Chapter 78: To Egypt! (9)

He wrote in the document: “...Do not imagine that the Caliph Atid and the Grand Vizier Shawal, whom you revere and fear, are the monarch and prime minister your gods have ordained, nor that they still possess supreme glory, unwavering faith, and endless armies—you cannot find protection from them, just as a dove in its nest cannot receive aid from hyenas.

In truth, I have come here before, ruling over you as your sovereign, just as Caesar and Alexander once did.

I rely upon my devotion and faith in the One True God, the same God you worship—my bloodline traces back to the noblest and most venerable line, my revered saint has been followed by countless kings, my domain is vast, my army is mighty—my oaths are engraved on bronze tablets and inscribed in gold; you have seen how I once promised you.

Now I have returned, with my army; as soon as you see me, you will know that if I wished, I could strike your walls with swords and burn your homes with fire—I could destroy everything, but in the name of God, I am willing to show you mercy!

People of Bilbays! If you open your gates, I promise you: if you surrender and acknowledge me as your lord, I will honor and protect you; you may live as you did before, even more peacefully and prosperously!

May God bless you and me.”

Of course, the people of Bilbays did not immediately believe Amalric I or surrender.

They deliberated repeatedly; Bilbays was indeed a military fortress, once disciplined and formidable, but that was during the rule of the Kurd Saladin; since those two Zengid military commanders were forced to leave Egypt and return to Damascus, the city had grown slack and lethargic.

Unsurprisingly, Saladin’s successor was a complete fool, who secured this post only because he was the nephew of Grand Vizier Shawal; he cared nothing for the city’s fate, only seeking to amass enough wealth to flee this city, which might soon face the Frankish army head-on.

But the people of Bilbays knew well the nature of such men; when he tried to flee, they imprisoned him, and as they saw the wealth and treasures he intended to take, they fell silent.

Should they truly hold out? They could, if they followed Saladin’s former arrangements—but they did not believe Caliph Atid would thank them for their sacrifice.

Besides, Amalric I had once occupied this city; back then, it had not suffered cruel slaughter or plunder—though they still paid tribute, which had crippled them for years before they slowly recovered, only to face this new disaster immediately.

“If Amalric I keeps his promise...” someone whispered; when all turned toward the voice, he fell silent again—after all, they were all Saracens, subjects of Caliph Atid; to surrender the city so easily would make them seem cowardly and incompetent.

But remembering Caliph Atid lounging comfortably in Fustat, and the sycophant Shawal beside him, and what his nephew had done in this city, they felt these men were more vile than the infidels.

“We need a careful negotiation.”

“Yes, negotiation—we need negotiation. For our people, and for this city.” They were not all cowards, but they all knew Amalric I’s ultimate goal in this campaign was not Bilbays, but Fustat; this meant that no matter what, he would take Bilbays.

Could he possibly besiege Fustat while guarding against a rear attack from Bilbays?

“He will spare no cost to capture this city. We may resist until not a single soul remains alive—but...” that would bring no benefit to Bilbays; Caliph Atid would not shed a tear for them, only rejoice and sell the city again at a high price.

Moreover, if Amalric I finds he cannot take Fustat, Bilbays will be his only guarantee against total ruin—he will allow his soldiers to plunder the city freely: women will be raped, children sold into slavery, men slaughtered—all of them slaughtered.

Their shops, their libraries, their palaces, their temples will all be burned to rubble; every valuable thing will be shipped to Alasal or divided on the spot.

“Amalric I will demand money too.”

“But at least Bilbays will still stand, won’t it?”

The first speaker declared firmly: as long as Bilbays remains, money is merely water rushing in a river—an empty reservoir will be refilled; but if the entire reservoir is destroyed, no amount of wealth will remain here—it will all flow past, to other places, never staying.

His words drew faint murmurs of agreement and barely perceptible nods.

——————

Bilbays’ willingness to submit was, of course, precisely what Amalric I wished to see.

“Tomorrow is the entry ceremony, children,” he said cheerfully, surveying Baldwin and Cesar, “dress yourselves well and walk beside me into Bilbays.”

——————

Damascus has long been called “the city of heaven”; Saracen poetry says, “If there is paradise on earth, Damascus is among it; if paradise is in heaven, Damascus stands equal to it.”

But to those seeing Bilbays for the first time, even if it could not rival Damascus, it was a city of silver.

Its people whitewashed the walls and painted floral patterns in green; they built their temples with white marble, inlaid with green stone and glass mosaics forming geometric patterns on niches and lintels; they wore white robes and wrapped turbans; men—only men here—wore full beards, their hair mostly dark, faces pale gray or brown.

These people stood warily in the shadows behind Bilbays’ guards—guards drawn from the city’s families, who, though Saracens themselves, had already negotiated with Amalric I: the Christian king would respect their faith and authority, and in return, they surrendered Bilbays and pledged to supply provisions and aid to the Christian army during the siege of Fustat.

Far more excited than these were the city’s Christians; though permitted to live here and keep their faith, they paid heavier taxes and faced numerous restrictions—in dress, travel, and contracts they ranked below Saracens; worst of all, in Saracen eyes, they were no different from the Ishmaelites.

The Ishmaelites hid themselves—they were the unluckiest; they feared Christians more than Saracens, for Saracens only demanded their taxes, but before Christian lords and kings, they were fat pigs awaiting slaughter.

Saracen nobles personally led the king’s horse; others knelt beneath his hooves, one by one kissing Amalric I’s robe, then stepping back, hands crossed over their chests, trembling with awe, rising only after the last knight’s golden spurs vanished into the dust, mounting their horses to follow the winding, slender procession.

They went to the Afnah Palace; in Saracen speech, this meant “chastity,” but now the city’s Saracens spoke of it only with contempt, calling it “Hilam”—meaning “contrary to the law,” but in truth, it meant “harlot,” for the palace had changed hands many times: Fatimid caliphs, their grand viziers, Zengid Kurds, and now Christian kings, Amalric I both past and present.

“I am glad it still looks as it once did,” Amalric I remarked.

The Saracen nobles beside him bowed humbly, heads lowered, saying nothing.

Since this palace was originally built for the caliph, it followed Saracen style and law—it was vast (relative to other buildings in the city), surrounded by several courtyards like the caliph’s other palaces, with lush, dense groves between them—fruit trees: date palms, pomegranates, figs; birds perched in branches, beasts walked among them, drinking from ponds and streams.

They passed through gate after gate; the colonnades were of white marble, oak doors inlaid with copper strips carved with flowers, pushed open by four black-skinned slaves; a warm breeze blew in—two men could barely encircle the large brass braziers burning frankincense and sandalwood; servants waved ostrich-feather fans, filling the corridor with sweet fragrance.

If the colonnade was thus, the palace’s opulence was beyond words; guests sat down—the Saracen nobles apologized again, for they had not had time to prepare Frankish chairs and long tables; here there were only Saracen carpets, cushions, and low tables, though they had prepared for Amalric I a broad couch with ivory armrests and pure gold legs, invaluable.

The king sat with a smile, saying he cared nothing for such things; Baldwin and Cesar sat on either side; knights lounged, some seated, some leaning, others standing; Cesar sensed something odd—he glanced around and noticed certain walls bore silk tapestries oddly hung—castles had many tapestries, but these clearly had been hastily moved from floor to wall.

He suddenly recalled Heraclius once saying: the walls of caliphal palaces and temples were often adorned with gemstones carved with scripture—these gems might be merely vivid marble, but if forcibly chiseled away, they could not be quickly repaired, nor could similar stone or craftsmanship be found again...

Did these men still plan to welcome the caliph or another Saracen ruler here? It was possible—Cesar realized, as this occurred to him, that he had missed much of the conversation.

But when he listened closely, he found nothing worth noting—sycophants are always alike, whether Saracen or Frank; they fawned over the king, swore to give him and his army full support, already offering gold, armor, weapons; they pledged not only financial aid but to become the king’s vassals.

Cesar looked up and met Baldwin’s gaze—had they misheard something?

What were these men saying? Were they saying that after Amalric I captured Fustat, they would acknowledge him as lord, and when he “returned” to Alasal—he was, after all, the Lord of the Holy Land—the new caliph would rule here in his stead, and this new “caliph” promised to pay twenty thousand gold coins annually as tribute to Alasal.

“Only,” said the young man who would become the new “caliph”—clearly the Saracens’ puppet, obviously not drunk but intoxicated by power—pointing at Cesar: “If you permit, my lord, you may take all of Bilbays or Fustat, but may I keep this young man?”

He rose: “I wish to keep him by my side; though he is a Frank, even if he refuses to convert, it matters not—I will make him my sister’s husband, my grand vizier...”

His companions leapt up, gripping his arm to stop him, but Amalric I had heard every word; he smiled at Cesar.

“See how popular our little friend is,” he asked. “Will you go with him?”

(End of Chapter)