kingdom of nations

Chapter 270 Spreading Wings (6)

"Upon hearing the news of the Sultan's assassination, the crowds flocked to his tent, surrounding him, kneeling on the ground, and stretching out their hands. But they were not praying for him. Instead, they shamelessly demanded gold, silk, slaves, and power from the Sultan. They were like a pack of ravenous hyenas, eager to dance on the lion's carcass and share his flesh and blood, even with their enemies outside, as if holding a grand feast." —Excerpt from *The Biography of Saladin* by Kamal al-Din ibn Shahrazuli

News of the Sultan's assassination spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the land as quickly as birds with wings. Aside from his Mamluks, few truly mourned him. Even his brother Turanshah was worried about himself—if Saladin were truly dead, and without his brother's protection, where would he place himself? Should he pledge allegiance to the new Sultan?

The new Sultan could not possibly be his brother's son or his nephew—they were too young. When the new Sultan appeared, their fate would not be much different from that of the former Caliph Atid: first they were treated with courtesy, then imprisoned, and finally they died mysteriously.

But after considering all the potential candidates, he found it difficult to make a decision.

Saladin had many opponents, but no one, whether in the court or the army, possessed his authority to subdue every ill-intentioned schemer.

My brother. He sighed inwardly, how could you have let yourself end up in such a predicament? He had advised Saladin not to be an enemy of the Assassins, at least not openly. Even if he reached a cooperation agreement with the Assassins, so what? Once Saladin completely controlled Syria, Alamut would be nothing more than an isolated island. There would always be a way to make them submit or to destroy them completely.

The people surrounding Saladin now are far too complex: Nur ad-Din's old retainers, Atid's remnants, ambitious governors and unruly tribal chiefs... and, of course, the mercenaries—it wouldn't be difficult for the Assassins to find people who would side with them.

Indeed, some people came to Sultan's tent immediately after his assassination.

“We know you betrayed Saladin,” the man said with a smile, completely ignoring Shilansha’s flustered expression. “But we don’t blame you. We knew what kind of person you were from the beginning. It’s alright, you are still our friend, and the agreement we made is still valid.”

"What do you want from me?"

"Saladin's tent is now almost inaccessible, and those two thousand Mamluks guard his side." As the other person said this, a mixture of jealousy and apprehension appeared on their face. They had long known that Saladin did not trust them and was even cautious about the army left behind by his uncle. The Sultan used these young men as his last line of defense, and these Mamluks had indeed done so. When their master was assassinated and fell into a coma, they protected him like silent city walls.

What surprised them even more was that Saladin's sister, Emina, who had insisted on returning to Holmes to be with her husband and children—for which she had had a very heated argument with Sultan Saladin.

According to sources, the siblings had reached the point of severing ties, and it was clear to everyone that their relationship had come to an end after Saladin sent her back to Holmes.

Saladin had indeed said that he would send five hundred Mamluks to escort Emina back to Holmes. People thought that Emina would leave immediately after Saladin fell, but she did not do so. Even though her relationship with Saladin had become very strained, she resolutely stepped forward again when Saladin was in an absolute crisis.

Compared to Turanshah, who remained holed up in her tent, her actions were more decisive and swift. She used the five hundred Mamluks that Saladin had given her—the same five hundred soldiers who were originally supposed to escort her back—to take control of the army's baggage train, and then persuaded the other Mamluks to follow her instructions.

Of course, all her decisions were in Saladin's favor—otherwise, these Mamluks wouldn't have obeyed her orders so obediently.

As a woman, Emina didn't know how to command troops or fight battles, but she could hold her ground in a corner.

She watched over Saladin for three days and three nights until dawn on the fourth day, when Saladin slowly awoke amidst the scholars' eager anticipation. Their God had bestowed grace upon him and healed him, but just as with the healing performed by priests among Christians, the scholars could not fully restore his injuries. His newly formed organs, muscles, and skin were very fragile, and the lost blood could not replenish his body in a short time.

Saladin was still very weak, but he was already able to think and speak.

Upon learning of the situation over the past few days, he first thanked his sister, and then called his brother Turansha. As soon as Turansha entered the tent, he immediately prostrated himself at the Sultan's feet.

He worried that the Sultan would suspect him of colluding with those who had murdered him. Although he had told the Sultan everything about their plot, he knew that people would always change after going through life-or-death ordeals.

Fortunately, Saladin was never a suspicious man, and he knew his brother and sister well. He told Turansha to stay in a nearby tent and not to go anywhere unless summoned by him.

Then he sent messengers to summon the generals in the army.

When these generals entered the Sultan's tent, even though the tent was originally large enough to hold hundreds of people, it now felt cramped and tense—perhaps because an invisible battle had already broken out there before the Sultan gave his orders.

Saladin, pale-faced, leaned against the pillows and cushions, looking at the familiar or unfamiliar faces one by one—some hesitant, some searching, some smug, some contemptuous… These people could not completely hide their thoughts.

Moreover, it was quite obvious that while Saladin was unconscious, they had gone through some adjustments and negotiations. People who were once bitter enemies were now standing side by side, while those who were once as close as brothers had suddenly distanced themselves. Some were in groups of three or five, while others were alone. The reason they were able to remain quietly and obediently in the tent was because Saladin was not dead.

If Saladin were to die, he had no doubt that these men would immediately draw their swords and turn on each other, even if their infighting caused chaos in the camp and ultimately led to their defeat at the hands of the Christians.

Just like Sultan Nur ad-Din, who fell from his horse and was captured on the coast of Galilee, his Fatah and Emir were completely scattered by a few hundred Christian knights, and no one even wanted to take back the Sultan's body to avoid him being humiliated by the enemy.

But once they returned to their respective territories, they suddenly changed their tune and claimed to be the sole heir to Sultan Nur ad-Din. It's baffling how they could have such a face.

Now their target has changed from Nur ad-Din to Saladin.

They arrived at Saladin's tent, more interested in seeing if the terrible dictator was truly nearing the end of his life. Of course, the result disappointed them; Saladin was wounded, but not yet dead.

He still had trusted relatives and his Mamluks by his side. No matter what they thought, it was impossible for the new Sultan, who had only been born a short time ago, to fall, but they were not discouraged.

If they are still to serve this Sultan, then the Sultan should grant them the rights and rewards they deserve, especially since Saladin is clearly no longer able to command this army.

“We will still fight for you, Sultan, and obey all your commands, but we also need to exchange our loyalty for something, something insignificant, Sultan, something like a grain of sand or a leaf to you,” a bold Fatah leader said first.

Fatahs—tribal leaders—are not much different from mercenaries, and they value rewards the most, since every tribe is so poor that it cannot afford any losses.

"What do you want?"

"Gold."

"Yes, I will give you gold."

“Then, Sultan,” another Fatah said hastily, “we want slaves and prisoners.” “Very well, all the slaves and prisoners you acquire in the war are yours.”

"...Damascus..."

"can."

“Then…” an emir suddenly raised his head: “Sultan, I think what we need most is your whip. Without your whip, how can we command your soldiers?”

All eyes fell on the "whip" leaning against the Sultan's pillow—this was not an ordinary instrument of punishment, but a symbolic weapon used to command the army.

"The whip can only be given to one person. Discuss it and tell me." Saladin nodded. "Who else?"

“I am the venerable Sultan,” a voice came from the corner.

"what would you like?"

“I want to die, Sultan. I hope you will retract your mercy. There should be no living Christians in this war, just as they killed all the Saracens in Arazari.”

Upon hearing this, even Kamal couldn't help but look up. Was this only targeting Christians?
certainly not.

When the Fatimid Caliphs fought against the Christians, they didn't say they wanted to kill all the Christian knights—they did so merely as a subtle way of criticizing and mocking Saladin. They used their cruelty to highlight Saladin's cowardice—or at least that's what they thought.

They used this to undermine his authority and prestige among the military and the people, so that they could take his place.

Saladin coughed twice; it was said that the assassin's dagger had pierced his lung, and his frailty gave some people a glimmer of hope.

“Yes,” Saladin said, “I promise you everything.” His face was somber and indistinct, hidden behind a veil. But these ambitious men no longer cared about such things. “Warriors of God, if you win this battle, the wealth will be yours, the slaves will be yours, and Damascus will be yours.”

Saladin's response made these men feel as if they had already won a great victory. What they didn't know was that after they left the tent, Kamal sighed, "Are you really going to do this? Sultan, that's an army of fifteen thousand men."

"What is there to regret if it is not used by me? When a sword is pointed at its master, its sharpness becomes its sin." Saladin sat up, pressing his chest. In the dimly lit tent, the deliberately created weakness and pain seemed to have vanished from him. He was still the calm, wise, and indestructible Sultan.

"If they really do win..."

"And me and my Mamluk."

"Some people might accuse you of internal strife."

"Isn't this what they've been doing all along? They've been trying to divide and win over my people. Not to mention the Turkmen, even some of the Kurds that my uncle brought have been corrupted by them."

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

Saladin said calmly, "They will bet everything to get what I promised."

If by then there are still Turkmen and Kurds willing to follow them, then Saladin can clearly and decisively eliminate them.

He needs an army that is entirely his own.

------

The Assassins were overjoyed, but only Laila noticed that Sinan's expression was unusual. As the master of the Eagle's Nest and the elder they revered, he could arrange where his assassins went, what they did, and who they killed without informing anyone else. Therefore, when they heard that Saladin had been assassinated, their first reaction was that the assassins sent by Sinan had accomplished his mission.

Leila, however, knew her teacher very well.

She was a woman with white hair that seemed cursed by the devil. Although she was an assassin valued by the elders, she could never enter the true circle of power.

However, Sinan would occasionally talk to her about future plans. Perhaps it was because Leila was unlikely to become an elder that Sinan could trust her so much.

Sinan once said that although Saladin and the Christian king both rejected him, he only wanted them to realize the importance of the Assassins in this war—that they were able to manipulate the scales of victory and tip them in one direction.

But as Sinan said, they were ultimately Saracens, and he wanted to use the lives of Christians to deter these two kings—he might also take action against Saladin, but certainly not now.

Sinan did not tell anyone else about this fact; he secretly sent Leila to find out the truth of the news.

"If Saladin isn't dead, do I need to take action?"

“No!” Sinan immediately said, “You must never lay a hand on Saladin.”

"Is it Saladin, or me?" Leila pressed.

“You,” Sinan said coldly, “no matter what Saladin was like, he was still a Sultan, and a warrior of God should not die at the hands of a woman.”

(End of this chapter)