Kingdom

by Hight, Jack

  John entered the baths and strode through the warm and cold rooms. Four guards stood outside the hot room. John began to push past, but one of them grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ John demanded. ‘Let me pass.’

  ‘Sorry, Father. You are to be arrested. King’s orders.’

  John raised his voice so that Baldwin could hear him in the room beyond. ‘Tell the King that I must speak to him about his father. Tell him I can prove how he died.’

  The guards exchanged a glance, and one of them stepped into the room. He returned a moment later. ‘The King will see you.’

  Inside the hot room steam hissed through cracks in the tiled floor. A blazing torch near the door barely illuminated a series of shadowy alcoves built into the far wall. In one of them sat Baldwin, naked. His torso and arms were covered with sores and patches of thick, white skin. He studied John for a long time. Sweat began to bead on John’s forehead. More sweat ran down his spine and his priest’s tunic began to cling. The door swung closed behind him.

  ‘What do you want, John?’ Baldwin asked. ‘To make more baseless accusations against my mother? I spoke with Heraclius. He denies knowing anything about Amalric’s murder.’

  ‘He lies. He told me himself about the poison.’

  ‘When you tortured him, you mean?’

  ‘I barely touched him.’

  ‘He has a bump the size of an egg on his head. He demands that you hang like a common criminal. I have convinced the Patriarch to spare your life, but you will lose your monthly prebend. I ordered my men to arrest you for your own good. If the Patriarch’s men catch you on the street, nothing I say will spare you a beating, or worse.’ The king sighed. ‘You are making yourself powerful enemies, John. And to what end?’

  ‘What I say is true, sire. I am willing to undergo ordeal by fire to prove it.’

  ‘I cannot allow that.’

  ‘You cannot prevent me. Our laws—’

  ‘Damn our laws! I am your king, John! You will do as I say!’

  ‘Amalric was also my king. I have a duty to him, too. If you will not hear me, then I will go to Raymond. He is the regent. He can oversee the ordeal.’ John turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’

  He turned back to see that Baldwin’s eyes were shining in the torchlight. The king blinked back tears. ‘My mother did not kill Amalric.’ When he spoke again, his voice was so low that John barely heard him. ‘I did.’

  John felt suddenly short of breath. The heat in the room was suffocating. John shook his head. He could not believe it. He had known Baldwin since he was a child. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he would never have let me become king.’ Baldwin took a deep breath. ‘I spent every waking moment trying to prove to him that I was worthy of the crown, yet he could never see me as anything but a monster.’

  John recalled the conversation where Agnes had said just that. ‘You heard her, the day Agnes told me you would never succeed your father?’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘I was furious. I confronted my mother. She told me what I must do. You know the rest.’

  John turned and headed for the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘I am leaving your service. I am a man of honour, sire, and though you are my king, justice must be done. I will undergo the ordeal to prove your guilt. Your father deserves as much.’

  John pulled the door open and strode from the room, pushing past the guards at the door. He had not gone far when he heard Baldwin calling for his guards. They caught up with John in the cold room and dragged him back to face the king.

  ‘I cannot let you go,’ Baldwin told him when the guards had left. ‘No one must know the truth.’

  ‘What then? Will you kill me like you killed your father?’

  Baldwin winced. ‘I pray not. Sit, John.’ The king patted the bench beside him. John did not move. ‘Sit!’ Baldwin said more forcefully, and John reluctantly crossed the chamber to sit beside the king. ‘I know what I did was wrong, John. I do not expect you to forgive me. But you of all people should understand. You, too, committed a crime against your family.’

  John flinched. How did Baldwin know that John had killed his brother?

  ‘It is not our past that defines us, John,’ Baldwin continued, ‘but what we do in the present. My father was a mighty warrior, but he was also a drunkard and a womanizer. His judgement was often clouded by passion. And he feared and despised the Saracens. He was willing to make peace with them, but only because he had to. Thanks to you, I know our enemy as he never did. I speak their tongue. I respect their faith. I believe we can live in peace with them. But I need your help, John. There are few at court who share my vision, and even fewer who I can trust. Agnes knows my secret, and she will reveal it if I do not do as she demands. That is why I rely on her counsel, why I have distanced myself from Raymond and William.’

  John shook his head. ‘You do not have to obey her, sire. She cannot accuse you without compromising herself.’

  ‘No. With the poison dealer dead, there is nothing to link my father’s death to Agnes. She has the power to destroy me.’

  ‘But you are her son!’

  ‘I once believed that mattered.’ Baldwin’s laugh was hollow. ‘Agnes is not afraid to sacrifice those she loves for power. You of all people should know that, John. Sibylla will be married soon, and if she gives birth to a son, I will be dispensable. In fact, it might better suit my mother’s purposes were I to die. Sibylla’s child would then be king, and a regent would rule for years. Agnes would select that regent.’

  ‘Reynald.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘Or another of her puppets, should Reynald prove insufficiently pliable. So you see, I cannot oppose my mother directly. But I do intend to fight her. I need allies I can trust.’ Baldwin met John’s eyes. ‘I will have you executed if I must, John, but I would rather have your service. Will you help me?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, John nodded. ‘But only because I believe that despite your crime, you are a good man, sire. I pray you do not prove me wrong.’

  ‘I will not, John. You have my word.’

  Chapter 22

  AUGUST 1176: MASYAF

  ‘Allah yasalmak,’ Yusuf said to the pimple-faced mamluk before him. He kissed the young man on both cheeks. The mamluk mounted his horse, saluted, and rode away.

  ‘Poor bastard,’ Qaraqush murmured.

  ‘He volunteered to deliver the message.’

  ‘Poor dumb bastard.’

  They watched as the mamluk rode through the tents that dotted the field where the army was camped. He passed the sentries and rode through a breach that Yusuf’s men had opened in the low wall that encircled the base of the rocky hill atop which stood the Hashashin fortress of Masyaf. It was a forbidding sight. Two massive keeps stood behind high limestone walls that rose directly from the rock of the hillside.

  The mamluk messenger stopped before the gatehouse and began to read from a sheet of paper. His words did not reach Yusuf, but he knew what the messenger was saying, for he had written the message himself.

  Hear the words of Saladin, ruler of Egypt and Syria, defender of the faith. For too long you have sown seeds of chaos amongst the children of Allah. You have played kingdoms against one another. You have murdered our leaders. You tried to murder me. There must be an end to it. I will kill your men, tear down your walls, burn your homes, enslave your women. Even your memory will be wiped from the face of the earth. You have only one hope. Surrender now. If you do—

  The messenger had reached approximately this point when an arrow struck him in the chest. Three more arrows hit home and he slumped from the saddle.

  ‘So much for diplomacy,’ Qaraqush said.

  Yusuf frowned. He had not believed the Hashashin would surrender, but he had hoped they would spare the messenger. He looked to Al-Mashtub. ‘What have you discovered from the townspeople?’

  The huge mamluk shrugged. ‘The Hashashin have put the fear of God into them. Most refuse to say a sing
le word, even after I threaten to rip off their ears. I have found one man who has been inside the citadel and is willing to talk, but he has conditions.’

  Yusuf raised an eyebrow. ‘What are they?’

  ‘He wants five hundred dinar.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘There is more. Until the siege is over he wishes to stay with our army in a tent guarded at all times by four men. Lime and ashes are to be spread for twenty paces in all directions around the tent, to detect footsteps. No one is to set foot in this space without his permission. When the siege is done, he will travel with the army to Cairo, where he will be given two permanent guards.’

  The requests were odd, but they would not be difficult to fulfil. ‘Show him to my tent. Qaraqush, you will interview him with me.’

  Yusuf entered his sprawling red tent and poured water for himself and Qaraqush. A moment later Al-Mashtub led in a thin man with a patchy beard and a pronounced overbite. The man knelt on the thick carpet and prostrated himself.

  ‘What is your name?’ Yusuf asked.

  ‘Sabir, Malik.’

  ‘Get up, Sabir. Tell me what you know, and you shall have your gold. But I warn you: if you speak false, I will have your head.’

  The man rose. ‘I will tell you everything, Malik, but you must guarantee my safety. The Ismaili will kill me if I tell you what I know.’

  ‘You need not fear them. You will be safe enough in my camp.’

  ‘No man is safe from the Ismaili. There are ways out of the fortress; tunnels in the rock. They will send men to assassinate me. You, too! You must take precautions, as I have done.’

  ‘I will consider it. Tell me of Masyaf.’

  ‘You cannot starve them out. They have ample food and cisterns dug into the rock that provide water for months. And the castle is all but impossible to take by force.’

  ‘All castles can be taken.’

  ‘Perhaps. I have visited Masyaf many times, and I have never seen a stronger fortress. Each step you take in conquering it will be bought with much bloodshed. Your army of thousands will be reduced to nothing.’

  Yusuf set his water aside. ‘You have told me precious little of use. If you have no information, then our deal is off.’

  Sabir’s eyes widened. ‘I have information, Malik. I swear it!’

  ‘Tell me what my men will face when they breach the gate.’

  ‘The gate you see is but the first of many. Beyond it, you enter a vaulted, U-shaped hall. It is a deathtrap. Slits in the walls allow men in the castle to fire arrows and stab with spears. They will pour boiling oil and hot sand down on you through grates in the ceiling. If you can fight your way to the end of the hall, you will then be faced with a narrow staircase that ends at a mighty gate framed by enormous guard towers. Your men will have to hack through with axes. All this time, the defenders will rain arrows and burning sand down upon you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Past the gate, your men will find themselves in a chamber with doors on three sides. The doors to the left and right lead to towers. Each level of the towers must be taken in turn, for if they are not, then your men will be vulnerable to attack from behind. The far door leads further into the citadel. A murder hole in the ceiling over the door allows the defenders to pour yet more hot sand on your men. Beyond that door is a similar room. A door to the right leads into the citadel proper. Once there, your fight will have only just begun. There are two keeps you will have to take. The first sits at the southern end of the complex and defends the eastern approach to the main citadel. Once you take it, you will have to fight your way through a series of courtyards and halls to the main citadel’s eastern gate.’

  ‘Why not attack the citadel’s western gate?’ Yusuf asked.

  ‘Because that is suicide. The only way to reach it is through a tunnel sixty paces long. Pipes in the wall allow the tunnel to be flooded.’

  Sabir stopped speaking. Yusuf and Qaraqush exchanged glances. ‘Sounds like it will be hell to take,’ the mamluk general said.

  Yusuf felt the familiar burning in his gut. ‘Al-Mashtub, see that Sabir is paid, then take him to a tent and post guards there.’ Al-Mashtub led the man out, and Yusuf turned to Qaraqush. ‘We will situate the catapults on the south-eastern side of the citadel. We need to bring down the southern keep.’

  ‘Even then, we will lose thousands of men in an assault.’

  ‘It is a price worth paying. There will be no security in my kingdom so long as the Hashashin live. And I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days worrying about a knife in my back.’ Yusuf scratched his beard as he considered his options. ‘Have some of the catapults launch fire at the citadel. Perhaps we can burn it down. And have diggers undermine the eastern wall.’ Yusuf raised his voice. ‘Saqr!’

  The head of Yusuf’s bodyguard entered. ‘Yes, Malik?’

  ‘Have extra guards posted around my tent and sprinkle the ground with lime and ash, as at Sabir’s tent. No one but you is to enter without my permission.’

  That evening Yusuf ate a simple meal of rice and lentils while Imad ad-Din updated him on the correspondence from Damascus, Cairo and Aleppo. It was late when they finally finished. Before retiring to bed, Yusuf stepped outside. At twenty paces his tent was ringed by torches tied to posts. Armoured guards stood by each of the thirty torches. The ground between the tent and the guards was covered in ash and lime. No one could walk there without leaving footprints. Four guards walked the perimeter of Yusuf’s tent, their eyes scanning the ground for any trace of an intruder. Saqr stood beside the entrance.

  ‘All is well?’ Yusuf asked him.

  ‘You are safer here than in your palace in Cairo.’

  Yusuf went inside and passed through the curtain that separated off his sleeping quarters. He blew out the lamp and lay on his cot. At regular intervals he could hear the footsteps of the guards as they passed outside his tent. He was listening to their footsteps when he fell asleep.

  He awoke with a start some time later. There was shouting outside the tent. He stepped outside to see mamluks running here and there. He looked to Saqr. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘The informer Sabir has been murdered by one of the Hashashin. The men are looking for his killer.’

  ‘Only one man? His was guarded by four mamluks.’

  ‘They are all dead. The Hashashin was seen fleeing.’

  Yusuf frowned. ‘Inform me at once if he is found.’

  He re-entered his tent and pushed through the curtain to his sleeping quarters. He froze. Someone was sitting at the foot of his cot. The man wore the saffron yellow caftan of one of Yusuf’s men over his mail, but this was no mamluk. Yusuf reached for the sword propped against the tent wall.

  ‘Do not do that,’ the man said quietly. ‘And do not call for help, either.’ He had a flat voice with no trace of emotion in it. Yusuf saw that the man held a dagger in his hand. It was wet with blood. ‘It would be a pity to kill you, Saladin. Come. Sit.’

  Yusuf sat at the head of the bed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You know who I am.’

  Yusuf squinted in the darkness and made out a black beard with a few streaks of grey, a beak of a nose and dark eyes. ‘Rashid ad-Din Sinan,’ he said, and the man nodded. The Old Man of the Mountain, head of the Hashashin. ‘Why have you come?’

  ‘To talk.’

  ‘Why not just kill me as you tried to do before?’

  ‘Circumstances have changed. The position of my people is fragile. We are caught between the Sunnis to the east and the Franks across the mountains to the west. We have had to play one off against the other to survive. But this policy cannot last forever. You are now lord of Syria and Egypt. You can guarantee us security. But if I kill you, then nothing will change. We will continue to balance on the tip of a sword, the Christians on one side and the Sunnis on the other.’

  ‘I, too, am a Sunni. I thought that is why you wanted me dead.’

  ‘I am a reasonable man. The Fatimid Caliphate is gone, and kill
ing you will not bring it back. I must do what I can to protect the few Ismaili who remain.’

  ‘So you seek a truce. What are your terms?’

  ‘First, you will withdraw your men and swear never again to move against us. Second, you will raze the Templar and Hospitaller fortresses that border our lands. They force us to pay tribute, and until such time as they are crushed, you will send an annual payment equivalent to the moneys they demand of us.’

  ‘And what do I get in return?’

  ‘Your life.’

  Yusuf shook his head. ‘That is not enough.’

  Sinan smiled, and Yusuf could see his white teeth in the dark. ‘I was told you are a bold man, Saladin.’

  ‘You must swear to spare not only me but also the lives of my family and my men. If so much as a single mamluk dies at the hands of one of the Hashashin, then I will return to tear Masyaf down stone by stone.’

  Sinan considered this. ‘No,’ he said at last. Yusuf opened his mouth to protest, but Sinan raised a hand to stop him. ‘Your family and your emirs will be safe, but I cannot promise to respect the lives of all your men. Our lands are small, Saladin. We must find ways to supplement our meagre income. Murder can be most profitable. But I swear to restrict it to common men.’

  ‘Very well,’ Yusuf said reluctantly. ‘I will send a man tomorrow to finalize the terms of our treaty.’

  ‘Your word is enough.’

  ‘You have it.’

  Sinan rose, and Yusuf began to do so as well. The assassin motioned for him to sit. ‘Please, wait until I have gone.’

  ‘But I must order my guards to escort you back to Masyaf.’

  ‘That will not be necessary.’ He pulled back a flap of the screen that led to the main chamber of the tent and then turned back to Yusuf. ‘You will not regret having us as allies. If there are any that you wish dead …’ He let the words hang in the air.

  ‘I do not deal in murder.’