over. It made no difference; neither man would compromise.
The news from England was also a cause for concern. It came from the Prior of Hereford, a trusted envoy sent by William Longchamp, the King’s Lord Chancellor, who ruled England in his absence. His words made the Lionheart angry in a way that we had not seen happen in a while.
‘My Lord King, the Lord Chancellor sends his affectionate greetings and his congratulations on your success here in the Holy Land. However, sire, I am the bearer of grave news from Westminster. Your brother John, Lord of Ireland and Count of Mortain, is acting as Regent and undermining the Chancellor’s authority. The Chancellor has had to besiege Lincoln Castle because the Castellan, Gerard of Camville, swore allegiance to John and would not surrender the castle or allow himself to be replaced by Longchamp’s nominee. In retaliation, John has taken the castles of Tickhill and Northampton. Your Chancellor fears John will take the throne, if you do not return soon.’
The Lionheart thanked the Prior and, exhibiting a more sanguine mood than I expected, asked William Marshal and Baldwin of Bethune to try to resolve the situation.
‘Gentlemen, return to Poitou immediately. Seek the advice of my mother and, if she is well and thinks it advisable, ask her to accompany you to Westminster. Go via Rouen and tell the Archbishop, William of Coutances, that he must accompany you. When you reach London, get John and Longchamp in the same room and, if necessary, bang their heads together on my behalf. John is a coward and will bide his time until he hears Saladin has put a lance through my heart; Longchamp is a good administrator, but he could not command authority over a flock of sheep. Tell them that if they are still squabbling when I get back, they will know my wrath.’
Although the King’s ‘wrath’ at such a distance might have seemed like an empty threat, anyone who knew the Lionheart realized that it was far from hollow.
Confident that Marshal and Bethune would bring peace to England, the Lionheart then turned his attention to the dispute over the throne of Jerusalem. The quarrel was dividing the loyalties of his fellow crusaders and needed to be brought to an end. He called another council of his senior men and asked for their advice.
Their conclusions came quickly and were unambiguous. The King had to choose between Lusignan, a man who had a stronger claim, both legally and morally, and Montferrat, whose claim was weaker, but who would be a much stronger bulwark against future Muslim attacks. Their advice was clear: Give Jerusalem to Montferrat.
Of course, it was easy for them to be categorical, because they did not have to make the decision. But the Lionheart knew they were right and, although he felt a loyalty to Lusignan, he had little choice but to agree with the council’s view.
As was becoming more and more apparent, the King was adding deepening wisdom to his military acumen and he dealt with his dilemma very adroitly. He sent Henry of Champagne to Acre to give Montferrat the good news, then asked Lusignan to come and see him in Ascalon. The excitable Poitevin must have known what the summons meant. When he arrived, he was very tense.
The Lionheart handled him with compassion.
‘Guy, thank you for travelling such a distance. Champagne has journeyed the other way to give Montferrat the news I am about to give you. The lords of the Crusade and I have reached a decision about Jerusalem. It is to go to Montferrat, simply because he will be more able to hold it against Saladin. It is a decision based on expediency, not on just cause.’
Crestfallen, Lusignan’s shoulders sank and his chin dropped on to his chest.
‘Sire, kings rule by right, not by expediency.’
‘If only that were true, my friend; sadly, it isn’t. Listen, I think I have another expediency that may mean you will leave here with a much lighter heart. How much do you have in your treasury?’
‘Am I to buy Jerusalem from Montferrat?’
‘No, not a putative kingdom like Jerusalem, but a safe and secure realm.’
Intrigued, Lusignan’s mood lightened.
‘I can raise five thousand bezants, and twenty thousand in silver. But for where?’
‘Cyprus.’
I looked at the others; we were all as surprised as Lusignan.
He started to smile.
‘Is that possible?’
‘It is, if I say so. I sold all rights and possessions to Cyprus to the Hospitallers when we left Cyprus last year. They have paid only the first instalment of forty thousand bezants, but they have created turmoil on the island by imposing heavy tithes to raise the balance of sixty thousand. And they’re overdue on the payment. I will buy back the island for their first instalment and sell it to you for the same amount. If you give me what you have, you can pay me the rest from your income from the island’s tithes over the next five years. But be kind to the Cypriots; if you are, you and your descendants could rule there until doomsday.’
‘Sire, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say yes, man; it’s a choice between a kingdom that is currently in the hands of Saladin and to which no one supports your claim, or an idyllic domain secure in the Mediterranean where you would have no rivals.’
Lusignan looked around. He saw that we were all smiling, and his smile became a broad grin. He fell to his knees and, almost grovelling, thanked the King lavishly.
The Lionheart pulled him up by the arm.
‘Go home and celebrate, find yourself a new wife and sire some heirs to the Kingdom of Cyprus…’
He then paused, before slapping Lusignan heartily on the back.
‘But don’t leave without emptying your treasury. I’ll send Mercadier and a squadron to collect my geld.’
The Lionheart had been generous; the 60,000 still owed by the Hospitallers would have helped our cause enormously, but he had written it off for the sake of justice. Not only that: Lusignan’s payment would only come in instalments. But the King had sympathy for his fellow-Poitevin and was grateful for his help on Cyprus. Although he had been foolhardy at the Battle of Hattin, he had been brave during the encounter and resolute while in captivity for over a year at the hands of Saladin.
A happy man, Lusignan made his way back to Acre to prepare for his reign over Cyprus.
Strangely, there was to be a twist in the tale of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Two days after Conrad of Montferrat was given the good news about his succession to the throne, he was assassinated on the streets of Acre. Returning to the royal palace late at night after celebrating with his friend Philip, Bishop of Beauvais, he was asked for alms by two beggars. No doubt feeling generous, when he reached down from his horse to put a coin in the hand of one of them, he was pulled from his mount and had his throat cut.
It was thought that the perpetrators were the same Brotherhood of Assassins who had attacked the Lionheart outside Acre, but they had both escaped, so no one knew for sure. Guy of Lusignan was implicated by many, but as the attackers appeared to be Muslims, this seemed unlikely.
Henry of Champagne heard about Montferrat’s death on the way back to us in Ascalon and immediately returned to Acre. To his apparent surprise, the local lords and the remnants of Philip of France’s contingent asked him to succeed to the newly vacant throne. He demurred and asked for the Lionheart’s view.
The King laughed out loud when he received Champagne’s request, and scribbled his reply at the bottom of his letter.
Take it, boy; you are more than worthy. But marry Montferrat’s widow, Isabella, otherwise she’ll challenge you.
It was a wise suggestion. Isabella had the blood claim to the throne, and the only way to deal with a potential threat from her, or any new husband she might acquire, was to marry her.
Only a week later, Henry of Champagne was duly married to Isabella of Jerusalem, who was heavily pregnant with Montferrat’s child. The speed of events led many to suggest that it was Henry who had commissioned the Assassins to murder Montferrat.
When the Lionheart heard the rumours, he just smiled wryly.
‘If he did, he’s a cunning little bugger. I’ll have to keep my eye on him.’
