De Moulins was a younger man than his elderly Templar counterpart. Handsome and more softly spoken but with charisma and authority. “Sire,” he said, “we are one with you in our passion to serve Christ and to cherish the kingdom of Jerusalem. If Guy de Lusignan stands against you, then we must reconcile him. He is your sister’s husband and the father of your nieces. Would you rend all that asunder?”
Baldwin was silent for a long time, his earlier anger now solid and dark. Eventually, he shook his head. “I cannot answer your petition at this time,” he said flatly. “It is not within me to do so.”
Heraclius stood firm. “Clearly, sire, we cannot discuss the matter of our mission to France and England until we have an accord. We dare not leave the kingdom in this unsettled state.”
The three Church leaders made their obeisance and walked out of the meeting. Silence fell on their heels, for Baldwin had no authority to order them back by force. It was clear to William that Baldwin would have to drop his demand for the annulment if he was to have the support of the Church. William understood the point that Heraclius and his associates were making. The kingdom had a king who was almost blind and had virtually lost the use of his limbs, a king who was dying lesion by painful lesion, and whose anointed successor was a child. Sybilla, that child’s mother, would have to be considered for rule. She had a physically robust and strong man at her side to help her carry out the role of regent. The difficulty was that he had neither baronial support nor aptitude, but William suspected that the military orders, the Church, and his wife hoped to control him and use him as their figurehead.
* * *
The following day, Baldwin had himself borne from Acre to visit Heraclius in his tent outside the walls, and William formed part of his entourage. Overnight, the king had shed his rage, and the man who climbed into the litter possessed an air of compressed, grim determination.
Heraclius greeted Baldwin courteously, as if yesterday’s altercation had never taken place, and sent for the Templar and Hospitaller masters. Attendants presented Baldwin with a goblet of sugared lemon juice and water and brought extra cushions to support his body. A red silk curtain divided the patriarch’s tent front from back and William saw it twitch gently and sensed a listener’s movement behind its folds.
“So,” Baldwin said, when everyone had gathered, “what is to be done? Whatever our differences, you must see that I cannot have defiance in my realm. You say that a war between ourselves would weaken us and bring Saladin down upon us, and I agree. He constantly tests our boundaries, and it troubles me greatly for I know I have little time left in this world and I wish everything to be settled and stable before I leave it.” He leaned forward in his customary hunched pose. “Tell me honestly, my lords: What am I to do? Can any of you truly say that Guy de Lusignan is the best man to lead this kingdom?”
Heraclius cleared his throat. “No one is denying it is a difficult position, sire, but the kingdom is being damaged by this dispute, and we must reach a solution.”
“Indeed,” Baldwin said with cynicism. “So then, my lord patriarch, what do you suggest I do other than unwed my sister from her husband? Bearing in mind that most of my lords will not follow him.”
Heraclius steepled his hands under his chin. “You have declared your nephew as your heir, but he is a child, and should you become unable to rule, he cannot take your place. Someone has to govern in his stead. I do not deny that Guy de Lusignan has made errors of judgment, but we are all fallible. The other lords have condemned him out of hand as unfit to rule, but perhaps they are too swift in their judgment and jealousy.”
Baldwin made an irritated sound but did not retort.
“Countess Sybilla is strong and competent to make nonmilitary judgments, and she could certainly guide her son—and help you if you would allow it.”
“But not Guy,” Baldwin said, and his voice was full of raw pain. “I give orders, and he countermands them. If we are both in a room, then everyone avoids looking at me because of my condition. Instead, they look at him and I might already be dead. I am told that he does this or that, and he revokes my will. That man is no king.”
Now they came to the crux of the matter, William thought—Baldwin’s resentment at being pushed aside by de Lusignan. The walking corpse in the presence of the golden god.
Heraclius pursed his lips. “As I said, I do not think he has been given the full benefit of the doubt, but I accept your stance on that. What I cannot do is break the marriage. There is no consanguinity involved. The Count of Jaffa and your sister are devoted to each other and may yet produce sons. Their affection for each other is the main reason they have fled to Ascalon. The Count of Jaffa has accepted the anointing of his stepson and demotion from the regency since you say you are capable of ruling again, but he will not countenance the annulment of his marriage, and your sister stands by him in this.”
Baldwin arched his brows. “You are very well informed, my lord patriarch. Do I take it that your lady’s doves have been busy in flight between Ascalon and Acre?”
Heraclius faced out the inquiry with a bland expression. “No busier than anyone else’s, sire. I take no sides in this. I can only state the position of the Church, which is that the marriage cannot be annulled because there are no grounds for separation and the parties themselves believe their bond is indissoluble.”
“And that is precisely why I have come to you this morning,” Baldwin said. “We must solve this problem. We need someone to govern and to make good judgments.”
Heraclius gave a cautious nod. “Certainly, sire; we are all in accord about that.”
“Good. What I propose is that you, my lord patriarch, and your colleagues of the temple and the hospital travel to the princes of Europe as we have discussed and request their succor and aid, with especial recourse to the kings of France and England. You will invite each of them to take up the rule of the kingdom of Jerusalem until my nephew comes of age. I would in particular be interested in approaching Henry of England, since he is my cousin. He has many sons to follow in his stead, and he also has money set aside for the protection of the kingdom that he could use to good effect. How much has the king of England deposited in the treasury thus far, Grand Master de Torroja?”
The Templar rubbed his chin. “Thirty thousand marks of silver thus far, sire, and two thousand added each year under the terms of his atonement following the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“So he would come to us richly endowed. That, my lords, is what the kingdom requires, and I entrust this mission to you.”
“And in our absence, what of de Lusignan?” de Torroja asked, to the point.
“I suggest a compromise,” Baldwin said. “The question of the dissolution of the marriage shall be held in abeyance while you are gone. I will think on what you have said, and I promise to make no further move on the matter until you return with your answer. Should I die in your absence, I want it clearly understood that Guy de Lusignan shall not be named as regent for my nephew. Someone else shall take on that role while we wait. Do we have an accord?”
Heraclius and the other men looked at each other, and an unspoken exchange passed between them, signaled by slight nods.
“Very well, sire,” Heraclius said. “We agree to go and seek aid from those princes and request that one of them come to take up the rule of the kingdom of Jerusalem. And you will agree not to pursue the annulment of the marriage until our return.”
“Then it is settled,” Baldwin said with palpable relief. “We shall return to Jerusalem and prepare for this mission. The Count of Jaffa may remain in Ascalon. Since he has expressed no desire to come to court, I shall not invite him again, although my sister is always welcome and may come to me under safe conduct and without fear. Her son shall dwell with me. I shall write to her myself, although I am sure she will receive the news sooner than any messenger I can send.”
Heraclius
said nothing, merely inclined his head, and continued to look bland and mild.
William glanced toward the red curtain. The drapes were completely still, but that made him all the more aware of the listening presence on the other side.
21
Manor of Caversham, April 1219
On Easter morning, soon after dawn, William was once more borne into his chapel at Caversham, his padded litter carried by his eldest son and three knights. William’s shoulders and spine were well supported by firm pillows, and the blankets and furs tucked around his wasted body kept him warm. Isabelle walked at his side with quiet dignity. When he looked at her, she smiled, but he could see the strain in her face and the bruised shadows under her eyes.
He had insisted he would celebrate Easter in the chapel he had endowed to the Virgin Mary, with his family around him, rather than have the priest brought to his bedchamber. It was a time of renewal and replenishment, of Christ’s rising from the tomb and the redemption of mankind. It had always been a meaningful celebration to him, and it was for the final time in this life.
Today, the open shutters allowed the spring light to flood into the chapel and shine upon the jeweled crown of the Virgin statue in her niche before the altar. The Easter triptych, which had been fastened with gold clasps during the months of Lent, was now open, its three images of the crucifixion, resurrection, and Christ in majesty blazing out in triumphant color.
The Holy Lance, said to be the very spear that had pierced Christ’s side and brought back from the Holy Land by Robert of Caen, son of the Conqueror, was presented before the altar with deep reverence. Members of the congregation went forward to kneel and kiss the iron blade. The relic was brought to William too, and he stretched out a trembling hand to touch the cold, ancient metal while cries of “Alleluia!” rang around the church and candles were lit, burning light into every corner. There was a nail too, which he had brought from Jerusalem, said to be from Christ’s very cross, and in a way, perhaps it was. They had been skilled men in the patriarch’s workshop after all, and the mold was ancient.
“I am glad to see you here, my lord,” said one of his chaplains, Edward Abbot of Notely, who was presiding over the service.
“Did you think I would not come, Edward?” William said with a weak smile. “I would not miss this opportunity.”
The abbot gently pressed his shoulder. “No,” he said. “In truth, I knew you would be here if you were able.” He bowed and turned back to continue with the ceremony.
William listened to the voices carrying toward the arched rafters of the chapel, heard the singing of the choir, sweet and pure, and saw everything through a blur of golden light shot through with darkness.
22
Jerusalem, Easter 1184
The church of the Holy Sepulchre waited in darkness. William could hear people breathing and shuffling around him. The murmur of prayers, the intense moment of waiting for the breath of God to kindle the lamp in the tomb of Christ and restore light to the world. Like everyone gathered in the round outside the edicule, he clutched a candle, ready for the moment, filled with belief but, at the same time, deep under the surface, assailed by a treacherous darkness of doubt. What if the flame did not kindle? What if the weight of their sins was too great and God chose to show his displeasure by denying the light?
He pondered the lies men told to comfort themselves, and a cynical part of him wondered just what the patriarch was doing alone within the edicule without witnesses. What conferred on him, a worldly prelate who dressed in jeweled silks and kept a lovely young mistress, the privilege of receiving the Holy Flame, symbol of Christ’s resurrection? He strove to quash that thought and murmured his prayers like everyone else. Even if the fire was caused by human intervention, it did not negate the miracle of Christ’s death and resurrection.
Baldwin’s litter had been borne as close to the edicule as possible, and since his leprous fingers were unable to grasp the candle, his little nephew, heir to the throne, held it instead in his small, perfect grasp, his gaze clear and steady and his infant features petal smooth. His mother stood at his side; she had come to Jerusalem for Easter under safe conduct to make peace with the king but would soon return to Ascalon and her husband.
* * *
The waiting time lengthened and the prayers developed an edge as tension escalated in the packed rotunda. Somewhere, a child wailed and was shushed by its parent.
Suddenly, a sound like rushing wings came from within the edicule, then a soft cry of triumphant elation, and Heraclius emerged, ducking under the arch and then standing straight in his glittering patriarchal robes, light shining around him. He held a burning candle in each hand and the flames shone a strange, ethereal blue that sent a gasp around the rotunda. Priests hastened to light bundles of tapers from the patriarch’s candles, while Heraclius himself stepped forward to kindle young Baldwin’s taper.
In widening circles, the rotunda filled with a blaze of heat and light as the fire was sent from person to person, no longer ethereal blue but customary gold and wisping with smoke that draped the air with the smell of burning wax. William took the flame from Onri and passed it on to Eustace and Ancel, who in turn passed theirs to the rest of the men, and as the wicks flared, the cry went up that Christ was risen and mankind saved. Amid chanting, praise, and joy, the light was borne in procession out into the streets of Jerusalem and shared among its relieved and joyful citizens. William’s heart brimmed with bliss and humility and a tender, almost painful, feeling that he was unworthy and should strive to be a better man. All at once, his cheeks were wet, as a sob shuddered through him.
Ancel touched his shoulder in concern. “Gwim?”
He shook his head. “I was thinking of Harry and how we are witnesses for him. He should have been here to see this and kindle his own flame, but we are here in his stead. This light is for all of us, but it is for him especially.”
“And now it is complete,” Ancel said, and crossed himself. “Amen.” His eyes were clear and open, and William realized that for his brother their arrival in Jerusalem had been an end to their trials, all debts paid and matters set to rights.
“I doubt it will ever be complete—for me anyway,” William said. He wiped his eyes, stinging from tears and smoke, and drew a deep, steadying breath. He was conscious of the great privilege he had been granted. So few in the world were given the grace of witnessing this miracle.
Ancel opened his mouth to speak, but he and William were suddenly parted by a group of people forcing a way to the door. William recognized the men from the patriarch’s domestic household—Zaccariah of Nablus and the mercenary Mahzun of Tire with several henchmen. Following in the path they had cleared, clad in a gown of dark ruby silk, walked Paschia de Riveri. A blue cloak was fastened across her breast with gold chains, and her hair was concealed under a headdress winking with small sapphires. Her gem-embroidered shoes peeped out from under her robes with each step she took. She saw William and gestured him to walk beside her, and he had perforce to oblige, even though he was still off balance and swallowing emotion.
“I trust you have fully recovered from your encounter with the rough sea, messire Marshal?” she inquired with a gleam in her eyes. An exotic perfume of rose and musk wafted around her.
“Yes, madam,” William said wryly. “And you also?”
“I am well, thank you for asking, and I am pleased to hear of your own good health since I have been thinking much on the matter of how you might be of help to the patriarch.”
William bowed. “If I can be of service, I shall be glad to assist. What may we do for you, madam?”
Her expression lit with a smile. “The patriarch is hosting an event at the palace with readings and music the day after tomorrow,” she said. “If you wish to come, I am sure there are matters you could both profitably discuss.” She emphasized the second to last word and, setting her hand on his wrist, leaned toward
him briefly. Her breath smelled sweetly of licorice and cardamom. “You may not think that such a gathering would suit a military man, but you would be very wrong.”
William was wary but intrigued. “It will be my honor, madam. I used to value such gatherings when I served the Young King.”
“When we were at Kerak, I watched you and your men performing on the tourney ground. I admired your skill—you were outstanding. In Outremer, we have many fine knights, but you are their match. I am not easily impressed by the flash of armor and ready courtesy. Many have tried that road to gain my favor, but I am wise to their guile—and their inevitable shortcomings.”
“I hope I am not one of them, madam.”
“So do I.” Her glance was frankly appraising. “My point is that I recognize talent and I am willing to reward it. Bring your men too. I am sure they will enjoy the entertainment, and it is good to have fresh blood among us.”
William was fully alert now, for she was blatantly weaving her political strands around him and drawing him into her net, but she was an alluring, powerful woman, and his interest was piqued. “I am at your service, madam.”
“Indeed.” She released his wrist and a mischievous sparkle lit her gaze. “I am counting on you to have a steady stomach this time—and not to worship at my feet unless I bid you.”
He grinned and swept her a bow. “Madam, I can fulfill both of those requirements.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” She turned away with her ladies, showing the flick of an embroidered undergown and a peep of dainty embroidered slipper as she did so. Greeting another lord, she laid her hand on his arm in exactly the same wise, leaned toward him, and began asking after his family.
Ancel rejoined William with a question in his eyes.
“You are going to need your silk gown from Kerak again,” William said. “We are all required to present ourselves at the patriarch’s palace in two days’ time for an informal event. There will be food and entertainment.”
Templar Silks Page 21