Chapter 30: The Scent of Smoke
Salāh ad-Dīn Yusuf ibn Ayyub, known in the courts of Cairo and Damascus simply as Saladin, stood at the edge of the Red Fort's shaded balcony, looking west. From this height above the Nile's bend, the river stretched silver and serene through the lowland groves of Giza. But his thoughts were not on the water. His thoughts—like too many of late—were on Jerusalem.
He was not alone.
Abu al-Karim, his spymaster, bowed slightly behind him, holding a sealed scroll still damp from the wax.
"More letters from Gaza," Abu al-Karim said.
Saladin gestured for him to read.
"The Franks are building siege machines not for war," he said carefully, "but for demonstration. Their machines throw stones beyond four hundred paces. Their prince rides masked. Some say he is dying. Some say he is not the same man."
Saladin said nothing.
"Their paper-making has begun in the valley east of the city. A market for it is already forming in Acre."
"Paper," Saladin echoed. "Not parchment?"
"Yes. White sheets like the Persians use, but thicker. Their scribes sell them to pilgrims. Scripture, stories... rumors."
Abu al-Karim opened the scroll and showed it: a crude Latin poster with hand-lettered calligraphy, sealed with a Jerusalem cross.
Saladin took it.