A solis ortus cardine et usque terrae limitem Christum canamus principem natum Maria virgine.
After they had been searched for knives they were led into the presence of the khan, a man of middling age and stature, his nose squashed like a bean. He lolled on a pallet draped with fur, beside him a young wife. His daughter Cirina by a different wife, some Christian woman lately ascended to God, lay on another pallet with several infants. Friar William thought Cirina horribly ugly. On the hearth crackled a fire made from wormwood, thorns, and cow dung. Gold cloth embellished the walls. They were offered mead, rice wine, or mare’s milk. Friar William thought it courteous to sample the wine, which he found clear and aromatic. Homo Dei being offered a cup drained it without hesitation, after which he drained another and another so that very soon nobody could understand what he was saying. Mangu Khan himself get drunk. Indeed, if one credits Friar William, during the four months they visited this encampment the khan was all too often drunk.
In the month of April when they resolved to depart he spoke to them concerning his belief. Mongols believe there is but one God, he said. By Him we live and by Him we die. Before Him we are righteous of heart. But just as he gives the hand a variety of fingers, so has He given mankind a variety of ways. To you has He given Scriptures. Why do you not abide by them? To us he has given soothsayers. We live in peace because we abide by what they tell us.
Friar William and Homo Dei then took leave, carrying a jeweled belt for protection against thunder and lightning. Friar Bartholomew remained at Karakorum because he was ill. As to his fate, God knows.
Friar William survived because he was a fat and sturdy man. Regarding the heathen prince Sartuq, he felt kindly toward Christians but that was all. As for Christianity in Asia, William reported that with Bartholomew he entered a Nestorian church in the village of Cailac and there sang, as loud as they could, Salve regina. Nestorians, he said, practice the faith in fifteen villages of Cathay and have a bishop. Outside these villages, however, the plains swarm with idolaters who wear yellow hoods. He said that hermits abound, living meagerly in the woods and mountains. Nestorians are ignorant of many things, yet contrive to say their offices and have books in Syriac, which they do not understand. Accordingly they sing as do the monks in Syria who are ignorant of grammar, so all is corrupt. They are usurers and drunkards. Some that live with Mongols have taken numerous wives.
He reported seeing a woman called Paquette from Metz in Lorraine who had been captured in Hungary, who prepared a banquet for them as best she could and spoke of all she endured. But now she was happy because she had married a young Russian carpenter and they had three children. She said there was at Karakorum a Parisian goldsmith named William Boucher who constructed a silver tree at the base of which stood four lions with mare’s milk spouting from their throats. Gilded serpents writhed among the branches of this tree while rice beer, wine, and boal issued from their mouths. The goldsmith had a brother whose name is Roger who lives on the Grand Pont. This caused us to marvel.
Friar William also reported that while visiting Mangu Khan he saw ambassadors from the sultan of India and they had brought eight leopards that were able to stand on the cruppers of horses. He reported further that the Caspian Sea does not anywhere touch the ocean but is surrounded by land, which contradicts the teaching of Isidore of Seville. All this we found astonishing. As to the Mongols, he did not think they could be converted. They appeared sympathetic to any religion but would submit to none. They were beyond understanding. As for sending aid to Syria, Mangu Khan would do so if Christian rulers acknowledged his sovereignty and came dutifully to pay homage. King Louis therefore felt disappointed because he could not treat on such terms.
During Lent his majesty summoned the barons to consult with him at Paris. I sent word asking to be excused since I was at that time suffering quartan fever, but he insisted. I got to Paris on the eve of Lady Day and could find no one to account for the summons. God willed that I should fall asleep. And while asleep I dreamt of King Louis on his knees before an altar. Prelates robed for service were about to vest him with a chasuble of Reims serge. When I awoke I sent for my priest Guillaume, told him my dream and asked what it meant. He replied that tomorrow King Louis would take the cross. When pressed to explain, he told me that the chasuble signified the cross upon which Christ died for us and was scarlet because of blood streaming from His wounds. Because the chasuble is coarse wool, Guillaume added, the crusade will bring scant profit. After hearing mass I went to the king’s chapel and there he was by the scaffolding where relics are kept. A fragment of the True Cross was being handed down.
Next day his majesty took the vow, as did his three sons.
Clerics would remind us that vows of pilgrimage discomfit the devil. They speak of a knight en route to Paris who rode through a gloomy forest and heard frightful groans as devils bemoaned the loss of souls they thought belonged to them, shrieking the names of eminent lords. The knight felt terrified for himself and vowed at once to go on pilgrimage and made a cross of leafy branches to verify his oath. In Paris he told what he had heard, naming those lords named by the devils, and learned they had taken the vow at that same hour. Similarly, clerics remind us that in Flanders are numerous canals we are not able to cross except with much expenditure of time to reach a bridge. However, agile men take up a staff or perch or lance and with its help contrive at one leap to vault across the water. Thus do all who pick up the staff of the cross avoid the long pain of purgatory by crossing to heaven with a leap. Yet I think our saintly king had little need of instruction.
It seemed to me that those who encouraged him to undertake this journey committed mortal sin for he was at that time very weak. He could scarce mount a horse, nor ride with comfort in his coach. What his physicians predicted among themselves I do not know. It was his majesty’s brother, Charles d’Anjou, a cold and merciless lord, who persuaded him that Tunis might be taken. The emir, Mustansir, did at times negotiate with Christians and King Louis perhaps thought the infidel ripe for conversion. Or should that plan slip, why then, Tunis ought to be an easy prize and here was a vast resource to use against Egypt. Charles, God help me, resembled his saintly brother as a toad may be likened to a prince. If Charles did not bulge with ambition, then never did any man. His wife Béatrice, avaricious as himself, hungered to wear a crown. So would he found an empire in the Mediterranean such as his ancestors vainly dreamt. So he argued that King Louis ought not squander funds in pursuit of the distant Holy City but go and capture Tunis, next to Cairo which was very rich. And with the king not apt to live much longer, who should benefit? Who might then call the sea his province?
I myself thought his majesty no longer showed good sense. Our beloved sovereign, whose intellect once was equaled only by his grace, now coursed with madness. For what is that we call madness, if not the compound of folly?
The last day I saw him, when I went to take leave, he allowed me to carry him in my arms as if he were a small child, from the house of the Comte d’Auxerre to the Franciscan abbey. He urged me to accompany him, but I said that while we were oversea my estates had become impoverished and my tenants suffered. I told him that if I wished to please God it behooved me to stay and redress what wrongs were done. For if, I said, knowing it would prove detrimental to my subjects, I once more ventured abroad I would not find favor with the Lord who sacrificed Himself for us.
His majesty sailed again from Aigues-Mortes, thinking to redeem the Barbary coast. I know little concerning that voyage. In view of Sardinia he dictated a will. He made land close by the castle of Carthage and nearly at once fell victim to flux. Some few days later he amended his will, replacing as executors two barons who had died from the illness gripping him. Now as he understood the desire of his spirit to leave this world he sent for Prince Philippe, instructing the youth to reign with dignity and consideration. When he finished admonishing his son he requested the sacraments, which he heard with a clear mind because it is known that he repeated
each verse of the seven psalms chanted by priests anointing him.
On the final Sunday of his majesty’s life Brother Godfrey de Beaulieu found him kneeling on the floor with hands clasped. The night preceding his death he was heard to sigh and twice murmured the holy name of Jerusalem. Shortly before the end he asked to be laid on a bed sprinkled with ashes. He looked upward and beseeched our Lord to show mercy toward Christians on that iniquitous coast. Later he spoke in Latin, commending his spirit to Almighty God. He said nothing else, but at the hour of vespers in the fifty-sixth year of life he departed. This occurred one day after the feast of Saint Bartholomew in our year of grace 1270. The shell of him they boiled in wine and water until the flesh slipped from his bones. These bones they conveyed to France, to Saint Denys where he wished to be laid. The cathedral of Monreale in Palermo received his heart.
Almost at once we heard of miracles worked before the tomb. His Holiness Gregory ordered an inquiry, naming Cardinal Simon de Brie as legate. Further, the pontiff asked Geoffrey de Beaulieu to prepare a summary of the king’s virtues. Six years elapsed and the legate’s report not finished, His Holiness ascended to God.
His Holiness Martin IV in the year 1280 instituted a public inquiry, this to be directed by the archbishop of Rouen. Sessions opened at Saint Denys. For ten months the commissioners listened. On the king’s life, thirty-eight witnesses testified. Charles d’Anjou offered a special deposition from Naples on the virtue of his brother. I myself testified at Saint Denys for two full days.
Concerning miracles, more than three hundred witnesses testified. Among them Master Dudes, canon of Paris, who accompanied his majesty on the last crusade. Master Dudes subsequently fell ill with ague and fever, little hope obtained for his recovery. After settling his affairs, having made confession, he prayed to the king, saying, I beseech you to help me as I have served you. Then in a dream he beheld King Louis dressed all in white embroidered with gold, crowned, a scepter in his hand. The king touched Master Dudes on the head, removing an evil humor that had been the cause of illness. Next morning Master Dudes awoke in high spirits, confounding his physicians by requesting a goblet of wine and a chicken to eat.
The wife of a man who once had served the king testified concerning a flood in her cellar. She recalled that King Louis had given her husband some old peacock feather hats and despatched a lackey to make the sign of the cross over the flood with one of his majesty’s hats. By evening curfew, according to what this woman said, the water had receded so much that it was possible to draw wine from casks that had been floating. And next day the flood disappeared, only mud to prove where it stood.
Not least, here was a shoemaker of Saint Denys who mocked those who came to pray, who jeered them, claiming Henry of England was greater than King Louis. So a malady struck his leg and he was cured only by repenting his words and kneeling in prayer.
Twenty-eight years after King Louis ascended to glory he was lifted from his tomb, carried by a great number of archbishops and bishops to the dais where he would be honored. Brother Jean de Samois delivered the oration.
For myself, I thought of a vision I once had. King Louis stood in my chapel at Joinville, very pleased, as was I myself to find him there. My lord, I said, at Chevillon, which belongs to me, I would make a place for you. He laughed with delight, but said he had no wish to leave my chapel. When I awoke it seemed to me that I should build an altar, which I did. I endowed it to his memory and to the glory of God, that masses might be sung forever and forever. Here was the music of his presence.
In our year of grace 1305, by permission of the sovereign pontiff, one rib and the head of Saint Louis, excepting his jaw, were lifted from the crypt. King Philippe le Bel, attended by numerous prelates and barons, escorted these relics to Paris. On Tuesday preceding Japhe his rib was conveyed to the church of Notre-Dame, his head to the king’s chapel. His gold cup, out of which no one afterward drank, and his missal were carefully preserved. With this, I think, the tapestry of his life was finished.
A carved stone effigy is but the semblance of this man I knew so well and loved past computation. Often I recall that moment in Acre when he put his hands atop my head and I, mistaking him for Philippe de Nemours, bade him leave me alone. I recall how gently he reproved me. Then does his majesty reappear as he once was and I am all but destroyed with love.
He rose to glory anticipating the redemption of Jerusalem. It was not to be. No more did we embark from Acre than what he effected in Syria began to lapse and sink, eroding like a sand castle. Once there had been unity, coherence, regulation. Now the kingdom succumbed to private interest, jealousy, rivalry, merchants quarreling. Genoese battled Venetians for control of trade.
Within two years the barons of Syria were divided, allied with one faction or another. Here stood the Ibelin family, Templars, Teutons, burghers of Pisa and Provence grouped round the Venetian flag. With the Genoese stood merchants from Catalonia, Hospitalers, and Philippe de Montfort who was lord of Tyre. Controversy blazed in the street as if a fire escaped the hearth. Venetians prevailed. Genoese retreated from Acre, gathering uneasily at the city of Tyre where Lord Philippe could protect them. In pursuit of wealth these people discarded their finest asset, which was their common cause, to cut themselves in half, as if the principles of their natures agreed on nothing but turbulence, as if a stream had overflowed the dike.
Bohemond VI, prince of Antioch, cast his lot with Venice. Bertran de Gibelet, his vassal, being of Genoese descent, could not but take sides with Genoa. So it came about that a peasant approached Bertran while he was in the vineyard looking at grapes, murdered him and carried off his head to show Prince Bohemond. These people had forgotten the light of the world.
Thus did Christianity oversea bleed itself while the Muslim waited.
Anon, Baibars ascended the throne of Egypt. Baibars, who split the hand of Turanshah with a sword, chased him toward the Nile. They say this blue-eyed Turk was bought at a Crimean slave market and brought to Syria roaring like a bull, huge, powerful, his right eye blemished by a milky spot. The emir of Hama thought him too loathsome to purchase, so he was relegated to the bodyguard of Sultan Qutuz. Through intimidation and murder he established himself. And growing conceited he demanded the governorship of Aleppo. They say Qutuz was offended by such arrogance. Islamic records tell how the sultan chose to spend a day at his favorite sport of hunting hares and in the company went Baibars. Some distance from camp a retainer pretended to kiss the sultan’s hand, which enabled Baibars to stab him in the back. Now with Qutuz bloody and dying the conspirators returned and Baibars entered the sultan’s tent demanding homage. All bowed their heads submissively, whereupon he rode unchallenged to Cairo.
Arsuf. Caesarea. Joppa. Beaufort. Christian cities one after another submitted to Baibars.
Unexpectedly he rode against Safed but was driven off. Twice more he assaulted the fortress. Many of those who defended Safed were Christians native to Syria. Baibars therefore announced through heralds that Syrian Christians would be pardoned. These natives began to desert, which enraged the Franks. It is said there was fighting within the walls. And when a month went by the Franks despatched a sergeant called Leo to discuss terms of surrender because they did not think they could hold out. This man came back saying Baibars would allow them to depart unharmed. If the Franks trusted what they were told is much disputed. However it was, they gave up the fortress to Baibars and he cut off their heads.
He rode to the gates of Acre, his soldiers wearing Christian armor and helmets, waving lances, displaying banners seized from Templars and Hospitalers, all seeming to be Christian. Yet their black features disclosed the truth, nor did they sit their horses like Germans or Englishmen or Franks. The gates of Acre did not open.
Baibars retreated to Safed. Envoys who came looking for a truce saw the skulls of hapless prisoners decorating the castle.
On the fourteenth of May in the year of our Lord 1268 he surrounded Antioch, which had long been the most prospe
rous Frankish city. After four days his army breached the wall where it ran up the slope of Mount Silpius. By order of his emirs the gates were shut to prevent escape. Citizens caught in the streets were struck down, those found at home sold into slavery. So numerous were captives that not a soldier of his army but got a slave. At market one could buy a Frankish girl for five dirhems, a boy for twelve. Silver and gold bibelots were handed out like playthings, bowls of money given away.
Prince Bohemond chanced to be at Tripoli when Antioch fell. There exists a letter to the prince from Baibars, advising him of what was yet to come.
Do not forget how in the past we brushed your churches from the earth, how we killed your knights, enslaved your children, how Christian bodies rotted on the shore, how our soldiers who had no family all at once found themselves with countless wives, how Islamic ploughs broke the soil where once your houses stood. Had you but seen how we ravaged Antioch. Had you but seen how Saracen chargers crushed Frankish knights, how one gold coin purchased four noble ladies. Had you but seen leaves from your Gospel toss in the wind, crosses flung to earth, priests swallowed up in the flames of this world, sepulchers of your patriarchs defiled. Now the church of Saint Paul is rubble. Saracens tread upon your altar. Ah! Had you been there!
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