Tariq Ali - The Book of Saladin

From where I am composing these lines I can see the Sultan’s banners fluttering in the breeze on Mount Olivet. Our men worked all night to make sure the barbican was mined.

Ten thousand of our soldiers have now made it impossible for the Franj to use two of their most important gates. Our archers are stationed directly underneath the ramparts waiting for their orders. The Kadi al-Fadil described their arrows as “toothpicks to the teeth of the battlements”. It is an accurate description, acknowledged as such even by Imad al-Din, who, incidentally, was hoping that al-Fadil would stay in Cairo so that he would be the only serious chronicler of the victory.

As you know, my dearest Rachel, they do not even deign to consider your husband as a rival. For them I am just a pen-pusher who caught the Sultan’s eye at an opportune moment. That is Imad al-Din’s public attitude to me. In private he often tells me stories which he hopes I will attribute to him, thus ensuring that he is mentioned in the “great book of Salah al-Din”. The Kadi al-Fadil is more subtle, more careful, but his main concern lies in his own work. He barely thinks of me in serious terms, but is always helpful when I need to check a fact or two with him.

Yesterday the Sultan was visited by Balian of Ibelin. His life had been spared at Hattin and he had pledged never to bear arms against the Sultan as long as he lived. Now he told us that the Patriarch had absolved him of his oath.

“And your God,” inquired the Sultan, “will He forgive you just as easily?”

Balian remained silent and averted his eyes. Then he threatened Salah al-Din. If our soldiers did not withdraw, the Franj would first kill their own women and children and then set fire to the al-Aqsa mosque before demolishing the sacred Rock. After this they would kill the several thousand Believers in the city and then march out into the plain with swords raised to die in battle against the infidels.

The Sultan smiled. He had vowed to take this city by force, but he offered the Franj a generous deal. All the Christians would be permitted to leave provided they paid a ransom to the treasury. The Christian poor would be set free with money from the King’s treasure which was kept by the Hospitallers. Salah al-Din gave them forty days to find the ransom money.

“When you Franj first took this city, Balian, you slaughtered the Jews and Believers as if they were cattle. We could do the same to you, but blind revenge is a dangerous elixir. So we will let your people leave in peace. This is my last offer to your leaders. Turn it down and I will burn down these ramparts and show no mercy. The choice is yours.”

Today it is Friday, the Holy Day of Islam. It is the second of October, but the twenty-seventh of Rajab in the Muslim calendar. On this day their Prophet dreamt his famous dream and visited this city in his sleep. And on this day, as even the least religious of them has been telling himself and others since daybreak, the Franj capitulated and signed the terms of surrender. As news of this spread there was a loud cry of “Allah o Akbar” and the amazing sight of thousands and thousands of men, falling to their knees in the dust and prostrating themselves in the direction of Mecca, to give thanks to Allah.

Then there was silence, a silence born of disbelief. We looked at each other in astonishment, wondering whether this had really happened or was it all a dream? After ninety years, Jerusalem, or al-Kuds, belongs to us again. All of us!

In exactly one hour the Sultan will ride into the city and I, my dearest Rachel, will be at his side. My thoughts at this moment are of you and our little family, but I am also thinking of my old friend Shadhi. This was a day he longed to see, and I know that his ghost will be riding just behind Salah al-Din, whispering in his ear as only he could: “Look straight ahead. You are a ruler. Don’t lower your eyes. Remember, you are the Sultan who has taken back our al-Kuds, not the Caliph in Baghdad. Even as we march the so-called Caliph will be drowning himself in pleasure.”

Shadhi would have said all that and I will think it, but I do not have the authority to say all this to the Sultan. Imad al-Din is on his way to Damascus and al-Fadil is not here. What will they advise him after he has taken the city?

I am alone with him and the responsibility is awesome. What am I to say if he seeks my advice? It is at times like these that I feel the most vulnerable and realise that, perhaps, I am nothing but a hired scribe.

I kiss your cheeks and hope to see you soon. Kiss our daughter and grandson. I am delighted to hear that another one is on the way. Perhaps you should come to Jerusalem. I think I will be here for some time.

Your husband,

Ibn Yakub.

Salah al-Din takes Jerusalem; Imad al-Din eyes a beautiful Copt translator; Jamila makes her peace with Halima’s memory

WE RODE INTO THE Holy City through the Bab al-Daud. The Sultan did not need Shadhi to tell him his head should be raised high. He rode straight to the Mosque, heavy with the stench of the Franj and their beasts. It was here the Hospitallers and Templars had stabled their steeds. Salah al-Din refused to wait till the holy precinct was cleansed. He jumped off his horse and, surrounded by his emirs, offered prayers of thanks to Allah. Then they began to clean the mosque.

As we rode back through the streets the Sultan was moved by the pathetic sight of Christians groaning and weeping. There were women pulling at their hair, old men kissing walls, frightened children clutching their mothers and grandmothers. He pulled up his horse and sent a messenger to fetch the Franj knight Balian.

While we were waiting the Sultan looked up and smiled. His flag was being raised on the citadel and the exultant chants and cheers of our soldiers momentarily drowned the noise of the distraught Christians. I thought again of Shadhi and so did Salah al-Din. He turned to me with a tear in his eye.

“My father and my uncle Shirkuh would not have believed that this could happen, but Shadhi always knew my banners would be raised one day in al-Kuds. At this moment I miss him more than anyone else.”

We were interrupted by the presence of Balian.

“Why do they weep so much?” the Sultan asked him.

“The women weep, sire, for their dead or captive husbands. The old weep for the fear they will never see these sacred walls again. The children are frightened.”

“Tell your people,” Salah al-Din told him, “that we shall not treat them as your forebears treated us when they first took this city. As a child I was told of what Godfrey and Tancredi did to our people. Remind these frightened Christians of what Believers and Jews suffered ninety years ago. The heads of our children were displayed on pikes. Old men and women of all ages were tortured and burnt. These streets were washed in our blood, Balian. Some of the emirs would like to wash them again, but this time in your blood. They remind me that we all believe in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

“I have quietened them and stilled their fears. I have told them that we are all the People of the Book, and this city belongs to all those who believe in the Book. Tell your women they are free to go even if they cannot afford the ransom.

“Alas, we lack the powers of your Prophet Isa and are not able to bring the dead back to life. We will release captive knights provided they swear an oath never to take arms against us again. You avert your eyes, Balian of Ibelin, and so you should. You, too, swore such an oath. An oath before Allah cannot be forsworn by any human, be he a Patriarch or a Pope. If that is understood, we will be generous. If you hear of any of my soldiers offending the honour of a single Christian woman, come and tell me. If you are told that any of your sacred shrines are being despoiled by my men, please let me know at once. It shall not be permitted. That is my word as a Sultan.”