“Yes, it is. But as Holy Roman Emperor, he rules an entity that is neither holy nor Roman. Nor is it an empire. It is a polyglot mass, a sprawling federation of barbaric and decidedly unholy German tribes. And it is far more Greek than it ever could be Roman.” Bernard saw the confusion on St. Clair’s face and added, “I speak now of religion, Sir Andre, not race. Barbarossa cleaves to the Eastern rites of the Orthodox Church, as it calls itself, and the See of Jerusalem has always been maintained by the Eastern Church, headed by a Patriarch Archbishop.”
“Aye, Master, I knew that. Warmund of Picquigny was Patriarch there when first we took Jerusalem. It was he who, along with the second King Baldwin, gave Hugh de Payens his charter to proceed with setting up his knights. Yet I detect something in your tone that hints at friction there, and to the best of my knowledge there never was any such friction.”
“Correct again. There was none. Not then, and certainly not on the surface. The Church’s presence in Jerusalem then was dominated by the Eastern rite, but the military power there was all Frankish, which meant it was Roman. The war that brought them there was called Pope Urban’s War, after all. But now things have changed, as I said. After he recaptured Jerusalem, Saladin permitted the Orthodox Christians to return to the city last year, with no other penalty than a light tax, and he allowed them once again to take over the administration of the holy places. That means that all the sacred Christian sites in Jerusalem are now back in the hands of the Patriarch, and the imminent arrival of Barbarossa and his hordes has thrown everything into hazard, because once they arrive and Saladin has been defeated and thrown out again, the predominant weight and power there will be that of the Eastern rite, and Rome’s power will be eclipsed.”
He stopped, watching narrow eyed as St. Clair thought about that, but before the knight could comment he continued. “Why should we care about that? Eastern or Roman rite, they are both Christian and therefore misguided in the eyes of our Order, correct?” St. Clair nodded, and Bernard brought his hands together in a single loud clap. “No, Sir Andre. Wrong. The moment Barbarossa seizes power in Jerusalem—and think not for a moment that he will fail to do so—one of his first concerns will be to establish preeminence for his own Teutonic knights. They will take over all the duties and responsibilities of the existing Orders there—the Templars and Hospitallers. They may leave some of the Hospitallers in place, the serving Benedictine brothers who minister to the sick and wounded, but they will remove the military brothers, and they will most definitely expel the Templars. They have no choice if they are to establish preeminence for their own Teutonic Order—the Temple has to go. And since the Temple constitutes the veil disguising and enabling our presence in the Holy Land, that means that we, the Order of Sion, will be ousted, too, our works, indeed our entire mission, abandoned unfinished. Do you begin to see why your cousin is so important to us now?”
St. Clair was frowning openly now, plainly uncomprehending. “No, Master.”
Master Bernard nodded. “Your lack of understanding stems purely from the enormous dimensions of the next logical step. If Sir Alexander Sinclair has been sufficiently successful in forging alliances with his Shi’a counterparts, he may be able to establish a solid presence for our ancient Order there, even after the Temple has been dispossessed.”
“Forgive me.” St. Clair held up one hand in entreaty. “I am still struggling with what you said about the Temple being ousted from Outremer. I find it difficult—no, more than difficult, I am finding it impossible—to imagine anything like that. It would take an open act of war by Barbarossa to achieve such a thing.” St. Clair looked around the assembly, seeking support but seeing only solemn faces. “The Temple will not meekly surrender its power in Outremer and simply sail away … will it?”
“No, it will not. That is what we ourselves would have said until mere weeks ago. But then the ship that I mentioned earlier arrived in Marseille, with tidings that altered everything we knew. The man who brought the information to us was familiar with what he described, and he bore written testimony from others to reinforce his claims. And here is what we now know to be true.” He nibbled at his clean-shaven upper lip as he sought the proper words for what he would say next.
“From all that we have been able to gather from reports, we have become convinced that Guy de Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, is a fool and a weakling. Guy was driven into the folly of the fight at Hattin by conflicting advice, all of it bad, from the Master of the Temple, Gerard de Ridefort, and his arrogant and disgusting cohort Reynald de Chatillon. Had Guy been anything less than a poltroon, he might have ignored both of them and made his own decisions, but he did not. And his folly did not end at Hattin. He was captured there by Saladin, who treated him well and later released him, upon Guy’s promise to fight no more but to return home to France.
“No sooner was he free, however, than he broke his promise, on the unsurprising grounds that an oath issued under duress to an infidel cannot be binding. He then proclaimed himself King in his own right. But he was already late and feckless yet again, because a new player had arrived in Outremer. Do you know anything about Tyre?”
St. Clair shrugged. “It is a city. I know no more than that.”
“A coastal city and a great port. It was once an island, until Alexander the Great captured it by building a causeway to it from the mainland. That causeway is still there, forming an isthmus and straddled now by a great defensive wall that makes the city almost impregnable from the landward side. Saladin besieged Tyre hugely within days of winning the fight at Hattin, and so hopeless were the defenders that they were already negotiating terms of surrender when a ship sailed into the harbor there. Aboard that ship was an adventurer called Conrad of Montferrat. He and his companions were headed for Jerusalem and knew nothing about the war, nor about Saladin or Hattin. They had sought to land at Acre the previous day but had been warned off, with word that the Saracens had captured the city four days earlier, and so they had sailed for Tyre.
“As soon as he learned what was going on, Conrad took charge. He immediately cut off the surrender negotiations and prepared the city for a long defense. Saladin, who saw that he was now facing a long, sustained siege rather than an easy capitulation, promptly left Tyre and marched off southward with his armies to capture Jerusalem and Ascalon. He knew that Tyre was isolated and posed him no immediate threat, whereas Jerusalem was a prize ripe for the picking.
“Conrad, now the acknowledged commander of Tyre, became the
“The following spring, Guy led a tiny army, supported by a few ships, in an attack on Acre, further down the coast.” The old Master paused and shook his head, looking at no one in particular. “That was sheer stupidity, a gesture fully worthy of Guy of Lusignan, whom no one, even in his finest moments, ever accused of being either sensible or wise. The Acre garrison alone, I am told, was more than twice the size of his entire army, and Saladin, who was resting but a short march to the south, could have stirred at any moment and annihilated the upstart King and his followers as one might swat a fly. But Guy had no other option available to him. If he failed to attack Acre, making a last defiant and insane attempt to engage the enemy and win, he faced extinction. And so he did the only thing he could do, stupid though it might appear to be. Perhaps he had hopes of a miracle. He certainly had need of one. And by the living God of Moses, he found one.”
“As the sole conflict being waged directly against the Muslims in Outremer, Guy’s silly little siege attracted attention. A fleet of Danish and Frisian ships arrived later in the year, followed quickly by another from Flanders and northern France, and then Louis, the Margrave of Thuringia, arrived from Germany, leading another contingent. They all went directly to Tyre to Conrad, but it seems that Conrad, for no reason anyone can name, somehow made himself intolerable to all of them, so that eventually they all marched and sailed south to join Guy outside Acre, where Saladin had finally moved to attack the tiny Frankish army. It was then that our informant left to bring home the tidings of what had occurred, and the last word he heard before leaving Outremer was that Conrad had finally condescended to join the other Franks and lend Guy his support against Saladin.”
As Master Bernard’s words faded away, Andre had a vision of the scene before the towering stone walls of Acre and the tents and banners of the besieging Franks, but he had no time to dwell on it before another voice demanded his attention.
“So there you have the situation now in force—at least as far as we may perceive it.” The young Count of Champagne had risen to his feet. “The situation appeared to be tolerable when all we had to concern ourselves over was the advancing threat of Barbarossa, still half a thousand miles distant. But the addition of this new element has altered everything.”
St. Clair was aware of feeling stupid, as though he had missed something self-evident, and on the spur of
