When writing about Saladin
in a novel one is always confronted by the fact that he has long been viewed as
the epitome of Saracen “chivalry.” Indeed, in the last century it became common
to suggest that, while the crusaders were treacherous barbarians, Saladin stood
out as a paragon of virtue and honor, a shining light of decency and chivalry
in an otherwise brutal age. This is the view of Saladin that dictated the
highly sympathetic portrayal in Ridley Scott's film “The Kingdom of Heaven.” It
is the image that dominates the mind of most readers coming to a book about the
crusades.
Yet, as Andrew
Ehrenkreutz catalogues in his meticulously documented and detailed biography of Saladin published in 1972, Saladin frequently used deceit, hypocrisy,
propaganda, bribery, extortion, murder and, ultimately aggressive war to
establish an empire in the Near East. Ehrenkreutz also notes that Saladin
spent much more time and money fighting (and killing) fellow Muslims
than he did fighting Christians; Saladin was responsible for the loss
of many more Sunni Muslim lives than Christian ones.
A depiction of
Saladin based on Ehrenkreutz would be too extreme -- and certainly too much to swallow for readers raised
on the Kingdom-of-Heaven Saladin. That isn't what I wanted. However, it was important to me that I didn’t simply
serve up the legend without any acknowledgement of historical reality. Thus, in developing the Saladin of my novels,
I sought to balance the two views of Saladin and focus on portraying him not as
“good” or “bad” but rather as a highly effective political leader. I wanted a
“worthy adversary,” for Balian and the crusader states, but not one who was a
caricature of either virtue or villainy. I sought to create a man who was
ambitious and ruthless in attaining and maintaining power, but also capable of
generosity and magnanimity -- when it did not run contrary to his interests.
Likewise, I sought to explain Saladin’s behavior by analyzing possible motives.
A particularly good
example of this is the famous instance in which Saladin gave Balian d’Ibelin a
safe-conduct to cross Saracen-held territory to enter Jerusalem and remove his
wife and family after the Battle of Hattin but before the fall of Jerusalem.
Not only was this a magnanimous gesture to a Christian lord and a foe, it was
topped by Saladin sending some of his own personal body-guard to escort the
Lady of Ibelin to safety after her husband broke his word, and —
ceding to immense pressure from the Christian population in Jerusalem — agreed
to take command of the defense of the Holy City. But the “chivalrous” character
of these gestures is somewhat mitigated by the fact that the Lady of Ibelin was
also a Byzantine princess and a relation of the ruling Greek Emperor Isaac II
Angelus, with whom Saladin had just concluded a treaty of alliance. It was still a generous gesture since Maria
Comnena, Lady of Ibelin, was not a close relative of Isaac II, but Saladin’s
decision was certainly salted with a pinch of self-interest.
Equally important to
me in my portrayal of Saladin was his unbending hostility to Christianity and
his commitment to jihad. This has
nothing to do with whether Saladin was “good” or “bad” (I’m not trying to make
him a medieval ISIS leader), but it is essential to understanding what options
were available to the Christian leaders. It is, as Israeli governments can
testify, impossible to make peace with people who do not recognize your right
to exist. Too many histories and novels are written on the premise that the
crusader states could have co-existed
with their Muslim neighbors indefinitely. This is simply not logical. Jihadist
Islam requires good Muslims to spread the religion ― including by the sword ―
and recognizes the right of select other religions to live under Islamic rule only under humiliating and burdensome
conditions.
Last but not least, the
Saladin of my novels is a man of his age and culture, and I have drawn on Arab
chronicles and Islamic writings to depict his probable attitudes toward, above
all, women. Muslims in this period found the presence of women in public life
(such as queens, castellans etc.) not only incomprehensible but disgusting. The very
fact that women had names and faces known outside of the family circle was
viewed as immoral and dishonorable. The fact that women had a voice in political
affairs, could control wealth, influence politics, and even command men was
even more offensive. The differing attitudes toward women was one of the most
crucial differences between Christendom and Islam in the 12th
century. As a novelist with strong female characters, it would be nothing short
of negligent not to highlight this fact.
Likewise, the
dependence of 12th century Syria and Egypt on slaves is fact that I
had no wish to gloss over or ignore. Particularly in the third book of the
series, the contemporary attitudes toward slavery is an important issue and
plot-line. Although I use the historical figure Imad ad-Din most directly to
address this theme, quoting directly from his own works, Saladin too is
consciously used as a representative of the world from which he came. In this
sense, Saladin in my novels is both a character and a symbol ― but then so is
Balian.
Saladin plays a significant role in the second two books of the Jerusalem trilogy.
Saladin plays a significant role in the second two books of the Jerusalem trilogy.
