Baibars’ eldest son found himself unable to control rebellious subordinates. So now the emir Qalawun, who commanded Syrian troops, marched on Cairo and declared himself sultan. Christians ignored such turmoil. Rather than exploit the weakness of Islam they fought among themselves.
Guy de Gibelet, vassal to Prince Bohemond VII, took up arms against his lord and promptly fled to the Templars for protection. Bohemond attacked certain Templar buildings and destroyed a forest they owned near Montroque. Templars demonstrated against him and burnt the castle of Botrun. Guy de Gibelet next thought to seize Tripoli but was betrayed, so he fled to the Hospital. Bohemond pledged to spare his life and the lives of his followers. Instead, what did Lord Bohemond do but blind them all, every one, save Guy with his brothers and a cousin, buried up to their necks in a ditch at Nephin and left to starve. Enemies of the Gibelet family celebrated. Merchants from Pisa staged a theatrical performance gleefully enacting the horrible death of Guy de Gibelet.
Thus, with foolish quarrels did citizens of Christ’s kingdom ignore the Turk to set about their own destruction. All began to rot and decompose, fell apart like the body of Baldwin the leper a century before.
King Henry of Cyprus came to Acre in the year of our Lord 1286, expecting to govern the tumultuous remnant of Christianity oversea. He was fourteen years old and reminded everyone of a foolish girl. At times he would fall unconscious. His mouth watered. Attendants mocked him. Nevertheless his arrival brought joy and hope. Not for a hundred years had the kingdom witnessed such festive pageants and tourneys. They mimicked the Round Table, played at the Queen of Feminia where knights costumed as ladies jousted together. Knights garbed as nuns jousted pleasurably with monks. They impersonated Tristan, Lancelot, Palamides, lost themselves in a frenzy of carnal delight as if they knew the Turk would appear.
Philip and Baldwin d’Ibelin, uncles to this girlish youth, counseled him wisely enough that a truce could be arranged with Sultan Qalawun, after which Henry returned to Cyprus. Meanwhile ships from Genoa and Pisa bombarded one another in the port. William de Beaujeu, Grand Master of the Temple, warned against civil war, pointed to Saracen armies north and south. Citizens jeered, beseeched him not to terrify them with rumor.
On the twenty-sixth of April in the year of our Lord 1289 the sultan appeared at Tripoli leading forty thousand horsemen. Genoese and Venetians hastily embarked with all they owned. Tripoli, pride of the Levant, fell in six days. The chronicle of Abul Feda describes people rushing toward the quai. Few escaped. Men were cut down, children and women enslaved. Qalawun ordered the buildings destroyed lest a new army of pilgrims try to recapture it. On a rocky islet offshore stood the church of Saint Thomas where hundreds sought refuge. Saracen horsemen urged their mounts into the water and swam to the islet, butchered priests, merchants, scholars, physicians, craftsmen. Abul Feda visited the church a little later but could scarcely breathe. He did not stay long.
Among those few to escape was the bishop of Tripoli who got to Rome and appealed for help. Also, the youthful king of Cyprus despatched an envoy. His Holiness Nicholas IV listened in sorrow. It is said he wrote to princes and sovereigns throughout the West and urged clerics to preach a new crusade, but there was little response save in the north of Italy.
Next summer the bishop came to Acre with a host of Tuscans and Lombards, not proud servants of Christ but unemployed rabble, peasants committed to nothing nobler than their bellies, dregs hoping to earn salvation while poking about for gold, pilgrims such as would not be understood by Christian kings of the past. They found the marketplace crowded, caravans arriving from Damascus thanks to King Henry’s truce. Also, there had been a good harvest. What happened next is argued to this day. It might be that some infidel took advantage of a Christian lady and her husband sought vengeance. Whatever the cause, these dregs of Italy rushed about looking for God’s enemies, pushed drunkenly through markets howling of Muslim Vespers and laid the sword to hundreds. Bearded Greeks met the blade that fateful afternoon, mistaken for unbelievers.
Sultan Qalawun demanded the extradition of those responsible, which would mean their death. The barons debated. Should Christian pilgrims be surrendered to enemies of the Lord? However guilty, should they not be tried before Christian judges? The barons could not bring themselves to acquiesce, nor would the common people. Also, many in Acre considered the Saracens themselves to blame.
Now the sultan asked himself why he should respect King Henry’s truce. He sent word to the governor of Damascus, Rukn al-Din Toqsu, to assemble troops at Caesarea. He ordered up the armies of Egypt, pretending he would move against Africa.
Grand Master William de Beaujeu again warned the Franks. Again they stopped up their ears. He sent an ambassador to Cairo with a proposal, hoping to mollify the sultan. Qalawun replied that he would spare Acre in exchange for as many Venetian pennies as there were inhabitants. Grand Master William therefore preached in the Church of Saint Cross, setting forth how he had prevailed upon Qalawun to fix the damaged truce with a single penny. Thus everything might be settled and quiet. He advised the people to accept, declaring that worse evil would follow if they did not. But the people cried out with one voice that he betrayed the city, that he deserved death for treason because he corresponded with those who hate our Lord. And the Grand Master hearing this tumult left the auditorium and scarce got out with his life.
Qalawun addressed a letter to the king of Armenia vowing that not until every Christian was dead would he leave Acre. He marched
