CHAPTER VIII. KING BALDWIN I. A.D. 1100-1118.
“Tell me,” said Don Quixote, “have you ever seen a more valorous knight than I upon the whole face of the known earth?”
No sooner was the breath out of Godfrey’s body, than, according to usual custom, the Christians began to quarrel as to who should succeed him. Count Garnier de Gray, a cousin of Godfrey’s, took possession promptly of the Tower of David and other fortified places, and refused to give them up to the patriarch, Dagobert, who claimed them as having been ceded to him by the late king. Unfortunately, Count Garnier died suddenly at this juncture, and his death was of course interpreted by the churchmen as a punishment for his contumacy. Dagobert wrote immediately—the letter is preserved—to Bohemond, urging him to assert his claims. Hardly was the epistle sent off, when the news came that Bohemond was a prisoner. There was, therefore, nothing to prevent Baldwin from stepping quietly into the throne.
Baldwin, the brother of Godfrey, had been originally destined for the Church, and received a liberal education. When he abandoned the robe for the sword is not certain, nor, indeed, do we know anything at all about him until we see him in the Crusade following his brother. He was a man of grave and majestic bearing. Taller by a head than other men, he was also of great strength, extremely active, and well skilled in all the arts of chivalry. His beard and hair were black, his nose aquiline, and the upper lip slightly projecting. He was fond of personal splendour and display. When he rode out in the town of Edessa a golden buckler, with the device of an eagle, was borne before him, and two horsemen rode in front blowing trumpets. Following the Oriental custom, he had allowed his beard to grow, and took his meals seated on carpets. He was not, like his brother, personally pious, nor was he by any means priestridden. His early education had been sufficient to deprive him of any great respect for the cloth, and the facility with which he fell into Oriental customs proves that his Christianity sat lightly enough upon him. As yet, however, there were no declared infidels in the East. His morals were dissolute, but he knew how to prevent scandals arising, and none but those who were immediately about him knew what was the private life of their grave and solemn king. At the same time he does not appear to have been a hypocrite, or to have claimed any merit at all for piety. The figure of Godfrey is clouded with legends and miraculous stories. We hardly seem to see, through the mist of years, the features of the short-lived David of the new kingdom. But that of Baldwin, the new Solomon of Jerusalem, stands out clear and distinct. This king, calm, cold of speech, self-reliant, like Saul, a head taller than anybody else, who will not be seen abroad without a mantle upon his shoulders, who lets his beard grow, and looks out upon the world with those keen bright eyes of his, and that strong projecting upper lip, is indeed a man, and not a shadow of history. He is a clerk, and is not to be terrified, knowing too much of the Church, into giving up his own to the Church, as Godfrey did. His, too, is the sharp, clear-cut, aquiline nose of the general, as well as the strong arm of a soldier, and the Turks will not probably greatly prevail against him. And with Godfrey, as we have said before, vanish for ever those shadowy figures of saints and dead bishops who were wont to fight with the army. King Baldwin believed in no saints’ help, either in battle or in the world, and did not look for any. Jerusalem, henceforth, has to get along without many miracles. For the appearance of saints and other ghostly auxiliaries is like the appearance of fairies—they come not, when men believe in them no more: