Templar Silks

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  “That accords with what others say, but his wife loves him dearly, and she is a power to be reckoned with since she is the king’s sister and mother of the future king. She will fight for what she desires, and what she desires is Guy de Lusignan, no matter his failings—and she is not without allies.”

  “So, what’s to be done?”

  Onri shrugged. “Half the court is absent. The king’s half sister, Isabelle, is wedding Humphrey of Toron at Kerak, and many are there as guests, including the patriarch. It will be at least two weeks before they return. It remains to be seen whether the king uses their absence to push through a decision or wait.” Onri rubbed his chin. “There is another option to the succession of course.”

  William looked at him.

  “The king intends sending a deputation to seek aid from the rest of Christendom. He will ask for money and soldiers, equipment, horses, but ideally, a ruler to take his place. He plans to send the grand masters of the Templars and Hospitallers and the patriarch to the courts of Spain, France, and England.”

  “Indeed?” William raised his brows.

  “We are under threat as never before,” Onri said. “The Saracens have a great general, Saladin. In the past, we have held him off, and he has troubles of his own, but Jerusalem is his goal, and he is dangerous. We need someone who will unite us all and face him down. That person is not Guy de Lusignan. This mission will demand the princes of Europe to rouse themselves and come to our aid—perhaps King Henry himself or Philippe of France.”

  William said nothing. He could not envisage either man abandoning the reins of his personal kingdom in order to rule Jerusalem, settling among unfamiliar factions that were not beholden to him. Especially Henry, even though he had sworn to take the cross and had the necessary funds. He suspected Onri thought so too but was not going to say so. Whatever happened, the situation was fraught with difficulty.

  * * *

  The palace of the kings of Jerusalem stood on the western side of the city a short walk from William’s new lodging. An arched portico gave entrance to a building with a gabled roof. On the south side stood a small domed tower and, on the north, a taller one, toothed with crenellations, from which flew the white-and-gold banner of the kingdom of Jerusalem.

  Armed knights stood guard at the entrance, and when William showed his letters bearing the seal of England, he was directed into a vestibule where he explained who he was to an official wearing the blue silk livery of the king. The man was all for taking the letters away with him, but William held on to them because they were his only authority. “My liege lord the king of England bade me present these to his cousin the king of Jerusalem personally, and as I am his servant, so I must act.”

  The official looked William up and down as if he were a dubious horse trader trying to sell him a nag and claim it was a destrier. William returned an implacable stare. He had experienced such petty officials before at King Henry’s court and knew their ways. This one would doubtless like to dismiss him out of hand but dared not while he had a letter with the seal of the king of England dangling from it on red silk cords.

  “You will wait,” the official commanded, and stalked off in the direction of the domed building.

  William loosened his shoulders and forced himself to relax. “Remember that we are knights of the English royal household,” he told Ancel, Robert, and Geoffrey, who had accompanied him. “We are servants of a king. We must bend the knee and give proper obeisance, but we are knights of the English royal household. Do not fidget or show anxiety. It is our right to be here.”

  “That toady did not look as if he thought so,” Ancel muttered. He fidgeted with his belt, adjusting the buckle.

  “Since when has such opinion counted?” William replied with scorn. “The summons will come, and we shall make the best of it.”

  They occupied the waiting time by observing the toing and froing of members of the court, robed in their colorful, exotic fashions. Heavy wafts of musk and balm assaulted their noses as people passed. There was more protocol than at the English court, more exaggerated compliments, flourishes, and hand gestures. However, the expressions were often the same. The wariness, the sidelong looks, the visual daggers, sometimes sheathed, sometimes not. William studied the flamboyance with interest and absorbed the nuances.

  “They think we are uncouth peasants, don’t they?” Ancel muttered.

  “I do not know what they think,” William replied, but secretly thought that Ancel was right. At home, they had been handsome silver fish swimming in their own sea; now, they were no more than minnows, to be pecked at by the bigger fish in an alien ocean.

  Eventually the official returned and beckoned William with a crook of his forefinger but held up his other hand to prevent the others from accompanying him, indicating they should stay where they were.

  Ancel scowled but pressed his lips tightly together and held his peace. With Geoffrey and Robert, he went to sit on a bench at the side of the room, where other attendants were awaiting their own lords.

  The official took William to another doorway and brought him through into an antechamber leading into a large barrel-vaulted hall in which many of the people William had seen flit through the vestibule were in attendance, bright as fields of flowers. Several other men were gathered in the antechamber waiting to be presented to the king, and the official strutted before them like a cockerel, instructing them on appropriate behavior and etiquette.

  “You are to go on your knees before the king and keep your head bowed. Only look when you are bidden, and if he does not choose to bid you, then keep your eyes on the ground. You will present your petition when told and await his pleasure.”

  It was a process not unlike that of the English court but with more flourishes, and William understood the procedure but was impatient with the posturing because it was all so much frippery.

  He watched the supplicant before him go forward, reach a certain point, kneel, and inch forward on his knees with bowed head. He presented the gift of a roll of silk cloth, which an official took and placed at the side of the throne with a murmur to the man sitting there. The king leaned forward to speak to the petitioner. From this distance and angle, William could see little of King Baldwin beyond a figure in pale silk robes. He made occasional gestures with a gloved hand, but a draped cloth prevented a direct glimpse of his face. His courtiers surrounded him like the wide fan of a peacock’s tail. A small fair-haired child sat on a stool at his side, hands folded, and William recognized him from the litter on the Jaffa road.

  After a brief exchange of words, the supplicant bowed and backed from the room, and then it was William’s turn.

  He stepped into the hall and walked across the glinting marble and mosaic floor until he reached a cross pattern in the tiles, where he dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and made his obeisance. The attendant took the amethyst ring that King Henry had given William to present to Baldwin and placed it with the other gifts beside the throne. The letters were shown to Baldwin, and he gestured for the attendant to break the seals and read them to him. At his side, the little boy swung his legs and gazed around.

  “Look up,” Baldwin commanded, and William raised his head.

  King Baldwin was just twenty-two years old, but William would never have known it from the ravaged features. The cheeks, jaw, and mouth were a landscape of swollen lumps, pustules, and lesions; one eye was chalky and blind. A faint smell emanated from him, febrile, unpleasant, but masked a little by incense and rose perfume. He was garbed in voluminous pale silk robes embroidered with gold thread. Padded, bejeweled gloves covered both hands, and a coif of lighter fabric draped his shoulders and head, topped by a silk cap adorned with gems and pearls. A gold hook fastened a veil to the side of the cap, but he had now thrown it back to expose his face. His air was one of command, courage, and defiance. Here was someone prepared to hold his ground whatever the odds.

&n
bsp; William’s father had been badly disfigured when burning lead from a church roof had dripped on him and burned out an eye, and William was able to regard Baldwin with composure. He had cause to know that a physically damaged man could have a steelier will than a whole one.

  Despite being almost blind, the young king possessed an intent focus. William could feel himself being scrutinized like a gem in a jeweler’s workshop.

  Baldwin indicated with his gloved right hand that William should come forward and kneel on the embroidered cushion positioned on one of the dais steps.

  William did as he was bidden, setting aside the unease he felt at being so close to a leper, yet one who was royalty. It was a strange juxtaposition. Lepers were shunned by society but, therefore, were closest to God. And the king was God’s anointed, the sovereign of all, yet who dared to share his bread? The child watched him, his own pale skin unblemished and pure.

  William could feel the peacock fans of courtiers, who were watching him with speculation. Not entirely hostile, but not welcoming either. He knew none of them, but they were clearly men of high importance. At least Guy de Lusignan was not among the gathering, although he must be in the palace somewhere.

  “So, you were the marshal to the son of my cousin, King Henry?” Baldwin asked.

  “Yes, sire, may God rest my young lord’s soul.”

  “Amen.” Baldwin continued to study him. “I am sorry to learn of the loss of such a prince of Christendom. I hear that because of this, you have been left without a position in your homeland and are here to seek your fortune instead.”

  Behind his courtier’s facade, William was astonished, wondering just what Henry had said in his letter, but he swiftly reasoned that Henry had no cause to vilify him when he was taking his son’s cloak to Jerusalem. Queen Alienor had written a letter of recommendation too, and he knew that one to be positive. Baldwin had said I hear, which suggested verbal sources, and he knew immediately from whom they came.

  “If that is the case, then be sure you make a good impression, because we shall be watching you with interest,” Baldwin continued.

  William bowed his head. “Sire, I undertook this pilgrimage at the behest of my master to lay his cloak at Christ’s tomb, to pray for his soul, and to atone for my sins and his. The king and queen expect me to return to them in due course, when I have completed my prayers and penances.”

  “Do they indeed?” The tone of Baldwin’s voice was tepid and formal. “It is my understanding that you caused much trouble throughout King Henry’s lands while other men were more righteously employed.”

  William said nothing but felt all eyes trained on him, including the innocent blue ones of the child.

  Baldwin sat up straighter, and one of the courtiers moved to adjust the cushions at his spine. When he spoke again, his voice had a slight slur. “A reputation for causing trouble and scandal at court follows you. I am told you were banished at one time for inappropriate behavior and that you played an instrumental part in robbing a shrine sacred to Christ’s mother in order to pay mercenaries engaged in rebellion against the king of England.”

  When put in such terms, William’s reputation sounded utterly sordid.

  Baldwin continued to study him hard, forcing him to the point. “What do you have to say to this? How do you reply?”

  William raised his head and said directly but without challenge in a clear, calm voice loud enough for all to hear, “I will leave it to you, sire, to decide on my character by what you see, and I will conduct myself as I have always done—with utmost trust in God and loyalty to whomsoever I give my oath of service. And that loyalty is pledged unto death and shall remain so.”

  Baldwin rubbed his right glove against his thigh. “You speak well. You remind us that a man should always be judged by his deeds and not by the rumors that surround him. How long will you stay?”

  “Sire, I am sworn to return to my lord King Henry, but not yet.”

  “And you have an entourage to maintain?”

  “Sire, I have five trained knights under my banner and three squires who know their weapons.”

  Baldwin’s ruined mouth curved in what might have been a smile as he considered William’s reply. “You are dismissed, but return today after Compline, and we shall talk further.”

  His audience at an end, William bowed from Baldwin’s presence and returned to Ancel, Robert, and Geoffrey. “He wishes to talk more,” William said. “I have to return after Compline.” He considered how much to tell them. “He said he knew about our past, but most of his awareness seems to have come from the Lusignans.”

  “If that is the case, we are finished,” Ancel said morosely. “We might as well just mount our horses now and ride home.”

  William shook his head. “He is no fool, this king of Jerusalem. Even if he is ravaged by leprosy, his mind is as keen as a blade. Anyone who underestimates him or takes him as a weakling misjudges him. He wanted to know if I had an entourage to maintain, and I believe he will employ us if all goes well.”

  “What about de Lusignan?”

  “What about him?” William shrugged. “He was not present. I have no doubt he will make our path difficult, but he has his own troubles for all that he is wed to the king’s sister.”

  “What kind of troubles?” Geoffrey asked.

  “The same as ours—those of an outsider,” William said. “Those of an upstart. But since he has been here longer and knows the territory, he is more able to deal it out to others.”

  He was turning toward the arch that led to the street when the little boy from the audience room skipped across his path, slashing the air with a toy sword as he fought imaginary foes. A nurse was hurrying to catch up with him while holding a rosy-cheeked baby in her arms, fair hair peeping from under its cap.

  Following more sedately came a tall, elegant woman robed in golden-red silk. Earrings of tiered pearls gleamed beneath her gossamer veil. Several women followed in her wake, all richly clad but none to outshine her. Realizing the lady’s identity, William knelt and bowed his head as he had done to Baldwin and shot a swift glance from beneath his brows that sent Ancel, Robert, and Geoffrey to their knees also.

  She skimmed them a look and beckoned them to stand. Another older woman joined her, her hair drawn back and up beneath a full wimple, pulling her flesh taut to her bones. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, and her coral-colored gown lent false color to her complexion. Although she was clearly unwell, the resemblance between the women made William think they were mother and daughter.

  “You were on the road into Jerusalem a few days ago,” the younger one said.

  William bowed. “Yes, madam. I remember seeing your litter and the young prince looking out.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Madam, you are the king’s noble sister, the Princess Sybilla, Countess of Jaffa.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “My husband tells me that he knows you.”

  William met her eyes; they were a light green, clear and shrewd. “That is so, madam, but from another life—for both of us.”

  She gave him a calculating look, not quite hostile but with that potential lurking at the edges. “Then have a care how you conduct yourself at court, for this is the life you have now, not what it was, and my husband is a powerful man and acts in the king’s name and mine.”

  “Madam, that is foremost in my mind,” William replied smoothly.

  “Then keep it so, messire Marshal, and you shall do well.” She swept on, the hem of her gown whispering over the tiled floor.

  The older woman paused before following the countess. “A word of advice,” she said. “Do not make an enemy of the princess and keep out of her husband’s way if you would prosper here. My son needs strong knights in Outremer, and it would be a pity not to employ you.” She encompassed all four men with an assessing look with faded green eyes that
had perhaps once been as beautiful as her daughter’s and then walked on.

  * * *

  “Ah, Agnes of Courtenay,” Onri said with a knowing look when William came to check on the horses at the Templar stables before going to the meeting with the king after Compline and told him of his encounter. “Mother of the king and the Princess Sybilla, and grandmother of the heir to the throne. You will hear rumors of her enjoyment of strong, handsome men, including the Patriarch Heraclius. Some say it is through her influence he gained that position. Others will tell you that the king’s leprosy is a punishment on her for her carnal sins.”

  Having served Queen Alienor, William knew how such virulent rumors were apt to grow and spread and how wrong they could be. Queen Alienor had always appreciated the young, lithe squires who served her court and the handsome men to whom she handed largesse and sponsorship at her table, himself included, but only in the way she might look at a fine horse parading in the courtyard or a beautiful ring. Mostly it was about power and patronage. “I have learned not to give credence to rumors. In truth, the lady looked frail to me and unwell. It is easy to tilt at the reputations of women of rank.”

  Onri stooped to lift and clean out his horse’s hoof. “I am telling you what is said because you asked and because you need to know for your own preservation. I am no peddler of gossip.” The scraping tool grated on horn.

  “Indeed,” William reassured him swiftly, knowing Onri’s touchiness on the matter of honor.

  “Trust your own instincts,” Onri continued. “I do not think the Lady Agnes will help you, but if you do not make her your enemy, it will be of benefit.”

  William brushed Chazur’s flanks and rump, making the dark bronze coat gleam. He was still in awe of the size of these great underground Templar stables. A man could disappear in here for days.

  “The court is driven by factions, many of them from the distaff side,” Onri said. “The king’s sister and mother are highly influential, especially Sybilla, but the king has the strongest will of all because he must. Guy de Lusignan knows how to bow and flourish, but he is…” Onri frowned, seeking a comparison. “He is like a fire made of dry kindling. He burns hotter than you can bear and dazzles your eyes, but he will not warm you for long. The countess is devoted to him, and she will choose his welfare at every turn—even above that of the kingdom of Jerusalem.”