by Hight, Jack
Yusuf knew that putting his own men in charge of civilians created resentment, but he had no choice. He had heard too many stories of towns that had fallen when locals allowed the besiegers into the city. ‘What did the men do?’ he asked. The citizens shifted uneasily as they stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eye.
‘They had the late watch,’ a boy said at last. He was too small to wield the long, sharpened hoe that he held. ‘They fell asleep on the wall.’
‘But that’s no reason to whip them,’ the man with the baggy skin growled.
‘If you do not want your friends whipped, then do not let them fall asleep,’ Yusuf said. ‘We must remain vigilant. Much worse is in store if the city falls.’
‘Yes, sayyid,’ the old man sneered and spat at Yusuf’s feet.
If the man were a mamluk, Yusuf would have beaten him there on the spot. However, he could not afford to further alienate the people of Alexandria, so he mastered his anger and took the ramp down to the foot of the tower. As he approached the door to the tower’s interior, he heard the crack of a whip and a muffled sob. He stopped in the doorway to watch. Some twenty townsmen were packed inside. Two were standing against the wall, stripped to the waist, angry welts across their backs. Yusuf had placed Saqr in charge of this tower. The young mamluk swung a whip, striking one of the men and eliciting a low moan. Saqr looked as if he would be sick, but he swung again. The townspeople regarded him with murderous eyes.
Saqr gave one final crack of the whip. As he coiled it, he noticed Yusuf standing in the doorway. ‘My lord, Saladin,’ he said and dropped to a knee.
‘Step outside and catch your breath,’ Yusuf told him. ‘And you two—’ He pointed to the whipped men. ‘Find someone to look after your wounds.’
As soon as Saqr was out of the door, Yusuf was confronted with a cacophony of voices. ‘All they did was fall asleep!’ ‘We are free people of Alexandria!’ ‘Bastard doesn’t have any right to whip us!’ ‘How would he like to feel the whip’s bite?’
‘Silence!’ Yusuf roared. The anger that had risen in him when the man spat at his feet now spilled out. He pointed to where the two Alexandrians had just limped from the room. ‘Those men are lucky to be alive. If they were my troops, I would have had them strung up as an example.’ He paused and looked about. Man after man looked away as he met their eyes. ‘You are pathetic! Four months ago, you were so eager to take to the walls, to play at soldier. If you are not willing to act the part, then go back to your homes.’ Yusuf’s voice was rising. ‘Go and huddle with the women in the dark and pray for your rescue. Pray for the real warriors who defend your homes and your families. Go, you cowards!’
‘We are not cowards!’ one of the Alexandrians shouted defiantly. ‘And we will not be insulted!’
‘You won’t?’ Yusuf drew his sword. ‘You hate me, don’t you? You hate my rules? You hate my men? If you hate me so much, then do something about it. Kill me.’ He glared about him. ‘Come on! Kill me! There are twenty of you and only one of me. What are you afraid of? Come on!’ Not a man moved. Some hung their heads in shame. Others looked away.
‘Very well.’ Yusuf’s voice was calm now. ‘Do not question my authority again, or that of my men. I do not tell you how to weave, how to plant and harvest, how to make perfumes. Do not pretend to tell me how to defend this city.’ Yusuf turned on his heel and strode out. Saqr was waiting outside.
‘Thank you, sayyid.’
‘Walk with me.’ Yusuf led the way up the ramp, and paused atop the wall, out of earshot of the Alexandrians gathered on the tower. ‘They are only common men, Saqr, but if you handle them right, they will fight like warriors. You must be firm. Do not pander to them, but listen to their complaints. Address those you can. And talk to them. You must know your men if you wish to lead them.’
‘Yes, sayyid.’
‘You did right to whip those men. Do not doubt yourself.’ Saqr nodded. Yusuf squeezed his shoulder, and continued along the wall.
Over the last week, there had been far too many scenes like the one in the tower. The autumn rains had not yet come, and with the canal blocked, water in the city was running short. Men were always troublesome during a long siege, but thirsty, starving men were worse. Yusuf studied the mamluks he passed. Their cheekbones protruded from emaciated faces. And each day they grew thinner. At this rate, they would soon be nothing but bones. His skeleton army.
‘My lord!’ Qaraqush called as Yusuf approached his tower. The formerly stout mamluk’s armour hung from his gaunt frame like clothes on a scarecrow. He forced a smile.
‘How are the men?’ Yusuf asked.
‘They gripe of hunger. Who can blame them?’
‘Can they fight?’
‘They can hold the wall for maybe two weeks more, but if you are thinking of mounting an attack, then we had best do so now.’
Yusuf shook his head. ‘We are too few.’
‘We could slip out at night, as Shirkuh did.’
‘And leave the people of Alexandria to suffer for our cowardice? No.’
‘So we stay here to starve.’
‘We stay, old friend.’
‘That’s it.’ Jalaal pointed across a field of rich black earth to a squat structure of dirty white stone, half covered in creeping vines. It looked like any of the other half-ruined buildings that stood near the city. It was perhaps two hundred yards from the south-west corner of the walls, not far from a single column that towered over the nearby fields.
John and Jalaal headed towards the building. They carried lamps, as did the sergeant who would be exploring the catacombs with them. Adenot was a Breton with a strange accent and large eyes that made him look perpetually surprised. He had a bit of a belly, and he looked to be a practical man. He had brought a coil of rope with him.
Jalaal reached the grain shed and kicked the door open. ‘In here!’
John followed the others inside. There was barely room for the three of them. On the far wall was an open doorway, no more than three feet tall. It looked as if it had been half buried. ‘The farmer said he never saw it,’ Jalaal explained, ‘because the shed was always at least half full with grain.’
John took a flint and steel from the pouch at his waist, lit the lamps, and then got down on his hands and knees to peer into the hole. The darkness swallowed up the lamplight after only a few feet. He glanced up at his companions. The Nubian was whispering a prayer, and Adenot was clutching the medallion of the Saint-Sepulchre that hung around his neck.
John crossed himself. ‘I will go first.’ Pushing the lantern before him, he wormed through the hole. The ceiling was low, and he was forced to crawl on his belly along the dirt floor. Ahead, the space illuminated by the lantern slanted downward, curving to the left. As John moved forward, the ceiling grew higher. Soon he was able to crouch and then stand. Beneath him, the dirt floor gave way to widely spaced steps cut into stone. He turned and called to the others. ‘The way is clear! There is a staircase leading down!’
John pulled his wool cloak about him as he waited. It was cold down here, the chill air wet with moisture. Soon, he could see the lamps of Adenot and Jalaal approaching in the darkness.
‘What is this place?’ Adenot asked, his eyes wide.
‘That is what we are here to discover,’ John replied, and led the way down. The stairs ended, and John edged forward through a stone passage and into a round chamber. On the far side of the room, a dark passage led further into the catacombs. Two other passages opened off to the left. John headed for the nearest one. It opened into an empty room. The next room was also empty, save for the bones that littered the floor and cracked underfoot. There was only one passage left to explore. The entrance was more elaborate than the others, topped by stonework carved in the shape of a scallop shell. A broad staircase led into the darkness. John headed down, his footsteps echoing loudly. The air smelled of rock and earth. The staircase split around a dark space and then came back together. At the bottom, he found himself in a smal
l square room with a high ceiling. To either side, passages led into darkness. Before him, two thick columns framed a doorway. The walls on either side of the columns were decorated with dragons coiled around staffs.
When Jalaal arrived behind John, he gasped. ‘Signs of the devil.’
Adenot was gripping the hilt of his sword. ‘This is an evil place.’
‘There is nothing to fear from false idols carved in stone,’ John told Jalaal in Arabic. ‘Explore that side passage.’ When he had reluctantly shuffled off, John turned to Adenot and made the sign of the cross over him. ‘God will protect you. Now go. See what lies in that passage.’
John went to explore the doorway framed by columns. As he entered the room his lantern illuminated a pair of horrifying figures carved into the stone on his left and right. Each was a man in armour with the head of a dog. The one on the left had the tail of a snake instead of legs. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Perhaps Adenot was right. This was an evil place. He took another step into the room, and a human form loomed in the darkness ahead.
‘Christ!’ John cursed. He took a deep breath and edged forward again. His lamp illuminated a life-sized female figure carved from stone. To its right was a statue of a man. Beyond them was an empty room. He left and found Jalaal and Adenot waiting for him.
‘I found nothing,’ Jalaal said in Arabic.
‘Only bones that way,’ Adenot added in French. ‘You?’
‘Another dead end. Let’s leave this place.’ He looked to Jalaal. ‘Yalla.’
Adenot and the Nubian hurried up the stairs. John followed at a slower pace, but then stopped. A glimmer of light flashed in the darkness between the branches of the staircase. He held his lamp over the space and peered down. The lamplight reflected off water far below.
‘Wait!’ he called. ‘Adenot, give me the rope.’
John tied the rope off around one of the columns that held up the ceiling. He tugged hard to make sure it held and then threw it into the hole. He heard a splash as it hit water.
Jalaal was peering into the hole. ‘I am not going down there.’
John looked to Adenot. The sergeant shook his head.
‘Give me your sword,’ John told him. He belted the blade to his waist, took hold of the rope with both hands and positioned himself over the hole. ‘Wait for me,’ he told Adenot. He turned to Jalaal and spoke in Arabic. ‘If you are not here when I return, I will lay a curse on you, and you will spend the afterlife haunting this place.’
‘We will be here,’ Jalaal assured him.
‘God keep you, Father,’ Adenot added.
John climbed down the rope into the darkness. He reached the water and lowered himself in. ‘’Sblood, that’s cold.’ His feet touched the bottom. The frigid water came up to his waist. He looked up to Adenot and Jalaal, some fifteen feet above. ‘Pull up the rope,’ he instructed them, ‘then use it to lower my lantern.’
The lantern descended slowly, illuminating the space around John. He was in an octagonal room, the walls decorated with strange figures: a lion with the head of a man; human figures with the heads of dogs and crocodiles. There was only one passage from the room. John untied the lantern. ‘Wait for me!’ he shouted up one final time, then crossed himself and splashed from the room.
A passage opened up on his left and another on his right. John had no idea in which direction the city might lie. He whispered a silent prayer and continued straight ahead, emerging into a square room lined with rows of burial niches. He jumped as something bumped into his waist. It was a human femur, floating on the water. The lower niches in the room had been flooded, and bones floated all around. John whispered a silent prayer and pushed on.
He splashed across the room and through a series of identical square chambers. As he left the last room, he stumbled over something and pitched forward. His lantern hit the water and the flame went out, plunging him into darkness. ‘Christ’s wounds!’ His heart was pounding now. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe evenly. When he opened them, he was surprised to see that the passage ahead was not completely dark. He dropped the lantern and took a cautious step ahead. There were stairs beneath his feet. He climbed a narrow staircase that led up out of the water and into a room with an altar on the far wall. A cross was carved into the stone above the altar, and it was lit by a ray of pale light. John approached and discovered a square shaft, some three feet across, cut into the ceiling above.
He climbed on to the altar, and hoisted himself up into the shaft. The walls were of rough stonework, slick with moisture. With his back against one wall and his feet against the other, he managed to work his way upwards. The mortar that held the stones in place was crumbling. Several times, he felt the stones against his back shift, but they held.
He reached the top and felt the stone ceiling. A thin beam of light filtered through a tiny crack near the edge of the shaft. John drew his sword and worked at the crack with the blade, chipping away at the crumbling mortar. The sword slipped from his hand and fell to land with a crash at the bottom of the shaft. But he had managed to expand the crack so that it was several inches long. He put an ear to it and heard distant, muffled voices.
John placed his shoulders against the stone above and found a solid purchase for his feet on the wall. He pushed and felt the stone move. Reaching out, he felt for the edge. It was no more than two inches thick. With a grunt, he managed to lift it clear of the floor and shove it to the side.
He poked his head through the hole and looked about. He was in what looked to be one of the chapels of a church. Bright light filtered through windows of stained glass. The chapel was open on one side, and the voices were coming from that direction. They were chanting in Arabic.
John pulled himself up out of the shaft. He crept to the edge of the chapel and peered around the corner to his right. Prostrate on the floor were several hundred men, their backs to him. ‘Oh Allah forgive me; have mercy upon me,’ they murmured as they sat back on their heels. John spotted the grizzled head of Qaraqush in the front row. Beside him was Yusuf. John ducked back around the corner. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had found a way into the city.
He slipped back inside the shaft and managed to pull the flagstone over the hole, leaving only a thin crack. He climbed down and leaned against the altar, his mind racing. It was his duty to tell Amalric. John’s father had taught him that without honour, a man was little better than a beast. But what of friendship? John turned and knelt before the altar. He clasped the cross that hung from his neck in both hands. ‘Guide me, Lord.’ He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but no divine revelation came. He opened his eyes. The sword he had dropped lay just beside him. It was a sign.
He took the sword and then climbed atop the altar and used the blade to pry stones loose. One fell away, then another. Dirt began to shower down on him. He heard the grate of stone upon stone and scrambled off the altar just before the shaft caved in. Dust filled the room, and then it plunged into absolute darkness as the light at the top of the shaft was blocked. No one would get through that way now.
John’s satisfaction was short-lived. He had sworn to serve Amalric, but he had failed him. He was an oath breaker, as Heraclius had claimed. Shame flooded through him, but it soon gave way to fear. He could not see his hand in front of his face, and he was shivering with cold. He would have to find his way back in the dark. He stumbled down the stairs and into the water. He splashed ahead, his hands held out before him. He could feel bones floating all around. He came to a wall and groped his way along it until he found the doorway leading to the next room. He had passed through three rooms when he saw light ahead. It grew in brightness as he approached. He quickened his pace, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the rope.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice called from above. John looked up to see Adenot peering down into the darkness.
‘It’s me. Pull me up.’
John wrapped the rope around his waist, and grabbed hold of it with
trembling hands. Adenot and Jalaal hauled him dripping from the water. They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him out to lie shivering on the stone stairs.
‘What did you find?’ Jalaal asked.
‘N-nothing,’ John managed through chattering teeth. ‘An-n-other dead end,’ he added in French.
Adenot pulled John to his feet. ‘Let’s go. I never want to see this place again.’
They hurried up the ramp and crawled out to find that Amalric and Shawar had come to wait for them.
‘Did you find anything?’ the king asked.
‘Nothing but bones, sire,’ Adenot replied.
‘You are sure?’ Shawar pressed. ‘Nothing?’
‘We explored every inch, Vizier,’ Jalaal said.
John met Amalric’s eyes. ‘It is an unholy place, sire. Seal it up and forget it.’
‘By the d-devil’s black beard!’ the king cursed.
‘All is not lost,’ Shawar said. ‘I have been in communication with Shirkuh.’
Amalric’s eyebrows shot up at this, but he said nothing.
Shawar held up a piece of paper. ‘He has agreed to terms. Shirkuh will leave Egypt, if you also withdraw.’
Amalric tugged at his beard for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. A few more days in Egypt will not cost me Jerusalem, and I’ll not leave this place without a fight. The defenders are few and starving. We can take the city. Shirkuh will be forced to leave then, and on my terms. Will you fight beside me, Vizier?’
Shawar grinned his cat-like smile. ‘The people of Alexandria need to be taught a lesson. My men will join yours, King Amalric.’
Yusuf stood above Alexandria’s southern gate and looked out on the enemy army, the front ranks of which were just visible in the dawn light. The Egyptian soldiers had gathered to the south; it was the Frankish troops who were massed on the plain before him. Thousands of foot-soldiers formed a curving line that mirrored the path of the wall. Behind them stood a row of archers. At the centre of the line was a huge battering ram constructed of several tree trunks bound together with bands of iron and capped with steel. Bronze wheels carried the ram’s weight, and carpenters had built a roof over it to protect the men who would roll it to the walls. Frankish knights sat ready to charge if the ram opened a way into the city. Yusuf spotted Amalric’s flag amidst the knights’ standards, all flapping in a wet wind blowing in off the Mediterranean.
