The Leper King
Chapter 130 – Stone and Steel
CHAPTER 130: CHAPTER 130 – STONE AND STEEL
Jerusalem, October 7th, 1180
The heat of the Levant had begun to wane, and over the limestone domes and soaring towers of Jerusalem, a calm breeze swept the dawn air clean. From the wide arcades of the Tower of David, King Baldwin IV looked out over his capital—his city, now beating with new life as merchants, pilgrims, and knights flowed in from every quarter of Christendom.
It had been weeks since his triumph in Damascus. Weeks since the banners of Jerusalem flew atop the citadel and the last of Saladin’s commanders departed under truce. Now, the work of consolidation—of true kingship—had begun in earnest.
He turned as a knock echoed from the chamber doors. The steward entered with a low bow, followed by Amalric de Lusignan, and Master Thierry, the chief mason of the Kingdom.
"Your Majesty," Amalric greeted with a respectful nod, "we’ve reviewed the plans for the shipment of war materials. The first convoy for Constantinople is nearly ready."
Baldwin motioned them to approach the table in the solar, where a large wax tablet was laid with charcoal sketches and figures.
"How many stormracks do we have completed?" he asked, glancing at the ledger.
"Twenty, sire," Amalric said. "Fitted with new reinforced limbs and plated stirrups, per your instructions. We’re also loading weighted trebuchets, spare cordage, and one full wagon of steel heads for heavy quarrels."
"And the crossbows?"
"Two hundred for this first shipment, with another two hundred to follow by winter. The pike shafts have been oiled and bundled in sets of ten. The carpenters in Acre are working without pause."
Baldwin nodded, satisfied. "And the Byzantines—have they confirmed their acceptance of the terms?"
Amalric smiled. "A courier arrived two days ago from Cilicia. The Emperor has accepted all points. In return, they’ve agreed to formally recognize Jerusalem’s control over Antioch. Their tone was...gracious."
"Good," Baldwin said, his voice soft but resolute. "Then let us honor our part swiftly. We’ll not leave the Romans without their weapons, not while the Turk batters at their gates."
He gestured to the mason, Thierry. The old craftsman bowed, his linen robe dusted with powdered stone. "Your Majesty," he said, "you summoned me?"
Baldwin’s pale face lit with a flicker of curiosity. "Yes. Master Thierry—some weeks ago, when I was in Damascus, I found a manuscript in an old scholar’s library. A treatise on Roman construction, possibly a translation from an earlier Greek original. It described a certain... cement, unlike any we use now."
Thierry raised a bushy brow. "Roman cement?"
"Aye. It was called opus caementicium, if I remember. According to the text, it was made by mixing lime, volcanic ash—which they called pozzolana—and crushed stones or bricks. When mixed with water, it hardened even underwater. The manuscript listed ingredients, but not precise ratios."
The mason’s eyes gleamed with interest. "This could explain their domes and aqueducts—why their roads still stand."
Baldwin leaned in. "I want you to begin experiments. Use local ash from the Dead Sea coast or bring some from Sicily if needed. Test the curing time, the strength. I’ll grant you laborers and funds. If we can perfect it—"
"We could build like the Romans," Thierry whispered, reverently.
"More than that," Baldwin said. "We could remake Jerusalem."
He rose from his seat and walked toward the window. "No more crumbling mortar and dry stone. I want real roads, smooth and wide. Canals for irrigation. New homes for the poor. Bathhouses with heated floors. Aqueducts to carry water from Hebron. Bridges strong enough for cavalry."
He turned back. "This is the capital of a kingdom that now stretches to Aleppo and Damascus. It should look the part. Let pilgrims be awed when they enter through the gates."
"And the army?" Amalric asked gently.
"Send the last of the levies home. We can have the veterans of the army teach those who are still green when we start up the training again. Keep only the knights who’ve sworn to stay. I want the garrisons in Damascus, Homs, and Baalbek maintained, but they can be rotated. We’ve fought enough this year."
He smiled. "Let the sword rest and the hammer rise."
A knock came again at the chamber door, and this time the Archbishop of Jerusalem entered, his vestments trailing behind him like flowing parchment. He bowed, but Baldwin waved him closer.
"Your Grace," the king said, "I wanted to speak with you privately."
"Of course, Majesty."
"I’ve been thinking... It is time we invite His Holiness the Pope to Jerusalem. Not in writing alone, not just in prayers. But a real invitation."
The Archbishop blinked. "To come here? In person?"
Baldwin nodded slowly. "Yes. Christendom rejoices, but most still do not know what has truly changed. The Pope should see with his own eyes that Jerusalem lives—not as a kingdom merely surviving but flourishing. Let him see Damascus with its church bells and new markets. Let him bless the land and consecrate our cause."
The Archbishop considered. "It would be unprecedented. But...it would shake the world."
"Exactly," Baldwin said. "And if the Pope himself walks these streets, the rest of Europe will follow. Men will come not just to fight, but to live. To build. To trade. To worship. This must become not only the Holy Land, but the Heart of Christendom."
There was a long pause. The wind outside whispered across the stone arches.
"I will prepare the letter," the Archbishop said at last.
"Good," Baldwin murmured.
He turned again to the map spread across the table—Syria, Palestine, the coast of Cilicia—and tapped the city of Antioch with one finger.