The story of Peter Bartholemew and the Holy Lance at the siege of Antioch is a true one, at least inasmuch as there was a monk by that name who brandished something he claimed was the Holy Lance and thereby rallied the defenders to sally forth and defeat the besieging Muslim army. Despite its rallying effect, however, there were many, including the papal legate Adhemar of Le Puy, who doubted the authenticity of relic and considered Peter a charlatan. Indeed, so pervasive were contemporary suspicions regarding Peter’s claims that he ultimately volunteered to subject himself to trial by fire in order to prove himself. Alas, the ordeal did not go well for Peter. He was badly burned during the trial and died a few weeks later of his injuries. Despite this, the belief that relics in general, and the Holy Lance in particular, had miraculous powers remained widespread throughout Christendom. It is far from fanciful, then, that King Richard – always looking for an advantage over both his Muslim enemies and Christian rivals – would seek to acquire the relic. In today’s language, the Lance – like the relic of the True Cross Richard also wanted so earnestly to recover – would have been considered a very powerful “force multiplier”.

There was an Order of Saint Lazarus. It was founded in the Kingdom of Jerusalem in 1098 to provide aid and succor to those who had contracted the disease of leprosy, especially Templars and Hospitallers. Dependent houses – called “Lazar houses” or lazarettes – were subsequently established throughout Latin Christendom. Alas, there was no Lazar house at Valsainte – that is an entirely fictional priory. But there was, and is, a Holy Valley (Wadi Qadisha in Arabic). Located in what is today northern Lebanon, not far from the Forest of the Cedars of God, this steep-sided gorge has been the site of monastic communities continuously since the early years of Christianity. It is thus a fitting site for the fictional Valsainte.

Although there was no Priory of Valsainte there was a monastery at Belmont. Founded by Cistercian monks in 1157, it was known variously as Balamand, Bellus-Mons and Bellimonte ultra Mare. The Cistercians abandoned the monastery in the late-thirteenth century and it subsequently came under the authority of the Greek Orthodox Church. Situated about eighty kilometres north of Beirut, the monastery is now part of one of the campuses of the University of Balamand.

If I have taken any liberties with the historical record, it is with respect to Saladin. At least since the time of Sir Walter Scott and his great work of historical fiction The Talisman, the Kurdish leader of the campaign to extinguish the crusader kingdoms has been viewed in the West as a wise, gracious and chivalrous warrior. During his own time, however, Saladin was often depicted in a more negative light. To be sure, there were those among his contemporaries who thought him a great commander and a wise ruler. Many other accounts, however, picture him as a devious, self-serving and/or incompetent leader who was extremely fortunate in his choice of family and enemies. The truth, I suppose, can never be fully known. I do believe, though, that my portrayal of Saladin, while at odds with the picture painted by his modern hagiographers, is an at least plausible interpretation of the historical record.

That a band of Assassins should rescue Fitz Alan from Christian attackers is not terribly far-fetched. The Christian-Muslim religious and civilizational divide, while always in the background, was not always the dominating feature of the geopolitics of the region. Inter-Christian and inter-Muslim conflicts, coupled with alliances of convenience that spanned that divide, were endemic to the “international system” of what we today call the Middle East. Overlay that with sectarian divisions within both civilizational camps (Latin, Greek, Armenian, Nestorian and other sects in the Christian camp; Sunni, Shia, Nizari and other sects within the Muslim), dynastic disputes, and all the other political byproducts of feudalism and coalition politics and some idea of the complexity of the geopolitics of the region quickly becomes apparent. Only when Christian and Muslim leaders were able to mobilize “coalitions of the willing” behind a crusade or jihad respectively did the religious divide emerge as the most conspicuous and consequential. At other times, Christians fought Christians (sometimes with Muslim allies) and Muslims fought Muslims (sometimes Christian allies). Given that the Nizari – whom the Sunni majority considered dangerous heretics – feared that Saladin would come after them once he had eliminated the crusader kingdoms it is entirely plausible that at least some of them would have thrown their lot in with the Christians.

A few minor terminological notes: throughout the novel, I have used the term “Father” as the honorific used when addressing a Catholic priest. This is anachronistic, of course: priests have only been referred to as Father since the restoration of the Church hierarchy in England in the mid-nineteenth century. In the late medieval era, priests were called “Dom” (from the Latin Dominus or Lord) or Sir or, in some cases, Doctor. But as all writers of historical fiction are aware, sometimes it is necessary to sacrifice a little authenticity in order to gain a lot of readability. This, I think, is one of those cases. Similarly, I have referred to Bishop Walter as King Richard’s “chancellor”. Again, a somewhat anachronistic term, but a useful descriptor of the Bishop’s political office and one that makes sense to contemporary audiences.

Deus vult!!