Cairo.
"That," Saladin said, pointing toward the charred ruins in the distance, "is where the Nubian soldiers made their final stand."
His finger traced the blackened ground.
"'We are the black coal that will burn all our enemies!' That is what the Nubian warriors cried."
He dismounted and gently patted the flank of his warhorse.
"We defeated them by a single arrow's difference. Had we lost that day at Mansuriyya, I would never have become Sultan."
"Is that why you are building this fortress?" the young boy asked.
His gaze shifted toward the massive stronghold rising atop the hill.
Cairo spread out before them—Elephant Lake, the Gate of the Vizier, the quarters of Turks and Greeks. Desert, river, and city shimmered under the sun.
"To prevent the remnants of the false caliph from rebelling again?"
Saladin smiled.
"You are truly my son. Yes, the first reason is to defend against the Franks. But…"
His smile deepened.
"As you say, it will also prevent rebellion from within. From here, one can look down upon Cairo itself."
Kurdish guards gathered around them, their spears and crescent-shaped blades gleaming in the light.
"To build such a fortress using stones from the pyramids and Frankish prisoners…" Saladin murmured. "The destiny Allah grants us sometimes sounds like a jest."
"When will it be completed?"
"If Allah permits it, you will enter this citadel as Sultan after I am gone."
The boy fell silent.
"Does my speaking of death trouble you?"
Saladin laughed.
"We all die one day. It is as certain as the rising and setting of the sun. But remember this: what we accomplish will be remembered long after our bodies have turned to dust."
His expression hardened.
"That is why we must reclaim al-Quds—Jerusalem—and drive the Franks from this land."
Then, with a playful glance:
"I hear from Tarabik that you have been secretly drinking wine."
"I have not! Tarabik only saw the water amphora I was carrying—"
"When I was your age, I frequented the taverns of Damascus myself."
Saladin burst into laughter at his son's flustered expression.
"But remember: even the great atabeg Zengi was assassinated while drunk. And you are the Sultan's son. There will always be eyes upon you."
"Yes, Father. I will remember."
"Go now. It seems Kamil has something to discuss."
The boy bowed and hurried toward the citadel.
A bald man approached, bowing deeply before Saladin.
"I greet the Commander of the Valiant."
"Kamil. You have come all the way here—this must be urgent."
"Yes, my Sultan. I seek your wisdom…"
"Spare the formalities. Speak plainly."
"The black rebels who incited unrest have been captured in the Mahmudiyya quarter. Forty-two in total."
"You believe they should all be executed."
"Yes, my Sultan. Without harsh punishment, it may set a dangerous precedent."
"And you fear my authority will be questioned?"
Kamil bowed again.
Saladin smiled faintly.
"It seems you are the only one questioning it, Kamil."
He paused.
"Execute only the ringleaders according to the law. Those who merely followed shall be pardoned—on the condition they enlist."
"But—"
"I became Sultan because the Egyptians accepted me as their ruler. Mercy and tolerance are what matter most."
He glanced over Cairo.
"And with a holy war against the Franks approaching, is it not better to have more soldiers than fewer?"
"You speak truly, my Sultan."
"Now—what of the matter reported earlier?"
Saladin's gaze sharpened.
"The boy Baldwin escorting our merchants to Eilat. Have we learned more?"
"The merchants have returned to Cairo. They claim…"
Kamil hesitated.
"He kept his word. At Eilat, he returned all their goods and money. He accepted only a small sum in payment."
Saladin's brow rose.
"He truly escorted them there and released them unharmed?"
"Yes. He even provided passage by ship to Mecca and Medina."
Saladin stroked his beard.
"Eilat… and north of it lies Kerak. Reynald rules there—the Mad Dog."
He thought for a moment.
"What if the boy sought to restrain Reynald?"
"To restrain him?"
"Under the guise of raiding, he protected the caravans from Reynald."
"But why would Baldwin do such a thing? If Reynald attacks Muslim caravans, it damages your authority—"
"It also provides cause to unite the Muslims," Saladin replied calmly.
"When the Franks first came, why did we fall so easily?"
"Because we were divided."
"Exactly. Reynald's brutality could ignite righteous fury. A flame that unites."
He nodded slowly.
"It is unlikely such foresight came from a mere child. Perhaps the Leper King himself gave the order."
He turned to Kamil.
"Baldwin is the son of Sibylla, the Leper King's sister, is he not? About the same age as my son Ali?"
"Yes. Reports say he is frail, though not afflicted by leprosy."
"I recall hearing he spent his days hawking."
Saladin looked toward the horizon.
"Perhaps our spies exaggerated."
"They also report he treated the sick before departing for Eilat. Using a mixture of salt and sugar dissolved in water."
"Salt and sugar?"
"Court physicians confirm it is effective against diarrhea and vomiting."
Saladin's expression sharpened with interest.
"A Frankish prince reading ancient medical texts."
He summoned a guard.
"Bring Imad al-Din. I will write a letter."
"A letter, my Sultan?"
"To young Baldwin. Perhaps we should send a small gift—and see how he responds."
Eilat.
The roar of the crowd drowned even the sound of the waves.
A knight in a black cloak lowered his lance. Across from him, a knight in white steadied his horse.
At the signal, both charged.
The long wooden barrier divided them.
Closer.
Closer—
CRASH.
The knight in white was hurled from his saddle.
"Garnier! Garnier!"
The crowd erupted.
Garnier saluted briefly before riding off.
"At this rate the Templars will hold a grudge," Aig muttered excitedly. "He has unhorsed half their knights already."
I smiled.
"I doubt they would resent a mere joust."
Then again… perhaps precisely because it was a joust.
Three days into the festival, and each day the excitement grew.
From my seat I surveyed the crowd—Jews, Christians, Muslims alike.
Two warriors charging at one another with lances.
What could be more thrilling?
The festival was a success.
A month had passed since we began escorting the Muslim caravans. Reynald had retreated to Kerak, licking his wounds.
Eilat was flourishing. Trade revenues alone were impressive.
Our objectives were complete:
Increase royal revenue.Prevent Reynald from igniting war.
"We must depart soon," I said.
Two months had passed.
"I have requested the King send a new governor."
"So you return to Jerusalem?" Garnier asked.
"Yes."
I smiled.
There was something urgent.
The Byzantine Emperor would soon be overthrown and killed.
And I intended to prevent it.
"One month," I said.
"That will be sufficient."
Garnier nodded.
Then a soldier rushed forward, breathless.
"A messenger has arrived—from Cairo. Saladin has sent a letter… and wagons."
I froze.
"Who did you say sent them?"