Episode 109
King Philip II of France leaned back in his chair, savoring the sweet taste of victory. Each glance at the treaty before him filled him with a sense of superiority that was hard to shake.
“Your Majesty, you seem to be in particularly high spirits today,” one of his advisors remarked.
“There’s talk of a new Crusade. Will France be joining this endeavor?” another inquired.
“Indeed,” Philip replied. “As soon as we return to Paris, I’ll summon the nobles. The prophet Marshall has foretold an unprecedented crisis for Christendom. This Crusade will serve as a bulwark against it.”
Philip was delighted. Everything had gone according to plan. The Pope and the prophet’s unprecedented visit to the Byzantine Empire, followed by the urgent summoning of kings, hinted at the Vatican’s true intentions. And as always, victory belonged to those who were prepared.
Philip II had considered at least five different scenarios and prepared strategies for each. The result was a resounding success. The negotiations had unfolded exactly as he had hoped, without a single deviation.
“You’ve all worked hard to get here, so go and rest. Count Dammartin, stay a moment.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then, Your Majesty, please rest well. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Most of the nobles left, oblivious to the true nature of the events, showering him with empty flattery. Engaging in further conversation with such people was a chore. Listening to their foolishness threatened to dampen the afterglow of his triumph.
In contrast, Count Dammartin was someone with whom Philip could converse meaningfully. Philip wondered if the count had discerned his masterstroke.
“Count, what do you make of the negotiations?”
“Excuse me?”
“You observed the proceedings from behind me. Surely you have some idea of how things unfolded. Who do you think emerged as the greatest victor?”
The count closed his eyes, pondering the question.
“Heinrich VI will likely boast to his nobles that he was appointed the supreme commander of the first true Christian Crusade.”
“A hollow glory,” Philip chuckled.
“You see right through it. Heinrich VI might realize it on his way back, but by then, the ship will have sailed.”
The title of supreme commander of the Crusade was enticing, but it held little meaning for Philip II. France was already becoming his, without the need to elevate himself through such a position. Moreover, the responsibilities that came with it—providing knights and supplies—were too burdensome compared to the potential gains.
For Heinrich VI, who sought to secure the Holy Roman Empire for the Hohenstaufen dynasty, the story was different. If he could lead the Crusade to success, who among the nobles would oppose the Hohenstaufen’s permanent claim to the throne? Any dissenters could be branded as heretics defying God’s will.
Philip’s real concern was the extent of the power the Crusade’s commander would wield and how much benefit they could bring back to their homeland. If the potential gains were greater than anticipated, Heinrich VI could not be allowed to ascend to the top of the Crusade.
This was why Philip had approached Richard beforehand. If the Crusade’s authority could yield significant benefits, he planned to support Richard instead. Richard, in turn, would have to share some of the spoils with France, which had backed him.
However, once Marshall intervened, blocking the path of ambition, the position of supreme commander lost all significance for Philip. Thus, he actively supported Heinrich VI, forcing the title upon him.
Count Dammartin seemed to have grasped this much.
“Your Majesty foresaw the situation, making it easy to achieve your desired outcome. Both Heinrich VI and Richard ended up playing into your hands.”
“Indeed. And there’s an additional benefit I stand to gain. I wonder if you can guess what it is.”
“Regrettably, I cannot discern it at this stage. Perhaps with more reflection, I might.”
So, even Dammartin hadn’t figured it out. It was only natural; without mind-reading, it was impossible to see through this plan.
“It seems I’ve outwitted you this time, Count. Ha ha ha!”
“Your Majesty is always a step ahead of me. It’s only natural.”
“If you had somehow deduced it, I might have been in a bit of a bind. But you’ll understand in time, so be patient.”
“Understood. I’ll give it more thought.”
“Good, good. And on your way out, could you discreetly summon Count Dreux? Tell him to come in secret.”
To proceed with his plans, Philip needed to inform a trusted confidant of the general direction. As he watched Dammartin leave, Philip allowed himself a genuine smile. Soon, the era of France would dawn.
As he prepared to pour himself a glass of wine while waiting for Count Dreux, a guard announced a visitor. Philip chuckled at the thought of how quickly Dammartin must have run to fetch Dreux. But instead of his trusted ally, the visitor was the one person Philip was reluctant to face: Edward Marshall.
Philip II, that cunning fox. I had been wary of him from the start, knowing his historical exploits were anything but ordinary. It seems my caution was well-founded.
From the moment I decided to form a Crusade, I knew there were two major issues I had to address. The first was ensuring the Holy Roman Empire’s stable participation. Historically, Heinrich VI, who had always been lucky, was supposed to die of malaria. His untimely death would have thrown the succession into chaos, leading to the decline of the Hohenstaufen dynasty.
Many believe that Heinrich VI’s sudden death was a significant factor in the Holy Roman Empire’s eventual decline. To prevent this, I had him move locations several times to avoid contracting malaria. He might not realize he owes his life to me, but at least the empire avoided a succession crisis.
The second issue was the variable that was Philip II.
“What brings our prophet to visit at this late hour? Do you have something to say to me?” Philip greeted me with his usual benevolent demeanor, gesturing for me to sit.
“Thank you,” I replied, taking the offered seat.
How does he manage to exude such an aura of kindness and peace? If I could emulate that, I might become an even more convincing prophet. Though I feel I’m doing well enough, seeing Philip always makes me feel lacking.
As I observed him, Philip watched me intently, sipping his wine.
“So, what brings you here?” he asked.
“I have something to discuss regarding today’s events.”
Historically, Philip II had left the Third Crusade midway. He had his reasons—illness and the need to resolve the succession of Flanders. But his return to France allowed him to reap enormous benefits. Many believe the fall of the Angevin Empire began the moment Philip returned from Acre.
From today’s negotiations, it was clear Philip intended to pull a similar stunt with this Crusade. My knowledge of history allowed me to see through his plans.
I decided to take a gamble. “In truth… God has instructed me to come here.”
Philip’s expression shifted ever so slightly, a rare reaction from the usually unflappable king. His face hardened just enough to confirm my suspicions.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply concerned about the thoughts you harbor. Please, let it go.”
”…What? How dare you…”
“If!”
”…”
“If you return alone from this holy war…”
”…”
I knew it.
I delivered my final words to the now-silent Philip.
“I trust that a wise man like you understands. With that, I take my leave.”
There’s no point in dragging it out and losing the mystique.
I bowed swiftly and exited the room with the same confidence I had when I entered. Behind me, I could hear Philip II’s incredulous laughter, but I didn’t look back.
About thirty seconds after Marshall left.
Thud!
The wine glass he threw in frustration shattered against the wall.
“Again! Again with this divine interference! How much does the deity favor him?”
Philip II couldn’t recall ever being this furious in his life, but in his current state, he was beyond self-awareness.
Yet, it was only a momentary lapse.
His innate rationality soon restored his composure, and he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
Let’s be honest, no amount of anger could change what had already happened.
Unfortunately, he was too logical a man to indulge in endless rage.
Still, in times like these, it’s only human to want to vent some frustration.
Philip II glanced up at the annoyingly bright night sky, a twisted smile playing on his lips.
“Am I really so displeasing to you?”