Chapter 146: Conclusion (Two chapters combined)

With Ma Like having reached such a conclusion, the subsequent matters became much simpler.

The Viceroy of Damascus, Shirkuh, was now but a step away from rebellion. Any decree issued toward Egypt, whether by Sultan Nur ad-Din or his son, could be said to have vanished like a stone into the sea. There was no response, and the agent he had left in this city was already in an awkward position. Moreover, the one who killed him was an Assassin, not someone with a grudge or a conflict of interest—making it even harder for people to pin down the culprit. After all, what had brought about his death was merely a "weapon."

Had he offended few people in this city? Those merchants who had been plundered and slaughtered, those Isaacites who worked for him but were on the verge of being betrayed, or the Saracens who bore grudges against him because of Shirkuh...

Thus, he was quickly placed into a coffin. People hired his servants to perform the cleansing and subsequent tasks. After a short and simple funeral, the crowd gathered, imploring Ma Like to choose a reliable new agent for Damascus before he departed.

"Why did you think of choosing me?" Razis looked at Ma Like with suspicious eyes. They were indeed university classmates and could be called close friends, but that did not prevent them from teasing each other. "I am not a smart person, nor am I diligent enough. I have no desire for power; I only wish to spend the next few decades comfortably in the embrace of 'Exquisite Beauty'." Even his persistent collection and transcription of books over the last decade was merely to fulfill his ancestor's long-cherished wish.

Although Razis had received the Prophet's revelation, he had never wanted to enter the army or the court. He was very satisfied with his current life and did not want any changes.

"There is nothing to worry about." Ma Like sat opposite him. On the small table between them were exquisite snacks and candied fruits, as well as two hookahs. The smoke rose amidst the brilliant light spots formed by the stained glass, resembling the veils flying up when a singing girl twirled—though there were only the two of them in this room, with no servants or slaves nearby. After all, this was a rare moment of relaxation for them, especially for Ma Like.

Razis did not want to replace this batch of servants yet—so he would not keep anyone around them to serve, lest they hear something they shouldn't.

"Damascus didn't need a master to begin with." Ma Like saw the current situation very clearly.

The social strata of Damascus could be divided into three tiers. The highest, of course, were the officials, scholars, and generals; the second tier consisted of merchants, craftsmen, and farmers—Damascus was not just a city; its surroundings included rugged mountain peaks and vast wilderness; the third tier consisted of Christians, Isaacites, and the extremely subtle—the city's security personnel. They were not welcomed by the public; one could even say they were the wolfhounds driven by the first and second tiers. They even had a unique prefix, *shuār*, meaning vicious, which showed just how notorious they were.

Yet, people of these three tiers shared one common thought—they were united in their detestation of the taxes and laws coming from the Sultan or the Caliph, always hoping to make Damascus an autonomous city, like Florence in the Apennines or Laon in Frankish lands.

But such demands could not be satisfied in the world of the Saracens—under the Sultan, there were only slaves. Even the Grand Vizier and the Emirs could not break free from this curse, let alone Damascus, which only had some merchants.

In fact, more than a hundred years ago, the people of Damascus had already stirred up several riots that troubled the Caliph. He could not abandon this city, but the stubbornness of the populace always stuck in his throat like a fishbone.

The people of Damascus only began to behave themselves after being conquered by Nur ad-Din, but clearly, this posture of submission would not last long. Therefore, if Ma Like were to place someone like Shirkuh or Saladin here, the result would inevitably be poor—it would be like pouring a cup of ice water into a pot of oil that appeared calm but was actually boiling; in an instant, it would send sparks flying. By that day, Damascus might fall into strife even earlier than Apoler.

Precisely because of this, only a mediocre person with no pursuits would be accepted by the people of Damascus.

"Before the situation in Apoler is settled, you need not make any decisions. Even the bandits outside the city and the Isaacites within—if they want to use their own soldiers to remove the thorns growing on the trade routes, it doesn't matter. Just let them do it; do not interfere, and do not suppress them. If they give you gifts, accept them, but do not point fingers at the taxes. Hmm, even if they intentionally delay or there are shortfalls, it doesn't matter. After all, this money does not belong to you; it belongs to the Sultan.

If the future Sultan is a figure like Nur ad-Din, the ones who will be unlucky are just this group of people in Damascus..."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then you don't need to worry too much either. They will refuse the Sultan's decree on your behalf. These guys aren't stupid enough to intentionally welcome an opponent they are unfamiliar with and find difficult to control."

"Speaking like this really makes one feel frustrated," Razis said unconvinced. "At university, my studies were no worse than yours. I also received the Prophet's revelation in the temple. If necessary, I will also jump onto a horse, brandishing a scimitar, fighting those Christians just to defend the glory of Allah."

"But you have no ambition," Ma Like pointed out mercilessly. "You may be pious, diligent, or intelligent, but you have no desire to climb upward. You are not that kind of person, so you cannot understand their thoughts. Once you are drawn into the vortex, you will surely be crushed to pieces."

In fact, Nur ad-Din had once mentioned Razis's name, wanting him to come to the court in Apoler to work for him, but it was Ma Like who managed to decline it.

"I told him that if you were by his side, you might become a very good doctor, a warrior, or an official, but you could never become a competent minister—don't think that you'll be fine just by working diligently. As long as you block someone else's path—they won't hesitate to ruin the work in your hands to frame you, and then find a way to throw you into prison or execute you.

By then, everything will be over. The work, and you.

But Damascus today is indeed a good place for you to spend your days in leisure. If the new Sultan sends his Viceroy, you don't need to worry; just hand over the power in your hands steadily, and leave the rest to the people of Damascus."

"What if they urge me to fight the new Viceroy?"

"Then you come to Apoler."

"Are you sure?"

Ma Like was silent. "... If you are truly unwilling..."

"Forget it," Razis said. He put a honeyed apricot into his mouth and chewed slowly, feeling only bitterness. He also knew why Ma Like recommended him—it was because he truly couldn't pick anyone else.

The agent left behind by Shirkuh had already proven how terrible it was to let a person of low character govern a city. If Ma Like refused to point out someone to them—once he left, the people in this city would surely fight endlessly for this position, and the entire city would be torn apart as a result.

"Then what about you? Are you still going back to Apoler?"

"If I could stay in Damascus, then this agent would be me," Ma Like said. "But I must go back. This is my duty, my obligation, and even more, my power. Without watching Sultan Nur ad-Din sleep forever in his final resting place, my heart will surely never find peace for the rest of my life."

Speaking of Sultan Nur ad-Din, Razis raised his head: "That Christian knight you asked me to test... he did come to find me. How did you know he would definitely come to find me?"

"I have heard some things about him—within the Christian castle, I also saw with my own eyes how much the Christian King cherishes and trusts him," Ma Like could understand this—although for a Sultan like Nur ad-Din, or a Caliph like Al-Adid, when they were princes, there would be no sons of Grand Viziers or Emirs by their side (their fathers would not allow it).

But from childhood, they would have slaves of similar age by their side. These young slaves, like the women in the Sultan's harem, were also purchased from slave merchants or the market. They were like a dog or a bird, accompanying the prince. Although their lives and deaths were in the hands of others, after the prince became Sultan or Caliph, they could also wield power—even if they could never become the true master of a land, and would not even be allowed to own their own assets, and even their lives and honor belonged to their master—but they were often one person below, ten thousand above.

The loyalty of these people to the Sultan or Caliph was, of course, beyond doubt. After all, except for the master they grew up with, no one else would grant them the same trust and value. If someone else ascended to a high position, only death or a more miserable end awaited them.

But in the Christian court, this situation almost did not exist. After all, their foundation was not here; their foundation was in a distant place. Even if the current Count of Edessa had lost his territory, as long as he still had his surname and coat of arms, even if he left King Amalric I, he could still be a guest of other monarchs, and there would be hundreds of dignitaries willing to befriend him. Moreover, he was so young and handsome, and was the "Chosen One"—where could he not make a career for himself?

In the Sultan's court, Ma Like, who spent almost every moment in intrigue and infighting, found it hard to believe that there was indeed such a pure and benevolent person in this world, whose compassion was not only directed at his King, brothers, and Christians, but also at his enemies.

And when he was in Bosra, he heard that this young knight had taken his attendants to visit the library there and managed to borrow a few books about leprosy to read and transcribe.

He was not sure if this was a posture put on for others to see, or if it truly stemmed from a sincere heart, and how firm and stable this sincerity could be—he sent a servant to tell Razis that if there really was such a Christian knight who came to borrow those precious medical classics, he should humiliate, belittle, and question the other party as much as possible, to see if he would be angry, ashamed, or embarrassed...

Razis continued to tell him about last night's events without reservation and in great detail.

"It's really strange," Razis said. "Do you know? I thought that even if I said those things, if it were a child of his age, he would have turned and left without hesitation—even the elderly attendant behind him showed an indignant look, yet he acted as if he hadn't heard those words..." He gestured with an amazed look. "He just sat down in front of me like that, and then proposed to buy my books with a gold coin.

Of course, when I first heard this, I thought he was mocking me in retaliation, but then he kept increasing the bid, all the way to one million gold coins. One million—even buying Damascus would be enough. My anger dissipated at that moment. I suddenly understood," he looked at Ma Like, "he wasn't showing how much wealth he had, but how firm his confidence was. To achieve his goal, he could exchange everything for visible assets. My books, my dignity, my life—all had a price. Relatively speaking, so did his, so he didn't care about my wild words.

I admit I felt fear at that time. I completely didn't understand; it was just a few books, and he couldn't even be sure if those books could bring him real help, but he still threw out all his chips at once like a reckless gambler," he took a deep breath, "I didn't dare to gamble with him—so he won. Was he such a person before?"

"I'm not very clear about before, but I know his brother, the King of Amalric I, is indeed a bold gambler. Yes, you probably don't know the details of the Battle of the Horns of Hattin yet." Ma Like slowly smoked his hookah. "They defeated a Sultan's army ten times their size with a small force of over a hundred knights, hundreds of squires, and armed attendants, and the one who decided to do so was their young King, and perhaps also this knight we see now."

"He is indeed arrogant," Razis nodded. "However, such a person shouldn't be the type to treat good deeds as part of a conspiracy. Although good people can also do bad things, using the funeral of a great ruler as a bargaining chip undoubtedly touches the bottom line—whether it's Saracens or Christians."

Ma Like nodded. "He also told me that he performed the cleansing for the Sultan without asking for any reward—at that time we didn't say we would accept this favor of his; he was merely acting out of a human's pity for another human."

"A Christian knight with great love?" Razis laughed, seemingly finding this statement quite interesting. "Then why did you ask me to do that? Ma Like, I am not intentionally prying into your secrets. If you can't answer, don't answer me—I'm just a little curious."

That child was a Christian. If he were a young Saracen, or even a Kurd, or even a Nubian? He would have thought that his close friend intended to lead him into the Sultan's court. But he was a Christian, an enemy of the Saracens. Although it wasn't that there were no Christian knights employed by the Sultan or Caliph—but he was also a special envoy and close minister to King Amalric I, and the heir to the Count of Edessa—the possibility of him betraying his faith and monarch to change sides was too low.

"I was also entrusted by someone," Ma Like said. He did not say the person's name, and Razis tactfully did not pursue it. But Ma Like's thoughts had already flown to when he was still in Amalric I, when he received a secret letter from Cairo, Egypt—at that time he was worried about his future, not knowing where to go.

He had once worked under Sultan Nur ad-Din, the light of the Saracen faith, and was deeply convinced by him.

And after Nur ad-Din passed away, he looked around and couldn't find anyone who could keep pace with him—no, not even half as good. The Sultan's three sons were not even as good as the new King of Amalric I.

He couldn't go to Amalric I.

Compared to the Saracen court, Christian countries would only be more harsh and dangerous. Their emphasis on bloodline and surname destined that even the son of an ordinary farmer or craftsman would find it hard to stand in their circle of power, let alone a Saracen—if he went, it would most likely be to add some fuel to their pyres.

And in the following days, he actually received a letter from Saladin. He didn't have much contact with Saladin; he dealt more with his uncle Shirkuh. And Shirkuh could only be said to be a rude warrior. He might have had some small schemes, but in Ma Like's eyes, these were simply tricks played by children.

They were able to go south and become the masters of Egypt only because Nur ad-Din was already old and could no longer control these two unruly falcons. Once they were released, it would be difficult for him to summon them back into his hands.

In Ma Like's heart, they were a pair of unmitigated rebellious ministers.

If Nur ad-Din had not been defeated and died at the Battle of the Horns of Hattin, he might even have conquered Egypt after taking Amalric I. Ma Like had even thought about whether he would be in the Sultan's army at that time, watching with his own eyes as the Sultan's eunuch strangled those two rebels with a bowstring.

Now one of the rebels had written him a letter, and the content of the letter was very straightforward and frank. He was trying to recruit Ma Like—upon seeing those few lines, Ma Like even laughed out loud. It was too ridiculous.

How could Saladin think that as a member of a prominent minister family that had lived in Apoler for generations, the most prominent and arrogant member would be willing to submit to a Kurd?

But such letters were not just one. Every night thereafter, a letter would be placed on his desk, and the content of the letters was different each time.

Sometimes Saladin just described the scenery along the Nile, the life of the people, and his new army that was taking shape; sometimes he introduced him to the new capital of Egypt, Cairo, where he was building a huge castle as the first line of defense against the Christians; he also spoke of Apoler, of Nur ad-Din's three sons, and his nephew in Mosul. He even mentioned the Prince of Armenia and the Byzantine Emperor. It had to be said that some of his analyses actually coincided with Ma Like's.

And those parts that were not in agreement with his thoughts made Ma Like impulsively want to spread out parchment, pick up a quill, write down his own opinions, and send them back to Saladin. But wouldn't such behavior admit that he was willing to be Saladin's minister? He had managed to suppress the thoughts in his heart with great difficulty.

And when they were still in Bosra, at the end of the secret letter he received, Saladin made a small request, asking him to go and see that black-haired, green-eyed child.

Saladin had also heard that his identity had been revealed—he was actually the only son of Count Joscelin III of Edessa—suddenly, he went from a slave of unknown origin to one of the heirs of the four holy kingdoms (according to the Christian saying), which was truly astonishing.

However, unlike what Ma Like thought, Saladin did not think this was done intentionally by King Baldwin IV of Amalric I. Even without this identity, this child would surely have a bright future and a prominent status.

But Saladin said in the letter that he had once talked to this child. He possessed some noble qualities that ordinary people could not have, but under such rapid changes, even a mature person would uncontrollably reveal some ugliness. Could this teenager really withstand such a test?

Razis joked, asking if Ma Like was so concerned about this Christian knight because he wanted to recruit him into the court of Apoler? Ma Like certainly didn't have this intention, but he always felt that Saladin's concern for this young man was indeed a bit too much. This Kurd who might become Sultan in the future might really have some other thoughts—perhaps a guy who could become a monarch was always a bit like a dragon; when he saw treasure, he wanted to pull it to himself—Nur ad-Din was the same back then.

Of course, if the other party's performance disappointed him, he would probably discard him without mercy.

"If he were a Saracen, I would be satisfied and comforted, but he is a Christian," Razis said as if talking to himself. "Haven't you thought about letting him die in this mission?

Although the King of Amalric I would surely be furious, given this teenager's temperament, we might even face a tragic war. But so what? Christians and Saracens are destined to fight until the end of the world."

"... He is only a human after all," Ma Like said after pondering for a moment. "And our journey has not reached its end. Let's wait until we get to Apoler to see."

——————————

"In three days and two nights, the Christian delegation will arrive in Apoler," the First Lady said calmly, while her eunuch stood with his hands down, silent.

Sultan Nur ad-Din's youngest son, Salih, curled up in his birth mother's arms, looking at the First Lady with wide eyes—there was a rather peculiar rule in the Sultan's harem.

In the harem, except for the First Lady, the Second Lady, and the Third Lady, although all the concubines and slave girls in the court could be said to be the Sultan's playthings, their true master was only one person—that was the First Lady. The First Lady decided who among them would serve the Sultan. Unless the Sultan truly took a fancy to someone (which was rare), how many times they served, when they served, and even whether they could conceive, all depended on the First Lady's wishes.

If a concubine did not get the First Lady's permission, the First Lady could execute her on charges of adultery—this situation was also rare, but if it happened—the Sultan would not investigate too much.

And Salih was a child born under the First Lady's gaze, and he and his birth mother were the First Lady's natural allies.

Salih's birth mother hugged Salih tightly. Salih might not understand, but she knew that just the night before, Count Joscelin III of Edessa and his wife had been transferred from the remote fortress where they were imprisoned to the Apoler Castle, and then that night, the First Lady's eunuch had gone with poison to end them.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 147 =====