Chapter 161 — Saladin’s View

Chapter 161: Chapter 161 — Saladin’s View

Late Spring, 1181 — Cairo

The call to prayer had ended minutes ago, yet the cool dawn air still carried the last echoes of the muezzin’s voice through the latticed windows of the Citadel. Salāh al-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb sat in the high chamber that overlooked Cairo, the city bathed in a pale gold light. From here, the clustered domes and minarets seemed serene, but the Sultan knew better — behind that beauty lay tension, shifting loyalties, and the ceaseless demands of ruling both Egypt and the lands beyond the Sinai.

In recent months, Egypt had been his refuge and his burden. Since the disastrous campaign in Syria the previous year — the loss of Aleppo, Homs, and Damascus to the Franks — he had been forced to turn his full attention to stabilizing the Nile valley. Grain taxes had been reorganized, the great irrigation dikes repaired after the flooding, and garrisons strengthened along the Red Sea coast in case the Sicilian fleet dared strike. The treasury, though bruised, was swelling again, thanks to the caravans from the south and the steady stream of pilgrims passing through on their way to Mecca.

But Saladin’s mind was rarely free from thoughts of Syria. The Sultan’s scribes had been reading him reports from his network of agents — men who moved like shadows between Damascus and Jerusalem, risking their lives to carry news. Those tidings, in truth, were not what he had hoped for.

Today, a trusted messenger had arrived from Hama. His robe was still dusty from the road, his eyes sharp despite the fatigue of travel. Bowing deeply, he placed a small scroll case in the hands of Saladin’s chief secretary. When the parchment was unrolled, the Sultan read in silence, his brows furrowing.

The spies reported that Baldwin of Jerusalem — still young, still sickly by rumor — had not been content with his victories in Syria. Instead of letting his gains crumble under their own weight, he had set about securing them with reforms and building works. Damascus had not rebelled; in fact, the city seemed more orderly than before. And now, in Jerusalem itself, a massive project was underway: the construction of a second curtain wall, enclosing new districts between the old defenses and the fresh stone barrier. It was said that these new quarters would hold markets, dwellings, and, most galling of all, a Royal Forum

The Sultan’s fingers tightened slightly on the parchment.

"They mean to settle in," he said quietly, more to himself than to the men present. "Not just hold what they have taken, but to make it their own. Stone by stone, they are remaking al-Quds."

Baha al-Din, his loyal jurist and companion, shifted slightly. "Sultan, these Franks build walls and plazas, but walls may be breached, and plazas may be taken. Time will undo them."

Saladin looked up, his dark eyes steady. "Time will undo us as well if we wait too long. Every stone they lay, every market they open, binds the people more tightly to their rule. I had expected unrest — the people of Syria chafing under foreign law — but the spies say otherwise. Baldwin has altered the courts so that the peasants, even the Muslims, have more privileges now than under their own emirs. That is a poison more dangerous than swords."

He rose and walked to the open window, looking out at the green ribbon of the Nile winding through the plain. In the far distance, the hazy brown line of the desert shimmered under the growing sun.

"What of our own works here?" he asked, not turning. "The fortifications of Alexandria? The shipyards?"

One of his Egyptian emirs, Sharaf al-Din, answered. "The shipyards produce steadily. Two new galleys are nearly fitted. Alexandria’s sea wall repairs are complete. And the grain stores at Fustat are filled for another year."

Saladin nodded slowly. "Good. Egypt must be strong if we are to strike again in the north. And we will — but not until we are ready."

He returned to his seat and gestured for the messenger to continue with the rest of his intelligence. The man spoke of Syrian trade routes now guarded by Frankish patrols, of villages near Baalbek whose farmers paid their taxes without complaint, and of churches rising in towns that had once echoed with the call to prayer. He also described the great stonecutting works outside Jerusalem, where hundreds of laborers hauled limestone blocks for the second wall, and the merchants already vying for space in the new districts.

The Sultan listened without interruption, but his mind was weighing possibilities. An open assault on Jerusalem would be folly for now; Baldwin’s walls would not be ready this year, but they would be by the next. And the Franks had allies — the Sicilians still loomed in the sea, and the Byzantines had shown a dangerous willingness to deal with them.

At last, Saladin dismissed the messenger and turned to his council.

"We must be patient," he said, "but we must also prepare. I will not see al-Quds turned into an impregnable fortress while we sit idle. Strengthen our positions in the Sinai — garrisons at el Arish and build forts and watchtowers throughout. Let our raiding parties keep pressure on their southern front. Make them guard every road and field."

"And Egypt, Sultan?" asked Sharaf al-Din.

"Egypt will be our foundation. From here, we will build the wealth and the fleet to challenge them. The Sicilians will not dominate these seas forever."

He leaned forward, hands clasped. "And our spies — they will remain in Jerusalem. I want to know not just the walls they build, but the hearts they win. If the people grow too content under Baldwin, we must find ways to stir their discontent."

Baha al-Din inclined his head. "The pen and the tongue can be as sharp as the sword, my lord."

Saladin allowed himself a faint smile. "Indeed. And when the time comes, the sword will follow."

The council bowed, and the meeting dissolved into smaller groups of discussion. The Sultan remained seated, gazing at the map of Syria and Palestine spread across the table before him. He traced the line of the Jordan River with one finger, then rested it on the small mark for Jerusalem.

They think their stones will last forever, he thought. But even the strongest walls fall. And when they do, the world remembers who took them down.