Kingdom (27 page)

Yusuf cleared his throat. ‘What is your case?’

She bowed low, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘I wish to speak with you alone, Malik.’ Her voice was surprisingly low, yet soft.

‘You will address me as vizier, and you will state your case in court.’

‘What I have to say is of a private nature. It concerns my lover.’

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

‘Your what?’ Al-Fadil demanded.

‘My lover,’ Shamsa said matter-of-factly.

‘Have you no shame, woman?’ Al-Fadil asked. ‘I should have you beaten. Guards!’

‘Wait.’ Yusuf raised a hand. Shamsa had shown no sign of fear when Al-Fadil called for the guards. ‘Why tell me this?’ Yusuf asked her.

‘Because what I know concerns you. My lover is the one who arranged for your uncle’s death.’

Yusuf waited until it became clear that she was going to say no more. ‘Leave us,’ he told the guards. He looked to Al-Fadil. ‘All of you.’

When the last of the guards and scribes had left, Shamsa reached up and removed her niqab. She was young – not yet twenty years of age, he guessed – and she had a face that men would fight for, kill for, even. Her large eyes sat above a delicate nose and high cheekbones. Her flawless skin was creamy brown. The women that Faridah brought to him were as moths to a butterfly in comparison with her. She smiled, her full lips framing straight, white teeth. ‘Thank you, Malik.’

This time, Yusuf did not think to correct her. ‘Who killed Shirkuh?’

‘The city administrator, Al-Khlata.’

‘Guards!’ Yusuf shouted. A dozen mamluks hurried into the hall. ‘Bring me Al-Khlata. Now!’

‘They will not find him,’ Shamsa said when the men had departed. ‘He has left the city.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I do not know, but I know something even more valuable. I know how he plans to take Cairo from you.’

Yusuf felt a burning in his gut. ‘What do you mean?’

She met his gaze. ‘My information comes with a price.’

‘Tell me what you know first, and we shall see what reward you merit.’

‘Very well. Tomorrow, the Nubian Guard will rise against you. They will drive your men from the city and Al-Khlata will take the throne as vizier.’

The Nubians – black warriors from the south of Egypt – were ten thousand men strong, and their barracks lay just outside the city. ‘And the rest of the Egyptian forces?’ Yusuf asked. In addition to the Nubians, the barracks near Cairo held ten thousand Egyptian infantry from northern Egypt, as well as two
mamluk
regiments of five thousand each and the Armenian cavalry, numbering one thousand.

‘They wait to follow whoever emerges victorious.’

‘How do I know that what you say is true? You say you are Al-Khlata’s lover. Why betray him for me?’

‘Why do rats flee a sinking ship? Al-Khlata will soon be finished. Your star is still on the rise.’

But not for long, Yusuf reflected grimly. Many of the emirs who came with him to Egypt had returned home, leaving him with only five thousand men to face twice as many Nubians. And if he barricaded himself inside Cairo, then nothing would stand in the way of the Frankish invasion. The pain in his gut suddenly increased, as if a sword had been thrust into his bowels. He hurried to the back of the chamber, where he bent over and vomited.

He felt Shamsa’s hand on his back and looked up in surprise. ‘You can defeat them, Malik. The Nubian barracks lie just beyond the city gates. They have families there—’ She let the words hang in the air.

‘I will not kill innocent women and children to save myself,’ Yusuf snapped.

‘The greatest of men are those who are not afraid to make the hardest decisions.’

Who was this woman? Her youthful face revealed nothing of what was clearly a ruthless intelligence. Yusuf took a deep breath. ‘If what you have told me is true, then I owe you a great debt. You shall have a hundred dinars. Al-Fadil will see that you are paid.’ Yusuf strode towards the doorway.

‘
Wait
!’ Shamsa called, and Yusuf turned back to face her. ‘There is more that I must tell you, Malik. Tonight, palace servants loyal to Al-Khlata mean to murder you while you sleep. Your death is to be the signal for the Nubians’ rebellion. It is expected that with you gone, your men will put up little resistance.’

‘It seems I owe you my life twice over. You shall be rewarded accordingly. Tell me what you wish for. More gold? Land?’

‘A greater prize by far: make me your wife.’

Yusuf blinked in surprise. ‘Your reward will be worth nothing if I die in the uprising tomorrow. You should take gold instead.’

‘You will not die.’ Shamsa’s dark eyes found his, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. ‘Tonight, you must remain vigilant … If you will permit me, I will ensure that you stay awake. You can determine if I am to your liking.’

Yusuf could not help but smile at the suggestion. ‘I have enough worries to keep me awake for many days to come. You shall be my guest in the palace until this affair is done. I will have a servant show you to the harem, where Faridah will make you comfortable. Tomorrow evening, if I am still alive, you can claim your reward.’

The air that night was hot and still. The windows to Yusuf’s bedroom had been thrown open, letting in pale moonlight that illuminated a figure lying in bed, covered with a thick blanket despite the heat. The distant sounds of the watch changing filtered in through the window, to be overlaid by the closer sound of a floorboard creaking. A moment later the door to Yusuf’s chamber swung open. Four men with slippered feet crept in and stood around the bed.

‘Allahu akbar,’ one of them whispered. ‘Egypt for the Egyptians!’

Each man raised a knife and struck. There were brief, muffled cries from the bed. The men stabbed down again and again, their knives now dark with blood. The cries ceased, and the four men left quickly, their heads down as if they were ashamed of what they had done.

Yusuf removed his eye from the spyhole that looked on to his chamber. ‘It was just as Shamsa foretold,’ he said to Selim and Qaraqush.

‘Shall I have the assassins beheaded?’ Qaraqush asked.

‘Let them go. Let them think they have succeeded.’

‘But Brother, the uprising—’ Selim began.

‘I will never see an end to rebellions if I do not deal with the Nubians now. We will let them rebel, and we will crush them.’

Yusuf entered his bedchamber and pulled back the bloody blanket. A eunuch servant – one of the men that Shamsa had named in the plot – lay tied to the bed, a gag in his mouth. He was dead, his eyes bulging wide.

‘What now?’ Selim asked.

‘Have the body wrapped in linen, and let it be known that I am dead. Qaraqush, make certain that the men are ready.’

‘What will you do?’ the grizzled mamluk asked.

Yusuf pulled a fold of his keffiyeh down to hide his face, leaving only his eyes visible. ‘I am dead. I shall play the part.’

Yusuf stood behind a curtain that hung over a side entrance to the caliph’s audience chamber and peered through a small gap in the fabric. He had spent the previous night hidden in the gatehouse beside the Bab al-Futuh. Before the sun rose, he had dressed as a simple mamluk and left for the caliph’s palace, accompanied by Saqr and Al-Mashtub. As they walked, trumpets sounded to the south, indicating that the Nubians were on the move. Yusuf had given Qaraqush orders to provide only token resistance before pretending to flee. Al-Khlata and the rebellion’s ringleaders were to be allowed into the caliph’s palace.

Yusuf’s hand fell to his sword hilt as he saw a eunuch step into the audience chamber and address the gold curtain, behind which the caliph sat. ‘Al-Adid, defender of Islam and representative of Allah, may I present Al-Mutamen al-Khlata.’

Al-Khlata strode into the chamber. He removed the jewelled sword of the vizier from his scabbard and laid it before him. The dozen Nubian commanders who accompanied him also placed their swords on the ground. They all knelt, and the gold curtain rose to reveal the veiled caliph seated on his throne. Two dozen of Yusuf’s men – dressed in the uniforms of the caliph’s personal guard – stood along the wall behind the throne.

‘Al-Khlata,’ the caliph said. ‘What brings you to my court?’

‘Joyous news, Al-Adid. The infidel Saladin is dead, and his Sunni troops are fleeing our city. Egypt shall soon be returned to the hands of Egyptians.’

Al-Adid gestured to Al-Khlata’s sword. ‘I see you carry the sword of the Vizier.’

‘Forgive my presumption, Caliph. I took it from the Vizier’s palace. Saladin’s death was my doing. Now that he is gone, I had hoped you would allow me to serve you as vizier. But of course, you should do as you think right.’

While Al-Khlata was speaking, Al-Adid stole several glances in Yusuf’s direction. Yusuf pulled back the curtain just enough so he could see the throne and nodded. The caliph looked back to Al-Khlata. ‘I do not need your permission to do as I see fit,’ he said. ‘I declare your life forfeit for rebelling against Saladin, my appointee as the rightful ruler of Egypt.’

Al-Khlata picked up his sword. ‘You are in no position to threaten me, Caliph.’

‘But I am.’ Yusuf stepped into the room, flanked by Saqr and Al-Mashtub.

Al-Khlata paled. ‘Impossible.’ He pointed his blade at Yusuf. ‘You are dead!’

Yusuf’s only reply was the hiss of steel against the leather of his scabbard as he drew his sword. The guards along the back wall stepped forward with swords in hand, and a dozen more of Yusuf’s men arrived to block Al-Khlata’s retreat from the chamber. The Nubians picked up their swords, but Yusuf could see the resignation in their faces. They were outnumbered three to one. They knew they would die.

‘Caliph, stop them!’ Al-Khlata begged. ‘I only wished to rid Egypt of these Sunni dogs.’ The caliph said nothing. Al-Khlata’s pleading grew more frantic. ‘I have served you faithfully for years. Please, I beg you! We had an agr—’

‘Kill them!’ the caliph shouted. ‘Kill them all!’

Yusuf’s men closed on the Nubians from all directions. Yusuf
charged
towards Al-Khlata, but a towering Nubian blocked his path. Yusuf parried the Nubian’s curved blade before slamming his shoulder into him. He stumbled back as if he had hit a stone wall. The Nubian grinned, his teeth white against his dark skin, and hacked down at Yusuf’s head. Yusuf sidestepped the blow and thrust for his opponent’s chest. The Nubian brought his scimitar sweeping back to knock Yusuf’s sword aside and then reversed his blade. Yusuf jumped back, but the tip of the sword grazed the mail covering his chest. The huge Nubian charged, chopping down with a mighty blow, which Yusuf parried. The Nubian kicked out, catching him in the gut and doubling him over. Yusuf’s adversary grinned in triumph and swung down to decapitate him, but the sword was blocked at the last moment by Saqr’s blade. Yusuf buried his sword in the Nubian’s throat. The man fell, spilling blood on the white marble floor.

‘You take too many risks, sayyid,’ Saqr said. ‘The Vizier should not—’

Al-Khlata was charging from behind Saqr. Yusuf shoved him out of the way and stepped forward to parry the Egyptian’s attack. Yusuf countered with a thrust that forced Al-Khlata backwards and then pursued his foe, hacking down as Al-Khlata gave ground. The Egyptian’s gold blade dented and warped under the blows from Yusuf’s steel sword. Yusuf gave a final swing, and Al-Khlata’s blade snapped in two. The Egyptian tossed the ruined weapon aside and sank to his knees. Beyond him, two Nubians were swarmed by Yusuf’s men and taken down. Al-Mashtub cut down the last of the rebels.

‘Please,’ Al-Khlata begged. ‘Have mercy! Spare me, and I will save your life.’

‘You murdered my uncle.’ Yusuf raised his sword.

‘Don’t be a fool! The Nubians control the palace. If you kill me, you will die!’

Yusuf brought his blade down on Al-Khlata’s neck. He wiped the blade clean on the dead Egyptian’s caftan. ‘Al-Mashtub, once the city is in hand, have these traitors hung from the gates
as
a warning to those who would rebel against me.’ Yusuf turned to the caliph. ‘You, come with me.’

‘I-I am God’s deputy,’ Al-Adid replied, his haughty tone undercut by the shaking in his voice. ‘Do not presume to give me orders.’

‘Saqr, bring him.’

Yusuf strode from the chamber, and Saqr followed with the caliph. They passed through luxurious rooms, the thick carpets now wet with blood and littered with dead Nubian warriors. A thousand of Yusuf’s best men had lain in wait in the palace. They had let the Nubians enter before emerging to slaughter them. The carnage was worst in the vaulted entrance hall. Yusuf’s men had sealed off the doors, trapping hundreds of Nubians before raining down arrows from the balconies above. The caliph’s face paled as they passed the bodies that were now stacked three and four deep on either side of the hall. They reached the door leading outside, and Yusuf’s men pulled it open. The square before the palace was packed with Nubian warriors waiting to welcome a victorious Al-Khlata.

‘Go and tell the Nubians that I live,’ Yusuf told the caliph. ‘Tell them that if they lay down their arms, their lives will be spared.’

Al-Adid took a step outside, but then froze. ‘They will not listen. Al-Khlata was right: the Nubians are too many for you to overcome. Surrender, and I will guarantee your life.’

‘It is not my life you should be concerned about.’ Yusuf gripped the caliph’s arm and dragged him outside. His men followed and fanned out to form a line five deep atop the steps leading down to the square. ‘Tell them,’ Yusuf insisted, and pushed the caliph through the line.

‘
The Caliph
!’ someone in the square cried. ‘
Al-Adid
!’ The cry was taken up by other Nubians. ‘
Al-Adid
!
Al-Adid
!’

The caliph raised his arms for silence. ‘Loyal troops!’ he shouted. ‘I know that you are ever faithful to your caliph. I wish for no further bloodshed. Lay down your arms and accept
the
rule of my appointed vizier, Saladin, and your lives will be spared!’

At first there was stunned silence. Then one of the Nubians shouted, ‘Saladin is a Sunni dog! Where is Al-Khlata?’

Yusuf stepped forward. ‘Al-Khlata is dead, as are your commanders! If you do not wish to join them, then you will surrender now!’