The guards at the Bab Kisan kept their expressions deliberately impassive as they questioned Hassan. "What is your name?"

Hassan coughed to clear the dust of the road from his throat. "I am Hassan al Akkadi. And this," he indicated the modestly-dressed figure sitting sidesaddle on the ass beside him, "is my sister, Leah." The woman bowed her head in greeting and mumbled something through the swath of fabric wound around her head. "We have come here seeking refuge from the wrath of the Crusaders."

One of the guards glanced towards the panniers that hung from the flanks of Hassan's mount. "And what do you have in here?" He prodded one of the wicker baskets with the point of his lance. The basket shifted slightly, as if it contained a great load.

"Those?" Hassan shrugged. "All our worldly goods - or those that we could bring with us, by the grace of God. The Christians turned on us and cast us out of the city. They said they would not tolerate our presence any longer."

"We had to leave our home." The woman on the ass spoke up. Her voice was clear and musical, but tainted with grief and despair. "Please, brother. We are true believers, and we know this city of the faithful will welcome us." A glistening tear formed at the corner of her left eye and hung there, as if reluctant to dishonour her.

The second guard's expression softened. "We are not without mercy here, sister. There have been many others who have come from Acre, in much the same situation as yourself. Do you have relatives here? Someone who will look after you?"

"We do," Hassan replied quickly. "My great-uncle's family lives here. Perhaps you have heard of them? He lives on Straight Street - Sargon. He sells carpets and silk in the Great Souk."

"There are many people who live on Straight Street," the first guard responded. "And all of them have business in the souk." He looked at Leah, who lowered her gaze and assumed a modest attitude, then at Hassan. For few heartbeats the two men stared at each other; then the guard looked away. "Very well. You may pass." He stood aside and gestured with his lance. "Enter. Be welcome. May God be with you."

"And with you, brothers," the two travellers responded, pressing their hands together in thanks. Hassan tugged on the leading rein for his sister's mount. "Come. We shall find my uncle's house. I am sure some kind stranger will show us where it is." Then he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, urging it through the gate and into the city of Damascus proper. It took a minute for the pair to orient themselves. The silhouette of the Umayyad Mosque rose high above the streets, the scaffolding on its southern wall casting shadows across the newly-restored facade. Twin minarets - one at the eastern end of the mosque, the other at the western end - showed the extent of the building. In front of the mosque, and to its east, was the belfry of the cathedral, marked out by the golden cross that glinted at its summit.

Leah pointed towards the tower. "That way. The cathedral lies on on Straight Street, to the west of the souk. Come, brother." She laughed, and it sounded like the chiming of glass bells.

"I shall clear the way for you," Hassan replied. He looked back at Leah. "I think you played your part well. But you should not have spoken to them. Not without my permission. After all, I am meant to be your guardian."

Leah's eyes narrowed. "And that is the part you played. However, I thought it would do no harm if I was to play upon their sympathies. Besides, it would have been unnatural not to show some emotion. After all, we are now exiles, seeking charity from relations we have not seen in many years."

For a moment Hassan's jaw muscles locked. Angry thoughts buzzed around his head, only to vanish as quickly as they had arisen. Then he nodded. "Of course. Now, shall we find our 'Uncle Sargon'?"

The pair made their way through the streets of Damascus until they reached the cathedral and Straight Street. As its name promised, the road ran from east to west, between two of the great gates of the city. Amongst the buildings were many ancient monuments - the legacies of the Roman and Greek settlers who had built them. Hassan and Leah turned east, following the crowds towards the great covered marketplace that was the souk. Its precincts were cool and shaded from the Mediterranean sun. A maze of stalls lay under its vaulted roof, their goods displayed openly in a riot of colours. Shops nestled in the walls of the marketplace, promising delights and treasures for those willing to venture within. After leaving their mounts in the care of a gaggle of gap-toothed boys, Leah made her way unerringly through the by-ways of the souk. Hassan followed in her wake, pushing his way through the crowds that Leah seemed to slip through. It was not long before Leah stopped outside a shop, its front obscured by bolts of brightly-coloured cloth. A young man with an oiled beard and dressed in fine clothes was talking animatedly to a customer. When he had finished his business, he turned to Hassan and Leah.

"Greetings," the young man began. "I am al-Malik. is there anything in my establishment which you might be interested in?"

Hassan was about to speak, but Leah reached out to stop him. She unwound her headdress, revealing herself to the young man. "I come here seeking Sargon."

The young man's smile broadened a fraction. "My uncle is very busy. May I enquire what business you have with him?"

Leah reached beneath her coat, exposing the dagger she wore at her belt. al-Malik's eyes widened, but his smile did not change. "It is urgent business," Leah said. "From one brother to another."

The young man nodded and tugged at his beard. "I understand. Azif!" he called towards the back of the shop. A head appeared from behind a pyramid of carpets. "I must attend to these customers. Look after any more who arrive, please." al-Malik bowed to Leah and Hassan. "This way, please."