CHAPTER 126: CHAPTER 126 – THE BOY AND THE CROWN

Damascus, August 25th, 1180

The white marble colonnade of Qasr al-Ablaq, once a palace of the Seljuk atabegs, now served as the royal residence of Baldwin IV in Damascus. Beneath its latticed windows and beneath banners fluttering with the Cross of Jerusalem, a small party rode in from the north gate. The summer heat hung heavily, but the watch on the battlements rang bells as the procession passed under the newly repaired gatehouse.

The guards announced the boy’s arrival as trumpets rang out in the courtyard.

"Raymond of Antioch, heir of Bohemond, son of Orgueilleuse d’Harenc," intoned the chamberlain. "By right of blood and oath, come to submit himself to the regency of His Majesty, King Baldwin of Jerusalem."

The boy could not have been more than ten—thin, sharp-featured, with restless grey eyes and a narrow frame. He dismounted with practiced care, his shoulders squared, trying to appear older. Behind him rode a few loyal knights of Antioch, older men with weather-worn faces and cautious glances, remnants of a broken court still loyal to Bohemond’s line.

Baldwin IV waited for him within the audience chamber. Light filtered through stained glass panels, glinting off the silver-chased armor Baldwin still wore—despite his illness, the King rarely appeared in court without full regalia now. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

At his side stood Balian of Ibelin

, silent and composed, dressed in dark silk robes and bearing the sword of his office. A quiet strength.

Raymond approached the throne and bowed stiffly. "Your Majesty."

"You are welcome to Damascus, young Raymond," Baldwin said, his voice muffled but steady. "You’ve come far. Your father died with courage. May his name endure."

"Thank you, sire," the boy said. "I am told I belong to you now."

Baldwin tilted his head slightly and chuckled. "Not quite. You belong to Christ. But yes—I am your regent now. And I will see to it that you are raised as your station deserves."

He stood and motioned for them to walk with him. They passed through the side galleries into a smaller private chamber, where maps were laid across a wide marble table—maps of Syria, the coast, and the lands of the Crusader States.

Once seated, Baldwin turned serious.

"Raymond," he began, "you are the heir to Antioch, son of Bohemond III. That blood carries weight. But this world is not what it was in your grandfather’s time. Cities fall in weeks, borders shift in days, and loyalty fades like dust in wind."

Raymond frowned. "Will I not rule Antioch?"

"You will," Baldwin said. "But not as before. Antioch will be made a duchy—under the Crown of Jerusalem. You will hold it, and all its lands, as Duke of Antioch, when you come of age. And I will serve as regent until then."

The boy blinked, stunned. "A duchy?"

"Yes," Balian said, stepping forward. "Like the Duchy of Damascus, which now belongs to Baldwin V, and the counties of Homs and Aleppo. These are no longer fragments. They are parts of one kingdom. That is the only way we survive what’s coming."

Baldwin nodded. "The Sultan of Rum grows stronger. Egypt may rise again. One by one, the old Crusader States would fall. But as one kingdom, with strong dukes and counts, we can build something enduring."

Raymond was quiet for a moment. "But what of Byzantium?"

Baldwin leaned forward. "I have written to them. They cannot hold these lands anymore. Every year, they lose ground to the Turks. If they are wise, they will see Antioch better held by Christian hands—even if those hands wear a Latin crown."

"And... what of marriage?" Raymond asked, finally. "Mother always said I would wed someone great."

"You shall," Baldwin said. "You will marry Isabella, my half-sister. She is of royal blood from both Jerusalem and Byzantium. You will grow together, and when you are old enough, she will be your duchess. With her beside you, your claim will never be questioned."

Raymond looked uncertain but said nothing.

Baldwin reached across the table and pointed to the map. "See this? Jerusalem stretches from the Jordan to the Euphrates now. It includes Aleppo, Homs, Baalbek, Damascus—and soon Antioch. But it must be more than lines on parchment. It must become a nation."

He looked the boy in the eye. "You must grow to be more than a duke. You must grow to be a prince of this realm—strong, wise, and loyal. And if God wills it, you may become its sword in the north."

Raymond swallowed and stood straighter. "I will not fail you."

Baldwin smiled faintly behind the mask. "I pray you don’t."

The meeting ended with a final blessing. That night, Raymond was given chambers in the old Emir’s palace, and scrolls were dispatched to the court scribes to begin drawing the official charter of the Duchy of Antioch, under the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

The realm was no longer a scattering of battered castles and cities on borrowed time. It was becoming something new.

A kingdom, united.

And soon—perhaps—something even greater.