The hatred in Frederick’s eyes was so palpable that Berard took a step back. Where would this battle end? In death? With terrible certainty, he knew that this was to be the greatest crisis of Frederick’s life. And of his own.
Frederick paced up and down. He was clad in a Syrian robe of saffron-colored wool. On his bare feet he wore slippers of red leather, with curling toes. A large topaz, a recent gift of Al-Kamil, gleamed on his left hand.
His first impulse was to leave at once for Sicily. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn’t triumph over Gregory without having recovered Jerusalem. Rainald assured him in his letter that he could contain the papal armies, mostly Lombard mercenaries led by Yolanda’s father, Jean de Brienne. In the north, they had attacked the March of Ancona, near Jesi. In the south, the great abbey-fortress of Montecassino had been surrendered by its spineless abbot. Clearly, Gregory’s aim was to extend his own territories, pushing the boundaries of Sicily further south. How he hoped to maintain his gains puzzled him.
What sinister plan had Jean de Brienne and Gregory hatched together in the Lateran? Surely the pope, who despite his age was highly astute, couldn’t delude himself that he would let him keep these lands upon his return. Was it possible that Yolanda’s father imagined that if Frederick were deposed or assassinated, he could rule Sicily as a papal vassal, in the name of his grandson?
But could he leave the defense of Sicily in the hands of another, even a man as able and as loyal as the Duke of Spoleto? He must recover Jerusalem as fast as possible. Thoughtfully, he looked at the topaz on his hand, turning the golden stone so that its facets caught the sun.
“Mahmoud,” he called, “send a messenger to Acre to fetch Thomas of Acerra. Meanwhile, go and call Balian of Sidon. They will leave for the sultan’s court at dawn.”
He had one last concession to make that he had so far kept back. This he would now offer to the sultan.
* * *
“WHAT MANNER OF man is this emperor of the Franks really?” the Sultan asked.
Fakhr-ed-Din smiled at his cousin, his teeth gleaming white in his dark face. “I’ve told you many times.”
The sultan nodded. “Yes, yes, I know, but what I want to know is, how honorable is he? If he gave his word, would he keep it?”
The emir thought for a moment. “Yes, if he thought that you had used him honorably too.”
The sultan, several years older than his cousin, sat cross-legged on a low dais covered in carpets. A large uncut emerald gleamed in his cream-colored turban adorned with a white ostrich feather.
His cousin reclined across from him against a brocaded bolster. Between them stood a silver platter with sweetmeats.
The walls were painted deep blue, with bright orange and yellow flowers on twisted golden stems. The domed ceiling, of the same intense blue, was sprinkled with golden stars. Through the central horseshoe arch the green valley of Nablus was visible, its almond trees white with blossoms.
Al-Kamil’s hooded, melancholy eyes, at odds with the imperious sweep of his aquiline nose, looked north, toward Damascus. That great prize, which he had thought within reach, continued to elude him. His brother’s widow had recently wed a Muslim convert from Christianity, who had once been a Hospitaller. This man was proving an exceptional general. Taking Al-Kamil’s troops by surprise, he had inflicted a terrible defeat on them and was now threatening their supply lines.
With a grim smile, Al-Kamil thought that like Frederick, he, too, was stretching out his hand toward a city that refused to yield to his will. The only difference was that what the Frankish emperor so persistently demanded was a half-empty agglomeration of crumbling churches and mosques, fed by a single spring and devoid of all wealth. Damascus, however, was a city rich beyond the dreams of avarice, paved with marble and gold, with splendid mosques, palaces, and gardens, surrounded by bountiful fields and palm groves.
Frederick himself said so. Al-Kamil picked up the parchment beside him and reread the emperor’s words.
“… turn your eyes and all the strength of your invincible armies toward Damascus, fount of beauty and riches, gateway to the East, and surrender to me what is rightfully mine. All I ask is a city built on rocks, without water or greenery, filled with rubble and old buildings. My need, oh friend, is greater than yours and so is my desperation. Do not force me to fight you, which I now must, but rather return Jerusalem to me, so that I may again hold up my head with pride. If you do this, I will even permit the holy places of Islam to stand and your people to worship there.”
The sultan shook his head. “He humbles himself like no other ruler I know.”
“Yes, but there is great courage in his humility.” Fakhr-ed-Din cast an appraising glance at his cousin. He could see that sharp mind weighing the benefits and calculating the risks. The sultan leaned forward and took one of the little cakes.
“The emperor has offered to leave the shrines of Islam in Muslim hands,” Fakhr-ed-Din said. “Give him Jerusalem, and instead of more warfare, which you can ill afford right now, you’ll have a loyal ally.”
The sultan knitted his thick brows. “You have always given me wise counsel, cousin. I think I’ll take your advice and rid myself of this Frankish emperor, who disturbs my sleep.” He smoothed his beard. “I almost regret never having met him. Although he’s a Christian and I am a descendant of the Prophet, I think we would have had much to talk about. I, too, am bedeviled by power-hungry old men who in the name of Allah are trying to stifle thought.”
With a twinkle in his eye, the sultan added, “You may bring the proposal for a treaty to your friend the emperor yourself.”
JERUSALEM, MARCH 1229
The road ran steeply up into the hills of Judaea through barren, rocky terrain. Here and there, brown mud villages hedged with low stone walls sat among figs and olives. Scrawny black goats, beards quivering, scrambled over the rocks.
At the infrequent wells, tall Bedouin in voluminous sand-colored robes, lords of the desert who owed allegiance to no one, watered their surly-looking camels or filled their waterskins. The Bedouin cast disdainful glances at the great host of Christians, while sullen-faced fellahin gathered outside their villages, staring at the endless line of men and horses that climbed the road to Jerusalem in a great choking cloud of dust.
The banners hung limply in the still, warm air of the afternoon. Frederick rode at the head of the cavalcade, flanked by Hermann and Berard. Behind the mounted knights and men-at-arms followed more than a thousand pilgrims, mostly Germans, on foot. Men and women, clad in gray homespun, wearing wide hats with turned-up brims, satchels slung over their shoulders, and the traditional wooden pilgrim’s staff in their hands, labored on through the hills. Footsore and weary, they were sustained by a single hope: to reach Jerusalem. As a precaution against brigands who often attacked stragglers, Frederick had ordered a detachment of mounted knights to follow behind the last pilgrims.
The scent of wild thyme that grew in drifts between the rocks mingled with the smell of dust, a fine, white dust particular to Judaea. It’s like the dust of marble, Frederick thought, the dust of vanished ages … They reached a high ridge called the Mount of Joy. From here, for centuries pilgrims from the west had had their first glimpse of the Holy City. Frederick reined in his horse. “Jerusalem!” he cried.
Berard’s heart filled with joy. He turned to Frederick. They exchanged a smile, before turning back to stare at the city that meant so much to both of them, for such different reasons.
The great lion-colored walls of Jerusalem rose atop a barren plateau of rock. Stony ravines and bleak, deep wadis ran off to the sides. Here and there, sparse tufts of vegetation had found a foothold in the crevices between the rocks, rounded and smoothed by the winds that had swept over them since the time of Abraham.
Jerusalem. Frederick had long ago wearied of the name. Yet, now that he beheld her, he was spellbound. Before him lay the city of David, of Solomon and Herod, where Christ had perished on
the cross. Jerusalem had been destroyed and rebuilt many times in her long history. Titus razed her to the ground less than forty years after the crucifixion, scattering her Jewish inhabitants to the four corners of the earth. Under Hadrian, Jerusalem became a Roman city. Three hundred years later, when Constantine adopted Christianity as the religion of the Empire, the holy sites were searched for and turned into places of pilgrimage.
With the advent of Islam, the Byzantines lost control of the city. Although Christian pilgrims were permitted by the Saracens to visit the holy shrines against payment of a tax, they were increasingly attacked, robbed, and murdered. Europe, too, was plagued at that time by unprecedented violence, often committed by roving bands of unemployed mercenaries or landless younger sons of the nobility. As a remedy to both problems, Pope Gregory the Great launched the first crusade. The result was the foundation of the kingdom of Jerusalem and the Christian principalities in the East. Their fate had been one of constant battles with the Saracens, of lands gained and lands lost …
At length, Frederick gave the signal to continue. His entry into Jerusalem would surely be the strangest in her long history. An excommunicated emperor being handed the keys to the most sacred city in Christendom by the sultan’s representative!
By his treaty with Al-Kamil, after much haggling back and forth, he had obtained not only Jerusalem, but Bethlehem and Nazareth as well. He had thus recovered the three holiest shrines of Christianity: the places of the Annunciation, the Birth, and the Crucifixion. In addition the sultan had ceded other lands and several important crusader fortresses, including the great castle of Montfort. While it was true that Jerusalem was linked to the sea only by a narrow corridor of Christian land, the treaty was nevertheless a resounding success. The truce was valid for ten years, ten months, and ten days, the longest period for which Islamic law permitted a truce with the infidel.
Incredibly, neither the clergy nor the princes of Outremer had been pleased. The princes, resentful of his secretive negotiations with the sultan, were furious that he had signed the treaty without consulting them. The patriarch Gerold, still seething with anger at being outwitted, condemned it because Frederick had granted the Muslims possession of their holy shrines. Not only had the enraged patriarch refused to accompany him to Jerusalem, but he had also threatened to place the Holy City under an interdict if Frederick were to set foot in the city. The Templars and the Hospitallers refused to follow him to Jerusalem. Frederick had been unperturbed. He no longer had need of their fighting capacity. Jerusalem was his.
Without so much as drawing his sword, he had accomplished what the third, fourth, and fifth crusades had failed to achieve with a great deal of bloodshed.
THE SUN WAS beginning to set as they entered the city gates. The pilgrims, beside themselves with joy, swept forward, past the riders. They sank to their knees to kiss the ground that had been hallowed by the footsteps of Christ. Many began filling their satchels with stones.
“What are they doing?” Frederick asked Hermann.
“The stones of Jerusalem are venerable, my lord. Some they keep for themselves, but most they sell when they get home. They’re considered almost as holy as relics.”
The local population, dark-skinned, bearded men and veiled women, Jews, Christians, and Arabs, surrounded by ragged children, stared at them with appraising eyes. Frederick thought how similar they looked despite their different beliefs. During centuries of foreign domination, Jerusalem had changed masters and religions innumerable times. After satisfying themselves that no immediate danger was to be expected from this latest change, they melted back into the warren of vaulted streets sunk in age.
The sultan’s representative, the elderly Qadi of Nablus, received Frederick on a dusty square laid with carpets. With a solemn gesture, he handed him the keys of the city. Beside him stood Fakr-ed-Din. As his eyes met Frederick’s, the emir permitted himself a flicker of complicity.
A hook-nosed man with the proud bearing and leathery face of a desert dweller, the qadi bowed. “My lord, as there is no suitable palace to lodge you, I would be deeply honored if you would accept the hospitality of my worthless home.”
Frederick replied in Arabic, “I am sure that in your splendid home I will enjoy all the blessings of Allah.”
Frederick’s attention had been caught by a building that rose behind the square.
“The Dome of the Rock,” the qadi informed him, following his eyes, “whence the Prophet Mohammed, peace and benediction be on his name, ascended to heaven.”
A masterpiece of architectural simplicity, it resembled a crown of stone, with an octagonal base sheathed in white marble, capped by an immense golden dome. One day, Frederick thought, I’ll build a castle such as this. I’ll set it like a circlet above the hills of Apulia.
Hermann cleared his throat. “The horses are here.”
Frederick started. “Yes, of course.”
“You might be interested to know that the building before you occupies the site of the Jewish temple where Christ preached to the Pharisees,” Hermann said.
“The temple of Solomon?” Frederick’s eyes widened.
“Well, yes. It had been rebuilt by Herod before then, I believe, but it was the same temple. Over there, beyond that arcade, lie the ruins of a huge wall of great stone blocks. That is all that is left of the temple. The few Jews who remain here call it the Wailing Wall and go to pray there, bewailing the fate of their dispersed nation. The rock that is now within the dome was below the altar in the Jewish temple. The Knights of the Temple had their first quarters there, in the early days of the kingdom, hence their name.”
Frederick grimaced at the mention of the Templars. “Have you been inside?”
“Christians aren’t allowed in Muslim shrines.” He added, “Not that I’ve ever had any desire to.”
Frederick turned to the qadi. He smiled. “That building is a marvel such as I have rarely beheld. I would very much like to visit it tomorrow.”
The qadi bowed. “It shall be done as you command, my lord.”
Hermann, aghast, touched Frederick’s elbow. “Tomorrow, my lord, you will be crowned. I do not think …”
“Nonsense!” Frederick interrupted him. “There’s no reason why I can’t be crowned in the morning and pay my respects to the temple where Jesus preached in the afternoon, now is there?”
Hermann looked at him, clearly exasperated: “If you put it that way,” he said.
* * *
FREDERICK COULD SCARCELY believe his eyes. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the holiest shrine in Christendom, resembled a gloomy, smoke-blackened labyrinth of low little chapels and dark passageways. Narrow, worn stairways led upward into yet more chapels or down into damp rock caverns. Crumbling mosaics and moth-eaten tapestries covered the walls. The Byzantines and Latins shared custody of the church, bickering over every inch of holy ground.
The church, built by the crusaders on the remains of the original basilica erected by Constantine, covered the hill of Golgotha. At the western end was a pillared rotunda above which soared a dome. Under this stood the tomb of Christ.
The last echoes of the choir faded away. The thanksgiving Mass for the delivery of Jerusalem, celebrated by Sicilian clergymen because no local prelates dared to do so, came to an end.
The huge crowd of pilgrims and soldiers shifted their feet. To one side stood the superiors of the religious orders, who ran hospices, convents, and monasteries in Jerusalem. Despite the pope’s ban and the patriarch’s interdict, they had come that morning to thank Frederick for delivering Jerusalem.
On the altar, on a cushion of blue damask, lay the crown of Jerusalem, glittering in the light of hundreds of oil lamps suspended from the ceiling.
Frederick, following a sudden inspiration, turned and walked toward the tomb of the Redeemer. Bending under the low doorway, he entered the sanctuary. He knelt in the tiny chamber. The Stone of Resurrection on the tomb was worn and dented, eroded by centuries of veneration. He pressed hi
s forehead against the rock. The stone was cold, as cold as death. He, too, felt cold, chilled to the bone. He shivered. The terror that for months he had forced into the deepest recesses of his soul suddenly overwhelmed him. Frederick gripped the Stone of the Resurrection with both hands. “I beseech you, Oh Lord, protect Sicily … Protect my people from this madman and the terrible power he wields over the minds of men …” To his astonishment, a great peace flowed into him. All fear, hatred, and bitterness left him. Warmth returned to his body. He closed his eyes. To remain thus, at peace, forever …
This, then, he thought full of awe, is the meaning of God. Not perpetual happiness, but instants of light … Yet it could not last, the outside world waited for him, splendid in its terrible beauty. At length, with an effort, he rose and stepped back into the church.
He halted before the altar, and looked down at the crown of Jerusalem. There was a sudden, tense stillness. He reached for the crown. Then, with both hands, he placed it on his head.
Cheers in a babel of different languages went up. The German pilgrims broke into “Heil dem Kaiser, Heil dem Kaiser!” The Sicilians and English shouted, “Ave Imperator, Ave Fredericus Rex et Imperator!” The few princes of Outremer who were present hailed him in French.
Berard’s eyes stung. He saw both the triumph and sadness in Frederick’s eyes. By crowning himself, he had just defied a thousand years of Christian tradition.
Frederick raised his hand, commanding silence.
“My lords, venerable princes of the Church, good people,” he began in Latin, “I vowed I would recover Jerusalem, and I have done so. I did not wish to place a burden on the conscience of the churchmen here today. That is why I have set this diadem upon my head myself. I have not done so out of insolence, but in deep reverence of God, who has chosen me to wear it.” His voice echoed through the nave.
He went on to describe the events since he took the cross in Aachen, and how he had redeemed his crusading vow and recovered the holy places despite the obstacles placed in his way, aided by God. He ended on a conciliatory note, saying that the pope’s attitude could be due only to ignorance of his real intentions and that the pontiff would surely grieve over the hostile letters he had sent to Outremer now that Jerusalem had been delivered. Out of his reverence for the Most High, Frederick said, he was prepared to make peace with His representative on earth, once the pope had seen the error of his ways.
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