John stood atop the gatehouse of Tell Bashir, his wet clothes clinging to him and rain running off his nose as he stared out at the road from Aleppo. He held a long strip of leather, which he methodically wrapped and unwrapped around his right hand. The two mamluks on watch were hunkered down under their cloaks. ‘What the devil do you suppose is hounding al-ifranji?’ one of them whispered.
‘Maybe he lost at dice.’
‘Maybe he has lost his mind.’
John heard the words, but he paid no more attention to them than he did to the rain. It was seven months since they had left Aleppo and almost nine months since Zimat had told him that she had ceased to bleed, that she was with child. John expected news of her delivery any day, and so he stood here at the gate whenever he could, his eyes fixed on the winding road from Aleppo.
John thought he saw movement in the distance. He squinted, trying to penetrate the curtain of rain. He could just make out a group of riders at the edge of town. John turned to the men on watch. ‘Someone is coming. Inform the emir and prepare to open the gate.’
The men scrambled away, and John turned back to watch the riders approach. As they drew closer, he could see that there were five of them. They splashed down the muddy street through the centre of town and up the short ramp to the gate, where the man in the lead pushed back his hood. It was Yusuf’s younger brother, Selim. ‘Open the gates!’ he called. ‘I come with news.’
John watched as Selim entered and was led into the citadel’s keep. John bowed his head and took a deep breath. ‘Please God,’ he whispered. ‘Let the child have dark eyes.’ Then he descended from the wall and strode across the muddy courtyard to the keep. He went to Yusuf’s chambers and found the door open. Stepping inside, he found Yusuf kissing Selim on each cheek. Turan stood to the side, smiling.
‘John!’ Yusuf exclaimed. ‘Selim has brought good news.’
‘Yes?’ John asked, barely able to keep his voice from shaking.
‘You remember my sister, Zimat? She has given birth to a son!’
‘A son,’ John whispered hoarsely. He turned to Selim. ‘You have seen the boy?’ Selim nodded. ‘What is he like?’
‘He is a healthy child.’
‘And who does he favour?’ John asked urgently. ‘His mother?’ Selim frowned, confused by John’s interest. ‘The boy is only a babe, but he has his father’s eyes.’
John sighed in relief. ‘Il-Hamdillah,’ he murmured. ‘God be praised.’