CHAPTER 129: CHAPTER 129 – THE KING’S RETURN

Jerusalem – October 5th, 1180

The gates of Jerusalem were thrown open at sunrise.

Banners snapped in the autumn wind—crosses of gold, red lions, black eagles—all fluttering above the stone battlements and timbered towers. Flowers littered the limestone streets, and boys ran barefoot before the procession, tossing rose petals from shallow baskets. Church bells rang out from every steeple as the column of knights entered the Holy City, the sound of their hooves echoing like thunder in the vaulted alleys.

Baldwin IV, crowned and cloaked, rode at the front beneath the golden banner of Jerusalem, his chainmail gleaming beneath his royal surcoat. His expression was unreadable behind the silver mask that now covered the more grievously scarred side of his face. His body, thinner and more twisted than when he left in spring, was supported by a hidden leather brace beneath his tunic. But he sat his horse proudly. The victory was his. The Kingdom endured.

Behind him rode the veteran knights of the Syrian campaign—dust-worn, many bandaged, all lauded by the cheering crowd. Trumpets blared from towers and balconies. Priests sang psalms from rooftops. The people of Jerusalem—merchants, craftsmen, pilgrims, peasants—thronged the thoroughfares, shouting praises to the victorious army. A chant caught like flame from street to street:

"Baldwin Victor! Baldwin Victor!"

At the city’s heart, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre stood draped in white and gold. Smoke from thuribles of incense curled into the air, and its bell tolled louder than the rest.

A King’s Prayer

Inside the church, the din of celebration faded. Baldwin dismounted at the courtyard steps and knelt at the threshold. The stone beneath his knees was cool and worn smooth by the feet of centuries.

He entered in silence.

The scent of incense mingled with old stone and candlewax. No fanfare followed him inside. Only a handful of priests and acolytes bore witness as he approached the sepulcher where Christ was buried and risen. There, beneath a flickering halo of candlelight, he rested both hands on the stone lid.

He whispered a prayer. No one heard the words but God.

"Not for me," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "But for what You have given. Let me finish the work."

The Triumph Feast

The palace halls blazed with firelight and color that night. Long tables were set with golden dishes and steaming platters—roasted lamb, sweet dates, saffron rice, and fish from the Sea of Galilee. Wine flowed freely. Musicians played lute and harp while dancers spun between the banners of a dozen victorious lords.

At the head of the high table sat King Baldwin, his silver mask gleaming in the candlelight. To his right, Heraclius, the Archbishop of Jerusalem, raised a goblet in solemn praise. To his left sat his new Marshal, Amalric de Lusignan, freshly returned from organizing the garrisons of Galilee.

Amalric, tall and dark-haired, bowed his head slightly before speaking. "Your Majesty, I bring good tidings. The roads to the north are secure. The garrisons in Tiberias and Tyre report no incidents. All quiet since your triumph."

"Good," Baldwin replied, sipping water rather than wine. "Peace is a rare blessing. Let’s give it room to breathe."

Further down the table, nobles and knights clapped each other on the back. Servants hurried to refill goblets, musicians launched into a hymn praising Jerusalem’s deliverance, and toasts were raised again and again:

"To Damascus!""To Aleppo and Homs!""To the King!"

Heraclius stood, raising both arms for silence. His face was red from wine, but his voice was clear:

"Let it be known throughout Christendom, from Rome to the Rhone to the Rhine, that Baldwin IV, King of Jerusalem, has not only defended the Holy Land—but expanded it! With fire and sword, with faith and wisdom, he has carved a kingdom from the dust of ruin. Praise be to God!"

A thunderous roar followed. Baldwin smiled politely, but as the feast wore on, he grew quieter, the weight of crown and consequence returning to his shoulders like a mantle.

Private Reflection

Later that night, long after the nobles had stumbled from the hall, Baldwin stood alone in his chambers, looking out a narrow window toward the Mount of Olives. The lamps were lit but dimmed. The silver mask lay on the table beside him, and his face—scarred, weary, sun-darkened—was etched in deep thought.

He unrolled a fresh parchment.

Tomorrow would bring more than revelry. It would bring responsibilities.

The Kingdom had grown—but was it yet whole?

Syria was held by blood and loyalty, but it needed roots. Farms, water, roads, law. He had already ordered the appointment of steward-lords in Homs, Aleppo, and Baalbek. Now they would need land surveys. Tax codices. Rotations of crops. Roman wells had been rediscovered in the outskirts of Hama. Could they restore aqueducts to support them?

He remembered his conversations with the engineers in Damascus—how they marveled at old Roman roads and moats, and how they spoke of rebuilding Syria not just for war, but for life. And seeing the roads and aqueducts reminded Baldwin of his previous life as Ethan, and how the Romans used Cement.

Cement.

Ethan knew what was used to create it, Crushed lime, volcanic ash, stone, water. He didn’t know the exact ratios, but the principle was sound. He penned a note to his engineers: experiment with materials, record what holds, what cracks. Find consistency.

If they can master the ratios and start to use cement, he can build wonders like the Romans. He can expand Jerusalem to reflect the growing kingdom it represents and other wonders.

"Build something that will outlast me." He underlined the words.

A Vision for the Future

That evening, he summoned one of his scribes, and dictated a list of priorities:

Integrated Land Charters for the Duchy of Antioch, the Duchy of Damascus, and Counties of Homs, Baalbek, and Aleppo.

Agricultural Commissions to map arable land, rotate fields, and establish water-sharing policies.

Trade Routes to be opened between Tyre and Damascus, with safe passages enforced.

Muslim Peasantry: permitted to remain under protection of the crown, with freedom to worship and conduct business. They would now pay the jizya, just as Christians had once paid the dhimmi tax under Saracen rule.

Invention and Experimentation: fund a small group of artisans and masons to begin trials on cement and new fortification designs, including sloped walls and layered battlements.

He paused before adding one last note:

Integration of the Realm: All noble titles henceforth granted by the Crown must swear fealty not to a local prince, but to Jerusalem itself. Let there be no more isolated baronies. This shall be a kingdom united in God’s name.

Closing the Night

The window breeze cooled the sweat on Baldwin’s brow. He replaced the silver mask, extinguished the lamp, and let his legs carry him to the simple bed of carved cedar.

The war was won, but the true labor had only begun.

The Kingdom of Jerusalem was no longer a fragile foothold.

It was becoming a nation.

And Baldwin, leper though he was, had no intention of letting it slip into ruin. Not now. Not ever.

He would shape it, not only with sword and faith—but with vision, with order, with brick and stone and mortar.

And if God willed it, he would leave behind a realm worthy of salvation