As the meal drew to a close, Efrede continued to watch as his prisoner, Taqiddin, ate ravenously. Even when the man nearly choked, Efrede calmly poured him a glass of wine, ensuring his discomfort would pass. Only when Taqiddin had finally satisfied his hunger did Efrede signal for the attendants to clear the table. Then, with a voice as smooth as honey, he began.
"Should the battle go ill for us, my lord, I ask that you intervene and recommend your brother, Emir, to us."
The mere mention of Emir's name sent a dark, hostile glare flashing in Taqiddin's eyes. But Efrede, unaffected, continued, his tone unbothered.
"Please do not blame us petty souls for seeking to secure our survival. After all, we are only looking to preserve our lives."
Taqiddin's anger flared. Veins stood out on his neck as he roared like a lion. "What is so special about that bastard Emir? Can he save your lives, or can I?"
Efrede's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "Do I really need to elaborate, my lord?" He gave Taqiddin a moment to stew in his fury before slowly continuing. "While our forces have won today, Saladin still commands an army of twenty thousand, and our own troops barely number five thousand, with many casualties. In my opinion, Saladin will emerge victorious."
Taqiddin, momentarily blindsided by the grim reality, puffed out his chest in pride. "Of course! My uncle, Saladin, has endured for over a decade, waiting for the right moment to take back the Holy City, stolen by you infidels."
Efrede sighed, shaking his head. "Naturally, we must make preparations early to flatter the new ruler."
He paused dramatically, gauging Taqiddin's reaction before continuing, his voice laced with feigned regret. "It is truly unfortunate that I have the rare opportunity to speak with you, but…"
Taqiddin, sensing something amiss, snapped, "But what? Speak, I demand it!"
A sudden gust of wind swept through the dungeon, flickering the torches. Efrede's shadow danced on the walls as he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I should not say this, my lord, but for the sake of my own life…" Efrede hesitated for a moment before his words pierced the silence. "But you are a defeated general."
The impact of those words hit Taqiddin like a thunderclap. His fury vanished in an instant, leaving only the stark reality of his situation. Until that moment, he had believed his uncle Saladin would avenge this crushing defeat, reclaim the Holy City, and wipe away the stain of his own shame. He had hoped that once the battle was over, no one would mention today's disaster. But now, Efrede had ripped that hope from him.
Efrede seized the opportunity to further manipulate his emotions. "Have you ever considered, my lord, that once Saladin reclaims the Holy City, his prestige will soar? He will be hailed as the ruler of all the Saracens on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean. He will establish a dynasty far greater than his current one."
Taqiddin's prideful expression twisted as he tried to hold back his frustration. Efrede pressed on, his voice smooth as silk.
"But what of you, my lord? What part will you play in this? After all, you are the greatest failure in this campaign. Even if you are not executed or exiled for your defeat, Saladin will never trust you again."
"And when Saladin dies, as he surely will, he will divide his lands among his sons and nephews. It is likely that Egypt, the fertile land of Egypt…" Efrede let the sentence hang in the air, watching as a flash of ambition sparked in Taqiddin's eyes. "That will certainly go to his sons."
Taqiddin's hope shattered completely as Efrede continued, "As Saladin's nephew, you may receive a small fiefdom, but most likely, it will be in a barren place like Aleppo."
At those words, the last shred of Taqiddin's delusion was torn away. His broad shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he seemed to age ten years. His eyes glazed over, and he mumbled under his breath, his once defiant spirit now hollow.
Efrede savored the sight of Taqiddin's breakdown, a quiet satisfaction blooming in his chest. As the chief intelligence officer of the Knights Templar, he found a twisted pleasure in manipulating others' emotions.
But Efrede kept up the charade, his face a picture of regret and shame. "It pains me to see you so distressed, my lord. But at this stage, there is little else to be done… unless…"
Taqiddin, sensing the slightest flicker of hope, leapt from his seat, grabbing Efrede by the arm, his movements frantic.
"Unless what? Tell me!" His voice was desperate, his hands trembling.
Efrede, with an air of deliberate hesitation, smiled slyly. "Unless Saladin is defeated."
Taqiddin's pupils dilated as the realization struck him. This was the only way—if Saladin fell, he might still have a chance to seize the power he so desperately craved.
"Impossible! My uncle has twenty thousand men. You cannot do it!" Taqiddin's voice cracked as he tried to maintain a sliver of rationality.
Efrede shrugged, unconcerned. "How will you know unless you try? You are already at the bottom, are you not?"
The words pierced Taqiddin's last shred of resolve. He found himself teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice, his mind torn between reason and temptation. His hands shook as Efrede's words echoed in his mind.
Efrede continued with a sense of finality, "And don't you want to go further? To rise above your uncle's shadow?"
Taqiddin's eyes went wide with disbelief. "You mean…"
Efrede's voice was a honeyed poison, sweet and deadly. "What if, just what if, Saladin and all his sons died in this war? Wouldn't you be the one to inherit everything? The entire land, all the power."
Taqiddin's breath came in heavy gasps as his mind spun. The seed of ambition, once small, now grew into an uncontrollable, gnawing desire. It took root deep within him, choking out all rational thought.
"It's impossible, you can't do it…" His words were weak, even to his own ears.
Efrede reached into his cloak and withdrew a sealed parchment, unrolling it slowly in front of Taqiddin.
"This is a contract signed by King Baldwin. It declares that Jerusalem will only recognize you as the Sultan of Egypt, as Saladin's only rightful heir, and pledges to support you against any who oppose you."
He handed the contract to Taqiddin, his voice cold as ice. "What do you think, my lord? Shall we try?"
Taqiddin's gaze moved from the parchment to Efrede's insidious smile, and after a long pause, his face hardened. The conflict within him was gone, replaced by a single burning desire.
"You want something from me. What is it?"
Efrede's smile deepened. "We will, of course, require your loyalty."
The narrative continues with a tense build-up to the siege of Sackfort, where tactical decisions are made and alliances are tested under pressure.