Chapter 264: Saladin’s Troubles Too
Saladin thought he would not have to face that disappointing face for a long time.
After all, Turan Shah had been dragged out of the Sultan’s tent by two Mamluks in full view of everyone, but he had truly misjudged the thickness of his brother’s skin.
On the evening of the third day, Turan Shah sent an attendant to say that he was ill and hoped to get a doctor from the Sultan.
The doctors and scholars by Saladin’s side were of course the best, with ample reserves of both herbs and the revelations given by the Prophet, and as his Sultan and brother, Saladin had no choice but to go to his tent to visit.
Upon going there, he discovered that Turan Shah had not lied; he was feverish. When he saw Saladin arrive, he opened one eye and whined, “Allah is punishing me, brother… ouch! My head hurts, my fingers hurt, my toes hurt, my whole body hurts, it’s terribly uncomfortable…”
Saladin simply stood by his bed, arms folded, looking at him expressionlessly.
He had been feverish himself before and knew that if someone could fluently say such a long passage, the illness was definitely not serious. He called the scholar by his side to treat Turan Shah and fed him some potion.
After the scholar carefully examined Turan Shah’s condition again, he said, “The fever is not from injury and cannot be cured immediately, but I guarantee that after just one more night, he will recover his previous spirit.”
Saladin thought that even without the scholar’s treatment, judging by Turan Shah’s current condition, he would be fine by morning. He was about to turn and leave when Turan Shah gently tugged his robe. He looked puzzled but did not speak.
“Please pray for me, and I will pray too.”
This was only natural. Saladin said nothing—he ordered the others out of the room, laid out a small blanket on the ground, stepped forward, slipped his hands under Turan Shah’s armpits, and easily dragged him up from behind.
Turan Shah was at least half a horse’s weight, but in Saladin’s hands, he felt like a cloth bag that could be dragged around at will—at least that’s how Turan Shah felt.
When Saladin placed him on the small blanket, he felt his brother’s body heavily leaning toward him: “I have something to tell you,” he hurriedly whispered in Saladin’s ear, “don’t let anyone know.”
Saladin said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard, but he did press firmly on Turan Shah’s shoulder, and Turan Shah felt relieved.
“In the name of the Merciful and Compassionate Allah…”
Turan Shah watched as Saladin knelt on the blanket. He mumbled, wanting to say it was just an excuse, but remembering the previous beating, he immediately dropped his little scheme and prayed obediently.
The prayer was only about ten sentences, but Turan Shah was burning with anxiety.
He did not dare keep Saladin in his tent for long. He didn’t even dare go to Saladin himself. “Saladin, I want to expose a conspiracy to you…”
After the prayer, he couldn’t even stand up from the blanket before eagerly saying.
“Expose to me?”
“Yes, someone intends to oppose—no, more than that, they want to incite a rebellion.”
“Who?”
“Remnants of the Fatimid Dynasty. Not only are they ungrateful for your tolerance and generosity, they plan to end your life in this war and pin it on the Christians or the Assassin.”
“How do you know?”
“That night they sent an attendant inviting me to their banquet. At the banquet, they revealed this to me.”
“They must think the bait they offered would make it impossible for you to refuse, so they told you without any scruples.” Saladin sneered.
“Indeed, Sultan. They underestimate me, thinking I would either out of greed or cowardice not dare to expose it to you.”
He considered for a moment. “They promised me that once you were dead, as your brother, I would not only get Damascus but all of Egypt.”
“Indeed,” Saladin said flatly, “my sons are not yet of age, and Egypt needs a monarch who can wield a sword on horseback and govern on foot; it can’t wait for them to grow up slowly. There’s no difference with Ayyarasa Road in this regard.”
In an era of frequent wars, neither Christians nor Saracens could tolerate a young child sitting on the throne.
“Who are they?”
Turan Shah named those people, but immediately added, “They said they have many people, more than I could imagine. They advised me not to tell you, because it would be pointless even if I did. They said…” At this point, a trace of fear crossed Turan Shah’s face.
“They said you couldn’t completely discard or deal with a third of the entire army.”
“A third…”
“Saladin, tell me, are they bluffing, or…”
“If I had to say, they weren’t wrong.” Saladin showed a smile that chilled Turan Shah to the bone. He had been building a force that belonged solely to him, namely the Mamluk army.
But the problem was that due to insufficient time and funds, he could now only muster two thousand men. Though these two thousand were loyal to him, their combat experience was ultimately lacking.
Even though along the way, by attacking those forces that did not submit to him, these young men had grown rapidly, when he left Egypt, he couldn’t take just these two thousand.
So the main force in this army turned out to be the old nobles of the Fatimid Dynasty. Even if they knelt at Saladin’s feet and kissed his robe to show loyalty, now it seemed they were no different from those wavering “Fatah.”
They could not accept Saladin’s rule over Egypt. Apart from loyalty to their former masters—if they had any—Saladin’s laws and policies had seriously harmed their interests.
Saladin was not Atid; he would not allow his subordinates, after receiving his generous rewards and compensation, to continue sucking the marrow from the people.
He knew very well that the Mamluks he bought were truly his, and the people of Egypt were the foundation of his power. He had promulgated many laws to restrict officials’ encroachment on land and plundering of the people, treating Christians and Isaacites equally, not allowing others to extort and blackmail with trumped-up charges.
He also set standard weights and measures requirements in the Market; no matter which side of the trade, they all had to weigh fairly before the scales he set up.
And before this campaign, he was still planning a unified tax system, though he had not yet reached the final result—implementation would also wait several years. Even so, those with keen senses had already noticed something was wrong and rushed to crawl out, exposing themselves in broad daylight.
Saladin was silent for a long time. Turan Shah felt chilled to the bone. He glanced at Saladin from the corner of his eye. “Will you punish them?”
“I will.” Saladin answered, but not now. He glanced outside the tent and stood up. To avoid the prying eyes of those with ulterior motives, it was best not to stay too long in Turan Shah’s tent.
No matter how unworthy, Turan Shah was still his brother.
“Didn’t it tempt you at all? Not even for a moment?” Saladin asked.
“I’m very stupid, but not so stupid as to not see my own place,” Turan Shah said candidly. “Saladin, you are the leader of this wolf pack. When the alpha wolf leads the pack, even the mediocre ones in the pack can get a share of the rich flesh and blood. But if one of them overreaches and climbs to the leader’s position, what awaits it?
It might not even wait for the first failed hunt; the other wolves in the pack would bare their teeth and force it out. Its final ending would be either being eaten by other beasts or starving to death in the mountains and forests.”
Saladin shook his head subtly, perhaps this was why the Prophet warned them not to belittle everyone’s relationships: “You are lucky, Turan Shah.”
“What?”
Saladin gave him no answer. He left Turan Shah’s tent and returned to his own quarters. His tent was higher than all others; looking down from above, he could see the endless army, and indeed half of it belonged to the old forces.
The only things that could reassure Saladin were the Kurd cavalry left by his uncle and the Mamluk army he had personally built. It could be said that he couldn’t fully trust even the Turkmen. With such a force, he had to accomplish this difficult work, but would it be difficult? Not necessarily. In many cases, even enemies could be utilized.
No matter where he came from.
