WHEN THE BISHOP OF Tripoli returned home from the unsuccessful Council of Lyons, he thought he was bringing bad news, but he found that many of the local barons were actually relieved. The counting house, not the Cross, had become the central feature of their lives. They had gradually developed luxurious semi-oriental lifestyles that would be out of the question for them back in Europe. The Muslim trade was the source of their flowing wealth, and they had no desire to see it cut off by a bunch of religious fanatics who would turn their lives upside down and then go home. They were willing to take their chances with their own abilities to negotiate with the Muslims, who they were convinced would never want to destroy the trading centers that were the Christian port cities of the Holy Land. Their fights were with each other, as almost everyone with power—or a craving for it—lied, cheated, and even killed to get a larger personal share of the ever-shrinking Christian territory.
The Knights Templar shared in the profits from the Muslim trade, though their profits came not from goods, but from gold. They had extended their banking activities to Cairo, Alexandria, Damascus, and other Muslim merchant centers. Those activities included the kind of clandestine intelligence network that almost always accompanies international banking. The system included well-placed and well-paid informants at the various Muslim courts. The information collected was screened and evaluated at their headquarters in Acre, then applied to further the Templars’ own best interests.
When William de Beaujeu arrived at the Temple at Acre, it was his first appearance in the Holy Land since being elected grand master two years earlier. In grand chapter de Beaujeu explained his own diplomatic gains on behalf of the order, based primarily on his personal relationship with his cousin Charles of Anjou. He described the arrangement under which Charles was buying the claim to the throne of Jerusalem from Maria of Antioch, with the full blessing of Pope Gregory X. That meant Charles would soon be crowned king of Jerusalem, with the Templars high in his favor. He told them that Charles was in constant contact with Sultan Baibars of Egypt, who respected his accomplishments in the conquests of Sicily and Naples. Baibars had promised his full cooperation in Charles’s plan to retake Constantinople, which had every expectation of success. From all of this, because of the Templars’ firm support of Charles, the order could expect to reap a rich harvest of benefits in additional properties and power. In turn, the Templar officers were able to bring the grand master up to date on the events in the Holy Land during his absence, in particular the recent activities centered around the determination of King Hugh of Cyprus to have himself declared king of Jerusalem.
To start with, there was the strange situation in the Christian city of Beirut, where there was actually a guard detachment of Baibars’s Mamelukes in the palace. When John of Ibelin had died, the city went to his widowed daughter, Isabella. The princess enjoyed her widowhood and wealth with zestful abandon, to the extent that when the pope learned of her bedroom behavior, he issued an encyclical ordering Isabella to remarry. She picked a handsome English knight named Hamo, who had stayed behind when Prince Edward left the Holy Land. The locals disparagingly called her new husband L’estrange, the Foreigner. When a terminal illness began to drain away his life. Hamo L’estrange appealed to Sultan Baibars to protect Isabella from King Hugh of Cyprus, whom Hamo felt certain would make every effort to take Beirut from her.
He was right. Soon after Hamo’s death, King Hugh sent men to kidnap Isabella and bring her to Cyprus, where he intended to force her to marry one of his own people. Baibars immediately intervened and demanded that Isabella be released and sent home, which he had a right to do under his agreement with Hamo. The local barons supported the sultan, and Isabella was freed. Once Isabella was back in Beirut, Baibars provided her with a guard unit of Mamelukes for her security. It says something about the devious nature of Middle Eastern politics at that time, when a detachment of Muslim soldiers provided protection for a Christian noblewoman against the evil designs of a Christian king.
As to the Templars’ long rivalry with the Knights Hospitaller, the grand chapter assured Grand Master de Beaujeu that this could now be dismissed. With the loss of their greatest fortress, Krak des Chevaliers, the power and influence of the Hospitallers had declined sharply. Along with the other losses, the Hospitallers were reduced to just one important castle, which was far to the north at Marqab.
The Italian maritime states, Genoa and Venice, were still at each other’s throats at every opportunity, so there was no change on that front. Genoa had a firm grip on the trade in Byzantium, a benefit earned by providing help to the emperor Michael, but the grand master pointed out that the situation could be expected to change once Charles of Anjou succeeded in his plan to capture Constantinople. The Templars’ Venetian allies had good reason to support Charles and his claims with ships and men; in exchange, they expected to be returned to their former position as the dominant trading factor in the Byzantine territories.
Anxious to act before Charles of Anjou would complete his bargain with Maria of Antioch, King Hugh of Cyprus made plans to take control of the county of Tripoli. When Prince Bohemond VI died in 1275, Hugh rushed to Tripoli to announce that he would serve as regent until the fourteen-year-old heir came of age. Hugh was angered to learn that the boy’s mother had anticipated just such a move. She had already asserted her own right to the regency and had sent her son off to the safekeeping of her brother, King Leo of Armenia, well beyond King Hugh’s grasp. She had also turned the administration of Tripoli over to Bartholomew, the bishop of Tortosa, who had started a reign of terror in which the Knights Templar became involved.
By way of background, when the present prince’s grandfather had died in 1252, his widow, Princess Lucienne de Segni, ruled as regent until their young son reached his majority. When the princess had come out to Tripoli from Rome, she had brought with her a large entourage of friends and relatives. One of those relatives, Paul de Segni, she had arranged to be made bishop of Tripoli. He was the same prelate who had won the friendship of Templar grand master William de Beaujeu at the Council of Lyons. The princess and the bishop had exerted their combined influence to have many of their Roman friends appointed to the most lucrative posts in Tripoli. Now the bishop of Tortosa wanted them all out, out of their jobs, out of the country.
It was not the bishop of Tortosa’s style to request written resignations. He sent soldiers to the homes of some of the Romans to seize their property, then escort them and their families beyond the gates of the city, with orders never to return. Other Romans were not so lucky. They were taken from their houses, chained, and dragged off without explanation to the dungeons under the citadel. Then, without even the slender benefit of a trial, Bishop Bartholomew ordered their heads struck off and their properties forfeit. Bishop de Segni knew that his turn would come soon, and in his panic he could think of nowhere to turn except to the Templar grand master. It was the right move.
William de Beaujeu, backed by a contingent of his armored knights, hurried up from Acre to Tripoli to confront the bishop of Tortosa. The grand master ordered the bishop to stop his attacks on the Romans or on anyone else, admonishing him that to disobey was to take the gravest possible risk. De Beaujeu spoke as the cousin of the king of France, as kinsman of King Charles of Sicily and Naples, as the commander of the strongest military force in the Holy Land, and as the sole ruler of the city and castle of Bartholomew’s own bishopric of Tortosa. Bishop Bartholomew, now in fear for his position, his property, and even his life, backed off, assuring the angry grand master that his every word would be heeded. Paul de Segni, bishop of Tripoli, walked the streets of the city again, head high and totally secure. It paid to have friends in high places, especially the ones with swords.
Watching these events, King Hugh decided to abandon any attempt on Tripoli, choosing rather to direct his efforts at Acre. His approach was not very realistic, since he knew that Acre was the headquarters of the Knights Templar, who openly favored the claims of Maria of Antioch and Charles of Anjou. It was also the headquarters of the Templars’ Venetian allies, who had their own war galleys and troops. He could expect no support from the patriarch, who took his orders from the pope, and who also supported Charles of Anjou. Nonetheless, Hugh ignored the facts and sailed to Acre to declare himself king of Jerusalem. He was surprised and affronted when no one in the city paid any attention to his royal claims. As he left Acre to return to Cyprus, Hugh engaged in one more futile gesture. He appointed his vassal Balian of Ibelin to rule in his absence as his bailli and ordered that Balian be obeyed, on the preposterous assumption that people who ignored King Hugh would gladly obey his deputy.
During the following year of 1277 Charles of Anjou completed his arrangements to purchase the crown of Jerusalem from Maria of Antioch and sent his own bailli, Roger de San Severino, to rule in his absence. Informed in advance of the new bailli’s arrival, the Knights Templar and the Venetians met Roger’s ship, saw him safely disembarked, and took him into the city with a military escort. The party confronted Balian of Ibelin with documents authenticated by the signatures of Maria of Antioch and King Charles. A letter from the pope gave the papal blessing to Charles as the rightful king of Jerusalem. Balian had no choice but to step down.
By then, Bohemond VII had reached the legal age of fifteen and had assumed full control of Tripoli. Bohemond also retained the services of Bishop Bartholomew of Tortosa, who soon found a new way to enrich his own family. Young Bohemond had promised his cousin and vassal Guy of Jebail that Guy’s brother John would have the hand in marriage of a very wealthy young heiress. Bishop Bartholomew persuaded the young count to break his word to Guy and give the affluent young lady’s hand instead to the bishop’s own nephew. Guy’s response to Bohemond’s betrayal of his promise was to kidnap the heiress in Tripoli, take her to his own city of Jebail, then marry her to his brother John as originally planned. Bohemond was angry with Guy, but Bishop Bartholomew was furious. He encouraged Bohemond to take a body of knights to arrest Guy and his brother and bring them back to Tripoli for punishment.
No doubt recalling how the bishop of Tripoli had saved himself from Bartholomew’s vengeful wrath, Guy of Jebail fled to the protection of the Knights Templar, who readily took him in. In his frustration, Bohemond ordered the destruction of the Templar buildings in Tripoli. Grand Master de Beaujeu, himself an old hand at destruction, took a strong party of his Templars on a punitive raid through Bohemond’s territory, looting and burning, topped off by burning Bohemond’s castle of Botrun, between Tripoli and Jebail. Bohemond had no desire to confront the Templars in the field, but when word reached him that the grand master had led his Templars back to their headquarters at Acre, the king assembled his forces for an attack on Jebail. Apparently no one told him that the grand master had anticipated the attack and had provided for it. When Bohemond’s troops confronted the forces of Jebail, they were surprised to find a detachment of Templars facing them, armed and eager. Bohemond was soundly beaten and driven back to Tripoli, having made an enemy of the strongest military commander in the Holy Land. Prudence suggested that Bohemond mend his fences with the bearded knights of the red cross. That course was supported by the disquieting news coming to him from the north.
Baibars had decided to raid into the Turkish lands of Anatolia. The Seljuk leader had died, and a four-year-old boy was the new Seljuk sultan. His government was in the hands of a greedy emir named Suleiman, who was helping himself more than his people and neglecting his defenses. To Baibars, it seemed like a good time to strike. The young sultan was now a vassal of the Mongol ilkhan Abaga, who kept a garrison of Mongol horsemen in Anatolia, a fact that did not arouse any fear in Baibars. He had beaten them before and could beat them again.
At the same time that Bohemond was stirring up internal conflict in the Holy Land, Baibars moved up from Syria and chased the Mongols out of Anatolia. Suleiman made no attempt to rouse the Seljuks to defend their land or to help the Mongols. Rather, he demonstrated his dismal lack of courage by throwing himself at the feet of Baibars, who he quickly acknowledged as the liege lord of the Seljuk Turks.
When news of Baibars’s success reached the ilkhan Abaga, he ordered thousands of Mongols into the saddle and stormed out to meet the enemy, leading the mounted army himself. Baibars, unprepared to challenge the overwhelming numbers of the whole Mongol horde, simply moved out of Anatolia and back to the security of Syria. There was no barrier to his reasserting his control of the Seljuk territories at a later date. The spineless Suleiman was arrested by the Mongols and taken back to Persia in chains. Legend has it that at the Mongol victory banquet following the campaign, the featured dish was a stew made of select portions of Suleiman’s anatomy.
Baibars was annoyed at having been run out of Anatolia and extremely resentful that a young Syrian prince was receiving far more praise for his bravery during the recent action than was Baibars himself. He was al-Qahir, who had succeeded his father an-Nasir Dawud as prince of Kerak. The sudden popularity of the courageous young descendant of Saladin represented a possible threat to Baibars’s rule, which meant the prince had to die. Baibars invited the young man to a feast, where great quantities of kumiss, the fermented mare’s milk of the Mongols, were consumed. At one point, the sultan took a vial from his robe and surreptitiously poured a poison into the young prince’s cup. Somehow in the drunken party the cups got mixed up, so that Baibars drank the poison himself. He died after a series of agonizing stomach convulsions on the night of July 1, 1277. As brutal and ruthless as he was, Baibars was still the best Muslim general, and as the best-organized sultan since Saladin he had been an unending threat to the Christian states. News of his death brought celebrations in the streets and prayers of thanksgiving in the Christian churches.
Baibars’s heir was Baraqa, the teenaged son of Baibars’s Mongol wife. He and his companions, who depleted the national treasury with the most luxurious lifestyle they could dream up, made a game of finding ways to demonstrate Sultan Baraqa’s autocratic power. He imprisoned court officers who offended him or his friends in the slightest ways, regardless of their rank. His response to a gentle word of criticism from his elderly vizier was to order the old man to be arrested and executed. After almost two years of such bloody lunacy Baraqa, then at Damascus, was persuaded by his friends to arrest two Mameluke generals, who were back in Egypt, one of whom was Baibars’s favorite field commander, the emir Kala’un. Friends at court got word to the generals, who simply rode out of Cairo to join their armies, where no one would dare to come for them. The sultan refused to back off, and soon the generals announced that they were officially in a state of revolt and they rode back to Cairo with their armies behind them. The sultan assembled forces at Damascus to attack the rebellious emirs, but when the men of Damascus discovered the purpose of the expedition, they deserted and went home. Deprived of any type of military backing, Sultan Baraqa had no choice but to agree to live in exile in Kerak as the price of sparing his life.
Baibars’s second son, a seven-year-old boy, followed his disgraced brother as sultan, with Kala’un as vizier and commander-in-chief of the armies of the Egyptian empire. After about ninety days of that charade, Kala’un yielded to the urging of his friends and to his own strong ambitions. The boy was set aside, and Kala’un declared himself to be the sultan of Egypt. A few months later the exiled Sultan Baraqa was dead. The official court announcement reported that he had been killed in a fall from a horse. The gossip in every marketplace in Egypt and Syria said that he had been poisoned at Kala’un’s orders.
Later in that same year of 1279, Hugh of Cyprus decided to have another try at the city of Acre. Calling on the feudal obligations of his island vassals, he put together an armed force to stage what he intended to be open warfare, fully expecting that the mainland barons would join him. They didn’t, choosing instead to remain neutral. The Templars were fully armed and ready for battle before Hugh could even get all of his men and horses off their ships, and they were backed by all the land and naval forces of Venice. Hugh chose not to fight, switching instead to diplomatic efforts. That didn’t work either. After months of negotiating, threatening, and bargaining, the feudal contract put an end to the useless proceedings, because the vassals of Cyprus were sworn to a maximum of four months’ military service away from their island. As the time ran out and their feudal obligations were satisfied, the king’s vassals began to pack up and take ships for home. Hugh could do nothing but fume and follow them. He laid all the blame for his failure squarely at the door of the Knights Templar and, as punishment, seized all their properties in the kingdom of Cyprus. In answer to an appeal from the grand master, the pope wrote to King Hugh, ordering that for the good of his soul the Templar property should be returned. For the moment, however, Hugh of Cyprus elected to put retribution above redemption. He ignored the pontiff.
Nor was all going well with Tripoli. Bohemond had reached a one-year truce with the Templars, who were allowed to rebuild and staff their house in his city, but he still held twelve members taken prisoner in the past troubles. As the truce expired, there was another battle between about two hundred followers of Bohemond and about the same combined number of Templars and vassals of Guy of Jebail, in which Bohemond lost again, which led Bohemond to once again destroy the Templar property in Tripoli. The Templars attempted an attack from the sea, directing twelve of their own galleys to take the harbor at Tripoli, but the ships were dispersed by a sudden storm. Bohemond responded by sending a fleet of his own galleys against the Templar castle at Sidon, but understandably, the naval force alone could not take the high-walled fortress.
In the meantime the Mongol court, which had been relaxed by the news of the boy sultan of Egypt, was quick to respond to the much more ominous news that a Mameluke general had seized the sultanate. Ilkhan Abaga decided to move first. In the late summer of 1280 he sent a Mongol army into Syria, which took one town after another. By October the Mongols were in possession of the major city of Aleppo, where the Muslim inhabitants were slaughtered, warehouses pillaged, and mosques set on fire. The Hospitallers decided to take advantage of the prevailing turmoil and dispatched troops from their northern castle at Marqab to raid Muslim villages and towns in the interior. As they returned to Marqab after the raid, loaded down with loot, they were accosted by a troop of Muslim horsemen, which proved too small to stop them. Kala’un did not forget the insult of Marqab and marked the Hospitallers for special punishment.
The Mongol cavalry had successfully employed the speed and shock tactics for which they were universally feared and had seized Syrian territory, but in Egypt Kala’un could draw on the largest population base in all Islam. He assembled an army that would greatly outnumber the Mongols and set out to protect his kingdom. His cavalry and infantry made up the largest military force in the Middle East, and from sheer lack of numbers the Mongols were forced to retreat to Iraq. The Mongols needed to field a much larger army if they planned to take any part of Syria, Palestine, or Egypt away from the Mameluke sultan.
Sources of Mongol reinforcements were diminishing because the empire of Genghis Khan was breaking up, splitting into separate states under sons and grandsons of the Great Khan, each with his own leanings and ambitions. Kublai Khan, the strongest of them all, was gradually being absorbed into the ancient Chinese culture and was a devoted Buddhist. Much closer to home, the khan of the Golden Horde—now called the Kipchak Mongols—leaned toward Islam, and before the year was out would formally declare himself and his family to be Muslims. As such, he not only would refuse to help the Persian Mongols against the Egyptian Mamelukes, but had to be considered a potential enemy himself. The Persian Mongols under Ilkhan Abaga were on their own, but they could call on their Christian vassal states of Armenia and Georgia and on elements of the Seljuk Turks. Bohemond of Tripoli had pledged fealty to Abaga, but had few troops to offer. The one substantial fighting force that might be sought as an ally was that of the Latin Christians of the Crusader states, including the military orders. Abaga sent ambassadors to Acre.
The Mongol envoys explained to the barons and grand masters that during the following year, 1281, the ilkhan Abaga planned to send all his forces, a mighty army of one hundred thousand men, into Syria with the final objective of the conquest of Egypt. In exchange for the assistance of the Crusaders with men and military supplies, Abaga would guarantee that their rewards would include all of the original kingdom of Jerusalem. Every object of the crusading desire would be fulfilled.
The Latin Christians still had no central authority and no central voice. They had been so splintered by their internal squabbles that they could not address the Mongol proposals. Roger de San Severino was under strict orders from Charles of Anjou to maintain friendly relations with Sultan Kala’un, so his response to the envoys’ mission was to exert all the negative influence in his power. Abaga’s ambassadors went back to him frustrated and confused, but quite certain that the ilkhan could expect no help from the Crusaders. Nor did Mongol envoys sent directly to the pope and the leading monarchs in Europe achieve any better results.
Fully informed by his own agents of the Mongol diplomatic initiative, Kala’un followed up the Mongol mission to Acre with envoys of his own, who proposed a ten-year truce which would include the Knights Templar and the Hospitallers. The proposal received full support from Roger de San Severino, who went so far as to appear to be acting as Kala’un’s agent at the Christian gathering. In private, several of the Egyptian envoys advised the Crusaders not to rush into any arrangements with Kala’un because there was already a plot afoot to overthrow the sultan. They named names. Roger de San Severino rushed a warning to Kala’un, who was able to arrest and execute the conspirators in time to save his throne.
With Roger’s assurances to William de Beaujeu that the proposed truce would please Charles of Anjou, the grand master signed for the Knights Templar in May 1281. The grand master of the Hospitallers signed for his order, followed by the signature of Bohemond a few weeks later. Kala’un was delighted that his diplomatic maneuvering had secured his western flank against any Christian threat in the coming Mongol war. While the negotiations were taking place, Kala’un had moved his army up from Egypt and established his own base at Damascus. He was ready.
By September the Mongol army was assembled and began its march into Syria. The alliance did not have the hundred thousand men Abaga had anticipated, but was nevertheless a very substantial military presence of fifty thousand Mongols, supplemented by thirty thousand Christians from Armenia and Georgia, who were positioned as the right wing of the Mongol army. They were surprised to be joined by a detachment of Hospitaller knights from Marqab, who had decided to ignore the truce signed by their grand master at Acre.
At the end of October 1281, Kala’un marched out to meet the Mongols near the city of Homs, about fifty miles from the coast between Tortosa and Tripoli, and took personal command of the Muslim center. Opposite him was Ilkhan Abaga’s brother Mangu Timur, in supreme command of the Mongol force. As the two armies clashed, the armored Christians of the Mongol right shattered the Muslim left, whose horsemen finally broke and ran. The exultant Christians charged after the retreating enemy with so little attention to the distances they were covering that they completely lost touch with the main army. Regrouping their forces miles from the main battlefield, they settled down to rest, apparently in the false belief that their own success was being shared by the entire Mongol force. It might have been, but in the clash at the center of the line Mangu Timur suffered a serious wound that seems to have thrown him into a state of panic. He demanded to be taken from the field, ordering his own substantial guard to escort him away from the battle. When they were seen retreating, the same panic gripped the entire Mongol army, which soon was in full flight.
It is not hand-to-hand combat that inflicts the most damage to an army, but hand-to-back, as soldiers are struck down from behind trying to flee the field. The Muslims chased the enemy with spear, sword, and ax, leaving a trail of Mongol dead all the way to the Euphrates River. The relaxed and seemingly victorious Armenian and Georgian Christians found themselves trapped, alone. As the main Muslim army chased the Mongols off to the northeast, the Christians fought their way through to the northwest. Roger de San Severino made a personal gift-bearing visit to the court of Sultan Kala’un to express praise and gratitude for the decisive Egyptian victory, because that’s what he thought his master Charles of Anjou would want. Roger couldn’t foresee that in just a few months no one would any longer care what Charles of Anjou wanted.
The humiliating loss of the Battle of Homs was a great shock to the ilkhan Abaga, who sank into deep depression and died a few weeks later. His brother Tekudar took the throne, putting aside the claim of Abaga’s son Argun. Although his mother had been a Nestorian Christian and his father a man of total religious tolerance, Tekudar had become profoundly impressed by the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad. He announced that he had decided to embrace Islam and to give up his Mongol title. On this day he ceased to be the ilkhan Tekudar and henceforth was to be addressed as the sultan Ahmed. He came to regret that his subjects did not quickly follow his lead in religious preference.
With the friendly Mongols defeated by their Mameluke enemy, there appeared to be a bit more effort among the resident Crusaders to settle their internal differences. Peace was effected between the Knights Templar and Tripoli, to the extent that the Templars were once again permitted to rebuild and garrison their quarters in that city. Perhaps that was why they were unsympathetic toward a new plan of Guy of Jebail, who had lost none of his hatred for Bohemond of Tripoli, a feeling that was enthusiastically reciprocated.
In January of 1282 Guy decided to resolve the conflict by seizing Bohemond at night in his own palace. With his two brothers and a party of friends, Guy got into the city under cover of darkness, and the conspirators gathered at the house of the Knights Templar, where they were not made welcome and were asked to leave. As they moved out through the city toward Bohemond’s palace, an alarm was sounded. Guy and his group ran to the nearby headquarters of the Hospitallers, where they were bottled up in a tower by Bohemond’s guard. They could easily have been driven out over time by hunger and thirst, but the Hospitallers managed to extract terms from Bohemond under which Guy and his party would be set free in exchange for their surrender. Once his enemy was in his hands, however, Bohemond saw no barrier to breaking his word. Guy’s followers were sent to the dungeons, where their eyes were put out, after which they were led back stumbling and bleeding to their families at Jebail. Guy, his two brothers, and a cousin were reserved for public punishment. They were taken to a ditch and buried up to their necks with their eyes turned toward the sun. They were left to a death of thirst and dehydration, no doubt hastened by an open invitation to the local citizens to pelt their exposed heads with anything handy.
Back in Sicily, an underground movement against the French had grown sufficiently confident to be ready to act. All winter long secret agents had moved throughout the island kingdom, evidencing all the elements of a strong covert organization among the lower nobility and prominent peasants. They agreed upon a date, based on signals that have never been revealed but that proved totally successful. On the evening of March 30, 1282, they rose in a unified front and murdered every member of the occupying French garrisons, their officers, and the administrative officials. This bloodbath was remembered in history as the Sicilian Vespers. (If certain Italian historians are correct in their assertion that the secret society behind the uprising evolved into the Sicilian Mafia, its medieval roots may help to explain how organized crime developed its completely feudal operational structure.)
The powerful alliance that had been so carefully and expensively built between Charles of Anjou and the papacy simply collapsed. That alliance had emptied the treasury of the Church in Rome, which now had nothing to show for it. When the news reached Spain, King Pedro III of Aragon rushed an army to take control of Sicily. The army in Italy that Charles had exhausted his funds to assemble for the invasion of Byzantium was now needed to attempt the reoccupation of the Sicilian kingdom. He lost his means to transport that army when the Aragonese navy defeated Charles’s Sicilian fleet in the Straits of Messina, then moved north to destroy his Italian fleet in the Bay of Naples. Charles’s nephew, Philip III of France, tried to stop the trouble at the source with an invasion of Aragon, but his troops took a severe beating from the forces of Pedro III. The pope wielded his mighty sword of ecclesiastic power by formally excommunicating King Pedro, which accomplished nothing at all. Genoa saw in Charles’s fall a decline in the power of his Venetian allies and accelerated its war against the Adriatic republic.
In the east, the government and religious convictions of Byzantium were now beyond any threats of conquest as Charles fought to retain some remnant of his kingdom. Sultan Kala’un wrote him off as no help and no threat. Charles of Anjou could be ignored. When Grand Master de Beaujeu and his Templars learned of the fall of their powerful ally and patron, they were acutely aware that some of the power and influence of the Knights Templar had fallen with him. Charles now needed his trusted vassal Roger de San Severino to help him at home, so Roger returned to Italy, leaving his seneschal Odo Poilechien to act in his place. Poilechien was ready to be agreeable when Sultan Kala’un suggested a new peace treaty between the Muslim and Christian states.
The treaty essentially characterized the Christians as a source of commerce, not war. They agreed to refrain from expanding their defenses, and that included the Templars, the Hospitallers, and the Teutonic Knights, whose leaders the document called “the grand masters of Acre,” and who were to act as agents of the sultan in the event of impending Crusades. Historian Amin Maalouf has quoted a portion of that treaty:
“If a Frankish king sets out from the west to attack the lands of the sultan or his son, the regent of the kingdom and the grand masters of Acre shall be obligated to inform the sultan of their action two months before their arrival. If the said king disembarks in the east after these two months have elapsed, the regent of the kingdom and the grand masters at Acre will be discharged of all responsibilty in the affair.”
Any monarch contemplating a Crusade could hardly be happy that the Christian military orders were sworn to provide a Muslim sultan, the target of his crusading efforts, with two months’ advance notice of the event, and therefore sixty days in which to make preparations to thwart his Christian purpose.
The treaty, to remain in effect for ten years, ten months, ten days, and ten hours, was signed in May 1283 by Odo Poilechien and the grand masters. It specifically excluded the Hospitallers of Marqab, whom the sultan would never forgive for joining the Mongol army against him.
Nor did he forget that the Christian king of Georgia had fought against him. Kala’un had paid informants at the Georgian court, and through them he learned that the king had decided to make a pilgrimage to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at Jerusalem. The report could hardly have been improved upon by modern espionage technology, since it provided the Georgian king’s complete description, including age, height, complexion, eye color, and visible scars, plus the route he would follow and the information that the king would be in disguise, with just one companion.
Kala’un’s agents easily spotted the king at the frontier, then followed him for days, right through the gate into Jerusalem. Once inside, he was taken into custody and put in chains. On Kala’un’s orders, he was then escorted to Egypt, where he was consigned to a royal dungeon deep inside the citadel at Cairo. The entire operation speaks eloquently to Kala’un’s talent for organization.
In view of recent events, King Hugh of Cyprus, remarkably persistent, decided that the time might at last be right for him to establish his claim to the crown of Jerusalem. Once again he assembled an army of his feudal vassals and set out for Acre in July of 1283. This time a storm blew his fleet off course as far north as Beirut. When the winds died down, Hugh decided to proceed south by ship himself, but he ordered his troops to make the journey overland. Along the way, the Cypriots were severely cut up by Muslim raiders. When the news reached King Hugh at Tyre, he was seething with rage at the Knights Templar, who he was convinced were responsible for instigating the Muslim attacks.
He had a more concrete reason to be angry with the Templars when news of his latest claim to the crown of Jerusalem reached Acre. The Knights Templar were very happy with the total independence they enjoyed under the lackadaisical government of Odo Poilechien, as were both the Venetians and the Commune of Acre. The only way they would yield to Hugh’s claim to the throne of Jerusalem would be through force of arms, which in the circumstances was not a very practical approach for King Hugh. Once again he fumed and argued while the four-month feudal obligation of his vassals ran out. This time the obsessed monarch did not go back to Cyprus with them, determined to stay in Acre until his claim was recognized. During the months that followed, fate dealt his ambition a terminal blow, when after many weeks of increasingly grave illness Hugh died at the beginning of March 1284.
The crown of Cyprus went to Hugh’s son John, a very frail youth of seventeen years who did not have long to live. In spite of his condition, however, he was crowned king of Cyprus, then taken to Tyre, where he was crowned king of Jerusalem. That title and position was rejected by the Knights Templar, the Venetians, and the Commune of Acre, who pointedly ignored the sickly king.
Cyprus was not the only kingdom to change rulers that year. In Persia Argun, the son of the late ilkhan Abaga, had led an unsuccessful revolt to unseat his uncle Sultan Ahmed and was put in prison to await his fate. Fortunately for him, the Mongol garrison had not followed his uncle’s example in converting to the Muslim faith. Argun, who still enjoyed the status almost instinctively rendered to a direct descendant of Genghis Khan, engaged the officers and men in conversation as often as possible. He constantly played on the point that all favor was now being shown to Muslims, that only Muslims could expect promotion. What was wrong with their own religion? Why would any true Mongol agree to cast aside the wise laws of Genghis Khan that had built the Mongol empire? Were they supposed to be ashamed of being Mongols? His reasoning and his appeals to their racial pride took root and spread. His guards finally released Argun, and the officers of the garrison pledged their support. They murdered Sultan Ahmed and put Argun on the throne. They were pleased when Argun announced that he would not give up his Mongol name and would use the Mongol title, styling himself the ilkhan Argun.
Not certain as to what Argun might do, Kala’un moved his court and a large part of his army up to Damascus. When it became apparent that Argun had no immediate military moves in mind, Kala’un decided to keep a promise he had made to himself, the punishment of the Hospitallers at Marqab. The closest help for Marqab would be the Knights Templar in their castle at Tortosa, a few miles to the south, but with his recent treaty Kala’un could be reasonably sure that the Templars would not interfere.
In April of 1285 Kala’un personally led a substantial army to the mountain castle of Marqab. His attack had been carefully planned and his army was well supplied. Tens of thousands of arrows had been made in advance, there was a supply of pitch and naphtha for fireballs, and seven massive catapults were assembled. The problem of the engineers in charge of the catapults was the height of the castle above the valley floor. Now it was not a matter of how far the machines could throw a heavy stone, but how high. They tried to find a solution by moving the catapults up the side of the mountain, but that made them easy prey for the Hospitallers, who had gravity on their side. All the knights had to do was to lob a stone over the wall with their own catapults, letting it fall down on the unlucky Muslims. Several Muslim catapults were lost that way, so Kala’un decided to switch to mining.
The Muslim miners and engineers managed to drive a tunnel under the north tower of Marqab and then carved out a large chamber under the foundations, which they supported with timbers. Using the pitch and naphtha they had brought with them, they soaked and coated the timbers, then set them on fire. As the wooden support of the foundation burned away, the tower came crashing down. The sultan sent word to the castle commander that a branch of that same tunnel went deep into the castle structure. He suggested that the Hospitallers choose surrender over certain death under falling rock and promised the safety of every Christian.
There seemed to be no choice, so the surrender was arranged. Not absolutely certain that Kala’un would keep his word, the Hospitallers were greatly relieved to learn that each officer would be allowed to keep one horse, his personal possessions, and even his weapons. All others in the castle would leave on foot with no possessions: What they were allowed to keep was their lives. They followed the coastal route south to the Templar castle at Tortosa, where the Knights Templar provided them with supplies and horses to get them back to join their brother Hospitallers at Tripoli.
On May 20, 1285, just three days before the fall of Marqab and scarcely more than a year after inheriting the throne of Cyprus, the frail eighteen-year-old King John died, to be succeeded by his healthy and vigorous fourteen-year-old brother Henry. Fortunately for the boy king, another death had occurred that smoothed his path to the crown of Jerusalem. Charles of Anjou had died and passed his titles to his own son, who would rule his southern Italian lands from Naples as King Charles II. King Henry sent an ambassador to Acre, asking that he be acknowledged as king of Jerusalem.
With Charles of Anjou dead, the Commune of Acre, the Hospitallers, and the Teutonic Knights had no objection. Venice decided not to resist the claim. After long discussions, Grand Master de Beaujeu and the Knights Templar bowed to the will of the majority and acquiesced. The sole objection came from an unexpected quarter. Seneschal Odo Poilechien, who had never lived so grandly or importantly in his entire life, refused to step aside. He barricaded the castle at Acre and garrisoned it with French soldiers, ready to do battle with the king of Cyprus, who arrived at Acre in June. Henry was patient and tried to be conciliatory, but the local barons soon tired of the fruitless conflict. The grand masters of the military orders sought an audience with Odo and warned him that he was alone in his resistance and endangering his own life. Under pressure, Odo was finally persuaded to turn the castle over to Henry. The young king of Cyprus was then universally acknowledged to be the rightful king of Jerusalem.
The royal family of Cyprus had fought long and hard to gain the throne of Jerusalem, and now must have wondered why. The kingdom hugged the coast from the Templar castle of Tortosa in the north to Castle Pilgrim in the south, and nowhere was it more than a few miles wide. Each major city was a separate fiefdom, with rulers who rarely cooperated with each other. The Teutonic Knights had lost their castle at Montfort, so could offer no real defense beyond a handful of knights. The Hospitallers had lost both Krak des Chevaliers and their mountain castle at Marqab, so were in an extremely weak position. The major defense of the kingdom, therefore, fell on the Knights Templar, who now held all of the frontier castles that were left. A new Crusade was desperately needed, and if the Christians couldn’t have a Crusade, the only hope they had of holding their place in the Holy Land was an alliance with ilkhan Argun of the Persian Mongols.
That alliance was there, waiting for them. All they had to do was say “yes.” The ilkhan could not have been more open about his desire for the Mongols and Christians to fight together. He had written a letter to Pope Honorius IV and could not understand why he had not received the courtesy of a reply. In 1287 the khan sent to Rome his personal ambasssador, a Nestorian Christian named Rabban Sauma, but by the time the ambassador arrived the pope was dead, and no successor had been named. He tried to explain the seriousness of the Middle Eastern situation to the assembled cardinals, but they insisted on turning every conversation into a probing inquisition into his Nestorian beliefs, then allowed themselves the scholastic satisfaction of pointing out the Catholic perception of the theological flaws in Rabban Sauma’s replies. The Mongol ambassador was interested in what the Roman prelates felt about life after death, but his mission was to put off that death for as long as possible in the Middle East. He left for Genoa, where he was well received, but Genoa was busily engaged in its wars against the navies of Venice and Aragon.
Philip IV of France gave him a warm welcome in Paris, even promising to send a Crusade, but declined to pinpoint a date. Others told Rabban Sauma that Philip was preoccupied at the moment in his continental war with Edward I of England. The English king, who he found at Bordeaux, also welcomed the Mongol ambassador and reminisced with him about his own journey to the Holy Land as a Crusader in his younger days. Edward also talked agreeably about a Crusade, but he offered nothing concrete that Rabban Sauma could relate to his Mongol master.
In February 1288 Rabban Sauma received the news that Pope Nicholas IV had been elected to the papal throne. He dropped everything to get to Rome. Once more he was met with a warm welcome, weasel-words, and hollow, ill-defined assurances of interest. The papacy, too, was at war, trying to restore the Angevin rule in Sicily, in which it had such a substantial investment. A few weeks later Rabban Sauma returned home to Ilkhan Argun, dejected in spirit, unhappy to bear the bad news that there was absolutely no hope of a Mongol-Christian alliance and no hope of a new Crusade.
Argun tried again two years later with personal letters to the Christian monarchs in Europe. He proposed launching a campaign against the Muslims in January of 1291. In exchange for Christian support with men and military supplies, the Christians would have the entire Holy Land as their reward. He got nowhere, nor did he do any better with the Latin Christians of the Crusader states, whose very lives Argun felt were in grave danger. They wanted no part of him and no part of any war. They were leading comfortable, profitable lives off Muslim trade and had no desire to disrupt this state of affairs. They were convinced that trade was as important to the Muslims as it was to them and took complete comfort in their written treaty with Kala’un.
Then, early in 1289, Grand Master William de Beaujeu received a disturbing secret message from Emir al-Fakhri, an official at the Egyptian court in Cairo who was on the Templar payroll. Al-Fakhri’s report said that Kala’un was sending a large army to Syria in preparation for an attack on Tripoli. The grand master immediately shared the information with the leaders of Tripoli. He advised them to inspect and repair their defenses and to gather men and supplies in readiness for a Muslim assault. No one believed him and nothing was done, but the grand master was so confident of his information that he dispatched a contingent of Knights Templar for what he was certain was an imminent attack. Only time, and precious little time, would tell if the Templar intelligence was accurate.