Chapter 14

The Death of a Hero

During the weeks between the signing of the peace at Ramlah and the departure of Richard, hundreds of Europeans seized the chance to visit the Holy Sites, as allowed by the treaty. Some fanatical Muslims were angered that infidels should be allowed into the city, and Saladin ordered patrols on the roads to protect the Christian pilgrims from the enthusiasts. Vindictiveness was no part of his nature and he was perfectly willling to permit the defeated enemy a last gesture of piety. Perhaps he regretted that King Richard refused to make the pilgrimage from shame that he had not been able to win the city back for Christendom, but he entertained his emissary, Hubert Walter the bishop of Salisbury, magnanimously. He ‘sent him many gifts of price and even invited him to a conference in order to see what kind of a man he was in appearance. He had the Holy Cross shown to him, and they sat together a long time in familiar conversation … he enquired as to the habits of the king of England … and asked what the Christians said about his Saracens.’ At the end of the interview, he invited the bishop to ask any favour he wished. The next day, having begged time to think over his request, Hubert Walter returned and asked that Latin priests be allowed to celebrate Catholic rites at the Holy Sepulchre, Bethlehem and Nazareth.

Saladin’s agreement to this request was natural in his generous nature. It is equally likely that he saw political advantages from rival Christian establishments at the shrines. Tension between the Catholics and the Syrian churches had been a permanent feature of the Christian kingdom. In fact Hubert Walter had been prompted to make his request because, in the words of the Christian chronicler, ‘he had found the services only half celebrated after the barbarous Syrian fashion’ and wished to ‘inaugurate a fitting service to God’. Saladin was closely informed on the weaknesses of his opponents and would have been well aware that the arrogance of the Latins had long deprived them of the cooperation of a large body of fellow Christians in Muslim-occupied territory. The new arrangements for the guardianship of the Christian holy places could be expected to keep ill feeling alive between the two communities. Even his friendly agreement to allow Christians from the army up to visit the shrines had had an element of calculation. He knew that the bulk of the newly arrived Europeans had come on Crusade only to fulfil the pilgrimage and once they had made it these Franks would be eager to depart.

The Ramlah agreement on pilgrims seems to have been negotiated by Richard as an opportunity for him to reward his own men with the special passports which were stipulated. But Saladin ordered that all pilgrims should be let through, and soon received an angry message from the English king; he was particularly irritated that the French, who had refused their help at Jaffa, were being given the same treatment as the English. But Saladin gave ‘honourable entertainment to such as he chose … receiving them at his table and letting them know that by doing so he would incur the reproaches of the king. He ignored the prohibition he had received from Richard with the excuse: “There are men here who have come from afar to visit the Holy Places and our law forbids us to hinder them.”’

Saladin remained at Jerusalem until he had received the news that Richard had finally sailed. He had been discussing the advisability of making his own pilgrimage to Mecca. He was anxious to fulfil his long outstanding obligation to the Faith; although only in his early fifties he was aware of the toll that his relentless work schedules had taken on his fragile health. Following his doctor’s orders he had often had to break the fasting duties of the month of Ramadan and now, to the dismay of Baha’-ad-Din, he was beginning to pay off his debt to religion by fasting on uncanonical days. It seems obvious that he feared that he might die before he had completed his religious duties. Yet his advisers raised practical objections against making the pilgrimage at this time. Their chief fear was that the peace with the Christians was not firm enough to guarantee the new territories and that if Saladin were to leave at this moment, even for the few months needed for the journey to Mecca, the enemy might mount a new attack. They urged him to make a tour of the frontier fortresses. Their fears were no doubt exaggerated. After a year and a half of intensive campaigning under the dynamic leadership of Richard I and reinforced by European armies, the Christians had failed to win back Jerusalem and had been held to a narrow coastal strip. The prince of Antioch was friendly to Saladin and the armies of the kingdom were in no position to launch a new offensive. Nevertheless, the Muslim high command had seen too many instances of emirs reluctant to fight to be confident of their resolution if the commander-in-chief withdrew.

On 14 October he marched out of Jerusalem on the road to Nablus. There he inspected the fortifications and on the morning of Saturday the 16th he held court, rendering justice and distributing largesse. He heard many complaints against the governor al-Mashtub and fixed a date for a full hearing. It was one of the most serious criticisms of Saladin’s rule that he was too indulgent to the faults of his officials. Perhaps with the great goals of the religious war at last achieved he planned to take a firmer hand in the government of his now massive empire. He continued his northward march to Baisan, where he again made a thorough inspection of the fortress, which was now standing empty. He concluded that the place should be put back into commission and thoroughly repaired, and then went on to examine the nearby stronghold of Kaukab, formerly Belvoir. After examining its defences Saladin decided it should be razed to the ground, being too close to Baisan for the practical purposes of Muslim defence and a standing invitation to the Christians to recapture as a counter-fortress.

On the evening of Tuesday, 19 October, he arrived at Tiberias just as a storm was beginning to blow up. That night and the following day torrential rain swept down on central Galilee, churning up the roads and swelling the rivers. But Saladin continued his tour of inspection with the fortresses between Tiberias and Beirut, which he reached at the end of the month. There, on 1 November, he held a great reception for the Christian prince of Antioch, Bohemond, called the Stammerer. Saladin’s conquests had isolated his small state from the kingdom, and the Third Crusade had not restored the status quo. Bohemond was looking for a deal and left with quite a favourable one. In exchange for homage and the recognition of Saladin’s overlordship he was invested with a robe of honour and granted lands in the plain of Antioch to the value of 15,000 gold pieces. Armed with this satisfactory arrangement he returned to his capital, while Saladin proceeded to Damascus.

On 4 November, after four years of absence, he entered his capital to scenes of tumultuous enthusiasm. It was a fitting culmination to his exhausting, at times dangerous, yet ultimately triumphant campaigning in the cause of Islam. The time was long overdue for a rest and during the ensuing weeks he devoted himself to hunting the gazelle in the country round the town with his brother al-Adil and his sons. Between whiles he relaxed with his family in the summer pavilions of his palace. One day, when he was playing with a favourite among his young sons, a Frankish embassy was shown into his presence. When the little boy saw the strange figures, with their close-shaven chins, close-cropped hair and odd clothes, he clung to his father and began crying. The great man, no doubt more than a little irritated at having his privacy encroached on in this way, dismissed the visitors to wait until he was ready to listen to their business. Then, turning to his secretary, he asked him to order something to eat. ‘Speaking in his usual kindly way, he said: “It is a busy day. Bring us whatever you have ready.”’

Such gentle, well-mannered consideration for subordinates and servants was, to many observers used to the arrogance and violence of petty despots, one of the most remarkable traits of a remarkable character. Open access to the ruler, an honoured tradition at some Muslim courts to this day, was something that Saladin insisted on whenever possible, and during these audiences the cushion he was sitting on was unceremoniously trampled underfoot by the jostling petitioners. Even unimportant courtiers could expect a civil response at almost any time of day. As he was preparing for his siesta one afternoon, an old mamluk, ‘whom he much esteemed’, came into the tent with a petition on behalf of religious enthusiasts serving as volunteers in the army. Saladin, genuinely exhausted after a hard morning’s work, asked the old man, who had pushed passed the attendants, to let him look into the matter later. ‘Instead, he held it right up to the king’s eyes so that he could read it.’ Finding himself so unceremoniously cornered, the greatest lord in Islam wryly agreed to the petition, if only to get rid of the petitioner, but observed he could not sign the authorisation until after his rest when his secretary came with the ink. But the old mamluk, who was obviously used to the evasions of the great, pointed out that there was an inkstand on a table behind Saladin’s couch. ‘By God, he is right,’ sighed the king, and reached for the inkstand. The fact that he did this himself, without calling out a servant, was ‘a sign of great benignity’ to the admiring Baha’-ad-Din.

We do not have to rely on the eulogies of Saladin’s admirers. In summing up his career, Ibn-al-Athir, the pro-Zengid Turkish chronicler, wrote: ‘He was a generous man, sweet natured, a man of good character, humble and accepting patiently things which displeased him, though perhaps too inclined to overlook the faults of his lieutenants.’ One evening, at a drinking bout with his mamluks, a boot was thrown during the horse-play and nearly hit Saladin; instead of disciplining the offender, he turned to the courtier next to him and opened up a conversation. On another occasion, when he was recovering from an illness, his servants drew his bath too hot. Saladin called for cold water and the bath boy tripped and splashed the king; Saladin called for more and this time the man stumbled and deposited the whole jugful on him. Despite the shock to his weakened system Saladin merely commented: ‘My dear fellow, if you aim to kill me, give me due warning.’ And that, added Ibn-al-Athir, was his only observation on the incident.

During the weeks of relaxation Saladin made his vow to make his pilgrimage the following year. In February the pilgrims made their return to Damascus, and on the 20th Saladin and his entourage went out to meet them on the road: it was a magnificent sight and the people of the city came out to greet the king. The winter rains lashing down did little to dampen the enthusiasm of the occasion and Saladin repressed the shivers of his body, but he was already contracting the chill that was to kill him. The weather was so bad that the roads had had to be cleared of the floodwater, yet Saladin forgot to put on the padded tunic which he always wore out riding. Baha’-ad-Din hurried after to remind him. ‘He seemed like a man waking out of a dream and asked for the garment, but the master of the wardrobe could not find it.’ Later it was to be seen as an omen that the king should ask for something that he never used to be without and could not get it. When they had returned to the place that Friday evening he complained of a great weariness and before midnight was prostrated by an attack of bilious fever.

The next morning he was still desperately weak and the fever was still on him. He complained of a disturbed night but chatted easily with his son, Baha’-ad-Din and al-Fadil until mid-day. He was unable to come in to lunch and his son al-Afdal took the place of honour at the table. To many the sight of the son in the father’s place seemed a sad omen. On the sixth day of the illness, his anxious councillors sat him up, supporting his back with cushions and calling for warm water for him to drink after taking his medicine. ‘He found the water too hot so a second cup was brought; this he found too cold but did not get angry or start ranting. He simply said: “Dear God, can no one produce water at the right temperature?” At this the qadi and I left the room weeping hot tears, and the qadi said to me: “What a spirit Islam is about to lose. By God. Any other man would have thrown the cup at the man’s head”.’

It became clear that he was failing rapidly. On the ninth day he lost consciousness and could not take his medicine. By this time the length of the illness was beginning to cause alarm in the city. The death of a potentate was too often followed by rioting while the palace factions fought for the succession, and some merchants began clearing their market stalls. Baha’-ad-Din and al-Fadil found that their comings and goings from the palace were anxiously observed by the crowds who tried to tell from the expressions on their faces how the king’s illness was progressing. ‘On the tenth day he was able to take a little barley water and the news caused public rejoicing. But the following morning we were told that the violence of his thirst was beyond belief and had caused the doctors to abandon hope.’ When al-Afdal was informed of his father’s condition he hurriedly convened the chief officers and councillors and ordered them to make the oath of loyalty to himself. He was an ambitious young man, but the precaution was absolutely necessary and contributed to the smooth transfer of power.

He breathed his last after the hour of the morning prayer on 4 March 1193. He was in his fifty-fifth year. ‘The qadi came into his room just after dawn at the precise moment of his death,’ Baha’-ad-Din continues his account; ‘when I arrived he had already passed into the bosom of divine grace.’ When the divine who was reading the Koran at the bedside reached the words: ‘“There is no other God but he, and in him is my trust,” he smiled, his face was illumined, and he gave up his spirit to his lord.’

The death caused such genuine displays of grief in Damascus that the physician Abd-al-Latif commented that it was, to his knowledge, the only time a king had been truly mourned by his people. ‘It was a weary day; everyone was so deep in his own grief and sorrow that he could pay attention to no one else…. His sons went out among the people crying out for pity … and so it went on until after the mid-day prayer. Then we occupied ourselves with washing his body and clothing it in the shroud; but we had to resort to borrowing – even to the straw. After the mid-day prayer he was carried out in a coffin draped simply with a length of material procured, like the other materials needed to shroud him, by al-Fadil. Men’s grief overcame them and distracted them even from the prayer recited over him by men clothed in sackcloth. Then the body was carried back to the palace in the garden where he had lain during his illness and was buried in the west pavilion. He was laid in his tomb about the hour of evening prayer.’

Saladin’s penury when he died, so extreme that his friends had to borrow to bury him, was attested by hostile as well as friendly commentators, and all recognised that it was the result of a life of unparalleled generosity. Ibn-al-Athir recorded that when he died he left only a single Tyrian dinar and forty pieces of silver. He concluded his résumé of the great man whom he had so often criticised with a warmth which, more than anything written by his friends, demonstrates the deep impression this magnanimous champion of Islam made on all his contemporaries. ‘In a word, he was the marvel of his time, a man rich in fine qualities marked by his fine actions and by the great campaigns he led against the Infidel, as his conquests proved.’

‘God sanctify his spirit and illumine his sepulchre.’