them with us on spears. Maybe that will make the bastards think twice before they attack us.’
‘’Sblood,’ John cursed as he turned to his gruesome task.
Yusuf and Turan stood on the wall above the al-Jabiya gate and watched as Muslim troops poured out of the orchard and splashed across the river, heading for the open gate. Behind the troops, a procession of disembodied heads approached through the orchard, bobbing high above the trees. A moment later, the first Frankish knights stepped out of the orchard, carrying spears with the heads of Muslim soldiers impaled atop them.
‘They are savages,’ Yusuf whispered.
‘They will pay for this indignity,’ Turan spat.
‘Inshallah.’ On the far side of the river more Christians were emerging from the orchards. Most went straight to the waters to drink. A few shouted up at the wall and made crude gestures. Below Yusuf, the gate slammed shut behind the last of the Muslim warriors. Yusuf looked beyond the orchard to the horizon, where the sun was just setting. The battle for the orchards had taken the best part of a day. He looked away from the blood-red sun to see his father approaching along the wall.
‘The Franks have taken the orchard, Father!’ Turan shouted to him.
Ayub nodded. ‘Unur will have no choice now but to allywith Nur ad-Din. He has invited us to dine at the palace. Come, we are expected.’
‘Should we change into finer clothes?’ Yusuf asked. He and Turan both wore plain white cotton caftans.
‘No. Unur prefers simplicity.’ Yusuf followed his father through the city to the emir’s palace, a jumble of domed buildings and simpler wooden structures that sat behind a tall wall and deep moat. A dozen mamluks guarded the bridge across the moat. Their commander nodded respectfully as Ayub approached. ‘You are expected,’ the mamluk said, and the soldiers parted to let them pass.
They entered the palace entrance hall and found themselves before a pair of tall bronze doors guarded by two muscular Nubians. ‘Remember,’ Ayub said to his sons, ‘you are here as guests. Do as I do. Do not speak unless the emir speaks to you first. And if you must speak, keep your answers short. Everything you do and say will reflect upon our family. We can ill afford the emir’s disfavour.’ Ayub nodded to one of the Nubians, who knocked on the door three times and then pushed it open.
‘Najm ad-Din Ayub,’ the Nubian declared.
Yusuf followed his father and brother into a large, circular room, brilliantly lit by candelabras mounted on the marble-clad walls that rose to a vaulted dome high above. The dome’s interior was covered in ornate script in gold-leaf, with Emir Unur’s seal at the centre. Generals and ministers of the emir sat on cushions that had been placed in a circle around the edge of the room. They were already eating, selecting their food from dozens of platters placed on low stands. Emir Unur sat directly across from the door, on a dais that raised him two feet above the others. He wore robes of white silk embroidered with an interlocking pattern of red roses and green thorns. Unur was fit and olive-skinned, with a clean-shaven chin and scalp and crinkles around the corners of his bright, hazel eyes. He smiled broadly when he saw his guests. ‘Welcome, Ayub,’ he said in a pleasant baritone. ‘These, I take it, are your sons?’
‘Turan and Yusuf,’ Ayub affirmed. The two boys approached and bowed low.
‘Fine young men,’ Unur approved. ‘Sit here, beside me. Eat. Now that you have arrived, we shall have entertainment. Afterwards, we shall talk.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Bring the girls!’
Yusuf and Turan were directed to cushions just to the left of the emir’s dais. Their father took his place on the emir’s right. No sooner had they sat down than four young women entered wearing veils and loose, diaphanous silk robes that shifted as they walked, revealing glimpses of firm breasts and long, golden-brown legs. A drummer
‘’Sblood,’ John cursed as he turned to his gruesome task.
Yusuf and Turan stood on the wall above the al-Jabiya gate and watched as Muslim troops poured out of the orchard and splashed across the river, heading for the open gate. Behind the troops, a procession of disembodied heads approached through the orchard, bobbing high above the trees. A moment later, the first Frankish knights stepped out of the orchard, carrying spears with the heads of Muslim soldiers impaled atop them.
‘They are savages,’ Yusuf whispered.
‘They will pay for this indignity,’ Turan spat.
‘Inshallah.’ On the far side of the river more Christians were emerging from the orchards. Most went straight to the waters to drink. A few shouted up at the wall and made crude gestures. Below Yusuf, the gate slammed shut behind the last of the Muslim warriors. Yusuf looked beyond the orchard to the horizon, where the sun was just setting. The battle for the orchards had taken the best part of a day. He looked away from the blood-red sun to see his father approaching along the wall.
‘The Franks have taken the orchard, Father!’ Turan shouted to him.
Ayub nodded. ‘Unur will have no choice now but to allywith Nur ad-Din. He has invited us to dine at the palace. Come, we are expected.’
‘Should we change into finer clothes?’ Yusuf asked. He and Turan both wore plain white cotton caftans.
‘No. Unur prefers simplicity.’ Yusuf followed his father through the city to the emir’s palace, a jumble of domed buildings and simpler wooden structures that sat behind a tall wall and deep moat. A dozen mamluks guarded the bridge across the moat. Their commander nodded respectfully as Ayub approached. ‘You are expected,’ the mamluk said, and the soldiers parted to let them pass.
They entered the palace entrance hall and found themselves before a pair of tall bronze doors guarded by two muscular Nubians. ‘Remember,’ Ayub said to his sons, ‘you are here as guests. Do as I do. Do not speak unless the emir speaks to you first. And if you must speak, keep your answers short. Everything you do and say will reflect upon our family. We can ill afford the emir’s disfavour.’ Ayub nodded to one of the Nubians, who knocked on the door three times and then pushed it open.
‘Najm ad-Din Ayub,’ the Nubian declared.
Yusuf followed his father and brother into a large, circular room, brilliantly lit by candelabras mounted on the marble-clad walls that rose to a vaulted dome high above. The dome’s interior was covered in ornate script in gold-leaf, with Emir Unur’s seal at the centre. Generals and ministers of the emir sat on cushions that had been placed in a circle around the edge of the room. They were already eating, selecting their food from dozens of platters placed on low stands. Emir Unur sat directly across from the door, on a dais that raised him two feet above the others. He wore robes of white silk embroidered with an interlocking pattern of red roses and green thorns. Unur was fit and olive-skinned, with a clean-shaven chin and scalp and crinkles around the corners of his bright, hazel eyes. He smiled broadly when he saw his guests. ‘Welcome, Ayub,’ he said in a pleasant baritone. ‘These, I take it, are your sons?’
‘Turan and Yusuf,’ Ayub affirmed. The two boys approached and bowed low.
‘Fine young men,’ Unur approved. ‘Sit here, beside me. Eat. Now that you have arrived, we shall have entertainment. Afterwards, we shall talk.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Bring the girls!’
Yusuf and Turan were directed to cushions just to the left of the emir’s dais. Their father took his place on the emir’s right. No sooner had they sat down than four young women entered wearing veils and loose, diaphanous silk robes that shifted as they walked, revealing glimpses of firm breasts and long, golden-brown legs. A drummer
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