Dimashk was under siege. Prince Duqaq could see the great host approaching the walls of his city, like a huge fiery flood, the torches flickering and twinkling devilishly as they got closer and closer. Duqaq was the son of Tutush, Sultan of Syria, and he was not going to let his birthright be desecrated by Radwan, bastard despot of Aleppo.
Duquq had never got on with his brother. Radwan had always been Tutush's favourite son, even though he was the youngest, and so Duqaq resented him bitterly. But he was too cunning to oppose him openly. Even when Tutush was assassinated mysteriously, with a whole battalion of Ismaili guardsmen to protect him, Duqaq bided his time whilst Radwan ruled Syria. Then, his opportunity came. Ilghazi, emir of Jerusalem and a close friend of Duqaq's, fell out with Radwan's guardian Janah, and threatened war. Duqaq seized the chance, and fled Aleppo with a small group of followers for Dimashk.
Radwan had impetuously marched on Dimashk, as Duqaq had known he would, and now his army stood in front of the city.
"Give the signal," ordered Duqaq rather conceitedly; his brother was so predictable it was laughable. Even when they were children, Radwan had been so easy to fool, putty in the hands of his elder brother. The fool had been angered into action, and had thereby walked straight into the trap - 20000 heavily armoured mamluk fursan commanded by the infamous ilghazi, greatest commander in the Levant. Duqaq smiled, as he watched the Ismaili messenger he had ordered run down to give the signal and ensnare the foolish 18-year old and his merely 5000 strong force.
But little did Duqaq know that Radwan had organised a little trick of his own. The Nizari Ismailis, better known in later years by their nickname, the Hashashin, were loyal not to Duqaq but to Radwan. The messenger had not run down to deliver the message, but back into the palace and up the stairs to the balcony. He proceded to impale Duqaq in the neck with a crossbow bolt. He died still smiling smugly at his impending victory.
After one of Radwan's spies had informed him of the trick his brother had been planning, it was a simple matter of bribing Ilghazi and the city was effectively his. Radwan trotted ahead of his army, and rode into Dimashk through the already open gate. Syria was his, and his obnoxious brother had been killed by his own foolish pride. Afterall, pride always comes before a fall. As Radwan's mamluks paraded through the city with the little opposition that remained melting away before them, he felt utterly content.