Chapter 99: Death Of The King
Caliph Atid let out a soft whimper in his tent. He knew such an action was useless and ridiculous, and he did not know what he was crying for. Was he crying for Fustat, which was now burning? Or was he crying for his unknown destiny, or perhaps for Shawar?
Regarding Shawar, Atid sometimes joked that he was a venomous snake hidden in a sleeve.
Shawar was originally a merchant. He was always willing to weigh everything on scales and then buy or sell it based on the situation. Countless people disliked him, but Atid never cared. He had never expected to become a Caliph, nor did he see any benefit in becoming one. Perhaps there were benefits, but his father had died, and his brother had also died. If he didn’t seek happiness now, when would he?
Shawar could at least fulfill most of his wishes.
And when this plump Grand Vizier, whom he thought was his confidant, brought the Christians into his palace and made them bow to them, his heart was filled with anger and unease. He indeed looked down on Shawar, but he had at least given him power. Shawar did not hesitate for long when he betrayed him.
It was not until the eunuch beside him quietly led him out of the Royal Palace – he was initially unwilling to go, until his eunuch pointed out the glaring color suddenly rising from the darkness. His palace was burning, no, not just his palace, his Fustat, his Egypt was burning. He had lost them.
He thought the eunuchs would take him to Giza, or to other cities in Egypt, where he would still be the Caliph of the Fatimid Dynasty. But the eunuchs did not take him far. He saw the army ready to depart under the moonlight, and the leader of the army was the two Kurds he was familiar with.
The Caliph had never liked them. He knew very well that Nur al-Din had never abandoned his ambition for Egypt. After all, since the death of the fifth Fatimid Caliph, Aziz, the dynasty’s fate had been in continuous decline.
First, there was a Caliph, al-Ayyub, who claimed to be Allah, then a Caliph, al-Ma’add, whose court was controlled by the Isaacites because his mother was a female slave sold by the Isaacites. Then followed generals such as Basil al-Sassari from Baghdad, Badr of Armenia, and Tayyal the Turk… regional separatism, a sharp decline in tax revenue, an empty treasury, and the Caliph became a puppet of generals and ministers…
By his father’s generation, although al-Hafiz had once harbored great ambitions, everyone had seen the result. Later, the Grand Vizier even had to pay tribute to the King of the Kingdom of Christ to ensure the nation’s stability.
Someone like Nur al-Din, with his grand ambitions, might have already considered Egypt a piece of meat on his plate. When Ilghazi and Saladin were first sent to Fustat, he knew they were his enemies, not just for faith.
It was just that Nur al-Din probably didn’t know that his two subordinates also had their own ambitions, especially the young Saladin.
Saladin entered the Caliph’s tent carrying a dish of figs. Atid flinched upon seeing him. Fortunately, he brought figs, not wine, and the Caliph relaxed slightly.
“We may have to stay here for a while longer,” said Saladin.
Atid gazed at the figs. The large, deep purple fruits had a few small cracks, emitting a sweet fragrance. Without tasting them, he knew they would be as sweet as honey. But his stomach felt heavy, and he couldn’t eat anything. “Why?”
“Their King Amalric I is about to die,” Saladin said. “They have asked us for seven days so that their King may rest undisturbed.”
“You agreed?”
“It is the respect due to a Monarch.”
“Who killed him?”
“Shawar,” Saladin said, a difficult-to-describe emotion entering his tone. Every Saracen now had to praise Shawar, because he had achieved what thousands of troops could not.
He not only killed a Christian king but also ruined his achievements, greatly demoralizing the Christians. Perhaps in the next few years, they would not launch a third expedition.
“How is that possible?”
“Why not?” Saladin replied. “Shawar is also someone who has received revelation from the Prophet.”
“No, I mean…” Atid heard the displeasure in Saladin’s words and tried to cover it up in a panic. “I just wanted to say that Shawar is not a brave warrior.”
“Some people are difficult to judge by their appearance,” Saladin said. “And flawed fruit is still sweet.” He pinched a fig in his hand, not eating it, only smelling its fragrance.
“Then the Christians… have they left Fustat?”
A glimmer of hope immediately appeared on Atid’s face. He longed to return to his palace, but Saladin merely gave a soft “Mm.” “They have left, but no one can continue to possess Fustat. Caliph, it has already become a Hell.”
Atid knew the palace was on fire, but he still held onto a ridiculous fantasy. “We can go and put out the fire, Saladin. We can, if you wish, or your uncle. I can immediately issue a decree making you my Amir, or Grand Vizier! I can give you any power you desire!”
Saladin looked up at the Caliph. Although he already knew what kind of person Atid was, he couldn’t help but feel some disappointment, especially compared to the heir of the Christian king.
“It’s impossible now, Caliph,” he said. “Shawar prepared ten thousand barrels of petroleum naphtha and over a thousand incendiary devices.”
Fustat was burning, and it was unknown how long it would continue to burn.
Shawar carefully and meticulously hid the earthenware pots filled with petroleum naphtha in the corners of the palace, in the apartment cellars, and in merchants’ warehouses, mixed with palm oil and olive oil. Even if someone found them, they might not be able to detect it immediately, as such items would certainly be stored in large quantities in a besieged city.
And who could have imagined, who would have hesitated to destroy such an incredibly precious treasure as Fustat?
At least before Shawar proposed this plan, even Saladin had not thought of it, or perhaps he dared not think of it. It was Fustat, a city created and managed by the Saracens for five hundred years.
This great city had over a hundred thousand residents, two temples with golden domes, a vast palace complex, and three huge marketplaces.
In times of peace, the streets were bustling, and the crowds were interspersed with camels, horses, and mules, carrying all sorts of goods on their backs.
Wood and furs… iron, silver, gold, and copper… linen, silk, wool, and cotton fabrics… sugar, wine, porcelain, and glass… alum, soap… and spices, camphor, rhubarb, goldenseal, cloves, sandalwood, nutmeg, agarwood… oh, and the most important grain, wheat, barley, rice…
People of all faiths, all complexions, all statuses, from all directions, crowded here, speaking each other’s or their own languages, conducting large and small trades and businesses. Countless gold and silver flowed here, and documents and contracts were like fish swimming in a river.
Fustat originally meant tent, but later people more often described it as the City of Gold. This was not just a mere phrase, but now everything was over.
Atid stared at Saladin, as if he completely didn’t understand what he was saying, until Saladin pulled him up, pulled him out of the tent, and let him see for himself.
The firelight illuminated the Caliph’s eyes.
Saladin also gazed at the city, which was also an important reason why he and the Christians agreed to negotiate.
Or rather, Saladin was not someone who was passionate about killing and plundering.
Although the revelation given to him by the Prophet allowed him to step across the threshold that divided mortals from the extraordinary, he never believed that the grace of Allah and the Prophet was to make him superior to others.
He was still human, just as some people were always smarter than others, stronger than others, kinder than others – but still human.
He stood on the earth, looking up at the firmament and the stars. He was willing to sacrifice everything for his faith, from money to status, from life to honor. But unlike others, he was unwilling to impose this understanding on others. Even if they were willing, he hoped they would cherish their lives rather than waste them in vain for momentary recklessness.
He persuaded his uncle to accept Shawar’s plan. Although it was a glorious and pious act to defeat the Christians on the battlefield fairly, what was the cost?
The cost was that more Saracen warriors would die on the battlefield, under the hooves of horses. The cries of their widows and children would startle the birds in the city. Their souls might ascend to heaven, but what about those left on earth? How would they escape that pain and sorrow?
It was an unnecessary sacrifice.
And things did develop as they had hoped. The Christians, in the first day of negotiations, proposed that they could give up Fustat and Bilbeis.
There’s no need to speak of Fustat. Even if the fire were extinguished, only charred wooden beams, scorching gravel, and collapsed city walls would remain. If they wanted to stay here, they would have to rebuild a city, which was absolutely not something these Christians could afford.
As for Bilbeis… there were not many who were willing to stay.
After all, in Amalric I’s army, there were mostly guests who had come from afar. They came here for faith, for money, and perhaps for a small fief. But now, all they could get was the first and second. And even for money, if they continued to linger, it would slip through their hands like sand until not a grain remained.
As for territory, there was no hope. Without newly conquered lands, Amalric I could not possibly grant fiefs to them.
There was also the issue that knights fighting for their lords or kings usually had a service period of only four months. After the service period expired, knights could request to leave or demand additional commission from the initiator of the campaign.
But to organize this expedition and maintain discipline among the large army, Amalric I had never been stingy. Now, the funds in his hands were insufficient to support the knights’ subsequent salaries.
Even if he could borrow, the knights who had already accumulated some wealth would likely be eager to return, as they had no intention of staying here, let alone guarding a lone city in Saracen territory.
But to get the Christians to withdraw from Bilbeis was not without a price. They demanded a ransom of one million gold coins from the Saracens.
The Saracen side meant that although they did not want to start a war lightly, one million was too much. After all, Fustat no longer existed, and Bilbeis was already a drained empty husk that would take several years to recover. Moreover, they did not believe the Christians had the courage and perseverance to fight them.
So the Christians countered by saying that they could also stay in Bilbeis. Bilbeis was also a prosperous and flourishing large city with fertile land everywhere. Perhaps it could become a new Acre or Jaffa.
“Is this the will of their king?”
“It should be.” However, after only one day of negotiations, the Christians suddenly requested a delay. It seemed that Amalric I had initially thought he could last until the end of the negotiations, but things went against his wishes, and his condition was rapidly worsening.
Saladin and Ilghazi had not even mentioned anything about the negotiations to Caliph Atid.
Atid drew a cruel conclusion from this: these two Kurds did not intend to keep his throne and the title of “Caliph” as previous powerful ministers had done. Nor would they let him go to Bilbeis, Giza, or any other city ruled by the Fatimid Dynasty, lest others use the Caliph’s name to oppose them.
“Why did Shawar hand me over to you?” he murmured.
Saladin heard him but did not reply.
Shawar was, after all, a Saracen. He would not hand his country over to a Christian. And regardless of which faction Saladin and his uncle belonged to, they were at least Saracens. Moreover, he could see that among Saladin and his uncle, Saladin was clearly the one with more prestige and foresight.
Would he become a good Caliph or a good Sultan?
Shawar could not be sure, but at this time, the Fatimid Dynasty was already a decaying palace on the verge of collapse.
Although everyone cursed Shawar, when Shawar truly stood up and looked around, he found that they were no better off compared to him. It was like that self-righteous direct descendant of Rizk, his political opponent. He cursed Shawar for bringing Saladin and Ilghazi of the Zengids. But when he found himself unable to oppose Shawar, would he not also seek help from the Christians, hoping they would send troops to help him?
Shawar had no hope for himself or the entire court. He handed Caliph Atid over to Saladin, hoping that a new, vigorous branch could sprout from the ashes of this great city. As for faith and race, he no longer cared.
He would not send Atid elsewhere, lest he become a banner for others to oppose Ilghazi and Saladin. The Saracens of Egypt could no longer afford internal strife. They had to unite and resist the Christians.
Otherwise, today it would be Bilbeis and Fustat, and tomorrow it could be Giza and Alexandria, and more cities.
Atid was also aware of his future fate. He saw the cruelty in Saladin’s eyes. Saladin might only need him for one or two years, or even only a few months. Once the Egyptians recognized his rule, Caliph Atid would die. He would not give others the opportunity to use him.
Atid wept in despair, his tears falling into the plate holding the figs.
——————
The same weeping sound occurred in Amalric I’s tent.
