Chapter 98: Death Of The King
“My eldest daughter, Princess Sibylla, will marry Abigail, the son of the Duke of Antioch Bohemond, and become husband and wife.” As soon as the king finished speaking, Raymond abruptly turned his head to look at Bohemond, and the expression on Bohemond’s face indicated that he truly knew nothing about the king’s decision this time.
Indeed, everyone on Ayyarasa Road knew that Abigail was nearly madly in love with Princess Sibylla. Moreover, given the current situation, the king had only Baldwin as his heir, and Baldwin’s condition destined that he would hardly have a healthy heir; the only choice he could make was the son of his sister.
If he were still to die before the age of thirty, it would mean that the child who had not yet grown up would need a regent, and this regent could only be his mother or father.
Speaking of Sibylla, Bohemond could only chuckle inwardly; although she had always tried hard to dress herself up as a smart person—but unfortunately, she might be able to play those young people in the palm of her hand, yet she could not shake an old fox like Bohemond. To put it bluntly, she could not even manipulate a straightforward and stubborn guy like Raymond, let alone those ministers and generals who each had their own agendas and had been steeped in power for years.
Bohemond wanted very much to laugh, but Amalric I immediately announced another decree.
He appointed Count Raymond of Tripoli as Baldwin’s regent.
Although Baldwin was already an adult and had become a knight, he still needed a mature and steady elder to assist him by his side. He entrusted this power to Raymond—he was also Baldwin’s uncle. As for until when—Amalric I pondered for a moment, at which point Raymond’s heart was about to jump out of his chest.
Immediately after, he heard an answer that disappointed him immensely.
“Sixteen years old.” Amalric I said. Baldwin was already fourteen this year. By the time they returned to Ayyarasa Road, the time he could participate in court affairs and wield great power might be only a little over a year. What could be done in a little over a year? Only help Baldwin pacify the unrest inside and outside Ayyarasa Road and the complicated situation. In other words, he had gotten a job from the king but failed to obtain the reward he deserved.
Not only that, Amalric I gave his daughter Princess Sibylla to Bohemond’s son Abigail, which was fundamentally to make them check each other to avoid a situation where one person dominated the imperial court.
The smile on Bohemond’s face seemed to prove that he had already thought of this problem, but would he say no, I do not accept this marriage? No. Just as he had once said to his son Abigail, those young people pursuing Princess Sibylla—of course her beauty and talent were one aspect, but more importantly, it was because she possessed inheritance rights to Ayyarasa Road.
On Ayyarasa Road, in the absence of a male heir, the king’s daughter could still wear the crown, and as Princess Sibylla’s husband, whether Abigail or anyone else, could stand by her side and share this power. Bohemond would certainly not easily give up such an opportunity.
Just like him, knowing full well Amalric I’s suspicion and wariness of him, he still had to accept this appointment.
Even though Amalric I said that when Baldwin turned sixteen, he must hand over the power in his hands.
But if Baldwin at that time still could not show convincing qualities? Perhaps he could… Raymond was startled by the thought in his mind.
But immediately he thought, this was not his fault; it could only be said to be the arrangement of God or destiny. If not so, why had Baldwin’s illness not been cured after receiving the blessing?
Not to mention that previously in the caliph’s palace, he had suffered severe burns to rescue Amalric I. Raymond had seen lepers and knew—they once injured, the disease would develop even more rapidly—and he was so young, so frail. As an elder, he should share some of the heavy responsibilities for him, at least… not let him die young.
Moreover, although this expedition could not be said to have gained nothing, it had not achieved Amalric I’s original purpose either. In the coming years, they would expedition again. Whether Baldwin was prepared to stay in Ayyarasa Road at that time or go on expedition as the commander of the Crusaders, would he not need a trustworthy person to manage state affairs and prepare logistics for him?
Thinking this way, his mood strangely calmed down, while Bohemond glanced at him, seemingly already seeing what was in his mind.
In front of all the witnesses, after confirming the fate of his eldest daughter, eldest son, and second daughter, Amalric I seemed to finally put down the great stone in his heart and showed a relieved expression.
He insisted on walking back to his tent, and after collapsing on the soft couch, he could no longer get up.
Heraclius went in, prayed for him again, and heard his confession—he had confessed before, but Heraclius thought he had more to confess… given the previous sword conferral ceremony and public will.
This time Amalric I was a bit more composed, perhaps because he had handled all matters and was just waiting to heed God’s call to return to Heaven. He was not panicked, after all, whether the Church or the saints he had visions of had given him revelation: warriors who fought for God, especially those like him who died on expedition, would absolutely not fall into hell.
Once they were freed from this heavy old leather pouch of the mortal world, they could immediately see the gates of Heaven open to them, golden light piercing through thick clouds, saints and angels guarding the gate, welcoming his arrival.
Heraclius anointed him, not just on the forehead, but also on the shoulders, hands, and feet. Then he placed a Bible by Amalric I’s pillow, bent down, and asked softly: “Shall I let Baldwin come in to accompany you?”
Amalric I nodded. Heraclius went out, lit two candles, gave one to Baldwin, then told him to place the other by Amalric I’s hand. Afterward, he lit more candles, and everyone waiting outside the tent held one in their hand.
This represented the divine, as a priest said, God is a burning fire—the candle wick symbolized His will, the purest and whitest will.
Life is like a candle, gradually burning to exhaustion.
Heraclius placed a small cross in Caesar’s hand, so he could stay by Baldwin’s side; he might be Baldwin’s only, most trustworthy reliance.
Since Caesar came into this world, he had seen much death, but no death was heavier or more crucial than this one. Not to mention Baldwin, even he himself was confused about the future.
Amalric I not only knighted him but also made him lord of Bethlehem, yet he only felt a burst of bewilderment. He could vaguely sense that the king did not treat him as sincerely or eagerly as Baldwin; he had the suspicion and wariness befitting a king, was skilled at manipulating others and playing with power, even toward his only son Baldwin.
Yet when he was so close to death, he generously gave a gift to someone he seemingly did not like much. If this was the price he paid for Baldwin, Caesar had to admit he had indeed hit his vital point.
——————
“What are those Christians doing?” Ilghazi gazed at the distant flickering lights and asked puzzledly.
“Praying for their king,” Saladin said.
“What do you think of today’s negotiation results?” Ilghazi stretched his limbs: “If their king dies, will the contract they signed with us still be recognized?”
Saladin laughed: “No contract surpasses the sword,” he turned toward Fustat still burning fiercely: “Perhaps also flame. Both they and we are just stopgap measures—the Christians plundered Bilbeis and Fustat; except for a few, they were already impatient to return to their homeland.
Even if Amalric I still wanted to fight us, even if he were unharmed, how many troops could he have left?
As for us, uncle, we cannot fight both the Christians and Nur al-Din at the same time.”
“Sultan…” Ilghazi hesitated and asked: “Really gravely ill?”
“I’m afraid it’s not grave illness, but not much time left to live,” Saladin said: “Perhaps Allah is truly protecting us. The Christians’ king is dying, Zengi’s Nur al-Din is also dying, and Fustat’s Shawwar has already paid with his life the debt he owed us.”
Ilghazi showed a look of sigh: “Saladin, I really didn’t expect we could reach this point.”
Saladin’s background could not be called ordinary, but it was also hard to associate with prominence. He was born in Tikrit, his father was a local official there; at that time Tikrit belonged to the Uqaylid dynasty. Soon after, his father was dismissed and could only take him, still in swaddling clothes, to the Zengid dynasty to seek a position.
With this transfer, they came to Damascus. Saladin’s childhood and youth were entirely spent in unrest, and the family conditions were never very good. If not for him being smart enough, persevering, and having an uncle serving in Zengi’s army, it would not have been so easy to catch Nur al-Din’s attention.
Saladin had to admit that Nur al-Din was a respectable sage.
But Nur al-Din was old; an old man with no qualified heir, his thinking had also become dull and narrow—yet his authority still stood deeply in everyone’s heart, so much so that it was not until the second dispatch to Egypt that Saladin finally convinced his uncle Ilghazi.
Suddenly, a faint sobbing sound came from the tent beside them.
