Holy Warriors (21 page)

He began to use this position to destabilize the standing of al-Adid, the Fatimid imam or spiritual leader.
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Saladin provoked a fight with the imam’s black infantry regiment, the force that underpinned his authority, and he duly defeated them and executed the survivors. He fought off a combined Frankish-Byzantine invasion at the coastal city of Damietta in the autumn of 1169 and then secured the pacification of upper Egypt to assure his
authority in the south. In accordance with a familiar practice in the Muslim world he then buttressed his position by the appointment of family members to senior posts in the government. His father became the treasurer of Cairo and his brother Saphadin was made ruler of the Yemen. He founded Sunni law colleges, dismissed Shi’a judges and, after he had secured the allegiance of the administrative classes (many of whom were Sunni anyway), he felt strong enough to omit the name of al-Adid from Friday prayers, thereby removing one of the great symbols of power in the Islamic world (the other being the minting of coins) from the imam. Within days al-Adid was dead—possibly killed by one of Saladin’s brothers—and Sunni Islam had swept aside its bitter rival. Such progress aside, looming over this burgeoning family enclave was the specter of Saladin’s relationship with Nur ad-Din.

The extension of Sunni Islam was a source of delight to Nur ad-Din; yet his ability to control Saladin had become a cause of deep concern. As the man responsible for the young man’s advancement he understandably felt that his protégé owed him some degree of loyalty; the Ayyubid family’s growing entrenchment in a land of such immense riches and the clan’s acquisition of so many key political positions were a threat to his authority. In September 1171 Nur ad-Din summoned Saladin to join him at the siege of the Frankish castle of Kerak in Transjordan.
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Saladin did not appear, blaming tensions in Cairo for his absence; his commander was not remotely impressed and made his displeasure clear—he even threatened military action. The Ayyubid clan debated how to react if Nur ad-Din were to invade Egypt. Saladin’s father spoke out, saying that they should obey Nur ad-Din, but later, in private, told his son that this had been a facade and that he should simply avoid open dissent with the Syrian.
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The Ayyubids were clearly playing a long game here and realized that as yet they could not afford open war with their former patron. Saladin’s behavior during this period poses a major challenge to his image as a selfless holy warrior. Some contemporaries were explicit about the fact that he knowingly defied his overlord and that his wish to rule over the Yemen, for example, was motivated by the need for a safe refuge should Nur ad-Din defeat him. It seems that Saladin had exploited the collapse of the Fatimid dynasty to establish his family’s position in the wealthiest land of the Near East. He had acted quickly and decisively to make the most of the situation but in doing so he acquired a taste for independence. For Nur ad-Din’s part the ongoing
danger of Frankish invasions and his own plans to attack Antioch and Jerusalem were obvious reasons why he was reluctant to provoke a civil war. Yet there seems little doubt that he had lost control over Saladin whose approach looked increasingly out of step with the jihad against the Christians.

Notwithstanding these disturbing tremors across the Islamic Near East, the Syrian Muslims’ acquisition of Egypt caused consternation in the Frankish lands. William of Tyre wrote that “the wise men of the kingdom began to realise that the subjugation of Egypt by the Turks had been a serious injury to us and our situation had become materially worse.”
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Amalric dispatched Archbishop Frederick of Tyre, the most senior figure yet to be used as a diplomat, in an attempt to convince his coreligionists in the West of the need to act. The king wrote that the Christian territories were being ground away and broken up by the forces of Islam. He argued that the possibility of being blockaded by land and sea would prevent the safe passage of pilgrims—an effort to show how the spiritual well-being of all the faithful would be affected. Personal meetings with the pope, King Louis VII of France, and King Henry II of England raised Frederick’s hopes, but he had arrived at an inopportune time. The two monarchs blamed each other for the threat of invasion, and gathering tension over the Thomas Becket affair added a further complication. By the autumn of 1170, however, Frederick may have convinced Henry—who was also the nephew of King Amalric—to set out on a crusade the following spring. Unfortunately for the Holy Land, and for a certain archbishop, the murder in Canterbury Cathedral put paid to such plans. In the end, Frederick of Tyre was unable to secure anything more than tearful expressions of regret and promises of money—but not the crusade Amalric required.
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Probably Amalric’s most ambitious diplomatic efforts involved the Byzantine Empire. William of Tyre related that in early 1171 the king and his courtiers discussed how best to secure help: most recommended another appeal to the West—hardly an innovative line of thought. The king agreed to this, but then gathered his inner circle about him and made a further suggestion. Against a flurry of protest he decided to journey to Constantinople and to pay homage to Emperor Manuel Comnenus in person. In doing so he hoped to convince the Greeks to help defend the Holy Land. For the crowned ruler of Christ’s city to make such a voyage and to submit to the authority of another monarch was a clear indication of the danger from the Muslim world. Amalric’s actions suggested deep skepticism that
the West would ever respond to his embassies and a perception that his marriage ties with the Greeks, plus their shared task of custodians of the holy places against the advance of Islam, would be reasons enough to prompt a reaction.

In March the king reached Constantinople where he was welcomed in the magnificent style that was the trademark of the Byzantine court. William of Tyre described games, races at the hippodrome, banquets, and celebrations, but he chose not to state explicitly what Amalric and Manuel discussed. Instead he used the rather elliptical statement that the king and the emperor made a treaty agreeable to them both, perhaps wary of how his western European readers would respond to Amalric’s submission.
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John Kinnamos, a contemporary Byzantine official, had no need of such circumspection and he wrote: “[Amalric] came to Byzantium to petition the emperor . . . obtaining what he sought he agreed to many things including his subjection to the emperor on those terms.”
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By way of demonstrating his concern for the Holy Land, Manuel also sponsored a series of construction projects to enhance important religious sites, most notably the fine Byzantine mosaics (complete with Greek inscriptions) that still adorn the nave of the Church of the Holy Nativity in Bethlehem.
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In late July 1174 a Sicilian fleet of almost two hundred vessels, with one thousand knights and five hundred Turcopoles (lightly armed cavalry), landed on the beaches of Alexandria and started to invest the city. The Sicilian forces were extremely well equipped and constructed siege towers, battering rams, and catapults that hurled specially shipped black volcanic rocks from Mount Etna. The attack seemed particularly well timed because on May 15 Nur ad-Din had died. Religious differences apart, even William of Tyre paid tribute to him as “a just prince, valiant and wise and, according to the traditions of his race, a religious man.”
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He was an inspirational leader and had provided real impetus to the cause of the jihad. Imad ad-Din wrote his funeral eulogy, which included this statement:

Although Nur ad-Din and Saladin were at loggerheads, the demise of the senior ruler of the Muslim Near East must have provoked considerable uncertainty. In Alexandria, fierce resistance curtailed the Sicilians’ initial momentum but, confusingly for the crusaders, there was no sign of support from the kingdom of Jerusalem. In fact, by this time the Christians too had lost their leader. On July 11 Amalric succumbed to an attack of dysentery: Greek, Syrian, and Frankish doctors had labored in vain for several days to save him, but at thirty-eight years old he was laid to rest alongside his brother in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

The near-simultaneous loss of Nur ad-Din and Amalric obviously had a profound impact upon both Christian and Muslim lands. Saladin provided the Islamic world with an ambitious and experienced figure poised to extend his power and take the holy war to his enemy. On the Frankish side, however, Amalric was succeeded by his thirteen-year-old son, Baldwin IV, and, to exacerbate the inevitable uncertainties of a minority king, the youth was rumored to have leprosy, the most feared medical condition of the medieval age.
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Baldwin would rule for almost eleven years, although at the time of his coronation it is unlikely that the outward symptoms of the illness were visible. William of Tyre described how, when still a boy, Baldwin was playing with his friends and while the other boys cried out in pain during their fights the prince “endured it all patiently, as if he felt nothing. . . . At first I supposed it proceeded from his endurance, but I discovered that he did not feel pinching or even biting in the least. I began to feel uneasy. . . . Repeated fomentations, oil rubs and even poisonous remedies were employed without result. . . . For, as we recognised in the process of time, these were the premonitory symptoms of a most serious and incurable disease which became plainly apparent.”
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Once the king reached puberty the leprosy took a firmer hold and plunged him deeper and deeper into disability, often associated with fevers; the illness would then plateau and he could reassume some level of authority.

As the nobility gathered to elect Amalric’s successor, Baldwin’s health was already a cause for worry, but the diagnosis was by no means certain—if he proved healthy this would be a terrible slight to the youth. The best compromise was to choose Baldwin and then find his sister Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem a husband who could be a suitable regent or king if necessary. Baldwin was duly crowned on July 15, 1174—the seventy-fifth anniversary of the capture of Jerusalem by the First Crusaders: in theory, an auspicious day. Health aside, the new king was described as a skilled rider, as having a quick mind and a love of stories.

The first man to act as regent during Baldwin’s minority was the arrogant and autocratic Miles of Plancy; such traits were entirely inappropriate to the unsettled atmosphere of the time and he was murdered on the streets of Acre.
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His replacement, Count Raymond III of Tripoli, emerged as one of the most influential and ambitious men of the land, as well as a potential candidate for the throne of Jerusalem on account of his status as the king’s cousin. Because our main source, William of Tyre, was a partisan of the count we have a closely observed impression of the man: “He was a thin man . . . not very tall with dark skin, straight medium-coloured hair and piercing eyes. . . . He had an orderly mind, was cautious, but acted with vigour. He was more than averagely abstemious in his eating and drinking habits and although he was liberal to strangers he was not so affable to his own men.”
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The contemporary Muslim writer Ibn Jubayr saw him as a man of “authority and position . . . he is qualified to be king . . . he is described as being shrewd and crafty.”
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Raymond came to head one of the two rival factions who vied for control over the kingdom.
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The other was led by Baldwin’s mother, Agnes. She was a more controversial figure, in part because her gender opened her to some harsh, if stereotypical, criticism. William of Tyre hated her for denying him the premier ecclesiastical job in the land, that of patriarch of Jerusalem. To him, therefore, she was “relentless in her acquisitiveness and truly hateful to God.”
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Other writers cast aspersions on her morality. In reality, as Baldwin’s mother, Agnes was in a position of considerable influence and her guiding hand was vital in his maintenance of power and resisting the ambitions of Count Raymond.

It is likely that within a year or so of his coronation the king’s leprosy became certain and thus it became imperative to find a husband for Sibylla. William Longsword, marquis of Montferrat (in northern Italy, near Turin) appeared an ideal candidate. He was related to the ruling houses of France
and Germany and could be expected to represent the interests of Jerusalem at the highest levels. He came to the Levant in November 1176; within weeks Sibylla was pregnant, but in May 1177 William fell ill and died two months later to reopen the issue of regency.
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In the meantime Saladin had started his bid to rule the Muslim Near East. He marched to Damascus where he took control of the city and married his former commander’s widow—a reasonably common course of action in the Islamic world and a move designed to associate a newcomer with the former regime. Twice Saladin’s opponents employed the Assassins to try to murder the sultan although both attempts failed. With Saladin portraying himself as the champion of Sunni orthodoxy, the Assassins were a prime target for suppression. The Shi’ite sect soon found a way to resist: if the Sunni rulers of Aleppo were prepared to tolerate the Assassins’ presence around their nearby base at Masyaf, then it was worth trying to kill their common enemy. In the first attack, Assassins infiltrated the sultan’s camp only to be recognized as outsiders. In the ensuing scuffle one of Saladin’s emirs and several of his soldiers were killed, but the sultan remained unharmed. In May 1176, Assassins again used disguise to penetrate his camp and this time they managed to stab him, but armor under his clothes prevented serious injury. Thereafter Saladin was forced to take highly elaborate precautions against future attempts on his life, including sleeping in a tent on stilts.
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