St Francis meets the Sultan

Saint Francis and Sultan Malik al-Kamil: History, Encounter, and Legacy

In the midst of the Fifth Crusade, the armies of Christendom and Islam clashed violently on the plains of Egypt. Sultan Malik al-Kamil, nephew of Saladin and ruler of Egypt, had issued a decree promising a piece of Byzantine gold to anyone who brought him the head of a Christian. The conflict reached a climax in August of 1219, when the Sultan’s forces successfully defended the strategic fortress of Damietta, killing nearly 5,000 Crusaders. On the opposite side, the Crusader army—commanded by Cardinal Pelagio Galvani—sought to capture the port of Damietta as part of a larger plan to conquer Egypt. Amid this brutal landscape of war, Saint Francis of Assisi, moved by his desire for peace and evangelization, resolved to cross into Muslim territory. This was his second attempt, for he had already tried unsuccessfully to preach Christ in the Holy Land.

Accompanied by Brother Illuminatus, Francis boldly crossed the battle lines unarmed. They were quickly captured by Saracen soldiers and, according to later accounts, beaten severely. Yet the men spared their lives and brought the two friars before Sultan al-Kamil. The principal medieval source describing this encounter is the Legenda Maior of Saint Bonaventure, written more than a century later with the aim of celebrating the sanctity of Francis. Bonaventure recounts that the Sultan asked who had sent them and with what purpose they had come. Francis replied with characteristic simplicity and courage: they had been sent not by men, but by God, to show him and his people the way of salvation and to proclaim the truth of the Gospel.

Saint Bonaventure further records that al-Kamil was struck by the friars’ sincerity and bravery, and invited them to remain in his camp for several days. Francis famously greeted the Sultan with the words, “May the Lord give you peace,” echoing both his own traditional Franciscan salutation and the familiar Muslim greeting Assalamu alaikum (“Peace be upon you”). This unexpected resonance deeply surprised the Sultan, who soon became captivated by Francis’s humility and holiness. The friar preached the Gospel with such gentleness that the Sultan neither took offense nor punished him for blasphemy—an extraordinary outcome in the religious climate of the time. Their conversations touched on spiritual life, mutual respect, and the contemplation of one another’s traditions. Some later sources, particularly the Fioretti, even recount that the Sultan whispered: “Brother Francis, I would gladly convert to the faith of Christ, but I fear that if I did so now, they would kill me and you and your companions as well.”

After several days, the meeting ended peacefully. Before allowing Francis to depart, al-Kamil attempted to offer him lavish gifts, but the friar refused them in observance of his vow of poverty. Astonished—having never met a man who rejected honor and wealth—the Sultan insisted at least on giving him something small. Francis finally accepted an ivory horn, which today is preserved in Assisi. The Sultan granted the friars safe passage and, according to various accounts, began treating Christian prisoners with greater kindness. Though al-Kamil attempted once again in 1221 to broker peace with the Crusaders, his proposals were rejected, and he eventually opened the floodgates of the Nile to hinder their advance. Only later did both sides agree to an eight-year peace treaty.

The impact of the encounter reverberated long after their parting. Some modern scholars, such as Albert Jacquard, suggest that the Sultan never forgot Francis’s smile and gentle strength. Jacquard speculates that this memory may have even influenced al-Kamil’s later decision—made freely, under no military pressure—to grant Jerusalem to the Christians a decade afterward. He writes that what European armies could not accomplish, Francis’s simple and luminous presence may have achieved quietly over time, working slowly in the conscience of a ruler open to dialogue.

The meeting also left a mark on Francis himself. Writing later about living among “Saracens and other non-Christians,” he reflected that the brothers could adopt two attitudes: either live among them peacefully without disputing, confessing simply that they were Christians; or, if God willed it, openly preach the Word so that others might come to believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This nuanced teaching—forgotten by many until the twentieth century—reveals how Francis emerged from this experience with a deeper sense of mission and humility.

Centuries later, the episode regained renewed attention, especially in the context of interreligious dialogue. Pope Francis’s 2017 visit to Egypt, and especially to the Grand Imam of al-Azhar, was widely seen as an echo of that distant encounter of 1219. Though historians still debate many details of the medieval meeting, its symbolic power as an early, courageous gesture of peace remains vivid. Modern culture has also revisited the story: the documentary-drama The Sultan and the Saint, narrated by Jeremy Irons, dramatizes the encounter and features commentary from historians and theologians. Its screenings aim to bring Muslims and Christians together in conversation, just as Francis and al-Kamil once did.

This historical and spiritual encounter has also inspired artworks, including a dramatic fresco-on-wood panel depicting the moment. In the image, Saint Francis appears in his simple brown habit, standing humbly before the elevated throne of the Sultan. Malik al-Kamil, dressed in luxurious robes and a richly ornamented turban, sits in a position of authority, surrounded by soldiers and courtiers who watch the exchange with intensity. Francis raises his right hand in a gesture of peace—visually recalling his greeting “May the Lord give you peace”—while his left hand rests naturally, signifying his simplicity and poverty. The Sultan leans slightly forward, his face open and receptive, as if listening with genuine interest.

The architectural setting behind them blends elements of Eastern and Western design: arches, patterned textiles, and decorative walls create a throne-room space that symbolically unites both cultures. Light rests gently on Francis’s face, suggesting inner illumination and sanctity, while the Sultan is shown in rich golden-red tones that emphasize his dignity and power. The contrast between the saint’s coarse habit and the opulence of the court highlights the Franciscan vow of poverty; at the same time, the Sultan’s respectful posture suggests the possibility of peace even in an age defined by conflict. The entire scene becomes a visual metaphor for dialogue, humility, and the dignity of encounter.

Across nearly eight centuries, the meeting between Saint Francis and Sultan Malik al-Kamil continues to be read, re-told, and re-imagined. Whether viewed through medieval hagiography, modern historical critique, interfaith dialogue, or artistic interpretation, the encounter remains one of the most luminous moments of the Franciscan tradition—a reminder of the transformative power of courage, peace, and mutual respect, even in the darkest chapters of history.

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