Kingdom

by Hight, Jack

  The eunuch tutted. ‘I made you ruler of Egypt, Saladin. You should be more grateful.’

  ‘You killed my uncle.’ Yusuf did not bother to disguise the hostility in his voice.

  ‘No. Al-Khlata had him murdered and paid for it with Frankish gold. I merely facilitated their relationship.’

  Yusuf drew his dagger. ‘I should kill you here and now.’

  The eunuch smiled. ‘That would be a mistake. I left a letter addressed to Nur ad-Din in my suites in Damascus. If you kill me, it will be found, and he will know of your treachery. How do you think he will respond when he learns that you seduced his wife, that the son he dotes upon is your child?’

  Yusuf glared at him for a moment and then sheathed his dagger. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nur ad-Din sent me to tell you his plans. He will arrive in two days. You are to wait for him here, and then the two of you will drive westward to take Ascalon.’

  ‘You rode all this way to tell me this?’

  ‘Of course not. I want you to eliminate Nur ad-Din.’

  ‘You waste your time, Gumushtagin. If you want Nur ad-Din gone, then do it yourself. Kill him like you killed my uncle.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that is not possible. I am closely watched at Nur ad-Din’s court. There are many there who do not trust me.’

  ‘With good reason.’

  Gumushtagin ignored the jibe. ‘If Nur ad-Din were to die in suspicious circumstances, then all eyes would turn to me. That is why I need you. Think! You would no longer have to take orders from Nur ad-Din. You are already a better ruler than him.’

  Yusuf took a sip of water. The eunuch was right. Nur ad-Din was too obsessed with war, too blinded by hatred of the Franks – like Yusuf’s father. But that did not matter. Nur ad-Din was his lord. Yusuf’s hand went back to his dagger. ‘You speak treason.’

  ‘It would not be treason if Nur ad-Din attacked first. He fears your growing power. He knew Saladin the emir. He has never met Saladin the king.’ Gumushtagin smiled disingenuously. ‘Someone may have put it into his head that Saladin the king is dangerous. Why do you think he sent your father to watch over you? If you return to Egypt before he reaches Kerak, he will see it as insubordination, or worse.’

  ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘If you do not, then Nur ad-Din shall be informed of your treachery. Asimat will die, as will your son.’

  ‘I have other sons now.’

  Gumushtagin laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. ‘Come now. You are not so hard as that, Saladin. You have seen a woman stoned, yes? Is that the fate you want for Asimat? Do you want Al-Salih’s blood on your hands?’

  Yusuf’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Finally, he shook his head.

  ‘I thought not. Tomorrow, your army will withdraw to Egypt. And before a year has passed, your son Al-Salih will sit on the throne of Syria.’

  ‘And you will be the power behind that throne,’ Yusuf said bitterly.

  Gumushtagin shrugged. ‘Al-Salih is only a child. He will need someone to look after his interests.’ He met Yusuf’s eyes. ‘Do we have an agreement, Saladin?’

  Yusuf nodded. What else could he do?

  ‘Good.’ Gumushtagin turned to go, but Yusuf grabbed his arm.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for, Gumushtagin. Once Nur ad-Din is dead, you will have no power over me. The next time we meet, I will kill you. I swear it.’

  Chapter 14

  JULY TO AUGUST 1173: CAIRO

  Yusuf and his guard entered Cairo through the Al-Futuh gate after a tour of the new walls that Qaraqush was building. Extending the wall to the Nile meant that a besieging army would no longer be able to cut Cairo off from the river. In addition, Yusuf was extending the southern wall to include the rich gardens south and west of the city. In Alexandria, he had witnessed what happened when a city ran short of food. That would not happen here. Once the walls were finished, Cairo would be able to withstand a siege lasting months, even years.

  When he reached the palace, Yusuf handed his horse to an attendant and strode inside. He was halfway across the entrance hall when he stopped short. Turan stood waiting at the far end. Yusuf had not seen his older brother for nearly twelve years, not since he had left Turan in charge of Tell Bashir, the fortress in Syria that had been Yusuf’s first fief. Turan had always been an imposing man, tall with a broad chest and shoulders, but now his thick build had softened. He had a paunch and heavy jowls. His dark hair showed traces of grey. Yusuf wondered if he, too, looked so old.

  Turan grinned. ‘Brother! As-salaamu ‘alaykum!’ He crossed the hall and engulfed Yusuf in a hug, and then kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘Ahlan wa-Sahlan, Turan,’ Yusuf murmured, thrown off balance by his brother’s warm greeting. As children, Turan had bullied Yusuf mercilessly until the day Yusuf finally bested his brother in a fight. Even after Turan had agreed to serve as one of Yusuf’s emirs, the two had not been close. It seemed that Turan’s temperament had softened with time.

  ‘What brings you to Cairo?’ Yusuf asked.

  Turan’s grin faded. He glanced at the mamluk guards stationed in the hall. ‘We should speak in private.’ Yusuf led Turan to a small chamber where visitors were sent to wait for their audience with the king. ‘Nur ad-Din has taken Tell Bashir from us, Brother.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘A month ago. A thousand mamluks under Al-Muqaddam arrived and demanded that I hand over the fortress. I had no hope of holding out against such a number. Nor did I think it wise to defy our lord.’

  ‘You did well, Brother. Did Al-Muqaddam say why Nur ad-Din was reclaiming Tell Bashir?’

  ‘No. I went to Aleppo to assure Nur ad-Din of my loyalty. He refused to see me, Brother. Men at court whisper that you are a traitor. They say that Nur ad-Din was furious when you withdrew from Kerak. He has declared publicly that if you do not come to him in Aleppo, he will march on Cairo and sack the city.’

  The sudden burning in Yusuf’s stomach was so painful that he was forced to place a hand on the wall to keep from doubling over. He took a deep breath. ‘And if I do go to Aleppo?’

  Turan shook his head. ‘Gumushtagin has poisoned our lord against you. I believe that Nur ad-Din means to see you dead, whether you go to him or not.’

  ‘Dark times are upon us, friends.’ Yusuf paused and looked around the council chamber at his advisers: his father Ayub, his brothers Selim and Turan, the mamluk emirs Qaraqush and Al-Mashtub, and his private secretaries Imad ad-Din and Al-Fadil. They met atop the tallest tower in Yusuf’s palace, a practice that he had borrowed from Nur ad-Din. Here, he could be sure they would not be overheard.

  ‘Turan has brought news from Aleppo,’ Yusuf continued. ‘Nur ad-Din is preparing to march on Egypt.’

  No one spoke, but the pale faces of the men revealed their alarm. Ayub recovered first. ‘You must send a message to him immediately. Tell Nur ad-Din that there is no need for him to attack Egypt. Tell him that if he wishes to see you, he need only send for you and you will come as his humble servant.’

  Yusuf shook his head. ‘Turan says that Nur ad-Din means to see me dead, and my friends in his court confirm this. If I go to him, I shall never return.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Selim asked.

  ‘I have no choice. I will fight.’

  Ayub scowled. ‘But Nur ad-Din is your lord!’

  ‘I am the King of Egypt, Father, and my first duty is to my people. But none of you are kings. If any of you do not wish to fight Nur ad-Din, then I understand. You may leave now.’

  There was a pause that seemed agonizingly long to Yusuf. Finally Qaraqush spoke. ‘I will stand by you, Yusuf.’

  One by one, the others also pledged their loyalty, until only Ayub had not spoken. All eyes turned towards him. He rose and strode to the door.

  ‘Father!’ Yusuf cried, but Ayub left the chamber without looking back. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell that led down from the tower. Yusuf hurried after him. ‘Father, wait!’ He caugh
t up to Ayub at the bottom of the curving stairway and grabbed his arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  Ayub shook off Yusuf’s hand. ‘I will not stay and listen while you plot treason.’

  ‘It is not treason to defend my lands.’

  ‘No, but it was treason to refuse to meet Nur ad-Din in Kerak. And it is treason to build walls around Cairo to keep out your rightful lord.’

  ‘You will return to Damascus?’ Yusuf asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘You would choose Nur ad-Din over your own son?’

  Ayub sighed and bowed his head. He suddenly looked every bit of his more than sixty years. ‘I am your father, Yusuf, and if there is anyone who loves you and wishes you well, it is I. I will stay in Cairo and serve you as I am able. But know this: if Nur ad-Din comes here, nothing will prevent me from bowing before him and kissing the ground at his feet. If he ordered me to lop off your head with my sword, I would do it.’

  Yusuf turned away so that his father could not see the wetness in his eyes. ‘I do not understand why you love him so.’

  ‘He took us in when we had nothing. We owe him everything.’

  ‘You owe him everything.’ Yusuf turned to face his father. ‘I have made my own kingdom.’

  ‘Such talk reeks of treason, my son.’

  ‘Who are you to speak to me of treason? I am your king so long as you live in Egypt. I am your son, too, yet you think nothing of betraying me. Tell me truly, Father: what will happen if I go to Nur ad-Din, as you suggest?’

  Ayub lowered his gaze. His silence spoke for him. Yusuf’s jaw clenched as he fought back tears of anger and disappointment. His father had taught him to value honour above all else, to put loyalty before family and friends. He should have expected nothing less from him.

  Ayub placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘More than your life is at stake. What do you think will happen if you resist our lord? It will plunge the East into chaos. The Franks will take advantage of our dissension to attack. Everything we have gained over the last thirty years will be lost. But if Nur ad-Din controls Egypt and Syria, then he can take Jerusalem. He can drive out the Franks.’

  ‘And I will die.’

  ‘A sacrifice worth making. I will go with you to Aleppo, Yusuf. Whatever fate Nur ad-Din decrees for you, I will share it.’

  ‘I cannot.’ Yusuf opened his mouth to continue, but then shook his head. He could not tell his father that he had already betrayed their lord, and in a far worse manner than Ayub could have imagined.

  ‘Do not turn your back on Nur ad-Din—’ Ayub was pleading now. ‘He will not forgive it.’ He met his son’s eyes. ‘Nor will I.’

  It took all Yusuf’s will to speak without his voice breaking. ‘Do what you think right, Father. I shall do the same.’

  ‘Very well.’ Ayub kissed Yusuf once on each cheek and then walked away.

  Yusuf stood at the window of his bedroom and looked south, beyond the city to where men were working on the new wall by torchlight. He frowned as he thought back to his last conversation with his father. It had been a week ago, but it was never far from his mind. It nagged at him, like a sore tooth. ‘He does not love me,’ he murmured.

  ‘What?’ Shamsa called sleepily from bed. ‘Who does not love you?’

  ‘My father. He never has.’

  She rose and came to stand beside him. ‘Come to bed, my love.’

  ‘Later.’

  She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I have seen Ayub with you. He is proud of you. But he has had a hard life. Affection does not come easily to such a man.’

  ‘He said he would kill me if Nur ad-Din commanded it. Does that sound like love, Shamsa?’

  ‘He only says such things because he is frustrated. You are his son, Yusuf, but also his lord. It is not easy for him.’

  Yusuf shook his head. ‘He meant what he said.’

  Shamsa examined his face for a moment. She nodded. ‘You may be right. Your father sees dishonour as a fate worse than death. He would do anything to save you from it.’

  They stared out at the low, scudding clouds, lit silver by a crescent moon. ‘Come, habîbi,’ Shamsa said at last. ‘Let us to bed.’ She took his arm and was leading him across the room when loud shouting and the unmistakable ring of steel upon steel came from just outside the bedroom. An axe slammed into the door, splintering the wood near the lock. Shamsa paled. ‘Assassins!’

  Yusuf retrieved his sword from where it hung beside the bed and drew the blade. He took Shamsa by the arm and led her to his private audience chamber. He had just placed his hand on the far door when it shook as someone tried to force his way in. Yusuf backed away. Shamsa hurried to shut and lock the door through which they had entered. A moment later someone slammed into it from the other side.

  ‘The window!’ Yusuf shouted.

  It looked out over a flat rooftop that ran along one side of an interior courtyard. Shamsa crawled out first. Yusuf followed, feeling for the thin ledge below the window with his bare feet. He had just lowered Shamsa to the roof below when one of the doors burst open behind him. He tossed his sword down and jumped, rolling as he landed. Above, men dressed in black and wearing masks were crawling out of the window. One of them jumped, and Yusuf impaled the man as he landed. He turned to Shamsa. ‘Go and bring the guards.’

  She shook her head. ‘I will stand by you.’

  Yusuf shoved her towards the far side of the roof. ‘Go! Now!’

  He turned to see two men on the ledge above. They jumped at the same time, and Yusuf was forced to back away. Behind them, more men were climbing out of the window. Yusuf lunged forward, thrusting his blade at the man on his right. The man parried while the other man swung for Yusuf’s head. Yusuf dropped to a crouch to avoid the blade and then kicked out, sweeping the man’s legs from beneath him. Yusuf knocked aside an attack from his other assailant and swung his sword back, catching the man in the throat. Then he ran. After a dozen yards the roof ended, a gap some ten feet wide separating it from the roof on the far side. Yusuf accelerated and jumped, just clearing the gap. He glanced back as he ran and saw three of the masked men take the jump. Two made it but one missed, cursing loudly as he fell. More men were gathering on the roof behind them.

  Yusuf veered left and jumped down into the courtyard. He rolled and then sprang to his feet. He raced past a rose bush, which tore at his silk robe, and through a door into a long hallway, the marble floor cold under his bare feet. Where were the guards? This hall should have been patrolled. He glanced back to see his pursuers enter the hall behind him. Yusuf raced to the far end of the hallway and pushed open a heavy door. In the entrance hall two-dozen mamluks were headed his way with Shamsa and Selim at their head.

  ‘Alhamdulillah!’ Shamsa cried as she rushed forward and embraced him.

  The first of the masked men burst into the room. When he saw the mamluks, he turned and ran. A dozen of Yusuf’s men gave chase. Yusuf looked to his brother. ‘Send men to block every exit from the palace. Take them alive if you can.’

  ‘No, no! Please! Ya Allah! Ya Allah! Have mercy!’ The assassin squirmed as Al-Mashtub slowly turned one of the screws of the steel vice that encircled his head. The head crusher was a truly terrible instrument. It had two clamps, one putting pressure on the forehead and back of the skull, the other squeezing the victim’s head just above his ears. Al-Mashtub continued turning the screw, putting unbearable pressure on the sides of the man’s skull. ‘Please! Please!’ the assassin moaned. ‘Make it stop!’

  Yusuf forced himself to watch. It was late, only an hour after the assassins’ failed attempt. He was tired and sickened from watching men suffer, but he wanted to know who had hired them. He wanted to know, and yet he feared the truth.

  The tortured assassin was now screaming incoherently, one long wail of agony. Then he passed out and the room fell silent. Yusuf turned to another assassin who had been tied to a chair and forced to watch his friend suffer. The man’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘Let us try
again,’ Yusuf said. ‘Who gave you access to the palace? Who told you where my chambers are?’

  The man’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘I will tell you nothing, Sunni dog.’

  The man was brave, but Yusuf knew that even brave men could be made to talk if one applied the correct combination of fear, pain and hope that it all might end. The man had called Yusuf a Sunni dog. He would start there.

  ‘You sought to kill me because I am a Sunni, because I have converted the mosques of Cairo,’ Yusuf suggested. The man did not speak. ‘No, it is something else. You are loyal to the Fatimids, perhaps? You resent their imprisonment. I could have had them killed, you know. I showed them mercy. I will show you mercy as well, if you tell me what I want to know.’ The man shook his head. ‘Very well.’ Yusuf nodded to Al-Mashtub.

  The giant mamluk unscrewed the vice from the first victim’s head and pulled it off. It had cracked the sides of the man’s skull, and purplish-black blood had pooled under the skin around his temples and below his ears. Al-Mashtub brought the head crusher towards the second assassin, who began to squirm in his chair, thrashing his head from side to side. A mamluk stepped behind the man and put a leather strap around his neck. He pulled up and back so that the strap dug into the flesh under the man’s chin, holding his head motionless. Al-Mashtub pressed the vice down over his head.

  ‘No!’ the man cried. ‘Wait!’

  Al-Mashtub tightened one of the screws, just enough so that the man could feel the cold metal pressing against the sides of his head.

  ‘Please! Stop!’ The man’s eyes were jerking wildly from side to side. ‘It was Najm ad-Din! He is the one who showed us into the palace!’

  Yusuf felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He closed his eyes and gripped the back of the chair, waiting until his breathing returned to normal. He leaned close to the assassin’s face. ‘If you speak false, you shall suffer such pain that you will wish to die, but I will not let you.’

  ‘I do not lie,’ the man said. ‘It was your father. I swear it.’