CHAPTER 99 - 99: SHADOWS ON THE NILE

June 15th, 1180 — Cairo

The air in the council chamber was thick with heat and tension. Palm fronds stirred weakly in the open windows, barely shifting the oppressive stillness that hung over the palace like a shroud. Though it was morning, the sunlight already struck the polished stone walls with a glare that forced the scribes and guards to squint beneath their linen wraps.

Inside, six emirs sat around a low table in Cairo's inner citadel, each man deep in thought as a courier's scroll lay unfurled before them, heavy with wax and dust.

The message had arrived just days before, galloping through the desert from Damascus on horses switched at every stage. It was sealed with the mark of Taqi al-Din, the Sultan's nephew, and its content had struck like a thunderclap.

Saladin wounded. Gravely.The army in retreat.Aleppo lost.Hama surrendered.Homs stormed.Damascus in danger.

No reinforcements had been sent yet. But now the call was direct. Damascus needed men—and quickly.

"This is the collapse," muttered Emir Sharaf al-Din, eyes narrowed behind a ring of sweat on his brow. "First Aleppo, now the road to Damascus is open. If they take Baalbek next, there's no natural barrier between them and the capital."

"They will not stop at Baalbek," said Emir Musa of Alexandria, an older man whose voice remained calm despite the rising mood. "If the Franks seize Damascus, they'll divide Syria in two.

Silence followed. But then Emir Ali of Fustat leaned forward and tapped the table.

"We cannot send men," he said simply.

The others turned to look at him.

"Damascus must be defended," Sharaf al-Din snapped. "We owe the Sultan everything. Egypt is his—only because we swore to follow his sword."

"And if we weaken Egypt," Ali shot back, "there will be no Egypt left."

The room went still again.

Ali continued, voice firm. "The Sicilian fleet sails along the coast even now. Our spies in Rosetta and Damietta report ships near the horizon—dozens of them. They have not landed. But they watch. They probe. They test our silence."

"And if we empty our garrisons and march north," added Emir Musa darkly, "what then? A raid? An invasion from the sea? They don't need to conquer Cairo. All they need is to seize Alexandria, burn the docks, sack the delta, and Egypt becomes chaos."

Sharaf al-Din ground his teeth. "The Christians fracture our empire and we watch."

"No," said Emir Hamid of Minya, who had remained quiet until now. "We wait. The Sultan lives still. Barely, but he lives. The Sicilian fleet would not risk so bold a move if they thought he might recover and return south. Their presence is a sign that the world believes him dying."

"The vultures are circling," said Ali.

Musa nodded grimly. "If we march now, the Christians may not even have to fight. They could conquer Egypt by default—through panic, revolt, or starvation. Our duty is here. Not because we love it more than Damascus—but because if Egypt falls, the empire dies with it."

A quiet murmur of reluctant agreement passed through the room.

"But what do we send to Taqi al-Din?" Sharaf al-Din asked bitterly. "Silence? We abandon them with words?"

Ali shook his head. "No. We send coin. Arms. Camels. And promises. We will reinforce Damascus the moment the threat to the delta lessens. Until then—we pray that the Sultan recovers."

"And if he does not?" Hamid asked.

No one answered. Not directly.

But one of the scribes, who had been quietly recording every word, paused in his writing. The hush was absolute.

After a long silence, Musa finally said, "Then this alliance will crack apart. Syria will fight Syria. We will defend the Nile. And the Latins will rule from the Euphrates to the Orontes."

Outside, the call to midday prayer echoed faintly over Cairo's domes and minarets. But inside the chamber, none moved.

The message that would be sent back to Damascus was drafted quickly. It expressed grave concern, continued loyalty, and the promise of aid when conditions permitted. It named the Sicilian fleet as the reason for delay but carefully avoided the word abandonment. Not one mention of the Sultan's possible death. Not one word of division.

But every man in the room knew what it meant: Egypt would not march.

Not now.