‘You are sure, priest?’
John nodded. Hugh hesitated for a moment longer and then knelt. Shawar placed his jewelled sword on the ground and prostrated himself so that his forehead touched the floor. After his third bow the curtain was raised. John’s first impression of the caliph was that he was a statue or carving. He was covered from head to toe in jewelled silks and where his face should have been was a mesh veil that created the impression that his features had been erased. He reminded John of one of the statues of the saints that adorned the great portal of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The illusion was spoiled when the caliph’s hand moved in a gesture for them to rise.
Shawar addressed the caliph. ‘Successor of the messenger of God, God’s deputy, defender of the faithful, may I present the Frankish envoys.’ John translated quietly for Geoffrey and Hugh.
‘As-salaamu ’alaykum,’ the caliph said, his voice high at the beginning before breaking at the end. ‘Welcome to my court.’
Geoffrey took a step forward. ‘Great Caliph, I am Geoffrey Fulcher, Preceptor of the Temple in Jerusalem. God bless you and grant you joy, health and fortune.’
‘And I am Hugh of Caesarea. God keep you, Caliph.’
John translated for both.
‘We have brought the treaty, signed by King Amalric,’ Geoffrey said.
John removed four copies of the treaty from the tube around his neck and unrolled the parchments. He stepped forward to hand them to the caliph.
‘Wait!’ Shawar ordered. He held out a hand, and John gave him the treaties. Shawar read quickly. His face remained expressionless, but his cheeks tinged red. ‘We did not agree to your quartering troops in Cairo,’ he hissed in a low voice that the caliph could not hear.
‘It is for your protection, Vizier,’ Geoffrey replied once John had translated.
‘We can protect ourselves.’
Hugh smirked. ‘In that case, we shall take our army back to Jerusalem.’
Shawar’s face reddened further. The caliph leaned forward on his throne. ‘Is there a problem, Vizier?’
‘No, Imam,’ Shawar replied. ‘All is well. Al-Ifranj will help us to drive the Sunni invaders from our lands.’
‘That is good. Sign the treaty.’ When the boy caliph spoke again, his voice was harsh. ‘We must teach the infidels a lesson.’
John knew of the rift between the Sunni and Shiites, but he was still surprised. The caliph seemed unconcerned that the Franks were Christians. He hated the Sunni Muslims much more.
Shawar turned to Geoffrey. ‘The Caliph has given his consent to the treaty.’ Shawar went to the table and signed all four copies. He had regained his equanimity, and he smiled as he handed two of the treaties to Geoffrey. ‘There. It is done.’
‘That is not enough,’ Hugh said.
The vizier’s smile faded. ‘Pardon?’
‘A treaty is only a sheet of paper. The Caliph must give me his word, man to man.’
‘But-’ Shawar’s words ended in a gasp. Hugh was striding across the room, his hand extended to shake that of the caliph. The caliph shrank back against his throne. John heard the whisper of steel against leather as several of the mamluks standing along the back wall drew their blades. Shawar held up a hand to stop them. ‘My lord!’ he beseeched Hugh in Frankish. ‘You cannot touch the Caliph!’
Hugh ignored him. He thrust his hand towards the caliph’s face. ‘Swear that you will abide by the terms of this treaty.’ He looked to John, who translated.
‘What more does this man want?’ the caliph asked, his voice breaking. ‘I have already given my consent.’
‘You are to clasp his hand.’
The caliph turned towards Shawar. ‘Must I?’
John had not translated these last statements. Hugh looked to him questioningly. ‘Why will he not give his word?’ he demanded. ‘I knew there was treachery afoot.’ John chose not to translate that, either.
Shawar ignored Hugh’s outburst. ‘Yes, Imam. It is necessary.’ The caliph extended a trembling hand.
‘He must remove his glove,’ Hugh insisted. ‘The oath is not valid unless we clasp hands, flesh to flesh.’
Shawar went pale. ‘But that is impossible!’ he cried in Frankish.
‘Then there will be no treaty!’ Hugh declared.
Geoffrey nodded in agreement. ‘We must be certain the alliance will be honoured.’
Shawar looked from one to the other, then to John. ‘Make them understand,’ he said in Arabic. ‘The Caliph cannot take this man’s hand. It is impossible.’
‘Even if it means the failure of the treaty?’ John asked.
‘Even then.’
Hugh was standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw jutting forward belligerently. John doubted he could speak reason with the man. Instead, he looked to the caliph. He approached the throne and knelt, bowing low so that his forehead touched the floor. ‘Representative of God, defender of the faithful,’ he said in Arabic. ‘This man is not worthy to be in your presence. He is an ifranji, a savage, an animal. He is filthy and impure, but he longs for purity. He wishes to embrace the true faith.’
The caliph leaned forward on his throne. ‘Truly?’
Hugh 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
John’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.