Balthesar chuckled. ‘I have not been on the island since the days of your predecessor. Though your reputation is good and you rule in the Ghaniyid name, your Almohad connections, combined with my history, made it prudent to be careful. I had the misfortune to pass through a market at the same time as Abd al-Azīz when an old veteran, presumably from Valencia, recognised me and drew attention to me. Without that, I would have continued on unnoticed.’
‘Tell me of your relic.’
‘It is the arm of Saint Stephen, brought here from Hippo Regius in the days before Muhammad. When the caliphate came to Mayūrqa, it was carried from its church in Mahón and hidden in a shrine in the mountains. It would appear that the shrine was destroyed before it was completed and the relic brought to Madina. It rested in the masjid Al-balad for some time, as the relic of a potential nabī, but after the Christian risings in the reign of Muhàmmad the First, it was removed again. After that we do not know its movements, which I was busy tracing in the records here when you sent for us.’
‘This relic is clearly of great value to you to risk all you have risked.’
Balthesar nodded. ‘It is beyond price, Sidi. Though to Allah’s faithful it has no value.’
‘Except clearly as a bargaining tool,’ smiled the emir. ‘And that brings me to my current purpose.’
He gestured to the pair of them. ‘You are mendicants, you say?’
The two men nodded and the emir gave a throaty laugh. ‘Mendicants of the sword, then. You were reported to be bearing blades on arrival.’
‘These are dangerous times, Sidi.’
‘Quite. But the Qātil wariʻa, here, bearing a sword and claiming to be a mendicant? I am no naive child, d’Aixere. You may fool many of the folk in my court, but I know a crusader when I see one. That is the term, is it not, that your holy men use for their own sacred warriors? Are you now the “pious killer” for the Christians? You have the bearing of a knight, not a beggar, and your man here. He is your squire, no?’
Arnau felt his blood chill. Heavens, but this man was sharp. The important question, then, was how he felt about all this.
Balthesar sighed. ‘There is no fooling the emir, clearly. Though I am both less and more than you believe. I am no crusader, determined to wipe the Moor from the peninsula. I remember halcyon days of coexistence, after all. But nor am I a beggar-priest. I am a brother of the Order of the Temple, and my companion here is a sergeant. I presume you are aware of our order?’
‘I am quite certain that all the world knows of your order,’ the emir replied, his face still unreadable but a certain tension creeping into his general appearance now.
‘The hunger for glorious battle is far behind me now,’ Balthesar said quietly. ‘Unlike Abd al-Azīz, I do not cling to the past, and I have sought in my later days the peace of the cloister and the clarity one can only achieve through dedication to good works.’
The emir’s smile reappeared. ‘And you maintain that your presence here is simply in search of the mouldering bone of an ancient heretic?’
The old knight nodded. ‘My identity is revealed; my path remains the same. I seek the bone. If the emir would graciously allow me to continue my research in the record offices, I am certain that within a day, perhaps two, I will find anything there is to find there and we shall either know the history and current location of the relic, or we will confirm that it is no longer here to be found.’
The emir frowned for a moment, then drummed his fingers on the chair arm. Finally, he leaned forward again. ‘Not all records are in open rooms, Templar. Many of the records, especially ones that have a bearing on the actions of the emirs themselves, are kept locked away. It is highly likely that the details you seek will be unavailable.’
‘Unless we had the emir’s express permission,’ Balthesar replied.
That smile again. ‘Permissions can be bought or bargained for, as well as simply given. Indeed, rather than simply giving you access to records, my people might be directed to aid you in any possible way. I may even be inclined to bend all our efforts to locating your bone for you.’
Arnau’s eyes narrowed, as Balthesar spoke the same words as were on his lips.
‘In return for what, Sidi?’
‘An exchange of favours is all I ask. A promise from you. I will find you your saint’s arm, in return for a service from you. I mentioned just now that we are host to a deputation from the Crown of Aragon, yes?’
Balthesar replied. ‘We have observed them. The Baron de Castellvell among others. A powerful man, well connected at court but not, I would say, an easy or understanding man. He is not the noble I would have chosen to send as an ambassador to a foreign nation.’
The emir nodded. ‘I have noted much the same in his manner. His companions are more amenable. The baron seems determined to treat me as an enemy, despite the fact it was I who sought the visit from Aragon, rather than King Pedro sending it. They are here at my invitation. Come.’
He suddenly rose from his seat and strode across the room towards a large, decorative window, where he came to a halt and gestured for them to join him. They did so, and Arnau was interested to see that this was much the same view as from the offices, though from a loftier position and slightly further east, giving him an excellent view of the Al-Mudaina’s private dock, and then a distant vista of the port and the lower city.
‘Tell me what you see,’ the emir said. Arnau noted that the guards had flocked with their master like ducklings after their mother, clustering close enough to protect the emir should the two Templars try anything.
‘The port,’ Balthesar said. ‘The sergeant here has already noted the ships.’
Arnau nodded. ‘Three Almohad ships in port, newly arrived. And the Aragonese vessel in the private dock.’
‘That last made the Lion of Alarcos fume,’ smiled the emir. ‘That I gave precedence to a Christian deputation and made them land at the far end of the island and travel by land. It was my hope that the Aragonese would have left Mayūrqa before Abd al-Azīz arrived, but the timing was unfortunate. Castellvell was delayed in his arrival and the Lion of Alarcos came earlier than expected. I was forced to shuffle matters to keep them apart. And despite my best efforts, they are both in my court, circling one another like hungry wolves over a fat carcass. Needless to say I find myself in the position of fat carcass.’
Balthesar gave the emir a sympathetic look. ‘It is never easy to be the sole voice of reason in a world of zealots, nor to remain independent between two great empires. You are to be commended for having lasted this long without either Almohad or Aragonese artillery battering your walls.’
The emir sighed. ‘Once, to rule this island was a joy. Now I spend every hour of my life playing the game of politics and oratory, pitting one wolf against the other so that I can lie and moulder a little longer before I am eaten. It is a sad state of affairs.’
‘But,’ he said with sudden fresh energy, ‘the balance has begun to change. Since your disaster at Alarcos, the caliphate in Al-Andalus is ascendant on the peninsula. They are becoming too powerful to resist.’
‘Abd al-Azīz is here on behalf of the caliph?’ Balthesar prompted. ‘To urge you into his domain?’
The emir issued a short bark of a laugh. ‘Friend Templar, I am all but in his domain already. For years now I have been made to pay homage to Qurṭuba. It seems a trivial thing, I know, to acknowledge a superior without any other ill effect, but it damages my authority, and we all know that it is but the first rung on a dreadful ladder.’
‘The second being tribute?’ Balthesar noted.
‘Yes. In monetary and military form. And then interference in governance and law. Soon I will find my court full of men from the caliph who claim more right to pass laws and judgement than I. I will become nothing but a figurehead. And then, finally, when I have too little power to resist, I will be moved aside and the islands will be annexed by the caliphate officially.’
‘It is a sad thought.’
&n
bsp; ‘It is,’ the emir agreed. ‘And the only viable alternative is to refuse their overlordship and resist. That, of course, would put me directly at war with the Almohad caliphate, and I think you know how that would end.’
Both Templars nodded. It would be brutal and bloody, and likely with the same end result as capitulation.
‘You see, then, my dilemma.’
‘We do.’
‘And now,’ Arnau put in, ‘the Lion and his caliph are twisting your arm? Sending more men to strengthen their presence here?’
‘Quite,’ the emir agreed. ‘And worst of all, the ordinary folk of my island are wavering. Particularly the nobles and the senior officers in my military. The Christian defeat at Alarcos and the clear rise in power of the caliph has convinced many that Allah’s will is the domination of Al-Andalus. I know of men who already murmur in support of Almohad control. And if there are men of whom I know, then how many are there of whom I do not?’
‘You fear an uprising? A coup?’ Balthesar asked.
‘It is not impossible. My control of Mayūrqa comes largely from my unassailable position as emir. Should I fall to an assassin’s blade, then few in these islands would resist the Lion stepping into my place as a wāli of the caliph.’
‘And so you sought an alliance with Aragon? That is why they are here, is it not?’
‘Quite so. My one remaining hope for the survival of the taifa is that King Pedro will see the clear importance of these islands not falling to the Almohad. With Aragon’s support, we can resist the caliph’s advances and remain independent. I am willing to give money, trade preferences, even bend my knee – almost anything Aragon can ask barring outright control – in order to maintain our independence.’
‘And I cannot imagine it is going well.’
‘No,’ the emir sighed. ‘Above and beyond Castellvell’s open dislike of my kind, which I fear unduly influences the position of the embassy, I am told that the King of Aragon will not lend me his support. It is, in the words of the diplomats, “simply impossible at this time”. I am informed that the losses at Alarcos were severe enough that the Christian monarchs are forced to look to the security of their own borders and have precious few military resources to deal with that, leaving them devoid of strength and resources to offer a potential ally.’
Balthesar chewed his lip for a moment. ‘This comes as no surprise, sadly. It is true, to an extent. The north is still in disarray, and Pedro is a new king, making sure his hold on his lands is secure. With increasing belligerence from Al-Andalus, should he weaken the borders to any extent to send you support, his own nobles would make him regret it. I do not agree with the decision, for we both know the critical value of these islands, but I also understand why the decision was made. Castellvell might revel in delivering the decision, but I believe that decision will have come directly from the king.’
‘The Order of the Temple were not at Alarcos, no?’
Balthesar snorted. ‘Not as a serious force. A few of us were there, committed in return for deals with the king. But no, no great Templar force such as was seen at Hattin or Acre in the Holy Land. I doubt, in truth, that they would have made a difference at Alarcos, though Pedro already seeks our support against the possibility of a future similar conflict.’
‘Of course he does,’ the emir said, and stepped away from the window now, walking back towards his seat. ‘But there are possibilities here. The King of Aragon needs the Order of the Temple and all the strength her can gather in case the caliph attempts to push for a repeat of Alarcos. If that happens, the north will crumble and nothing will stop the expansion of the caliphate. So the king is receptive. And you, the hero of Valencia and the terror of the Almohad, must have influence within both your own order and the court.’
‘I think you overestimate that.’
‘Nonsense. I believe that you could persuade your order’s masters to intervene with the Crown of Aragon and persuade the king to accept an alliance with Mayūrqa. It may not even need a great deal of military support. The simple flying of a few flags, a few ships, a detachment of men lent to my garrison could be enough to state that Aragon will protect Mayūrqa. That might just be enough to keep the caliph at bay. It is certainly worth King Pedro’s consideration, because the alternative is to risk Al-Andalus enveloping these islands, which lie in a strategic position, either a boon or a nightmare to trade, depending upon who controls them.’
Balthesar came to a halt in front of the throne as the emir sat once more. ‘You wish me to attempt to persuade the order and the Crown of Aragon to seek alliance with the taifa of Mayūrqa. And, I presume, in return you will find the bones of Saint Stephen and grant them to us?’
‘That is my proposal, yes.’
Arnau felt an odd sense of pride and pleasure that one of the most powerful men he had ever met had enough respect for the order that he believed them capable of changing the mind of a king. And that it might bring them what they sought into the bargain, too. But most of all, what Arnau felt was a flood of relief that the emir had not sought their arrest and demise, but rather friendship and alliance.
‘I could not promise that my efforts would be successful,’ Balthesar warned the ruler of the islands.
‘And I cannot guarantee that the bones are here. But we are men of honour and men of faith, and all I seek is an oath to try.’
Balthesar nodded again, thoughtfully.
‘Go for now,’ the emir said, waving a hand at the door. ‘Go and consider my proposal. Shortly, I must make one last attempt to persuade the Aragonese diplomats to my cause, and if they remain steadfast, then I must send them away. Their very presence here alongside the caliph’s men is courting disaster. Go and think, and when you have made a decision, return to me. And when you do I will tell you what my wazir can find of your old bone.’
And with that dismissal, the doors to the room were opened behind them.
Balthesar bowed low. ‘It has been an honour and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sidi. I am enriched by your friendship.’
The emir smiled that weird smile again. ‘Likewise.’
Arnau bowed his head in respect and turned, following the older knight as he strode back across the room and out of the door into the chamber beyond. Behind them the emir’s door was closed with a click by his guards. Arnau’s near elation at having survived the encounter, and even having been left in a strangely positive position, was shattered a moment later at the sight of the black-and-white soldiers standing menacingly off to one side, white eyes shining out above the chain veils they wore. The Lion of Alarcos himself seemed to be simmering with vile rage. As they emerged, the Almohad rattled off something in Arabic at them in acidic tones.
Balthesar gave the man a cold smile. ‘I know that you understand me, Abd al-Azīz, so heed my words: no good will come of the vengeance you seek. I am not the man who stole your son from you. I am not the man who fought for Valencia in a sea of blood. I am a man of God now. A man of peace. I have no desire to plant a blade in your heart as I once did. But pursue your current path and you and I will end up facing one another over a sword. And if that happens, Allah had better shield you, for no other power will save you. Go back to your caliph and stay there. Grow old and fat in peace.’
The Lion’s lip twitched repeatedly and his nose wrinkled slightly; Balthesar simply bowed his head at the man and strode out. A green-clad guard was suddenly with them, escorting them through the palace and returning their swords to them. They crossed the courtyard and passed that other Almohad soldier, through the gate and emerging back into the city once more, close to the mosque. The prayers were done with and the streets were once more flooded with people.
‘What now?’ Arnau said.
‘Now we go and think it over,’ Balthesar replied, ‘just as the emir suggested. Perhaps back at that same tavern. I favoured their lemon mutton and would be interested to see what they might have for an evening meal.’
‘You said the Lion might have men there watc
hing for us.’
‘He likely does,’ the older man replied. ‘But now we are no longer kept to the shadows. The emir is aware of us and we have his approval. That more or less places us under his protection. Abd al-Azīz will not make an open move against us now, even out here, because to do so would bring down the wrath of the island’s ruler, and even with three ships full of men at his command, the Lion of Alarcos is not yet strong enough to challenge the emir.’
‘No open moves?’ Arnau prompted.
‘Quite. We should continue to keep a wary eye on doorways and alleys. More criminals and hired thugs who cannot be traced back to their master very likely wait in our future.’
Arnau sighed. Every time things got a little bit better, they promised to become a little bit worse too. He stumped unhappily away from the palace.
‘Vallbona?’
Arnau and Balthesar turned as one at the call, uttered in a very distinctive voice, thick with a jagged Pyrenean accent in a land of drawled Arabic. Arnau felt his heart jump at the sound and then chided himself for being needlessly panicky. Mere hours ago, someone drawing attention to them could have triggered the worst, but now, since their presence and almost everything about them was known to both the visiting Almohads and the emir of the island, what need had they to worry about such things?
They had not yet passed the mosque on their way out of the Al-Mudaina, and a figure had emerged from the gate behind them, waving to catch their attention. Arnau was surprised to see Guillem Picornell calling to them.
‘I thought it was you,’ the young knight called in French-inflected Aragonese.
‘Guillem?’
Balthesar cast a surprised look at the knight behind them, and Arnau felt his emotions whipping around like a whirlwind. On one level it was excellent to see a friendly face in this dangerous world, and yet adding recognition by the Aragonese embassy into the mix could bring with it even more dangers and complexity. Certainly the frown of the older knight suggested that this was how he saw it.
Unable to make this encounter conveniently unhappen, the two Templars came to a halt and waited as the young knight hurried over towards them. They were raising a small buzz of interest among the townsfolk nearby. Nothing untoward or important, but any interest would become common knowledge in time, and Arnau doubted that news of conversations between them and the Aragonese diplomats would be a good thing when it reached the ears of the Lion of Alarcos. Picornell stopped next to them, a smile on his face as he heaved in breaths from a swift run. Despite the heat he wore a mail shirt and his surcoat, featuring two black crows facing a tree on a field of gold.
The Last Emir Page 17