MY VERY DEAR WIFE, It is strange to think of you back in that old house with so many memories, most of them happy. I am sending this letter with the courier who is carrying royal dispatches from al-Adil to the palace, so you will get it sooner than if I used the caravans.
It is almost a month since you left, and this is the first opportunity that I have had to sit and write to you. We are living in tents within sight of the walls of Jerusalem. It is a strange sensation to be so close to the Holy City. The Sultan has offered them terms, but some of the fools want to die holding their infernal crosses.
You have by now probably heard from our friends in the palace why it has all taken so long. When we marched away from Damascus, the Sultan was overcome by one of his usual fits of indecision. Jerusalem could wait till he had cleared the coast. Once again he tried to take Tyre, but the resistance was strong. The emirs were now determined to take the city regardless of our casualties. They felt it had become a symbol of Franj resistance and should be erased from the map. Salah al-Din was annoyed that it had already taken up too much of his time. He decided to march away and we laid siege to Ascalon.
The Franj held out for nearly fourteen days, but the Sultan brought their King Guy from Damascus and offered to release him if they surrendered. They gave Guy authority to deal on their behalf, and he promptly agreed terms with the Sultan. We did not lose many men. The day we took the city turned cold all of a sudden when the sun’s face was completely hidden. That very day a delegation of nobles from Jerusalem arrived in Ascalon. The Sultan offered them very good terms if they surrendered the Holy City, and they promised to recommend such an offer to the knights. When they got back, the Patriarch scolded them severely. The Church does not wish to surrender the city where Jesus was crucified without a battle.
The Sultan did not allow his spirits to lower when he heard the news. He is in a cheerful mood again, despite the setback at Tyre. The presence of al-Adil, who has remained his favourite brother since they were boys, is part of the reason. For the rest, Salah al-Din is now convinced that he will be in Jerusalem before the new moon, which gives him seventeen days to be precise.
On hearing that the Patriarch and knights such as Balian of Ibelin were now preparing to take up arms against him, the Sultan ordered all our soldiers in the region to march behind him and put up our tents just outside Jerusalem. He wants this to be a show of strength, but is prepared for a clash of arms if that is the only way. Yesterday we moved our tents to the eastern edge of the city. The Franj thought we were leaving altogether and waved ironic farewells from the ramparts, which amused al-Adil greatly. Instead we have our siege towers in place, just above the valley they call the Kidron. Here the walls seem less strong.
From where I am composing these lines I can see the Sultan’s banners fluttering in the breeze on Mount Olivet. Our men worked all night to make sure the barbican was mined.
Ten thousand of our soldiers have now made it impossible for the Franj to use two of their most important gates. Our archers are stationed directly underneath the ramparts waiting for their orders. The Kadi al-Fadil described their arrows as “toothpicks to the teeth of the battlements”. It is an accurate description, acknowledged as such even by Imad al-Din, who, incidentally, was hoping that al-Fadil would stay in Cairo so that he would be the only serious chronicler of the victory.
As you know, my dearest Rachel, they do not even deign to consider your husband as a rival. For them I am just a pen-pusher who caught the Sultan’s eye at an opportune moment. That is Imad al-Din’s public attitude to me. In private he often tells me stories which he hopes I will attribute to him, thus ensuring that he is mentioned in the “great book of Salah al-Din”. The Kadi al-Fadil is more subtle, more careful, but his main concern lies in his own work. He barely thinks of me in serious terms, but is always helpful when I need to check a fact or two with him.
Yesterday the Sultan was visited by Balian of Ibelin. His life had been spared at Hattin and he had pledged never to bear arms against the Sultan as long as he lived. Now he told us that the Patriarch had absolved him of his oath.
“And your God,” inquired the Sultan, “will He forgive you just as easily?”
Balian remained silent and averted his eyes. Then he threatened Salah al-Din. If our soldiers did not withdraw, the Franj would first kill their own women and children and then set fire to the al-Aqsa mosque before demolishing the sacred Rock. After this they would kill the several thousand Believers in the city and then march out into the plain with swords raised to die in battle against the infidels.
The Sultan smiled. He had vowed to take this city by force, but he offered the Franj a generous deal. All the Christians would be permitted to leave provided they paid a ransom to the treasury. The Christian poor would be set free with money from the King’s treasure which was kept by the Hospitallers. Salah al-Din gave them forty days to find the ransom money.
“When you Franj first took this city, Balian, you slaughtered the Jews and Believers as if they were cattle. We could do the same to you, but blind revenge is a dangerous elixir. So we will let your people leave in peace. This is my last offer to your leaders. Turn it down and I will burn down these ramparts and show no mercy. The choice is yours.”
Today it is Friday, the Holy Day of Islam. It is the second of October, but the twenty-seventh of Rajab in the Muslim calendar. On this day their Prophet dreamt his famous dream and visited this city in his sleep. And on this day, as even the least religious of them has been telling himself and others since daybreak, the Franj capitulated and signed the terms of surrender. As news of this spread there was a loud cry of “Allah o Akbar” and the amazing sight of thousands and thousands of men, falling to their knees in the dust and prostrating themselves in the direction of Mecca, to give thanks to Allah.
Then there was silence, a silence born of disbelief. We looked at each other in astonishment, wondering whether this had really happened or was it all a dream? After ninety years, Jerusalem, or al-Kuds, belongs to us again. All of us!
In exactly one hour the Sultan will ride into the city and I, my dearest Rachel, will be at his side. My thoughts at this moment are of you and our little family, but I am also thinking of my old friend Shadhi. This was a day he longed to see, and I know that his ghost will be riding just behind Salah al-Din, whispering in his ear as only he could: “Look straight ahead. You are a ruler. Don’t lower your eyes. Remember, you are the Sultan who has taken back our al-Kuds, not the Caliph in Baghdad. Even as we march the so-called Caliph will be drowning himself in pleasure.”
Shadhi would have said all that and I will think it, but I do not have the authority to say all this to the Sultan. Imad al-Din is on his way to Damascus and al-Fadil is not here. What will they advise him after he has taken the city?
I am alone with him and the responsibility is awesome. What am I to say if he seeks my advice? It is at times like these that I feel the most vulnerable and realise that, perhaps, I am nothing but a hired scribe.
I kiss your cheeks and hope to see you soon. Kiss our daughter and grandson. I am delighted to hear that another one is on the way. Perhaps you should come to Jerusalem. I think I will be here for some time.
Your husband,
Ibn Yakub.