Holy War

Chapter 23

September 1191: Ascalon

Black smoke roiled up from the base of the wall of Ascalon, stinging Yusuf’s eyes and making him wrinkle his nose. His horse whinnied and tossed its head, and he tightened his grip on the reins. His men were burning the wooden supports that held up this last stretch of wall. To either side, the wall had already come down. Beyond the piles of rubble, a cloud of dark smoke hung over the city. Yusuf’s men had set fire to it that morning. The last stretch of wall began to shake and then collapsed with a roar like thunder, causing Yusuf’s horse to shy. He patted its neck, pulling a fold of his keffiyeh over his face as the cloud of smoke and dust thrown up by the collapse rolled forward to engulf him.

Beside him, Qaraqush coughed and spat. ‘That’s it.’ The grizzled mamluk’s voice was sombre. ‘When we took Ascalon four years ago, I saw to the reinforcement of those walls. I never dreamt I’d be the one to tear them down.’

‘It had to be done.’ Yusuf’s words were for him as much as for Qaraqush. The destruction of the city left him feeling queasy. Or perhaps it was the acrid smell of smoke that had turned his stomach. ‘Richard will not be able to use Ascalon as a base for an attack on Egypt. That is all that matters.’

He rode away, his horse’s hooves kicking up clouds of ash as he crossed a field of burnt crops. Beyond the field, he came to the impromptu market that had sprung up. The people of Ascalon were selling their possessions before fleeing south to Gaza or inland to Hebron or Jerusalem. They glared as they stepped aside to let him pass. Yusuf did not blame them for their anger. He had destroyed their homes and turned them into refugees; poor refugees, for the most part. They would be lucky to get a fraction of what their belongings were worth. Yusuf saw a glass merchant selling cups that would normally fetch a dirham each for only one copper. Another man was practically giving away dark wood furniture inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl. The largest crowd had gathered around the horse market. ‘Four hundred dinars,’ the horse merchant cried as he auctioned off a bony old nag. ‘Four hundred and fifty. Five hundred dinars!’ The horse in question would not have brought fifty dinars three weeks ago, but the people of Ascalon were desperate for pack animals to carry their possessions. Yusuf came upon a field of red tents, where young women were selling the only thing they had: themselves. He spurred his horse to a canter and left the market behind.

His brother Selim was waiting inside his tent with letters in hand. Yusuf frowned. Of late, each letter brought only bad news. He had been avoiding Imad ad-Din, which was no doubt why his secretary had sent Selim with the day’s post. Yusuf had a sudden desire to turn, mount his horse and ride away. Instead, he lowered himself on to his camp-stool with a sigh.

‘What news, Brother?’

‘Your son Az-Zahir writes from Ramlah. The city has been burned.’ Selim flipped through several more letters. ‘Al-Mashtub reports the same from Lydda. He has moved on to burn Latrun.’

Each name was like a punch to the gut. It was his duty to protect these towns, and he had ordered their destruction. But Egypt was safe. That was what mattered. ‘We will leave tomorrow to protect the road to Jerusalem. Anything else?’

‘This is why I came.’ Selim produced a longer letter, written in a graceful hand. ‘The Caliph writes.’

Yusuf had sent letter after letter requesting aid from the caliph in Baghdad. He searched Selim’s face, trying to anticipate whether the news was good or bad. ‘Is he sending men? Gold?’

‘He writes of our nephew. Ubadah has laid siege to Akhlat. The city’s ruler has called on the Artuqids to support him and has written to the Caliph, who has promised to intervene on his behalf. The Caliph says that if you do not curb Ubadah, then there will be war.’

Yusuf massaged his temples. He could not afford to become embroiled in a war in the east, or to anger the caliph. The men from Al-Jazirah were already on the verge of rebellion. If the caliph denounced him, then they would mutiny. And that would be just the beginning. He would find himself facing down uprising in his own kingdom. He shook his head. ‘I sent Ubadah east hoping that time away would cool his passions.’

‘You did all you could for the boy, Brother, but he has always been impetuous. If you wish, I will ride east. I will deal with Ubadah as I did with our cousin, Nasir ad-Din.’

Yusuf knew it was what he should do. It was, no doubt, what the Lionheart would have done. But he was not Richard, and Ubadah was no more to blame in this than he himself was. Perhaps if Yusuf had not lied to Ubadah, things would have been different. ‘No, Brother. I’ll not murder my own nephew.’

‘The Saladin I knew-’

‘I said no!’ Yusuf continued in a softer tone. ‘I have seen my reflection, Brother. Richard showed it to me at Acre, and I did not like what I saw.’

‘Yes, Brother.’

‘Go now. I will write to Ubadah myself.’

‘God curse the craven bastard!’ Richard roared as he threw his cup of wine across the tent. The contents splashed all over the white robes of Bishop Walter. ‘Poisoned wells and burnt fields; this is not war, it is cowardice!’ Richard glared about the tent as if daring his lords to contradict him. John was tempted to tell him that Richard’s Norman ancestors had behaved little differently when they subdued England, but he held his tongue. He could not afford to anger Richard. Not today. Their army had shrunk with each passing day as men deserted to Jaffa or Acre. They were losing the war despite not having lost a battle. Perhaps Richard would listen now. Perhaps John could save the Holy Land before it was completely ruined.

The king poured another cup of wine. He drained it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Saladin will not stop me. We do not have the supplies to reach Egypt, but the land of the Nile is not why I came to the Holy Land. Blanchemains, you will set the men to rebuilding the wall of Ascalon.’

‘Forgive me for asking, but to what end, Your Grace? The city has been burned. There is nothing here to defend.’

‘There is Jerusalem. I mean to take it and hold it. Ascalon must be strong to protect the Kingdom from invasion from Egypt. Now go.’ Richard went to refill his cup.

John remained behind as the other lords trooped out. ‘I would speak with you, Your Grace.’

Richard’s brow furrowed. ‘I have little patience for talk today. Do not waste your words, priest.’

‘You must make peace with Saladin.’

Richard’s eyes widened. He lowered his cup and began to laugh, softly at first, but then so loudly that his whole body shook. ‘Thank you, John,’ he gasped when he had recovered. ‘Thank you. I needed a good laugh.’

‘It was no jest, Your Grace.’

Richard’s good humour was gone in an instant. ‘Then you must be mad. Why should I make peace with a man who flees before me, who has yet to defeat me in battle?’

‘You have not lost, it is true, but what have you won? You are lord over burnt fields and ruined cities.’

‘Cities can be rebuilt.’

‘And who will people them? The men in these lands are Muslim and Syrian Christian. They have more in common with one another than they do with you. They will betray you at the first chance.’

‘Why should they? The Kingdom of Jerusalem stood for a hundred years before I arrived. The people served its kings well enough. They will serve again, and the Kingdom will stand a hundred years more after I am gone.’

‘Only if you make peace, my lord. Think of what will happen if you take the Holy City. Your force is made up of pilgrims. They will pray at the altars and then they will return home. Your army will melt away, but the Saracens will remain. We must make peace with them if you wish to keep the lands you have conquered.’

‘I swore a vow to retake Jerusalem, John. I will not be forsworn.’

‘I do not ask you to halt your campaign, Your Grace. But you must think now to what will come after Jerusalem. Let me go to Saladin. I will speak with him on your behalf. I will make certain that we keep what you have gained.’

‘That is not enough. I want Jerusalem, and all the lands west of the Jordan, as it was before. And we must have the True Cross.’

‘And if I secure all of that?’

‘Then you are a miracle worker, John.’ Richard scratched his beard while he thought. He nodded. ‘Go and work your miracle. Talk will cost us nothing. Take Humphrey of Toron with you. He is well known to the Saracens. Craft a peace if you can. Perhaps Saladin will be fool enough to give it to you.’

October 1191: Ramlah

‘Conrad believes there can be peace between you and him.’

Yusuf studied the man before him. Reginald of Sidon had arrived at his camp in Ramlah two days before. Yusuf had made him wait before seeing him. The old Frankish lord was completely bald. He had ruddy cheeks and liver spots marked his forehead. He claimed to speak on behalf of Conrad, who styled himself the true king of Jerusalem.

‘Conrad defied me at Tyre,’ Yusuf said. ‘He fought for more than a year at the siege of Acre. Now one of my most implacable foes seeks peace. What does he want in return?’

‘Only what is his due. Richard has given the crown to Guy, but none of the barons support him. The throne is rightly Conrad’s.’

‘I am a Muslim. It is not for me to make Christian kings.’

‘No, but with Conrad’s help, you can drive off Richard. And with Richard gone, there will be no one to support Guy.’

‘Conrad’s help? His men will fight beside mine?’

Reginald nodded. ‘He will help you retake Acre. In return, you will grant him Sidon and Beirut, along with Tyre. The rest of the Holy Land is yours.’

‘Tyre, Sidon and Beirut. That is a high price.’

‘It is a just price to help rid you of the Lionheart.’

As Yusuf sat back to consider this, Saqr stepped into the tent. He came to Yusuf and whispered in his ear. ‘More envoys, Malik. From Richard.’

‘Who?’

‘Humphrey of Toron and John of Tatewic.’

‘Selim will meet with Humphrey. Have John shown to a tent, somewhere private.’ Yusuf turned back to Reginald. ‘I will think on what you have said. Conrad will have my answer soon.’

Yusuf stood, and Reginald did likewise. The Frankish lord bowed and was shown out by a pair of guards. Yusuf poured himself a glass of water and went to stand before a table covered with a map of Palestine. The towns now held by the Franks were marked in red. Tripoli, Antioch, Tyre, Acre, Caesarea, Arsuf, Jaffa, Ascalon. He had lost almost the entire coast. Richard would turn inland now. Where would the king’s conquest end? Jerusalem? Damascus even?

Yusuf found Saqr waiting for him outside his tent. ‘Take me to John.’

‘This way, Malik.’

Saqr led the way to a small tent near by. ‘Wait outside,’ Yusuf told him. ‘Make certain we are not overheard.’ He entered to find John seated cross-legged on the carpeted floor and sipping from a cup of water. He rose at once. He was wearing mail, with a surcoat bearing Richard’s arms. He bowed.

‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Yusuf. Thank you for seeing me.’

‘This meeting did not happen. You will let your king know that I did not dignify his emissaries by meeting with them.’

‘I understand.’

They studied one another for a moment. John’s sandy hair had continued to silver, but he looked as strong as ever. Yusuf gestured to the lions on his surcoat. ‘What does your king wish to tell me?’

‘He seeks peace.’

Yusuf’s eyebrows arched. ‘The Lionheart wishes for peace? Forgive me if I do not believe you, John.’

‘You know me, Yusuf. I would not lie to you. This war does no one any good. Our armies are bleeding one another to death, but it is the common people who suffer most of all. Thousands have lost their homes, and where will they go? The land is utterly ruined. Famine will soon be upon us. We need peace, both of us.’

‘If you had wanted peace, then you would have let Richard ride into my trap at Arsuf. Your king would be dead or on a boat for England, and my kingdom would be at peace.’

‘It is not I who turned Richard back, Yusuf.’

‘Hmph.’ Yusuf did not believe it. He knew John too well. ‘What of your honour?’

‘There are more important things than honour, friend.’

‘Such as?’

‘Peace.’

‘Peace is hard-bought after so much blood.’

‘But not impossible. There are three points at issue: Jerusalem, the land, and the Cross. Jerusalem is holy to us, and Richard has sworn to take it. He will not give up that quest so long as he lives. As for the land, he asks for nothing that was not already ours: the territory between the coast and the Jordan. The True Cross is only a piece of wood to you, but to us it has great importance. Return it, give us Jerusalem, and withdraw across the Jordan, and you will have peace.’

Yusuf’s forehead creased. At length, the corner of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. ‘You are jesting, John.’

‘Those are Richard’s terms.’

‘Those are not terms; they are insults. Jerusalem is ours as much as it is yours, as sacred to us as it is to you. You say Richard will fight for Jerusalem unto the death. Tell your king that he will find us no less willing to sacrifice our lives for the city. Richard has no claim to the lands west of the Jordan. They were ours first. Your ancestors only took them because we were divided and weak. We are strong now. If Richard wants those lands, then let him try to take them. As for the True Cross, I am well aware of its importance to your faith. It will not be surrendered except in exchange for something of equal value.’

‘I told Richard that you would respond thus.’

‘Then you must have also told him that there can be no peace between us.’

‘If you reject peace, he will march on Jerusalem.’

‘Let him come.’

‘You are a brave man, Yusuf. I know that. But you are not a fool. You have not beaten Richard yet. You do not know him as I do. He is cruel and fickle, but he is clever, too, and a warrior unlike any I have known. Even you.’

‘I know him well enough, John. I know that he will only wipe his arse with any treaty I make with him. He gave his word at Acre, and afterwards he slaughtered my men. I would as soon try to make peace with a lion as with the Lionheart.’

‘He is savage, yes, but what has he done that you would not do? You poisoned the waters at Acre. Thousands of men died shitting themselves as a result. You slaughtered the Templar and Hospitaller prisoners after Hattin. Your killed your Frankish prisoners at Acre.’

Yusuf scowled and rubbed his forehead with his palm. ‘Acre was not my doing. As to the others, I had no choice. I fought for Allah. I did what I did in his name.’

‘Richard also fights for God.’

‘I am no Richard!’ Yusuf snapped.

‘Then make peace. It is the innocent who will suffer if you do not, Yusuf. Your people cannot eat revenge. They cannot eat victory. How many lives are you willing to sacrifice in the name of Allah?’

There was a fire in Yusuf’s belly. John did not know the worst of it. Yusuf had sacrificed those closest to him: his father, Asimat, Al-Salih and Turan. Even those he spared, he could not save. His message to Ubadah had arrived too late. ‘Your son is dead,’ he murmured.

John blinked in shock. His face went pale and he was silent for a long time. ‘How?’ he finally managed. ‘When?’

‘I received the news three days ago. He took an arrow through the eye while doing battle outside Akhlat. .’ Yusuf’s voice trailed off. He should never have sent Ubadah away. His nephew had died hating him. Yusuf was tired of war, tired of death. He looked up, his brown eyes meeting John’s blue ones. ‘I want peace as much as you, friend. But how? I’ll not turn over to Richard all that I have fought for these many years.’

‘I would never ask that. If you listen to me, there might be a way for both sides to have what they wish.’

‘How?’

‘A marriage: your brother Selim and Richard’s sister, Joan of Sicily. They would live in Jerusalem and divide the Kingdom between them. The current Frankish possessions would be in her hands, and the Muslim possessions in his. Their marriage would craft a peace that lasted. Their children would be kings of Franks and Saracens alike. They would unite the Holy Land for all time.’

Yusuf had never even considered such a thing. The Franks were the enemy, to be fought and defeated. Yet what John said made sense. ‘And this Joan will agree? She will marry a Muslim?’

‘She will.’

‘And Richard?’

‘If it means a permanent peace and the freedom of Franks to settle in Jerusalem, then yes. I am sure of it.’ John touched his arm. ‘It is what we dreamed of long ago, Yusuf. There does not have to be war between our peoples. We can make this a land of peace and plenty, where all are welcome.’

Peace. Could it really be so easy? Yusuf prayed that it was so. ‘Very well.’ He embraced John and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Very well! Tell your king that I agree.’

November 1191: Ascalon

The sun was sinking into the Mediterranean when John spied Ascalon on the horizon. ‘There she is.’

Humphrey nodded. They had talked very little during the two-day journey from Ramlah, where Yusuf’s army had been camped. Humphrey was in a grim mood. His week of meetings with Selim had yielded no compromise. He believed his mission had been a failure. John and Yusuf had agreed to keep their plan secret. Yusuf was unsure of how his men would react. John had the same fears regarding Humphrey. The lord of Toron had been raised in the Holy Land, and though he spoke fluent Arabic, he would never view the Saracens as anything other than the enemy. He would not understand. John would speak to Richard first. If the king approved of his plan, then Humphrey would learn soon enough.

As they neared the city, John saw hundreds of men at work along the wall. Most were clearing away rubble and stacking the fallen stones. It was backbreaking work. In the areas they had cleared, stonemasons were rebuilding the wall. John spotted Blanchemains standing in the shade of a canvas and shouting orders. Humphrey guided his horse towards the king’s lord high steward.

‘How goes it, Leicester?’ Humphrey asked.

Blanchemains wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Rebuilding the wall is devilish work. Hundreds of men have deserted to Acre. Richard had to go there himself to bring them back. He returned in a foul mood. I hope you bring good news to cheer him.’

‘Where is the King?’ John asked.

‘In the city. He has taken up residence in the church rectory. You should find it easily enough. It is one of the few buildings still standing.’

John and Humphrey rode through a gap in the wall. The streets of Ascalon were empty. Only a few stone buildings still stood amongst the wreckage of charred beams and ash. The church loomed over it all. It was in the Roman style, with a colonnaded front framed by twin towers. One of the guards under the colonnade took their horses, and another led them into the dim interior. They passed through the nave and out through the south transept to what had been the rectory before Richard took over. The king’s quarters were upstairs. The door was closed and guarded by two knights, including Henry de Ferriers, the young man that John had fought on his arrival in London. Henry looked down his nose at John.

‘The King is occupied.’

‘We have urgent business,’ John replied.

‘He asked not to be disturbed.’ Henry gestured to a bench along the wall. ‘You can wait if you wish.’

They sat. A window on the wall opposite looked out over the sea. John watched the sun disappear into the water and the sky turn black as ink before the door to Richard’s room finally opened. A plump young woman stepped out. She looked to be a native Christian, with curly dark hair and skin the brown of tanned leather. She lowered her gaze and hurried away down the stairs. Richard came after her, tying a silk robe about him. He noticed Humphrey and John. ‘High time the two of you returned. Come.’

The room they entered was dominated by a table spread with maps and a bed large enough to sleep five. Richard went to a smaller table by the window and poured himself a glass of wine. ‘What does Saladin say to my terms?’

‘I met with his brother, Your Grace,’ Humphrey said. ‘Your offer upset him. He rejected it.’

‘Hmph. Your negotiations have at least bought us time. The wall is well underway.’

John stepped forward. ‘I have something more to report, my lord.’ Humphrey’s eyes widened at this.

‘Speak,’ Richard told him.

‘I would prefer to speak with you alone, Your Grace.’

Richard nodded. ‘Humphrey, leave us.’ The king waited until the door had closed. ‘Out with it, John.’

‘Saladin is willing to make peace.’

Richard choked on his wine. ‘What?’ he spluttered. ‘He has accepted my terms?’

‘The True Cross will be returned, Jerusalem will be Christian, and the lands west of the Jordan will be under a Christian queen.’

‘I cannot believe it. You are a miracle worker!’ Richard’s brow creased. ‘A queen, you said? What of Guy? What have you done, priest?’

‘I have crafted a peace as you commanded. Saladin’s brother, Saif ad-Din, will marry your sister, and together they will rule as king and queen. Jerusalem will be open to Christians and Muslims alike. Those parts of the Kingdom currently in our power will be ruled by Joan, the rest-’

Richard slammed his glass of wine down on the table so forcefully that it shattered and wine spilled over the maps, staining the Holy Land red as if with blood. ‘Are you mad, John? Joan cannot marry an infidel. I will not sell her to some desert savage!’

‘Speak to her, Your Grace. I believe she will accept the marriage willingly.’

Richard shook his head. ‘My sister married to a Saracen,’ he grumbled. He went to pour a new glass of wine.

‘The marriage will win you everything you seek, my lord. Jerusalem will be in Christian hands.’

‘Christian and Muslim.’

‘That is the only way it can be held. This is their land, Your Grace. There will always be more Saracens than Christians. Even if you conquer Jerusalem, it will be lost again someday. This marriage will secure it for all time.’

‘Hmph.’ Richard sipped more wine. ‘We would have to get the Pope’s blessing. That will take three months at least. In the meantime, I can march on Jerusalem, and if I do not take it. .’ His eyes took on a far-away look. Finally, he turned to John. ‘Go to my sister. She is in Ascalon, in a home not far from here. If she agrees to this marriage, then I will send a messenger to the Pope. With his approval, Joan will marry this infidel.’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’ John bowed and left. That had gone better than he could have hoped. For the first time, John dared to hope his plan might actually work. One of the guards outside the church showed him to the home where Joan was staying. It was a stone building and had thus survived the fire, but the door was new and black soot streaked the walls in the entryway. A maid led John to Joan’s chambers. The queen was reading at a window.

She set her book aside when she saw him. ‘Leave us,’ she told her maid. When the door had closed, Joan fixed him with an appraising gaze. ‘What brings you to me, father? I did not think to see you again.’

‘I bring good news, my lady. I have found you a husband amongst the Saracens.’

Joan’s eyes widened, and her mouth hung open in shock. ‘Who?’

‘Saif ad-Din, the brother of Saladin. He is a good man, kind and honest. You and he will rule from Jerusalem as king and queen.’

‘And what does my brother say of this marriage?’

‘He approves. If you are willing, then all that is needed is the Pope’s blessing.’

‘So I am to be a queen again.’ Joan grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. For the first time since John had met her, she looked like the young woman she was. She stood and embraced him. ‘You have my thanks.’ She kissed him on each cheek.

John could feel himself flushing. ‘I only did my duty, my lady,’ he said gruffly.

‘You did what my own family would not. They treated me like a prized mare to be sold for profit. You are more of a brother to me than Richard, more of a father than Henry.’

Her words made John think of Ubadah. John had abandoned the boy as a child. His own son had hated him. Now he was dead. What sort of a father had he been? ‘I am glad to have been of service,’ he murmured.

Joan did not notice his sombre tone. ‘I will not forget what you have done,’ she said brightly. ‘When I am queen, you will have an honoured place at my court.’