The military council convened in a spacious hall within the newly captured city. The air was thick with tension as Salahuddin sat at the head of the long table, his hands clasped in front of him. The commanders of his forces stood around him, their expressions a mixture of satisfaction and grim determination.
"Baldwin V must die," one of the commanders, Amir Rafiq, said coldly. His voice was unwavering as he spoke, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "He was the king of Jerusalem. He was a symbol of defiance. His death will send a clear message to anyone who dares to oppose us in the future."
Another commander, Faris, nodded in agreement. "His death would end any lingering hope for the Crusaders. We cannot allow such a figure to live after such a defeat."
The room fell silent as Salahuddin listened intently. His face was unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable. The question of Baldwin's fate weighed heavily on everyone present.
"He was a child," Salahuddin finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm but firm. "A boy who surrendered, who placed his trust in our mercy. How can I, as a Sultan, condemn a child to death?"
The room shifted uncomfortably. Some of the commanders exchanged glances, their previous certainty faltering under the weight of Salahuddin's words.
"Forgive me, my Sultan," Amir Rafiq spoke again, his tone more measured now. "But we cannot ignore what he represents. His family ruled Jerusalem for years. He is a symbol of the Crusaders' resolve, and as long as he lives, there will always be those who believe they can take back what they've lost."
Salahuddin's gaze remained steady. "I know the consequences of sparing him, but I will not allow my actions to mirror the brutality of our enemies. We have fought with honor, and we will show mercy where it is deserved."
"But mercy is a weakness, my Sultan," Faris interjected, his brow furrowed. "In a world like this, mercy only invites more conflict. It will not be forgotten, and the Crusaders will not rest until they reclaim Jerusalem."
Salahuddin's voice remained calm but unwavering. "Then let them try. Let them come. If they wish to test our strength, we will meet them with resolve, not fear. But Baldwin is not our enemy anymore. He has surrendered. His fate is sealed by his decision to put down his arms. I will not spill a child's blood on these streets."
There was a long pause, the tension in the room growing thicker with each passing moment. The commanders were still unconvinced, but none dared challenge Salahuddin directly.
Taimur, who had been listening quietly, stepped forward. His expression was thoughtful, his mind already working on a solution. "My Sultan," he began, "perhaps there is a way to resolve this without further bloodshed. Baldwin's fate need not be decided here in Jerusalem. We could exile him, send him far away from this land."
Salahuddin's eyes turned toward Taimur. "Exile him?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Yes," Taimur continued. "Al-Andalus. It is far from here, and there he would live out his days in peace. We can keep him under the supervision of our agents—the Sand Foxes. They would keep an eye on him, ensuring that he does not become a threat."
The commanders exchanged glances, some skeptical, others intrigued.
"Al-Andalus?" one of them asked. "And how will we ensure he stays there?"
Taimur nodded. "Our agents will monitor him. He will have no power, no army, and no kingdom. He will be a man without influence, living quietly in a foreign land. The Sand Foxes are skilled in ensuring that those they watch stay where they are supposed to be."
Salahuddin sat back in his chair, his mind turning over Taimur's suggestion. He could see the wisdom in it. Exiling Baldwin would avoid unnecessary bloodshed, and it would not send a message of cruelty. It would be a solution that spared a life, even if it meant keeping Baldwin alive in a state of powerless exile.
"Very well," Salahuddin said after a long pause. "Baldwin will be exiled to Al-Andalus. He will live the rest of his days there, under our watch."
The commanders, though reluctant, bowed their heads in agreement. "As you wish, my Sultan," they said in unison.
Salahuddin rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Let it be known, then. We have conquered Jerusalem not through brutality, but through strength and mercy. Our enemies may call us weak, but they will learn to fear our justice."
Taimur stood silently by Salahuddin's side, satisfied with the decision. Baldwin's fate had been decided, but the larger question of the future of Jerusalem—and the Ayyubid dynasty—remained to be answered.
The morning sun cast a warm, golden light over Jerusalem as Salahuddin gathered his closest commanders in the courtyard of his newly captured palace. The city, though still bearing the scars of battle, was now firmly in his hands. The time had come to ensure its stability, and Salahuddin knew that the right leadership was paramount.
"Al-Zahir," Salahuddin said, his voice carrying authority as he turned to his younger brother. "You will be the new governor of Jerusalem. I trust no one more than you to maintain peace and order here."
Al-Zahir Ghazi, Salahuddin's youngest brother, stood tall before him, his face a mixture of pride and humility. He had fought bravely alongside Salahuddin in the campaign, but he knew this responsibility would test him in ways that battle had not. "I will not fail you, my Sultan," Al-Zahir said, his tone resolute.
"Good," Salahuddin replied, nodding approvingly. "I leave 5,000 elite light infantry under your command, and 2,000 Desert Hawks to keep watch over the fields and the outskirts. They are skilled, loyal, and experienced. You will need their strength and cunning."
Al-Zahir bowed deeply. "I will see to it that they are ready for whatever comes."
Salahuddin placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I also leave a few engineers and craftsmen with you to fortify the city. Repair the walls, reinforce the gates, and make the city even stronger than before. Do not spare any effort."
"Understood," Al-Zahir said, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Jerusalem will be more fortified than ever."
"Take care of it," Salahuddin continued. "Jerusalem is not just a symbol of victory; it is a symbol of our faith and strength. I trust you will safeguard it with all your heart."
With that, Salahuddin's decision was made. The rest of the commanders saluted, acknowledging the gravity of the responsibility given to Al-Zahir. The young governor stood proudly as his brother turned to address the rest of the army.
"We march for Damascus in two days," Salahuddin announced. "We have won, but our work is far from over. Keep your strength, for we still have much to do."
The days that followed were filled with preparations for the journey. Salahuddin's army made ready for the long march, their spirits high despite the weight of what lay ahead. Al-Zahir remained in Jerusalem, overseeing the transition and ensuring that the rebuilding of the city began without delay.
Two days later, Salahuddin departed with his army, leaving behind a well-garrisoned Jerusalem in the hands of his brother. As they moved towards Damascus, the city of Jerusalem began to transform under Al-Zahir's command.
Six months passed, and the once-war-torn city of Jerusalem had undergone a remarkable transformation. Its walls, now stronger than ever, stood tall and unyielding against any threat. The gates, once vulnerable and battered, were reinforced with steel, and the towers had been equipped with deadly weaponry. Ballistae and cannons were mounted along the walls, their ominous presence serving as a warning to anyone who might dare to approach.
The towers, now home to Zhuge Repeaters and Greek-fire Launchers, offered a formidable defense. The elite Nubian Lancers patrolled the gates, ensuring no unauthorized entry and maintaining a constant watch for potential dangers. The city's walls were manned by elite archers, their keen eyes ever vigilant, scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble.
Jerusalem's streets were no longer filled with the noise of war. Instead, markets opened once more, and the people began to return to their daily lives. Al-Zahir had ensured that food supplies were plentiful, and the stability he had brought allowed the city to prosper. The once-barren fields outside the city walls were now lush and thriving, thanks to the vigilance of the Desert Hawks. They patrolled the outskirts, ensuring that no enemy forces threatened the crops and that the land was safe.
Al-Zahir stood at the highest tower in the city, gazing down at the bustling streets below. The rebuilding had been difficult, but the results were more than worth it. The people were thriving, and the city had become a beacon of strength and security.
"Governor," a voice called from behind him. It was his trusted advisor, a seasoned commander who had fought alongside him in the campaign.
"What news?" Al-Zahir asked, turning to face the man.
"The Sand Foxes have cleared out any remaining dissidents. There are no longer any pockets of resistance within the city," the advisor reported. "The people are beginning to trust us more each day."
Al-Zahir nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Keep the Sand Foxes active. They must remain vigilant. Jerusalem must be kept in order, and we cannot afford to let any threats linger."
"As you wish, Governor," the advisor said, bowing before walking away.
Al-Zahir remained at the tower, lost in thought. He knew that his position was precarious. Though Jerusalem was secure for now, there were always those who would challenge his authority. He had to remain sharp and ready for whatever came next.
As he descended from the tower and walked through the streets, he saw the people going about their lives—merchants selling goods, children playing in the streets, and families gathering for meals. The signs of normalcy were a testament to the hard work he had put in over the past months.
A group of his soldiers passed by, saluting him as he walked. Al-Zahir returned the gesture with a nod, his mind still focused on the task at hand. There was much to do, but for the first time since the conquest of Jerusalem, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.
The city was secure. The people were safe. And under his command, Jerusalem had become a fortress—stronger, more fortified, and more resilient than ever before.
But Al-Zahir knew this was only the beginning. His brother's campaign would continue, and the challenges of the future would come. But for now, he could take pride in what had been accomplished.
The city of Jerusalem stood tall, and its future seemed as bright as the rising sun.