CHAPTER 127: CHAPTER 127 – THE NEW ORDER

Damascus, September 23, 1180

The late summer sun cast golden light through the high windows of Damascus’s eastern palace—once a seat of Saracen governors, now the administrative heart of the reborn Latin East. Where once imams and viziers debated beneath carved arches, now sat Frankish barons and scribes, sorting reports, tallying grain stores, and penning royal decrees in Latin and Old French.

It had been six weeks since the formal surrender of Damascus. In that time, the battered city had stirred to life again.

The great breach in the eastern wall had been rebuilt with limestone blocks and mortar mixed with crushed ceramics. Engineers from Tyre and Acre, supported by captured Saracen laborers, reinforced the bastions and repaired the inner gatehouses. Watchtowers bore the gold cross of Jerusalem; their halls now housed Templar knights and engineers poring over scrolls of the city’s aqueducts.

Markets reopened in the Suq al-Hamidiya, this time under the gaze of Latin soldiers. Muslim peasants, spared from slaughter, were allowed to return to their fields—but not without condition. Just as Christian dhimmis had paid the jizya under Muslim rule, Baldwin’s council decreed the reimposition of a tax on non-Christians—both symbol and substance of the new order. They could worship freely, keep their homes and customs, but would now contribute to the defense of the land ruled by a Christian crown.

In the Grand Hall of Damascus—once a meeting chamber for emirs—King Baldwin IV, pale but resolute, leaned over a polished walnut table alongside Lord Balian of Ibelin, his new Marshal Amalric de Lusignan, and the aging yet sharp-eyed Archdeacon Matthew of Bethlehem. Stained glass behind them cast red and blue halos across their faces as they pored over parchment maps of Syria, scribbled with supply lines, lordly fiefs, and road repairs.

"Much of the grain has been harvested north of Homs," Amalric said. "The water-mills are running again. We sent five engineers to rebuild the aqueducts leading to the lower terraces near Baalbek."

Balian nodded, gesturing toward Aleppo’s mark on the map. "The Count of Aleppo reports quiet—small raids by Bedouin bands, but nothing organized. Our patrols near the Euphrates are holding."

Baldwin’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted a golden cup of watered wine. "Then the time has come," he said. "I will begin preparations to return to Jerusalem. The court must not remain absent too long."

Before the others could answer, the chamberlain entered with a deep bow and a scroll tube wrapped in imperial purple silk.

"From Constantinople, Your Majesty," he said. "The Emperor’s reply."

Baldwin gestured, and Archdeacon Matthew opened the scroll, reading aloud in careful Greek, translating as he went:

"To Baldwin, King of Jerusalem and Defender of the Holy Sepulcher,

The Emperor of the Romans, Alexios II Komnenos, greets you as a friend in Christ and a prince most bold.

We have received word of your victories in Aleppo, Homs, and Damascus. The triumph of the Cross in those lands, where once our banners flew beside yours, brings joy to our court. We accept your proposal regarding the rightful guardianship of Antioch under your regency, so long as its governance remains tied to your heir, the noble Raymond.

We also accept the offer of your engines of war—your trebuchets weighted with steel, your stormracks, your crossbows and armor-thick pikes. Let these be a pledge of alliance between Rome and Jerusalem against the Turks of Rum who gnaw at our borders.

We await the arrival of your envoys at Rhodes, where ships will be provided to carry these tools to Constantinople.

– In the name of Christ,Alexios II Komnenos, Basileus Autokrator of the Romans"

There was a pause. Even Amalric, blunt and battle-scarred, looked impressed.

Baldwin broke the silence.

"Then it is agreed. We deliver the war materials as promised. Let the empire use them to turn back the tide of Rum. And perhaps... in time, we shall meet those Turks together, side by side."

That afternoon, Baldwin held court in the grand courtyard of the former emir’s palace. Banners fluttered, and the nobility of the Levant stood robed in scarlet and white—Crusader knights, Templars, and clergy.

A herald stepped forward and proclaimed:

"Let it be known throughout all the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the lands of Outremer, that by the will of His Majesty King Baldwin IV, and with the consent of his Council, the lands of Antioch shall henceforth be raised to a duchy under the direct lordship of the Crown."

The herald paused, unrolling the parchment with a wax seal bearing the Cross of Jerusalem.

"Raymond, son of Bohemond the late Prince of Antioch, is hereby declared Duke of Antioch, under regency until his majority, which shall be administered by His Majesty the King."

Raymond stood beside Baldwin, resplendent in a newly tailored tunic bearing both the gold cross of Jerusalem and the double-headed eagle of his Byzantine kin. The boy, only eleven, looked solemn beyond his years.

Baldwin placed a ceremonial circlet of silver upon the youth’s head.

"You shall hold Antioch not as a rival to Jerusalem," Baldwin said, his voice firm, "but as its shield. United, we will endure. Divided, we shall fall—as we did before."

A round of applause followed, not raucous but solemn and approving.

Later that evening, in a private room with Balian and Archdeacon Matthew, Baldwin reviewed the planned war shipment to Constantinople.

"We will send six stormracks, four weighted trebuchets, and two hundred of the new steel crossbows," Balian noted. "The forges in Acre are preparing the parts already."

"Ensure it’s all crated and guarded by men I trust," Baldwin said. "And see to it that our envoy carries with him instructions to open negotiations for a military alliance—if Rum presses harder."

Matthew dipped his quill into ink. "Shall I also record the formal statute of the Duchy?"

Baldwin nodded. "Include this: the Duchy of Antioch shall pass through heirs male of Raymond, and if ever he dies without issue, it shall return to the Crown."

"And the other duchies?"

Baldwin gave a tired smile. "Let us see this one flourish first. We may yet forge a kingdom that stretches from Jerusalem to the Taurus Mountains, not by sword alone, but by wisdom and unity."

As dusk fell over Damascus, torches lit the palace balconies and the sound of construction echoed from the southern walls. In the stables, couriers saddled up to ride for Acre with letters bound for Rhodes. In the markets, the people whispered of a king who did not plunder, but built—who conquered not only with siege and cavalry, but with vision.

The Kingdom of Jerusalem was no longer a coastal sliver clinging to survival.

It was fast becoming a kingdom worthy of the name.And in time, perhaps... more than that.