CHAPTER 118: CHAPTER 118 – THE LAST BARGAIN

Damascus Citadel – August 7th, 1180 (Evening)

The murmurs of wounded men echoed faintly through the stone corridors of the citadel, mixing with the distant rattle of pickaxes as defenders worked in haste to strengthen inner barricades. Outside, the city burned in patches—smoke rising where siege bombardments had crushed roofs and buried shops. The gates were sealed, but everyone inside knew it was over.

The chamber of the war council was quiet now, the fire in the brazier low, casting long shadows across the carved walls. Saladin sat propped upright on a cushioned dais, his face sallow, features taut with pain. The bandage beneath his robes had soaked through again—he felt the sharp tug of the wound below his ribs with every breath.

Before him stood three men, cloaked in dust from the outer districts: Emirs Khalil ibn Munqidh, Faris al-Hamawi, and Abu Saqr. They had returned just moments ago from the Frankish lines, where they had gone under a white banner to request terms.

Saladin’s court—reduced to only a handful of the surviving officers, advisors, and imams—stood around him in tense silence as the emirs laid out the terms dictated by King Baldwin of Jerusalem.

The Terms Delivered

Khalil ibn Munqidh unrolled a parchment written in Arabic and Latin side by side, his voice weary as he spoke.

"King Baldwin offers the following terms," he began, eyes flicking toward Saladin. "The city may be spared further bloodshed. Civilians and surviving garrison officers will be allowed to depart in safety upon the payment of ransom."

There was a flicker of relief on a few faces, but it quickly faded as Khalil continued.

"All officers—including Sultan Saladin—may depart for Egypt, unharmed and unmolested, once ransom is paid."

That drew murmurs again. Abu Saqr added, "They will not press for your person, nor seek humiliation. They want us gone... with conditions."

Saladin’s eyes narrowed.

"Speak the rest."

Khalil stepped forward, hesitating. "The treasury," he said, his voice tight, "is to be surrendered in full to the Franks. Gold, coin, regalia, everything in the vaults of Damascus belongs to Jerusalem now."

The chamber erupted.

"What?" shouted one of the qadis. "This is robbery!"

"This is desecration!" cried another, face red with fury. "They strip us of not only land, but the means to rebuild!"

Faris looked down. "They say we have fought fiercely, and with honor—but they claim Damascus as a prize of war, and the spoils with it."

Abu Saqr continued quickly, trying to regain control. "But they offer the safe evacuation of women, children, and noncombatants. No massacres. No forced conversions. They seek no more slaughter."

"And the other conditions?" Saladin asked, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

Khalil spoke grimly: "Two demands beyond ransom and the treasury. First, Sultan Saladin must recognize the full sovereignty of the Kingdom of Jerusalem over Syria—Aleppo, Homs, Baalbek, Damascus and all other smaller towns."

"And second," Khalil said, "a treaty of five years’ of peace. No raids, no retaliations, no skirmishes or provocations. A true armistice, sealed by your own signature. They will sign it also."

The Debate

The council fell into discord, voices rising in protest.

"This is surrender in full!" one emir cried. "They take everything!"

"It is better than annihilation," countered another. "We are surrounded. Our men are dead or dying. We have no food left. If we keep fighting, Damascus will fall by fire and sword."

"The treasury—" an older sheikh growled. "They will take what was meant to pay for our roads—pay our widows—"

"Would you rather they take the heads of our children?" another snapped.

The room split between anger and resignation. But all eyes returned eventually to Saladin. He had closed his eyes briefly during the argument, but now he opened them. His voice was hoarse but unwavering.

"We have lost Syria," he said.

No one answered. The silence after those words was more deafening than the shouting.

"We cannot pretend it is otherwise. Aleppo is gone. Homs surrendered. The army is shattered, and I—" he touched his wound—"am in no condition to lead another campaign."

He looked to the emirs. "But Egypt remains. We can regroup. In time, we will rise again. If I must sign my name to their paper to protect what remains of our people, then so be it."

The qadi approached, hesitating. "And the recognition of Jerusalem’s sovereignty?"

Saladin’s gaze hardened. "It is an acknowledgement of the present. Not a prophecy of the future."

He motioned to Abu Saqr. "Prepare the reply. We accept the terms."

The Reply Sent

The emirs bowed deeply and left the chamber to compose the official reply. The surrender would be sealed at dawn.

Saladin slumped back, exhausted, the pain in his side flaring anew. He stared up at the ceiling’s dark rafters.

"Let them have the gold," he muttered to himself. "Let them take the walls and the stones. But they will not take Islam from these lands."

In a dark alcove, his nephew al-Afdal stood watching. Silently, he clenched his fists. He would not forget this shame. Nor would others.

The Franks had won the city—but not the war.