The Book of Saladin

by Tariq Ali

  “Nonetheless I was regularly questioned by Halima about the other women, and I had to feed her with the odd crumb of information. Often I made something up for her amusement. All was well as long as Halima and Jamila remained close friends. Serious trouble only erupted when their relationship had come to an end. Halima told some of her new friends what I had said about them, and one evening five of them, watched by Halima who had incited them in the first place, surrounded me, and proceeded to whip me on my bare back. I still bear the marks of that humiliation.

  “Two people helped me greatly after that ordeal. When I told him what I had suffered, Shadhi became so angry that he wanted to tell the Sultan. I had to use all my wiles to stop him, but I think he sent a message to Halima warning her that if she carried on in this fashion she would be spending the rest of her days in a tiny hut in a remote village.

  “Jamila, too, was genuinely shocked and upset. As a result we became close friends and, in her presence, I pledged in the name of Allah and our Holy Prophet that I would never tell tales again.

  “Till a few weeks ago Jamila helped me honour this pledge. Then suddenly one evening, and without any warning, she began to question me about Halima. I kept quiet and shook my head. My silence upset her and we did not speak again till this morning. Presumably she thought that in your presence my tongue might loosen. I am aware of what she wishes to know and I understand her motives, but I am bound by a vow before Allah. I had no alternative but to disappoint her.”

  Listening to him that night under the stars I could understand how Shadhi and Jamila had been seduced by the soft voice of this eunuch. Now he had me under his spell. I was intrigued by his teasing references to Halima. What could he know? What did he know?

  “I too am dismayed by your story, Amjad. I can see why Shadhi wanted to tell Salah al-Din. It would have ended the matter immediately. I fully respect your vow not to tell tales, and I have no desire that you breach your oath. Yet surely what Jamila wished to know was the truth about Halima. Your pledge concerned inventions and lies. Am I not correct?”

  He did not reply for some time, and suddenly the majestic silence of the desert night became oppressive. I was about to rephrase and repeat my question, when he began to speak again.

  “You are correct, as usual, Ibn Yakub, but what Jamila wanted to know involved my own person. If I had told her the whole truth it would have killed her regard for me, which means a great deal. In fact, I treasure it more than anything else in this world. The sad truth is that one night, when I was fast asleep, Halima entered my bedchamber. She removed the gown that covered her nakedness, lay down beside me, and began to stroke my body and fondle that which she and Jamila had once, long ago, inspected from a distance.

  “In the name of Allah, I swear to you, Ibn Yakub, that for quite some time I thought I was dreaming. It was only when she mounted me and began to move up and down on this little dateless palm-tree between my legs, that I realised it was all real, but by then, even if I had wished, it was too late to resist or complain. Even the strongest doubts can be drowned by pleasure. After it was over she left. We had not managed to exchange a single word. I felt like an animal. Perhaps she felt the same disgust that overcame me, but perhaps not.

  “She returned several times, and we coupled in silence. It ended as it had begun. Abruptly. Afterwards we used to avert our eyes whenever we saw each other, but she avoided me and, as I later heard, used to mouth obscenities at my expense to her new friends. One of them, who later fell out with her, told me that Halima had confessed to all of them that mounting me was the only way she could rid herself of the spectre of Jamila which she encountered everywhere.

  “Nothing remains secret in the harem. I am convinced she was followed and malicious tongues informed Jamila, who, not unnaturally, wanted a confirmation or denial from my own lips. I could not oblige her, Ibn Yakub. It would hurt her a great deal and demean our friendship. For me, one afternoon spent in conversation with Jamila is worth all my nights with Halima. They are not even delights I could measure on the same scale. Jamila’s intellect affects me like an aphrodisiac. When she laughs with me the sun shines on my heart. She is the one I truly love, and I would happily the at her command. Now you know it all. My guilty secret is out at last.”

  I was stunned by Amjad’s confession. Where I had failed, a eunuch had succeeded. I looked at the stars, silently praying for the heavens to fall. I wanted to smother all memories.

  That night I was awakened by a dream. I was being castrated by a woman whose face was disfigured by an ugly leer. It was Halima.

  Twenty-Eight

  Divisions within the Franj are brought to our notice

  TWO OF OUR SPIES within the Franj camp, both merchants of the Coptic persuasion, had informed Taki al-Din of developments within the Kingdom of Jerusalem. It was being torn asunder by a furious battle between the two principal knights of King Guy. Count Raymond of Tripoli was advising the King to be cautious and defensive, which meant staying in Jerusalem and not marching out to fall straight into the trap being prepared by Salah al-Din. The King himself was more inclined to the view championed by Reynald of Châtillon. This knight had smelt blood. He questioned the integrity of Count Raymond, accusing him of being a friend of Salah al-Din and a false Christian. Reynald believed that the balance of strength favoured the Franj. He argued that their knights and foot-soldiers could outmanoeuvre and outflank the Sultan’s armies.

  At one stage the two men had almost come to blows. They would have fought each other there and then had not the King grabbed a wooden cross and put his own person between them. He had compelled the two knights to swear an oath that they would cease quarrelling and fight together to defeat the Saracen infidels.

  Taki al-Din questioned the two spies in detail. He asked them about the exact size of Guy’s army, the amount of supplies they would need to survive outside their city, the names of the men who would command the Templars and Hospitallers, and the length of time it would take us to receive information about the exact whereabouts of the Franj army, if, that is, they were foolish enough to abandon the Holy City and come out to meet the Sultan on his own ground. The merchants looked at each other and laughed. It was the older one who spoke.

  “The Emir need not worry on that count. My own brother is responsible for maintaining the supplies needed by Guy and Reynald. He will inform us the moment he has the necessary information. The pigeons are prepared.”

  Taki al-Din smiled.

  “My uncle always complimented me on being a good judge of character. You have never supplied me with false information or disappointed the trust I have placed in you. For this the Sultan will reward you generously. Your tent is prepared. You have had a long journey. Please rest and recover your strength till the evening meal.”

  Two days later the news we had been waiting for reached us. Reynald of Châtillon had won the battle for Guy’s ear. The Franj were even now preparing to march out of the Holy City, to fight on our terrain. The Sultan’s face lit up when he heard the news. He insisted that it be checked and double-checked. We had to wait another day before confirmation arrived from another source. Only then did Salah al-Din order a review of all his troops to be held the next morning, six miles north of Ashtara at Tell Tasil, situated on the main road to the valley of the Jordan river.

  “I want to stand on a mound and observe the whole army, Ibn Yakub,” he said. “‘Radishes come like men, in different shapes and sizes,’ our friend Shadhi used to say. Apart from my own squadrons, most of these men are new. They are radishes from fields I have not ploughed. Let us see how they compare to our variety.”

  News that the Franj had moved out of the Holy City to give us battle swept through the entire camp within half-an-hour. News of this nature can never be kept secret for long. The effect was a complete change in the mood of the men. If they had, till now, been relaxed and slightly over-confident, the information that they might now be engaged in real combat within a few days made them nervous, some
what edgy, and yes, even fearful.

  The Sultan was well aware of how fluctuating morale can dampen the ardour of even the best army on the eve of battle. He ordered the camp to be dismantled. I had never seen him like this before. He appeared to be everywhere at the same time. One minute I could see him and his emirs rushing to inspect the storage and alert the supply-masters of the decision. With their gowns flying in the wind, they looked from a distance like giant ravens. They gave orders for the camels, supply mules and wagons to be made ready, for tent-pegs to be loosened that night, to be rolled and packed at the crack of dawn. The next minute the Sultan himself, to my amazement, clambered up on a newly constructed siege tower to test its solidity. I was alarmed at the needless risk, but young al-Afdal, who stood by my side watching his father, laughed away my worries.

  “We are used to him behaving like this before a battle. He insists on taking risks. He says it inspires confidence in the men. If the Sultan can die then so can they.”

  “And will he let you risk your life, my young prince?”

  The neatly bearded face changed colour.

  “No. He says I have to stay alive in case he falls. So my task in the battle is to convey his orders, and to stand by his tent and his banner at all times. I went to my cousin Taki and asked to fight by his side, but he too has his orders. It is not fair. I have already fought in two battles, but this will be the most important.”

  “Patience, Ibn Yusuf. Your time, too, will come. You, too, will live without misfortune. You will govern and judge and raise your sons as you have been raised. The Sultan acts in your best interests. A sapling has to be protected from hot winds so that it too can grow and bear fruit.”

  The heir to the Sultanate became petulant.

  “Ibn Yakub, please don’t try and act like Shadhi. There was only one of him.”

  With these haughty words, the young man left me to my own devices, though not for long. Amjad the eunuch, uncharacteristically long-faced, whispered in my ear that Ibn Said, the mute, was awaiting my presence. As we walked to her tent, Amjad warned me that the Sultana was in a foul mood and he would leave me alone with her. The reasons for Jamila’s ill-humour soon became clear.

  “Salah al-Din has ordered that I am not to be permitted to march with the army. He says the danger is too great and my presence is unjustifiable. I explained to him patiently that he was talking like a man whose brains had been replaced by the anus of a camel. This annoyed him greatly, and he pushed me aside. He has even instructed Amjad to prepare my return to Damascus. So while all of you are marching to take al-Kuds, the eunuchs and one woman will be heading towards Damascus.

  “I am warning you in advance, Ibn Yakub. I will not obey him this time. Amjad, poor fool, is frightened out of his wits. He dare not disobey Salah al-Din. I’ve told him I am quite capable of looking after myself. I ride better than most of you, and I have often shot at the mark with an arrow. What is your opinion?”

  She was in a rage, and I followed Ibn Maymun’s advice in these situations and offered her some water. She sipped slowly from a glass, which calmed her a little.

  “Sultana, I feel honoured and privileged to be your friend, but I beg of you not to resist the Sultan’s will on this occasion. He has enough to think about without worrying about your safety. I know it is not in your nature to accept orders blindly. Your first response is always to resist his command, but I know how much he loves you and how seriously he always considers your advice. I have often heard him say that you, not he, are in possession of a powerful brain. Indulge him just this once.”

  She smiled.

  “So, you can be sly as well. That is a revelation. I am prepared to accept your advice provided you answer one question truthfully. Do we have a deal?”

  I was so taken aback by this odd request that, without further thought, I eagerly nodded my agreement.

  “When Amjad walked with you into the desert night a few days ago, did he tell you how many times he let Halima fuck him?”

  I had been led neatly into a giant trap. She had taken me by surprise, and she did not need me to utter a single word. My guilt-ridden features told her all she wished to know.

  “Amjad!” I heard her shout. “You disgusting whore. They should have cut it all off when they had the chance. Come here!”

  I thought this might be an opportune moment to slip out of her tent unobserved.

  Early next morning, in the light of a rosy hue which is the desert dawn, we rode out to Tell Tasil. Spirits were high, but the odd note of laughter, a shade too loud and over-enthusiastic, testified to the nervousness felt by some of the emirs, for it was they who laughed in this fashion. It did not take us long to reach Tell Tasil. Usually, Salah al-Din reviewed his army when stationed on a mound, and always on horseback. This time he broke with tradition. He instructed the foot-soldiers to push a siege tower to where he stood. He invited me to climb up with him, but the look on my face made him laugh and withdraw the invitation. Instead he took al-Afdal up with him. I stood at the base of the large wooden construction which would usually be deployed to scale the walls of enemy citadels.

  Once he was in position, he raised his arm. The trumpeters blared out their message, and a drumroll began the proceedings. Then, preceded by the black banners of the Abbasid Caliphs and by the Sultan’s own standard, Taki al-Din and Keukburi, looking fierce in their armour and with swords raised, led the troops past the tower. It was a remarkable sight. The 10,000 horsemen were followed by archers on camels, and then by the long line of foot-soldiers.

  Even the Kurdish fighters had managed to curb their unruly instincts. They rode past the Sultan in exemplary formation. It took over an hour for everyone to march past, and the dust became a thick cloud. Salah al-Din looked pleased as he came down from the tower. For once he was deeply affected by the sight of what we had witnessed. The experience seemed to have dispelled his customary caution.

  “With this army, Allah permitting, I can defeat anyone. Within a month, Ibn Yakub, your synagogue, in what you call Jerusalem, and our mosque, in what for us will always be al-Kuds, will be filled once again. Of this I have no doubt.”

  That same day, a Friday, the day usually favoured by the Sultan to launch a jihad, we marched in the direction of the Lake of Galilee. We reached al-Ukhuwana just after sunset. Here we set up camp for the night.

  Twenty-Nine

  The eve of the battle

  THE SULTAN HAD RECEIVED word from his advance scouts that the Franj were assembling their knights and soldiers at Saffuriya. Some of his emirs wanted to draw them out a bit further, but Salah al-Din shook his head.

  “Let them stay there for the moment. You shall cross the river and wait for them on the hills, near Kafar Sebt. They will come running when I take Teveriya. They will be enraged, and anger on this terrain can be fatal. Once you receive news that Allah has rewarded us with a shining victory, you will move through this area and place guards near every well, stream and river. Then, wait where you are with your lances poised like the claws of a lion. Taki al-Din will come with me. Keukburi will command the army here. Remember that the lands of the Franj are covered in forests. The shade is never far away. Allah will show them the strength of the sun. Let them bake inside their mail till they cannot bear its touch.”

  The emirs could not conceal their admiration. They sighed with delight and began to hum praises in his honour.

  “Those who place their hopes in you are never disappointed. You are the only one who protects all his subjects against the Franj. In you we have...”

  The Sultan silenced them with an irritated gesture.

  News spread quickly that the Sultan had decided to take Teveriya, the city that the Romans called Tiberias. There was no shortage of volunteers to take this Franj stronghold. Situated on the southern tip of the Lake of Galilee, it had been left alone in the past because of the truce agreed between Salah al-Din and Count Raymond of Tripoli. Now that Raymond had joined the Franj forces in Saffuriya, we were free to take t
he city.

  The eagerness of the men to fight was motivated not so much by the greater cause, the need to combat error and defend truth, the desire to crush the infidel and to strengthen the Believers, as by the hope of a quick victory. They hoped above all that some of the riches of this perishable world might fall into their hands. Salah al-Din did not accept volunteers. He picked his own tried and tested soldiers.

  “They are the burning coals of our faith. With them I will take Teveriya by surprise.”

  While he marched to take the old Roman fortress, Keukburi crossed the river. After a few hours he set up camp, ten miles to the east of the Franj encampment, on a small plateau, south of a village which bore the name of Hattin. To my considerable annoyance, I had been instructed by the Sultan to stay with the main army. I can only assume that he did not want any unnecessary baggage and wished to limit his strike force to seasoned warriors. I could appreciate the logic, but it did not deaden my disappointment.

  The decision to camp here had been taken two days earlier following reports received from the advance scouts. They spoke of two large streams bubbling with cool fresh water and surrounded by fruit and olive orchards. We arrived here with the sun at the zenith. The heat had exhausted man and animal alike. Sweat poured off the Emir Keukburi’s face and merged with the lather of his steed.

  As soon as we had reached the site, Keukburi stripped bare, drinking some water before entering the stream. He shut his eyes as the water travelled over his body. We watched, desperate to follow his example, but whereas the Sultan would have gestured to the whole army to join him, his favoured commander maintained his reserve. After a long time, or so it seemed on that day, he put his head under the water and then quickly re-emerged and clambered up the bank. Two retainers draped his body in white cloth and dried him from head to foot. He retired to his tent, which had been pitched in the fragrant shade of orange trees.