Jack Hight: Kingdom

‘Why not attack the citadel’s western gate?’ Yusuf asked.

‘Because that is suicide. The only way to reach it is through a tunnel sixty paces long. Pipes in the wall allow the tunnel to be flooded.’

Sabir stopped speaking. Yusuf and Qaraqush exchanged glances. ‘Sounds like it will be hell to take,’ the mamluk general said.

Yusuf felt the familiar burning in his gut. ‘Al-Mashtub, see that Sabir is paid, then take him to a tent and post guards there.’ Al-Mashtub led the man out, and Yusuf turned to Qaraqush. ‘We will situate the catapults on the south-eastern side of the citadel. We need to bring down the southern keep.’

‘Even then, we will lose thousands of men in an assault.’

‘It is a price worth paying. There will be no security in my kingdom so long as the Hashashin live. And I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days worrying about a knife in my back.’ Yusuf scratched his beard as he considered his options. ‘Have some of the catapults launch fire at the citadel. Perhaps we can burn it down. And have diggers undermine the eastern wall.’ Yusuf raised his voice. ‘ Saqr !’

The head of Yusuf’s bodyguard entered. ‘Yes, Malik?’

‘Have extra guards posted around my tent and sprinkle the ground with lime and ash, as at Sabir’s tent. No one but you is to enter without my permission.’

That evening Yusuf ate a simple meal of rice and lentils while Imad ad-Din updated him on the correspondence from Damascus, Cairo and Aleppo. It was late when they finally finished. Before retiring to bed, Yusuf stepped outside. At twenty paces his tent was ringed by torches tied to posts. Armoured guards stood by each of the thirty torches. The ground between the tent and the guards was covered in ash and lime. No one could walk there without leaving footprints. Four guards walked the perimeter of Yusuf’s tent, their eyes scanning the ground for any trace of an intruder. Saqr stood beside the entrance.

‘All is well?’ Yusuf asked him.

‘You are safer here than in your palace in Cairo.’

Yusuf went inside and passed through the curtain that separated off his sleeping quarters. He blew out the lamp and lay on his cot. At regular intervals he could hear the footsteps of the guards as they passed outside his tent. He was listening to their footsteps when he fell asleep.

He awoke with a start some time later. There was shouting outside the tent. He stepped outside to see mamluks running here and there. He looked to Saqr. ‘What is happening?’

‘The informer Sabir has been murdered by one of the Hashashin. The men are looking for his killer.’

‘Only one man? His was guarded by four mamluks.’

‘They are all dead. The Hashashin was seen fleeing.’

Yusuf frowned. ‘Inform me at once if he is found.’

He re-entered his tent and pushed through the curtain to his sleeping quarters. He froze. Someone was sitting at the foot of his cot. The man wore the saffron yellow caftan of one of Yusuf’s men over his mail, but this was no mamluk. Yusuf reached for the sword propped against the tent wall.

‘Do not do that,’ the man said quietly. ‘And do not call for help, either.’ He had a flat voice with no trace of emotion in it. Yusuf saw that the man held a dagger in his hand. It was wet with blood. ‘It would be a pity to kill you, Saladin. Come. Sit.’

Yusuf sat at the head of the bed. ‘Who are you?’

‘You know who I am.’

Yusuf squinted in the darkness and made out a black beard with a few streaks of grey, a beak of a nose and dark eyes. ‘Rashid ad-Din Sinan,’ he said, and the man nodded. The Old Man of the Mountain, head of the Hashashin. ‘Why have you come?’

‘To talk.’

‘Why not just kill me as you tried to do before?’

‘Circumstances have changed. The position of my people is fragile. We are caught between the Sunnis to the east and the Franks across the mountains to the west. We have had to play one off against the other to survive. But this policy cannot last forever. You are now lord of Syria and Egypt. You can guarantee us security. But if I kill you, then nothing will change. We will continue to balance on the tip of a sword, the Christians on one side and the Sunnis on the other.’

‘I, too, am a Sunni. I thought that is why you wanted me dead.’

‘I am a reasonable man. The Fatimid Caliphate is gone, and killing you will not bring it back. I must do what I can to protect the few Ismaili who remain.’

‘So you seek a truce. What are your terms?’

‘First, you will withdraw your men and swear never again to move against us. Second, you will raze the Templar and Hospitaller fortresses that border our lands. They force us to pay tribute, and until such time as they are crushed, you will send an annual payment equivalent to the moneys they demand of us.’

‘And what do I get in return?’

‘Your life.’

Yusuf shook his head. ‘That is not enough.’

Sinan smiled, and Yusuf could see his white teeth in the dark. ‘I was told you are a bold man, Saladin.’

‘You must swear to spare not only me but also the lives of my family and my men. If so much as a single mamluk dies at the hands of one of the Hashashin, then I will return to tear Masyaf down stone by stone.’

Sinan considered this. ‘No,’ he said at last. Yusuf opened his mouth to protest, but Sinan raised a hand to stop him. ‘Your family and your emirs will be safe, but I cannot promise to respect the lives of all your men. Our lands are small, Saladin. We must find ways to supplement our meagre income. Murder can be most profitable. But I swear to restrict it to common men.’

‘Very well,’ Yusuf said reluctantly. ‘I will send a man tomorrow to finalize the terms of our treaty.’

‘Your word is enough.’

‘You have it.’

Sinan rose, and Yusuf began to do so as well. The assassin motioned for him to sit. ‘Please, wait until I have gone.’

‘But I must order my guards to escort you back to Masyaf.’

‘That will not be necessary.’ He pulled back a flap of the screen that led to the main chamber of the tent and then turned back to Yusuf. ‘You will not regret having us as allies. If there are any that you wish dead …’ He let the words hang in the air.

‘I do not deal in murder.’

‘You will.’ Sinan disappeared though the screen.

Yusuf rose and followed him to the next room. No one was there. Yusuf stepped out of the tent, but again there was no sign of Sinan. Saqr still stood beside the entrance.

‘Did you see him?’ Yusuf asked.

‘Who?’

One of the guards who circled the tent was approaching, and Yusuf turned to him. ‘A man was here. Dark hair and a long beard. Did you see him?’

‘No, Malik.’

Yusuf circled the tent and found a slash in the side where Sinan must have exited. His eyes went to the ash- and lime-covered ground. There were no footprints. How was that possible? He came back to where Saqr stood and peered into the darkness beyond the torches.

‘Are you well, Malik?’ Saqr asked.

‘Have Qaraqush and Al-Maqaddam come to my tent.’

Qaraqush arrived first. He was still blinking sleep from his eyes. ‘I was dreaming I was in paradise surrounded by virgins. Why in the name of-’ He stopped short when he saw the expression on Yusuf’s face.

Al-Mashtub arrived a moment later. ‘We were unable to find Sabir’s killer.’

‘Sinan,’ Yusuf said.

‘Sinan was here?’ Qaraqush demanded.

Yusuf nodded. ‘We will strike camp first thing tomorrow.’

Qaraqush blinked, speechless. Al-Mashtub recovered first. ‘Why, Malik?’

‘Our business here is finished. The Hashashin will trouble us no more. We will return to Cairo. It has been too long since we were home.’