Conrad of Montferrat had been awake and restlessly prowling the deck of the galley since before the sun rose out of the sea to the east. He was in high spirits, talking excitedly and jesting with the men of his entourage and the members of the ship's crew. He was a handsome, gregarious, easily approachable man in his late thirties, frank and open with men of all social stations. Of medium height, his frame was powerfully built and hard with muscle.

As the eldest of the two surviving sons of William, the Marquis of Montferrat, Conrad was heir to a famous principality in the fat lands of the Italian Piedmont. The Marquisate of Monteferrat stretched along both banks of the Tanaro River until it intersected the broad, placid sweep of the Po, and then continued northward to the foothills of the Pennine Alps. Strategically situated between Turin on the west and Tortona to the east, the principality of Montferrat was an important player in the power politics of the Holy Roman Empire, and the connections of its ruling family stretched from Germany to Constantinople to Jerusalem. Old William, the current Marquis, also held the title of Count of Jaffa. The first of his four sons, William Long-Sword, had come out to the Holy Land twelve years earlier to marry Princess Sibylla, the oldest daughter of King Amalric I of Jerusalem. Because Amalric's only son, Baldwin IV, suffered from leprosy and was not expected to survive long into adulthood, the marriage made William Long-Sword the presumptive heir to the throne of Jerusalem. Like so many newcomers to the Holy Land, however, William survived his arrival by less than a year, struck down by a fever shortly before his wife gave birth to the infant who would become King Baldwin V.

When Baldwin IV succumbed to his terrible illness in 1185, the old Marquis, grandfather of the young king, took the cross and come out to Palestine to look after his interests. But Baldwin V, a sickly child, died in August 1186, leaving the Kingdom of Jerusalem to his frivolous older sister Sibylla and her handsome, weak and quarrelsome husband, Guy de Lusignan. With storm clouds gathering and the Kingdom's barons divided and fractious, the old Marquis had stayed on. He was respected by all sides, but as a newcomer he had only a limited ability to influence events during the critical months between the boy-King's death and the outbreak of the war against Saladin in the spring of 1187.

Restlessness and a yearning for adventure seemed to be Montferrat family traits. The old Marquis had come out to the precarious lands of the Frankish east at a time when most men his age would have been content to enjoy a life of ease and retirement. William Long-Sword had similarly abandoned the rich comforts of Lombardy for the precarious security of the Levant, and it had cost him his life. Three years later, Conrad's youngest brother, Ranier, was sent to Constantinople at the age of seventeen to marry the thirty-year-old daughter of the Byzantine Emperor Manuel I Comnenus. On the death of his father-in-law in September 1180, he found himself forced to navigate the treacherous political currents of the imperial court during the short-lived regency of the protosebastos Alexius. Ranier distinguished himself as a soldier during the protosebastos's attack on the Haghia Sophia in May 1181, only to succumb to poison administered by one of his own servants after Andronicus Comnenus secured the regency the following spring.

The House of Montferrat had long been a sophisticated and important player in the international politics of their time. The Byzantine Emperor Manuel Comnenus had sought a marriage alliance with Montferrat because he wanted an ally in the backyard of his imperial rival, the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. Barbarossa had cultivated good relations with the Seljuk Sultan Kilij Arslan as a way of putting pressure on Manuel, so Manuel returned the favor by concluding an alliance with the one family in northern Italy that had the strength and independence to oppose Barbarossa's designs.

Shortly after his brother Rainier's departure for Constantinople in the late summer of 1179, Conrad was called upon to lead a Piedmontese army in defense of the Tuscan cities against imperial forces under the command of Frederick Barbarossa's Chancellor, the Archbishop Christian of Mainz. In late September 1179, Conrad surprised and routed the imperial army at Camarino; the Archbishop Christian himself was among the prisoners. Conrad's coup helped check Barbarossa's ambitions in Italy and cemented his reputation as a brave fighter and an able general. The following year, Conrad traveled to Byzantium to receive the thanks of the grateful Emperor. He was still there in September 1180 when Manuel died, ultimately setting in motion the chain of events that cost his younger brother Ranier his life two years later.

By late 1186, however, Conrad had grown restless in Montferrat. His wife had died recently, and his surviving brother, Boniface, was likewise an able soldier and administrator who was well able to rule the Marquisate if a need for adventure should call Conrad elsewhere. Conrad had just decided that he would follow his father to the Holy Land, where major trouble was clearly brewing, when an embassy arrived from the Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelus in the winter of 1186-87.

The embassy had instructions to offer Boniface, the younger surviving son of the House of Montferrat, the hand in marriage of the Emperor's sister Theodora, along with the rank of Caesar -- the same dignity that Ranier of Montferrat had held before his murder five years earlier. But there was one unforeseen complication: Boniface had recently married. However, Conrad, as a recent widower, was available. The chance to assume a great new position in the eastern Empire was tempting to the restless Conrad. It would certainly offer a wider scope for the application of his talents than would the quiet plains of Lombardy; moreover, there was no reason he could not continue his pilgrimage to the Holy Land at a later time.

Conrad turned the Marquisate over to his younger brother and accompanied the ambassadors back to Constantinople, where he arrived in late March 1179. Isaac II was delighted with his new brother-in-law, and the nuptials between Conrad and Theodora were promptly celebrated in lavish style. The wedding feast had hardly ended, however, when alarming news reached the capital. Alexius Branas, the commander of the imperial army in Bulgaria and the great hero of the Norman war, had declared himself Emperor and was marching on Constantinople.

To a combative soldier like Conrad, it was clear what should be done: troops must be raised, and the rebel confronted and vanquished. But to Conrad's dismay, his new imperial brother-in-law had a very different reaction to the news of Branas's revolt. Isaac seemed plunged into hopeless despair. With a powerful army under an aggressive general marching on his capital and the provinces of both Europe and Asia declaring for the rebel one after another, Isaac's response was to seek out the barefoot monks and the pillar saints of the capital and ask them to send prayers to God for an end to the civil war and the preservation of his rule. Conrad, in contrast, belonged to the "God helps those who help themselves" school. Struggling to control his impatience and exasperation at his brother-in-law's behavior, he urged Isaac not to put all his trust in mendicant holy men but to recognize that heavy infantry might also have a role in meeting Branas's challenge. At almost the last possible moment, Conrad managed to arouse Isaac from his fatalistic despondency.

Because the entire army outside the capital had by this time either declared for Branas or adopted a policy of neutrality, Conrad told Isaac that he should spare no expense to raise a force of mercenaries from the Latins and other foreigners within the city. Pleading a shortage of gold, Isaac took the silver vessels kept in the imperial treasuries and placed them with the wealthy monasteries in Constantinople as security for massive loans. Conrad then freely spent the gold coins raised by this means to raise a force of 250 knights and 500 foot soldiers from among the Latins residents of the capital, as well as hiring additional Turkish and Georgian mercenaries.

Fortunately, once Isaac roused himself to action, he did not shirk from doing what had to be done. He suspected there were many within the Court who actually favored Branas's cause, so he gave a remarkable address to his forces in the courtyard just inside the line of walls built by Manuel Comnenus near the Gold Horn. Rather than denouncing those who might be faint-hearted or unenthusiastic in their loyalty to him, Isaac announced that he would "make of you a most reasonable request: remain at home, offering assistance to neither side until the issue is resolved by battle and then submit with the others to the victor, or else leave the City and go over to the rebel before the conflict begins; fight for him and bear the brunt of battle, so that he shall owe you a greater debt of gratitude should he gain the trophies of victory." It wasn't the kind of speech Conrad would have given on such an occasion, but when he took Isaac aside afterwards to express his concerns, the Emperor had waved them aside. "I prefer that those who really favor Alexius desert to him now, rather than have them abandon us in the midst of battle," he explained. "It is better that we should fight with a small but reliable army than with a larger force filled with men of doubtful loyalties." Somewhat to Conrad's surprise, Isaac's speech did seem to have a positive effect; there were no more significant defections to Alexius before the final clash of arms.

With Alexius's forces now in position outside the great walls erected under Theodosius II, it was time for the final showdown. On a beautiful morning in early May, Isaac led his loyal forces out from the city's gates to do battle against the rebel. The protostrator Manuel Kamytzes commanded the troops on the left wing of the small loyalist army; Kamytzes held a bitter personal grudge against Branas, so the Emperor felt confident of him. Isaac commanded the right wing of his forces. But the brunt of the fighting was expected to be borne by the center division, and so it was here that Conrad, the most experienced soldier on the loyalist side, was placed with his Latin, Turkish, and Georgian mercenaries. Conrad had his men place a purple-dyed emblem on their shields and arms. To encourage the loyalist troops, he rode into battle with neither a shield, nor a helmet, nor a coat of mail. Instead, he wore a linen corselet made of fabric that had been folded up to eighteen times and then soaked in a solution of briny wine until it became so hard and compact that it was impervious to any missile.

The loyalist troops marched out until only a short distance separated the two armies. After each side exchanged a volley of arrows, Conrad called upon his heavy infantry, all clad in mail. They beat their spears against their shields with a ferocious clamor, then on his signal went over to the attack. A moment later, Conrad ordered his horsemen to charge, followed shortly thereafter by the mounted cavalry of Isaac's right-wing division.

The lines of the rebel infantry and cavalry, less heavily armed and armored than the western mercenaries opposing them, broke at the first impact of Conrad's charge. Conrad could see Branas trying to rally his men, and when his gaze met that of the rebel general, Branas spurred his horse straight for Conrad. As the two men's horses approached at full gallop, Branas raised his lance, but it merely struck Conrad a glancing blow on his shoulder. Conrad, holding his own lance with both hands, struck Branas's helmet in the cheekpiece, shattered it, and hurled him from his horse into the dirt. While the rebel commander lay dazed and bleeding on the ground, the men of Conrad's bodyguard surround him and stabbed him to death with their lances. Then his head was cut off and taken to Isaac, who greeted the sight of his dead enemy with grim satisfaction. By this time, the rebel army had completely disintegrated and was in flight in every direction.

Conrad was the hero of the day, but he took less satisfaction in the victory than Isaac did. Branas, after all, was a soldier and a fighter like himself: a very different cut of man than the self-indulgent Emperor, with his erratic moods and love of the pleasures of a fine table. Once the victory was won, Isaac immediately declared a great victory feast back at the Great Palace, and ordered that all the gates and windows of the palace be thrown open so that everyone who wished to do so could come see the triumphant Emperor. After he attacked the loaves of bread and heaping platters of succulent meats, the Emperor commanded that Branas's head be brought in and tossed back and forth like a ball as an after-dinner diversion. Then he ordered the head to be taken and shown to Branas's wife, who was being held captive within the Palace.

Conrad was a hard man. He understood the relief the Emperor must be feeling, but he also understood how arbitrary the chances of battle could be, and how easily he could have been the decapitated corpse lying in the dust. And although he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, Conrad couldn't help but wonder whether the Empire might not have been better off under Branas's leadership than that of his feckless, moody, and luxury-loving imperial brother-in-law.

Conrad quelled his nagging doubts the following morning by leading his troops out from the city on a punitive expedition against the local peasants and fishermen who had welcomed the usurper's forces and supplied them while they were encamped before the city. A mob of composed of the urban poor and the worst elements from the city's taverns eagerly joined his men when they saw what was afoot. Peasant hovels were torched, monasteries looted. It was a harsh but necessary lesson in the consequences of support for treason.

Conrad assumed that after he performing such a signal service for the Emperor, even greater honors and rewards would be showered upon him. Instead, in the weeks after his defeat of Branas, he found himself the object of humiliating slights. The Emperor even denied him the right to wear the blue buskins that were the traditional badge of the Caesar's rank.

And there were other straws in the wind, evidence that the urban mob's traditional resentment of the Latins remained ever-present, seeking only an excuse to be kindled. The mercenaries Conrad had hired could hardly help preening themselves over how readily they had routed the usurper's numerically superior forces, and the Greeks, in turn, were humiliated at the poor showing their compatriots had made. And even though many from inside the city had joined Conrad's punitive expedition against the populace outside the walls, the sight of Latin mercenaries looting Orthodox monasteries and burning villages of Greek peasants naturally fanned the existing anti-Latin feelings of much of the city's population.

These resentments culminated in another attack by the urban mob on the Latin quarters along the Golden Horn. This time, the Latins were ready. Led by Conrad's mercenaries, they barricaded the streets and defended themselves so vigorously that the undisciplined mob suffered by far the greater number of casualties. To his credit, the Emperor stood by the Latins and sent his agents among the rioters to bid them to cease and disperse to their homes. But this latest anti-Latin disturbance, coming only five years after the terrible massacres of 1182, served to underline for Conrad the strength of Greek hatred and resentment towards the Latins at all levels of society.

Under such circumstances, how could he expect his affairs to flourish here? Within three months after his arrival in Constantinople, Conrad concluded that his coming had been a mistake. These were not his people, and never would be. In western Europe, his family was known and respected, and he enjoyed easy relationships with the ruling classes of Italy, France, and Germany. In Constantinople, he realized now, he would always be an outsider.

It was easy enough for Conrad to decide to cut his losses and move on. His original intention – to follow his father to the Holy Land – now seemed to have been the better judgment. His family was well-known and respected there, and it would be easier to make a comfortable place for himself in the Frankish east than it was among these alien Greeks, with their different language, customs, and church. Moreover, fighting had already begun between the Crusaders and the Saracens, and a major showdown was plainly in the offing. When it came, every Western knight would be needed – particularly those with Conrad's military skill and experience. It seemed to him that he had a duty to go.

In contrast, there was little to hold him here. The Emperor's sister meant little to him: they hardly knew each other, after all. And the Emperor himself had proven to be feckless and ungrateful. Well, he would soon learn that he needed Conrad more than Conrad needed him.

The Emperor planned to resume the campaign against the Bulgarians and Vlachs that Alexius Branas had abandoned to make his attempt on the throne. It made sense militarily, and the Emperor obviously expected Conrad to play a major role. Conrad hid his growing misgivings and agreed to accompany Isaac with his western troops, whereupon the Emperor left with the advance party and set off for the camp of the European army at Taurokomos, outside of Adrianople. Then, at the end of June, he sent orders commanding that Conrad bring the rest of the troops in the vicinity of the capital and join him without further delay.

But Conrad had no intention of complying with Isaac's order. He had already acquired a ship, had reconditioned and revictualed it, and hired the services of an Italian crew. When he sounded out the men of his entourage and some of the other knights he had recently hired from the Latin Quarter, he found they were all as eager to abandon Constantinople and to continue on to the aid of their compatriots in the Holy Land as he was. And so it was that in the first days of July, Conrad and a company of his knights who were similarly game for the great adventure made their way to the Latin Quarter before dawn one morning. They found their ship ready to depart at a wharf outside the Neorion Gate. As soon as all the passengers were aboard, the crew hoisted sail and steered for the entrance to the Golden Horn. They swung around the headland below the St. Demetrios Quarter and entered the main flow of the Bosphorus. Soon, they passed the old monastery of St. George, the Mangana Palace, and then the gardens, pavilions and churches of the Great Palace itself. Conrad was glad to be going. They set their course out into the Propontis, and when at last the dome of Sancta Sophia disappeared below the horizon, Conrad felt a tremendous sense of relief. Now, his only concern was whether he would reach the Holy Land before the first great clash of arms between the Crusaders and their Moslem foes.

It was early afternoon on Monday, July 13 when the ship's captain, a wiry Amalfitan whose thin, scraggly beard was streaked with silver, pointed to the eastern horizon. "St. Jean d'Acre," he said with a smile. Conrad felt a surge of excitement. Holding onto the ship's rigging, he leaned far out over the gunwales. Acre, he knew, occupied a headland projecting into the sea at the northern end of a great sickle-shaped indentation in the Palestinian coast. His father's fief, Jaffa, sheltered beneath the ramparts of Mount Carmel at the southern end of the bay. Once he reached Acre, Jaffa would be an easy half day's ride – but his father was likely to be closer than that already. Before leaving Constantinople, Conrad had heard that King Guy's army was massing on the coastal plain to the east of Acre. His father might well be there, either in the camp or in the city itself. Two years had passed since they last saw each other, but Conrad suspected they would be reunited by nightfall.

As they approached the port, the wind – never strong today – began to die away. That made it even hotter, but Conrad barely noticed. He was drinking in every detail of the city as it grew larger. Constantinople dwarfed it in size, of course, but Acre held up very well in comparison with most of the port cities of western Europe with which Conrad was familiar – leaving aside Venice and Genoa, of course. The walls were tall and well-made of neatly dressed stones. A great pentagonal castle belonging to the Templars occupied the very end of the headland. Each of its lofty towers was crowned by a lion passant, made of solid gold, that glinted in the intense sunlight.

Soon they came abreast of the sea wall that ran along the southern side of the promontory. Some of the crew were pointing out various landmarks. "That's the church of St. Andrew!" "That tower there? The convent of St. Anne." "That tall church over there? That would be St. Lawrence – it's in the heart of the Genoese quarter." "That's St. Peter's Church. All this area along here? That's the Pisan Quarter."

Caught up by the crew members' happy babble – they were eagerly anticipating slaking their thirst with fresh ale in the taverns, getting naked and sweaty with some olive-skinned Arabess or a blonde, blue-eyed Circassian temptress, and then settling down to sleep in a real bed, however dirty, rather than a pallet on the deck – Conrad was slow to realize that the Captain's mood had suddenly changed. Turning to put a question to the Amalfitan, Conrad knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. The Captain's normally merry eyes were clouded now with a combination of bafflement and growing concern.

"Is something the matter?" Conrad asked quickly. "I'm not entirely sure," the Amalfitan replied, unsuccessfully trying to mask his uneasiness. "You see, they always ring the harbor bell when a ship approaches. Usually, once they hear it ringing, the churches join in with their bells too. It's a signal for everyone to come down to the harbor to see what cargo the ship has brought and what passengers are on board. Listen -- today, there's nothing. It's strange."

Conrad felt a cold hand closing around his stomach as he realized that the Captain was right. For a major port, it was eerily quiet, the silence only enhanced by the lack of wind and the stillness of the sultry air.

"And look there." The Captain pointed ahead, where the outer and inner harbors sheltered inside the sweeping embrace of two great breakwaters. "There's hardly any ships. I have never seen it like that before. And I do not see anyone in western dress. No soldiers, no merchants, no ladies. Everyone I see is dressed like a Saracen. Of course, there are always plenty of Arabs and Saracen and Jewish merchants in Acre, but still . . . ."

"What do you suggest we do?" Conrad asked. He noticed that the members of the crew had suddenly ceased their anticipatory chatter as well.

"Let's drop anchor here until we have a better handle on what's going on," the Captain suggested. Conrad nodded, and the Captain barked out an order. The crew members jumped to it, and seconds later the bow and stern anchors splashed into the sea. The galley was still a few hundred yards short of the entrance to the outer harbor, but people on the shore had obviously noticed them. A few minutes later, a pinnace put out from the inner harbor and headed in their direction.

Conrad removed his fine tunic and instead put on a white linen robe that gave away nothing of his origins or social status. Then he sent the rest of his companions below. As the pinnace approached, he saw that there were four men aboard, and all of them appeared to be Arab. "This isn't good," he heard the Amalfitan mutter at his side. "These aren't the men of the harbor master."

Conrad masked his growing alarm as the pinnace pulled alongside. "Hail, friends!" he called in Greek, affecting a bluff confidence. "All seems so quiet. Has some great person died? Is the city in mourning?"

The quartet in the pinnace consulted among themselves for a moment before a younger man stood up and moved to the front of the boat. "No, all is well," he called back in broken but understandable Greek. "You are a merchant?"

"Yes, we are from Smyrna," Conrad replied. "I have cloth goods for sale. But is it safe to land?"

"Yes, all is well," the young Arab repeated, apparently enjoying the chance to show off his language proficiency. "His excellency al-Malik al-Afdal, son of the great lord Salah-al-din, God be with him, rules here. There was some rioting and a few houses were burned when the city surrendered, but all is calm now. You say you have goods for sale? You will find a ready market. The Frankish merchants took everything that could be moved when they left three days ago."

Conrad felt as if someone had stabbed a cold steel lance through his chest. He turned away quickly to hide the reaction on his face. As he did so, he met the Captain's gaze; the Amalfitan's s eyes bulged in amazement. "My God, what can have happened?" the Captain whispered. Conrad shrugged numbly. Then he composed himself, and turned back to face the young Arab in the bobbing pinnace.

"Three days ago, you say? Are the rest of the cities on the coast still in Christian hands?"

"Yes, so far – but they will not be for long!" the young Arab laughed. "We have destroyed the entire army of the Kingdom! I was there, I saw it all myself! Hardly a man escaped – just the lords of Nablus and Tripoli and a few others. Tiberias and Nablus have surrendered already. His excellency Saif ed-Din al-Adil, brother of our great Sultan, is marching up the coast from Egypt with his army. Once he arrives, we will sweep up the coast and -- inshallah -- the other cities of the Franks will fall to us like ripe fruit at harvest-time!"

"I don't doubt it," Conrad called back. "But that is no concern of mine. I have goods to sell. Will you ask your lord if it is safe for me to land?"

"Of course it is!" the young Arab called back. "You may come on in now. You will be most welcome, I assure you."

"No, I want to make sure your Governor is willing to protect my ship and goods. Will you send to him and report back to me? I will reward you and your friends," Conrad added, holding up a gold Byzantine solidus.

"As you wish," the Arab replied, mollified by the promise of money. He sat back down, and he and his friends leaned into their oars.

Conrad and the Captain watched as they pulled away. "I think we should make for Tyre," the Amalfitan said after a long silence. "He said the Count of Tripoli escaped. The city occupies the broad end of a narrow peninsula, and the walls on the land side are very strong." Conrad nodded. "I agree. Let's get out of here, the sooner the better." The Captain smiled thinly. "Yes, I would very much like to do that. Unfortunately, we need some wind."

Conrad looked at the sail: it was utterly limp. Not a whisper of wind was stirring. He felt his insides turn to ice.

Sixty anxious minutes later, they saw the pinnace coming back. The young Arab assured them that all was well, that his Excellency the Governor would be most happy for them to land, as he was eager to re-establish trading relations with the Empire of the Romans. Conrad professed disappointment, and insisted on speaking to someone in authority. The young Arab accused him of reneging on the reward he and his friends had been promised. Conrad assured him he would have his reward as soon as he could speak to someone in a position of real authority. The Arab responded that he should bring his ship inside the breakwater. Conrad refused. Eventually, the Arabs once again rowed back to the inner harbor, where by this time a crowd had begun to gather.

Conrad, the Captain and everyone else on board the galley were sweating freely by now, and not just because of the midsummer heat. As a result, they all picked up on it almost simultaneously when a light zephyr suddenly swept up from the south. "Let's go," the Captain said.

The crew pulled up the anchors and fluffed out the main sail. To everyone's relief, the breeze filled it, kept coming, and grew stronger. The helmsman turned the wheel, and the galley began to swing around.

On shore now, there were cries and exclamations. Men were running.

The breeze continued to strengthen, and the galley's bow cut through the water. They tacked wide around the headland, then turned north. Eventually, they saw another galley coming after them from the south. But they had just enough of a head start, and theirs was the faster ship. The pursuing galley gradually fell behind, then dropped from sight as the sun began to sink beneath the western horizon. The following morning, Conrad and his party arrived safely in Tyre.

Sources:

Meron Benvenisti, The Crusaders in the Holy Land (1976) at 84-113 (describing the history of Acre and its surviving monuments)

Charles M. Brand, Byzantium Confronts the West: 1180-1204 (1968), at 80-84

Robert of Clari, The Conquest of Constantinople (Medieval Academy Reprints 1996) at 60-62

Francesco Gabrieli, Arab Historians of the Crusades (1984) at 176-77 [Ibn al-Athir's account of Conrad's arrival]

Harry J. Magoulias, ed., O City of Byzantium, Annals of Niketas Choniates (1984) at 114, 210-15

Jonathan Riley-Smith, ed., Atlas of the Crusades (1991), at 102-03 [an excellent plan of Acre]

Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades, Volume 2: The Kingdom of Jerusalem (1951), at 460-61 & 471-72