In spite of these distractions, Nur al-Din did seek Saladin’s support in one crucial theatre of conflict, the Latin-held desert area east of the River Jordan known as Transjordan. This region was certainly a valuable prize: annexed in the early twelfth century by the construction of Frankish castles at Montreal and Kerak, it gave the Latins at least partial control over the main land route from Damascus to either Egypt or to Mecca and Medina, the sacred cities of the Arabian Peninsula. Saladin has been accused, both by some medieval chroniclers and a number of modern scholars, of failing to cooperate fully in two attempts to conquer this frontier zone in the early 1170s. This ‘treachery’ supposedly revealed that Saladin was driven by self-serving ambition rather than a desire to promote the wider interests of Islam. But did he really turn his back on Nur al-Din, wrecking an opportunity to triumph in the war for the Holy Land?

In late September 1171, soon after the Fatimid caliphate’s abolition, Saladin marched into Transjordan with the apparent intention of launching a joint operation with Nur al-Din. As the latter came south from Damascus, Saladin laid siege to Montreal, but after a short period he suddenly decided to retreat to Egypt, and the two Muslim armies never combined. The Mosuli historian Ibn al-Athir, who supported Nur al-Din’s Zangid dynasty, saw in these events a definitive moment of division between Saladin and his overlord, asserting that a ‘deep difference’ emerged between them. He maintained that, having reached Montreal, Saladin was warned by his advisers about the real strategic and political consequences of Transjordan’s conquest. Counselled that the opening of a secure route from Damascus to Egypt would lead to Nur al-Din’s seizure of the Nile region and cautioned that ‘if Nur al-Din comes to you here, you will have to meet him and then he will exercise his authority over you as he wishes’, Saladin fled.

The problem with Ibn al-Athir’s account is that it relies upon the notion of Saladin as a naïve commander, devoid of foresight. Yet, on the evidence of his striking successes in Egypt, Saladin was no innocent, but a far-sighted and astute operator. He would surely have recognised in advance the wider ramifications of the Transjordan enterprise, long before actually arriving at Montreal itself. Frustratingly, the other surviving sources shed little additional light upon events: according to one account, Saladin excused himself by arguing that rebellion was brewing in Egypt, while another contemporary Arabic writer simply observed that ‘something happened’ to cause his precipitous return to Cairo.

Ibn al-Athir went on to accuse Saladin of abandoning a second joint venture before Nur al-Din could arrive, this time against Kerak in early summer 1173. While Saladin certainly did besiege that fortress at this point, he was probably acting independently of Damascus, as Nur al-Din was busy with the affairs of northern Syria and in no position to lead troops into Transjordan.³²

The evidence against Saladin for the period between 1171 and 1173 is, on balance, inconclusive. He cannot be said categorically to have betrayed Nur al-Din, nor was he solely culpable for the failure to prevail in the jihad. Publicly at least Saladin affirmed his continued subservience to the Zangid dynasty after the end of Fatimid rule in 1171–Nur al-Din was included in the Friday prayer and Egyptian coins were minted bearing his name alongside that of the Abbasid caliph.

In reality, any hostility brewing between Damascus and Cairo in the early 1170s was probably not primarily related to the issue of unified military action, but, rather, connected to the question of hard cash. Above all else, Nur al-Din wanted to tap into Egypt’s riches and began demanding an annual tribute from the region. To this end he sent an official from Damascus to carry out a full audit of Egypt’s revenue at the end of 1173. As the financial investigation proceeded apace in Egypt during the first months of 1174, tension mounted. Both Nur al-Din and Saladin mobilised troops, although it is not certain whether this was in preparation for a direct confrontation or a renewed attempt at collaboration. In all likelihood, both men were making a show of strength as a precursor to intense diplomatic wrangling, aware that this might in time escalate into open conflict. Discord was certainly in the air, as even Saladin himself later admitted to his biographer: ‘We had heard that Nur al-Din would perhaps attack us in Egypt. Several of our comrades advised that he should be openly resisted and his authority rejected and that his army should be met in battle to repel it if his hostile move became a reality.’ He apparently added, somewhat less convincingly, ‘I alone disagreed with them, urging that it was not right to say anything of the sort.’³³

Fate intervened to prevent what potentially would have been a hugely damaging Sunni civil war. While waiting for his auditor to report from Cairo, Nur al-Din fell ill in late spring 1174. Playing polo outside Damascus on 6 May, he was seized by some form of fit and, by the time he returned to the citadel, was clearly unwell. Suffering with what may have been angina, at first he stubbornly refused to call physicians. By the time his court doctor, al-Rahbi, arrived, Nur al-Din was huddled in a small prayer room, deep within the citadel, ‘close to death…his voice barely audible’. When it was suggested that he be treated with bleeding, Nur al-Din bluntly refused, saying, ‘you do not bleed a man of sixty’, and in the face of this great ruler no one argued.

On 15 May 1174 Nur al-Din died, his body later being interred in one of the religious schools he had had built in Damascus. Even among his enemies the Franks, Nur al-Din was revered as ‘a mighty persecutor of the Christian name and faith…a just and valiant prince’. He was the first Muslim leader since the advent of the crusades to unite Aleppo and Damascus. His vision and quickening sense of devotion had ushered in a new era of religious rejuvenation within the Sunni world, resuscitating the notion of jihad against Islam’s enemies as an emblematic and imperative cause. And yet, at his death, the Franks remained unconquered, and the hallowed city of Jerusalem still lay in Christendom’s grasp.³⁴

10

HEIR OR USURPER

Nur al-Din’s death in May 1174 appeared to furnish Saladin with a perfect opportunity to emerge from the shadow of Zangid Syrian overlordship, allowing the lieutenant to become leader, assert his right to fully independent rule and assume the mantle of champion in Islam’s holy war against the Franks. It is only too easy to imagine the history of twelfth-century Near Eastern Islam as an era of linear progression; one in which a swelling tide of jihadi resurgence gathered pace under Zangi, Nur al-Din and, finally, Saladin–with the torch of leadership passing smoothly, and almost inevitably, from one Muslim ‘hero’ to another. This was certainly the impression fostered and energetically promoted by some Islamic contemporaries.

The central flaw in this admittedly alluring illusion is that Saladin was not proclaimed Nur al-Din’s heir in 1174. Instead, Nur al-Din left behind an eleven-year-old son, al-Salih, who he hoped would take up the reins of power. The great Syrian lord was also survived by an assortment of other blood relations who might seek to protect and perpetuate Zangid ascendancy in the Near and Middle East. As such there was, in reality, no natural or immediate path to advancement open to Saladin in 1174. Instead he was presented with choices: to prioritise his hold over the Nile region, constructing a largely self-contained Egyptian realm; or to seek to emulate, or even eclipse, Nur al-Din’s achievements, to become the premier Muslim leader in the Levant.