The Final Checkmate

The chronological placement of this story should explain itself as the story progresses.

Damascus, city of kings and sultans, of patterned steel and spices. City of Salahuddin, Sultan of Egypt and Syria, Righteous of Faith, Prince of Islam, Defender of the Word of Allah, the Infinite and the Compassionate. It is from this city that he commands his armies, sending them forth to wage war for Allah, to defend his people against the infidel Christians and their bloodthirsty barons.

But today was not a day for commanding armies or even planning wars. No, today Salahuddin was enjoying himself under the elm trees in his garden, eating sharbat and playing chess with Nasir Imad Al-Din, court poet, biographer, and confidante.

Both men said little. It had always been Salahuddin's way to be a man of few words, and Nasir, respecting that, did not fill the air between them with useless talk. The Sultan was a master chess player, as he was also a master of the Qu'ranic verses and of commanding armies, and all three things, chess, religion, and war, required time for quiet reflection and thought.

"You look as though you have something you would very much like to tell me, Nasir," Salahuddin remarked quietly, moving his rook forward several spaces and taking away from the board one of Nasir's pawns.

Nasir had the good sense to look abashed, admitting to this. "I was wondering, my lord, why we withdrew from Kerak when there was so strong an urge for you to continue."

"I might ask you, Nasir, why you spared the life of this Balian the son of Godfrey," Salahuddin said gently, his tone slightly sardonic. Nasir smiled sheepishly, nodding. Had he not said on that afternoon that it was because of Salahuddin's example that he had spared the man? "The King has given his word that the pirate shall be punished, and I will take him at his word. He is a man of honor, whatever else he might be. So, at present, we do nothing, and observe everything," Saladin said, sitting back in his chair, satisfied with his move.

"Why, my lord? You know our caravans are not safe until he is dead, and you also know that Baldwin, in his Frankish fashion, will not kill him until he has been justly judged," the poet said, glancing at the board and moving one of his viziers to counter the pawn his king had just taken.

"Better a chained dog than the wrath of the pack at a dead one," Salahuddin said sagely. Nasir glanced at his mentor and sultan, and the older man sat back in his chair, surveying the board like a king surveying a map of his kingdom, memorizing hills and valleys. "One of my tutors once told me a story about a time he had gone into the desert with a very wise man to hunt. While they were riding, they saw an antelope near an oasis, drinking water. My tutor urged his companion to go and give it chase, but his companion merely said that they should wait. The antelope continued drinking, and again my tutor said that they should go after it to kill it. Again the wise companion said to wait.

'Finally, a third time, when the antelope was nearly done drinking, my tutor said in amazement, "Why will we not go after the antelope?" His companion silenced him and the two watched as a lion came out of the desert and ate the antelope." Salahuddin leisurely moved his piece, and, deciding against his move, placed it back where it had been before and moved another. "See, my friend," the wise man said to my tutor, "If we had taken the antelope as you suggested, we too would have been eaten by the lion and our exertions would have been for naught."

"My lord, what does this have to do with Kerak?" Nasir asked, glancing hurriedly at the board and moving with just as much haste, too focused on the story. "Are we the antelope or the lion?"

"Neither, Nasir. We are the watchers. Kerak is the antelope. For now he thinks that he is safe, that his king, weak as he is, will not act upon his transgressions. However, there will come a time when Baldwin will act, and then, after the lion has sprung, we will attack. It is better to wait and see the whole field than to act rashly and forget to see something," the Sultan summarized.

"My lord, there is never a good time to attack a lion," Nasir pointed out. "Even when it is eating," he added, playing along with the metaphor.

"Unless, in attacking the antelope, the lion has already used its strength," the Sultan replied calmly, moving another piece. Nasir considered this, and a smile came to his lips -- as always, his king was right.

"As in your youth, Nasir, you are too direct in your actions and your thinking," Salahuddin said, pointing at the board. "In your haste to deal with one problem, you have forgotten that in the same space of time exist many others that may be of equal or even greater importance."

Nasir looked down at the chess board, realizing quickly that his last three moves, while taking pieces from his master's ranks, had dangerously exposed his king. After considering the board more fully, he moved one of his viziers back into place in front of the king, sheltering the princely piece once more.

"So when the lion has sprung, my lord, then we will strike?" He asked, testing his sovereign.

"Only Allah knows, Nasir. 'Behold, Allah sees all that you do.'" Salahuddin quoted elegantly, moving one of his pieces with practiced ease.

"And has the lion sprung already?" Nasir asked, thinking carefully about the metaphor and trying to glean more bits of information from his enigmatic leader.

"Patience, Nasir!" the Sultan declared. "It is the virtue of all men to wait for Allah's signs. When it is deemed appropriate we will strike -- not before."

Nasir nodded and the two of them went back, in silence, to the chess game.

It was not uncommon for these games to stretch out over several days, chains of half wins and near losses that let the advantage ebb and flow to both sides. The chessboard was not just a diversion or distraction – it was a tool to refine the mind's patterns, focus the conversation. One could not consider multiple matters of state and play chess at the same time; it could be chess and a single issue, or all the issues and nothing of chess.

They were again under the elm trees in the garden of Damascus when a servant, slipping wordlessly inside to where the chessboard and its two players sat, handed the Sultan a note on a wooden tray, a small, tight scroll, probably pulled from a case on a pigeon's leg -- a secret communication from Jerusalem. He considered the paper a while, and then looked at the chess board again.

"Shah-mat," Salahuddin said finally, setting the note aside and rising from his chair, as if he was finished with the game.

Imad glanced at the chessboard, but could see no way in which his king was left defenseless. "My lord?" He asked, puzzled.

"Shah-mat," the Sultan of Egypt repeated, clearly thinking heavily about something, contemplating the board. Imad glanced at the note, which in the furl of the paper contained a single, elegant line of calligraphy.

Al-Khinzir is finished.

Al-Khinzir, the Unclean One. It was their phrase for the leprous King of the Franks, Baldwin.

It was shah-mat, checkmate. The King is dead.

This is the sign, Nasir thought to himself. "The lion has sprung, and now the lion is dead," He said aloud, thinking about this.

"Now we must take care to observe the other lions," the Sultan murmured thoughtfully, leaving the garden without another word.

And now the real game begins, Nasir thought to himself, remaining in his chair under the elm trees of the Garden of Damascus and staring at the chessboard, considering the inevitability of the final checkmate.

I realize there's probably some problems with flora and fauna in this story, but for some strange reason, it's really hard to find 'native plants of Syria' in a google search. I hope you'll forgive me.

There is an ongoing debate on the origin of the phrase 'checkmate.' Most scholars agree it comes from the Persian shah-mat, 'the king is made helpless', but the phrase shah-mat also, in Arabic, means 'the king is dead.'

I like the Arabic phrase better, and it fits better with my story, because Saladin is obviously speaking Arabic. In point of fact, chess came to Europe through the Muslims in Spain, who themselves got it from the Persians, so using the Arabic translation, incorrect or not, makes more sense to me. The Oxford English dictionary (the be-all and end-all on etymology) gives the origin as Arabic (well, really it says: "Middle English chek mat(e chekmat, aphetic from Old French. eschec mat, eschec et mat, Provencal. escat mat, Italian scaccomatto, Spanish jaque y mate, Old Spanish xaquimate, Old Spanish and Portugese xaque mate, adapted from Arabic shah-mat (the king is dead)") and that's good enough for me.

Chess fanatics will also notice that the names of the pieces they're moving are a little different from the pieces we're familiar with. I used the names of the pieces in the original Persian game chess is derived from, shatranj, which involves the Shah (king) Vezir (Councilor – I've changed it to the more familiar Vizier, the equivalent of Queen) Ruhk (Rook, how it appears in this story) Pill or Alfil(Elephant; our Bishop) Asb (Horse, Knight) and Sarbaz (the pawns).

I've tried to remain true to both Sir Ridley Scott's realization of Saladin and also the historical record of him.

Works consulted:

Oxford English Dictionary, Online, entry on 'checkmate'

"Warriors of God" by James Reston, Jr.

"Saladin" by Malcolm Cameron Lyons and D.E.P. Jackson

"History of Chess" & "Shatranj" from Wikipedia