Chapter 147: The Sultan’s Funeral
This was Geoffrey’s second time entering Acre. The first time he came here, he had come as the Envoy of the Knights Templar to have an audience with Sultan Nur al-Din and negotiate the purchase of Edessa with him.
Although when he stood before the Sultan and made this request, Nur al-Din merely laughed and rejected them without hesitation, he still tolerantly called them guests who had come from afar and gave them quite generous hospitality.
This experience left an exceptionally profound impression on Geoffrey: the ancient city, the prosperous streets, the bustling crowds, the magnificent castle, the dignified Sultan, the obedient ministers, and those splendid rooms, bronze chandeliers, and the pools and fountains visible everywhere—however, while staying here, they could not feel at ease. They were ultimately the Sultan’s enemies, Crusader knights—just as one of the accompanying monks said, it was like cowering in a cave occupied by a giant dragon, where everything in sight was glittering gold, translucent gemstones, precious documents, but in contrast were the omnipresent shadows when the dragon spread its wings, and the flames and thick smoke spewing from its mouth when it roared loudly.
The timing of this visit was even more dangerous and unfavorable.
The Madam and Princes of Acre had not prepared to let too many people know that Sultan Nur al-Din’s coffin would enter the city today. The people walking beside them only cast curious glances, but this was after all an incredibly prosperous city, and it was not surprising that the procession included Christians. They silently passed through the city with the ministers and generals who had come to receive them, arriving before the Triple Lion Gate of Apole Castle.
Did Apole Castle have only one entrance? On the south-facing city wall, a long, steep staircase without battlements led to the first gate—this massive building was originally situated high up, and the surrounding crowds had already been dispersed. The Eldest Prince and Second Prince, these two adult princes, emerged from the gate with their attendants and soldiers, their faces bearing genuine expressions of grief, at least in appearance—upon seeing the coffin covered in coarse black cloth, their tears flowed profusely, and they drew the daggers at their sides, slashing their own cheeks.
This act had also been done by the Crusaders when mourning the deceased Amalric I, only the Crusaders did it following the traditions of Ancient Rome, while they followed the customs of the Turks. Afterward, they vied to place their bloodied hands on the coffin, leaving streaks on the black cloth that were not very distinct but thick with the scent of blood.
The youngest prince was held in the arms of a eunuch, and an attendant symbolically cut his arm—then wiped the blood on the black cloth—he was too young to control his strength.
Next, Sultan Nur al-Din’s remains would receive the mourning and remembrance of relatives and friends in the great hall of Apole Castle. Their priests would recite scriptures for him, his sons would tidy his attire and change his clothes. And the First Lady, Second Lady, and Third Lady would successively place simple burial goods into his coffin—generally those that the Sultan had favored most in life—like daggers, rings, or books, and so on.
In addition, the Sultan’s most favored mount in life would also be buried underground with him. Although Saracen doctrine did not advocate human sacrifice, similarly, when the old king and new king alternated, there were always some young women in the Sultan’s Harem who died silently. You could see it as a method used by the First Lady, who would become the future Queen Mother, to clean up the harem, or as their concern for their husband and Monarch—they sincerely believed that these slaves could ascend to heaven with the Sultan and continue to serve him there.
Of course, there were inevitably some personal grudges as well.
The Christian delegation was arranged behind the second gate.
Apole Castle was not merely a military fortress; it was also the Sultan’s front court and harem, thus extraordinarily vast in area—its footprint was approximately equal to nine Ayyarasa Roads.
Without coming here in person, it was hard to feel the immense difference; first-time visitors could scarcely believe their eyes—their lodgings were between the second gate and third gate. Looking out from on high, one could see the entire Apole Castle, a continuous sea of great stones, with layered walls like lines in a fine painting, courtyards like the green and blue filling within, gilded, or white domes like pearls dotted among them, gleaming in the glow of the setting sun. This was no longer a castle, but a city.
“I almost dare not think about how many human lives, how much time, and how much money it would take to capture this place…” a Crusader knight sighed.
“Even exhausting all the armies of Francia and the Apennines might not suffice to take it. You might be able to move the stones blocking the road, but how do you move a towering mountain?” his companion continued.
“Don’t talk such discouraging words,” another knight retorted: “How many sturdy fortresses, or strongholds, have been breached by external forces? Now Sultan Nur al-Din is dead, and the legacy he left will be divided among his three sons. As long as one of them harbors greedy intentions, even if they cast the city walls in black iron, forge the city gates in brass, and call upon the devil to serve them, it would only hasten the collapse of this fortress.”
“We’ve seen those three princes today. Who do you think will be the final Victor?”
“That’s not for us to speculate. The Saracens are quite absurd and rash in these matters—if it were in Francia, his Eldest Son should become the indisputable Sultan, but according to their faith, they should choose the most capable person—which is somewhat embarrassing. These two, no, three princes won’t settle things without a proper fight.”
“That’s good for us.”
“It could also be bad,” a more clear-headed knight said: “When does the Sultan’s funeral end?”
“The ceremony may last seven to eight days. After that, he will be buried in the place he selected, possibly behind some temple in the city, and only then will the victor be decided.”
“Do you think they’ll decide the territory’s ownership through negotiation?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do we have to wait for that Victor to emerge before we can complete this mission?”
“Probably.” A knight touched his face: “I only hope the New Sultan is a man who keeps his promises.”
