Chapter 78: To Egypt!
He wrote in the documents thus: “…Do not think that Caliph Atid, whom you revere and fear, and Grand Vizier Shawwar, are the monarch and Prime Minister desired by your gods, nor think that they still possess supreme glory, steadfast faith, and endless armies; you cannot obtain protection from them, just as doves in a nest cannot obtain aid from hyenas.
In fact, I have come here and ruled you as your monarch, just as Caesar and Alexander once did.
What I rely on is piety and faith in the one true God, who is also worshipped by you—my bloodline traces back to the noblest and most respected branch, the saint I look to is followed by countless kings, my territory is vast beyond measure, my army immensely powerful—my oath is engraved on a bronze stele, inscribed in gold; you have seen how I once promised you.
Now I have come again, with my army; as soon as you see me, you will know that if I wish, I can strike your city walls with sword, burn your houses with flame, I can destroy everything, but by God’s name, I am willing to show you mercy!
People of Bilbeis! If you are willing to open the city gate, I can promise you that if you surrender and acknowledge me as Master of Bilbeis, I will always respect you and cherish you; you can live as before, even more happily and prosperously than ever!
……
May God bless you and me.”
Of course, the people of Bilbeis did not immediately believe Amalric I’s words and surrender.
They also went through repeated negotiations and discussions; Bilbeis was a military fortress, certainly, and once sufficiently disciplined and strict, but that was during the time when the Kurd Saladin governed it; since those two sergeants generals of Zengi were forced to leave Egypt and return to Damascus, this city had suddenly become lax and slovenly.
Not surprisingly, the one who replaced Saladin was a complete fool, who only obtained this good position because he was the nephew of Grand Vizier Shawwar; he cared nothing for the life or death of this city, only wanting to quickly amass enough wealth and then leave this city that might directly face the Frankish army at any time.
But the people of Bilbeis were also quite clear about these men’s character; when he wanted to flee, they imprisoned him and watched the money and treasures he wanted to take away; these people fell silent.
Were they really going to hold out? They certainly could hold out, as long as they followed Saladin’s previous arrangements, but they did not think Caliph Atid would thank them for their sacrifice.
Besides, Amalric I had once occupied this city. At that time, the city had not suffered cruel slaughter and plunder—though of course they had paid their tribute, which had greatly weakened them, taking years to gradually recover, only to immediately face this calamity.
“If Amalric I is willing to honor his promise…” one man said softly; when everyone looked toward the source of the voice, he fell silent again, for after all they were all Saracens, subjects of Caliph Atid; to hand over the city so easily would make them seem utterly cowardly and incompetent.
But thinking of Caliph Atid living comfortably in Fustat and the villain Shawwar by his side, and what his nephew had done in this city, these people felt they were more detestable than those heathens.
“We need a prudent negotiation.”
“Yes, negotiation; we need to negotiate. For our people, and for this city.” They were not all cowards, but they all knew clearly that Amalric I’s ultimate goal on this campaign was not Bilbeis, but Fustat; this meant that no matter what, he had to take Bilbeis.
Otherwise, could he attack Fustat while guarding against Bilbeis striking him in the rear?
“He will stop at nothing to take this city; we could certainly resist, leaving not a single living person in this city. But…” that would do Bilbeis no good; Caliph Atid would not even shed tears for them, but would gleefully sell the city again for a good price.
Moreover, once Amaury I felt he could not take Fustat, Bilbeis would certainly be his only guarantee against total ruin; he would allow his soldiers to plunder the city at will, women would be raped, children sold as slaves. The men would be killed—or all would be killed.
Their shops, their library, their palace, their temple would all be burned, reduced to ruins; everything of value would be carried back along Ayyarasa Road, or divided up on the spot.
“Amalric I will also demand money.”
“But at least Bilbeis will still be here, right?”
The first speaker said firmly: as long as Bilbeis remained, money was merely water rushing through a river; an emptied pool would be refilled when storing water; but if the entire pool were destroyed, no matter how much money, it would only trickle away through here, flowing to other places, never staying here.
His words elicited a slight murmur of agreement and barely perceptible nods.
——————
Bilbeis’s willingness to submit was, of course, what Amalric I most wanted to see.
“Tomorrow is the entry ceremony, children,” he said cheerfully, surveying Baldwin and Caesar, “dress yourselves up nicely, stay by my side, and enter Bilbeis together.”
——————
Damascus has always been hailed as “the city of Heaven”; in Saracen poems, it is said, “If there is heaven on earth, Damascus must be among it. If heaven is in the sky, Damascus must be its equal.”
But to those seeing Bilbeis for the first time, even if it could not compare to Damascus, it was a city of silver.
Here the people whitewashed the city walls with chalk, drawing herb patterns on the walls with green pigment; then they built their temples with white marble, inlaying geometric niches and lintels with green stone and glass mosaics; they wore white robes and headscarves, the men—certainly, here there were only men—sporting side whiskers, their hair mostly dark, faces gray-white or tawny.
These people stood warily in the shadows, behind Bilbeis’s guards, who came from families in the city; though they were also Saracens, they had negotiated with Amalric I; the Christian king would respect their faith and power, and they would yield Bilbeis and, in the subsequent siege of Fustat, provide supplies and aid to the Christian army.
Compared to these, the most excited were naturally the Christians in the city; though allowed to live here and keep their faith, the price was heavier taxes and various restrictions; in clothing, manner of travel, and signing contracts, they ranked below Saracens; most intolerable was that in Saracen eyes, they were no different from Isaacites.
Isaacites hid away; they were probably the most unfortunate, fearing Christians more than Saracens; Saracens only required them to pay taxes obediently, but before Christian lords and kings, they were fat pigs ready for slaughter.
Saracen nobles in the city personally held the king’s horse; others knelt under his horse’s hooves, kissing Amalric I’s robe one after another, then stepping back with hands crossed over their chests, trembling in fear, not rising until the last knight’s golden spur vanished in the dust, then mounting and following this winding slender procession.
They were heading to Al-Afif Palace in the city; in the Saracen tongue, it means chastity, but now the Saracens in the city referred to it only contemptuously as “Haram,” meaning “unlawful,” but really referring to prostitutes—because this palace had changed hands several times, from Fatimid Caliphs to his Grand Vizier, to Zengi’s Kurds, and to the previous and current Christian king Amalric I.
“I’m truly glad it’s still as it was.” Amalric I said admiringly.
The Saracen nobles by his side could only bow humbly, heads lowered, daring say nothing.
Since this palace was originally built for the Caliph, it naturally followed Saracen style and law—this palace was vast（ compared to other buildings in the city）; like the Caliph’s other palaces, the innermost structure was surrounded by several courtyards, between which were dense forests—all orchards of date, pomegranate, or figs; birds perched in the branches, beasts walked among them, drinking at pools and streams.
They passed through gate after gate; the columns of the porticos were white marble, the oak doors banded with brass and carved with flowers, pushed open by four dark-skinned slaves; a gust of comfortable warm wind blew in—brass censers two men could embrace burned frankincense and sandalwood, servants waved ostrich-feather fans, filling the corridor with sweet fragrance.
If the porticos were thus, the hall’s extravagance needed no mention; guests sat—Saracen nobles apologized again to Amalric I for not having time to prepare Frankish chairs and long tables; here there were only Saracen carpets, cushions, and low tables, though they had prepared a wide couch for Amalric I, with ivory armrests and solid gold feet, worth a fortune.
The king smiled and sat, saying he did not mind; Baldwin and Caesar sat to left and right, the knights lounging about, sitting or leaning, some just standing; Caesar felt something odd; observing around, he saw some walls awkwardly hung with silk rugs—castles had many tapestries, but these silk rugs were clearly hastily moved from the floor to the walls.
He immediately recalled Heraclius saying that Caliph’s palace walls, and temple walls, were often adorned with gemstones carved with scripture—such gems might be merely colorful marble, but to ruthlessly chisel them off not only prevented quick repair, but made matching stone and craftsmanship hard to find thereafter…
Were these fellows still planning to welcome the Caliph or another Saracen ruler here? It was quite possible; thinking this, Caesar realized he had missed much of the conversation.
But listening carefully, he found nothing noteworthy—villains are always alike, whether Saracen or Frank; they fawned and flattered the king with all their might, swearing oaths to support him and his army fully; they would even immediately provide gold, armor, weapons; not only money, but become the king’s vassals.
Caesar looked up, meeting Baldwin’s eyes; had they misheard something?
What were those people saying? Were they saying that once Amalric I took Fustat, they would acknowledge him as master; when he “returned” to Ayyarasa Road—he was after all Master of the Holy Land—a new Caliph would rule here in his stead—and that new “Caliph” promised to send 200,000 gold coins in tribute annually to Ayyarasa Road.
“Only,” the young man who would become the new “Caliph”—clearly the puppet put forward by these Saracens, evidently sober yet drunk on power—pointed at Caesar and said: “If you permit, my master, you may take everything from Bilbeis or Fustat, but could you leave this young man with me?”
He stood: “I want him by my side; though he is a Frank, it matters not if he refuses conversion; I will make him my sister’s husband, my Grand Vizier…”
His companions practically jumped up, grabbing his arm to stop him, but Amalric I had heard it all; he smiled at Caesar.
“See, our little friend is quite popular. How about it?” he asked. “Do you want to go with him?”
