Chapter 128: Gifts
The Saracen envoy stood on the street, silently gazing at the distant Holy Cross Castle.
This fortress, quite famous even among the Saracens, had taken fifty years from the decision on its location to its barely completed state today. For this, Baldwin I even had to go against their doctrine and marry a second wife, using the second wife’s dowry to pay the remaining amount.
The persistence of successive Kings of Ayyarasa Road was not without return; this Holy Cross Castle was more magnificent and grand than any military fortress he had ever seen, even comparable to the Caliph’s palace. Its city walls and towers were all built of solid limestone stone bricks, with double city walls, outer fortress, inner fortress, arrow towers everywhere. Even if these places were all occupied by the enemy, the three-tower structure like a lion’s head could allow those inside to hold out for a long time.
Before they entered Ayyarasa Road, a group of knights came to greet them, led by Berion of Ibelin.
The envoy had not heard much about this Crusader knight, but this title—it was exactly that of the husband whom the King of Ayyarasa Road’s birth mother later married, Hugh of Ibelin, and the current Count of Ibelin was that count’s brother. Seeing such a person indicated that the King of Ayyarasa Road had no intention of humiliating them.
Whether Christians or Saracens, whether according to law or tradition, being an envoy was a quite dangerous profession. Although generally speaking, rulers and lords with any reason would not casually kill envoys, there were always exceptions—sometimes because the envoy brought excessively bad news, or the two sides had reached a point of no reconciliation, or possibly just because the other party’s ruler or minister was evil by nature.
Otherwise, the envoy could always keep his life, but the controllable margin between escaping unscathed and merely keeping his life was enormous.
Milder ones involved forcing the envoy to drink until dead drunk at a banquet, then throwing him into the toilet to dance with the dwarf; more severe ones involved stripping him naked, coating him with tar and sticking feathers on him（ which could be fatal）, “entertaining” combats, or even forcing him to fight beasts—this was one of the things the Byzantine Emperor often did.
In Saracen histories, there was a case where a Sultan suddenly passed away, and while his envoy was still carrying out his orders elsewhere, the other party’s Sultan or Emir immediately turned hostile, detained him, and made him a slave.
In short, all sorts of stories that seem utterly inconceivable to modern people were commonplace at this time.
And as the envoy had expected, Berion of Ibelin was not enthusiastic but could be called mild-mannered. They rode horses together through the streets, waited for the slowly descending drawbridge, and after crossing the drawbridge, walked side by side through the dark and long passage.
While walking in the passage, although the envoy knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but look up. Above such passages were mostly fissures deep enough that the bottom could not be seen. These fissures were not natural but man-made. They were pre-left during the construction of the city walls, embedded with heavy iron gates, their bottoms lined with spikes like spearheads.
Normally, it was hoisted high, not even showing a tip, but in case of enemy attack, the soldiers only needed to cut the suspension ropes to let the iron gate crash down.
Acre’s city walls also had similar defensive equipment, which the envoy had personally touched and felt. If they were all cast from solid black iron, even a fully armored knight, along with his equally armored horse, would be pierced in an instant.
His breathing involuntarily became a bit rapid; he imagined that scene. But not passing calmly like now—rather, when they attacked Holy Cross Castle… blood and fire, screams and wails, swords clashing in the darkness, sparking…
But in the next moment, his fantasy was broken; they had left the passage and returned to the sunlight.
Today was a clear and fine day. However, contrary to his expectation, Berion did not lead them directly into the main tower but waited a moment in front of the main tower until a handsome young man emerged from the main tower. Upon seeing his black hair and green eyes, the envoy immediately knew this was the King of Ayyarasa Road’s most trusted close minister.
He exchanged a few words with Berion. Berion was a lord with a title, and his seniority in the Ayyarasa Road court should surpass this young man, but his attitude toward the young man was very courteous—not humble like a servant or subordinate, but at least on equal footing.
And the young man accepted it all frankly. He even thanked Berion on behalf of the King for his work, then walked over to them, fixing his gaze on the envoy. What surprised the envoy even more was that he spoke to them in the Saracen language.
“Peace be upon you, guests of the King.”
“Peace be upon you,” the envoy said, still somewhat puzzled—perhaps the young King suddenly felt it improper to treat former enemies so mildly, sending his close minister to intercept them outside the main tower—he thought they might face some difficulty, but soon he knew he was wrong.
“Before the negotiation begins,” Caesar said, “His Majesty the King sent me to ask if you would like to see your Sultan Nur al-Din first.”
The envoy’s eyes widened; of course he was willing!
In his imagination, even if the new King of Ayyarasa Road was truly as merciful as rumored and would not insult the enemy’s corpse, they probably wouldn’t see Nur al-Din until after the negotiations ended. He had even prepared to beg the Christian King today, regardless of whether the negotiations concluded, to allow him to perform the “return to truth” ceremony for his master.
Saracens also held ceremonies for the deceased, though their last rites were very simple: usually, close kin would wash the body, then wrap it from head to toe in clean white linen or cotton cloth, and finally “praise,” that is, pray for the deceased.
The envoy followed Caesar to a quiet courtyard, down the open stairs in the courtyard, straight into the underground—there might originally have been used to store wine or grain, dry and cold, not large but sufficient to hold Sultan Nur al-Din’s aged yet sacred body.
Upon seeing that familiar face, the envoy nearly couldn’t control his emotions. Being sent here and entrusted with such important work, he was naturally one of Nur al-Din’s most trusted men; no one could match his loyalty to the Sultan—this man, also over fifty, felt a wave of dizziness followed by bitterness, his tears flowing down his wrinkled cheeks, soaking into his collar.
He had thought he would see a body covered in wounds, crusted with blood, if not writhing with maggots, then emitting a foul stench, riddled with dark bruises.
But upon closer inspection, he found that the Sultan’s face and body had been well tended—not like in a foreign land thousands of miles away, on a cruel battlefield, but as if peacefully departing in Acre’s palace, surrounded by kin and subjects: skin pale and clean, hair and beard trimmed, eyes closed, face not ferocious, even with some relief.
The body was stiff and cold, but even the inevitable decay smell of the dead was faint, replaced by a light, sweet rose scent. His hands were folded on his chest, legs together, wrapped in clean white linen— it was evident that the one who did this was not very skilled nor understood Saracen customs, with some errors in steps and methods, yet sufficiently pious and earnest.
“You actually allowed… our priest to perform the Saracen ceremony for him?” the envoy asked in a low voice.
“Sorry,” Caesar said, “We wanted to find a Saracen to perform the last rites for him, but the problem was, we didn’t capture any of your priests.”
This was also a helpless matter. After all, the Battle of the Sea of Galilee was a surprise attack; the Crusaders didn’t have many men, just bluffing. Though this bluff achieved great success, the knights weren’t arrogant enough to think they could face a hundred or even a thousand. Even in pursuit, they didn’t tail the truly powerful Fatah and Emirs.
And unlike Christians, whose armies always had large numbers of priests accompanying, in Saracen camps, there were only a few “scholars” attending the Sultan as scribes.
And in the night’s chaos, no “scholars” were captured—only two dead, which left them somewhat troubled. Though they had some other Saracen captives, they couldn’t be sure if those Saracens were willing or able to do this well…
“I did it,” Caesar said. “Please don’t see this as a sacred religious ceremony; it’s merely one man’s mercy for another. Be he a monarch or a beggar, no one should leave this world filthy and ugly. If you feel I overstepped, I apologize here.”
“One man’s mercy for another?” the envoy murmured. “What a phrase worthy of a poem or proverb. If Sultan Nur al-Din were still alive, he might even spare your life for this.”
“Though he is dead, I believe my master would not harbor hatred toward one man’s goodwill to him. You need not apologize to me; on the contrary, I should offer you the highest respect and thanks.” Without hesitation, he deeply bowed to Caesar. “This was beyond my expectation—I believe all Saracens would be glad to see our monarch as dignified and clean as in life.”
“Please tell me, did he suffer pain when he passed?”
Caesar pondered a moment: “Sultan Nur al-Din fought on the battlefield to his last moment. He fell from his horse, limited by his mortal body, not his will. He passed quietly on his first night entering Ayyarasa Road, without a sound, serene in expression—perhaps he knew he had fulfilled all his earthly duties and it was time to ascend to heaven.”
The envoy gave a bitter yet comforted smile. “How beautiful your description is; I will relay these words exactly to Sultan Nur al-Din’s wife and children, so their hearts need not drown further in endless grief.”
“And you, wherever you go, roses will bloom, springs will flow.”
He said this because, in Saracen concepts, directly praising a person invites the evil eye（ that is, disasters brought by jealousy）, so either use a poem like Saladin, or describe the things around him.
“Knight of Bethlehem Caesar, I will remember your name. For what you did for Sultan Nur al-Din—if one day you encounter us on the battlefield and unfortunately become our captive, whoever it is, Sultan or Emir, he will give you a horse, food and water, then let you go, to wherever you please. This is the Saracen promise.”
Caesar listened but said nothing, merely smiling faintly.
The envoy saw clearly that this young man seemed not to believe he would one day become a prisoner bound at the stairs. He shook his head inwardly; this was perhaps youthful bravado, yet so precious, so bright.
It reminded him of Saladin still in Egypt. Saladin was introduced to Sultan Nur al-Din by his uncle Ilghazi, and upon first sight of this young man, Nur al-Din liked him greatly. For a long time, this young man was his attendant, always at his side, taught as if his own son.
And this Kurd did not disappoint; he became not only a brave and wise general but also an opponent Sultan Nur al-Din had to beware of. Now Nur al-Din’s foresight of him seemed to have come true—in the near future, after Saladin deposed or sidelined Caliph Atid, he would surely march north to raid Syria.
In contrast, Sultan Nur al-Din’s three sons were like three hyenas born of a lion. Before his passing, they had already begun tearing at each other. Behind them, the First Lady, the Second Lady, and the Third Lady were already scheming, throwing all of Acre into unrest, not to mention their cousin in Mosul eyeing them covetously.
Now Syria’s surface situation was still calm, but undoubtedly, once Sultan Nur al-Din’s affairs were settled, this vast land would immediately fall into chaos. Where would he go then?
————
Before the negotiation began, the Saracen envoy first presented gifts to the Christian King of Ayyarasa Road.
Spices, silk, vessels of gold and silver, and… female slaves.
