Chapter 128: The Gift

The Saracen envoy stood on the street, gazing silently at the distant Citadel of the Holy Cross.

This fortress, quite famous even among the Saracens, had taken fifty years from the selection of its site until its completion. For its sake, Baldwin I had even been forced to violate their canon law, marrying a second wife to use her dowry to pay for the remaining costs.

The persistence of successive kings of Jerusalem had not been without reward. This Citadel of the Holy Cross was more magnificent and imposing than any military fortress he had ever seen, comparable even to the Caliph's palace. Its walls and towers were all constructed of sturdy limestone blocks. With double walls, an outer fortress, an inner fortress, and bristling arrow towers, even if these areas were occupied by enemies, the three-towered keep—like the head of a lion—could allow those inside to hold out for a very long time.

Before they stepped into Jerusalem, a squad of knights had come to greet them, led by Balian of Ibelin.

The envoy had not heard much of this Crusader knight, but the title—it was the very one held by the husband of the Jerusalem king's mother, Hugh of Ibelin. The current Count of Ibelin was the younger brother of that count. Seeing such a man indicated that the King of Jerusalem did not intend to humiliate them.

Whether among Christians or Saracens, whether according to law or tradition, being an envoy was a rather dangerous profession. Although, generally speaking, any ruler or lord with a modicum of reason would not casually execute an envoy, there were always exceptions. Sometimes it was because the envoy brought news of a particularly heinous nature, or because both sides had reached a point of irreconcilable hatred; other times, it was simply because the opposing ruler or his ministers were inherently malicious.

Otherwise, an envoy could usually keep his life, but the range of possibilities between returning unscathed and merely keeping one's life was vast indeed.

In milder cases, they would simply force the envoy to drink until he was dead drunk at a banquet, then throw him into the latrine to dance with the dwarves; in more severe cases, they would strip him naked, coat him in tar and feathers (which could be fatal), force him into "entertaining" duels, or even compel him to fight wild beasts—this was one of the common practices of the Byzantine Emperors.

In the chronicles of the Saracens, there had even been a story of a Sultan who died suddenly while his envoy was carrying out his will elsewhere, leading the opposing Sultan or Emir to immediately turn hostile and imprison him as a slave.

In short, stories that would seem inconceivable to modern people were common occurrences at this time.

And just as the envoy had hoped, Balian of Ibelin's attitude, while not warm, could be called mild. They rode their horses together through the streets, waiting for the slowly descending drawbridge, and after crossing it, passed side-by-side through the dark, long tunnel.

As the envoy walked through the tunnel, though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but look up at the ceiling. Such tunnels often had deep fissures that reached into the darkness. These fissures were not natural, but man-made. They were pre-installed during the construction of the walls, housing heavy iron portcullises, their bottoms lined with rows of spikes like spearheads.

Usually, they were pulled high, barely showing a tip, but in the event of an enemy attack, the soldiers only needed to cut the suspension ropes to let the iron gate crash to the bottom.

Similar defensive equipment existed in the walls of Aleppo, which the envoy had touched and felt himself. If these were cast from solid black iron, even a fully armored knight, along with his equally armored horse, would be pierced in an instant.

His breathing became involuntarily rapid. He imagined the scene. Not walking through peacefully as he was now—but during their assault on the Citadel of the Holy Cross... blood and fire, wails and screams, swords clashing in the dark, sparks flying...

But the next moment, his fantasy was shattered; they had left the tunnel and returned to the sunlight.

It was a clear, fine day. However, to his surprise, Balian did not lead them directly into the main keep. Instead, they waited for a while before the main keep, until a handsome young man emerged. Seeing his black hair and green eyes, the envoy immediately knew this was the closest aide to the King of Jerusalem.

He spoke a few words with Balian. Balian was a landed lord with a title, and his seniority in the Jerusalem court should have surpassed this young man's, yet his attitude toward him was very gentle. While one couldn't say it was as humble as a servant or subordinate, it was at least an attitude of equality.

And that young man accepted it all calmly. He even thanked Balian for his work on behalf of the King, then walked toward them and fixed his gaze on the envoy. What surprised the envoy even more was that he actually spoke to them in Saracen.

"Peace be upon you, guests of the King."

"Peace be upon you," the envoy replied, though he was still somewhat confused—perhaps the young King suddenly felt it improper to treat former enemies so gently, and had his aide intercept them outside the main keep—he thought they might face some harassment, but soon, he realized he was wrong.

"Before the negotiations begin," Cesar said, "His Majesty the King has asked me to inquire if you wish to see your Sultan, Nur ad-Din, first?"

The envoy's eyes widened. He was, of course, willing!

In his imagination, even if the new King of Jerusalem was indeed as benevolent as legend claimed and would not insult the enemy's corpse, he had expected that they would not be allowed to see Nur ad-Din until the negotiations were over. He had even prepared to beg the Christian King to allow him to perform the "return to truth" rites for his master, regardless of whether the negotiations concluded today.

Saracens also performed rites for the deceased, though their final rites were very simple: usually, the closest kin would wash the body, wrap it from head to toe in clean white linen or cotton, and finally perform the "Janazah," the prayer for the dead.

Following Cesar, the envoy arrived at a quiet courtyard, walked down an open staircase, and entered the underground—a place likely originally used for storing wine or grain. It was dry and cold, and though small, it was sufficient to hold the old yet sacred body of Sultan Nur ad-Din.

Upon seeing that familiar face, the envoy almost lost control of his emotions. Able to be sent here and entrusted with such important work, he was naturally the most trusted person by Nur ad-Din's side. His loyalty to the Sultan was beyond compare. The old man, already past fifty, felt a wave of dizziness and a surge of sorrow. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face, soaking into his collar.

He had expected to see a body covered in wounds, clotted with blood, and even if not crawling with maggots, it would surely reek of decay, covered in dark, bruised scars.

But upon closer inspection, he found that the Sultan's face and body had been well cared for—not like someone who had died in a foreign land on a cruel battlefield, but rather as if he had passed away peacefully in the palace of Aleppo, surrounded by his kin and ministers. His skin was pale, clean, his hair and beard trimmed. His eyes were closed, his expression not ferocious, but rather relieved.

Though the body was stiff and cold, even the scent of decay inevitable in the dead was faint, replaced by a light, sweet fragrance of roses. His hands were folded on his chest, his legs together, wrapped in clean white linen—it was evident that the person who had done this, while not very skilled and not very familiar with Saracen customs, had been sufficiently pious and earnest in the steps and methods.

"You actually allowed... your clerics to perform the Saracen rites for him?" the envoy asked in a low voice.

"My apologies," Cesar said, "we wanted to find a Saracen to complete the final rites for him, but the problem is, we did not capture any of your clerics."

This is also a helpless matter. After all, the Battle of the Sea of Galilee was a surprise attack. The Crusaders didn't have many people. They were just bluffing. Although this bluffing was very successful, the knights were not arrogant enough to think they could fight a hundred or even a thousand with one. Even in pursuit, they didn't tail those Fatahs and Emirs who really had strength.

Saracens were different from Christians; the Crusader armies would inevitably have large numbers of clerics in their train. In the Saracen camp, there would only be a few "scholars" serving as secretaries by the Sultan's side.

And in the chaos of the night, no "scholars" had been captured—only two dead ones, which put them in a difficult position. Although they held some Saracen prisoners, they could not be sure if these Saracens were willing, or even capable, of performing the task properly...

"I did it," Cesar said. "Please do not view this as a sacred religious rite; it was merely the compassion of one human for another. Whether a king or a beggar, no one should leave this world dirty and unsightly. If you feel I have overstepped, I offer my apologies here."

"The compassion of one human for another?" the envoy murmured. "That is a sentence worthy of poetry or a proverb. If Sultan Nur ad-Din were still alive, he might even have spared your life for it.

Although he is dead, I believe my master would not harbor hatred for someone who showed him kindness. You should not apologize to me; on the contrary, I should offer you my highest respect and gratitude." He did not hesitate and bowed deeply to Cesar. "This is something I had not expected—I believe all Saracens would be willing to see our monarch as dignified and clean as he was in life.

Please tell me, was he in pain when he passed?"

Cesar considered for a moment: "Sultan Nur ad-Din fought on the battlefield until the very last moment. He fell from his horse, limited by his mortal frame, not his will. He passed away silently and peacefully on his first night in Jerusalem, his expression calm. Perhaps he knew he had fulfilled all his duties in the mortal realm and it was time to ascend to heaven."

The envoy revealed a bitter yet comforted smile. "Your description is so beautiful. I will recount these words truthfully to Sultan Nur ad-Din's wife and children, so that their hearts may not remain drowned in endless sorrow.

And you, wherever you go, roses shall bloom and springs shall gush forth."

He said this because, in the Saracen view, directly praising someone would invite the "evil eye" (the disaster brought by jealousy), so one must either use a line of poetry as Saladin did, or describe the things surrounding them.

"Cesar, Knight of Bethlehem, I will remember your name. For what you have done for Sultan Nur ad-Din—if one day you encounter us on the battlefield and are unfortunately taken prisoner, no matter who it is, Sultan or Emir, they will give you a horse, food, and water, and then let you go, wherever you wish to return. This is the promise of the Saracens."

Cesar listened, but said nothing, only smiling slightly.

The envoy saw it clearly: this young man did not seem to believe that he would one day become a prisoner bound at the foot of the stairs. He shook his head inwardly; this was perhaps the spirit of youth, but that spirit was so precious, so bright.

He reminded him of Saladin, still in Egypt. Saladin had been introduced to Sultan Nur ad-Din by his uncle Shirkuh, and Nur ad-Din had taken a great liking to the young man upon meeting him. For a long time, this young man had been his attendant, accompanying him by his side, and he had taught him as he would his own son.

And this Kurd had not disappointed, becoming not only a brave and wise general but also an opponent whom Sultan Nur ad-Din had to fear. Now, Nur ad-Din's premonition seemed to have become reality—in the near future, after Saladin deposed or sidelined the Caliph al-Adid, he would inevitably march north to invade Syria.

In contrast, Sultan Nur ad-Din's three sons were like three hyenas born of a lion. Before he had even departed, they had already begun to tear at each other. The First Lady, Second Lady, and Third Lady standing behind them had already used every means at their disposal, throwing all of Aleppo into turmoil, not to mention that there was a cousin in Mosul eyeing them covetously.

The surface situation in Syria was still calm, but undoubtedly, once the succession of Sultan Nur ad-Din was settled, this vast land would immediately fall into chaos. Where would he go then?

————

Before the negotiations began, the Saracen envoy presented gifts to the Christian King of Jerusalem.

Spices, silk, gold and silver vessels, and... female slaves.

(End of chapter)