Kingdom

Chapter 11

AUGUST 1169: CAIRO

‘I have made my decision,’ Yusuf declared to the courtroom. Even after learning that the Franks had invaded and besieged Damietta, he continued to hold his bi-weekly audience. It helped him gauge the mood of the people, and it gave the Egyptians a chance to witness his impartiality.

The two litigants looked at him expectantly. They were brothers, each with the same long face and hooded eyes. They had come to blows, then to court, over who was the rightful owner of a prized stallion named Barq. They had spent most of their time in court insulting one another, but Yusuf had finally pieced together their story. One of the brothers had won Barq at dice several years ago. He had not had the means to stable and feed the horse, so the other brother had raised it. Recently, Barq had won several races, and the brothers had fallen into bitter disagreement over how to split the winnings. Yusuf had watched the horse run. It was a magnificent beast.

‘I will buy the horse for one hundred dinars,’ he told the brothers. ‘And you shall split the proceeds.’

The two brothers looked at one another and then embraced. It was a generous sum, twice what the horse would have fetched at market. ‘Thank you, Malik,’ the older brother said.

Yusuf frowned. ‘I am no king. I serve at the pleasure of the Caliph.’

‘Yes, Vizier.’

The younger brother was at a loss for words. He bowed repeatedly as he backed from the room.

Yusuf looked to his secretary, Al-Fadil. ‘What is next?’

‘Only one more case, Vizier. A woman named Shamsa.’

‘What is her complaint?’

Al-Fadil examined the piece of paper before him and frowned. ‘She will not say.’

Yusuf looked to the guard at the chamber entrance. ‘Show her in.’

A moment later, Yusuf noticed the guards framing the doorway suck in their bellies and stand tall. He saw why when Shamsa strode into the room. She was dressed in a black caftan that revealed only her delicate hands, and a niqab that veiled all but her eyes. Still, those eyes were enough to make the scribes to either side of Yusuf sit straighter and smooth back their hair. Or perhaps it was not her eyes, but the way she moved. She did not walk so much as prowl, like a panther on the hunt. She stopped in the centre of the chamber and met Yusuf’s gaze boldly. He saw both an invitation and a challenge in her dark eyes.

Yusuf cleared his throat. ‘What is your case?’

She bowed low, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘I wish to speak with you alone, Malik.’ Her voice was surprisingly low, yet soft.

‘You will address me as vizier, and you will state your case in court.’

‘What I have to say is of a private nature. It concerns my lover.’

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

‘Your what?’ Al-Fadil demanded.

‘My lover,’ Shamsa said matter-of-factly.

‘Have you no shame, woman?’ Al-Fadil asked. ‘I should have you beaten. Guards!’

‘Wait.’ Yusuf raised a hand. Shamsa had shown no sign of fear when Al-Fadil called for the guards. ‘Why tell me this?’ Yusuf asked her.

‘Because what I know concerns you. My lover is the one who arranged for your uncle’s death.’

Yusuf waited until it became clear that she was going to say no more. ‘Leave us,’ he told the guards. He looked to Al-Fadil. ‘All of you.’

When the last of the guards and scribes had left, Shamsa reached up and removed her niqab. She was young — not yet twenty years of age, he guessed — and she had a face that men would fight for, kill for, even. Her large eyes sat above a delicate nose and high cheekbones. Her flawless skin was creamy brown. The women that Faridah brought to him were as moths to a butterfly in comparison with her. She smiled, her full lips framing straight, white teeth. ‘Thank you, Malik.’

This time, Yusuf did not think to correct her. ‘Who killed Shirkuh?’

‘The city administrator, Al-Khlata.’

‘Guards!’ Yusuf shouted. A dozen mamluks hurried into the hall. ‘Bring me Al-Khlata. Now!’

‘They will not find him,’ Shamsa said when the men had departed. ‘He has left the city.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I do not know, but I know something even more valuable. I know how he plans to take Cairo from you.’

Yusuf felt a burning in his gut. ‘What do you mean?’

She met his gaze. ‘My information comes with a price.’

‘Tell me what you know first, and we shall see what reward you merit.’

‘Very well. Tomorrow, the Nubian Guard will rise against you. They will drive your men from the city and Al-Khlata will take the throne as vizier.’

The Nubians — black warriors from the south of Egypt — were ten thousand men strong, and their barracks lay just outside the city. ‘And the rest of the Egyptian forces?’ Yusuf asked. In addition to the Nubians, the barracks near Cairo held ten thousand Egyptian infantry from northern Egypt, as well as two mamluk regiments of five thousand each and the Armenian cavalry, numbering one thousand.

‘They wait to follow whoever emerges victorious.’

‘How do I know that what you say is true? You say you are Al-Khlata’s lover. Why betray him for me?’

‘Why do rats flee a sinking ship? Al-Khlata will soon be finished. Your star is still on the rise.’

But not for long, Yusuf reflected grimly. Many of the emirs who came with him to Egypt had returned home, leaving him with only five thousand men to face twice as many Nubians. And if he barricaded himself inside Cairo, then nothing would stand in the way of the Frankish invasion. The pain in his gut suddenly increased, as if a sword had been thrust into his bowels. He hurried to the back of the chamber, where he bent over and vomited.

He felt Shamsa’s hand on his back and looked up in surprise. ‘You can defeat them, Malik. The Nubian barracks lie just beyond the city gates. They have families there-’ She let the words hang in the air.

‘I will not kill innocent women and children to save myself,’ Yusuf snapped.

‘The greatest of men are those who are not afraid to make the hardest decisions.’

Who was this woman? Her youthful face revealed nothing of what was clearly a ruthless intelligence. Yusuf took a deep breath. ‘If what you have told me is true, then I owe you a great debt. You shall have a hundred dinars. Al-Fadil will see that you are paid.’ Yusuf strode towards the doorway.

‘Wait!’ Shamsa called, and Yusuf turned back to face her. ‘There is more that I must tell you, Malik. Tonight, palace servants loyal to Al-Khlata mean to murder you while you sleep. Your death is to be the signal for the Nubians’ rebellion. It is expected that with you gone, your men will put up little resistance.’

‘It seems I owe you my life twice over. You shall be rewarded accordingly. Tell me what you wish for. More gold? Land?’

‘A greater prize by far: make me your wife.’

Yusuf blinked in surprise. ‘Your reward will be worth nothing if I die in the uprising tomorrow. You should take gold instead.’

‘You will not die.’ Shamsa’s dark eyes found his, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. ‘Tonight, you must remain vigilant … If you will permit me, I will ensure that you stay awake. You can determine if I am to your liking.’

Yusuf could not help but smile at the suggestion. ‘I have enough worries to keep me awake for many days to come. You shall be my guest in the palace until this affair is done. I will have a servant show you to the harem, where Faridah will make you comfortable. Tomorrow evening, if I am still alive, you can claim your reward.’

The air that night was hot and still. The windows to Yusuf’s bedroom had been thrown open, letting in pale moonlight that illuminated a figure lying in bed, covered with a thick blanket despite the heat. The distant sounds of the watch changing filtered in through the window, to be overlaid by the closer sound of a floorboard creaking. A moment later the door to Yusuf’s chamber swung open. Four men with slippered feet crept in and stood around the bed.

‘Allahu akbar,’ one of them whispered. ‘Egypt for the Egyptians!’

Each man raised a knife and struck. There were brief, muffled cries from the bed. The men stabbed down again and again, their knives now dark with blood. The cries ceased, and the four men left quickly, their heads down as if they were ashamed of what they had done.

Yusuf removed his eye from the spyhole that looked on to his chamber. ‘It was just as Shamsa foretold,’ he said to Selim and Qaraqush.

‘Shall I have the assassins beheaded?’ Qaraqush asked.

‘Let them go. Let them think they have succeeded.’

‘But Brother, the uprising-’ Selim began.

‘I will never see an end to rebellions if I do not deal with the Nubians now. We will let them rebel, and we will crush them.’

Yusuf entered his bedchamber and pulled back the bloody blanket. A eunuch servant — one of the men that Shamsa had named in the plot — lay tied to the bed, a gag in his mouth. He was dead, his eyes bulging wide.

‘What now?’ Selim asked.

‘Have the body wrapped in linen, and let it be known that I am dead. Qaraqush, make certain that the men are ready.’

‘What will you do?’ the grizzled mamluk asked.

Yusuf pulled a fold of his keffiyeh down to hide his face, leaving only his eyes visible. ‘I am dead. I shall play the part.’

Yusuf stood behind a curtain that hung over a side entrance to the caliph’s audience chamber and peered through a small gap in the fabric. He had spent the previous night hidden in the gatehouse beside the Bab al-Futuh. Before the sun rose, he had dressed as a simple mamluk and left for the caliph’s palace, accompanied by Saqr and Al-Mashtub. As they walked, trumpets sounded to the south, indicating that the Nubians were on the move. Yusuf had given Qaraqush orders to provide only token resistance before pretending to flee. Al-Khlata and the rebellion’s ringleaders were to be allowed into the caliph’s palace.

Yusuf’s hand fell to his sword hilt as he saw a eunuch step into the audience chamber and address the gold curtain, behind which the caliph sat. ‘Al-Adid, defender of Islam and representative of Allah, may I present Al-Mutamen al-Khlata.’

Al-Khlata strode into the chamber. He removed the jewelled sword of the vizier from his scabbard and laid it before him. The dozen Nubian commanders who accompanied him also placed their swords on the ground. They all knelt, and the gold curtain rose to reveal the veiled caliph seated on his throne. Two dozen of Yusuf’s men — dressed in the uniforms of the caliph’s personal guard — stood along the wall behind the throne.

‘Al-Khlata,’ the caliph said. ‘What brings you to my court?’

‘Joyous news, Al-Adid. The infidel Saladin is dead, and his Sunni troops are fleeing our city. Egypt shall soon be returned to the hands of Egyptians.’

Al-Adid gestured to Al-Khlata’s sword. ‘I see you carry the sword of the Vizier.’

‘Forgive my presumption, Caliph. I took it from the Vizier’s palace. Saladin’s death was my doing. Now that he is gone, I had hoped you would allow me to serve you as vizier. But of course, you should do as you think right.’

While Al-Khlata was speaking, Al-Adid stole several glances in Yusuf’s direction. Yusuf pulled back the curtain just enough so he could see the throne and nodded. The caliph looked back to Al-Khlata. ‘I do not need your permission to do as I see fit,’ he said. ‘I declare your life forfeit for rebelling against Saladin, my appointee as the rightful ruler of Egypt.’

Al-Khlata picked up his sword. ‘You are in no position to threaten me, Caliph.’

‘But I am.’ Yusuf stepped into the room, flanked by Saqr and Al-Mashtub.

Al-Khlata paled. ‘Impossible.’ He pointed his blade at Yusuf. ‘You are dead!’

Yusuf’s only reply was the hiss of steel against the leather of his scabbard as he drew his sword. The guards along the back wall stepped forward with swords in hand, and a dozen more of Yusuf’s men arrived to block Al-Khlata’s retreat from the chamber. The Nubians picked up their swords, but Yusuf could see the resignation in their faces. They were outnumbered three to one. They knew they would die.

‘Caliph, stop them!’ Al-Khlata begged. ‘I only wished to rid Egypt of these Sunni dogs.’ The caliph said nothing. Al-Khlata’s pleading grew more frantic. ‘I have served you faithfully for years. Please, I beg you! We had an agr-’

‘Kill them!’ the caliph shouted. ‘Kill them all!’

Yusuf’s men closed on the Nubians from all directions. Yusuf charged towards Al-Khlata, but a towering Nubian blocked his path. Yusuf parried the Nubian’s curved blade before slamming his shoulder into him. He stumbled back as if he had hit a stone wall. The Nubian grinned, his teeth white against his dark skin, and hacked down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf sidestepped the blow and thrust for his opponent’s chest. The Nubian brought his scimitar sweeping back to knock Yusuf’s sword aside and then reversed his blade. Yusuf jumped back, but the tip of the sword grazed the mail covering his chest. The huge Nubian charged, chopping down with a mighty blow, which Yusuf parried. The Nubian kicked out, catching him in the gut and doubling him over. Yusuf’s adversary grinned in triumph and swung down to decapitate him, but the sword was blocked at the last moment by Saqr’s blade. Yusuf buried his sword in the Nubian’s throat. The man fell, spilling blood on the white marble floor.

‘You take too many risks, sayyid,’ Saqr said. ‘The Vizier should not-’

Al-Khlata was charging from behind Saqr. Yusuf shoved him out of the way and stepped forward to parry the Egyptian’s attack. Yusuf countered with a thrust that forced Al-Khlata backwards and then pursued his foe, hacking down as Al-Khlata gave ground. The Egyptian’s gold blade dented and warped under the blows from Yusuf’s steel sword. Yusuf gave a final swing, and Al-Khlata’s blade snapped in two. The Egyptian tossed the ruined weapon aside and sank to his knees. Beyond him, two Nubians were swarmed by Yusuf’s men and taken down. Al-Mashtub cut down the last of the rebels.

‘Please,’ Al-Khlata begged. ‘Have mercy! Spare me, and I will save your life.’

‘You murdered my uncle.’ Yusuf raised his sword.

‘Don’t be a fool! The Nubians control the palace. If you kill me, you will die!’

Yusuf brought his blade down on Al-Khlata’s neck. He wiped the blade clean on the dead Egyptian’s caftan. ‘Al-Mashtub, once the city is in hand, have these traitors hung from the gates as a warning to those who would rebel against me.’ Yusuf turned to the caliph. ‘You, come with me.’

‘I–I am God’s deputy,’ Al-Adid replied, his haughty tone undercut by the shaking in his voice. ‘Do not presume to give me orders.’

‘Saqr, bring him.’

Yusuf strode from the chamber, and Saqr followed with the caliph. They passed through luxurious rooms, the thick carpets now wet with blood and littered with dead Nubian warriors. A thousand of Yusuf’s best men had lain in wait in the palace. They had let the Nubians enter before emerging to slaughter them. The carnage was worst in the vaulted entrance hall. Yusuf’s men had sealed off the doors, trapping hundreds of Nubians before raining down arrows from the balconies above. The caliph’s face paled as they passed the bodies that were now stacked three and four deep on either side of the hall. They reached the door leading outside, and Yusuf’s men pulled it open. The square before the palace was packed with Nubian warriors waiting to welcome a victorious Al-Khlata.

‘Go and tell the Nubians that I live,’ Yusuf told the caliph. ‘Tell them that if they lay down their arms, their lives will be spared.’

Al-Adid took a step outside, but then froze. ‘They will not listen. Al-Khlata was right: the Nubians are too many for you to overcome. Surrender, and I will guarantee your life.’

‘It is not my life you should be concerned about.’ Yusuf gripped the caliph’s arm and dragged him outside. His men followed and fanned out to form a line five deep atop the steps leading down to the square. ‘Tell them,’ Yusuf insisted, and pushed the caliph through the line.

‘The Caliph!’ someone in the square cried. ‘Al-Adid!’ The cry was taken up by other Nubians. ‘Al-Adid! Al-Adid!’

The caliph raised his arms for silence. ‘Loyal troops!’ he shouted. ‘I know that you are ever faithful to your caliph. I wish for no further bloodshed. Lay down your arms and accept the rule of my appointed vizier, Saladin, and your lives will be spared!’

At first there was stunned silence. Then one of the Nubians shouted, ‘Saladin is a Sunni dog! Where is Al-Khlata?’

Yusuf stepped forward. ‘Al-Khlata is dead, as are your commanders! If you do not wish to join them, then you will surrender now!’

‘To hell with you!’ one of the Nubians replied. ‘Let’s kill the bastard!’ There was a roar of approval from the dark-skinned warriors, and they rushed up the steps. The caliph ran for the safety of the palace, while Yusuf’s men surged forward. The two lines met with the clash of steel.

‘You gave them a chance, sayyid,’ Saqr shouted over the din of battle.

Yusuf nodded. He raised his voice and called to four mamluk archers who stood around a brazier filled with burning coals. ‘It is time! Signal Qaraqush!’

The archers each took an arrow, the tips of which had been wrapped in cotton, and touched them to the coals. The arrows burst into flame, and the archers shot them high into the sky.

Yusuf looked away from the arrows and towards the Nubian barracks, which lay beyond the southern wall. A trace of smoke appeared and hung in the blue sky before the wind swept it away. There was more smoke, then more until the sky south of the city had turned black. Amongst the Nubians there were shouts of consternation. Men from the rear ranks began to slip away, heading for the southern gate. Yusuf’s mamluks started to push the enemy line back down the steps as more and more Nubians fled. And then the enemy line dissolved as all the Nubians turned and ran for their barracks, desperate to save their families from the flames.

Yusuf turned to Saqr. ‘Fetch the Caliph.’ When Al-Adid emerged from the palace, Yusuf strode down the steps to where horses had been brought. They rode to the Bab Al-Zuwayla, and Yusuf dismounted and led Al-Adid up the stairs to the walkway above the gate. The Nubian barracks lay a quarter of a mile to the south-west. They consisted of a low wall surrounding dozens of homes, which stood amongst a few large dormitories. All of it was burning. A wind rushed at Yusuf as the fire sucked in air to feed the roaring flames.

A few hundred Nubians were fleeing south along the Nile. The rest were hurrying through the gate into the barracks, braving the terrible heat in order to save their families. Yusuf’s men closed off the gates behind them. Selim had positioned a hundred men at each gate, and more mamluks surrounded the walls, ready to strike down any who scaled them. The Nubian warriors took their wives and children from their homes, only to find themselves trapped.

Yusuf felt ill, but he did not turn away. He was the ruler of Egypt now. He must show no weakness. He looked to the caliph, who had removed his veil and was retching over the side of the wall. It was the first time Yusuf had seen Al-Adid’s face. He was ghostly pale, a sparse beard covering fleshy cheeks.

‘Al-Khlata said you had an agreement, Caliph,’ Yusuf said. ‘Tell me true: did you have anything to do with this uprising?’

Al-Adid’s eyes grew wide with fear. ‘No,’ he said, wiping traces of vomit from his mouth with the back of a gloved hand. He drew himself up, trying to recover his dignity. ‘How dare you accuse me!’

‘You were not contacted by Al-Khlata?’

‘I told you I had nothing to do with this sordid business.’

‘You swear it?’ Yusuf gripped the caliph’s arm and turned him towards the fire. ‘Look at that. Look, damn you! This is the price of treachery. The blood of those women and children is not on my head. It is on the heads of those who betrayed me.’

The caliph looked away from the fire. ‘Let me go.’ His voice was small, childlike and pleading.

Yusuf released him. ‘Take him back to the palace.’

A mamluk led the caliph away, and a moment later Qaraqush joined Yusuf atop the gate. Together, they watched the barracks burn. Men and women were fleeing over the walls. They were cut down by waiting mamluks as soon as their feet hit the ground. Yusuf gripped the rough stone battlements as he listened to the terrified cries of women and children. Finally, he could bear it no longer. ‘That is enough. Qaraqush, tell Selim to allow the remaining Nubians to flee through the southern gate.’

‘But-’

‘Do you want the blood of those children on your head?’

‘No, sayyid.’

‘Then go, and ride fast.’ Qaraqush hurried from the wall and then galloped out of the gate. Yusuf looked back to the fire and whispered: ‘Allah forgive me.’

Yusuf stood at the window of his bedroom and looked out over the roofs of the city. Night had fallen, but the barracks still smouldered, turning the sky to the south red. Shamsa approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. She was naked but she walked with no shame, as if unaware that he could see her shapely legs and her small, firm breasts. They had been married that evening. Selim and Faridah had been the only witnesses. Yusuf had expected Faridah to be upset, but she seemed pleased that Yusuf had finally taken a wife. After the marriage contract had been signed, Yusuf had taken Shamsa back to his bedroom and made love to her with an urgency that surprised him. He had sought to lose himself in her, to drive the images of earlier that day from his mind.

‘Come back to bed,’ Shamsa told him. Yusuf did not move. ‘Are you well, Malik?’

‘I am your husband. You may call me Yusuf.’

She stood beside him, her head against his shoulder, and together they watched the glowing sky to the south. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said at last.

‘Did I?’

‘The Nubians will never rise against you again, and the Franks are returning to Jerusalem.’

‘But the people will hate me.’

‘They will forgive you. The wants of the common people are simple: low taxes, justice, security. Give them that, and they will love you. I know. I was one of them once.’

Yusuf glanced at her in surprise. He had supposed she had been raised in the home of an emir, surrounded by tutors and servants. ‘Tell me.’

‘My parents were farmers near Alexandria. They were killed five years ago, during the Frankish siege of the city. I had only just become a woman. I was to be married, but after the Franks-’ She broke off, and when she continued her voice was harder. ‘Afterwards I was not wanted for marriage.

‘I came to Cairo. An attractive young woman can make her living here easily enough. I won the heart of one of my-admirers. He was a mamluk, and he offered to marry me, despite my past. We were engaged only a short while before he introduced me to his commander. The commander wanted me for his own, but he did not have me long before Al-Khlata took note of me. I became his lover.’

Yusuf frowned. ‘You speak of it without shame.’

‘I did not choose my fate. Men can lose their honour and win it back in battle. A disgraced woman cannot. She must make her own way. I was nothing, and now I am a queen. What do I have to be ashamed of?’

‘You are no queen, Shamsa. I am not a king.’

‘You will be.’

Yusuf shook his head. ‘I am a Kurd and a Sunni, and hence doubly despised. Besides, viziers in Egypt do not last long, and the security and prosperity you spoke of take time.’

‘You can buy time. Look at that.’ She pointed across the room to an ornate table of dark wood. The top was inlaid with ivory in the shape of storks, horses and crocodiles. The sides were lined with gleaming gold. Yusuf had hardly noticed it before. ‘It is worth one hundred, perhaps two hundred dinars. The palace has hundreds as fine, if not finer. Give them to the people. Let each man in Cairo carry away as much as he is able.’

‘And what will I be left with?’

‘Your life. Every man who takes something from the palace will have a stake in your rule. What better way to ensure their loyalty?’

Yusuf looked at her more closely. ‘I begin to think that Allah sent you to me for a reason, Shamsa.’

‘It was not Allah. I came to you on my own. You have greatness in you, yet you are noble, too. Al-Khlata would not have lost a moment of sleep over the fate of the Nubians. You are different.’ She kissed him on the cheek and then took him by the hand and pulled him away from the window. ‘Now come. Let us to bed.’