With rolled blankets to support him, his father drooped over his outstretched legs. Jelaudin watched as another blanket was laid in the shah’s lap to protect him from the heat. With metal tongs, the physician’s boy lifted the steaming pot from the brazier and set it in front of the old man. The wheezing became slightly muffled as Jelaudin’s brothers placed a cloth over his head. The shah coughed twice at the acrid fumes, but then he settled into it and the wheezing did seem to ease.

The doctor listened closely before nodding to himself.

‘I can leave you enough of the herbs for a few days. After that, you must buy your own supply in the markets.’ He smiled slightly Ask for bordi or pala. They will not know its Latin name. For his liver, silymarin, the milk thistle, will suit us well. Have him drink it with a little honey.’

‘Thank you,’ Jelaudin replied. He tried not to show his relief, but the doctor seemed to sense it anyway.

‘Do not worry too much for your father. He is old, but strong. A month of rest and he will be back to his old self. I see you have no brazier of your own?’

Jelaudin shook his head. His brothers had been buying food from the hot coals of sellers in the souk.

‘I will lend you this one, though you will have to get your own charcoal.’

Jelaudin bowed his head and watched as the physician gathered his materials and measured out portions of the bitter herbs, sealing them in waxed paper packets. It was left to the servant boy to hold out his hand for payment and Jelaudin flushed at having to be reminded. He pressed four gold coins into the boy’s hands, noticing how clean they were in comparison to the urchins of the street.

As the money changed hands, the doctor straightened subtly, relaxing.

‘Excellent. Do as I have told you and all will be well, inshallah.’ He swept out of the tiny rooms into the bright sunshine, leaving the sons with their father.

‘We have no more gold,’ Jelaudin’s youngest brother said suddenly. ‘How can we buy the herbs and charcoal?’

Jelaudin winced at the thought of returning to the market, but at least he had a friend there. Half a dozen smaller rubies still remained, though at the speed he was burning through them, he doubted they would last. Still, he and his brothers were safe. In a month, the Mongols would certainly be gone, and with their father’s strength returned, they could head east at last. Let him just reach a loyal garrison and he would bring hell and destruction on the head of the Mongol khan. Far to the south, there were many men of Islam who would ride to his banner against the infidel. He had only to send word to them. Jelaudin prayed silently as his father choked and laboured over the fumes, the skin of his neck red with heat and steam. There had been many insults to him, but they would yet be repaid.

By sunset, two different men had come to take tea in Abbud’s red stall. It was unusual for him to delay rolling up the awnings and walking to the town’s small mosque as his final act of the day. As the last rays of the sun lit the alleys of the souk, he could hear the call to prayer echoing across the town. Abbud dismissed the last of the men, pressing coins into his hand as a gift for the information he had brought. Lost in thought, Abbud washed his hands in a small bowl as he prepared for the evening prayer. The ritual set his mind free to consider what he had learned. The Mongols had been asking questions. Abbud was pleased he had set a boy to watch the house of his latest customer. He wondered how much the information was worth.

All around him, the market was vanishing. Some of the stalls were loaded onto donkeys and camels while more established businesses opened wooden doors set into the ground itself, which could be barred and locked until dawn. As he finished rolling the last bolt of cloth, Abbud nodded to the armed guard he had hired to sleep on the door. He was paid well to complete his prayers on his own and Abbud left the man laying out his mat and scrubbing his hands symbolically with dust.

The sudden rush of activity that came with sunset seemed to surprise the Mongols wandering through the town. As the stalls were packed away, the strangers were revealed one by one, standing in small groups and looking around them like fascinated children. Abbud avoided catching their eye as he strode towards the mosque. His wife would be entering the decorated building through another entrance and he would not be able to see her until the prayers were over. She would not approve of what he was considering. Women did not understand the business of men, he knew. They saw only the risks and not the rewards that came only with risk. As if to remind him, he felt the ruby bump against his thigh as he walked, proof of Allah’s blessing on his house.

Out of the corner of his eye, Abbud saw a tall young Arab standing with the Mongol warriors. The crowd heading to the mosque ignored them as if they were not there, a combination of contempt and fear. Abbud could not resist glancing at the Bedouin as he passed, noting the distinctive stitching of his robes that marked him as a desert-dweller as surely as a sign on his chest.

The stranger missed nothing and he caught Abbud’s quick glance, stepping quickly to block his path. The jeweller was forced to halt or lose dignity in trying to dart around him.

‘What is it, my son?’ Abbud said testily. He had not had time to consider how best to use the information he had bought. The best profits never came from hasty action and he had intended to use his time in the mosque to think it through. He watched in suspicion as the Bedouin bowed deeply. None of the desert folk could be trusted.

‘My apologies, master. I would not disturb you on your way to prayer if the matter was not important.’

Abbud could feel the stares of the other traders as they passed by. He cocked his head to listen to the call to prayer, judging he had but moments.

‘Quickly, my son, quickly.’

The young man bowed again.

‘We are seeking five men, four brothers and their father. Do you know of any strangers who have come here in the last few days?’

Abbud held himself very still as he considered.

‘All information can be bought, my son, if you are willing to pay the price.’

He watched as the young man’s face changed, his excitement showing. He turned and barked strange words to the Mongols who stood watching. The jeweller knew the leader before he spoke from the way the others deferred to him. It was strange to think of these men burning a trail of fire across the world. They did not look capable of it, though each man carried a bow, sword and dagger, as if they expected war to break out in the souk itself.

The Bedouin’s chatter was met with a shrug from the leader. Abbud watched closely as the man untied a bag from his belt. He tossed it almost disdainfully to the jeweller and Abbud caught it. One glance at the gold inside was enough to cause new sweat to break out on his face. What had he walked into, this day? He would need to hire armed guards at the mosque even to get home with such a fortune. No doubt dangerous eyes had seen the pouch and it would not be hard to guess the contents.

‘I will meet you after prayers, in this place,’ he said, turning to go. Like a desert snake striking, the Mongol leader caught his arm, holding him even as he growled at the Bedouin.

‘You do not understand,’ Yusuf said to Tsubodai. ‘He must leave to attend the prayers. Old as he is, he will fight us if we try to hold him here. Let him go, general. He cannot escape.’ Yusuf pointed deliberately back to where Abbud’s guard sat on the trapdoor over his goods. The gesture was not wasted on the jeweller, though he felt a pang of anger that his foolish guard was not even facing them. The man could look for other work, he swore to himself. To have hands laid on him in an open street was bad enough, but to see the fool dreaming away his evening made the insult almost unbearable. Almost. The gold in his hand gave him that word a thousand times over.