He reached out slowly and snaked his hand around Nicolò's neck. He pulled. Nicolò resisted at first (and Yusuf's gut clenched at the possibility of having been wrong), but then he let himself be guided forward. Yusuf shut his eyes in relief and touched foreheads with him, still holding his breath. He stroked his fingertips lightly over the short, downy hair at the nape of the man's neck. This was so intimate; he hoped there was no possible way for Nicolò to misunderstand him.
Nicolò breathed out heavily like he'd finished a great exertion, his breath sweet from the wine. Yusuf turned his head in a slow and cautious repositioning. Nicolò could have backed out. He turned to meet Yusuf's lips instead. They kissed one another, light and careful, lips joining and rejoining as Yusuf finally breathed. He kneaded gently and reassuringly at the back of Nicolò's neck. He wanted Nicolò to know he wanted this, yearned for it, and lusted for it. The softest whine sounded in the back of his throat.
He leaned back against the saddle and Nicolò adjusted to follow him down. He moved over Yusuf, nudging his knees apart to plant one of his own between them. "Ah," Yusuf murmured with a rich satisfaction at Nicolò's assertiveness. "You are no blushing virgin. Though you said as much."
Nicolò went back to kissing him, bringing a hand up to touch at his beard, then dig at it or scratch at it with a wondering expression. Yusuf chuckled and reveled in the attention and touch. "Do not be deceived by my beard. I am amenable to anything your heart desires." He wasn't sure Nicolò would understand what he meant – the issue in question being more cultural than linguistic – but he had no chance to explain, nor any desire to interrupt their kissing to do so.
Nicolò's knee shifted up a little; Yusuf adjusted his balls and ground down on it. He made a stronger sound of want and made a fist in the fabric of Nicolò's robe and tunic. Nicolò bit Yusuf's lower lip, then kissed him messily, mouth wide, like he wanted to swallow his face. Yusuf pulled him down onto him, against him. They were both ready.
Nicolò sprang back and froze. Yusuf released the man's clothes and made a short, petting motion instead, assuming Nicolò's reaction was some kind of rejection of their imminent coupling. Maybe men fucked entirely differently in Genova. Quiet and tense, Yusuf said, "It's alright. It's alright. Good? Yes? We'll figure it out."
Nicolò sat on his heels and looked up and then down the road with his teeth slightly bared. He stared off to the west and exhaled a breathy sort of grunt. Yusuf followed his gaze. There were figures on the road from Jericho, too far away to see much of anything, but they were coming closer. The only good part of this was that Nicolò had not stopped out of lack of desire or due to some misstep on Yusuf's side.
Yusuf groaned and flopped back against the saddle in frustration and mock despair. Nicolò laughed at him and patted his chest a couple times before shifting away. The loss of his knee between Yusuf's thighs was especially grievous. "I finally, finally get to this point and now people wish to travel?" Yusuf asked the universe rhetorically. "Where do they think they are going on this road? Jerusalem is still held by idiot Franks!"
He sat up and put his clothing to rights – not that they had quite gotten to the point of disrobing. Nicolò took a heavy swig from a new wineskin. Yusuf openly leered at the way the man's throat bobbed. Nicolò wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, giving Yusuf a heated look. Yusuf promised, "A temporary pause, no more." He got to his feet, strapped on his sword belt, and marched sullenly to the road. In the lead of the group was the amir on that one-eyed horse. Seeing Yusuf, he urged the horse to a canter and pulled ahead.
"You're still here!" the amir called out cheerfully.
Yusuf found a reluctant smile creeping onto his face regardless of his intention to be dour and forbidding. It was this asshole again. It felt very fitting that of all the people who could appear to interfere with his (potential) love life, it would be this guy. He nodded. "I am still here. The road is still here. The Franks are still in Jerusalem. But they are not in Jericho and we will keep it that way."
The amir stopped his horse. "Have you had any battles today?"
"Only with my patience." The amir tilted his head in curiosity. Yusuf gestured to the east. "They sent out riders this morning – a dawn patrol. Nicolò told them to go away and they did." Nicolò had, by this point, joined him on the road. He stood behind him a few paces and let Yusuf carry the conversation as usual.
"That is good," the amir said. "How long will you be staying here?"
Yusuf really wasn't interested in making conversation, especially about something he hadn't given much thought to and which seemed secondary to the business he'd been engaged in before the amir showed up to interrupt things. He said challengingly, "How long before you have a proper defense of Jericho, so we do not need to be out here in the heat, guarding your exposed flank?"
The amir's brows rose at the impertinence. But he laughed. "You have the boldness of a righteous man!" He slapped his thigh in amusement. "Two weeks. Maybe a month."
"I did not bring supplies for two weeks," Yusuf said testily. "Much less a month."
"I suspected as much."
Yusuf bristled. "You want us to leave then?"
"No." The amir's answer was quick and definite, almost interrupting him and definitely stopping him from saying more. "I do not command you, but I hope you will continue to follow your conscience."
Yusuf narrowed his eyes at the man, then glanced past him at the rest of the group coming up. It was a cart drawn by a donkey, with an older man leading it and a younger woman next to him. A few others followed behind, not in any sort of armor. They looked like townspeople. There were also four other riders and two soldiers on foot. Yusuf wasn't sure what to make of them. "Are they going to Jerusalem? It is not safe."
"No, they are not going to Jerusalem," Hilal said. "When I returned to Jericho yesterday and told your story, there were some who worried on your behalf. And while they were unable to persuade me to allow you refuge and resupply within the walls of Jericho," he paused for a moment, "as you yourself have observed, this is the open road and I have no authority here. So what happens here, to you, and to him, is not my business."
Yusuf felt one last stab of concern that the amir was threatening him somehow before he finally put it all together. The people with the wagon were close enough now that he could tell the man was vaguely familiar and the woman more. She was the one who they'd helped escape the city, the one whom Nicolò had turned on his people to save. The townspeople were a few who had been with the wagon they'd followed to Shuna. He'd spoken with them at the pavilion next to the ford.
With wide eyes, Yusuf glanced back at the amir, who waved his hand to indicate Yusuf was free to pass him. Curious, he went to meet the cart. The older man leading it was the one who'd taken the child from him when they'd met out on the road in the darkness. The man nodded and bowed to him. "You brought us our children and Inaya, who otherwise would have died in Jericho." He gestured to the woman next to him. "It is the least we can do to bring you comforts while you protect our homes."
"Comforts?"
"Food, water, blankets, a tent for shade, fodder for your horses – that was the amir's ide-"
"I have nothing to do with any of this," the amir interrupted, turning his horse to face them. "The fodder is for the donkey, but we may decide to leave it here so the cart is lighter on the way back. Speaking of which, the animal is tired and the day is getting warm. All of this needs to go. We will not need these supplies as we go back." He gave directions to the two soldiers on foot, who began to unload the cart, piling baskets and parcels at the side of the road with the help of the townspeople.
Yusuf blinked in surprise at the unexpected and unasked for gratitude. His eyes teared. They might be outcasts, officially, but they were not forgotten or unappreciated. The woman, Inaya, took a package from the cart and brought it to Yusuf. "My jadda made this for you."
"Your … grandmother?" he guessed, as the term wasn't the one used where he'd grown up.
"You met her." Inaya looked to the side and smiled tightly. "She was, ah, unwelcoming." She looked back with a little mischief in her eyes. "She says is it good that you stay out here, away from everyone else, and if she has to send you bread to keep you out, then she will send bread." She presented him with a loaf wrapped in a towel. "She means well, I promise." She handed a second to Nicolò, who had come up behind him.
Nicolò hefted and squeezed it. "Bread?"
"Yes," Yusuf told him.
"Thank you," Nicolò said.
"I met her?" Yusuf asked, thinking of who she must mean. "The old woman who …" called me a foreigner and Nicolò an invader and carried on about neither of us being allowed to travel with them. But Yusuf didn't add that part. He had to wonder if the bread might be poisoned, but surely not.
"Yes," Inaya said. "She did not know what you had done for me and for her grandchildren. She thought we had just found each other on the road and you were …," she hesitated, then continued, "that you had run away from the battle."
"Ah. Well, it was an easy mistake to make," he said dryly, not enthused at having been mistaken for a coward and not missing that the woman still didn't want him around. He lifted the loaf – it was a good size. He decided he could afford to be gracious. "You may thank her from me as well."
The unloading was finished. The empty cart was turned around. The amir stopped next to him to say, "I will send a patrol every few days to see if the road is clear. They will bring fresh water and a little food in case there are weary travelers who need it." Meaning he would continue their provisions, enabling them to stay here if they chose, although he could not admit to supporting them specifically. "They will announce when we have secured the town, should you still be here to hear them."
"We will be here," Yusuf said. "And thank you." This he could offer whole-heartedly, for the amir was bending several customs to help them.
"It pains me to say, but I cannot accept your thanks," the amir answered with a wince. "You remain outside the law until you stand in judgment. While you may present your case and such may mitigate the penalty, it is very likely there will still be one. I asked more questions last night, on your behalf." He paused to add weight to his next words: "The Frank struck first." The amir was silent after this pronouncement, studying Yusuf for a reaction.
Yusuf said nothing, unwilling to confirm their guilt or deny and lie. And here he had thought for a moment their sins would be forgotten and their virtues extoled. But the men they'd killed doubtless had families and those families were undoubtably angry. They would not forget the murder of their men by fellow soldiers. Nicolò had struck first and however morally right Yusuf thought him to be in that, given the particulars of the situation, it made a critical legal difference.
The amir finally continued, "I'm not sure it matters, though. As I said, I asked many questions. It seems possible that whatever penalty were assessed, you might survive it."
He knew. The bastard knew. Which shouldn't have been a huge surprise, seeing as to the trail of witnesses Yusuf and Nicolò had left behind them and the man's own keen powers of observation. Yusuf took a nervous step back, hand on the grip of his sword. Nicolò appeared next to him in an instant, alert, but weapon undrawn. The saving grace of the situation was that the amir's men seemed to have only the faintest awareness of a problem, with only a couple of the other riders perking up. If Hilal had meant them ill, he wouldn't have organized it this poorly.
Both the amir's hands rose slowly, palms to them. "Peace be upon us. It was only an observation." He put his hands down and added in a sympathetic voice, "This is not your land or your people. There is no reason for you to face justice here, or for the curiosity of an old man to be satisfied."
Yusuf nodded slowly, relaxing his stance in relief. Cautiously, he offered, "If we are safe here, and untroubled, then we will remain and stop the Franks until Jericho is fortified."
"You are safe from my side. I cannot speak for the Franks or what trouble they might give you."
Yusuf nodded again, relaxing further. He took the man at his word. "You may not be able to accept it, but you have my gratitude."
The man nodded and nudged the flanks of his one-eyed horse to follow the cart as it trundled away. The others waved brief good-byes. Yusuf didn't know their names. He wondered how many might have died if the Franks had made it to Jericho the day before. But none had. He felt uplifted. And justified.
Yusuf looked over as Nicolò unwrapped his bread. It was golden brown with seeds on top of it, smelled of honey, and was shiny with egg wash. It looked incredible. How had she managed to make this in a day? He was reminded of one of his mother's sayings: Old women work miracles. Nicolò tore off a bit and tasted. "It is good."
"Is it?" Yusuf asked, smiling at him. Aside from the possibility of having to fight more Franks, being stuck out here for a month was sounding better and better. They would have a tent to shield them from prying eyes, blankets to kneel on … he wondered if they'd sent any oil?
He snapped out of his reverie to realize Nicolò had lifted a small hunk of fragrant bread to his face. "Eat?" Nicolò said.
Yusuf grinned wider and opened his mouth, indulgently letting the man feed him the morsel. Nicolò smiled broadly. Yusuf chewed and swallowed. It was delicious – nothing poisonous about it. "Yes. It is good."
A/N: In our real history, Jericho was taken by the invading armies from Europe. It was held for a few years before the Franks were driven out. The research I did didn't indicate what condition the city must have been by the end of that uncertain, hostile occupation, but I can't imagine it was good, or that many of the original residents who had called it home were still alive to do so, especially given the bloodthirsty practices that featured strongly in the Frankish military campaign.
In *this* story, Jericho still fell initially, but with the disruption caused by Yusuf and Nicolò, the faithful were able to retake and fortify. People returned to their homes. And the Frankish army passed on.