Birth of a madman, death of a sultan, and those infernal Tudors crash the party again.

I hope all who celebrate Labor Day are enjoying themselves; same for my British friends and readers since this is a bank holiday, right?
Here is the historical roundup for the last day of August. The maddest of the Roman emperors, Caligula, was born on this date; I still get shivers remembering his portrayal in I, Claudius.
On this date in 1218, Saladin’s brother, al-Malik al-Adil, died after a very successful reign as sultan of Egypt. I found him to be a very interesting man, more so than Saladin himself if truth be told. I had fun writing about him in Lionheart, as you can probably tell. Here is a scene with Richard, during their dinner together. They got along so well that Richard even knighted one of al-Adil’s sons, which amazes me as much today as it did the first time I stumbled onto this fascinating fact.
Lionheart, pages 429-430
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Humphrey de Toron was again acting as interpreter, seated between Richard and al-Adil so they could converse easily. (omission) He thought the discussions were conducted with remarkable cordiality. He’d not expected the two men to have such a rapport, but for this one day at least, what they shared—a love of horses and hawking, a mutual respect for each other’s courage and battle skills, a similar ironic sense of humor—was enough to bridge the great gap that separated Christians and Muslims, men sworn to holy war and jihad.
They had a lively conversation about horse breeding and the different riding styles of the Franks and the Saracens, followed by a discussion of hunting; Richard was fascinated to learn al-Adil used trained cheetahs. Eventually, of course, the talk turned to a more controversial topic, the marriage proposal.
“I was desolate,” al-Adil said blandly, “to hear that your lovely sister is loath to become my wife.”
“All is not lost,” Richard assured him. “But she does have qualms about wedding a man not of her faith. Mayhap there is a way to resolve this, though. Would you consider becoming a Christian?”
Al-Adil nearly choked on his julab, but recovered quickly. “Mayhap the lady would consider becoming a Muslim,” he parried, and when his gaze met Richard’s, they shared a smile of perfect understanding.
“Alas, there have been further complications,” Richard confided. “Our bishop and priests are adamantly against the match, so it will be necessary to secure the approval of the Pope in Rome. It will take about three months to get his response, but if he consents and my sister is happy about it, then well and good.”
“And if he refuses?”
“We can still get it done. My sister, as you know, is a widow, and so we need papal consent for her marriage. That is not true, however, for a virgin maid. So I could offer you my niece as a bride. She is very young still, but of high birth, the child of my brother and the Duchess of Brittany.”
“I will pass your message on to my brother,” al-Adil promised, and Humphrey sighed with relief, hoping this would be the end of the marriage talk, for he’d been hard put to remain impassive as Richard lied about the supposed outrage of their clerics, none of whom knew anything about the marriage proposal, and then proceeded to rewrite Church canon law to suit his own purposes. Despite his fluency in Arabic, Humphrey had not often been called upon as a translator in such high-level conferences, and he feared he might inadvertently give something away by his reaction to what was said. It was fortunate, he thought, that al-Adil and Richard were having too much fun with their verbal swordplay to pay him any mind.
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I recently finished a scene with al-Adil in Outremer, only this time he was verbally jousting with Balian d’Ibelin rather than Richard. And Humphrey, unlucky enough to have been born with a poet’s soul in a world of warriors, will also appear in Outremer.
Also on August 31st in 1422, Henry V died, leaving his kingdom to an infant son, the future henry VI, that sad figure who was such a convincing argument against the concept of hereditary kingship.
And on this date in 1535, Henry VIII was excommunicated for his defiance of the Pope. I suspect it bothered him more than he let on.
End of history lesson; back to the beaches and barbecues, people!