Episode 64

The day after meeting with the Syrian Assassins.

Khalid arrived with a bundle of tea leaves, and handed me the report Nasr had compiled from his investigations.

Fatima meticulously examined the handwriting to verify its authenticity.

“It’s definitely written by my brother.”

“Is that so? Let me see.”

Nasr was currently disguised as one of the Islamic theologians participating in the council. They were gathering to strengthen their arguments, aware of the council’s significance.

I expected something grand, but…

“Is this all?”

“Pardon?”

The content was intriguing, but too conventional. Fatima, after a quick glance, also seemed puzzled.

“It seems quite predictable. There’s nothing different from what our theologians would say.”

Fatima had been attending scholars’ meetings while serving, and even she could predict the flow of the debate.

To her, the Islamic scholars’ arguments seemed too ordinary.

“Well, we can’t assume this is everything. They might be hiding their trump cards, just as we are. It’s safer to assume Nasr doesn’t have access to all the information.”

In such situations, overestimating the enemy is less risky than underestimating them. I translated Nasr’s report into Hangul and then burned the original.

This way, even if someone else saw it, they wouldn’t be able to decipher it. In an era before Hangul was invented, I was the only one in the world who could read it.

There’s nothing more useful for jotting down secret notes.

Khalid, eyes wide with curiosity, asked, “What kind of writing is that? It’s not Latin, Greek, or French… Is it used in Europe?”

“No, it’s a script only I can understand. It won’t leak, but just in case.”

“Khalid, the Apostle is chosen by Allah. Creating a script is easier for him than drinking warm water in winter.”

Though it was a complete fabrication, Khalid’s awe made it unnecessary to correct him.

I finished my notes with a flourish and stood up.

“If what’s written here is true, they seem to be arguing on a very fundamental level. But it’s unlikely to be that simple, so tell Nasr to dig deeper.”

“Understood. And you, Apostle?”

“I’ll conduct my own investigation.”

Just then, a knock on the door signaled it was time.

I rose and left the room.

A servant from the palace was waiting outside, ready to open the carriage door for me.

“Do I just follow your lead?”

“Yes, the Sultan is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“Then let’s proceed.”

As soon as I boarded the carriage, the driver set off.

Our destination was the palace in Jerusalem, where Saladin awaited.

“Is there anything I should be mindful of before meeting the Sultan? European and local customs might differ.”

“The Sultan is not one to be offended by cultural differences. You needn’t worry. I understand you were with the Crusaders, so you might have glimpsed His Majesty before.”

“If I did, it was only from a distance. I only learned what he looked like when I first entered Jerusalem.”

“I see. If you have any questions, feel free to ask before we arrive. His Majesty has instructed us to ensure your comfort.”

“Thank you. Then…”

As we exchanged light conversation, the carriage soon arrived at the palace.

Soldiers guarding the Sultan approached and opened the carriage door. I nodded and stepped out.

Surprisingly, there was no search or demand to disarm.

Jerusalem was their territory, and this was likely a display of confidence.

Realistically, even if I went berserk with a sword, reaching Saladin would be nearly impossible.

There was no need to appear petty by insisting on disarming.

Once my attendants disembarked, a group of elegantly dressed individuals approached.

The one who seemed to be in charge stepped forward.

“Thank you for accepting our invitation. I am Qadi al-Fadil, honored to join you for this banquet.”

“Qadi al-Fadil? From Egypt, perhaps?”

“Oh, you know of me? I didn’t expect my humble name to reach Europe.”

A trusted confidant of Saladin and a key figure in the Ayyubid dynasty, known for keeping Saladin’s brother, Al-Adil, in check.

Bringing him along was likely a gesture towards the Jewish community.

I offered a warm smile and extended my hand to al-Fadil.

“Even in distant Europe, who wouldn’t know the name of a prominent figure responsible for Egypt? I’m Count Edward Marshall of Auvergne. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Hahaha. Thank you. I was deeply saddened to hear of the unfortunate incident. Please understand it wasn’t the Sultan’s intention. On behalf of the Ayyubid, I apologize once more.”

“It’s alright. I never thought the Sultan was targeting me.”

“Hahaha, as you might know, when subordinates act out, it becomes a headache for their superiors. Of course, there’s some responsibility for not supervising them properly.”

Al-Fadil laughed it off, but I caught the underlying message.

Even here, he subtly praised Saladin while undermining his brother, Al-Adil.

Was it merely a power struggle for the second-in-command position, or was there another motive?

The phrase “long-lasting grudges” floated above his head, hinting at potential opportunities.

I decided to have Nasr investigate further.

As I pondered this, we soon reached a grand door.

Despite being a royal residence, the palace wasn’t overly lavish, likely due to the war’s impact.

However, a palace’s value lies not in its opulence but in who resides there.

As the large doors opened and I saw the figure seated on the throne, I instinctively steadied my breath.

The most formidable person I’d faced was Philip II, but we had no reason to clash.

Though a confrontation was likely in the distant future, it wasn’t immediate.

In contrast, the person before me was a direct rival, requiring all my wisdom and information.

Still, my advantage in knowledge and information remained.

I calmed myself, maintaining composure and etiquette.

The Sultan’s voice, rich with experience yet not frail, reached my ears.

“We’ve seen each other before, but this is our first conversation. Welcome to Jerusalem, Count of Auvergne.”

“Thank you for the grand welcome.”

Naturally, Saladin didn’t refer to me as a prophet or apostle.

European figures rarely used my secular title, Count of Auvergne, preferring the more honorable titles of prophet or apostle.

Saladin met my unwavering gaze.

Beside his throne was a board for Shatranj, a form of Arabic chess.

Noticing my interest, he smiled.

“Religious debates can be exhausting. No need to get worked up right away. Do you play chess?”

“I can play a little.”

“Would you like a game? The rules differ slightly, but the essence is the same. A game might help you get a feel for it.”

The attendant beside the Sultan seemed surprised, eyes wide.

He whispered to Saladin, “Your Majesty… the meal schedule…”

“We can eat while we play. It’s our first meeting, and even the finest meal won’t go down well in such a stiff atmosphere. If our guest gets indigestion, it would be my fault.”

“Understood. I’ll instruct the chefs to prepare dishes that are easy to eat with one hand.”

As the attendant hurried off, Saladin rose from his throne and descended.

“Have a seat. Let’s chat and play.”

To them, I might be a heretic corrupting their faith, yet his friendly demeanor was puzzling.

Still, I nodded and took the seat he offered.

“I’ve been eager to have a deep conversation with Your Majesty.”

I was confident in my chess skills, having played both online and offline since childhood.

However, despite my efforts, I was still just an amateur, and the openings I knew were strictly for chess, not for shatranj.

Even so, Saladin, perhaps out of consideration for me, removed a piece, and since he wasn’t exactly a professional either, the game turned out to be somewhat decent.

Click-clack.

The sound of the pieces tapping against the board echoed as the game continued.

Once the board reached a stalemate, Saladin naturally broke the silence.

“What do you think of Jerusalem? I understand you’ve been here before as part of the Crusades.”

I had no recollection of that time, but I had prepared an answer for moments like this.

“It seems peaceful. People say that unlike when we took Jerusalem, there’s hardly any bloodshed now, which is only natural, I suppose.”

”…Peaceful, you say…”

Saladin softly repeated my words, then asked me without a hint of accusation or reproach in his voice.

“Which side do you think is bringing the winds of war to disturb that peace?”

I met the Sultan’s gaze directly, not shying away.

And as I looked at the unexpected message hovering above his head, I answered his question.

“It’s exactly what Your Majesty is thinking.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest passed through the Sultan’s eyes, which had remained motionless until now.