placed a rough hand on John’s shoulder. ‘What are you saying, priest?’
John ignored him. He continued speaking to the caliph. ‘This man has done terrible things. He has defiled his body with the flesh of swine. He has drunk alcohol. He has killed members of the faith. But he believes that if he touches your flesh with the flesh of his hand, it will purify him.’
‘But that is ridiculous!’ the caliph scoffed.
‘It is. But the Franks are like children, Imam. They believe in mysteries and magic. You have no doubt heard that the Franks believe that in their rituals bread and wine are transformed into the very flesh and blood of their god, Jesus. They also believe that the touch of Jesus could cure the sick and raise the dead. To Franks, the touch of a holy man is a miraculous thing. They are like children, and if they embrace the faith, they can only do so as children would do.’
‘Damn it!’ Hugh growled. ‘What are you saying, man? Will he shake my hand or will he not?’
‘I am explaining the terms of the treaty in greater detail,’ John replied tersely. He returned to the caliph. ‘Imam, he says that it would be the great honour of his life to touch your hand, that he would count himself forever blessed.’
‘And he truly wishes to embrace the one true faith?’ the caliph asked in an uncertain voice.
‘Yes.’ John had a flash of inspiration. ‘He wishes to fight against the Sunni army, against the false caliph in Baghdad, who has led so many astray. He wishes your blessing for the coming battle.’
‘Very well,’ the caliph consented. He removed his glove and extended his hand. John could hear the alarmed gasps and urgent whispers of the courtiers lining the walls.
Hugh grabbed the caliph’s manicured hand in his own callused paw. ‘We are sworn to one another, to uphold the treaty signed here today,’ he said as he vigorously shook the caliph’s hand. ‘May God smite you if you break your word.’
‘May Allah give you strength in your battle against the infidel Sunni,’ the caliph replied in Arabic. Hugh released his hand, and the caliph wiped his own on his caftan before slipping on his glove.
‘Shukran,’ Shawar said to John. Then he took Hugh by the arm and led him away from the throne. ‘Are you satisfied now, Sir Hugh?’
‘Yes, Vizier. We are allies, and we shall drive Nur ad-Din’s armies from your lands.’
Chapter 4
MAY 1164: CAIRO
J ohn’s horse trotted into the Nile, kicking up water that shone silver in the moonlight. He could just see the king ahead of him, urging his horse across the river, while all around he could hear the splashing of men and horses, visible only as dim shapes in the darkness. John looked upstream. A bright spot on the horizon told him where Cairo lay. His horse was swimming now, and the warm water of the Nile came up to John’s waist. A moment later, his mount climbed up a sandy bank on to a low island. Knights were all around him, their horses nickering in the darkness. John was the only one amongst them not in armour. He had come in his role as a priest and translator, to offer his services after the battle.
After nearly a month of facing Shirkuh’s army across the Nile, each side unable to attack, Shawar had devised a plan to surprise the enemy. He had provided one hundred members of the Egyptian army’s Armenian cavalry, elite troops who fought for the caliph despite the fact that they were Christian. They had joined four hundred Frankish knights and snuck north under the cover of darkness, riding downstream while a slender crescent moon climbed across the sky. Finally, when the moon stood at its apex, their Egyptian guide had stopped at the riverbank and pointed to where an island split the river in two, making crossing on horseback possible.
John crossed the island and urged his horse into the water again . He emerged on the far bank where the men were forming a column five riders wide. He rode to the rear. At the front,
John ignored him. He continued speaking to the caliph. ‘This man has done terrible things. He has defiled his body with the flesh of swine. He has drunk alcohol. He has killed members of the faith. But he believes that if he touches your flesh with the flesh of his hand, it will purify him.’
‘But that is ridiculous!’ the caliph scoffed.
‘It is. But the Franks are like children, Imam. They believe in mysteries and magic. You have no doubt heard that the Franks believe that in their rituals bread and wine are transformed into the very flesh and blood of their god, Jesus. They also believe that the touch of Jesus could cure the sick and raise the dead. To Franks, the touch of a holy man is a miraculous thing. They are like children, and if they embrace the faith, they can only do so as children would do.’
‘Damn it!’ Hugh growled. ‘What are you saying, man? Will he shake my hand or will he not?’
‘I am explaining the terms of the treaty in greater detail,’ John replied tersely. He returned to the caliph. ‘Imam, he says that it would be the great honour of his life to touch your hand, that he would count himself forever blessed.’
‘And he truly wishes to embrace the one true faith?’ the caliph asked in an uncertain voice.
‘Yes.’ John had a flash of inspiration. ‘He wishes to fight against the Sunni army, against the false caliph in Baghdad, who has led so many astray. He wishes your blessing for the coming battle.’
‘Very well,’ the caliph consented. He removed his glove and extended his hand. John could hear the alarmed gasps and urgent whispers of the courtiers lining the walls.
Hugh grabbed the caliph’s manicured hand in his own callused paw. ‘We are sworn to one another, to uphold the treaty signed here today,’ he said as he vigorously shook the caliph’s hand. ‘May God smite you if you break your word.’
‘May Allah give you strength in your battle against the infidel Sunni,’ the caliph replied in Arabic. Hugh released his hand, and the caliph wiped his own on his caftan before slipping on his glove.
‘Shukran,’ Shawar said to John. Then he took Hugh by the arm and led him away from the throne. ‘Are you satisfied now, Sir Hugh?’
‘Yes, Vizier. We are allies, and we shall drive Nur ad-Din’s armies from your lands.’
Chapter 4
MAY 1164: CAIRO
J ohn’s horse trotted into the Nile, kicking up water that shone silver in the moonlight. He could just see the king ahead of him, urging his horse across the river, while all around he could hear the splashing of men and horses, visible only as dim shapes in the darkness. John looked upstream. A bright spot on the horizon told him where Cairo lay. His horse was swimming now, and the warm water of the Nile came up to John’s waist. A moment later, his mount climbed up a sandy bank on to a low island. Knights were all around him, their horses nickering in the darkness. John was the only one amongst them not in armour. He had come in his role as a priest and translator, to offer his services after the battle.
After nearly a month of facing Shirkuh’s army across the Nile, each side unable to attack, Shawar had devised a plan to surprise the enemy. He had provided one hundred members of the Egyptian army’s Armenian cavalry, elite troops who fought for the caliph despite the fact that they were Christian. They had joined four hundred Frankish knights and snuck north under the cover of darkness, riding downstream while a slender crescent moon climbed across the sky. Finally, when the moon stood at its apex, their Egyptian guide had stopped at the riverbank and pointed to where an island split the river in two, making crossing on horseback possible.
John crossed the island and urged his horse into the water again . He emerged on the far bank where the men were forming a column five riders wide. He rode to the rear. At the front,
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