Chapter 99: Fringilla’s Melancholy
Chapter 99: Fringilla’s Melancholy
Outside Kerak Castle, within the centermost Saracen encampment, a falcon swooped down with a cry. Saladin unfolded the letter taken from the falcon and, after a brief glance, his brow furrowed. "Baron Lothar of the Royal Knights..." Saladin murmured softly, "Who is this? Why have I never heard this name before?"
Al-Adil thought for a moment, then provided an answer: "He is said to be the son of Werner of the Habsburg family, Jerusalem’s newest prominent figure, regarded as a confidant by that Leper King."
"So, it’s ’that’ fellow’s son." Mentioning Werner, Saladin immediately recalled that fierce knight from the Battle of Montgisard, mounted on a white horse, lance in hand, like a god descended to earth.
"It seems Zahir was quite lucky to have preserved his life at the hands of that paranoid man’s son." Saladin coughed lightly; his health was not good. Though not as gravely ill as Baldwin IV, even with a large contingent of imperial court physicians, he was often in a sickly state.
A black eunuch presented goblets filled with iced drinks to the two. Saladin drained his in one gulp and tossed the goblet onto the tray held by the black eunuch. His voice held suppressed anger: "That boy...! I once advised him to stay away from killing, not to indulge in it and develop an incurable obsession, because blood only begets more killing. But he did not take my words to heart. I granted him my most trusted chamberlain, yet even he could not persuade him to return to the right path. He has greatly disappointed me."
Al-Adil said in a low voice, "My King, shall I lead an army into enemy territory to rescue Zahir?"
Saladin shook his head. "No, unnecessary. Paying the ransom will suffice. Though Werner was a paranoid madman, he was a man of his word. His son is surely the same. As long as the money is paid, Zahir will be released. Even if he isn’t returned, avenging him later will do."
He fell silent for a moment, then inquired, "How is Al-Afdal faring in the north? Has he disobeyed the plans we laid out and advanced rashly?"
"No, the Eldest Prince is secretly overseeing northern military affairs under my identity. My old rival, Count Raymond, surely cannot imagine that the one he is engaging is not me at all." A hint of approval showed on al-Adil’s face. "By this virtue, the Eldest Prince has already gained many advantages. If not for your orders restraining him, he might have already taken Tripoli."
"Heh, don’t flatter him unduly. Tripoli isn’t so easily taken." Saladin nodded. "Is Taqi al-Din still the same old way in Egypt?" Taqi al-Din was Saladin’s nephew, enfeoffed as Governor of Egypt, and also a genius general—though, perhaps the word "former" should be added before that title now.
"Yes. He scours Cairo for prostitutes to indulge himself. When I last saw him, his eye sockets were sunken, and his belly was full of fat. I greatly doubt if he can even lift a sword anymore." A trace of helpless frustration for his lack of improvement showed in al-Adil’s eyes. "I have berated him and even beaten him, but as soon as I leave, he immediately reverts to his old ways."