Yusuf’s men formed ranks and fell back, the men with tall shields coming last to protect those behind them. The mounted troops had reached their horses and were swinging into the saddle. As they clattered across the bridge, John spotted Ubadah’s crimson helmet amongst them. John realized that his hands had been clenched into fists, and he relaxed them. The boy had made it.
Then, as the last of the mamluks approached the bridge, the gates of the citadel opened. A hundred knights on horseback poured out and split into two groups, galloping to either side of the retreating infantrymen. Their goal was clear: they sought to cut off the troops, trapping them on the far side of the trench. If they succeeded, several hundred men would be lost. Suddenly the infantrymen scattered to either side as two dozen mamluk cavalry spurred back across the bridge. Ubadah rode at their head.
‘’Sblood!’ John cursed. ‘What is he doing?’ The mamluk cavalry divided into two groups, and Ubadah galloped to the right, towards one branch of the onrushing Frankish cavalry.
‘He is trying to save the men,’ Yusuf said.
‘He will get himself killed-’ John started forward, but Yusuf grabbed his arm.
‘No, John. There is nothing you can do.’
‘Let me go!’ John jerked his arm away.
‘It is too late, friend. Look.’
As Ubadah and his men met the Frankish knights, several mamluks were immediately knocked from their mounts by the knights’ lances. The others were soon surrounded. They began to throw their arms down in surrender, but Ubadah’s sword continued to flash under the bright sun as he faced three men. Then a Frank slammed the pommel of his sword into the back of Ubadah’s head, and he slumped unconscious in the saddle. The other group of mamluks had fared no better, but their charge had accomplished its purpose. The last of the foot-soldiers were crossing the bridge. Beyond them, the Franks were leading their captives into the citadel.
Yusuf put his hand on John’s shoulder. ‘The boy is a prisoner. He is not dead. And he is brave. That is good.’
‘A brave fool,’ John muttered.
Yusuf smiled wanly. ‘Like his father.’
John looked back to Kerak, where the gate was now closing. ‘It is my fault.’ Had he not spoken earlier then Yusuf would not have sent the boy into battle. ‘I am your hostage, Yusuf. Exchange me for the boy.’
Yusuf frowned. ‘I mean to take Kerak, John. Many inside will die. If you go, I will not be able to protect you.’
‘Send me.’
Yusuf scratched at his beard. ‘Do you think Humphrey will accept the exchange?’
‘I am a canon of the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and I know Humphrey. He will accept.’
JULY 1173: KERAK
Yusuf stood at the start of the strip of land that led up to the walls of Kerak and watched as John walked towards the citadel. He was nearing the walls when the gate swung open, and Ubadah emerged. The two men met in the shadow of the walls and exchanged a few words. Then, John entered the castle and the gate closed behind him. Ubadah continued to where Yusuf stood.
‘Thank Allah you are safe,’ Yusuf said and embraced his nephew. ‘What did John say to you?’
‘He told me there was no glory in dying young.’
‘He is right.’
‘He is a Frankish dog,’ Ubadah spat.
Yusuf slapped him. ‘You have him to thank for your freedom. Now go to your tent and stay there.’
Ubadah trudged away, and Yusuf looked back to the castle. The exchange had taken weeks to arrange, and during that time Yusuf’s catapults had taken their toll. The walls were crumbling. It was only a matter of days before Yusuf’s men forced their way into the citadel. And when they did, the slaughter would begin. Yusuf had ordered his men to spare any who surrendered, but he knew well how hard it was to restrain men once their bloodlust was stoked. Many amongst the Franks would die, perhaps John with them. The thought upset Yusuf, but not as much as it should. And that fact upset him even more.
In the periphery of his vision he noticed a trail of dust approaching from the south. That would be a messenger from Nur ad-Din. The Syrian king had already led several raids across the Jordan as he worked his way south from Damascus. He would be pleased to hear that Kerak was almost theirs. Yusuf squinted as the trail of dust drew closer. There were a dozen riders approaching. That meant that the messenger was of some importance. Yusuf watched as the men reached the edge of the camp and dismounted.
A short time later, Selim approached on horseback. ‘A messenger has come from Nur ad-Din, Brother.’
‘I saw him arrive. Why did you not send him to me?’
‘The messenger is impertinent. He waits for you to come to him.’
‘What is his name?’
‘Gumushtagin.’
Yusuf frowned. It had been years since he had heard from the eunuch, but he would never forget the note that Gumushtagin had sent after Yusuf became vizier. You are Vizier, as I said you would be, it had read. The opportunity will come soon for you to aid me in turn. Had Gumushtagin now come to collect that debt?
‘Go and tell Gumushtagin that I await him in my tent. If he wishes to see me, then he will find me there.’
Once inside his tent, Yusuf poured himself a glass of water. He had just begun to drink when Gumushtagin entered.
‘As-salaamu ‘alaykum, Saladin,’ the fat-faced eunuch said in his high voice. ‘So good to see you again.’
‘Spare me the formalities, Gumushtagin. Why have you come?’
The eunuch tutted. ‘I made you ruler of Egypt, Saladin. You should be more grateful.’
‘You killed my uncle.’ Yusuf did not bother to disguise the hostility in his voice.
‘No. Al-Khlata had him murdered and paid for it with Frankish gold. I merely facilitated their relationship.’
Yusuf drew his dagger. ‘I should kill you here and now.’
The eunuch smiled. ‘That would be a mistake. I left a letter addressed to Nur ad-Din in my suites in Damascus. If you kill me, it will be found, and he will know of your treachery. How do you think he will respond when he learns that you seduced his wife, that the son he dotes upon is your child?’
Yusuf glared at him for a moment and then sheathed his dagger. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nur ad-Din sent me to tell you his plans. He will arrive in two days. You are to wait for him here, and then the two of you will drive westward to take Ascalon.’
‘You rode all this way to tell me this?’
‘Of course not. I want you to eliminate Nur ad-Din.’
‘You waste your time, Gumushtagin. If you want Nur ad-Din gone, then do it yourself. Kill him like you killed my uncle.’
‘Unfortunately, that is not possible. I am closely watched at Nur ad-Din’s court. There are many there who do not trust me.’
‘With good reason.’
Gumushtagin ignored the jibe. ‘If Nur ad-Din were to die in suspicious circumstances, then all eyes would turn to me. That is why I need you. Think! You would no longer have to take orders from Nur ad-Din. You are already a better ruler than him.’
Yusuf took a sip of water. The eunuch was right. Nur ad-Din was too obsessed with war, too blinded by hatred of the Franks — like Yusuf’s father. But that did not matter. Nur ad-Din was his lord. Yusuf’s hand went back to his dagger. ‘You speak treason.’
‘It would not be treason if Nur ad-Din attacked first. He fears your growing power. He knew Saladin the emir. He has never met Saladin the king.’ Gumushtagin smiled disingenuously. ‘Someone may have put it into his head that Saladin the king is dangerous. Why do you think he sent your father to watch over you? If you return to Egypt before he reaches Kerak, he will see it as insubordination, or worse.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘If you do not, then Nur ad-Din shall be informed of your treachery. Asimat will die, as will your son.’
‘I have other sons now.’