CHAPTER 61 - 61 THE CROSS STIRS THE WEST

June 1179 – Rome, Lateran Palace

The midday sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Lateran Palace, casting ribbons of color across the polished marble floor. Within the hallowed walls of the Apostolic Palace, the great hall of the Curia buzzed with quiet urgency.

Pope Alexander III, seated upon the marble throne beneath the great crucifix, lifted the scroll sealed with red wax and the arms of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The Curia had debated for weeks—cardinals had argued fiercely in private and in open session. But at last, the decision had been made.

Cardinal Odo, solemn and resplendent in his scarlet robes, stood beside the Holy Father, his expression composed but eyes burning with quiet triumph.

Pope Alexander raised his voice, the decree echoing across the room.

"We, Alexander the Third, Servant of the Servants of God, in the year of Our Lord 1179, do hereby proclaim our full blessing and spiritual endorsement of the upcoming crusade to reclaim the lands of Syria. Let it be known to all Christian kings and princes: this holy endeavor is under the authority of Baldwin, fourth of his name, King of Jerusalem and Defender of the Holy Sepulchre."

He paused as murmurs passed among the cardinals.

"We further grant unto King Baldwin the sole and supreme command of all crusader armies who shall take up the Cross for this cause, regardless of nation or rank, that unity may reign where division once faltered."

The hall stirred at that pronouncement—clear, unequivocal support for Baldwin's request. A unified chain of command, blessed by the papacy, was rare. But the vision unfolding in Jerusalem had convinced even skeptical voices.

"Any man who rides in the cause of Jerusalem shall be granted full remission of sins, and any noble or knight who aids in the liberation and settlement of Syria may receive titles, lands, and blessings, so long as they declare fealty to Jerusalem and her king."

A wave of clerical nods rippled through the chamber. Cardinals whispered prayers, others leaned to speak with ambassadors already waiting to send word home.

Cardinal Odo stepped forward now, speaking to the assembled.

"Letters have already gone forth to the courts of France, England, Aragon, Hungary, the Holy Roman Empire, and beyond. The call has been issued. Now it is up to the faithful."

Later in June 1179 – Normandy, England

The air at Rouen was heavy with the scent of horses and damp earth. In the courtyard of the castle, knights trained beneath banners of red and gold, their swords clashing against steel as sergeants barked commands.

Within the hall, Richard, Count of Poitou, the son of King Henry II—known already in song and rumor as the Lionheart—read the papal bull handed to him by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The red-haired prince paced the stone floor, his mail shirt slung over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with fire.

"So, Jerusalem rides to war again," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "And Baldwin of Jerusalem shall lead them all."

He turned toward his advisors. "Summon my household knights. Any man who owes me service and any second son who thirsts for glory—send word throughout my holdings."

The bishop ventured cautiously, "My lord, your father—"

"My father sits a thousand miles away plotting with the French," Richard cut in. "I will not wait on his leave. If there is glory to be won in the east, and lands to be claimed beneath the golden cross of Jerusalem, then I ride."

He looked back to the letter.

Land in Syria. Gold. Favor in the eyes of the Church.

And the banner of Jerusalem raised high above the cities of Saladin.

Richard grinned. "Tell them the Lionheart is coming."

Late June 1179 – The Kingdom of France

At the court of King Philip II in Paris, things were more delicate. The young king listened as his chancellor read the papal decree aloud.

Several nobles at court exchanged glances. There had been skepticism about another crusade—memories of the failed Second Crusade still lingered. But this was different.

This time, Jerusalem had not begged for aid—it had offered opportunity.

Land for knights. Positions of power. And a well-organized king with modern ideas, respected by clergy and warrior alike.

Already, young nobles from Champagne, Anjou, and Burgundy had begun selling small properties, raising coin, gathering men. Feudal lords who had no inheritance at home now saw a future in the east.

June 1179 – Kingdom of Hungary

King Béla III sat in his audience hall in Esztergom, the scroll from Rome in hand, his expression thoughtful. He had received envoys from Jerusalem weeks earlier, and now the Pope himself had echoed their request.

"I will not send the core of my army," Béla said at last. "But I will send knights. Let them carry the banner of Hungary alongside the cross of Jerusalem. And I will dispatch gold, and grain, and horses."

He turned to his court. "Let it not be said that Hungary stood idle while Christendom moved."

June 1179 – The Holy Roman Empire

Though Emperor Frederick Barbarossa was growing old, the fire had never left him. Seated in his imperial court in Mainz, he nodded slowly as the papal letter was read.

"Baldwin," he said with a wry smile. "He was but a boy the last time we met. Now they say he builds machines of war and speaks in strange ways."

He paused. "I like him."

Though the Emperor would not commit himself fully—Germany still reeled from internal strife—he sent a message of approval, and a quiet order to the dukes of Swabia, Bavaria, and Saxony.

"Send your sons. And let them bring me news of what he builds in Jerusalem."

Back in Jerusalem – Late June 1179

In the war room of the citadel, Baldwin IV stood before a long table now covered with opened letters, wax seals, and maps. William of Tyre read aloud the latest news.

"France has not yet officially committed, but noble houses are moving. Richard of Poitou sends knights to Genoa and Marseille for ships. Hungary promises grain and men. And from Italy... merchant families in Pisa and Venice have offered ships for the right to trade in Syria once conquered."

Baldwin smiled. "Good. Let them all come."

"And the Pope has confirmed it: you are to be the supreme commander of this crusade. The announcement has been posted in every cathedral across Europe."

The King looked to the others—Balian, Humphrey, Raynald, and Eustace—all seated nearby.

"Then it begins."

"Already," William said, "young men gather in port cities. Second and third sons with no hope of inheritance at home. Disgraced knights looking to redeem themselves. Pilgrims bearing both cross and sword."

Baldwin turned to the map, where Homs, Aleppo, and Baalbek were marked in ink.

"We will not wait for Saladin to come to us again," he said. "Let him defend for once. Let him taste what it means to watch cities fall."

"And the allies?" asked Balian.

"I am still waiting on Sicily," Baldwin said. "But if they come—if their ships sail for Egypt while we march for Syria—then we may shatter the Ayyubid grip altogether."

William closed the scroll. "This will be the greatest enterprise the Kingdom has ever undertaken."

"It will be a war to change the world," Baldwin replied. "And we must win it—not with zeal alone, but with strategy, with order, and with unity. This time, we will not squander God's favor."

He looked to each man in the room.

"Let the banners be raised."