rrounded with great irony. That surrounding Saladin's death in 1194 revolves around not its circumstances but its timing. Saladin died at the height of his achievements. In the last decade of his life, he had dealt decisive blows to the Frankish power in Syria, breaking the military power of the Franks at Hattin, reconquering Jerusalem itself, and finally repulsing the Third Crusade. What may be called the destructive phase of his program the ejection of the Franks from Syria was accomplished. The constructive phase that might have followed, the creation of an enduring Ayyubid dynasty and state embracing Egypt and Syria, and thus unifying the heartland of the Islamic world, was cut abruptly short by his death.
Saladin had never been a physically robust man, and by the age of fifty five he was worn out and prematurely aged.3 He was also worn out politically. In the words of a modern writer of Arab background, "he bore scant resemblance to the charismatic hero of Hittin (sic). His authority over his emirs had been weakened, and his detractors were increasingly virulent.4 He had accomplished more than any of his predecessors, but his very successes may have brought on a "revolution of rising expectations.
On the evening of Friday, 21 February 1193 not six months since the departure of his great antagonist Richard from Syria Saladin fell into a state of what Baha eh Din described as "extreme lassitude." Before midnight he had come down with a fever.5 Through the following twelve days his condition grew steadily worse, though at one point early in the next week he rallied enough to mount horseback to greet pilgrims returning from Mecca. By the end of February the word of his decline had spread around Damascus, and the markets were closed less news of his death lead to unrest.6 On 2 March, weeping women invaded the palace, and on the next day Saladin died.7
The irony of Saladin's death was not only...