THE REIGN OF GUY DE LUSIGNAN (1186-1213)
Part VIII: Matters of Life and Death
As the summer of 1203 came upon Jerusalem like a reborn phoenix, the season brought peril in its wake. Though the Lusignan royal dynasty prospered, the Kingdom of Jerusalem itself struggled to maintain its cohesion. Having so many powerful vassals with strong traditions of independence, King Guy was more of the first among equals than the true lord of the realm. The aging King acutely felt the need to increase his power and strengthen his holdings before younger men began to try to take them from him.
What was worse, the “old guard” generation of nobles loyal to the crown was dying out. With Gerard de Ridefort already dead of his wounds, and Reynald de Chatillon expiring at his monastic retreat, the realm was once again bereaved of one of its greatest leaders when Raymond of Tiberias, the sagacious Count of Tripoli, died at last under the weight of his many years.
In Memoriam: Raymond, Gerard, Reynald.
Although the King would never have believed it himself, most of the high-ranking members of his court, including his own Queen, believed that it was only through the great patience and wisdom of Tiberias that Guy had not already destroyed the kingdom with his foolhardy, reckless behavior. Without the guiding hand of the pious Raymond to steer Guy away from rash action, many feared for the future.
And so it was that Bertrand of Tripoli, Raymond’s only son and heir, came to the Holy City on Midsummer’s Day to claim his inheritance and swear his oath of fealty to Guy de Lusignan. Bertrand entered the al-Aqsa Palace with a swagger more befitting an effete Sicilian robber baron than a noble lord of the Crusader States. After all, since the Lords of Outremer were rulers of the Holy Land, much more was expected of them than the petty nobles of Europe.
Though Bertrand resembled his father physically, in temperament he was far different. Despite being a great lord in his own right, Tiberias had always worn the blue livery of the Kingdom of Jerusalem to show his loyalty. In marked contrast, Bertrand proudly displayed the red and white of Tripoli in spite of the fact that he had not yet even received that title. The courtiers whispered about the young knight as he approached the twin thrones -- Raymond’s care-lined face had always shown his deep humility and reverence, but Bertrand’s betrayed a cocky self-assurance that was downright dangerous. The apple had truly fallen far from the tree.
Brushing his scarlet cape aside with a flourish, Bertrand exaggeratedly bowed before Guy and Sibylla, though he never broke eye contact with the King. “Your Grace,” he said with a grin, “I am Bertrand. I come to claim my father’s lands and wealth from you as is the tradition in the Kingdom…” Bertrand paused for a moment, as if deliberately overlooking something, “Oh, and to swear my allegiance to you, sire. How could I forget?”
Guy’s eyes narrowed. “What lands are they that you so impertinently desire to receive from my hand?” he said ominously. He was obviously unimpressed with the young Bertrand’s flamboyance.
“Why none other than the lands my father claimed as his demesne,” said Bertrand, a bit startled, “The County of Tripoli which is the seat of my ancestors, and the Principality of Galilee, which my father had by marriage.”
“Tripoli and Galilee…” Guy mused, “We will grant to you the former as a lawful inheritance, but as for the latter… we desire to reserve it for our most royal son,” he indicated the teenaged Godfrey, who was standing beside his mother’s throne looking rather peaked.
“What?!” Godfrey croaked and Bertrand shouted in a near perfect unison.
“Perhaps the noble son of Lord Raymond suffers from a hearing ailment?” Guy sneered, ignoring his own son’s outburst, “Allow me to speak a little more plainly… You will surrender Galilee to the crown or suffer the consequences!”
“How dare you…” Bertrand began, only to be cut off by the King.
“I do what I please!” Guy roared, “I am King! Now, dog, take the paltry scraps I have given you and get out of my sight before I have you thrown into the dungeons!”
Bertrand growled, then abruptly turned on his heel and strode out of the throne room. An aura of dread seemed to hang in the great hall, and for a moment utter silence prevailed. Then Guy spoke again, his face contorted in a snarl, “Is there anyone else here who wishes to challenge me? Let him speak! Come on! I defy you!” The courtiers looked on in horror, but all held their tongues for fear of provoking the already enraged Guy.
Would YOU want to cross him?
And so the War of Galilean Succession began. Bertrand refused to surrender Galilee to Guy, and the King in turn declared open war on his erstwhile vassal. The other vassals of the realm were understandably disturbed by Guy’s display of royal fiat. Guy’s arbitrary declaration of war left many of the nobles feeling nervous. However, some were also left feeling dangerously angry.
***
Bohemond of Antioch held the parchment in his hands, staring at the symbols he could not interpret, but knowing what they said all the same. “It is a call to arms from the king, my liege,” said his chamberlain, “There is to be war with Tripoli.” Bohemond nodded; body language was always preferable to a stammer.
He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, visions of his own futile war with Guy years earlier bitterly dancing across his mind. His city in flames… himself kneeling before that horrible man… even clutching his hand, stammering a pledge of loyalty, feeling grateful that he was able to keep his life, let alone his lands. He cursed himself every day for being too weak to preserve Antioch’s independence, and especially for the horrible stutter that had veritably emasculated him in the eyes of his peers.
“What answer shall I send to His Majesty?” asked the chamberlain, “Do you wish to respond to his call to arms?”
Bohemond opened his eyes, wiping the tears away with his sleeve. “N-n-no,” he stammered, “S-s-send n-n-nothing at all.”
***
Several months later, the fortress of Tiberias in Galilee was besieged by the Royal Host of Jerusalem. Clad in glittering armor, Crown Prince Godfrey watched as his father’s faithful retainers climbed siege towers over Tiberias’ battlements. He stood afar off behind the siege works with his father King Guy, and his brother-in-law Conrad the Marshal.
Conrad yawned. He had seen so many sieges in his young life that they were becoming monotonous. “It won’t be long now.” he said.
Godfrey felt uncomfortable. He had no problem with wars and bloodshed – he had been trained since childhood for such responsibilities. It was just that this particular war was fought for no reason at all save that his father wanted to give him a parcel of land. That didn’t sit well with Godfrey; it just wasn’t, well,
just. True, he had begged his father for his own demesne a few months before, but he had meant something relatively small, like maybe Bethlehem. He just wanted his own little town and maybe a tower and a wall to protect.
This was definitely not what Godfrey had in mind. Never mind Bertrand’s demeanor, he was the latest scion of the great Counts of Tripoli! Didn’t that count for anything? He wished his father had not done this, but there was no turning back now. Guy de Lusignan never changed his mind.
“Ah, here we are!” said Conrad, matter-of-factly, “Sooner than I had anticipated.” The King’s banner was flying above Bertrand’s keep.
“Good,” growled Guy, frowning. Godfrey was always afraid to speak when his father had that particular expression. It just wasn’t safe. And Guy was still angry about his other vassals. None of the semi-independent lords of the north had agreed to come. Bohemond was understandably upset, considering his own situation, but to refuse even to send an answer? Guillaume of Edessa had at least sent a note saying his was too preoccupied with trouble at home, even if no one believed it. The sickly Guillaume was quickly gaining a reputation as both a lunatic and a heretic.
As for Isaac of Cyprus and Leon of Armenia, Godfrey’s mother had said they were plotting something. No doubt they would send contrite messages to the king after the war was over, apologizing for not getting the message on time, or for being held up in foul weather. They were certainly not trustworthy in the slightest—
Godfrey’s train of thought was broken by the outpouring of cheers from the victorious Jerusalemite troops as they poured out through the citadel’s broken gates. In their midst, a handful of brawny knights were hauling out the defiant Bertrand, kicking and screaming, his scarlet cloak dragging in the mud.
When they reached the royal party the knights promptly dropped Bertrand in the mud at Guy’s feet. “So!” said Guy, “We meet again… you rebellious cur!” The King kicked the mud-splattered nobleman in the face, knocking him flat on his back. “You dare to raise your sword against me, your lawful God-appointed master! I should skewer you there in the mud like the squealing pig you are! What do you have to say for yourself?!”
Bertrand ambled back to his knees, his look of fear changing to one of rage. “You took from me what was rightfully mine! I have claim on Tripoli from my father and Galilee from my mother. You have no right to either!”
Guy backhanded Bertrand, drawing blood. Godfrey winced. “I am the King of Jerusalem!” Guy barked, “I am the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre! I am heir to David and steward for Christ and this land is mine! All mine, you hear, and I won’t suffer any arrogant young fools trying to take it away from me!”
“Galilee is mine!” Bertrand began, but was shouted down by Guy.
“Galilee is
MINE!” the King roared, “I have proven it through force of arms like a man.”
“My men in Tripoli won’t submit to this outrage!” Bertrand spat, “They’ll fight you to the last.”
“Oh, I doubt that!” Guy laughed, “When they hear news of their lord’s capture at the hands of his rightful king, I think they’ll surrender the city rather quickly.”
“You have no claim on Tripoli,” said Bertrand, visibly shaking, “It has belonged to the family of Saint-Gilles since my ancestors captured it from the Saracens years ago!”
“Need I remind you that I am king?” said Guy, scoffing, “Or did you miss that whole discussion we had moments ago?” He drew his sword and said insidiously, “Oh, it’s no question of whether or not your family will keep its lands. It’s a question of whether I present you to your men in Tripoli squirming and helpless, or whether I fling your head to them over the battlements! And considering how our little exchange is going, I’m definitely inclined towards the latter!”
Bertrand’s defiant façade began to crack. The poor fool had finally realized that he could actually be facing his own imminent death. He clasped his hands and began to grovel for his life, the words slurring together in a panicky gibberish that made Godfrey feel ill. Guy seemed to relish the moment. He put his blade to the wretch’s neck to lift his head and make eye contact once again.
And then Prince Godfrey finally decided that he had had enough. “For God’s sake, let the man have his patrimony and be done with it!” he shouted. It came out a bit louder than Godfrey had planned. Everyone turned to look at him, not just Guy, who was now glowering at his son with the same intensity he had been leveling at Bertrand only moments before. Even Bertrand looked up from the mud at the young prince, his jaw dropped in utter bewilderment.
“What?” Guy asked, almost under his breath, as if in disbelief that
anyone, let alone his own son and heir, would dare to contradict him.
“Tripoli is the seat of his ancestors,” said Godfrey, his former confidence now rapidly slipping away, “It would be wrong to deprive him of it.”
“He refused to obey his king, even incited his people to open rebellion against the crown, and you want him to keep his family lands?! What are you thinking?!” Guy’s voice increased from a whisper to a roar as his temper flared yet again.
“It would be wrong,” Godfrey said simply.
“You know what?” said Guy, his face twitching in spastic fury, “Fine!” He threw down his sword in the mud. “But from now on, he’s
your problem. I don’t want to hear his name spoken in my presence again! Consider him your vassal. If he has complaints, you will attend to them. If he is attacked, you will protect him. And if he rebels again, you will handle it by yourself, Prince of Galilee!” Guy stormed off back towards his tent, leaving his sword sitting in the puddle where he had thrown it, and muttering something that sounded like “ungrateful little brat.” A squire quickly picked the blade up and began wiping it clean before running to follow the King.
“Come on, up you get,” said Godfrey, offering a hand to the humiliated Bertrand and helping to lift the man to his feet. Unfortunately, gone from Bertrand’s face was the look of penitence, replaced once again by the cocky self-assurance that had made Guy hate him in the first place.
“Thanks,” said Bertrand, brushing off his tunic and walking away nonchalantly.
“Great,” thought Godfrey, “He thinks I’m weak for standing up for him. This is not going to be good…” He shook his head and turned to walk back to the camp.
***
“Welcome to my parlor…”
The scratching at the door continued ceaselessly. “This had better be good!” Frederica said angrily, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t like to be interrupted when she was attending to important “affairs of state.”
“You can go,” she said to her companion, a muscular Nubian whose name she couldn’t remember. The man said nothing, merely bowing his head and turning to depart through the secret door that led from the Queen’s bedchamber to her “harem.” She quickly threw a silken gown around her shoulders and hurried to the main door.
“Who is it?” she called out crossly, “You’re disturbing some very important matters of state!”
“It’s Cassima,” came the reply, “I have news.”
Cassima was quite an intelligent woman, so much so that Frederica had appointed the young Saracen her chancellor. She knew better than to interrupt the Queen unless it was important, and Frederica trusted her implicitly.
Frederica opened the door. “What is it?” she asked, brushing a wayward strand of red hair out of her face.
“He has agreed to meet you!” the girl almost giggled in delight, “In three months time, he’s coming here!”
“Good, good,” crooned Frederica, “It looks like everything is working out just like I planned.” She narrowed her eyes and dropped her voice to a whisper, “And then the
real fun begins…”
***
Joscelin of Edessa held his head in his hands. “Your brother really must do penance for his sins,” the priest continued.
Joscelin looked up at the clergyman, his young eyes showing exhaustion beyond their years. “You try telling him that,” he groaned, dropping his head back into his hands. The shouting began again, echoing down the corridor to the little room in the court chapel where the two men sat. “You see what I mean?” Joscelin gestured in the direction of the noise.
The eighteen-year-old Joscelin was in quite a predicament. After decades in exile, his father Joscelin III had finally retaken his rightful lands in Edessa, only to die on crusade just a few short years later. His death would not have been such a great cause for grief, had he not been succeeded by
Guillaume, young Joscelin’s older brother. Guillaume had been sick as long as Joscelin could remember, in both body and mind. He was pallid and thin, and his eyes seemed fixed in a perpetual stare, no matter who he was looking at. Guillaume had not handled his years of sickness well; he had developed a penchant for profanity, blaming God for his weakened constitution, and spending his days cursing the heavens in choleric rage.
And now, at last, the cleric had arrived. No doubt Rome had heard of Guillaume’s heretical ravings, and this humble priest (or so the man called himself) had been sent to “assist in rectifying the condition of the Count’s immortal soul.” Of course Joscelin suspected that the priest was actually an inquisitor in disguise, and if Guillaume continued his erratic behavior, all of Edessa was likely to suffer as a result.
Guillaume’s shouting continued, curse words interspersed with various epithets directed at Jesus Christ. “He’s unwell in his mind,” Joscelin tried to explain; “I don’t think he knows what he’s saying.”
The cleric folded his hands. “I don’t think the Holy Father will see things quite that way,” he said softly, his eyes narrowing.
Joscelin grew even more nervous. This was getting serious. “But what more can I do?” he begged, “I’m just his little brother; I don’t even have a position in his court!”
The priest winced as a particularly vulgar curse involving the anatomy of the Virgin Mary echoed down the hall. He then composed himself, and looked Joscelin straight in the eyes. “You must denounce your brother,” he whispered coldly, “Or you and your family will be found accessories to his heresy!”
“But I…” Joscelin stammered, “I…” The shouting stopped abruptly, catching the attention of both priest and prince. After a moment of baited breath, the two hurried out of the small chapel and down the corridor to the Count’s bedroom, where they were joined by a handful of servants and guards. When their repeated knocking yielded no response, Joscelin and one of the footmen forced the door.
No one was prepared for what they saw next. Guillaume’s lifeless body was dangling from the rafters, suspended by a crude noose made of bed sheets. The troubled Count had apparently taken his own life in spiteful despair.
“Well,” said the inquisitor, smiling, “This changes everything!” Joscelin looked at the man in a combination of shock and disgust.
***
The Year of Our Lord 1205 brought jubilation to the Holy City, as King Guy had found a suitable husband for Bourguigne, his youngest daughter. She was to wed Joscelin IV, the new Count of Edessa, on the spring equinox.
“Oh, that looks nice!” said Alix, smiling.
“Definitely,” said Marie, “You’ll have the poor fool begging for more!”
“Really?” asked Bourguigne. Her older, recently married sisters were helping her find the perfect dress for when she would meet her betrothed for the very first time. After all, she couldn’t very well wait to meet him until he lifted her veil on their wedding day. What if he was horrid? At least she would know beforehand this way.
“It’s easy for you to be so cheerful,” Bourguigne pouted, “You practically got to pick your husbands!’
“Did not!” said Alix, pretending to be upset, “I just had mother give father a little hint, that’s all!”
“And Conrad’s so gorgeous!” cooed Marie. The three sisters devolved into raucous laughter at that.
“No doubt of that,” Bourguigne said, pointing to Alix’s belly, “Look how huge you’re getting!” Alix was already very pregnant. She was getting so big that some of the physicians suspected that she might be having twins.
“And you were lucky too,” Bourguigne said to Marie, “You got a Plantagenet! Come on! You
knew you were getting a real man. I bet he’s really good too. You know what I mean.”
Marie giggled, “The best! But try telling that to Eleanor of Aquitaine. I’m sure she was really happy with
her Plantagenet.” The laughter commenced again.
“But he fought a
duel over you,” continued Bourguigne, “When that idiot Norman knight slighted your honor, I thought Arthur was going to put the fool in his grave!”
“I know! Isn’t he dreamy?” said Marie. The sisters sighed in unison.
“Some people have all the luck,” Bourguigne moaned.
“Come on,” chided Alix, idly twirling one of her long blonde tresses, “He can’t be that bad.”
“Let’s see,” said Bourguigne sarcastically, “What do I know about Joscelin already? His grandpa lost Edessa to the Muslims, his father couldn’t get it back until he was an old man and had help from Papa’s friends, and his brother was a loony who cursed God and hung himself. Sounds like a winning family to me!’
Alix stifled a laugh. “I guess that just means you’re getting the good one.”
“More like the black sheep of the family!” added Marie. The laughing resumed yet again.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Alix, trying to reassure her sister.
“Hmph,” said Bourgugine, “Everybody else has all the luck. Even baby brother Godfrey gets plenty of action.”
“Ugh,” said Alix, “Don’t bring
her up.” None of the sisters was especially fond of Anastasia Rubenid, considering her to be nothing more than a cheap strumpet who had stolen their brother’s virginity, even though her father was Prince of Cilicia.
“They’ll be getting married soon,” Marie noted, “Godfrey’ll be sixteen this year.” No one laughed at that.
Outremer Second String
Princess Bourguigne’s wedding took place without a hitch. She even found that her new husband was a very likable young man. Unfortunately, per usual, the honeymoon was interrupted by a rebellion at home, as many of Joscelin’s Muslim peasants were trying to overthrow the newly reasserted Christian leadership. Bourguigne was dismayed as her new husband prepared to journey north to subdue the revolt, but her fears were assuaged the next day when Joscelin found a note from Conrad of Montferrat tacked to their bedroom door. It read as follows:
“Hey, Brother!
Tough break. Know how it goes.
Anyway, this one’s on me.
Have fun, Conrad”
Princess Alix no longer followed the army to the city gates weeping when her husband marched off to war, firstly because she was heavily pregnant, and secondly, because he was such a fabulous soldier that she simply did not worry about him any more. Sure enough, a few months later Conrad returned triumphantly to Jerusalem, the rebellious Edessenes crushed in record time. He also learned that his wife had once again given birth while he was on campaign, this time to twin girls, named Bianca and Melisende.
Five months later, Princess Marie also gave birth to twins, a girl named Sibylla after her grandmother, and a boy, Richard after the great Lionheart, his father’s uncle. Arthur was especially ecstatic.
***
At last Prince Godfrey’s sixteenth birthday arrived. The marriage of the Crown Prince was a monumental occasion, with all of the important men and women of the kingdom in attendance. Godfrey felt quite nervous with all eyes on him as he waited for his bride to arrive. He caught Bertrand of Tripoli’s gaze, but looked away when he saw the Count making a lewd gesture and laughing. After that, he decided to focus squarely on the door where Anastasia would be arriving.
It had been over a year since they had last seen each other, and Godfrey yearned for his Armenian princess. They had only been allowed to see each other very rarely after the incident; Godfrey did not like to think about what he and Anastasia had done together. He still felt guilty about it. “Anastasia is seventeen already,” he thought, “She’ll be a grown woman by now. Will she still be able to condescend to love a stupid boy like me?” He scratched at his sparse beard, a nervous habit that he had developed over the years.
He looked over at his father standing a few yards away, hoping for some sign of reassurance. Guy simply scowled and beckoned for Godfrey to stop scratching his beard. What had he been thinking, looking to his father for support? He caught his mother’s eye. Sibylla smiled at her son, but her eyes looked sad. He knew she was proud of all he had accomplished, but he also knew that his dalliance with Anastasia had hurt his mother deeply. She had expected more of him.
These weren’t the thoughts he wanted in his mind on his wedding day. He loved his darling Anastasia more than anything, and nothing would ever change that. He tried to push the guilt and hurt out of his mind and focus on his feelings for his betrothed. He was assisted in this task by the timely arrival of his bride to be, escorted by her beaming father Leon.
She glided down the aisle demurely, with all the grace of a future queen, while Leon sent coy smirks to various individuals in attendance. When at last she arrived at the altar, Godfrey nervously lifted the veil from her face, and was instantly stunned by how truly magnificent she looked. Anastasia’s hair was gathered in long golden tresses, and her elegant white gown was rather low cut, exposing a little bit more of her amble bosom than really was proper, but Godfrey didn’t mind.
“You look beautiful,” was all he was able to whisper to her before the Patriarch began droning his long wedding sermon. Godfrey didn’t hear a word of it.
Nine months later to the day, Anastasia gave birth to a healthy baby son, named Amalric by his father.
***
The next year, news arrived from Egypt. Queen Frederica had married a handsome French nobleman by the name of Henri de Champagne, who had a reputation as a bit of a dandy. The court of Jerusalem was filled with gossip about the new royal couple. How did Henri feel about Frederica’s legendary harem? Would she be getting rid of it for him? Most importantly, did he want to be King of Egypt? The most interesting anecdote about Egypt’s Prince Consort was a tale of his adventures with King Philip Augustus at the Siege of Damietta.
It was said that in the midst of the fighting, Henri had encountered two noble Saracens from the retinue of Saladin who were so startled by his garish apparel that he was able to kill them both with ease. It was a deed of valor to be sure, but since it was all on account of his fancy dress, the story became quite the comic tale.
”I say!” The daring exploits of Henri de Champagne.
The festivities had only just ended when Frederica sent her new husband out to war on the northern crusader states of Alexandria and Damietta, owned by the allies Hungary and France. Her familial allies in Germany responded by declaring war on both, and their ally England in turn entered the fray, albeit Richard the Lionhearted sent only token participation since he was distracted with his Arabian crusade.
Having ensured that both France and Hungary were distracted at home, Frederica’s army was able to gobble up their little crusader territories easily. She promptly assigned the conquered provinces to her most loyal vassals and set about securing her borders.
Of particular note was the success of the newly formed order of Teutonic Knights, who easily trampled their foes under foot. True, their actions were reckless and bloodthirsty, but theirs was a new order for a new kingdom. Where the Templars and Hospitallers were careful, copious and reserved, the Teutonic Knights were rash, violent, and ruthlessly effective.
The Year of Our Lord 1207 was just as eventful as the years preceding it. Crown Prince Godfrey established a reputation in the Kingdom as a man with the Touch of Midas. Guy began to forget his irritation with his gentle-hearted son once the gold began to pour into his coffers. Alix’s young son Barisan began to grow more and more like his grandfather every day. He was quite the little terror, so much so that he soon gained the nickname “Monster” around the court. Each of his nannies quit in short order, so ultimately his exasperated mother handed him over to the Patriarch of Jerusalem to finish raising the lad.
Emissaries arrived in the autumn from Thamar, the Queen of Georgia, whose victorious armies had just finished trouncing the divided Muslims of Syria. Georgia had taken a few key territories connecting the Muslims in Syria with those in Azerbaijan, and was desirous to enter into a miltary alliance with King Guy.
King Guy was unsure if he should accept. Georgia had been opportunistic; the Ayyubids were really struggling. A treacherous Imam from Mecca had incited the subjects of Sultan Mas’ud to rebel against him. After a brief revolutionary war, the Imam proclaimed himself the new Sultan, even claiming he was the true Ayyubid heir of Saladin. Mas’ud’s demesne shrank until it was just the territory immediately surrounding his desert capital at al-Jawf. His True Ayyubids, as they had taken to calling themselves, asserted that one day Allah would punish the villains who had overthrown the heir of the great Saladin, but acknowledged that they were as yet too weak to accomplish this task themselves.
Guy deliberated the question of alliance with his closest advisors, now comprised entirely of his family members: his Queen Sibylla, daughter Alix, son Godfrey, and sons-in-law Conrad and Arthur. Guy already had close friends in Richard of England and the new Egyptian Kingdom, did he need more? Certain factors remained constants - the Byzantines were always a mystery, and the Muslims always enemies. Georgia was the last factor in the balance of power. They were orthodox, and might possibly side with the Byzantines if forced to do so, which would make for a very strong northern opponent. At last it was decided that it was better to be friends with the Georgians than foes, and so the alliance was accepted.
The state of affairs was finally beginning to stabilize in Jerusalem. Guy’s kingdom had strong infrastructure, the Templars and Hospitallers kept the highways free of bandits, the coastal cities engaged in flourishing trade with the Franks, Italians and Greeks, and the succession was secure with a burgeoning royal dynasty. Three of Guy’s children had already had sons, so surely one of them would one day be king, whether it was Amalric, Barisan, or young Richard. At last, there would no longer be a need to agonize over finding suitable Consort-Kings for daughter-heirs. Crown Prince Godfrey reigned justly in Galilee, and the people had high hopes for his inheritance of the throne in the future.
Yes, the Kingdom of Jerusalem was prospering.
Then, while the Muslims were celebrating their holy month of Ramadan, something totally unexpected happened. The Abbasid Caliph declared war on the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
***
Behold the Map of Outremer in the Year of Our Lord circa 1210! In the center of the eastern world, our Kingdom of Jerusalem (
white) prospers and grows, but it rests in the hands of several untrustworthy and power-hungry nobles. Guy de Lusignan will have to comport himself ably in order to preserve his Kingdom.
To the west lies the Latin Kingdom of Egypt (
indigo), ruled by Frederica von Hohenstaufen, daughter of the late Holy Roman Emperor. Her newly formed Kingdom has just glutted itself on the smaller crusader states on the northern coast. Now engorged with these additional territories, it remains to be seen if the crusaders can maintain their hold on Egypt.
Across the sea to the north lies the Byzantine Empire (
purple). Having neutralized the threat of the Seljuks with help from Jerusalem, they have devoted much of their attention to problems with the Russians on the northern steppes. But the threat of the False Emperor still remains, and perhaps the Byzantines will be forced to shift their attention southwards yet again.
Constant wars and turmoil at home have broken the back of the Ayyubid Sultanate (
green) to the east. Though they claim succession from Saladin, everyone knows that they deposed his son, the rightful Sultan, and will be cursed by Allah for it. They still control a long stretch of Syrian territory as well as much of the land on the southern coasts of the Caspian Sea, but with enemies on all sides, their days are numbered.
The Abbasid Caliphate of Mesopotamia (
rust) gazes hungrily in all directions, seeking to revitalize itself by feeding on the prosperity of its neighbors. With Saladin dead and his Ayyubids sorely weakened, the Abbasids have the opportunity they need to reassert their control over the Near East, that is, if they can defeat the Christians.
The Kingdom of Georgia (
azure) has of late exploited the weakness of both the Seljuks and the Ayyubids, snatching border provinces when it can, and finally splitting the Ayyubids in two with a surprise assault. However, trouble at home has caught them off guard and the rebellion of the powerful Prince of Coloneia (
teal) may be all it takes to dismember their fledgling empire.
Numerous smaller nations are marked with numbers identifying them, explained below.
I. The Knights Hospitaller (
grey) still remain ensconced in their fortress of Krak des Chevaliers and the surrounding territory of Baalbek. As long as their motives remain aligned with those of Guy de Lusignan, they are likely to stay that way.
II. The Emirate of Aleppo (
grass green) has rebelled against its masters, the Ayyubids. This has provided them with the independence they sought, but at the cost of security. They are vulnerable to attack from hostile neighbors at every border, and it is only by chance that they have survived thus far.
III. The Emirate of al-Jawf (
tan) is all the territory that remains to the True Ayyubids, ruled by Sultan Mas’ud, son of Saladin. Having been overthrown by the deceit of a wily usurper, they remain here in exile, hoping to survive the chaos destroying their land. If Saladin’s line endures, one day his descendants may rule the Near East once again.
IV. The Emirate of Kirkuk (
sea green) is another realm that has risen up against the Ayyubid Sultanate. Being so near to the Abbasids, they are likely to be perceived as a first target. Maintaining their fragile independence is paramount for them.
V. The Turkish Sultanate of Rüm (
gold) has had most of its lands reclaimed by vengeful Christians. They still cling to several mountain strongholds scattered throughout Anatolia, but they are by no means unified and would crumble under strenuous assault.
VI. The English Crusader States of Pelusia and Medina (
crimson) are ruled by King Richard the Lionhearted’s favorite sister and cousin respectively. Though the English gains in the Third Crusade have proved modest at best, no one has forgotten that it was Saladin’s death at Richard’s hands that made the whole venture possible in the first place. Perhaps Richard will gain more lands in future, though he is not likely to keep them for himself.
***
What fate lies in store for Guy and Sibylla and their Kingdom? Only the future holds such knowledge.
1210: King Guy and Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem