Chapter 100: Death Of The King
The King let out a long sigh, and then he died.
As soon as Baldwin saw the candle fall from Amalric I’s hand and go out, he knew that he had left him forever. He opened his mouth, wanting to cry out, but fainted in the next moment. Fortunately, Caesar was always by his side. Caesar immediately held him and gripped his shoulders tightly, as if throwing his own courage and strength onto his friend to spare him too much torment.
The priest nearby had already rushed out to inform those outside the tent of the bad news, but there was no need for them to say much. Count Raymond of Tripoli, who was also waiting nearby, and Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, these two most important figures and key vassals in Ayyarasa Road, immediately prostrated themselves on the ground, kneeling over that familiar yet strange body, and began to weep loudly.
Their weeping was like the bells that could not ring at this moment—although he had been prepared, Heraclius, who had hurried over, still felt a wave of dizziness. The priest beside him quickly supported him. He staggered into the tent, holding a candle, and went to look at the King’s face.
Amalric I’s face was very serene, or rather relieved. He had done everything he should as a Christian, a King, and a father. From then on, everything in the mortal world had nothing to do with him. It could also be said that he had entrusted them to God, waiting only for the Lord to give guidance and tell the people still struggling in this world where they should go.
As a virtuous monk once said, when a person leaves the world, he will inevitably feel regret, which is only natural, but at the same time, he should remain calm and in simplicity, just as he was when he was born.
At this time, people would often refer to the deceased as the “newly departed,” as if he had not died, but had gone to a new place.
At this moment, Baldwin also awoke with Caesar’s help. He was Amalric I’s only son, and everything that followed needed his oversight and participation. Raymond stood up, took the young man from Caesar’s arms, and held him close, while Bohemond was a step slower.
Clearly, the latter’s sincerity was not as genuine as the former’s—it was evident from his expression. Although Raymond had harbored some resentment toward Amalric I’s distrust before, at the departure of his close friend and liege lord, his grief was beyond doubt, and his embrace of Baldwin came from an elder’s mercy toward the younger generation.
Although Bohemond also had some sincerity, from his suspicious gaze, it was clear he had regained his reason and was worried that Raymond wanted to seize power from Prince Baldwin at his most vulnerable moment.
Heraclius took it all in, feeling utterly exhausted.
If Amalric I had died in Ayyarasa Road, there should have been professional “mourners” to announce the misfortune throughout the city, but at this time, only six knights could temporarily fill the role. They wore deep blue robes, with an image of the Virgin Mary embroidered on the back of the robes（all hastily prepared beforehand）, holding crosses, mounting their horses, and galloping to the various camps to announce mourning.
This even included the Saracen camp. Ilghazi and Saladin, upon hearing it, solemnly expressed their respect for the deceased and condolences for his heir and friend, and gave them a large box of frankincense.
Frankincense was indeed something used at funerals by both Saracens and Christians. When they brought this gift back to the King’s tent, people had already lit a fire pile and were adding spices to it, just as incense is burned during Mass and worship. People also believed that these fragrant scents would likewise lead the deceased’s soul to heaven.
The King’s body left in the mortal world had been carried out of the tent and laid flat on a smooth large stone. Two noble ladies had arrived with the mourners. They would undertake an important task: washing Amalric I’s body.
But before that, Baldwin insisted on first shaving and trimming the King’s hair and beard, which should indeed be done by a male relative. However, although Baldwin’s hands had been treated, they still could not perform delicate tasks. Raymond stepped forward without hesitation, but Baldwin politely refused, because according to custom, this male relative’s status should be lower than the deceased’s.
The Count of Tripoli was a vassal of the King of Ayyarasa Road, but Raymond was Amalric I’s cousin.
“Let Caesar do it for me,” he said. “He is my brother.”
Raymond’s cheeks twitched violently. His son David was also in the expedition convoy, but on the first day of the siege warfare, he had broken his leg due to excessive recklessness and haste. Although it would not leave him disabled, he had to be sent back to Ghazalafa—and was not here now. If he were here, Raymond could have vied for it, but at this time, he could not argue with Baldwin and had to step back.
In comparison, Bohemond was much more composed. Not to mention that Abigail was still in Antioch, even if he were here, Bohemond would not let him humiliate himself. Did he not know his own son? A coward—if asked to kill, he could, but to touch a dead man’s face, to give it the final trimming and grooming, he would surely botch it!
Caesar stroked Baldwin’s back and stepped forward. Heraclius handed him a sharp small knife: “Is this all right?” he asked softly. If Caesar made a mistake in this matter, who knew how many would delight in the spectacle—not even Baldwin could be guaranteed not to hold a grudge over it.
Caesar nodded. After all, he was not a mere boy of ten or so.
He carefully shaved off Amalric I’s dark stubble, trimmed his sideburns, and even clipped the hair at the back of the head, behind the ears, and on the forehead neatly, with no protrusions or indentations whatsoever. He also borrowed linen cloth from the ladies to wipe the King’s face clean—without diverting his attention for a moment until it was all done.
Caesar felt the King deserved this respect. No matter the cause or what happened afterward, without Amalric I, he would now be just an anonymous pile of white bones in the Judean Mountains.
The two ladies curtsied to Caesar and took over the subsequent work. They first cut open the clothes on the King’s body, then wiped him clean from top to bottom, finally plugging the natural orifices with cotton mixed with scented oil, and dressing him in prepared clothing—earlier, the King had instructed Heraclius that although he would not go so far as to wrap himself in linen cloth like an ascetic for burial just to gain a reputation, there was no need to wear three shirts and two robes…
As usual, the King wore only a long undergarment, with silver-plated chainmail over it, and the robe of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre on top. People crossed his hands over his chest, placed a long sword beside him, put a crown on him, shod him in short boots, and laid him in a sedan chair made of cedarwood, freshly repainted black.
This sedan chair had originally belonged to some noble lady. She offered it with utmost honor: “To become the resting place of such a saint,” she said. “Far better than ten years of asceticism.” The priests thought so too and eagerly bore witness for her.
This was a blessing amid misfortune. The King had launched the expedition in September, and now it was December, with the weather cold; otherwise, people would have been forced to boil it—literally. At this time, there were no good preservation methods. To prevent the remaining body from becoming unsightly and bloated, people could only cut it open, add wine, boil it, and take only the bones in a box.
Following tradition, people procured four pure black horses and secured the sedan chair between them, preparing to take the King back to Ayyarasa Road this way.
But before that, people had to keep vigil over the King for one night. This night, besides remembrance and mourning, was also to prevent some from taking desperate risks to steal part of the King’s body.
Some might wonder, steal it for what? The Christians of this time did not insist on bodily integrity—otherwise, they would not have had such practices before—but Amalric I was the Lord of the Holy Land and died while attacking the heathens. His sainthood was almost certain. Modern people might find it absurd, but people then knew to strike first.
Baldwin remained in a daze, from excessive grief and from being temporarily unable to accept the reality. He leaned on Caesar, clutching his arm, inseparable. Even Heraclius or Raymond could not get him to move away even slightly. Caesar shook his head slightly at his teacher, asked for a cup of wine mixed with honey and salt, and half-forced Baldwin to drink it.
“Tomorrow we leave,” he said softly. “Your father would not want to see you like this.”
Baldwin drank the wine and forced himself to swallow a few pieces of cheese and oil.
——————
The Saracens had been watching the Christians’ movements. At dawn the next day, they too saw the deep black sedan chair and the four black horses like envoys of the dead: “They are leaving,” Ilghazi said.
Saladin merely nodded slightly.
Negotiations with the Christians did not continue, nor was there need. The Christians had reduced Bilbeis’s ransom to five hundred thousand gold coins, which Ilghazi could afford—not to mention the huge sum Shawwar had left them. The Christians’ side had conceded so readily also because Baldwin had given up his father’s share.
These five hundred thousand gold coins would be distributed entirely to all the Crusader knights.
At first, Ilghazi had not been so willing. Although he had taken his nephew’s suggestion, any army that endured a long siege warfare, then was driven out by a great fire after entering the city, losing armor and helmets, covered in soot, with their King and commander dead—whoever it was would want to try keeping them there.
Then he saw the army clustered around the black sedan chair begin to move.
It was hard to trace who was the first to cry out—perhaps Raymond, or perhaps Richard—but the first seen to hold a dagger to his hair roots, cut off his shoulder-length brown hair, and throw it to the ground was surely Prince Baldwin. Baldwin also wanted to cut bloody marks on his arms and face, but Caesar stopped him—taking the prince’s place, he cut his own face, arms, and chest. Blood flowed down like Baldwin’s tears.
Knight after knight spurred their horses forward. Some cut off their hair like the prince, some cut their flesh like Caesar to let blood flow, or both. Richard threw a priceless white mink fur cloak under the horses’ hooves to be trampled. Raymond and Bohemond also discarded their silk robes. Without this, others would not know the depth of their grief.
Ilghazi watched the scene. Although Saracens had such traditions, not to this extent. He counted one by one up to over ninety and stopped. Saladin continued for him—Saladin’s mathematics was much better than his uncle’s. “Seven hundred sixteen,” he said, stopping only when the convoy finally began to move slowly forward.
Ilghazi took a deep breath. Seven hundred sixteen—even excluding the lords who had to make a show and the King’s blood relatives—meant seven hundred knights willing to discard things they normally cherished, showing they were equally willing to give their lives for Amalric I. After all, these things were mostly won in martial arts tournaments or duels at risk of death.
“This is the Christians’ luck,” Saladin said.
Indeed, if Shawwar had not desperately tried to kill the Christians’ King, and the Christians had suffered such a defeat, their morale might truly have collapsed. But who let Amalric I die?
And he did not die in a lowly, laughable, contemptible way. Even stepping into the Saracens’ trap, he had led his vassals and attendants out of the great fire alive.
Although destined for death, before that, he had fully fulfilled his duties as King and commander. He had proclaimed his will, justly distributed all spoils of war and payments from this campaign, completed the negotiations（even without appearing in person）, and ensured the survivors could safely return home.
Although his son, the young man said to have leprosy but still granted a blessing, seemed to gain no benefit from this expedition, Amalric I’s final acts were already a quite rich inheritance for him—his father died like a hero with unfulfilled ambitions, and as his sole heir, no one could question the courage and piety he inherited from his father!
“What a pity,” Ilghazi said. “Have you seen that child? Do you think he will be a second Atid, or a second Aziz（a monarch at the height of the Fatimid Dynasty）?”
“The latter,” Saladin said. “After all, he has that person by his side.”
