CHAPTER 119: CHAPTER 119 – KING OF SYRIA

Damascus Citadel – August 9th, 1180

The rising sun bathed the battered skyline of Damascus in a soft golden glow, casting long shadows over the cracked domes and ruined minarets. The smoke of yesterday’s burning had faded. The sounds of battle had ceased. In their place came the steady creak of opening gates.

At the base of the citadel, Baldwin IV—King of Jerusalem, crowned conqueror of Syria—stood with his lords and senior commanders, flanked by scarlet and gold banners of the Kingdom of Jerusalem fluttering softly in the breeze. Behind him were Templar and Hospitaller guards in full armor, and further back, rows of Frankish infantry, spears grounded and shields strapped to backs.

The gates of the fortress groaned open.

Out came Saladin’s emirs first—Ahmad ibn Rawah, Faris al-Hamawi, and Abu Saqr—dressed in ceremonial robes, heads uncovered in a display of humility. Behind them came the last remnant of the Ayyubid court, a small line of guards and scribes. Then came Saladin himself.

He walked slowly, aided by his nephew al-Afdal and leaning heavily on a staff. His face was pale, the wound beneath his robes clearly draining him of strength. But his bearing remained dignified. His sword still hung at his side, a symbolic allowance granted by Baldwin as part of the negotiated surrender.

He and Baldwin locked eyes across the courtyard—one dressed in silver mail and crowned with a golden circlet; the other a wounded lion robed in black, eyes burning with fatigue and defiance.

No words were exchanged at first.

The Peace Ceremony

The clerks came forward with the two documents—one in Latin, one in Arabic. The terms had already been agreed upon: there would be no re-negotiation, only ratification.

Baldwin stepped forward. With a golden pen, he wrote his name in Latin script beneath the Latin terms:

"Baldwinus, Dei gratia Jerusalem et Syriae Rex"—Baldwin, by the grace of God, King of Jerusalem and Syria

Saladin, face unreadable, was handed the Arabic text by his scribes. With some effort, he sat upon a stool, and wrote in a strong, controlled hand despite his injury:

"Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb, ’Abd Allāh wa-khādim al-dīn"—Saladin, servant of God and guardian of the faith

The moment was grave. Every soul present knew the implications. Damascus—the jewel of the Levant, the heart of Muslim Syria—was now in Christian hands for the first time in centuries. And for five years, there would be no war.

When the signatures were done, Saladin handed the treaty to Baldwin’s envoy without ceremony. Baldwin nodded to him, once.

"God grant you peace in Egypt," Baldwin said softly, in Arabic.

Saladin looked up. "And you wisdom in victory."

The Handover of the Citadel

With the treaty signed, the formal transfer of the citadel began. Saladin gave the order to his remaining officers to open all internal gates and allow the Franks access to the upper towers, armories, and treasury vaults. Guards were posted—both Ayyubid and Frankish—to maintain order until the transition was complete.

Richard of England, still in his early twenties and commanding Baldwin’s household knights, was the first to ascend the citadel’s towers under the Templar banner. "This fortress is ours," he murmured, laying a mailed hand upon the stone. "And with it, Syria bows."

Hugh of Tiberias and Odo de St. Amand entered the treasury vault with a team of scribes, coin-counters, and scribes from the Order of the Temple.

What they found stunned even the most seasoned crusaders.

Vault after vault of coin—neatly packed chests of gold dinars, silver dirhams, and jewel-inlaid trinkets. Plates and goblets of solid gold from Egyptian artisans. Ornate textiles from the markets of Baghdad. Ivory carvings. Amber from the Black Sea.

It took hours to complete the first inventory, and even then the estimates were preliminary.

"At least 360,000 dinars in gold," reported Hugh of Tiberias. "And another 50,000 or more in silver and precious objects. Perhaps more once everything is weighed and verified."

"And not a coin of it ransom," Richard added, grinning.

"The treasury is to be catalogued under royal seal," Baldwin instructed. "No looting. It shall fund the rebuilding of Syria under our rule."

Departure of the Saracen Court

By midday, the formal surrender complete, preparations began for the evacuation of Saladin and the remaining Saracen officers. Their ransom values would be negotiated in the days to come—some of the lesser emirs had already paid partial sums to secure passage.

Baldwin permitted them to leave under an escort to the southern gate, from which they would travel with their households to Egypt. None would be harmed. It was, by all definitions, a chivalric withdrawal.

Saladin paused once at the edge of the gate, looking back toward the citadel where his banners were now being lowered. Frankish soldiers hoisted the Lion of Judah—the golden cross of Jerusalem—over the highest tower of Damascus.

He said nothing.

Al-Afdal helped him into the litter, and the small column departed without fanfare.

That Evening

Baldwin stood atop the inner tower as dusk fell, overlooking the subdued city. Damascus no longer burned—its fires extinguished by both fear and necessity. Thousands of its citizens had remained, unwilling or unable to flee. But they would be spared. The King had promised it.

Odo approached with a final ledger in hand.

"Your Majesty, the citadel and the treasury are now secured. All points of resistance have surrendered or gone silent. Damascus is yours."

Baldwin nodded, gripping the stone railing as the wind stirred his robes. His right hand, twisted by leprosy, rested against the cold wall. The pain in his limbs was worsening again.

He turned to Odo. "Then tonight, let there be no revels. Only prayer. And thanks."

"For what, Sire?"

"That we lived to see this day," Baldwin said, his voice heavy with quiet awe. "And that God has granted us not only victory... but peace."