Kingdom

by Hight, Jack

  ‘Saladin!’ Amalric rose to greet him. ‘God grant you good day. It is a pleasure to see you again.’

  Yusuf gave a short bow. ‘King Amalric.’ He did not greet Shawar.

  ‘My army will begin the journey to Jerusalem tomorrow,’ Amalric said. ‘Until I receive news that Shirkuh has left Egypt, you will travel with us as my guest. John will show you to your quarters.’

  Yusuf followed John to a nearby tent. The floor was thickly carpeted. The camp bed looked comfortable enough. There was even a lap desk with paper and ink.

  ‘I trust you will be comfortable,’ John said.

  Yusuf nodded. The two friends stood in awkward silence. So much had happened since that day at Butaiha when John had saved Yusuf’s life. Yusuf had hated himself for abandoning his friend to die. But John was alive.

  ‘How did you come to be at the court of the Frankish king?’ Yusuf asked at last.

  ‘I was to be executed as a traitor, but King Amalric spared me.’

  There was another silence, during which John poured them each a cup of water. He handed one to Yusuf. ‘How are the men? Qaraqush? Al-Mashtub?’

  ‘The same as ever, only thinner.’

  ‘You look half starved yourself. I shall find you some food.’

  Yusuf nodded. He had been hungry for so long that he had grown accustomed to ignoring the dull ache in his belly. But now, faced with the prospect of eating, his stomach awoke with a growl. John returned with a loaf of hot bread and some lentil stew. Yusuf tore into the bread and drank straight from the bowl.

  John managed a smile. ‘You eat like a wolf after a long winter.’

  Yusuf finished the soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I eat like a starved man after a long siege.’

  ‘Was it very hard?’ John asked.

  Yusuf nodded. ‘I am glad to be done with Egypt. I hope I never see these lands again.’ He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. It was not just the hardships he had suffered during the siege. Shawar’s betrayal had wounded him. ‘What of you, friend?’ He gestured to John’s vestments and the cross hanging from his neck. ‘You are a priest now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Yusuf shook his head in wonder. ‘Why?’

  ‘It was that or marry.’

  John did not need to say more. Yusuf knew he had become a priest because of Zimat, because he would not marry another. ‘I have taken Zimat and Ubadah into my household. I am raising him as my own son.’

  ‘Thank you, brother.’ John hesitated for a moment. ‘How is Zimat?’

  ‘After Butaiha, she thought you dead. She hardly spoke for months. She is better now. I have begun to look for a new husband for her.’

  John’s face registered not pain but rather a despairing resignation. Yusuf had seen that expression before on men he had killed, the moment they realized that they would die. ‘That is good,’ John managed, although his broken voice belied his words. ‘She should forget me. It is for the best.’

  ‘She will never forget you.’ John winced, and Yusuf saw that his words of comfort had only hurt more. He searched for a way to change the topic. ‘What is Jerusalem like?’

  ‘A strange city. The Franks have driven out all the Jews and Muslims, and now it is half empty. Beautiful but empty.’

  ‘I would love to see it.’

  ‘Perhaps you shall, one day.’

  ‘No, sooner. I do not relish the thought of riding to Damascus alone once I am freed. Do you think Amalric will allow me to accompany the Christian army as far as Jerusalem?’

  ‘I am sure of it.’ John smiled. ‘It will be good to travel with you again, brother. Like old times. Do you remember our first trip to Tell Bashir, all those years ago?’

  ‘How could I forget? You saved my life.’ Yusuf met John’s eyes. ‘You could have come back to us at the beginning of the siege, John. I would have welcomed you.’

  ‘I have given my word to Amalric, and to God.’

  ‘I understand. I will not ask you to break your oath.’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘It is strange to see you in a priest’s garb, strange that we are now enemies.’

  John placed a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. ‘We do not have to be. Perhaps I can best serve you here, with the Christians. I can help bring peace between our people.’

  ‘Your king, Amalric, does not strike me as a man of peace, John. He brought his army to Egypt readily enough. And Nur ad-Din has vowed vengeance for the defeat he suffered at Butaiha.’

  ‘Perhaps we can change their minds. If we can be friends, then who is to say all the Franks and Saracens cannot learn to share the Holy Land.’

  Yusuf smiled. ‘You have become a dreamer, John. Your people hate my people. Nothing can change that.’

  ‘I pray that you are wrong.’ John met his eyes. ‘I have sworn an oath to Amalric, but I do not wish to be your enemy, Yusuf.’

  ‘Nor I yours.’ Yusuf forced a laugh. ‘Such weighty talk! I am simply glad we are together.’

  John’s forehead creased. For a moment Yusuf thought he would say something more about the awkward position in which they found themselves, but then John smiled. ‘Me, too, brother,’ he said. ‘Me, too.’

  Chapter 6

  NOVEMBER 1164: JERUSALEM

  ‘So you are forbidden to fight?’ Yusuf asked. He was riding along the dried-up bed of a wadi with John at his side. Amalric and the constable Humphrey rode a few paces ahead. A hundred of the king’s knights followed behind. The rest of the army had dispersed, the sergeants and lords returning to their lands.

  ‘I am forbidden to draw blood.’ John reached into his saddlebag and produced a mace – a wicked-looking club with a heavy head of grooved steel. ‘I can still fight.’

  ‘But if you smash a man’s skull, will he not bleed?’

  ‘Yes, but the mace does not draw blood, it only crushes the skull. The blood comes later. It is an after-effect.’

  Yusuf laughed. ‘That is ridiculous!’

  ‘Perhaps, but if you plant a seed and later a tree appears, does that mean that you made the tree grow? No. God did that. You only planted a seed.’

  ‘So you smash their skulls, and God makes them bleed?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I will never understand your faith.’

  It was another version of the conversation that they had been having since leaving Alexandria. Yusuf could make no sense of the strange rules by which his friend now lived. He had marvelled at John’s tonsure, his vestments, the fact that he was expected to live in a church with other religious men. He feared that the man he had known had disappeared beneath that tunic and cross.

  The road left the valley floor and began to angle uphill over rocky ground. They rode past olive groves and grapevines. Here and there, goats grazed.

  ‘All faiths have their mysteries, Yusuf,’ John said. ‘Is it logical that according to Islam, a man can marry five women, but a woman only one man?’

  ‘If a woman had more than one husband, then how would we know who was the father of her children?’

  ‘And why should that matter so?’

  ‘Why does it matter? Surely your faith does not welcome bastards.’

  ‘God loves all his children equally.’

  ‘Even the ones who do not deserve His love, the murderers and the thieves?’

  ‘Jesus forgave prostitutes and murderers alike. He teaches that all deserve to be loved.’

  ‘And what of you, John? Do you love all men equally? The Arab and the Frank? Christian and Muslim?’ He met John’s eyes. ‘Amalric and me?’

  ‘Not equally. But I pray for them all.’

  ‘And when you pray, whose victory do you ask for?’

  ‘I pray for peace.’

  ‘And when peace is not possible?’

  ‘I pray for you, brother.’

  ‘I would rather you fight for me.’ Yusuf regretted the words immediately. John looked away quickly, as if he had been slapped. He spurred ahead, and Yusuf sped up to rejoin him. ‘I am so
rry, John. I know that you have no choice.’

  ‘I forgive you, brother,’ John murmured, his tone more irritated than forgiving.

  They rode on in silence. As they crested the hill, Jerusalem came into view. ‘Al-Quds Sharif,’ Yusuf whispered. The Holy Sanctuary. Even at this distance he could make out the bulky Tower of David, the dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and beyond them, the gleaming roof of the Dome of the Rock. He was surprised to find tears in his eyes.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ he said. ‘More, she is a symbol of all that we have lost; not just the city but the people who died there and who have died since fighting for her. Jerusalem is where Mohammed rose into heaven before returning to write of it. She is our past, the childhood of our religion, and the Franks have taken her from us.’

  ‘I am sure the crusaders felt the same when they first laid eyes on the city,’ John observed. ‘Jerusalem is where Christ died, and it was in Christian hands for hundreds of years before the Muslims took it.’

  Yusuf’s brow knit, but he said nothing.

  ‘Perhaps we can learn to share the city,’ John suggested.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  The road led to an arched gateway that sat in the shadow of one of the citadel’s massive square towers. Merchants’ carts were crowded around the gate. A tax was due on any non-edible goods that entered the city, so these men had chosen to set up shop outside. Some knelt as the king approached. Others loudly hawked their wares. ‘Fine perfumes, my lord!’ ‘Women, sire! A slave girl for your pleasure!’

  Amalric did not stop until he reached the gate, where the seneschal Guy and the patriarch waited to greet him. Yusuf and John reined in just behind the king.

  ‘Welcome, sire!’ Guy said. ‘God grant you health and joy.’

  ‘Praise God for your safe return,’ the patriarch added.

  ‘Spare me the formalities, I am tired and need a bath.’ Amalric glanced back to Yusuf. ‘You’ll want to put your helmet on, Emir.’ He spurred ahead, and Guy and the patriarch fell in beside him.

  ‘My helmet?’ Yusuf asked John.

  John nodded. ‘Muslims are not welcome inside the city.’

  Yusuf pulled on his helmet and followed Amalric through the gate. The road beyond was lined with men and veiled women who had come to see the return of their king. They cheered and Amalric waved.

  Yusuf’s helmet rang as a piece of rotten fruit slammed into it, knocking his head to the side. ‘Murderer!’ a veiled woman shouted. ‘Go to hell, sand-demon!’

  There was an angry murmur in the crowd. ‘Saracen dog!’ someone else yelled. A fist-sized rock sailed just in front of Yusuf’s face.

  ‘Leave him be!’ Amalric roared. He had reined in his horse and was glaring at the crowd. ‘The next person who throws something will lose his hand!’ He looked back to Yusuf. ‘I apologize, Saladin.’

  ‘It is nothing,’ Yusuf replied. He turned to John and added more quietly. ‘Now I know how Reynald felt.’

  ‘No, it is unacceptable,’ Amalric was saying. ‘But I shall make amends. You shall be my honoured guest tonight at the feast to celebrate my return.’

  Yusuf sat beside King Amalric at the head table. John sat to Yusuf’s left. Another, longer table had been set up at a right angle to the head table. It stretched the length of the barrel-vaulted hall – the first completed part of the new royal palace being built south of the Tower of David. The table was lined with an eclectic mix of men: tonsured priests beside richly dressed merchants; clean-shaven Franks next to native Christians with trimmed beards; men who ate with their hands and wiped their fingers on the fur of the dogs who milled under the table beside others who ate with fork and knife.

  A servant refilled Amalric’s goblet of wine and turned to Yusuf, who waved him away. The second course had yet to be served, and it was already the third time Yusuf had refused, but the first that Amalric had noticed. ‘How rude of me,’ the king said. ‘Bring Saladin a cup of water.’

  ‘Thank you, sire.’

  Amalric nodded. ‘How long will you stay with us, Emir?’

  ‘A week, if I may. I am eager to explore the city.’

  ‘John will serve as your guide. What do you wish to see?’

  ‘Qubbat as-Sakhrah,’ Yusuf said. ‘The Dome of the Rock.’

  Amalric frowned in confusion.

  ‘The Templum Domini, sire,’ John explained.

  ‘Ah, yes, the Lord’s Temple, where Christ threw out the moneychangers. The Augustinians have charge of it now.’

  It was Yusuf’s turn to frown. He turned to John and spoke quietly in Arabic. ‘But the Dome was built after the Muslim conquest.’

  ‘What was that?’ Amalric asked.

  ‘Saladin says that he is eager to explore the Temple,’ John said.

  ‘And the Al-Aqsa mosque,’ Yusuf added. ‘After Masjid al-Haram in Mecca, and the mosque of the Prophet in Medina, it is the most sacred place of worship for my people.’

  ‘The Templum Solomonis,’ John explained to Amalric. Then, to Yusuf: ‘The Templars are quartered there now.’

  ‘Be careful of them, Saladin,’ the king warned. ‘The Templars do not like visitors, especially Saracens.’

  ‘Not so,’ the Templar grand master, Bertrand, called from down the table. ‘You will be welcome at the Temple, Saladin.’

  Yusuf nodded in his direction. ‘Shukran.’

  The conversation paused for a moment as servants brought forth the next course: two roasted boars on platters. Yusuf blanched as one of the boars was set down before him.

  ‘You are the guest of honour,’ Amalric told him. ‘You may carve.’

  ‘I am sorry, King. The flesh of swine is forbidden to my people.’

  ‘Ah, y-yes, s-so it is,’ Amalric stuttered in embarrassment. He nodded to a servant. ‘Take this a—aw—’ His face contorted as words failed him. ‘Remove this, and bring something more palatable.’

  Heraclius, who was seated beyond John and the patriarch to Yusuf’s left, leaned forward and looked towards Yusuf. ‘You do not drink wine. You do not eat pork. What sort of religion is that?’

  Yusuf opened his mouth to speak, but John replied first. ‘Do we Christians not abstain from the flesh of animals on Fridays? And many religious orders eat no meat at all.’

  The patriarch Amalric set his fork down. ‘Are you comparing Christian monks to the heathen Mohammedans?’

  ‘Yes,’ John said without hesitation. ‘The monks do not eat meat because they follow a rule. The Muslims follow their own rule, Your Beatitude.’

  ‘But only one of the two rules is of God, and I have no doubt which one that is, nor should you. Christ’s first miracle was to turn water into wine. God made grapes. He made swine. Why would he forbid us to enjoy them?’

  ‘Our place is not to question Allah’s designs,’ Yusuf replied. ‘He has commanded us to abstain from wine and pork, and so we do. It is our faith.’

  ‘Faith?’ The patriarch snorted dismissively. ‘You Saracens worship a rock. What sort of faith is that?’

  ‘We believe that Abraham placed Al-Hajaru-I-Aswad in Mecca. The black stone was sent to Adam and Eve by angels.’

  ‘It is a rock,’ Heraclius retorted.

  ‘It is,’ Yusuf agreed. ‘We do not worship the stone, but rather the God who sent it. Just as you do not worship the cross, but rather the Christ who died upon it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘That is enough, Heraclius,’ Amalric cut across the conversation. ‘A good answer, Saladin. You are as wise as you are brave. I pray that the peace between our peoples lasts for many years, and that I do not have the misfortune to meet you again in battle. To peace.’ He raised his cup and drained it.

  Yusuf glanced at John and then drank his water. ‘To peace,’ he murmured. ‘Inshallah.’

  John rose early the next morning and went to the baths in the Hospitaller complex. The sun was just rising as he emerged. He strolled over to the Street of Herbs and purchased two oranges from the fruit seller, Tiv.
The city was quiet as he walked the short distance to the king’s palace, in the shade of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He went to the room where Yusuf was staying and knocked. The door opened immediately. Yusuf was already dressed in a white caftan and sandals.

  ‘I thought you would never arrive. I am eager to explore the city, John.’

  John handed Yusuf an orange. ‘I brought you breakfast.’

  ‘Shukran. Now come. Let us begin.’

  John led him out into the palace courtyard. They were halfway across when someone called John’s name. He spotted the young Prince Baldwin playing with several companions. ‘John!’ the prince called again. It was the first time John had seen him in nearly seven months, and the boy was notably taller. He must be nearly four now, John calculated. The prince raced across the courtyard and wrapped his arms around John’s leg.

  ‘Who is this?’ Yusuf asked.

  ‘Prince Baldwin,’ John said. ‘I tutor him in Arabic.’

  Yusuf crouched so that he was at the prince’s height. ‘Kaifa halak?’

  The prince became suddenly shy. ‘I am well,’ he said as he peeked between John’s legs.

  ‘In Arabic,’ John told him.

  ‘Ana bekhair,’ Baldwin said and then, gaining in confidence, he added, ‘Motasharefon bema’refatek.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you as well,’ Yusuf replied with a smile.

  ‘I have never met a Saracen before,’ Baldwin declared.

  Yusuf’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what do you think?’

  The prince shrugged. ‘Where is your turban?’

  Yusuf laughed. ‘It is a cloudy day. I have no need of one.’

  The prince considered this for a moment before turning to John. ‘I thought the Saracens would be more … different.’

  ‘As I have told you, they are men and women, just like us. Now go and play with your fellows.’