Damascus, Syria – 1152
‘Yusuf! You must come now. It’s time to go to school.’
‘Oh, Al-Adil, I don’t want to go! Look at my horse, Aneed! I
don’t know why Turan Shah says that he’s bad. He’s going to be
very good at polo. He always knows what to do!’
The boy of fourteen rode quickly up to the ball with the stick
in his hand. He hit it hard and sent it flying over to his brother.
Al-Adil stopped the ball with his foot.
‘Father says that you’re the best rider of all of us, Yusuf. That’s
why, when Turan Shah couldn’t do anything with Aneed,
Father gave the horse to you. But you must go to school or you’ll
be in terrible trouble. Don’t forget what Father said the last time
that you were late!’
Yusuf jumped down from his horse’s back and took him back
to the house. Then he ran as fast as he could for school.
The old teacher looked up angrily when Yusuf hurried into the
room. He was very late. ‘You’ll have to stay this afternoon to do
all the work that you’ve missed, boy!’
Yusuf sat next to Turan Shah. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.
Turan Shah showed Yusuf the words in the holy Koran that
the boys were reading. ‘It’s the story of the Prophet Yusuf and
how his brothers left him in the desert because they didn’t like
him,’ he smiled, not very kindly.
‘Stop talking and learn!’ The teacher’s stick hit both boys. It
hurt. Turan Shah cried out, but Yusuf said nothing.
‘What am I going to do with you, Yusuf?’ said his father later
that day. ‘Your teacher tells me that you’re clever and quick to
learn, but that you’re never at school. I know that you’re always
with the horses, but you’re not a child any more. You must learn
to be a man and a soldier. I’m going to send you to my brother
Shirkuh. You know that now he’s an important general
working for Zengi’s son, Nuradin, up in Aleppo.’
‘Can I take Aneed with me?’
‘No! Since we came to Damascus you’ve only played. Now you
must work. Get ready. We leave in an hour.’