by Hight, Jack
John handed a copper to the merchant and took a cup of water. Ubadah had begun to walk in John’s direction. John handed the cup back without drinking and walked away. When he reached the street leading from the square he glanced back. Ubadah had stopped at the edge of the practice arena, but his eyes were still on John. Their gazes met for a moment, then John strode away. The sooner he left Cairo, the better.
He was leaving through the Al-Futuh gate when a guard hailed him. ‘John! Stop!’
‘What is it, Halif?’
‘You are a Frank, yes?’
John nodded. He had never tried to hide his origins. It would only raise more questions. ‘I am a priest, come to pray at the holy sites.’
‘Wait here.’ Halif turned to one of the other guards. ‘See that he does not leave.’
Halif disappeared into the gatehouse. He returned a moment later with Ubadah. John felt his stomach tense.
Ubadah scratched at his patchy beard as he peered at John. ‘I thought I recognized you, ifranji. You are John.’
John knew that it was too late to lie. ‘Ubadah.’
‘What are you doing in Cairo?’
‘I was here to pray. I was just leaving.’
Ubadah shook his head. ‘My uncle will want to see you. Guards, bring him.’
The burning in Yusuf’s gut grew worse as he examined a page of the notebook taken from John’s saddlebag. It was covered with detailed sketches of the walls of Cairo. He flipped to another page, the first of several containing figures on the number of men in Yusuf’s army, the supplies they had and how long they could stay in the field. The next few pages discussed the training regimen and tactics of Yusuf’s troops.
‘You should execute him publicly,’ Ayub said. He was standing in the corner of Yusuf’s private audience chamber, watching his son.
Yusuf ignored his father and continued flipping through the book. A series of pages were covered with the designs for the citadel that Yusuf planned to build south of the city. How had John obtained those?
‘You have seen what is in that book,’ Ayub continued. ‘I spoke with a merchant who says the Frank has been around for months asking questions. He was here as a spy, Yusuf.’
‘He broke no laws, Father.’
‘You cannot afford to appear weak in the eyes of your men, not when we are going to war. What better way to show your strength and to rally the troops than to execute a Frankish spy?’
‘John is a man of God.’
‘He is a spy!’ Ayub was red-faced, angry at his son’s intransigence.
Yusuf met his father’s eyes. ‘He is my friend.’
Ayub sighed. ‘You are a king now, my son. You cannot afford friends, least of all Frankish ones.’
Perhaps his father was right. Yusuf looked at the notebook in his hands. Perhaps John was not truly his friend. No. Yusuf closed the book and tossed it aside.
‘A great king is generous with his enemies,’ he said. ‘He shows mercy.’
‘You would show mercy to those who have shown us none? Have you forgotten what the Franks did when they took Jerusalem? What they did in Bilbeis? What they did to your mother?’ Yusuf flinched. Before he was born the Franks had raped his mother. It was something that was never discussed. ‘Have you?’
‘John is not like the other Franks.’
‘They are all the same. There is no place for them in our lands. They must be driven back into the sea from whence they came.’
‘They are savage, so we should be savage in return? That is your counsel? Why, tell me, do we deserve these lands if we are no better than the Franks?’
‘Because they are our lands!’
‘Yes!’ Yusuf replied, his voice rising to meet his father’s. ‘And we must strive to be worthy of them.’ He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was calm and even. ‘Have the prisoner brought here.’
‘You must kill him.’
‘That is for me to decide, Father. Bring him.’
Yusuf retrieved John’s notebook and took a seat on the dais. He flipped through the pages again while he waited. The door opened, and Ayub pushed John into the room.
‘You may wait outside, Father.’ Yusuf turned his gaze on John, who stood with his hands tied together before him. His friend was perhaps a touch heavier, the lines on his face a bit deeper, but other than that he was unchanged. He had the same square jaw, the same clear blue eyes, which met Yusuf’s gaze and did not look away. ‘It has been a long time, John.’
‘Too long.’
Yusuf held up the notebook. ‘Why did you come to Cairo?’
‘King Amalric sent me.’ John lowered his eyes. ‘To—to gather information.’
‘To spy, you mean.’
John nodded.
‘Ya Allah!’ Yusuf cursed. ‘How could you, John? I am your friend.’
‘And Amalric is my king. I took an oath to serve him, just as you have sworn to serve Nur ad-Din. That is why you prepare to march on Kerak, is it not? Your lord has summoned you, and so you must go. You have no choice. Nor did I.’
‘And if your lord commanded you to fight against me, John?’
‘I am a priest. It is not my role to fight.’
‘Answer my question.’
John met his eyes. ‘Whatever you may think, I am still your friend, Yusuf.’
‘You do not act the part.’
‘Do I not?’ There was a touch of anger in John’s voice. ‘I have already broken my oath to protect you. During the siege of Alexandria the Franks were searching for tunnels into the city. I discovered them first and made certain they remained hidden. I saved your life. Is that the act of an enemy?’
‘I did not ask for your help at Alexandria, John.’
‘You did not need to.’
Yusuf opened his mouth to retort and then thought better of it. John was right. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. ‘I am sorry, friend. But you have placed me in a difficult position. My father wants you executed. The emirs feel the same.’
‘I was willing to die for you at Butaiha, Yusuf. I still am.’
‘No. Your death would please the emirs, but if I can ransom you, the money will please them still more. You will come with me as a hostage. We leave for Kerak in three days.’
JUNE 1173: KERAK
‘It will be no easy thing to take,’ John murmured.
They stood gazing at the castle of Kerak. The thick walls were uneven, lower on the left, where they protected a lower court, and higher on the right, where the keep was situated at the crown of a hill. Even reaching the walls would be difficult. Kerak sat astride a strip of land only forty yards across, and the ground to either side of the strip fell away sharply into deep wadis. The Franks had faced the slopes of the wadis with stone to remove all handholds. The only possible path of attack was along the narrow spur of land that sloped up to the castle. A trench some ten feet deep and thirty feet wide had been cut into the stone of the spur, separating the castle from the land where John and Yusuf stood. The bridge across the trench had been burned by the castle’s defenders.
John turned from the fortress to look behind him, where Yusuf’s men were forming ranks. ‘It is too soon to attack,’ he said. ‘We have only just arrived. You should allow the catapults to do their work.’
‘I do not expect to take the citadel in our first assault, John. I wish to show the defenders my intentions. Sometimes a little bloodshed is all that is needed to force an enemy to capitulate.’
‘I have met the lord of Kerak. Humphrey is a hard man. He will not surrender.’
‘No, I suspect not.’ Yusuf turned at the sound of hoofbeats. John followed his gaze to see Selim approaching.
‘The men are ready,’ Selim said.
Ubadah arrived just after him. The young man was dressed in mail and had wrapped a scarlet cloth around his helmet.
‘Why are you dressed for battle, Ubadah?’ Yusuf demanded.
‘I want to fight, Uncle. I am ready.’
�
�You are only fifteen.’
‘You were not so old when you saw your first battle.’
Yusuf opened his mouth to reply, but John spoke first. ‘He is not ready.’
Ubadah reddened. ‘Silence, ifranji! Who are you to speak thus of me?’
A group of emirs stood a dozen yards off, and now they all looked towards John. Yusuf too gave John a dark glance. ‘You may fight,’ Yusuf said reluctantly, ‘but do not leave your uncle Selim’s side. Do exactly as he tells you.’
‘Yes, Uncle,’ Ubadah said, grinning.
Yusuf looked to Selim. ‘Keep him safe, Brother, and Allah protect you, as well. You may begin the attack.’ Selim and Ubadah spurred their horses back towards the troops, and the emirs followed.
‘You should not have sent him,’ John told Yusuf. ‘I have seen him fight. He is impulsive, rash. He will get himself killed.’
‘I would not send him into battle if I did not think him ready. He is my nephew.’
‘And he is my son!’ John hissed so that only Yusuf could hear.
‘He is never to know that,’ Yusuf snapped. He shook his head. ‘If you had wished to protect him, then you should have held your tongue, John. You gave me no choice but to send him. My men were watching. I could not be seen to favour the word of a Frank over that of my own nephew.’
Selim’s horn sounded and the ranks of mamluks advanced, marching on to the narrow strip of land that led to the castle. The sixty foot-soldiers at the head of the column carried a mobile wooden bridge that would be used to span the trench. They were surrounded by another hundred soldiers, each carrying a tall, body-length shield. It was their duty to protect the men carrying the bridge.
Selim and Ubadah came next, riding amidst fifty hand-picked mamluks. Behind them marched two hundred men carrying tall ladders for scaling the wall. Bringing up the rear were another hundred infantry with tall shields, surrounding a dozen men pushing a wheeled battering ram.
The men carrying the bridge reached the steepest part of the slope and began to labour up it. As they climbed, arrows from the castle began to rain down among them. The soldiers around them raised their shields above their heads and held them sideways to protect both themselves and the men carrying the bridge. Here and there a man stumbled and fell as he was hit, but most of the arrows bounced harmlessly off the shields. A catapult within the castle hurled a huge chunk of stone towards the men. It landed just short and shattered on impact, sending splinters of stone into the front ranks of soldiers. Several men fell, crying in agony. The rest marched on. More catapults fired, and chunks of stone began to fall all about the men. Selim blew his horn again, and the men carrying the bridge quickened their pace. Behind them, the mounted mamluks spurred their horses to a trot. At the end of the column the ram bounced and jolted as it rolled over the uneven ground.
The bridge had reached the edge of the trench. Long ropes had been attached to the front of it, and now men began to pull on them, raising the front end up towards the sky as the men in the back walked the rear of the bridge forward. They continued this procedure until the bridge was nearly vertical, its bottom end resting only a few yards from the trench. Then they released the ropes and the bridge fell forward to span the gap. Immediately the troops parted, and the mamluk cavalry galloped across. John lost sight of Ubadah as the mamluks dismounted some thirty yards from the wall. They ran the final distance. A few men fell as arrows rained down amongst them, but most reached the lower portion of the wall, where they began to hurl grappling hooks up over the battlements. Men began to climb, only to fall crashing down when their rope was cut. The next wave of mamluks hit the wall, and ladders went up all along its front.
‘There is Ubadah,’ Yusuf shouted, pointing.
John spotted his son’s scarlet helmet. Ubadah was second up one of the ladders, following a man with a shield. As they reached the top Ubadah speared a Frank off the wall, then another. The mamluk with the shield scrambled over the battlement, only to be cut down. Ubadah was moving after him when a defender placed a notched stick against the top rung of the ladder and began to push it away from the wall. The men below Ubadah scrambled down or jumped off. He dropped his spear and used his hands to guide him as he slid down the ladder, touching the ground just before it tumbled over backwards.
The ram had now reached the walls, and John could hear the boom as its steel-capped head slammed into the wooden gate. It hit the gate a second time, and then the defenders poured a thick, black substance down upon it. It coated the ram and splashed over the men pushing it. A moment later a burning torch was dropped from the wall, and the ram burst into flames. The men who had been pushing it were engulfed as well, and they scattered, screaming desperately. Selim’s horn sounded the retreat.
Yusuf’s men formed ranks and fell back, the men with tall shields coming last to protect those behind them. The mounted troops had reached their horses and were swinging into the saddle. As they clattered across the bridge, John spotted Ubadah’s crimson helmet amongst them. John realized that his hands had been clenched into fists, and he relaxed them. The boy had made it.
Then, as the last of the mamluks approached the bridge, the gates of the citadel opened. A hundred knights on horseback poured out and split into two groups, galloping to either side of the retreating infantrymen. Their goal was clear: they sought to cut off the troops, trapping them on the far side of the trench. If they succeeded, several hundred men would be lost. Suddenly the infantrymen scattered to either side as two dozen mamluk cavalry spurred back across the bridge. Ubadah rode at their head.
‘’Sblood!’ John cursed. ‘What is he doing?’ The mamluk cavalry divided into two groups, and Ubadah galloped to the right, towards one branch of the onrushing Frankish cavalry.
‘He is trying to save the men,’ Yusuf said.
‘He will get himself killed—’ John started forward, but Yusuf grabbed his arm.
‘No, John. There is nothing you can do.’
‘Let me go!’ John jerked his arm away.
‘It is too late, friend. Look.’
As Ubadah and his men met the Frankish knights, several mamluks were immediately knocked from their mounts by the knights’ lances. The others were soon surrounded. They began to throw their arms down in surrender, but Ubadah’s sword continued to flash under the bright sun as he faced three men. Then a Frank slammed the pommel of his sword into the back of Ubadah’s head, and he slumped unconscious in the saddle. The other group of mamluks had fared no better, but their charge had accomplished its purpose. The last of the foot-soldiers were crossing the bridge. Beyond them, the Franks were leading their captives into the citadel.
Yusuf put his hand on John’s shoulder. ‘The boy is a prisoner. He is not dead. And he is brave. That is good.’
‘A brave fool,’ John muttered.
Yusuf smiled wanly. ‘Like his father.’
John looked back to Kerak, where the gate was now closing. ‘It is my fault.’ Had he not spoken earlier then Yusuf would not have sent the boy into battle. ‘I am your hostage, Yusuf. Exchange me for the boy.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘I mean to take Kerak, John. Many inside will die. If you go, I will not be able to protect you.’
‘Send me.’
Yusuf scratched at his beard. ‘Do you think Humphrey will accept the exchange?’
‘I am a canon of the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and I know Humphrey. He will accept.’
JULY 1173: KERAK
Yusuf stood at the start of the strip of land that led up to the walls of Kerak and watched as John walked towards the citadel. He was nearing the walls when the gate swung open, and Ubadah emerged. The two men met in the shadow of the walls and exchanged a few words. Then, John entered the castle and the gate closed behind him. Ubadah continued to where Yusuf stood.
‘Thank Allah you are safe,’ Yusuf said and embraced his nephew. ‘What did John say to you?’
‘He told me there was no glory in dying young.’
‘He is right.�
��
‘He is a Frankish dog,’ Ubadah spat.
Yusuf slapped him. ‘You have him to thank for your freedom. Now go to your tent and stay there.’
Ubadah trudged away, and Yusuf looked back to the castle. The exchange had taken weeks to arrange, and during that time Yusuf’s catapults had taken their toll. The walls were crumbling. It was only a matter of days before Yusuf’s men forced their way into the citadel. And when they did, the slaughter would begin. Yusuf had ordered his men to spare any who surrendered, but he knew well how hard it was to restrain men once their bloodlust was stoked. Many amongst the Franks would die, perhaps John with them. The thought upset Yusuf, but not as much as it should. And that fact upset him even more.
In the periphery of his vision he noticed a trail of dust approaching from the south. That would be a messenger from Nur ad-Din. The Syrian king had already led several raids across the Jordan as he worked his way south from Damascus. He would be pleased to hear that Kerak was almost theirs. Yusuf squinted as the trail of dust drew closer. There were a dozen riders approaching. That meant that the messenger was of some importance. Yusuf watched as the men reached the edge of the camp and dismounted.
A short time later, Selim approached on horseback. ‘A messenger has come from Nur ad-Din, Brother.’
‘I saw him arrive. Why did you not send him to me?’
‘The messenger is impertinent. He waits for you to come to him.’
‘What is his name?’
‘Gumushtagin.’
Yusuf frowned. It had been years since he had heard from the eunuch, but he would never forget the note that Gumushtagin had sent after Yusuf became vizier. You are Vizier, as I said you would be, it had read. The opportunity will come soon for you to aid me in turn. Had Gumushtagin now come to collect that debt?
‘Go and tell Gumushtagin that I await him in my tent. If he wishes to see me, then he will find me there.’
Once inside his tent, Yusuf poured himself a glass of water. He had just begun to drink when Gumushtagin entered.
‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Saladin,’ the fat-faced eunuch said in his high voice. ‘So good to see you again.’
‘Spare me the formalities, Gumushtagin. Why have you come?’