Chapter 183: Chapter 183 - Securing the Borders
September 30th, 1181 - Jerusalem
The bells of the Holy Sepulchre tolled in the distance, their solemn bronze voices carrying over the rooftops of Jerusalem. The early morning sun burned bright against the stone walls, and within the royal palace the day’s most important assembly was already being prepared. Courtiers moved in silken hush through the great hall, arranging benches, cushions, and gilded chairs, while the guards of the royal household stood immobile at the doors.
At the far end of the hall, upon the dais beneath the golden baldachin, Baldwin sat with Constance at his side. The young queen’s dark eyes followed every movement of the attendants with practiced calm, though beneath her composed expression there lingered a flicker of nervous energy. This was their first great announcement to the court since the miracle of Baldwin’s healing, and the eyes of nobles, bishops, and knights alike would weigh every word.
Baldwin himself, clothed in deep crimson with a golden lion embroidered upon his chest, leaned on the throne’s carved arm. His hand, once twisted by leprosy, now strong and whole, rested comfortably in Constance’s smaller fingers. The chamber filled gradually with lords and ladies, their whispers echoing like restless winds in the vaulted ceiling.
At last the trumpets sounded, and the chamber fell into silence. Baldwin rose to his feet, straightening to his full height. His voice, calm and steady, carried easily.
"My lords, my ladies, and my loyal counselors," he began, "today we gather not only to deliberate on matters of our kingdom, but to celebrate the strengthening of bonds that will secure Outremer for generations to come."
He turned slightly, meeting Constance’s gaze for the briefest moment before continuing.
"It is my joy to announce the official betrothal of my half-sister, Lady Isabella, to Raymond, heir of Antioch. Through this union, Antioch shall be bound fully and inseparably to our crown, as one realm under God, with the blessings of our brothers the Byzantines."
The hall erupted in murmurs. Some nobles nodded approvingly; others exchanged suspicious glances. For decades Antioch had lingered in precarious half-independence, leaning at times toward Constantinople, at times toward Jerusalem. To hear Baldwin declare it to be fully incorporated into the kingdom was no small thing.
Bishop William of Tyre, the historian and prelate, stepped forward, lifting his hand. "This is a union most blessed," he intoned. "Through marriage, what was once fragile becomes steadfast. May the Lord preserve this house."
A round of assent rose, though beneath it the whispers continued.
When Baldwin resumed his seat, the council was called into session. Around the long carved table sat Thomas of Acre, Chancellor of the Realm, his stern face unreadable; Sir Godfrey of Ibelin, Justiciar, his hand resting idly on the hilt of his sword as though ever ready; and Martin of Palermo, the Sicilian Treasurer, his eyes shrewd as he shuffled his ledgers and notes. Balian of Ibelin, as commander of the king’s armies and ever a trusted voice, was also present.
Baldwin’s tone shifted from ceremonial to practical. "We have much to discuss. First, the arms owed to our Byzantine allies. Chancellor Thomas, has the obligation been met?"
Thomas inclined his head, his voice clipped and precise. "The workshops of Acre and Tyre have labored without rest. Spears, shields, pikes, crossbows, and the engines of war were loaded in ships two months past. By now they will have reached Constantinople. Our promise has been fulfilled to the last bolt."
Baldwin nodded slowly. "And word? Has their court declared when they intend to use them?"
Balian cleared his throat. "Rumors from the merchants of Cilicia tell that the Emperor plans to strike against Rum in Anatolia when spring returns. They believe with our arms, and with their own levies, the frontier may at last be pushed eastward again."
The council shifted uneasily. The thought of Constantinople recovering its strength was both reassuring and troubling.
Baldwin tapped his finger against the table, deep in thought. He leaned toward Constance, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "It comes sooner than I thought. And yet ... it may serve us well."
The others at the table watched, whispering among themselves, trying to guess what passed between the king and his queen. Baldwin leaned back then, allowing Constance to take the floor.
She rose, her posture regal, her voice calm and clear. "My lords, when I sailed from Sicily to Outremer, we touched upon Cyprus. There I saw with my own eyes how the island is ruled not by the Emperor, but by Isaac Komnenos, who proclaims himself lord and master without fealty to Constantinople. The Byzantines, for all their power, cannot bring him to heel. Cyprus, a jewel of the sea, lies in the hands of a pretender."
Murmurs filled the air. Some nodded; others frowned.
Constance raised her hand for silence. "This is not only a Byzantine quarrel. It is a danger to us. Cyprus is the harbor through which pilgrims and crusaders pass. To leave it in the hands of a pirate prince is to gamble with the lifeline of our kingdom."
The council erupted into discussion.
"Why should we entangle ourselves in Constantinople’s quarrels?" asked Sir Godfrey of Ibelin bluntly. "Our strength is not infinite."
But Baldwin lifted his hand, silencing the room. His voice, firm and resonant, carried authority beyond question.
"Consider this," he said. "Our eastern flank is secured. The Orontes Valley and the passes of Syria are fortified. To the south, we have strengthened Gaza, Ascalon, and the marches to Egypt. Sicily guards our seas, and with our fleets combined we hold sway in the waters of the Levant. But to the north ... to the north lies Rum, ever-expanding, ever probing. If the Byzantines fail, Rum will grow bolder. The northern gate of our kingdom must not be left open."
He leaned forward, his eyes sweeping the table. "We will ally with Byzantium not as servants, but as partners. We shall send knights, pikemen, and crossbowmen—not enough to weaken Jerusalem, but enough to tip the scales. And in return, the Emperor shall cede Cyprus to us. Isaac shall be deposed. The island shall belong to Jerusalem forevermore."
A stunned silence followed. Then the chamber erupted into overlapping voices.
Martin of Palermo whispered to Thomas, "With Cyprus in our hands, trade from Sicily to Acre would be doubled—nay, tripled."
Balian muttered, "A bold move ... but boldness has carried us this far."
Some lords voiced concern, fearful of overreach, but others warmed to the thought of Cyprus’ wealth, its forests of ship timber, its mines, its strategic harbors.
Constance sat silently beside Baldwin, her expression calm, but her heart beat with a quiet pride. This was her husband—the man once broken, now whole, who spoke with the fire of kings.
Baldwin rose, his voice once more commanding silence.
"This is the path before us. We shall strengthen our alliance with Byzantium, we shall see Cyprus brought under the Cross, and we shall secure the kingdom’s future. God has granted us a miracle, my lords. Let us prove ourselves worthy of it."
The council bowed their heads. Even those reluctant could not wholly resist the conviction in Baldwin’s words.
Beyond the walls of the palace, the bells of Jerusalem tolled again, echoing over the holy city as though Heaven itself had joined in the king’s declaration.