‘A door?’ Amalric asked.
‘A door to the catacombs,’ Shawar clarified. ‘Kom el-Shoqafa: the Mound of Shards.’
‘What did you see?’ Amalric asked Jalaal. ‘How far did you go?’
‘Only a few feet, Malik. We didn’t dare go further. There are evil djinn below the earth. Allahu Akbar.’
‘Thank you, Jalaal.’ Shawar turned to Amalric. ‘The catacombs are said to run beneath the city walls. If we can find the passage, then we can enter by night and overrun the defences. The people of the city will pay for their defiance.’
Amalric grinned. John did not share their enthusiasm. Yusuf might be in the city, and regardless, he had other friends amongst the Saracens. They would be slaughtered. Those who fled would be massacred before the city walls. And that would only be the beginning. For once the enemy was dead, the people of Alexandria would suffer.
‘We must explore the catacombs immediately,’ Amalric said.
‘Yes, but quietly,’ Shawar cautioned. ‘I do not doubt that Shirkuh has spies in our camp. If he learns what we have discovered, then he will put his men on guard. The fewer who know of this, the better.’
‘Agreed. You send Jalaal. I will choose a man that I trust. He and Jalaal will report directly to us.’
‘I wish to go,’ John ventured. Amalric frowned. ‘I speak Arabic.’ John looked to Shawar. ‘The catacombs were built under the Romans, were they not?’ The vizier nodded. John turned back to Amalric. ‘I read Latin and Greek. I can help to find the passage into the city.’ He did not add his true reason for wanting to go: if a passage were found, then he wanted to be the one to find it. He had sworn to serve Amalric, but that did not mean he would stand by and let his friends in the city die.
‘Very well,’ Amalric responded, ‘but I will send a sergeant with you. There is no telling what dangers lie beneath the earth. The three of you will go tomorrow, at first light.’
Yusuf chewed on a small piece of flatbread as he strode down Al-Harriyah, the main street of Alexandria. He nodded at the handful of merchants who were setting out their stalls. The men were grim-faced. Food in the city was scarce, and people had little interest in the perfumes and jewels they were selling. Yusuf finished his breakfast, and his stomach grumbled in protest, demanding more. Yusuf ignored it. His men were on half-rations, and so was he. He would not eat again until that evening.
He reached the wall and climbed the stairs to the top of the eastern gate. He nodded to his men, and looked out on the enemy camp. More Franks had arrived from Jerusalem a week ago. The week before that, two hundred Egyptians had joined the army.
Yusuf walked south along the wall, nodding at his men as he passed, exchanging words with those he knew well. He walked the complete circuit of the walls each morning and evening. Seeing him helped to keep the men’s spirits up. And, it allowed Yusuf to get away from the palace, where the citizens of Alexandria besieged him with an endless stream of grievances. They complained about the curfew that Yusuf had set. They complained when he took men and women from the linen and silk factories and set them to making padded armour. Most of all, they complained about the rationing system. But Yusuf had no more food to give. Most of the horses had been eaten at this point.
He was approaching one of the four towers manned by townspeople. There were a dozen men atop the tower; half as many as were required. That was typical. At first, the townspeople had been proud to strut about in their new armour, but before long they were petitioning to avoid guard duty.
‘How goes it?’ Yusuf asked. The Alexandrians glared resentfully. None spoke. ‘Where is your commander?’
‘Inside the tower,’ said an older man with close-cropped hair and a greying beard. The man pulled his cloak more tightly about him in an effort to ward off a chill brought on by hunger.
‘Whipping two men,’ another citizen added darkly. He was tall and must have once been fat. Now, his skin hung in folds from his neck and arms. ‘What gives the bastard the right?’
Yusuf knew that putting his own men in charge of civilians created resentment, but he had no choice. He had heard too many stories of towns that had fallen when locals allowed the besiegers into the city. ‘What did the men do?’ he asked. The citizens shifted uneasily as they stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eye.
‘They had the late watch,’ a boy said at last. He was too small to wield the long, sharpened hoe that he held. ‘They fell asleep on the wall.’
‘But that’s no reason to whip them,’ the man with the baggy skin growled.
‘If you do not want your friends whipped, then do not let them fall asleep,’ Yusuf said. ‘We must remain vigilant. Much worse is in store if the city falls.’
‘Yes, sayyid,’ the old man sneered and spat at Yusuf’s feet.
If the man were a mamluk, Yusuf would have beaten him there on the spot. However, he could not afford to further alienate the people of Alexandria, so he mastered his anger and took the ramp down to the foot of the tower. As he approached the door to the tower’s interior, he heard the crack of a whip and a muffled sob. He stopped in the doorway to watch. Some twenty townsmen were packed inside. Two were standing against the wall, stripped to the waist, angry welts across their backs. Yusuf had placed Saqr in charge of this tower. The young mamluk swung a whip, striking one of the men and eliciting a low moan. Saqr looked as if he would be sick, but he swung again. The townspeople regarded him with murderous eyes.
Saqr gave one final crack of the whip. As he coiled it, he noticed Yusuf standing in the doorway. ‘My lord, Saladin,’ he said and dropped to a knee.
‘Step outside and catch your breath,’ Yusuf told him. ‘And you two-’ He pointed to the whipped men. ‘Find someone to look after your wounds.’
As soon as Saqr was out of the door, Yusuf was confronted with a cacophony of voices. ‘All they did was fall asleep!’ ‘We are free people of Alexandria!’ ‘Bastard doesn’t have any right to whip us!’ ‘How would he like to feel the whip’s bite?’
‘Silence!’ Yusuf roared. The anger that had risen in him when the man spat at his feet now spilled out. He pointed to where the two Alexandrians had just limped from the room. ‘Those men are lucky to be alive. If they were my troops, I would have had them strung up as an example.’ He paused and looked about. Man after man looked away as he met their eyes. ‘You are pathetic! Four months ago, you were so eager to take to the walls, to play at soldier. If you are not willing to act the part, then go back to your homes.’ Yusuf’s voice was rising. ‘Go and huddle with the women in the dark and pray for your rescue. Pray for the real warriors who defend your homes and your families. Go, you cowards!’
‘We are not cowards!’ one of the Alexandrians shouted defiantly. ‘And we will not be insulted!’
‘You won’t?’ Yusuf drew his sword. ‘You hate me, don’t you? You hate my rules? You hate my men? If you hate me so much, then do something about it. Kill me.’ He glared about him. ‘Come on! Kill me! There are twenty of you and only one of me. What are you afraid of? Come on!’ Not a man moved. Some hung their heads in shame. Others looked away.
‘Very well.’ Yusuf’s voice was calm now. ‘Do not question my authority again, or that of my men. I do not tell you how to weave, how to plant and harvest, how to make perfumes. Do not pretend to tell me how to defend this city.’ Yusuf turned on his heel and strode out. Saqr was waiting outside.
‘Thank you, sayyid.’
‘Walk with me.’ Yusuf led the way up the ramp, and paused atop the wall, out of earshot of the Alexandrians gathered on the tower. ‘They are only common men, Saqr, but if you handle them right, they will fight like warriors. You must be firm. Do not pander to them, but listen to their complaints. Address those you can. And talk to them. You must know your men if you wish to lead them.’