The Last Emir

by S. J. A. Turney

  Balthesar exchanged swift and polite words with the man, and Arnau could tell by the way his expression changed that he was not receiving the answers he expected and that something was amiss. After a few moments the old knight bowed his head and thanked the man, and they turned and left, the door closing behind them.

  ‘Don’t tell me the emir has changed his mind?’ the young sergeant said.

  ‘The emir is not there’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It appears that he departed both the Al-Mudaina and Madina Mayūrqa with his entire retinue earlier this morning. The guard refused to elucidate, but his manner suggested that it was an unplanned and desperate flight. I fear the balance of power in Madina has just shifted, and not for the better. Vallbona, I fear the taifa of Mayūrqa teeters on a knife edge. The reason for the Almohad presence on the island is becoming clear.’

  ‘Did he say where the emir went?’

  Balthesar shook his head. ‘Not as such, but there are two or three estates on the island that are reserved solely for the emir, and some of them are fairly remote and defensible. Perhaps he has retreated to one such. A worrying thing is that the guard intimated that the city is currently under the control of a wāli, a governor of some kind. If reason prevails, then this governor is the emir’s second in command, the wazir. If not…’

  ‘You don’t think the Lion could have seized control?’

  Arnau felt his blood chill at the very idea.

  ‘It is not outside the bounds of possibility if the emir is losing the support of his people and Abd al-Azīz is strengthening his own position. We are two knights on a giant chess board, Vallbona, and the game is a fraught one.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘I need to think,’ the old man said, which further worried Arnau. One thing that had been constant throughout their time here was that Balthesar had never faltered in his certainty of their path. To see the old man nonplussed was a new and troubling development.

  ‘The tavern.’

  Balthesar nodded and the two of them crossed the open space and passed once more through the ornate gardens, making for that tavern in which they seemed to have spent half their time in the city. Still, Arnau’s gaze followed every movement around them, tense and expecting disaster at every turn, and it was with both surprise and relief that it fell finally upon the figure of Guillem de Picornell seated at their usual table at the tavern, his surcoat announcing his lineage to all around. As they neared the table, however, the young sergeant’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his old friend.

  Picornell had been beaten savagely. His lip was split and swollen, his right eye welded shut with gore and bruising, his cheek covered in welts and his hair matted with drying crimson. Whoever had attacked him had been unrelenting.

  They made for the table and slipped into seats opposite, and the young knight’s eyes danced across them, just as tense and nervous as Arnau’s own.

  ‘Thank all the saints,’ he said through thick, painful lips, his battered face twisting with the pain of speaking. ‘I was concerned for you, despite everything.’

  Arnau shook his head in wonder, eyes drinking in the damage to that once handsome face. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Thugs set upon us as we left the palace this morning. There were too many to put down, though we made good show. We fought them off, and somehow managed to prevent the barons suffering, but we paid for our valour.’

  ‘Thugs attacked you? Attacked six armoured men from a foreign country?’

  ‘Quite,’ Picornell agreed. ‘It seems outside the bounds of probability to me too. Fortunately for you, the Baron de Castellvell remains unaware of your presence. He puts this morning’s attack down to failings in the emir’s rule and the increasing instability of the island. Me? I think it was not the barons they were after. I think that was why the barons escaped without injury. They were after me in particular, and I think it was because I was seen talking to you yesterday.’

  Arnau felt another chill. Surely not? But it made sense. Unidentifiable ruffians were attacking them, so why not their friends? ‘We have enemies,’ he said. ‘Powerful ones, but I had not anticipated them spreading their net so wide.’

  ‘Whatever you’re up to,’ Picornell said flatly, ‘seems to be causing trouble. The emir is losing control and your interference may well be tied into that.’

  Balthesar leaned forward. ‘You were concerned for us why?’

  ‘Have you not heard?’ Picornell gave a humourless laugh. ‘The emir has left the city. He took his entourage and many of his soldiers and retreated to one of his villas. Castellvell is of the opinion that he only just slipped out of the Al-Mudaina in time.’

  ‘Why?’ Arnau put in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Have you been hiding under a rock, Arnau? The Almohads.’

  ‘Three ships arrived yesterday,’ the young sergeant nodded.

  ‘And four more this morning – not long after dawn, just as we were limping back to the palace covered in blood. The city is flooding with Almohad soldiers. The emir’s vizier is nominally in command now, and there has been no confirmation of a change in government. Mayūrqa is still an independent taifa in name, but I doubt anyone is under any great illusion as to what is happening. Whatever name is applied, the vizier rules Mayūrqa only by Almohad consent, and it is Abd al-Azīz whose law now applies in these islands.’

  Arnau felt his stomach churn. An Almohad coup! No siege or invasion needed, if the enemy were already in the heart of the emir’s palace. The Almohads had snaked their way into Madina and to the Al-Mudaina, and once there, had wrapped their coils around the taifa’s heart and begun to squeeze. God, but they had been swift. The idea that the Lion of Alarcos could rise so easily to control this land was alarming enough. The fact that Arnau and Balthesar might now be trapped on an island controlled by a man who harboured burning hatred for them made it many shades worse.

  ‘We are leaving,’ Picornell said, breaking his uneasy train of thought.

  ‘Leaving?’

  ‘There was nothing more to be said here, diplomatically anyway. The king will not support the emir, and we remained in the court merely as a minor mollification for that refusal. With the emir now fled and a raging anti-Christian in power, dallying seems foolish. As soon as the ship is loaded and the conditions are favourable we are bound for Aragon once more. It is my heartiest recommendation that you do the same. This place will be far too dangerous for any of us very soon. Castellvell believes that the emir has lost control of his land irretrievably.’

  Balthesar nodded unhappily. ‘It is looking increasingly true. I fear the Almohads are insinuating themselves into control here, and the emir is beating a retreat into private life. It is a sad day for Mayūrqa and heralds potential disaster for the West. Without the support of Aragon, which is not forthcoming, the emir would seem doomed. It is only a matter of time before these islands become little more than a province of the Almohad caliphate from which their ships can strike at our merchants bound for Italy and the Orient.’

  ‘We will be gone with the tide,’ Picornell said, ‘and the next time a lord of Aragon sets foot upon these islands, I suspect it will be at the head of an army of conquest. You are not safe here. Despite your personal rift with the baron, he would not dare deny succour to men of the Temple in front of his peers. If you come to our ship before we sail, I will see you safely on board.’

  With that, Picornell rose, hissing at various unseen pains.

  ‘God be with you, Vallbona, and you too, Brother knight.’

  Arnau nodded. ‘Travel safely. May the blessed Saint Christopher shelter you until you touch a friendly shore.’

  Balthesar gave his own valediction and the young knight stepped away from the table, exhibiting a strong limp, and left the tavern, making for the Al-Mudaina where the private dock still held the Aragonese ship. Once he had departed, Arnau and Balthesar sat in silence for some time. Finally, unable to stand the mounting tension, Arnau spoke. />
  ‘Is the emir finished?’

  Balthesar shrugged. ‘No man is finished until he has passed Peter’s gates and is at the Lord’s side. The emir is shrewd and still has supporters, including his own private army, but he is also sensible and realistic. He can see how precarious his position is. I fear he recognised threats rising in his own court and removed himself from them. On his private estate he will be surrounded only by those he can trust, and that is the only position from which he can possibly attempt to regain full control. Things may have gone too far now, of course. He may be in a position from which he cannot return, but there was little he could do to prevent this happening. He could have denied the Almohad ships the right to land, but that would have exacerbated the situation and likely would have urged the Almohads into outright war, which the emir could not hope to wage without Aragon’s support. This is a true miasma of military politics, Vallbona, and we are in the very murk of it.’

  ‘But you think that perhaps the emir still stands a chance?’

  ‘It is largely a matter of support. Abd al-Azīz is currently ascendant because he is visibly strong and becoming ever more so. Strength begets strength. His power attracts others to his cause. Conversely, every day the emir seems weaker and so his supporters leech away and add their voices to the Almohad chorus. I fear the only solution for the emir now would be the fall of the Lion of Alarcos. Without him, there would be no powerful Almohad head for the island to support and the emir would become the strong one once more. Of course that would only buy him a little time. He might regain control in Mayūrqa, but the Almohads now have these islands in their sights, and the death of one of their own more prominent nobles would only goad them into further action. He might fight off Abd al-Azīz, but it will not be long before they come back, and in greater strength. Without the support of someone like Pedro of Aragon, the end is inevitable.’

  Arnau nodded sadly. That support would not come, of course. Mayūrqa had become too dangerous for the two knights to continue, and there was little chance of matters improving in the foreseeable future.

  ‘So what do we do? Can we realistically get to the Aragonese ship? It’s all well and good Guillem offering us a place on it, but that vessel is in the Al-Mudaina’s private dock, and if the Lion is in control of the palace, I fear we would not reach the gangplank alive.’

  Balthesar raised an eyebrow. ‘So ready are you to give up on our quest?’

  Arnau stared at the older knight. ‘You are surely jesting? You intend to continue on this fool’s errand?’

  ‘Where would our Church be if the men of faith who created it had simply conceded the game because the situation became tough? Those apostles who spread the word of the Lord following his ascent to heaven – who took the word into the heathen world that hated them, despite the dangers? Paul and James who were beheaded, and Peter, Philip and Andrew crucified. James stoned and Matthew and Thomas butchered. Matthias burned, Bartholomew skinned, and Simon sawn in two. Only John of the sacred twelve escaped with his life. What if those brave followers of Jesus had been cowed by fear?’

  Arnau nodded unhappily in the face of the old knight’s fervour. Personally, he felt that their own quest and contribution could hardly be compared with the Fathers of the Church, but it seemed a poor show to point that out.

  ‘Every hour longer we spend here will become more dangerous,’ Arnau reminded his older companion.

  ‘Which means that when we prevail and succeed we may be rightly proud of our achievement.’

  Wasn’t pride a sin?

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘We resume our search, of course.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We were interrupted at the records offices of the Al-Mudaina. I still need to find the last reference to the relic. And if the emir was true to his word and set his people to examining those records before his sudden departure, then perhaps the information has already been uncovered and our work half done. Have faith, Vallbona.’

  Faith, again.

  ‘Have you any idea how dangerous it could be going back into the palace now?’ Arnau pressed. ‘No matter that the wazir is officially in control, you know it is the Lion of Alarcos who commands here. Walking into the Al-Mudaina is tantamount to walking into the Lion’s maw.’

  ‘Do you think us any safer here, Vallbona? Quite ignoring the fact that we have been set upon by unidentified swordsmen and had our lodgings burned down around us, look at the faces of those around you.’

  Arnau did so, curious and still struggling against the impulse to flee this place. It was only now, at Balthesar’s urging, that he noticed it. While they had been on the island these past few days, and in Madina for two of them, he had felt constantly the sizzle of hatred from the Almohads, and had remained nervous of the emir and his men, for they held the power of life and death in Mayūrqa, but he had felt nothing but peace, acceptance and even a little curiosity from the ordinary Moors in the street. Something had changed, though, now. Something indefinable and strange had changed. It was hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it, but there was a slight narrowing of the eyes among anyone who regarded these two men speaking in foreign Christian tongues in their midst. There was a slight increase in tension in the way they held themselves. It was barely visible, but now that Arnau had realised it was there, it became clear to him that the people of Madina had become tense and suspicious.

  ‘It feels dangerous.’

  ‘Yes, doesn’t it? Yesterday these fine people welcomed us. Today things have changed.’

  ‘But that is so swift. Surely the Almohads cannot have spread their poison so fast?’

  Balthesar snorted. ‘Opinion and rumour spread faster than a forest fire. This is the work of Abd al-Azīz. Since his arrival in Madina, I would wager that he has pursued in every waking moment a path of winning over those men of power and import in the emir’s court. That is how he has so swiftly suborned the man. And you know how it works. The nobles and the priests: they are the men who tell the common folk what to think. The good people of Madina are being turned against not only us, but all outsiders – your friend’s bruises speak clearly of that. And I fear soon that those same suspicious glares will be cast even at supporters of the rightful emir, neighbour against neighbour. Politics can be a poisonous thing. Power is slipping into Abd al-Azīz’s hands and without a fight.’

  ‘And nothing can be done to arrest that slide?’

  Balthesar shook his head. ‘Probably not. This is how persecution and oppression begins: one clever and charismatic man with a single purpose. Remember how easily Rourell’s farmers were turned against us despite years of being well looked after?’

  Arnau cast his mind back to those dreadful days last year. Farms lying empty. A body revolving slowly in his own home, dangling from a beam with glazed eyes and a swollen tongue…

  He took a deep breath. One last try.

  ‘Brother, let us away on a ship. Forget the arm of Saint Stephen. There will be other relics. When the armies of Aragon roll over the caliphate’s lands in retribution for Alarcos, other lost relics will come to light and perhaps we can secure one of those.’

  ‘Vallbona—’

  ‘No, it needs to be said. This entire journey was founded on the belief that the relic would be invaluable in bringing gold and manpower to Rourell. But if we sacrifice ourselves needlessly then all we are doing is wasting the money with which we were sent and diminishing the house’s manpower by two. I do not believe the preceptrix would approve.’

  Balthesar frowned, clearly caught by those last words. It was an argument that seemed to have hit him hard. Finally, he nodded.

  ‘I will strike a deal with you, Vallbona, since your words are honest and valid, for all I disagree with them. Boarding the ship of Castellvell would be troublesome. Abd al-Azīz will not willingly let us join the deputation, as you pointed out, and even if he did I have no great desire to share a ship with the good baron for a voyage. But there are other Christian ship
s in the port. Traders come here from all lands, and with what is happening in Madina the next few days will see them all evacuate back to their own nations. It is with them that we shall secure passage home. One more day is all I ask. One more trip to the Al-Mudaina and one more search of the records to determine what can be learned of Saint Stephen’s bone. A matter of hours and I will know what happened to it, or at least I will know if it is lost. One last attempt to retrieve that for which we came, and then I will relent and we shall take ship from this place with those merchants fleeing a change in the regime.’

  It was not a perfect solution, certainly, but Arnau knew the old knight now, and he knew that this was the best he was going to get: an acknowledgement that his opinion was valid and a promise to leave after one last attempt to find the relic. Of course, that meant stepping into the lair of the Lion of Alarcos once more.

  He sighed and nodded. ‘All right. One more time.’

  As they passed through the gardens again and made for the palace, Arnau found himself wondering how Balthesar planned to get them into the Al-Mudaina. It seemed unlikely they were simply going to walk inside, especially now, with the Lion’s men in control. It surprised him greatly, therefore, when the older knight simply walked up to the door through which they had entered and left several times and knocked and rang.

  They waited for a few long, nervous moments and then the hatch in the door clacked open and wary, narrowed eyes looked out at them, a comment barked in Arabic. Balthesar replied politely and there was a tense pause. The guard snapped something else out, Balthesar responding once more, and though Arnau couldn’t understand the words he most certainly comprehended their import. The older knight had remained polite, but there was an edge of command and determination to the tone. It was now, as the nerves began to shudder through the young sergeant, that he realised he had not relieved himself since rising that morning, and as his bladder contracted with the mounting tension the need to do so was becoming paramount. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably as the guard and the old knight argued, the emir’s man seeming ever more insistent, but Balthesar sounding increasingly convincing.