Holy War (42 page)

‘Qaraqush, you will send men to destroy Ramlah, Lydda and Latrun. Take what crops are ripe from the fields and burn the rest. I will ride for Ascalon to tear down its walls. If I cannot stop Richard, then I will leave him nothing to conquer.’

C
hapter 23

September 1191: Ascalon

Black smoke roiled up from the base of the wall of Ascalon, stinging Yusuf’s eyes and making him wrinkle his nose. His horse whinnied and tossed its head, and he tightened his grip on the reins. His men were burning the wooden supports that held up this last stretch of wall. To either side, the wall had already come down. Beyond the piles of rubble, a cloud of dark smoke hung over the city. Yusuf’s men had set fire to it that morning. The last stretch of wall began to shake and then collapsed with a roar like thunder, causing Yusuf’s horse to shy. He patted its neck, pulling a fold of his keffiyeh over his face as the cloud of smoke and dust thrown up by the collapse rolled forward to engulf him.

Beside him, Qaraqush coughed and spat. ‘That’s it.’ The grizzled mamluk’s voice was sombre. ‘When we took Ascalon four years ago, I saw to the reinforcement of those walls. I never dreamt I’d be the one to tear them down.’

‘It had to be done.’ Yusuf’s words were for him as much as for Qaraqush. The destruction of the city left him feeling queasy. Or perhaps it was the acrid smell of smoke that had turned his stomach. ‘Richard will not be able to use Ascalon as a base for an attack on Egypt. That is all that matters.’

He rode away, his horse’s hooves kicking up clouds of ash as he crossed a field of burnt crops. Beyond the field, he came to the impromptu market that had sprung up. The people of Ascalon were selling their possessions before fleeing south to Gaza or inland to Hebron or Jerusalem. They glared as they stepped aside to let him pass. Yusuf did not blame them for their anger. He had destroyed their homes and turned them into refugees; poor refugees, for the most part. They would be lucky to get a fraction of what their belongings were worth. Yusuf saw a glass merchant selling cups that would normally fetch a dirham each for only one copper. Another man was practically giving away dark wood furniture inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl. The largest crowd had gathered around the horse market. ‘Four hundred dinars,’ the horse merchant cried as he auctioned off a bony old nag. ‘Four hundred and fifty. Five hundred dinars!’ The horse in question would not have brought fifty dinars three weeks ago, but the people of Ascalon were desperate for pack animals to carry their possessions. Yusuf came upon a field of red tents, where young women were selling the only thing they had: themselves. He spurred his horse to a canter and left the market behind.

His brother Selim was waiting inside his tent with letters in hand. Yusuf frowned. Of late, each letter brought only bad news. He had been avoiding Imad ad-Din, which was no doubt why his secretary had sent Selim with the day’s post. Yusuf had a sudden desire to turn, mount his horse and ride away. Instead, he lowered himself on to his camp-stool with a sigh.

‘What news, Brother?’

‘Your son Az-Zahir writes from Ramlah. The city has been burned.’ Selim flipped through several more letters. ‘Al-Mashtub reports the same from Lydda. He has moved on to burn Latrun.’

Each name was like a punch to the gut. It was his duty to protect these towns, and he had ordered their destruction. But Egypt was safe. That was what mattered. ‘We will leave tomorrow to protect the road to Jerusalem. Anything else?’

‘This is why I came.’ Selim produced a longer letter, written in a graceful hand. ‘The Caliph writes.’

Yusuf had sent letter after letter requesting aid from the caliph in Baghdad. He searched Selim’s face, trying to anticipate whether the news was good or bad. ‘Is he sending men? Gold?’

‘He writes of our nephew. Ubadah has laid siege to Akhlat. The city’s ruler has called on the Artuqids to support him and has written to the Caliph, who has promised to intervene on his behalf. The Caliph says that if you do not curb Ubadah, then there will be war.’

Yusuf massaged his temples. He could not afford to become embroiled in a war in the east, or to anger the caliph. The men from Al-Jazirah were already on the verge of rebellion. If the caliph denounced him, then they would mutiny. And that would be just the beginning. He would find himself facing down uprising in his own kingdom. He shook his head. ‘I sent Ubadah east hoping that time away would cool his passions.’

‘You did all you could for the boy, Brother, but he has always been impetuous. If you wish, I will ride east. I will deal with Ubadah as I did with our cousin, Nasir ad-Din.’

Yusuf knew it was what he should do. It was, no doubt, what the Lionheart would have done. But he was not Richard, and Ubadah was no more to blame in this than he himself was. Perhaps if Yusuf had not lied to Ubadah, things would have been different. ‘No, Brother. I’ll not murder my own nephew.’

‘The Saladin I knew—’

‘I said no!’ Yusuf continued in a softer tone. ‘I have seen my reflection, Brother. Richard showed it to me at Acre, and I did not like what I saw.’

‘Yes, Brother.’

‘Go now. I will write to Ubadah myself.’

‘God curse the craven bastard!’ Richard roared as he threw his cup of wine across the tent. The contents splashed all over the white robes of Bishop Walter. ‘Poisoned wells and burnt fields; this is not war, it is cowardice!’ Richard glared about the tent as if daring his lords to contradict him. John was tempted to tell him that Richard’s Norman ancestors had behaved little differently when they subdued England, but he held his tongue. He could not afford to anger Richard. Not today. Their army had shrunk with each passing day as men deserted to Jaffa or Acre. They were losing the war despite not having lost a battle. Perhaps Richard would listen now. Perhaps John could save the Holy Land before it was completely ruined.

The king poured another cup of wine. He drained it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Saladin will not stop me. We do not have the supplies to reach Egypt, but the land of the Nile is not why I came to the Holy Land. Blanchemains, you will set the men to rebuilding the wall of Ascalon.’

‘Forgive me for asking, but to what end, Your Grace? The city has been burned. There is nothing here to defend.’

‘There is Jerusalem. I mean to take it and hold it. Ascalon must be strong to protect the Kingdom from invasion from Egypt. Now go.’ Richard went to refill his cup.

John remained behind as the other lords trooped out. ‘I would speak with you, Your Grace.’

Richard’s brow furrowed. ‘I have little patience for talk today. Do not waste your words, priest.’

‘You must make peace with Saladin.’

Richard’s eyes widened. He lowered his cup and began to laugh, softly at first, but then so loudly that his whole body shook. ‘Thank you, John,’ he gasped when he had recovered. ‘Thank you. I needed a good laugh.’

‘It was no jest, Your Grace.’

Richard’s good humour was gone in an instant. ‘Then you must be mad. Why should I make peace with a man who flees before me, who has yet to defeat me in battle?’

‘You have not lost, it is true, but what have you won? You are lord over burnt fields and ruined cities.’

‘Cities can be rebuilt.’

‘And who will people them? The men in these lands are Muslim and Syrian Christian. They have more in common with one another than they do with you. They will betray you at the first chance.’

‘Why should they? The Kingdom of Jerusalem stood for a hundred years before I arrived. The people served its kings well enough. They will serve again, and the Kingdom will stand a hundred years more after I am gone.’

‘Only if you make peace, my lord. Think of what will happen if you take the Holy City. Your force is made up of pilgrims. They will pray at the altars and then they will return home. Your army will melt away, but the Saracens will remain. We must make peace with them if you wish to keep the lands you have conquered.’

‘I swore a vow to retake Jerusalem, John. I will not be forsworn.’

‘I do not ask you to halt your campaign, Your Grace. But you must think now to what will come after Jerusalem. Let me go to Saladin. I will speak with him on your behalf. I will make certain that we keep what you have gained.’

‘That is not enough. I want Jerusalem, and all the lands west of the Jordan, as it was before. And we must have the True Cross.’

‘And if I secure all of that?’

‘Then you are a miracle worker, John.’ Richard scratched his beard while he thought. He nodded. ‘Go and work your miracle. Talk will cost us nothing. Take Humphrey of Toron with you. He is well known to the Saracens. Craft a peace if you can. Perhaps Saladin will be fool enough to give it to you.’

October 1191: Ramlah

‘Conrad believes there can be peace between you and him.’

Yusuf studied the man before him. Reginald of Sidon had arrived at his camp in Ramlah two days before. Yusuf had made him wait before seeing him. The old Frankish lord was completely bald. He had ruddy cheeks and liver spots marked his forehead. He claimed to speak on behalf of Conrad, who styled himself the true king of Jerusalem.

‘Conrad defied me at Tyre,’ Yusuf said. ‘He fought for more than a year at the siege of Acre. Now one of my most implacable foes seeks peace. What does he want in return?’

‘Only what is his due. Richard has given the crown to Guy, but none of the barons support him. The throne is rightly Conrad’s.’

‘I am a Muslim. It is not for me to make Christian kings.’

‘No, but with Conrad’s help, you can drive off Richard. And with Richard gone, there will be no one to support Guy.’

‘Conrad’s help? His men will fight beside mine?’

Reginald nodded. ‘He will help you retake Acre. In return, you will grant him Sidon and Beirut, along with Tyre. The rest of the Holy Land is yours.’

‘Tyre, Sidon and Beirut. That is a high price.’

‘It is a just price to help rid you of the Lionheart.’

As Yusuf sat back to consider this, Saqr stepped into the tent. He came to Yusuf and whispered in his ear. ‘More envoys, Malik. From Richard.’

‘Who?’

‘Humphrey of Toron and John of Tatewic.’

‘Selim will meet with Humphrey. Have John shown to a tent, somewhere private.’ Yusuf turned back to Reginald. ‘I will think on what you have said. Conrad will have my answer soon.’

Yusuf stood, and Reginald did likewise. The Frankish lord bowed and was shown out by a pair of guards. Yusuf poured himself a glass of water and went to stand before a table covered with a map of Palestine. The towns now held by the Franks were marked in red. Tripoli, Antioch, Tyre, Acre, Caesarea, Arsuf, Jaffa, Ascalon. He had lost almost the entire coast. Richard would turn inland now. Where would the king’s conquest end? Jerusalem? Damascus even?

Yusuf found Saqr waiting for him outside his tent. ‘Take me to John.’

‘This way, Malik.’

Saqr led the way to a small tent near by. ‘Wait outside,’ Yusuf told him. ‘Make certain we are not overheard.’ He entered to find John seated cross-legged on the carpeted floor and sipping from a cup of water. He rose at once. He was wearing mail, with a surcoat bearing Richard’s arms. He bowed.

‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Yusuf. Thank you for seeing me.’

‘This meeting did not happen. You will let your king know that I did not dignify his emissaries by meeting with them.’

‘I understand.’

They studied one another for a moment. John’s sandy hair had continued to silver, but he looked as strong as ever. Yusuf gestured to the lions on his surcoat. ‘What does your king wish to tell me?’

‘He seeks peace.’

Yusuf’s eyebrows arched. ‘The Lionheart wishes for peace? Forgive me if I do not believe you, John.’

‘You know me, Yusuf. I would not lie to you. This war does no one any good. Our armies are bleeding one another to death, but it is the common people who suffer most of all. Thousands have lost their homes, and where will they go? The land is utterly ruined. Famine will soon be upon us. We need peace, both of us.’

‘If you had wanted peace, then you would have let Richard ride into my trap at Arsuf. Your king would be dead or on a boat for England, and my kingdom would be at peace.’

‘It is not I who turned Richard back, Yusuf.’

‘
Hmph
.’ Yusuf did not believe it. He knew John too well. ‘What of your honour?’

‘There are more important things than honour, friend.’

‘Such as?’

‘Peace.’

‘Peace is hard-bought after so much blood.’

‘But not impossible. There are three points at issue: Jerusalem, the land, and the Cross. Jerusalem is holy to us, and Richard has sworn to take it. He will not give up that quest so long as he lives. As for the land, he asks for nothing that was not already ours: the territory between the coast and the Jordan. The True Cross is only a piece of wood to you, but to us it has great importance. Return it, give us Jerusalem, and withdraw across the Jordan, and you will have peace.’

Yusuf’s forehead creased. At length, the corner of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. ‘You are jesting, John.’

‘Those are Richard’s terms.’

‘Those are not terms; they are insults. Jerusalem is ours as much as it is yours, as sacred to us as it is to you. You say Richard will fight for Jerusalem unto the death. Tell your king that he will find us no less willing to sacrifice our lives for the city. Richard has no claim to the lands west of the Jordan. They were ours first. Your ancestors only took them because we were divided and weak. We are strong now. If Richard wants those lands, then let him try to take them. As for the True Cross, I am well aware of its importance to your faith. It will not be surrendered except in exchange for something of equal value.’