Jack Hight: Kingdom

Yusuf nodded. ‘I understand, Father.’

Ayub turned and walked away.

‘Wait! Father!’ Yusuf rose and stumbled after him. He gained on his father. He reached out to touch him, then collided with him. Yusuf felt himself falling backwards, but strong hands caught him and lowered him gently to the sand.

‘Father,’ he whispered.

‘It is I, Malik. Qaraqush.’

Yusuf blinked. The grizzled mamluk was leaning over him. ‘Are you well, Saladin?’

‘Allah,’ Yusuf breathed, his voice rasping in his dry throat.

Qaraqush turned away. ‘Water!’ he called. A moment later he held a waterskin to Yusuf’s lips. Yusuf drank greedily, the cool water a blessed relief. ‘Are you well, Malik?’ Qaraqush asked again.

Yusuf nodded, and when he spoke his voice was firm. ‘I have seen the will of Allah.’

DECEMBER 1177: CAIRO

Yusuf rode up to the gates of Cairo at the head of two-dozen mamluks. Qaraqush had told him that after the battle these were all the men he had managed to gather. Thousands had been killed by the Franks or lost in the desert as they struggled back to Egypt. Yusuf’s mighty army had vanished like the morning dew under the hot sun.

When the guards at the gate saw Yusuf, they paled. The mouth of one of the men opened, but he was unable to speak.

‘What is it, man?’ Qaraqush demanded. ‘You look as if you had seen a ghost.’

‘You live, Malik,’ the guard managed. He knelt.

‘Allah has spared me,’ Yusuf told him.

The word spread quickly. As he rode through the streets, people came running. They called his name. ‘ Saladin! Saladin! Malik! Malik !’ By the time he reached the palace a crowd surrounded him. They parted, allowing Yusuf to enter. He found Selim waiting and Ubadah at his side. Both wore the indigo robe of men in mourning.

Selim grinned broadly. ‘I cannot believe it!’ There were tears in his eyes as he embraced Yusuf. ‘It has been days since the last men returned from the battle. We had thought you dead.’

‘He nearly was,’ Qaraqush said. ‘I found him wandering in the desert. He would not have lasted another day under the sun.’

Selim clapped Yusuf on the back. ‘We will have a feast to celebrate your return.’

Yusuf shook his head. ‘No. There is work to be done. You must rebuild our army. Spend whatever it takes. I want a force stronger than the one I marched on Jerusalem. You have five years.’

Selim started to protest but then saw the look in his brother’s eyes and nodded.

‘Now, I wish to see my family,’ Yusuf told them.

He went to the harem. Shamsa was waiting with tears in her eyes. She rushed forward to embrace Yusuf and buried her head against his shoulder.

‘I thought I had lost you!’ she sobbed.

Yusuf returned her embrace stiffly. ‘I was spared.’

‘Spared?’

‘I was lost in the desert, but Allah spared me for a purpose. I will drive the Franks into the sea.’

Shamsa pulled away. ‘At what cost, Yusuf? The people-’

‘The people must be prepared to suffer to achieve the will of Allah,’ Yusuf said firmly. ‘As am I.’

‘Is it Allah’s will, or yours, Husband?’

‘My will is His. I have seen what I must do, Shamsa. I will not be swayed.’

There was a moment of silence as Shamsa examined Yusuf anxiously, trying to understand the change that had come over him. Finally she spoke. ‘You will attack the Kingdom again?’

‘In time. But to conquer them, we will need more men than Egypt alone can provide. Mosul and Aleppo must be made to join my kingdom.’

‘Aleppo?’ Shamsa’s eyes widened. ‘What of Asimat? She is your wife. Al-Salih is your adopted son.’

Yusuf met her eyes. ‘Allah has spoken to me, Wife. I will do what needs to be done.’