. It was once part of the Roman Empire.’

‘And the Kingdom of the Jews before that,’ Yusuf noted. All eyes turned to him. ‘Their first king, Saul, built a great fort here.’

‘How do you know this?’ Shawar asked.

‘It is written in the Franks’ holy book.’ John had given Yusuf a copy of the Bible years ago, and Yusuf had studied it carefully. ‘It says that Abraham visited here. He made a pact with the people of the area, swearing an oath to share the wells. That is why the town is called Beersheba: “oath of the well”.’

Al-Khlata snorted. ‘I do not believe anything written in the books of the Franks. Superstitious nonsense!’

‘Perhaps,’ Yusuf said, ‘but if we wish to defeat our enemies, we must know them.’

‘Indeed,’ Shawar agreed. ‘And since we are discussing our enemies, it is time I tell you something of what awaits us in Egypt. Cairo is a nest of vipers. In my lifetime, no vizier has ruled there for more than a dozen years before being betrayed. I thought I could be the one to finally bring stability to the kingdom, but I was wrong. I was too trusting. I thought Dhirgam was my friend. As young men, we served together as scribes in the Caliph’s court. We rose through the ranks together, and when I became vizier I made him my chamberlain. I did not know that the snake was in the pay of the Franks. While I was in Bilbeis inspecting the citadel, Dhirgam seized control of Cairo. His first act was to make peace with Jerusalem. His second was to send an army to kill me. I fled east to the court of your lord, Nur ad-Din. The rest you know.’ Shawar shook his head, as if to dispel the painful memories. ‘But enough of such sad talk! Let us enjoy ourselves.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Bring the girls!’

Al-Khlata took this as a sign to depart. A moment later, four
serving
girls entered, only now they had shed their thin caftans and wore only veils and skirts of diaphanous silk, through which Yusuf could see their toned legs and firm buttocks. They were Egyptian, brown-skinned with wide eyes lined with kohl. A man with a drum came in after the girls. He went to the corner, while the girls moved to the centre of the circle and stood absolutely still, their heads down. As the man began to beat the drum, the girls came to life, swaying their hips to the beat. The drum beat faster and they started to circle, spinning so that their skirts flared up. Yusuf sat back as they flashed past, a kaleidoscope of nubile flesh: long thin arms, finely shaped legs, tight buttocks and dark breasts with darker areoles.

The girls stopped circling. One stood just before Yusuf. She sank to her knees and arched backwards so the back of her head touched the floor. She began to rhythmically raise her hips, thrusting up with the beat of the drum. She sat straight once more, leaned forward and reached out, caressing Yusuf’s cheek. She moved on to his lap and kissed him, her mouth open. Her hand moved down to caress his rock-hard zib. He ran his hands down her sides and grasped her firm buttocks. She giggled, pushed him away and stood. She took his hand and led him towards one of the screened-off rooms.

Yusuf glanced back before entering. Shirkuh was occupied with two girls. Shawar had sent the fourth girl away and sat alone. He met Yusuf’s gaze and winked. ‘Enjoy yourself!’

The girl was tugging on Yusuf’s arm. ‘Come,’ she said and led him into the room.

When Yusuf awoke the next morning, he and the servant girl were still naked and tangled together. She was sleeping, her head on his chest and a half-smile on her face. For a moment, she reminded him of Asimat. The thought made Yusuf feel sick. He dressed quickly and stepped outside. The morning air was cool after the closeness of the tent. He breathed deeply and headed for the latrine. On the way he passed Al-Khlata, leading
a
horse. Where was he off to so early in the day, Yusuf wondered.

Yusuf reached the ditch and had begun to urinate when Shawar stepped up beside him. ‘A long night?’ he asked as he too began to piss. Yusuf felt himself redden. ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, friend. I am glad you enjoyed yourself. When we reach Cairo, you will have a dozen more women like her.’

‘I do not wish for—’

‘Think nothing of it. What is mine is yours.’ Shawar finished and clapped Yusuf on the back. ‘Now come. Cairo awaits!’

MARCH 1164: CAIRO

‘Medinat al-Qahira!’ Shawar exclaimed and gestured to the horizon. ‘The greatest city in all the world!’

Yusuf squinted but could make out only a distant smudge. Nearer, feluccas and dhows glided along the Nile under triangular sails, and beyond them loomed the massive pyramids of Giza. Shawar’s description had not done them justice. They dwarfed anything that Yusuf had ever seen, even the massive Roman temple in his childhood home of Baalbek.

Shirkuh pointed to a grove of palms situated along the river. ‘Yusuf, have a hundred men begin building rams and siege towers.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Shawar assured him. ‘The people will open the gates to us. They are loyal to me. That is why they fled before us outside Bilbeis.’ The day before, they had confronted an army twice their size, but the Egyptians had run almost before the battle began.

‘Let us hope you are right, or we will regret letting so many escape,’ Shirkuh grumbled.

‘I could hardly let you butcher them,’ Shawar replied. ‘They are my people. Soon enough they will fight for me.’

Shirkuh grunted sceptically.

As they rode closer, the city rapidly took shape. The tall walls were studded with towers. The buildings were flat-roofed and built of the same white limestone as the walls. Beyond Cairo rose a dozen tall shapes that Yusuf initially took for minarets. Soon, he saw that they were actually massive, rectangular buildings, many storeys high.

‘That is Fustat, just south of the city,’ Shawar said, answering Yusuf’s unasked question. ‘It was founded centuries before Cairo. It is still the commercial heart of the city, famed for its pottery and crystal. It is there that the wealth of Egypt is created.’

They rode on, and soon Yusuf could see soldiers atop the walls, their armour glinting in the late afternoon sun. Shawar led the army towards an arched gate framed by two squat round towers of pale stone. Warriors with bows in hand were crowded atop the gate. Shawar seemed not to notice them.

‘Perhaps we should halt beyond bow range,’ Yusuf suggested.

‘There is no need,’ Shawar replied. He pointed to the gate where the soldiers were disappearing.

‘Where are they going?’ Shirkuh asked.

‘The rats are abandoning the ship. I know the people of Cairo. They served Dhirgam well enough when he was strong, but now that an army is at their walls, they will turn on him. Come! The day’s ride has spurred my appetite. We shall dine in the Caliph’s palace.’

Shawar urged his horse to a canter, leaving Yusuf and Shirkuh behind. They exchanged a glance and then Shirkuh shrugged. ‘Let us hope he knows what he is doing.’ He raised his voice. ‘Guards! Ride with me. The rest of the army will make camp beside the Nile.’ He spurred after Shawar.

Yusuf turned back towards his younger brother Selim and the mamluk commander Qaraqush. Qaraqush was a thick-necked bull of a man. His hair had begun to grey, but he was just as fearsome a warrior as when Yusuf had first met him
twelve
years ago. As for Selim, he was a man now. With his dark hair and beard, wiry build and deep brown eyes, he looked like a younger, slightly taller version of Yusuf, so much so that the men had taken to calling him Al-Azrar: ‘the younger’.