Chapter 263: Saladin’s Troubles Too
Saladin knelt on a small carpet, piously prostrating toward the holiest place of the Saracens—he was reciting scripture, every letter flowing over his tongue and heart like rolling pearls.
He knew many Saracens were gossiping privately that he was not very pious, because he was always very tolerant toward Christians and Jews, while the hatred between Christians and Saracens was almost impossible to resolve.
Although they worshipped the same deity, like brothers under one roof, the bloodline from the same source instead made them fight more fiercely and brutally—who would not be unwilling to lose this precious heritage, which was their spiritual fire, the dwelling of the body, and the home of the soul.
“What are you praying for to Allah?”
Minister Kamal, who had prayed with him, asked in a low voice.
“Unity.” Saladin replied, “The unity of the Saracens.”
Kamal did not respond; he let out a long sigh in his heart.
The earliest Prophet used faith to unite those tribes scattered like sand, but the vast empire he founded fell apart not long after his death. What he had once seen and hoped to see had become intricate drawings and splendid writing on scripture, but no one believed in them anymore. They had lost the kindness the Prophet demanded of them and the honesty the Prophet demanded of them.
Nur al-Din was undoubtedly the one they had placed the most hope in. Unfortunately, he had no successor. In the last moment of his life, he launched an expedition to Jerusalem—perhaps he had already foreseen this tragic scene, so he staked everything on a single throw.
He died in Jerusalem. Although not in the way he expected, Kamal and the other followers looked around in bewilderment, unable to find a place to entrust themselves and their family, until Saladin wrote him a letter.
Kamal initially had no intention of joining Saladin. Whether by bloodline, law, or scripture, Saladin was the one most distant from Sultan Nur al-Din, not to mention that after he went to Egypt with his uncle to work for Caliph Atid of the Fatimid Dynasty, he had vaguely slipped out of Nur al-Din’s control.
In the end, whether Nur al-Din demanded that he hand over power and return to Acre, or urged the Saracens in Egypt to convert, he cleverly declined them all.
Even if Nur al-Din did harbor malice. And Saladin’s choice could not be called incorrect, but from the standpoint of Nur al-Din’s minister, Kamal could only call it rebellion.
In fact, many among them had already made their decision. Even if Salih, Nur al-Din’s youngest son, ascended the throne and the First Lady became Regent Empress Dowager, they would not have much objection. Those elevated and heavily employed by Nur al-Din were naturally outstanding in all aspects. They believed that even if a monkey were tied to the throne, they could make it continue to hold Nur al-Din’s territory and power.
But the problem lay exactly there.
When they were arrested by two other princes and subjected to torture, did Salih and the First Lady really not know? Just by looking at who the final victor was, they could not think these two were very clean.
And the First Lady, knowing this, still connived, just to have fewer obstructions and restrictions from old ministers in her ruling career… it was simply a straightforward way to prove how shortsighted and malicious she was inside.
As for Salih, Nur al-Din’s youngest son, he was nine years old by then. In an era where a boy could be considered an adult at twelve, a nine-year-old child still unable to make any decisions for himself could only mean two possibilities.
The first possibility was that he understood everything happening now and knew what would happen, but he remained unmoved and stood by—this kind of monarch was not trustworthy; he did not love his ministers, and his ministers naturally had the right not to love him.
And the second possibility was that he was indeed so foolish as to know nothing, which would certainly not make Kamal and the others choose him as Sultan. Otherwise, while they fought to the death with the Sultan’s enemies, would they still have to guard against betrayal from those sworn in loyalty?
And their final decision to turn to Saladin was because, after receiving their plea for aid, Saladin really led three thousand men and appeared in Damascus.
At that time, Kamal had no hope at all, since his previous relationship with Saladin was not harmonious.
After receiving Saladin’s invitation, he immediately put the letter away high on the shelf. Although he did not speak sarcastically or stand with the opponents, he made his attitude clear.
But Saladin did not give up on them.
After returning to Cairo in Egypt, they felt even more that their choice was right; the Fatimid Dynasty no longer existed, and most in the Imperial Court were still old ministers of Caliph Atid.
These people might be useless, but no one dared underestimate them. They had operated for a long time, with deep roots, like pulling out the deep underground roots of a towering giant tree after it falls, which was more difficult than felling the trunk.
And conquering a country was much simpler than ruling a country.
Saladin needed them, and they needed Saladin; their talent and ambitions were unexpectedly realized in a place thousands of miles away.
They took over the work from those who occupied positions without doing real work, and brought in more capable and outstanding talents through letters, camels, and pigeons.
From the information brought by these relatives and friends, they had to sadly confirm that the hope once created by Sultan Nur al-Din was falling apart, as if some force was pulling the Saracens back to that ignorant and dark old time.
Sand was constantly flowing out from the clenched fist; everywhere was in chaos. Whether Emirs or Viziers, all hoped to become the next “Light of Faith”.
But unfortunately, there was no such person among them.
This situation became even more pronounced after leaving the Nile River Delta; the vast territory once held by Nur al-Din had been fragmented into scattered pieces by village.
And when Saladin decided to accept the plea from the Governor of Damascus and lead the army north, Kamal had hesitated whether to dissuade him, for in his view, properly managing Egypt was now the most important thing.
But soon he discovered that Saladin’s decision might be right. If the Syrian region continued in chaos, the Saracens would only face the tragic fate of being defeated one by one by the Crusaders.
But thinking of this, a strong bitterness welled up in Kamal’s mouth. Even to this day, it seemed only Saladin was still struggling to pick up the staff dropped by the Prophet on the ground and trek onward with difficulty.
Along the way, whether tribal leaders or city officials they encountered, they seemed to care only about themselves, at most their own tribe or city. They were not without expectation for the future, but if pressed to say what kind of future it was, they would fall into bewilderment and be unable to say a word.
The Crusaders were watching covetously, but that did not stop these Saracens from still regarding neighboring kin as prey—a tribe attacking another tribe was commonplace; when an “Emir” distributed spoils of war unjustly, arousing soldiers’ discontent and getting shot dead, it was not rare; and when a certain “Fatah” died, his tribe would immediately fall into chaos afterward, the warriors would inevitably follow his son, fight it out to decide the final victor before stopping.
And when leaders gathered, they would quarrel over a sword or a horse… and thus go to war—Saladin did not know how many such disputes he had mediated, the workload even far exceeding that in Cairo.
If only the Christians were also leaderless. Unfortunately, he and Saladin had both seen that child and the monarch he served.
Kamal occasionally wished he could be a bit more base; if so, he could avoid many troubles.
“May Allah hear your prayer.” He said sincerely.
Saladin faced him, with his back to the torches outside the tent; the firelight cast a bright golden edge around him, yet completely submerged his face in darkness.
Kamal did not see his expression clearly, but it should not have been a smile.
Saladin seemed about to say something to him when someone suddenly pushed aside the guards outside the tent and walked in; the two young Mamluks showed anger but could not draw their swords—the other was Saladin’s brother, Turan Shah.
Saladin turned sideways, letting the firelight illuminate half his face. “What matter brings you to my tent at this hour, and without announcement?”
“I am your brother, Saladin.” Turan Shah grumbled. He was a burly fellow, more like a giant bear compared to Saladin, who had a lean face and slender build.
But such a fat and bulky figure was not admired among the Saracens. After all, the Saracens were a nomadic people; someone too bloated was always somewhat sluggish, a greater burden on horses and camels, consuming more food and water, which was not conducive to others’ survival.
Turan Shah strode into the tent and sat down under his brother’s disapproving gaze. Even though it was just from his own tent to Saladin’s—perhaps only three hundred feet apart—he was still somewhat out of breath from fatigue.
Saladin did not sit, just paced back and forth a few steps. “If you have something to say, say it quickly.”
Turan Shah lowered his head, as if pondering for a moment, then looked up with a smile, his tone calm, in a manner neither Saladin nor Kamal could have imagined, and said lightly, “When you repel the Christians, give me Damascus.”
For a moment, Kamal could not help wanting to dig in his ears.
Then he looked at Saladin in astonishment, unable to believe he had heard such absurd foolishness. And this foolish talk came from Saladin’s half-brother. Had he misheard something?
What Turan Shah should have said was—he would follow Saladin to defeat the Christians—and then, though a bit excessive, if he truly established indisputable merit, Saladin might well leave Damascus to his brother.
“What nonsense are you talking?” Saladin said solemnly. Perhaps at this moment he still hoped his brother would suddenly grin and say he was joking…
But Turan Shah disappointed his good intentions. He raised his head, stared at Saladin, and said earnestly, “I just saw my sister, who is your sister. She insists on returning to Homs, and you have already promised to detach an army to escort her back to her husband—is it that the people in Homs have reached some agreement with you? I know he is a greedy fellow.
He once thought of meddling in Damascus too; I am a bit worried…”
His eyes shifted to the side: “If he demands to exchange Damascus with you, trading his Homs for it, would you agree? You would, but I beg you not to. Leave Damascus to me.”
He said righteously, “I am your brother, your closest kin. You will always return to Cairo; who will help you hold this new territory then?”
He patted his chest. “Only me, Saladin, only me.”
It was the first time Kamal had seen an incredulous look on Saladin’s face; the usual composure and calm seemed to have left this Sultan.
“Are you feverish?” Saladin said gravely. “To say such foolish words?” Seeing Turan Shah still unwillingly trying to retort, Saladin’s face suddenly darkened.
Because just now, he suddenly thought of something. He had just finished prayers, and though Turan Shah’s tent was only three hundred feet away, such a short time was not enough for him to finish his own prayers and then come to Saladin’s tent. It could only mean…
“You did not pray.”
Turan Shah’s face changed immediately. Of course he always appeared very pious in front of others, but in fact, when no eyes were watching, he relaxed his requirements.
And it was not intentional; he had just accidentally fallen asleep. As for why his servant did not remind him? Of course he would not say it was his order. He was prepared to be scolded by Saladin, but Saladin suddenly knelt halfway down, grabbed his brother’s shoulders, looked into his eyes, then leaned in and sniffed his lips.
Although Turan Shah had rinsed his mouth and changed clothes, Saladin still clearly smelled the sour stench of wine. He flew into a rage, stood up, kicked Turan Shah to the ground directly. Before Turan Shah could resist, he drew the scimitar from his waist, pulled out the long blade, threw it on the ground, then swung the scabbard viciously to beat his brother.
Not praying, drunkenness—Turan Shah had instantly committed two sins Saladin found hard to accept.
Moreover, he was there, brazenly demanding that Saladin hand over Damascus to him. Who did he think he was? The common father of the Saracens, Ishmael? To dare speak so recklessly.
Kamal had tried to stop it earlier, but he was a smart man and quickly noticed Turan Shah’s anomaly. He had not come to Saladin after deep consideration.
On the contrary, he had missed prayers because of sleeping, then drank a whole jug of wine, got himself drunk, and only then found Saladin in his wine-fueled state. He probably thought he could test Saladin’s intentions, figuring that since Saladin agreed to his sister’s excessive request, he as brother should receive even more generosity from the Sultan.
So Kamal no longer sincerely tried to stop it, just hypocritically calling from the side, “Ah, stop hitting, Sultan, stop, he is after all… your brother… stop, please stop quickly…”
But his feet were like nailed to the ground, unmoving, not even bothering to raise a hand.
Saladin glared at Kamal, knowing he was watching the show again. One had to say the Ayyubid family also had “talents emerging in multitudes”.
“Not a chance.”
Saladin’s voice came intermittently from above Turan Shah’s head. “If you want Damascus, earn it with your own merits.”
It could only be said this way. If Turan Shah had such boldness to attack Damascus, even if this venture ended in vain, Saladin might have agreed to his request and rewarded Damascus to him.
But looking at him now, how could he become an admirable warrior?
Saladin finally took a deep breath: “Get out!”
He said simply, and Kamal raised his hand to the Mamluks outside the door. The Mamluks immediately rushed in and dragged Turan Shah away from the Sultan’s presence.
“All the guards on duty today will be punished.” Saladin said.
