Chapter 150: Chapter 150 - A Kings Decision
Palermo, Kingdom of Sicily – March 7th, 1181
The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of Palermo’s royal palace, painting the inlaid marble floors in squares of gold and shadow. King William II sat back in his carved walnut chair, the Lion of Sicily emblazoned above his head, his fingers steepled in thought. The audience with Balian of Ibelin and Brother Gerard had ended less than an hour ago, yet their words still echoed in his mind.
He had received many embassies in his reign—Byzantine, Genoese, Pisan, and Frankish envoys—but few had delivered proposals that stirred both intrigue and unease in equal measure. Baldwin IV, the young King of Jerusalem, conqueror of Aleppo and Damascus, had made a request that, if accepted, would bind the Kingdom of Sicily to Outremer with cords stronger than treaties: a marriage alliance between himself and William’s aunt, Constance of Hauteville.
And William knew the significance immediately.
Constance was not simply a noblewoman of the royal house. She was his closest blood relative and, as matters now stood, his heir presumptive. If William were to die without wife or child—a fact his council reminded him of with increasing frequency—it would be Constance who would inherit the crown of Sicily. Any man she wed would stand at her side as King, in name if not by birthright.
That thought alone made Baldwin’s proposal as dangerous as it was promising.
William rose from his chair and began to pace the length of the audience chamber, his long mantle sweeping behind him over the patterned floor. His most trusted advisors stood in a loose semicircle: Chancellor Matthew of Ajello, Archbishop Stephen of Palermo, and Admiral Margaritus of Brindisi. They had been present when Baldwin’s envoys revealed the request, and now the king had cleared the room of all others so they might speak freely.
"Well," William began, his voice measured, "you have all heard what was proposed. My aunt Constance, wed to Baldwin of Jerusalem. And not merely wed for form, but as Queen in truth, to share his throne—and perhaps bear his heir."
Matthew’s dark eyes flicked toward the others before he answered. "Sire, it is a bold offer. You know as well as I do that Baldwin is no ordinary ruler. Few in Christendom can claim to have stood against Saladin and prevailed—not once, but repeatedly. His victories in Syria have astonished even the Emperor in Constantinople. Were it not for his... condition, I doubt any court in Europe would hesitate."
William paused, one hand resting on the carved arm of his chair. "His condition," he echoed quietly. Everyone in the room knew what Matthew meant. Baldwin’s leprosy was no secret. Even in victory, rumors of his affliction spread through the ports and marketplaces.
Archbishop Stephen cleared his throat. "Majesty, I will speak plainly. Leprosy is feared not only for the decay it brings to the body, but for the taint it is thought to cast upon bloodlines. The people—our people—may balk at the idea that the heir to Sicily should be bound to a man who carries such an affliction. Even if Brother Gerard’s claims are true—that Baldwin’s present stage poses no danger to a wife or children—superstition often outweighs reason in the hearts of men."
Margaritus, who had so far remained silent, folded his arms. "And yet," he said, "reason should not be cast aside entirely. Consider the strength of such an alliance. Jerusalem sits at the meeting point of Christendom and Islam, controlling ports that every trading power covets. If we joined our houses, Sicily would have a friend in the East unlike any other. Our fleets could resupply in Acre, Tyre, and Jaffa; our merchants could trade directly with the Levant under royal protection. And in war—should the Emperor in Constantinople or the Normans of England turn hostile—Jerusalem’s armies would stand with us."
William nodded slowly. He had considered all these points himself since the moment the envoys left his presence. "You see the crux of it," he said. "Constance is my heir. She must marry wisely. Should I die without issue, the man she weds will not merely be her consort, but will shape the future of Sicily itself. She will need a husband strong enough to defend her claim if any contest it." He turned toward the window, looking out at the glittering sweep of the harbor beyond. "And Baldwin... Baldwin is strong. His enemies fall before him."
"But, sire," Matthew interjected, "his strength may fade. The Hospitaller’s research may promise years of health, but leprosy is no gentle disease. And even if he remains fit to rule for a time, his reign may be shortened."
William tapped the carved edge of the sill, thinking. "Brother Gerard was convincing," he admitted. "He showed me scrolls, case histories—men in similar stages who took wives, fathered children, and yet never passed the affliction to them. He claims precautions can be taken—precautions known to his Order, tried and proven. I am not unmindful of these assurances. But I must be certain."
Stephen inclined his head. "Then we should take the Hospitaller’s writings, study them in full. Let physicians of our own court examine them, and if need be, consult discreetly with scholars in Salerno or Messina. If his claims withstand scrutiny, that will answer one part of the question."
"Only one part," Matthew agreed. "The other is Constance herself. She has been raised knowing her station, but she is no pawn to be moved without thought. She is intelligent, spirited, and—though she may not say so openly—she has her own mind on the matter of marriage. If she consents, it will be more than for duty alone; she will weigh the man as well as the king."
William allowed himself a faint smile. "Indeed. My aunt has a tongue as sharp as any sword in my armories. I will not hand her to a man she despises, no matter what the alliance might promise."
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the faint sound of waves in the harbor.
Margaritus stepped forward, his voice low but insistent. "Majesty, forgive my boldness, but the politics of this cannot be ignored. If Constance weds Baldwin, it will tie Sicily to the fortunes of Jerusalem. Should Baldwin fall in battle—or succumb to illness—Constance could be left in a dangerous position, caught between the factions of Outremer and the claims of our own lords here. But should Baldwin live, and should they have a child... then that child would have a claim to both kingdoms. It could unite Sicily and Jerusalem under one crown, and no power in the Mediterranean could challenge it."
The thought hung in the air like the scent of incense—heady, tempting, but laced with uncertainty.
William returned to his seat, leaning forward, elbows on the armrests. "I see both the peril and the promise. And I will not deny that Baldwin’s courage and skill tempt me to agree. But I will not act in haste. I want the Hospitaller’s writings delivered to the physicians of my household at once. They will examine them, and I will hear their conclusions."
He looked to Stephen. "You will see to that, Archbishop. Let no word of their content reach ears beyond these walls. If this matter is to move forward, secrecy is as vital as truth."
Stephen bowed. "It will be done, Majesty."
William then turned to Matthew. "You will draft a message to Baldwin’s envoys, telling them that we consider the proposal with the utmost seriousness, but must take time to review the medical evidence and consult with my aunt. They are to remain in Palermo as honored guests until I have reached a decision."
Matthew inclined his head in assent.
Finally, William addressed the matter most personal to him. "And Constance—she must be told. But not all at once. I will speak to her myself, in private. She will hear the name of Baldwin of Jerusalem from my own lips, and she will know why I consider him worthy of her hand. Only then will I ask her thoughts. If she refuses outright, then the matter ends here. If she is willing... then we will see."
The three advisors bowed as one.
As they filed out, William remained seated, staring down at the surface of the great table before him. Upon it lay a single scroll—Brother Gerard’s neat Latin script recording the cases of other men afflicted with leprosy in its earliest stages. He had glanced through it after the audience, noting the careful detail, the clinical detachment, and the repeated insistence that with certain practices, the disease could be contained, its spread prevented.
It was, if true, a ray of light in what had seemed a dark proposition.
William unrolled it once more, reading a passage aloud to himself: "In every instance observed, when the precautions described were taken, no wife nor child was touched by the affliction, even over years of marriage and multiple births."
He let the parchment curl closed again. Outside, in the harbor, the great ships of Sicily’s fleet bobbed at anchor, their sails furled against the breeze. Somewhere out there in the Levant, Baldwin ruled, holding the Holy City and the lands around it against all who would take them.
Was it madness to bind his own house to that of a man doomed, perhaps, to die young? Or was it the boldest stroke of statecraft he might ever make?
William leaned back, his decision still far from certain, but his mind sharpening on the edges of possibility.
Tomorrow, he would speak to Constance. Then, perhaps, the path ahead would grow clearer.