Miles wasted no time with formalities. “It is barely past the third hour and already it is hotter than Hades in here. Fortunately, there is no need for prolonged debate. We know what we must do—choose young Baldwin as our king. The only other candidate is his sister and who in his right mind would want a lass raised as a nun—”
He was interrupted at that, first by Maria, who reminded him that King Amalric had another child, her daughter, Isabella, and then by Archbishop Frederick of Tyre, who pointed out that Sybilla had been sent to the nunnery to be educated, not to take holy vows.
“I did not forget your daughter, madame,” Miles assured Maria, with a condescending smile that set her teeth on edge. “Yet surely a child of her tender years could only be given serious consideration if there were no other heirs. As for Sybilla, my lord archbishop, whilst she may not have taken vows, the road from the cloisters to a queenship would be a very rocky one. Thankfully, we need not concern ourselves with female claims to the throne, for King Amalric sired a son, one who has the makings of a fine king. Yes, he injured his shoulder, but that has not slowed him down. I’ve watched him practice at swordplay and I can assure you that once he’s of an age to lead men into battle, he’ll acquit himself well. And as young as he is, he is already a superb horseman; I’d wager the lad could ride a lion if we put a saddle on it!”
Miles chuckled at his own joke. “I propose that we vote now to confirm Baldwin as our next king. We’ll also need to appoint a regent until he reaches his majority in two years. It was King Amalric’s dying wish that I serve as regent until his son comes of age, and I swore to him that I would serve Baldwin as faithfully as I served him.”
That did not go down well with most of the men, few of whom were willing to turn the reins of government over to Miles. Humphrey de Toron spoke for many of them when he said skeptically, “Any witnesses to this deathbed declaration by the king?”
Miles scowled, for he’d long viewed Humphrey as a dangerous rival. Despite the authority Miles wielded as seneschal, controlling the crown’s finances and castles, he had no say about military matters, that power vesting solely in the constable. “Are you doubting my word?”
“If he is not, I am,” Odo de St. Amand interjected and there were muted expressions of alarm, for even those who detested Miles did not want to see the court session disintegrate into a brawl between the seneschal and the grand master of the Templars.
Before the enraged Miles could lash back, William got hastily to his feet. “It is premature to consider a regency,” he said loudly enough to drown out any murmurings from the audience. “Ere we vote to select our next ruler, it was the king’s command that the patriarch address the court. Patriarch Emeric has delegated me to speak in his stead.”
As William waited to be sure he had their attention, Balian stiffened, for he’d caught that, the use of “ruler” rather than “king,” and he knew William never chose words carelessly.
“It is well known that Baldwin suffered a shoulder injury that limited his use of his right hand. He has learned to compensate for that, and, as the seneschal said, he continues to excel at his lessons in swordplay and horsemanship. What you do not know is that the story of the shoulder injury is false. Two years ago, I discovered that Baldwin no longer could feel sensations in his right hand and arm. But his doctors have been unable to determine the cause of his impairment.”
There were muffled exclamations at that. William swallowed with difficulty, for his mouth was going dry. “Many of you are familiar with Baldwin’s doctor, Abū Sulayman Dāwūd, if only by reputation as a skilled physician. When I am done speaking, he will be available to answer your questions about the young prince’s health. It is his belief that Baldwin’s condition is the result of a nerve injury. This was his initial diagnosis and he says he has seen no evidence since then that would change his mind. In other words, for more than two years Baldwin has shown no other symptoms than this numbness.”
William paused to draw a deep, bracing breath, feeling as if he were about to fling a torch into a field of sun-dried hay. “Because so much is at stake, King Amalric decided that you need to know there is another malady that can cause a loss of feeling—even though we do not believe Baldwin is afflicted with it. That ailment is leprosy.”
He’d expected his revelation to result in pandemonium, imagining the chamber erupting into chaos, benches overturned as men leaped to their feet, all shouting at once in their urgency to be heard. Instead, there was only stunned silence.
* * *
The two days that followed were among the worst of William’s life. Once the shock had worn off, the members of the court had begun to debate with a vengeance. William and Abū Sulayman Dāwūd and even Maria were subjected to intense interrogation about the state of Baldwin’s health. It soon became apparent that there was no consensus. Miles continued to argue on Baldwin’s behalf and he probably had the most support. But the names of other candidates soon found their way into the deliberations—Baldwin’s two closest male kin, Bohemond, the Prince of Antioch, and Raymond, the Count of Tripoli. Sybilla began to attract attention, too. Only Isabella did not find backers, ruled out of contention because of her extreme youth.
By the second day, the debate had grown argumentative. To William’s dismay, factions began to develop and old animosities to surface. At one point, Miles and Odo de St. Amand had to be separated by others. Walter de Brisebarre emerged as an impassioned partisan of Raymond, the Count of Tripoli, but William suspected his motivation was really to thwart Miles, whose marriage to Stephanie de Milly had made him the Lord of Outrejourdain, the vast fief that had once been Walter’s. And William suspected, too, that self-interest was behind much of the enthusiastic support for Sybilla. She would need a husband to rule with her if she were chosen, which put visions of crowns into the heads of some. He reluctantly included Baudouin in this category, for he’d ended his marriage to Richilde earlier that year and was on the lookout for another wife; one who brought the kingdom as her marriage portion would be irresistible.
As the arguments dragged on, they’d even resorted to polling all those present, but that exercise merely emphasized how bogged down they’d become. By the third day, William had begun to despair that they could ever reach a decision, so foreboding a shadow did leprosy cast over the proceedings.
He was no longer bothering to listen to the debates, for by now they were offering more heat than light or clarity. Instead, he crossed the chamber and slumped down in a window seat next to Balian. “Saladin must be blessing his good fortune by now,” he muttered, “whilst laughing at us for our inability to identify the true enemy in our midst.”
Balian had begun to bring food in to get through the marathon sessions, and he offered William a choice of figs or dates. “Does Baldwin think it odd that they are taking so long to confirm his kingship?”
“I told him that lengthy deliberations were normal in such cases.” William’s mouth tightened. “As if there were anything even remotely normal about this!”
He was reaching for Balian’s wineskin when a sudden demand for silence brought the ongoing din to a halt. Humphrey de Toron had stalked to the front of the solar. He was accustomed to shouting commands on the battlefield and was not a man to be easily defied, so the chamber slowly quieted.
“Enough of this,” he said angrily. “I am ashamed that we’ve allowed such solemn deliberations to degenerate into petty and selfish squabbling. We have become a dog chasing its tail and I say it stops now.”
He glared at his audience. “No more wasting time. There are four possible candidates for the crown.” Glancing over at Maria, he said bluntly, “That does not include your daughter, my lady, for we’d have to be desperate indeed to anoint a two-year-old girl as our queen.” He waited to see if she would protest. When she did not, he acknowledged her pragmatism with an approving nod, thankful that the Greeks were such a practical people.
“We can also dismiss Baldwin’s cousin Bohemond, the Prince of Antioch, for he cannot rule both Antioch and Outremer and he is not about to abdicate in order to become our king. That leaves Baldwin, his sister Sybilla, and his other cousin Raymond, the Count of Tripoli.
“Sybilla has her supporters, many of you quite vocal. But the fact is that she is a fifteen-year-old girl with no experience whatsoever in the world beyond the convent walls at Bethany. She is an innocent and we cannot afford an innocent at this time in our history.”
Humphrey paused again, as if daring anyone to object. “Unlike Bohemond and Sybilla, Count Raymond of Tripoli is a serious candidate. He is a grown man of thirty-four, one with experience in ruling, and he has proven his worth on the battlefield. But he has only recently been freed after being held prisoner in Aleppo for more than nine years. Men can be changed by such an ordeal. As most of you know, he was ransomed for the vast sum of eighty thousand bezants, and he had to provide hostages as pledges that he’d pay the balance due of sixty thousand bezants. I am not impugning his integrity, for I believe him to be a man of honor. Nonetheless, we must consider if we’d want our king to be so deeply in debt to our Saracen foes.”
Humphrey again raked the chamber with challenging eyes, heartened that they were listening so attentively. “Count Raymond’s greatest handicap is that he is a stranger to so many. Whilst I knew him ere he was captured by Nūr al-Dīn, many of the men here cannot say as much. I am guessing that few of you would be comfortable crowning a man about whom you know so little, and I think that uncertainty is enough to eliminate him.”
He waited for that to sink in and then asked if anyone had wine, saying wryly that preaching was thirsty work. Balian rose and sent his wineskin flying through the air. Humphrey caught it deftly with one hand, then drank deeply before resuming.
“That brings us back to where we began—to King Amalric’s son, Baldwin. There are only two reasons to balk at voting for the lad—that he is a lad, not yet of age. And then there is the specter of leprosy.”
He drank again, as if the very mention of leprosy left a bad taste in his mouth. “Whilst we would rather Baldwin be older, he could be guided by wiser counsel until he reaches his majority. So, his age does not present insurmountable difficulties.
“What of leprosy, then? It is obvious to all that we cannot anoint a leper as our king. But will Baldwin become a leper? No one can answer that question. You’ve heard his doctor testify that he has no other symptoms of that accursed ailment. When each man was asked to express his opinions yesterday, I was struck by something that Balian d’Ibelin said. He asked if we could deny Baldwin his birthright merely on the basis of suspicion or fear.”
As a younger son, Balian was not accustomed to being the center of attention and he flushed when all eyes turned in his direction, both pleased and startled by the constable’s praise.
“If Baldwin were not a king’s son, if he were the heir to a lordship like Jaffa or Sidon, he could not be denied his inheritance unless and until he was formally diagnosed as a leper.” Before Humphrey could continue, he was finally interrupted, the Templar grand master rising to his feet and pointing out that once a lord was declared a leper, he had to become a leper knight, entering the Order of St. Lazarus.
“That is true,” Humphrey agreed. “But he would not forfeit his fief, continuing to hold it for the rest of his life. Leprosy does not make a mockery of the laws of inheritance.”
This time it was the turn of Jobert, the grand master of the Hospitallers, to speak out. Less confrontational than the fiery Odo de St. Amand, he framed his question politely, but nevertheless went to the heart of the matter. “It is true that once a lord joins the knights of St. Lazarus, he is not stripped of his fief. Yet he does have to arrange for it to be ruled by another. What would happen if we elect Baldwin as our king and he then develops leprosy?”
Humphrey had given that a great deal of thought, too. “A fair question,” he admitted. “Let us assume the very worst, then, that Baldwin does carry the seeds of his own destruction, although that is by no means certain. He will not come of age for two more years. We would have that time to find a husband for his sister, Sybilla, one capable of ruling in Baldwin’s stead if he becomes too incapacitated to fulfill his duties as king.”
Walter de Brisebarre started to protest again, angrily aware that if Baldwin were crowned, it would be difficult to deny Miles the regency. But Baudouin cut him off. “Any man who weds Sybilla will do so now knowing that she could become queen if Baldwin’s health fails. Not only would we have no trouble finding suitors for her, we’d have men begging for the privilege!”
And you’d be one of them, Humphrey thought. He genuinely liked Baudouin but did not see him as an ideal husband for Sybilla. He believed none of the Poulains were, for the kingdom would be better served by an alliance with a foreign prince. There was no need to discuss this yet, so he merely smiled, welcoming Baudouin as his ally in his quest to get Baldwin crowned.
That turned out to be easier than he’d hoped, for his speech carried the day, and when a vote was called for, Amalric’s son was elected as Outremer’s next king. The boy’s backers did not have long to celebrate their victory, though, for a question posed by Joscius, the young Bishop of Acre, brought home to them how complicated life was about to get for them all. Joscius had made a sensible suggestion—that each man should swear upon holy relics that he would say nothing of what had transpired during the court session. His advice was quickly seconded by Humphrey, for while he knew word would eventually get out about the leprosy threat to the young king, he was in favor of doing whatever they could to keep it secret as long as possible. But it was then that Joscius brought them up short with his next query.
“What of Baldwin? Should he be told?”
The men had been so caught up in choosing a king that few of them had acknowledged there was more at stake than a crown—that a thirteen-year-old boy could be facing a horror beyond imagining. They instinctively shrank from that awareness, and it was William who answered, saying in a horrified voice, “Good God, no! You cannot tell him!”
To William’s great relief, Joscius indicated he was in full agreement with that, and other men were nodding, too. William sat down on the closest bench, suddenly so exhausted that he was not sure his legs would support his weight. At least it was over now. And then Miles came forward to demand that he be appointed as regent for the underage king.
At once the solar was in turmoil again, with Miles’s friends being outshouted by his more numerous enemies. Some of the men looked imploringly toward the constable, hoping he would be able to resolve this dilemma, too. But Humphrey kept silent, for as little as he wanted to see Miles in a position of such power, he could muster up no arguments against it, not after the patriarch had bestirred himself to reveal Amalric had told him, too, that he wanted Miles as regent.
This time it was Denys de Grenier who came to the rescue. Arguing that the regency ought to go to Baldwin’s nearest male relative, he alarmed Miles and his supporters, who assumed he was referring to Count Raymond of Tripoli. But then he explained that he meant the English king, for Henry was Amalric’s nephew, his father and Amalric being half brothers, therefore making him and Baldwin first cousins. Denys argued further that Henry had taken the cross and would therefore be coming to the Holy Land to fulfill his vow, yet in any event, he was owed the courtesy of the right of first refusal. And until he responded, Miles could be the acting regent. It was a clever compromise, offering Miles just enough to blunt his opposition to it and reassuring his adversaries that his position would not be an official one, sanctioned by the High Court. And with that, the longest and most tumultuous session in the history of Outremer’s High Court finally came to an end.
* * *
Coronations were usually performed on Sundays in the Holy Land, but Baldwin was crowned the next day, a Monday, in a solemn ceremony in the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, becoming the sixth Latin king of Jerusalem at age thirteen. Most of his new subjects thought it was an auspicious beginning of his reign, for it was the seventy-fifth anniversary of the fall of the Holy City to the men of the First Crusade.
CHAPTER 4
September 1174
City of Acre, Outremer
Amalric and the King of Sicily had been planning a summer attack upon Saladin’s power base in Egypt; their ambitious plans were sabotaged by Amalric’s sudden death. Worse was to follow, for the Franks were warned that Saladin intended to move on Damascus, still under the control of Nūr al-Dīn’s young heir. This news sent shivers of alarm across Outremer. In the past, they’d occasionally made temporary alliances with the Egyptian caliphs or the amirs of Damascus. But if Saladin could gain control of both Egypt and Syria, the Poulains would have no leverage, facing a united enemy for the first time since the birth of their kingdom. And so, once Baldwin was crowned, his barons and vassals hastened to muster men in response to the royal summons, with the urgent intent to block Saladin from marching on Damascus.
Balian had hastened south to his fief at Ibelin and summoned his ten knights. Before they could depart for the agreed-upon rendezvous at the great stronghold of Kerak, which guarded the Cairo–Damascus road, a terse message arrived from the constable: the campaign had been called off. Balian was troubled by this unexpected turn of events; why had this decision been made? After learning that Baldwin had left Jerusalem and was currently holding court at Acre, he set out along the coastal road and on a hot morning in September three days later, he and his men finally saw the soaring walls of Acre rising against the sky.
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