The morning haze clung to Cairo like a veil of smoke, drifting above the twisting alleys and the minarets that pierced the sky. The Nile glimmered pale beneath the rising sun, and the muezzins' voices rang out from a hundred towers, calling the faithful to prayer. On this particular morning, however, the city seemed heavier with expectation. Rumors had been spreading for weeks—whispers of strange news from Syria, stories that traveled with caravans and merchants from Damascus and even from Frankish lands. They spoke of Baldwin of Jerusalem, the so-called "Leper King," once thought doomed to a short and painful life, now suddenly walking in strength, healed, and joined in marriage to a Sicilian princess.
For the people of Egypt, the tale was more than mere gossip. It had become a matter of faith, a test of conviction. Was this "miracle" a sign of divine favor for the Christians? Or was it a deception—blasphemy against the truth of Islam, a trick of the devil to mislead the ignorant? Saladin himself had declared before his council that it was a falsehood, a challenge to Allah's supremacy, and that the Muslims of Egypt must respond not with doubt but with certainty.
And so, in Cairo and Alexandria, the proclamation began to spread.
At the Mosque of Amr ibn al-As, the oldest in the city, the courtyard was thronged with worshippers as the midday sun blazed. The qadi of Cairo, a tall man with a long gray beard and sharp eyes, mounted the steps of the minbar after the Friday sermon. His voice boomed across the marble floor as he unfurled a scroll sealed with Saladin's authority.
"People of Egypt! Believers in the One True God, followers of the Prophet, peace be upon him! Hear the words of your Sultan and of your faith. The Franks in Jerusalem spread lies, claiming that their king, Baldwin, has been healed by their crucified god. They call it a miracle. But know this: it is falsehood. For Allah alone is the giver of life and the healer of disease. No prophet, no saint, and no priest of theirs may command what only Allah decrees. This tale is the whisper of Shaytan, meant to test your faith."
A murmur rose among the crowd—anger, disbelief, and cries of Allahu Akbar! The qadi raised his hand to silence them.
"If the Franks claim their leper king is now made whole, then we know only this: it is the arrogance of their pride. They seek to challenge Islam, to say their god triumphs over ours. But Allah is eternal, Allah is supreme, and His word has no rival. Therefore, stand firm in your faith. Curse the lies of the Franks, and let your children's children know that Islam is truth everlasting!"
The people roared assent. Shopkeepers in the bazaars repeated the proclamation aloud as customers came and went. Mothers whispered it to their children while rocking them to sleep. By sunset, nearly every district of Cairo knew of it: Baldwin's so-called healing was no miracle, but a heresy, a blasphemy against God.
While Cairo seethed with religious passion, the proclamation reached Alexandria by way of riders and heralds who galloped along the coastal road. Alexandria, with its harbor full of ships, its lighthouse still reigning as one of the wonders of the world, was always alive with foreign merchants—Greeks, Italians, Syrians, and Berbers. The spread of the proclamation here was deliberate and dramatic.
In the Great Mosque of Alexandria, the imam declared it with equal fervor, but in the marketplace it took on a sharper tone. Preachers stood on crates and stones, warning sailors and travelers not to be seduced by Frankish lies.
One young preacher, barely twenty, shouted over the din of the market:
"They say their leper king is healed! Then let them say also that the sun rises from the west! Lies, all lies! Know, O people, that they worship a dead man nailed to wood. And now they claim he heals their king. It is blasphemy! Do not let these merchants from the west corrupt your ears. Spit on their words! Allah alone gives health, and Allah alone takes it away!"
The crowd, fired with zeal, began to chant prayers. Some turned their anger on Frankish traders present in the port. A few were jeered at, their goods mocked, though Saladin's guards kept order to avoid diplomatic outrage. Still, the passion was palpable: the "miracle" had been transformed into proof of Christian arrogance and a rallying cry for Islamic devotion.
Beyond the sermons and public speeches, scribes worked day and night in Cairo's madrassas and chancery halls. Orders had been issued to write the proclamation in fine script and send it to every town, mosque, and provincial capital of Egypt. Couriers set out toward Fayyum, Damietta, Aswan, and the Red Sea ports.
Each parchment bore the Sultan's seal and contained the same message:
Baldwin's healing was a false miracle.
The Christians sought to challenge the truth of Islam.
The faithful must cling tighter than ever to Allah, for such lies were the devil's work.
Egypt must prepare, for a great trial was coming.
The proclamations were nailed to mosque doors, read aloud at markets, and carried by wandering preachers who repeated them from memory.
Within Cairo, the scholars of Al-Azhar and other great centers of learning gathered to debate the matter. Some argued that it was foolish to even acknowledge the Christian tale—better to ignore it than give it legitimacy. But others insisted that silence would breed doubt among the common folk.
One aged scholar declared:
"The people must not believe that Christians possess miracles equal to Islam. Allah gave miracles only to His prophets. If the Christians claim one for their king, then we must denounce it, lest the ignorant be deceived. To act otherwise is to fail in our duty."
His words carried the day. Fatwas were written, condemning Baldwin's "miracle" as falsehood, urging the faithful to renew their prayers, and calling for increased almsgiving as a sign of devotion to God.
Saladin himself did not leave Cairo's citadel during these days, but his presence loomed over every proclamation. He had given strict orders: this must be turned into an opportunity. Egypt had lost Syria, its income weakened by the fall of Damascus and Aleppo. But Egypt's strength lay in unity, and unity required religious zeal.
So the proclamations were not only a defense of faith but a tool of statecraft. The people were made to see Baldwin's "healing" as an insult, as an attack upon Islam itself. By inflaming their anger, Saladin reinforced his own authority as the sword of God's will.
For weeks, Cairo and Alexandria thrummed with passion. In the streets, storytellers exaggerated the tale, mocking Baldwin as a fool. Children sang rhymes that cursed the Franks. Merchants raised their prices on imported goods from Christian lands, claiming even their trade was tainted by lies.
In the mosques, imams thundered against Christian heresy. In private homes, fathers led their families in prayers asking Allah to grant them victory against the enemies of the faith. Soldiers drilled in the barracks with renewed vigor, convinced they were the chosen defenders of Islam against a blasphemous foe.
The proclamation had achieved its purpose: Baldwin's miracle, once a tale of wonder, was turned into fuel for fervor. Egypt was united not in doubt but in rage.
And from the citadel, Saladin watched, listening to reports brought daily by his officers and qadis. Egypt was stirred, alive, aflame with religious zeal. Soon enough, he knew, this energy could be turned toward war.