A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

”Isfahan is watching you. We know of your great love for the King of the Faithful in Baghdad. Therefore, for the sake of Allah’s endless love and the expansion of His Kingdom, I implore you to unhesitatingly judge those heretics who have strayed from the true path, who remain unrepentant, and who cling to false doctrines.

The Caliph of Fatima is but a self-important fool, a manifestation of Iblis in this world. Now, make his followers pay the price... The wrath of Allah will consume them like a raging fire, along with all the wicked souls who aid them from the shadows...

Refuse this request, and I will unleash my Holy Dogs and Inquisitors to investigate your domain...”

Yajisiyan couldn’t care less about the conflict between the Sunni and the Shiite. To him, the Caliph of Baghdad was practically a phantom. He had only just learned from Tutush’s letter that the Fatima even had a Shiite Caliph.

As for his Devotion to Allah, it had mysteriously vanished three years ago after the birth of his son. Sometimes, he even suspected his son’s birth was the work of a Grassland Wizard.

Of course, even setting all that aside, he was willing to kill a few people to curry favor with Tutush. But roughly a quarter of Hama City’s residents were Shiite. With a Christian uprising already on his hands, pushing the Shiites into the opposing camp was practically suicide.

This was why Yajisiyan had summoned Abdullah, the chief Jurist Scholar (Mufti) of Hama City, to the great hall of the castle.

The great hall was no longer a place for banquets. Instead, it was filled with shelves where old documents gathered mold and precious manuscripts were wrapped in oiled leather.

Abdullah, the Jurist Scholar and a Sufi Practitioner, was only thirty-two years old.

Abdullah, the son of a tanner, owed his rise in status to Yajisiyan’s patronage. He was very tall and serious, with black hair cropped so short it always reminded Yajisiyan of the stiff-bristled brushes Armor Smiths used to polish Zha Armor.

The two men were now seated at a chessboard, locked in a tense game.

”I’m going to the religious court tomorrow,” Abdullah said. ”I’ll try to get there early to avoid the crowds.”

Yajisiyan ignored the curtness in Abdullah’s tone.

The Sufi Practitioner had a habit of treating his Lord as an equal, a fact Yajisiyan tolerated because he found it somewhat amusing.

”Business at the religious court?” Yajisiyan asked, then something seemed to click. ”Ah, of course. You’re going to stone that heretic woman to death, aren’t you?”

”As for the specific punishment, I will consult Abu Hanifa again.”

”She’ll be stoned to death whether you’re there or not,” Yajisiyan said. ”And her soul will be taken by the Devil whether you’re there to celebrate it or not.” He stared at Abdullah. ”Or do you just enjoy watching women suffer?”

”It is my duty,” Abdullah said stiffly.

”Oh, yes. Your duty. Of course. Your duty.” Governor Yajisiyan frowned, his gaze dropping to the chessboard as he contemplated whether to advance a pawn or retreat a bishop.

Governor Yajisiyan was a short, plump man with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard. He habitually wore a woolen cap to cover his bald head and was seldom seen without a fur-lined robe, even in summer.

With fingers often stained by ink, Yajisiyan looked more like a fastidious clerk than a Governor.

”But you have a duty to me as well, Abdullah,” Yajisiyan reminded the Jurist Scholar. ”That is your duty.”

Yajisiyan handed Tutush’s letter to Abdullah and watched him read the long document.

”His Arabic is quite good, isn’t it?” Yajisiyan remarked. ”He must have hired a well-educated secretary.”

Abdullah walked to the window. A leaded lattice held panes of scraped horn, which allowed a soft light into the room while keeping out the rain, the birds, and some of the winter chill.

He lifted the window frame and took a deep breath. The air up here was fresh, far from the stench of the latrines in the lower city. A faint fragrance of pressed grapes hung in the air. Abdullah liked that smell.

Abdullah turned to face Yajisiyan. ”Is the messenger still here? Was he an Imam?”

”No, just an ordinary, very nervous young man. Perhaps Tutush threw a tantrum. I remember his father, Sultan Al-Salan, was killed by Shiite assassins. I bet he won’t be sleeping well this month,” Yajisiyan replied.

”Perhaps the letter is just a show of anger, a threat. He just wants the Caliph of Fatima to know he’s watching. Let’s see what the other cities do,” Abdullah said, looking at Yajisiyan.

”Only Hama has this many Shiites. I hired a lot of doctors and scholars, and it turns out many of them were Shiite—a fact I’ve only just learned. You know the Christians have been restless lately. I can’t afford to push the Shiites into opposition as well.”