God's Wolf

by Jeffrey Lee

  Reynald somehow survived the inevitable strains on his sanity. And we can be sure that he kept his mind active. We hear that he learned ‘some reading and writing’,11 for instance. As with many modern convicts, it took jail to finally teach the unlettered Burgundian knight to read. News from outside would have been another vital ingredient for a healthy mental state, and through the years he would have heard both good and bad. Perhaps he knew that in 1172 his daughter Agnes became Queen of Hungary through her marriage to Bela III, a protégé of the Emperor Manuel. He may also have learned of the birth of Emeric, his first grandchild, in 1174.

  From his jailers or newly arrived prisoners he would have learned how Nur al-Din had steadily increased his power in Syria. He would have heard echoes of the great battles for Egypt and, sometime after 1168, he would have received the chilling news that the Kurdish general Shirkuh and his nephew Saladin had finally conquered that fabulously wealthy and populous country in Nur al-Din’s name. No longer a simple emir or atabeg of Aleppo, Reynald’s captor was now known as malik (king), or even ‘sultan’ of Syria and Egypt.

  Many times over the years, as hopes were raised and then dashed, as earthquakes hit and then passed, as fellow captives were killed or released, Reynald might have surrendered, in body or spirit, to the lure of despair or the ravages of disease or malnutrition. But he did not. Then, after fifteen years in the dungeons of Nur al-Din, the lands of Syria were thrown into turmoil once again.

  This time the earthquake was political.

  * Hence the name of Aleppo, Halab, which means ‘milk’ in Arabic.

  ** Soon after his capture of Antioch in 1099, Bohemond of Taranto had expelled the Greek patriarch John the Oxite, leaving just a Latin patriarch.

  † Any women who had helped the rescue attempt were also killed, being thrown over the ramparts.

  ‡ His stint was less than half that of the record-holder, a knight called Gauffier. Captured by the Egyptians at Ramleh in 1103, Gauffier turned up again in Jerusalem thirty-four years later. In the meantime the Jacobite Church had claimed his lands. The astonished Jacobites confirmed Gauffier’s identity and paid him 300 bezants in compensation.

  $ Stockholm Syndrome is so called because of a botched bank raid in Stockholm in 1973, when the hostages came to sympathize very strongly with their captors.

  The Citadel of Damascus, 15 May 1174

  The doctors bustled in and out, but their patient in the small, dark prayer room did not move. Though he was lying down, hardly breathing, you could still make out that he was a tall, strong man. He was handsome too, swarthy with a wide forehead and charming eyes.

  The Sultan Nur al-Din Mahmud, Son of Zengi, was in the grip of a strangling quinsy in his throat. He had not moved from the tiny chamber since the sickness took hold. His doctor remonstrated with him and advised that he should be bled.

  ‘A sixty-year-old is not to be bled,’ he said. His voice was barely audible. The swelling abscess was slowly poisoning and suffocating him. They tried to move the sultan to a light and airy place and give him other treatments, but nothing had any effect. God had ‘whispered to him the command that cannot be shunned’.12

  A few days before, one of his friends had bidden Nur al-Din farewell, saying, ‘Glory be to him who knows whether we shall meet here next year or not.’

  ‘Do not say that,’ replied Nur al-Din. ‘Rather glory be to Him who knows whether we shall meet in a month’s time or not.’13

  Eleven days later, Nur al-Din – master of Egypt and Syria, the ardent champion of jihad and scourge of the Franks – was dead. He was laid to rest in the citadel, but afterwards his body was moved to the religious school that he had built in Damascus in the Market of the Palm Leaf Sellers.

  By then his empire was already disintegrating. His son and heir was the pawn of ambitious courtiers, his cousins were at war.

  Biding his time in Cairo, waiting for the chance to strike, was another claimant to Nur al-Din’s legacy: his vizier in the great realm of Egypt, the brilliant and ambitious Saladin.

  The world had changed and it meant a glimmer of hope for Reynald.

  Chapter 11

  PHOENIX

  After fifteen years… he emerged, like purified silver or pure gold, from the furnace of captivity.

  Peter of Blois1

  Nur al-Din Mahmud, son of Zengi, was deeply mourned. Saladin referred to his passing in May 1174 as ‘an earthquake shock’.

  For the Muslims, Nur al-Din had been a widely revered and committed leader. He was also a brilliant soldier who had continued the reunification of Islam against the Frankish invaders, a process begun by his father. By the time of his death, Nur al-Din had encircled the Franks by uniting Syria and Egypt. His next step would have been to crush them. But the noose had not yet been drawn tight around the Franks because Egypt was not directly controlled by Nur al-Din; it was ruled by the man who was ostensibly Nur al-Din’s viceroy – the remarkable Saladin.

  A Kurdish nobleman whose father had saved Zengi’s life, Salah al-Din Yusuf was a daunting, cunning and ruthless enemy, attracting admiration from Christian and Muslim alike. William of Tyre described him as being ‘of keen and vigorous mind, valiant in war, and of an extremely generous disposition’.2

  Saladin first won Frankish respect during King Amalric’s campaigns in Egypt in the 1160s. This period ended with Saladin’s uncle, Shirkuh, taking control of Egypt in Nur al-Din’s name in January 1169. The young Saladin had particularly distinguished himself in robustly defending Alexandria against the crusaders. After that battle he even lodged for a while in the crusader camp. As time went on, stories grew up around Saladin’s relations with the Franks. There were tales that he had been a captive in the castle of Kerak during his youth, that he had been schooled in the ways of Christian chivalry, even that he had been dubbed a knight. Saladin’s true character was rather less glossy than the myths: when Shirkuh died after just two months as ruler of Egypt, Saladin used astute politicking, imprisonment and assassination to eliminate all challenges to his authority.* He also quietly extinguished the line of Shi’ite Fatimid caliphs who had ruled Egypt since the year 969. The official version was that in 1171 the last Fatimid caliph conveniently died and the rest of his family lived out their days in seclusion in the palace. William of Tyre reports a different story:

  It is said that at the very beginning of his [Saladin’s] rule, when he visited the caliph…he struck his lord to the ground with a club which he held in his hand and slew him. He then put all the caliph’s children to the sword…3

  In parallel with the demise of the Fatimid dynasty, Saladin began to change the official Islamic sect of Egypt from the minority Shi’ite Islam of the Fatimids to the Sunni orthodox mainstream. In this he was initially following the direct orders of his master, the devout and strictly Sunni Nur al-Din, but Saladin soon saw that the policy was very popular with the Sunni Muslim majority. He then embraced the mission enthusiastically, thoroughly rooting out Shi’ite ‘heresy’ in Egypt. An important part of Saladin’s image, both during his lifetime and in posterity, was built on this reputation as a Sunni champion. During his reign, support from influential Sunni figures such as the Qadi** Al-Fadil would be one of the main pillars of his power.

  While maintaining a veneer of obedience to Nur al-Din, Saladin had actually steadily distanced himself from his overlord. From Syria, Nur al-Din had watched his protégé’s growing independence with anger and alarm. To teach him a lesson, Nur al-Din prepared to invade Egypt in person. Fortunately for Saladin, Nur al-Din’s plans were interrupted by his final illness. His successor was his son, Al-Malik al-Salih, who was just eleven years old. Al-Salih quickly became the pawn of competing emirs, and Nur al-Din’s patient unification of Islamic Syria was undone in a moment, as his dominions fragmented. With the vast wealth and population of Egypt at his disposal, Saladin was left as the most powerful Muslim ruler in the region.

  His luck was in again soon afterwards, when in July 1174 King Amalric of Jerusalem
also died, succumbing to a combination of dysentery and over-eager bleeding from his Frankish doctor. Aged just thirty-eight, he had ruled for eleven years and had been an effective, aggressive and energetic leader who had tirelessly taken the fight to his Muslim foes. His loss was a great blow to the Latin states at an unfortunate moment. The crusaders urgently needed a strong ruler to exploit Nur al-Din’s death and combat the growing menace of Saladin, but Amalric’s heir was his son Baldwin IV, who was just thirteen years old and was afflicted by a grave and mysterious illness.

  Baldwin was a handsome and able youth of great promise, but when he was nine years old, the young prince’s tutor, William of Tyre, had noticed something unusual about him:

  He was playing one day with his companions of noble rank, when they began, as playful boys often do, to pinch each other’s arms and hands with their nails. The other boys gave evidence of pain by their outcries, but Baldwin, although his comrades did not spare him, endured it altogether too patiently, as if he felt nothing… I discovered that his right arm and hand were partially numb, so that he did not feel pinching or even biting in the least.4

  These were the first signs of a terrible and incurable disease. As the boy-king grew older, the symptoms became worse and more visible, as the extremities of his face and limbs began to rot. By the time he was fifteen it was clear that Baldwin was suffering from the disfiguring and debilitating effects of a virulent strain of leprosy.

  Politics adores a power vacuum. Competing barons were soon jostling for pre-eminence around the ailing young king. Foremost among these was Miles de Plancy, lord of the great fief of Oultrejordan, the lands beyond the Jordan River. Miles held the powerful post of seneschal, effectively the king’s deputy. He had been King Amalric’s closest friend, but with Amalric gone, he was proving increasingly unpopular with the baronage. The other contender for power was Count Raymond III of Tripoli, recently ransomed from prison in Aleppo for 80,000 bezants. Raymond was not satisfied with ruling his county of Tripoli; he wanted more. While his nemesis Reynald chafed in prison, Raymond – hungry for power – was assiduously building up his influence in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Raymond was not only the boy-king’s closest male relative, but was now also Prince of Galilee, making him the kingdom’s most powerful magnate. He had gained this status by marrying Princess Eschiva of Galilee, the widow of Reynald’s old comrade-in-arms, Walter of St Omer. On these grounds the ambitious and able Raymond now claimed the regency. In late 1174, at the crusader port of Acre, Raymond’s claim was put before a grand assembly of the nobles of Jerusalem. He won enough support to force Miles de Plancy to give way, and Raymond was officially declared regent. A few nights later, persons unknown murdered Miles in an Acre street.

  While the Franks were paralysed by internal rivalries, the Syrian domains of Nur al-Din splintered into competing statelets. Damascus and Aleppo fell under the control of ambitious emirs. The Zengid Saif al-Din, ruler of Mosul in neighbouring Mesopotamia, seized some Syrian territory but did not have the power or the daring to unite the squabbling city states against the menace of Saladin. The political turbulence would have percolated to Reynald and his fellow prisoners. They must have been given some hope that the changes would bring their release. On Nur al-Din’s death, new efforts at ransom negotiations would have begun very quickly between the Franks and the various emirs jockeying for power in Aleppo. The disappearance of Nur al-Din meant that weaker, greedier Muslim leaders might now be tempted to cash in on the valuable but wasting assets languishing under the citadel.

  The politician who emerged from the pack in Aleppo was Gumushtekin, a eunuch of Frankish origin. He soon brought Nur al-Din’s son and heir, Al-Salih, to Aleppo, to rule as figurehead. Afraid that Gumushtekin would attack their city, the people of Damascus demanded protection. Messengers were sent to Egypt to summon the one man powerful enough to help: Saladin.

  Saladin needed no second invitation. He set off from Egypt with just 700 cavalry and travelled swiftly along the desert fringes, taking the direct route through the Frankish territory of Oultrejordan. Late in October 1174 he entered Damascus and was acclaimed by the populace. Still pretending loyalty to the legitimate Zengid dynasty, Saladin took power in the name of Al-Salih. He maintained this flimsy cover story when he marched north, taking the cities of Homs and Hama, though the citadel of Homs held out. In late December 1174, the murmurs of war may have carried all the way through the stone-clad castle mound to Reynald in his prison, as Saladin laid siege to Aleppo itself. Al-Salih did not fall for Saladin’s empty professions of obedience and, in a rousing speech, inspired the people of Aleppo to resist. ‘This wicked man,’ he told the assembled citizens, ‘who repudiates my father’s goodness to him, has come to take my lands. He respects neither God Almighty, nor his creatures.’5

  Aleppo rallied to its young leader and defied Saladin, but the city’s forces were too weak to hold him off on their own. Just as Damascus in previous times had allied with the Franks against the power of Nur al-Din, so Aleppo now turned to third parties to prevent Saladin from dominating Syria. First Gumushtekin engaged the leader of the Assassins sect, Rashid al-Din Sinan, the ‘Old Man of the Mountain’, to take care of the sultan. Rashid al-Din was happy to help. Desperate to remain independent from orthodox Islamic rule, the Assassins were deeply concerned about Saladin’s tightening grip on Syria.

  Rashid al-Din ordered a squad of his devoted followers to carry out the hit. One night they infiltrated Saladin’s camp. They were just outside Saladin’s tent when a member of the sultan’s entourage happened to recognize one of the killers. Saladin’s guards turned out and cut down the Assassins a few feet from their target. Gumushtekin then turned to the Franks, calling on the recently released Raymond of Tripoli to intervene. Raymond obliged by moving half-heartedly towards the city of Homs in the territory of Damascus. This forced Saladin to raise the siege of Aleppo and move south. Raymond, however, then threw away his advantage. In an early sign of his dangerously accommodating attitude to Saladin, he agreed on a dubious deal: Saladin would forgive Raymond his (substantial) outstanding ransom debt, while Raymond would give Saladin a free hand in Syria. Even according to Raymond’s supporter, William of Tyre, this agreement was ‘decidedly detrimental’ to the Franks, because ‘Saladin should have been resisted to the utmost’. Instead Saladin realized he could buy off the Franks – or Raymond, at least – and rely on their inactivity. After Raymond withdrew, Saladin captured the citadel of Homs and completed his conquest of the city.

  Sold out by Raymond, Al-Malik al-Salih and the other Zengids (including Saif al-din, Lord of Mosul) then tried a united front against Saladin, but in a battle near Hama, Saladin defeated the combined forces of Aleppo and Mosul. He took advantage of his triumph to abandon his empty professions of loyalty to Al-Salih and began striking coinage in his own name, styling himself ‘sultan’. In May of 1175 the caliph in Baghdad sent Saladin robes of office, legitimizing his authority.

  The following year the Zengids tried again to repel the upstart. In March, Saif al-Din led a substantial army into Syria from Mosul. Battle was joined at the Hill of the Sultan near Aleppo. The outcome hung in the balance, until Saladin charged in person and won a decisive victory. He was generous and merciful to his opponents in defeat, winning a lot of admiration in the process. As well as controlling Egypt, Saladin was now firmly in charge of almost all of Syria.

  Only Aleppo remained loyal to Al-Salih, and to replenish his treasury and shore up his alliance of convenience with the Franks, Al-Salih’s minister Gumushtekin began a policy of releasing the prominent Frankish prisoners in Aleppo’s jails. Count Joscelin de Courtenay, without a county since the eradication of Edessa, was freed after more than eleven years of captivity, for a hefty ransom of 50,000 bezants. He made straight for Jerusalem, where his sister Agnes, mother of the young King Baldwin IV, wielded increasingly wide-ranging powers. Joscelin’s arrival boosted the hold of the Courtenay faction at court and he was soon given the plum job of seneschal, bec
oming the king’s deputy and controller of the kingdom’s treasury, La Grande Secrète.

  As well as finally achieving a profit on their long-held assets and showing gratitude to the Franks for their aid, Gumushtekin hoped the warriors he released would help the Franks mount an opposition to Saladin. In Reynald de Chatillon, this hope was realized. Over the next decade he would become Saladin’s most resolute and effective opponent. In the end, though, the prisoner-release policy backfired for Gumushtekin. Freeing the Frankish devils proved unpopular with the people of Aleppo, who felt that the eunuch vizier was too sympathetic to his Western roots. Al-Salih used this as one of the grievances against his vizier when, soon afterwards, he seized personal control of Aleppo. Al-Salih then forced Gumushtekin to surrender his castle of Harim. When the garrison refused to oblige, Al-Salih hung his former vizier upside-down outside the castle walls and tortured him to death.

  In the spring of 1176, the last of all the big beasts to be released, Reynald de Chatillon stepped blinking into the blazing Syrian sunlight. It took the biggest ransom ever paid to free him – 120,000 gold bezants. The amount was literally more than a king’s ransom; it had only cost 80,000 to ransom King Baldwin II in 1124. The magnitude of the ransom reflects Reynald’s awesome reputation amongst the Muslims. The fact that it was paid proves his equally legendary status amongst the crusaders, to many of whom he would have been no more than a revered name from a different age. William of Tyre says that Reynald’s friends raised the vast sum. Who they were we do not know: what was left of Reynald’s old cohorts in Antioch perhaps. Joscelin might have helped – it appears that he and Reynald became very close while confined in Aleppo – but the new seneschal had tapped out his connections to fund his own ransom. Most likely the ultimate source of the 120,000 bezants was Emperor Manuel. At the Byzantine court Reynald’s stepdaughter, the Empress Maria, presumably had her husband’s ear, while Reynald’s son, Baldwin, had impressed Manuel enough to be trusted with a senior military command. Reynald’s daughter Agnes was queen of Byzantium’s client regime in Hungary. Whoever raised the funds, Reynald was thought to be worth the largest sum ever paid in eighty years of crusading ransoms.†