Chapter 184: Chapter 184 - The Debate
September 30th, 1181 - Jerusalem
The council chamber of the citadel in Jerusalem was filled with the familiar mixture of light and solemnity. Tapestries hung from the walls depicting victories of earlier kings, and the crucifix above the dais reminded every man and woman present that their deliberations were meant to be guided by the hand of God. Baldwin sat upon the throne-like chair at the head of the council table, Constance at his right. The Justiciar, Sir Godfrey of Ibelin, leaned slightly forward, hands folded on the polished oak, while Thomas of Acre, the Chancellor, sat with a neat stack of parchment and ink before him. Martin of Palermo, Treasurer, kept his fingers steepled in thought, ever calculating sums in his mind. Around them were drawn lords, bishops, commanders of the Temple and Hospital, and barons of the realm that had been called in after the initial council meeting took place.
The air was taut. The proposal had been laid before them: to aid the Byzantines in their projected campaign into Anatolia with men and war-machines in return for Cyprus. It was bold, dangerous, and transformative. And so the debate began.
Thomas of Acre, Chancellor, was first to speak after Baldwin outlined the plan.
"My King, my Queen," Thomas said, his voice steady but cautious, "the matter is not one of diplomacy only, but of law and covenant. Our recent reforms bind the kingdom’s resources more tightly to the Crown than ever before. If we are to pledge knights, pikemen, and crossbowmen to Constantinople, we must be clear under what charter such a levy is raised. The nobility may resist if they believe their rights are trespassed."
Baldwin lifted his chin. "The levy will be raised from the Crown’s domain, not the lords’, unless their fealty demands otherwise. We will not strip them bare for the sake of a foreign emperor."
Constance added, "Nor do we intend to. Our purpose is to strike a bargain where both kingdoms profit, without imperiling the strength we must hold here against the Saracens."
Still, Thomas hesitated. "Then it must be written, Your Grace, with precise limits. Else the nobility will whisper of burdens too heavy, and whispers grow into storms."
Patriarch Heraclius, robed in gold-threaded vestments, now rose, his eyes narrowing.
"My king, my queen, I do not doubt your vision. Yet I must speak for the Church. Cyprus, though held by a rebel of the Greeks, remains bound in theory to the Orthodox Church, not to Rome. If we take sovereignty, will not Constantinople demand its bishoprics remain under their patriarch? Will this not kindle strife between our Holy See and theirs?"
Whispers rippled among the clerics. Bishop William of Tyre cleared his throat, nodding slowly. "It is true. The Pope will need reassurance. A letter must be written explaining that this island, once liberated, will be consecrated fully to the obedience of Rome."
Constance leaned forward, her eyes bright. "That is easily given. We have already sent word of Baldwin’s healing, and Rome will hear in due course that God has blessed this kingdom uniquely. If Jerusalem is to hold Cyprus, it will be as a Catholic land, not a schismatic one."
Heraclius frowned but inclined his head. "If the pledge is written, I will stand with you."
Raymond of Tripoli’s nephew, young Lord Hugh, rose next, bold for his youth.
"My lords, we speak of sending soldiers across the sea into Anatolia. Yet every knight we send weakens our border here. What if Saladin should recover his strength? What if Egypt rises again? Are we not tempting fate by scattering our strength?"
At this, murmurs of assent came from several barons. Baldwin fixed the young man with a steady gaze.
"You speak truth, Lord Hugh. Yet answer me this: what border is more dangerous? To the south, where we have raised fortresses, and Sicily’s fleet stands watch over Egypt’s harbors? Or to the north, where Rum grows daily stronger, unchecked, their horsemen raiding Armenia and their emirates? If Byzantium falters, Rum’s power doubles, and they will be at Antioch’s gates before long. Shall we wait for that day, or prevent it?"
Hugh faltered, unable to answer, and sat again.
Sir Gerard of the Hospital, the physician who had examined Baldwin’s healed flesh, stood slowly. His dark eyes swept the chamber.
"Our king is proof of God’s intervention. If he says this course is ordained, then who are we to gainsay it? Still, I speak as a soldier: men tire, men fall ill, supply lines break. If we send aid into Anatolia, we must promise it in such measure that we can fulfill it without shame. The knights of St. John will go, but I counsel moderation. Do not overextend."
Sir Godfrey of Ibelin, Justiciar, added his weight. "Brother Gerard is wise. We must decide not whether to aid Constantinople—that is settled, for it gains us Cyprus—but how many men, and of what kind. Enough to show earnestness, not enough to leave us bare."
The Master of the Templars, Gerard of Ridefort, spoke next, his voice harsh.
"And what of Isaac? That snake who calls himself emperor of Cyprus? Do you think he will surrender his crown peacefully? He has fortified castles, hired mercenaries, and boasts he bows to no man. We may find that winning Cyprus costs more blood than aiding Byzantium."
Baldwin’s hand clenched on the table. "Better that blood be shed now, in one bold stroke, than year after year, when pilgrims must pay tribute to a pirate before landing on holy soil. Isaac weakens both Constantinople and Jerusalem. He will not endure."
Constance’s voice chimed in like tempered steel. "I myself landed on Cyprus, as you know, when sailing here. Isaac sought to bargain and bully, a jackal playing at kingship. He is no emperor. He will fall swiftly once a true host sets foot on his island."
Her conviction silenced even the Templar master, who scowled but folded his arms.
Martin of Palermo, Treasurer, finally spoke, his Sicilian accent still heavy.
"My king, I speak of coin. War machines are dear. Pikes, crossbows, helms, shields—all costly. We have already bled treasure to arm Byzantium once. Can we truly afford to send more? Every ship of weapons is a year’s ransom. Will our people not grow weary of endless levies?"
Baldwin’s gaze softened. "And yet, Martin, what is Cyprus worth? A port beyond price, a jewel of the sea, rich in vines, copper, and forests. It pays back the cost tenfold. Do you think Sicily, your home, does not know this? A kingdom without harbors is a caged lion. With Cyprus, Outremer gains claws to strike east or west."
Martin lowered his eyes, calculating swiftly in his mind. "If that is so, then yes... the treasury may bear it, if levies are carefully managed."
The debate stretched for hours. One by one, the doubters were answered.
Barons of the frontier fretted about Saracen raids; Baldwin reminded them that Syria’s passes were fortified.
Merchants of Acre feared disruption of trade; Constance promised Cyprus would soon be theirs, safe and orderly, doubling commerce.
Clergy worried of schism; William of Tyre drafted language for Rome.
Military masters feared overreach; Baldwin limited the levy, proposing two thousand men, no more.
At last, even those most skeptical found themselves nodding slowly.
As twilight fell through the chamber windows, Baldwin leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Constance whispered briefly in his ear, and he smiled before speaking again."My lords, my lady tells me we must think beyond today. She has seen with her own eyes how Isaac defies the Greeks. We cannot allow such defiance to grow unchecked. Cyprus will be ours. Byzantium will have her Anatolia. Outremer will have safety on every flank."
The Patriarch rose once more, his voice resonant. "Then let it be written that the Council approves this plan, with the conditions set. May God bless this bold venture, and may He who healed our king now heal the wounds of Christendom."
The chamber resounded with assent. Some voices were reluctant, others resolute, but the conclusion was clear: the Kingdom of Jerusalem would stake its claim not only to defend, but to expand.