CHAPTER 59 - 59 THE SICILIAN COURT

May 1179 — The Sicilian Court Answers

Golden light spilled over the domes and tiled roofs of Palermo as spring gave way to the early heat of summer. The scent of citrus blossoms floated on the sea breeze, mingling with salt and incense in the corridors of the Palazzo dei Normanni, the beating heart of Norman Sicily's rule.

Within its mosaic-adorned halls, the court of King William II, called the Good, had gathered in anticipation. News had arrived from the East—sealed under the arms of Jerusalem. Whispers had already raced through the marble columns and gardens of the palace: the Leper King had written again.

William sat on his throne beneath a broad arch framed with gold tesserae, a young king of twenty-four, robed in Sicilian silk trimmed in imperial purple. Despite his youth and reserved manner, William had proven both devout and politically sharp, careful in his dealings with Rome and Constantinople alike.

Stephen du Perche, his Chancellor and trusted cousin, approached the throne holding a scroll bound in red silk and sealed in wax. With a bow, he presented it.

"This arrived with the royal seal of the Kingdom of Jerusalem," he said.

William's eyes scanned the wax symbol, then gestured for it to be read aloud. Stephen carefully broke the seal and unfurled the letter before the assembly.

He began:

To His Royal Majesty, William, by the Grace of God King of Sicily, Duke of Apulia and Prince of Capua,From Baldwin, by that same Grace, King of Jerusalem, Duke of Palestine, Shield of Christendom and Defender of the Holy Sepulchre,

May peace and divine favor rest upon your throne and your realm. I write to you not only as a fellow king and brother in Christ, but as one who stands at the gates of war and seeks your wisdom and strength in what lies ahead.

Our scouts report that the Saracen Sultan bleeds, his grip on Syria loosening, his emirs murmuring dissent. By God's will and with firm resolve, we intend not only to defend Jerusalem, but to carry the Cross to the enemy's heart. For this, the sea will matter as much as the sword.

I write to propose the outline of a most vital alliance—one that shall remain known only to you, myself, and those you deem worthy of its charge.

We ask permission that, should the need arise, armies of the Cross might gather in or depart from your ports—particularly Messina or Palermo—and that your realm might serve as a staging ground for those who cannot sail directly to Acre or Tyre.

Moreover, should our enemies muster against us from Egypt—as they surely will—we ask that your most formidable navy, which has long ruled the central sea, harass and raid the Egyptian coast. Burn their ports. Disrupt their convoys. Force them to divide their strength.

This need not be declared as part of a crusade—merely a defense of Christian commerce, or protection of your merchants. The Saracens are proud and foolish; they will see treachery everywhere and respond accordingly.

In exchange for such aid, I offer mutual recognition of lands and rights, and that no toll shall be levied against ships of your crown in our harbors, now or henceforth. Your realm shall have equal voice at the council table when the spoils of war are divided.

I write in utmost confidence. Let this remain between our courts until such time as the Cross marches. For only then shall our banners fly together in open cause.

May the Lord guide your wisdom and strengthen our cause."

The court fell into silence as the final lines were spoken. Nobles looked to one another, some intrigued, others wary. The weight of such an offer—veiled in diplomacy but laced with urgency—hung heavy in the air.

King William stood slowly, descending the dais to pace across the patterned tiles.

"He does not ask for men," he said aloud, more to himself than to the assembly. "Nor for silver. He asks only for opportunity—and secrecy."

Admiral Eugenius of Messina, whose fleet guarded Sicily's coasts and Mediterranean routes, stepped forward. "A naval raid on Egypt is possible," he said. "A few ships sent from Messina. Fast. Unmarked. If they strike Alexandria or Rosetta, it would draw the sultan's eye. He'd be forced to guard his coasts, not just his northern front."

"But we risk war," said Count Roger of Geraci, voice edged with caution. "If Cairo traces the ships to us—"

"They'll be ghosts," Eugenius countered. "Crews paid well and sworn to silence. No banners. No heralds."

Stephen du Perche looked to the king. "Baldwin moves carefully. His war is one of feints, of traps, of pressure. He reshapes the map, not just the battlefield. If we support him, we do more than fight—we invest in the future balance of Christendom."

William turned to his advisors.

"What if this gambit fails?" he asked. "What if Jerusalem falls once more? Then what?"

Robert of Lecce, a knight loyal to the eastern garrisons of the realm, stepped forward.

"Majesty, if it fails, it fails in motion. Better to strike and fail than wait and rot. If it succeeds, you'll have helped divide the Ayyubids and reestablish Latin power in Syria. We do not need to win the East—we need to keep it fractured."

William gave a single nod.

"We will reply," he said firmly. "We shall host the crusading forces. Let Messina and Palermo open in secret to Baldwin's armies. And five ships will sail—unmarked—to harass the Egyptian coast. If asked, they were chasing pirates. Let the sea hide their true course."

He looked to his admiral. "Have the fleet begin readying. Quietly."

"To Jerusalem," William said at last. "Let us help draw the dagger that strikes Saladin's flank."