God has chosen me to govern Egypt, said he, although I did not expect it.
Fortune elevated a Kurdish youth, making him wealthy who was poor, making much from little, a sovereign of a peasant. He who gained entrance to court as patron of Damascus whores, who ruled over stews, who ate garlic and played at dice in low taverns now was lifted up to sit among princes, to exceed princes, to govern over Egypt. He would occupy the lands of Gesry, of Roasia, carry his strength to India Citerior. He would assault and subdue each neighbor, one through deceit, one by force, arrogating to himself the prerogative of kings, molding divers scepters into one. With all his nature would he seek to reduce and usurp that provenance bequeathed by God to Christians.
Those who knew him best called this infidel compassionate. They tell of the grief expressed when Taqi al-Din, his nephew, died. They say he wept, asking God’s forgiveness, but asked courtiers not to mention how he wept and sent for rose water to bathe his eyes. They speak of a Frankish woman who came to him sobbing and clawing her breast because thieves had stolen her little daughter. Saladin despatched a retainer to the market and presently a horseman appeared with the infant riding on his shoulders. The woman flung herself to the ground at Saladin’s feet and smeared her face with sand, muttering Frankish words. Then she with her child were escorted to the Frankish camp. They say he was a melancholy little sovereign with a neat beard, always pressing food upon visitors, invariably courteous, anxious that none should leave his presence disappointed. Assassins more than once tried to murder him.
Turks and Egyptians opposed each other like tarantulas in a jug while strife and discord roiled the Holy Land from Kerak to Nicomedia. Sedition spread. Armenians abhorred the proximity of Syrians, Syrians detested the bellies of Greeks, not one able to countenance the next. Prince Kakig of Armenia would take Caesarea and thrust the Greek bishop into a sack with a mad dog. Greeks would lure Prince Kakig into ambush and murder him. So this tapestry unrolled, adumbrating the evil of our time.
During the providential year 1170 two patriarchs would compete for spiritual supremacy. Athanasius, patriarch of Constantinople, arrived to minister Antioch. But this enraged the Frankish patriarch, Aimery, who suspended service and retreated to his castle at Qosair. Presently the earth began to tremble as if lashed by the King of Kings. Churches shuddered. Stones came loose in the cathedral of Saint Peter while Athanasius was celebrating mass, tumbled down to bury him. Now the prince of Antioch dressed in sackcloth, shaved his head and hurried to Qosair begging forgiveness of Aimery. But the Frankish patriarch sulked and would not emerge from his castle, not while Athanasius lived in Antioch. So they put the injured Greek on a litter and took him outside the walls to die.
Such was the lowering state of affairs. God’s enemies found new inspiration while Christianity appeared deficient in prudent leadership. It seemed a new generation had grown up steeped in wickedness, caring neither for purpose nor result but squandered in disgraceful ways the legacy of their fathers. All could watch the kingdom deteriorating. King Amalric summoned his nobles to discuss how this might be remedied. They answered that Christianity had sunk to a wretched estate because of sin.
Appeal to the West, said they. Appeal to Europe for help in contesting the powers of darkness.
Amalric and his counselors then resolved that a delegation of high lords be sent to petition the kings of France, England, Sicily, and the Spains, to beseech the pontiff at Rome, to solicit influential dukes and counts. Also they resolved that Emperor Manuel Comnenus be approached since he was nearby and eighty times wealthier than the rest. This envoy, they thought, should be a paramount lord. And because none seemed so well suited as the king himself it came about in the year 1171 that he traveled without much enthusiasm to Constantinople. He was greeted better than he expected. Civil festivities, displays of dancing at the hippodrome, religious rites, an excursion on the Bosporus. The kingdom of Jerusalem puzzled Manuel Comnenus, yet he felt sympathetic since all were brothers in Christ. He had caused the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem to be redecorated with mosaic by the artist Ephraim and generously repaired the Holy Sepulcher. No chronicle preserves what accord was reached, what contract signed, but it is known that King Amalric departed full of admiration for his host.
Now it seemed to Amalric that he might once more invade and this time emasculate Egypt. To the south lived people who called themselves Coptic and embraced the teaching of our Lord centuries ago, albeit in strange fashion. Amalric therefore thought he might restore Christianity to its rightful heritage along the Nile. But while he debated this he succumbed to bloody flux and filled up with noxious water. In a little while he flew to the arms of Jesus all blackened and discolored.
Saladin ordered his brother to learn about these Christians in the south. It is related that he marched as far as Wadi Halfa where he killed the bishop, as many Copts as he found, and seven hundred pigs. When he returned to Cairo he told Saladin it was an odious place.
In the very year of Amalric’s death the life of Nur al-Din had run its course. While riding with companions through
