Two days later, Yusuf was riding beside Nur ad-Din at the head of the army when the walls of Acre came into sight, the city’s citadel rising high above them on its rocky perch. Nur ad-Din reined to a stop. ‘Acre, our first prize, Yusuf: it is the key that will unlock the Frankish kingdom.’
Yusuf grinned, but then his smile faded. Looking past Nur ad-Din, he saw a column of dust rising from the horizon to the north. He pointed. ‘Look! Do you think it is the Franks? Could they have regrouped so fast?’
Nur ad-Din shook his head. ‘No, and besides, they fled south. This must be Shirkuh and his men. They have joined us at the perfect time. We will pause here and wait for them.’
Shirkuh arrived shortly, galloping up ahead of his men. He looked to have ridden far without stopping. He was covered in dust, and his horse was wet with sweat. ‘My lord,’ he said, bowing in the saddle.
‘Well met, Shirkuh!’ Nur ad-Din called, riding over and grasping his friend’s arm. He glanced at Shirkuh’s horse. ‘Your horse can hardly carry you. What have you done to it?’
‘We rode day and night to reach you. I fear I bring bad news. Manuel, the Roman emperor, is on the march from Constantinople.’
Nur ad-Din’s brow creased. ‘How many men does he bring?’
‘Twenty thousand.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘I saw his army with my own eyes. They are only a day behind me.’
‘ Yaha!’ Nur ad-Din cursed. ‘I was so close.’ He rode a short distance away and sat staring at Acre. Finally he looked away. ‘Yusuf, tell the men to turn around. We are returning to Aleppo.’
‘But why? We can defeat the Romans, too, as we defeated the Franks.’
Nur ad-Din shook his head. ‘The Franks will rally now that the Romans are on the march. We cannot fight them both. If we lose, then Aleppo and Damascus will be theirs for the taking. We must make peace.’
‘But the Franks are crushed!’ Yusuf protested. ‘We must strike now.’
‘No, this campaign is over. But never fear, Yusuf. My peace will be with King Baldwin, and he will not live forever.’