The Codex Lacrimae, Part 1: The Mariner's Daughter and Doomed Knight

Chapter 15: Entangling Alliances

While Jacob dashed up a stairwell looking for Arcadian's chambers, the sun continued its descent, throwing lengthening shadows across the undulating slopes of the nearby Al-Ansariyah Mountains.

The encampment of the besieging southern army lay here, radiating outwards from a central pavilion in a series of concentric circles. Large bonfires blazed as squads of sentries, or darraja, rode on horseback about the perimeter.

Their evening devotions in the direction of Mecca completed, the Muslim soldiers of Saladin's army continued the siege preparations. Dozens of cooks tended to the provision and feeding of thousands of men, shaping pita breads on flat pans over braziers, and roasting lambs and cows on the trunks of small trees that served as spits. In all kitchens, smaller cauldrons were filled with a mixture of spinach, rice, garlic, onions, and lemon juice―a staple served at almost every meal.

Around the pyramidal bonfires in front of the tents, many warriors occupied themselves with sharpening blades and making small talk. Fifteen guards stood at attention in evenly spaced intervals surrounded the enormous, white-tented platform of the central pavilion. Salah al-Din Yusuf, the Kurdish son of Ayyub, and ruler of Egypt whom the Crusaders called "Saladin," sat inside that tent. At the moment, he stared thoughtfully at the westerners, Farbauti and Kenezki, who were arguing nearby with Saladin's brother, Hamzah al-Adil.

He shifted his position on the unadorned wooden chair and absently stroked his neatly manicured beard while giving a final review of the sheaf of documents that his staff officer, or ghulam, had brought him.

When his aide-de-camp departed, Saladin sighed, leaned back in his seat, and gave full attention to the unpleasant task of dealing with the two westerners sitting cross-legged on the pillows nearby.

"My Lord Saladin," Farbauti said, realizing that he'd permission to speak. "Again, I apologize if I speak too candidly, but your brother can be very frustrating. Do you really believe that we would've brought you this far only to divide the spoils of this Hospitaller fortress with another army?"

Hamzah al-Adil interrupted before Saladin could answer.

"Your intent has always been a rather confusing one to us, Farbauti," he said cuttingly. "You speak our language, but you don't think as we do." He glanced at Saladin. "I'm surprised that my brother has tolerated your acidic western tongue for as long as he has ..."

"Hamzah," Saladin cautioned, "let us hear him until he is finished―"

"Thank you, my lord," Farbauti said with a glance at Saladin that seemed to convey a commiserating irritation with the ruler's brother.

"—then see if," Saladin continued, returning a cool gaze at the blond-haired man, "like scorpions in the desert, they have stingers that need removing." The ruler of Egypt leaned forward. "You and your partner try my patience, Lord Farbauti."

Kenezki threw his pony-tail over his shoulder and smiled. "You include me, Milord? I've never met you before this afternoon."

"More than enough time to take your measure," Saladin said with a shake of his head. "Yours and that of the other one, Morpeth. Where is he?"

Farbauti rose to his feet and looked directly at Saladin. "He'll be here later in the evening. We, too, have preparations before the siege and he's tending to them."

"Very well," Saladin said perfunctorily, "then, to business. Thus far, I've accommodated you because you've been correct in the information about western positions here in Syria and Palestine. But, this second army that approaches from the East ... it's not even of Persian descent. My tali'a scouts think them more akin to Mongols than to warriors from this part of the world."