All Things Are Lights – Day 161 of 200

Turan Shah gave him a poisonous look.

“That was the famous Baibars the Panther who spoke,” Roland said to Louis after translating the emir’s words.

Louis bowed to Baibars. “I have just been told that you are the Emir Baibars who led the Sultan’s army to victory over mine. You have given me grief that will last me a lifetime, but you are a puissant foe and a master of warfare. I salute you.”

Baibars rose and bowed when Roland translated this.

“I accept your compliment on behalf of my Sultan, O King,” said Baibars smoothly. “His was the victory. He commanded our troops here at Mansura. In him the blood of his ancestor, the great conqueror Saladin, on whom be peace, runs true. I am but his slave.”

“Indeed, you are my slave, Baibars,” said Turan Shah haughtily, “as are all Mamelukes.”

Baibars’s expression did not change, but there was a subtle shift in his posture as he stood over the Sultan. Roland sensed rage controlled by great inner discipline. He remembered with a chill the prayer that had been repeated in churches throughout Christendom for the past several years: “From the fury of the Tartar, good Lord deliver us.”

Baibars bowed to the Sultan and sat down, and the other Mamelukes in the pavilion turned their eyes to stare at Turan Shah. Those eyes were utterly impassive, but their hatred for the new Sultan was as palpable to Roland as the gold on their breastplates. Turan Shah seemed unconcerned, perhaps even unaware.

The Sultan leaned forward and smiled at King Louis. His teeth, Roland noticed, were stained brown, and several were missing.

“You must understand, O King, that my people have suffered great hardship on account of this war. We have fought you for almost a year. Crops have not been sown or harvested. We have not enough food for all our prisoners. Is it not more merciful that your men die quickly by beheading than a slow, cruel death by starvation? After all, what use are they to you now?”

“I guarantee on my honor as King of France to pay a ransom for each and every living Christian you now hold captive,” said Louis, throwing his head back, his blond hair shimmering in the lamplight.

As he translated Louis’s words he saw that the Mameluke lords looked gravely approving.

But Turan Shah smiled contemptuously.

“Is your care for your foot soldiers and peasants and grooms so great that you will give us the castles and cities you Christians hold in Palestine and Syria?”

“Do you mean the places that neither your mighty ancestor nor his worthy descendants have been able to capture?” asked Louis blandly.

Turan Shah’s face darkened at the thrust, and Roland saw Baibars smile faintly.

“They are not mine to give,” Louis went on. “Those strongholds belong to the Templars and the Hospitalers and to the crusader barons who hold them.”

“It appears you do not want freedom very much for yourself or the remnant of your army,” said Turan Shah. “Perhaps you would be more willing to pay the price we ask if we were to put you to the torture.”

Roland could not believe he had heard correctly. For one monarch to torture another was unheard of, even for Muslims. Roland looked from side to side and saw that the Mameluke officers were staring at the Sultan.

When he translated the Sultan’s words, the King appeared unmoved.

“I am your prisoner, and you may do what you wish with me,” said Louis quietly and without the least trace of fear.

Expressionless, Turan Shah leaned back against his cushions and sipped at his wine.

At last he set down the golden goblet and threw up his hands.

“Very well. What will you pay for your life and the lives of your men?”

Saint Michel! thought Roland. Has the King won?

Louis said, “Anything you ask, within reason.”

Baibars spoke suddenly. “Do you truly mean to buy the lives of every least man we hold prisoner, as well as your nobles and knights?”

“All,” said Louis firmly. “Not one shall pay a ransom for himself. They came on this crusade at my bidding, and their ransom will be paid by the treasury of France.”

Turan Shah leaned forward, pointing a fat finger at Louis. “One million bezants for all your men, great and small.”

“Agreed,” said Louis promptly.

Turan Shah clapped his hands and looked round at his officers delightedly. “By Allah, this Frank does not haggle!”

Haggle? thought Roland. If the Sultan had expected haggling he did not know this King.

“You are open-handed with gold, as becomes a monarch,” said Turan Shah. “Shall the Sultan of Cairo be any less generous? Behold, I forgive you part of the ransom. You shall only pay eight hundred thousand bezants.” He looked again at his officers, and they nodded grave approval.

“I am most grateful,” said Louis.

Turan Shah held up a finger. “But, because you are a king, it is not fitting that you should buy your own freedom with money. A sovereign must trade land for his person.”

“I agree,” said Louis, again without hesitation. “In return for my freedom, you shall have Damietta.”

Turan Shah glowered. “Would you be so brazen as to give us what is already ours?”

“It would cost you dear to take it back,” said Louis serenely. “My Queen holds it for me, and she has many knights with her, and our fleet of over a thousand ships with sailors and crossbowmen. Before you could overcome those forces, more knights will be coming to our aid from France and Outremer. To have the gates of Damietta opened freely will be worth far more to you than the wretched person of Louis Capet.”

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