Ancel grinned. “You might; then again, you might not.”
“Then give Asmaria my greetings,” William retorted with good humor.
Ancel departed to finish his task, and William went to wash and don clean garments. He was tense with anticipation. He wanted to see Madam de Riveri and talk with her, and at the same time, he wished he were a hundred miles away on a fast horse. The latter was certainly the safer place to be.
The lady Paschia had her own domicile adjoining the palace precincts, accessed by a door painted deep red and bound by ornate black ironwork. It was opened by a doorkeeper before William could knock, but to let out the lady’s uncle, Zaccariah of Nablus, who was clutching several scrolls under one arm while twisting to secure his money pouch at his belt. He acknowledged William with a brusque nod and a narrow look that told William his presence here had been marked.
The doorkeeper escorted him across cool tiles to a chamber with a marble floor glistening like mother of pearl and partially covered by a large rug woven in shades of red and gold. The lady Paschia sat at a fretwork table before an arched window. White doves pecked at crumbs on the sill and hangings of diaphanous, bleached linen wafted in the breeze. Her cat lay at her feet, indolently flicking its tail and blinking sleepy green eyes. Incense twisted into the air from a brazier burning small lumps of resin and mingled with the perfume from a crystal ewer filled with roses.
She was dictating to a scribe who had been busy all morning, judging by the numerous wax tablets piled up at his side. An ebony-skinned page boy was pouring wine into a cup from a glass flagon.
“You sent for me, madam?” William said.
Taking her time, she rose to her feet and told the scribe to go and make fair copies of what was written on the tablets. In the privacy of her own chamber, she wore the lightest of silk veils, fine as cobweb, exposing her heavy black braids, which were twined with golden ribbons. She gave an offhand wave. “I daresay the patriarch told you that I wanted your help in making some purchases.”
William tightened his lips, knowing she had deliberately manufactured this encounter and was playing with him. He had better things to do and contemplated turning on his heel, but that was possibly more dangerous than remaining. “The patriarch did tell me, but I do not see that I can help you—with all due respect, madam.”
“Then with all due respect, you are wrong, messire.”
She stooped to a row of wicker cages set under the window occupied by cooing pigeons and removed one. It nestled into her cupped palm and she stroked it gently, the motion sensual, drawing attention to her elegant fingers. With dexterity, she tied a small message strip to its leg before casting the bird from the window into the wide, blue sky, where it took off with a clap of swift gray wings. Her action emphasized the lines of her body—the taut waist, the graceful sweep of her arm—before she turned back into the room and directed her page to pour more wine.
“I wish to know the names of drapers and mercers who can be contacted so that Heraclius may obtain good English cloth to bring home for me.” Her tone neutral now, businesslike. “I could ask him, but it will be easier if he knows who to contact and can send someone to deal with it. You have been at court, and as a marshal, you know the sources that your king uses. The same for English embroidery. Your homeland is famed for such work, and I desire fine examples to bring to Jerusalem.” Sitting down again, she gestured for William to take the chair the scribe had vacated.
He did so and watched her make notes on a wax tablet with the unthinking ease of second nature. He was unsettled, for he had never learned to read and write. He had been tutored but to no avail. Even the beatings had not made the words any clearer to his mind.
He gave her a few names, including that of the king’s tailor, who bought in cloth supplies for the royal garments, and she wrote them down. She then rested her stylus and looked at him. “I know you think this a trivial thing, and one for which you have little time, but it will be of great use to me and my family—and that, in its turn, will benefit you. I meant what I said the other day: I admire a man who knows his own mind and is strong in his resolution. They are qualities that anyone would want to add to their affinity.”
She pushed a small pouch of gold bezants over to him. “This is for you, in gratitude.”
William’s body stiffened with tension as he sensed danger. He made no move to take the coins.
“Please,” she said. “Your information is useful—it is not as if you are selling your soul, is it? Heraclius would want you to have it. Indeed, he would expect me to pay you.”
William looked at the bag of coins. He did not want to be beholden to her, but he and his men needed to eat and were dependent on largesse. This would go a long way toward keeping the wolf from the door. Had Heraclius given him the money, he would have taken it as his due. In a way, the coin did belong to Heraclius, for she depended on him for her wealth and power. Yet, she had overpaid him for that information, and it was like setting a collar around his neck as she would a pet dog.
“Thank you,” he said woodenly, and took the pouch, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Will that be all, my lady? I have to go and instruct my men about tomorrow.”
She gave him a long, evaluating look. He imagined what it would be like to kiss her mouth. To put her to the test.
“Yes,” she said, her wave as dismissive as that which had beckoned him inside. “But do not go far because I may need to speak to you again later.”
So, she had lengthened the leash and given a small tug on the choke chain. And she knew exactly what she was doing and believed that he was under her leverage. Well, perhaps she played that game with others, but she would not play it with him.
He rose to leave. “As you wish, madam,” he said, and, without a flicker of emotion, bowed and formally departed. He closed the door after him with quiet deliberation and walked away slowly, irritated and on edge, his body saturated with the dull heaviness of sexual tension. He had never encountered anyone like her before. She made him unsure of his ground, and that was a challenge. He wanted to seek beneath her surface and find what lay there, as if he had glimpsed a siren’s jewels underwater, shimmering and beguiling, just out of reach, luring him to his doom.
The pouch of coins banged at his hip and reminded him of the time he had robbed the shrine at Rocamadour and received his wages from the Young King, and it made him feel a little sick. The moment he returned to his chamber, he unfastened it and thrust it into a wall niche, concealed by the icon of the Virgin Mary he had bought in Constantinople.
* * *
The preparations for the departure of the envoys continued. The baggage train needed to be arranged for the journey and no expense spared because Heraclius knew the value of pomp and display. William advised him that King Henry was not a man for such ceremony, but Heraclius would not be dissuaded, because bejeweled garments and ceremony were his own natural preference.
“But your king will expect visiting dignitaries to make a fine presentation,” he objected when William tried to make his point one day in his chamber. “I did not come to Outremer until I was in my fortieth year, and I was visiting Paris when I saw the envoys your king sent to Louis of France when he desired to make a match between his heir and Louis’s daughter. Never unto this day have I witnessed a parade of such splendor. Cart after cart pulled by matching horses, brimming with the treasures of England, and every man in scarlet livery. There were even monkeys sitting on the horses—so do not tell me that your king does not appreciate the advantage of putting on a fine display!”
Despite the criticism, William smiled. “Indeed, sire. My father was responsible for assembling both horses and monkeys and for keeping order of the entire menagerie until it crossed the Narrow Sea. I begged him to let me have a monkey, but he said that he had enough trouble in his household already without adding that sort of mayhem to his chamber.”
Heraclius
grunted with amusement but was not moved to alter his intention.
“King Henry was a very young man at that time, and since then, he has sobered and become more careful of his largesse,” William said. “He values plain speaking above embellishment.”
Heraclius frowned, clearly unconvinced. “I am the Patriarch of Jerusalem,” he said, “and I must present myself in a manner fitting my position. I am sure the king of England will appreciate this.” He indicated several enormous keys gleaming on the table at his side. “These are for the gates of Jerusalem, for the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Tower of David. Replicas of course, but they symbolize the great honor, responsibility, and power that a king would take up in accepting them. I shall present them to him with my plea.”
“I think he will appreciate that gesture,” William said. Reaching inside his tunic, he removed a folded parchment map. “Sire, this was given to me by the Templars when I set out from England. Perhaps it may be of use to you on your journey.”
Heraclius took it from him, opened it out, and read it with interest, tracing the cities marked and the notes written by a scribe. “This is very fine calligraphy,” he said, and called other members of his household over to view the length of parchment. His finger stopped on one of the cities and he raised his brows at William. “Constantinople?”
William made a wry face. “In hindsight, sire, our road would not have led us that way either.” He made a conscious effort not to look at his arm.
The door opened, and the lady Paschia arrived with her women. Servants followed bearing food and drink. Her gown of flame-colored silk shimmered as she walked, and her hair was twisted in individual ringlets that fell to her waist. She looked utterly ravishing. William made to leave and return to his duties with the horses, but Heraclius bade him take some wine first and called Paschia over to look at the map.
She gave William a smile and a sultry glance before leaning over Heraclius to study it. “Indeed, it is fine penmanship.” She traced her forefinger slowly from city to city. “I can see that it is well traveled.”
“Yes, madam. It…was given to me at the Temple Church in London, and we used it for much of the way.” He inhaled an intoxicating scent of roses and musk from a swinging lock of her hair.
“I am sure that the patriarch will be able to make great use of it. It is kind of you.”
“Indeed so,” Heraclius replied. “I thank you with true gratitude.”
“I am glad to be of service,” William replied. “By your leave, I must return to my duties.”
“By all means. I know you still have much to do…and do not worry. I shall not ask you for monkeys.”
William’s lips twitched. “I am glad to hear it, your eminence.” He made his obeisance and went to the door.
The lady Paschia insisted on seeing him out. “Monkeys?” She arched her brow.
“We were discussing an occasion when King Henry sent envoys and monkeys to the king of France,” he replied neutrally. “Doubtless the patriarch will tell you.”
“Doubtless he will.” She gave him an amused, slightly exasperated look. “We shall see you later perhaps.”
William made his bow serve as a reply and took his leave. Returning to his duties, he was preoccupied. The way she had leaned over Heraclius and used her finger in that sensual way to trace over the map had sent a lightning bolt of arousal through him. She had known exactly what she was doing in the same way she had known when she looked at him with slumberous knowing. He was being hunted down and did not know whether to run, fight back, or surrender.
* * *
Since William had to attend on Heraclius most days, he continued to come into frequent contact with the lady Paschia, but he tried to ensure there were always others around at the same time, and he dwelt in constant anticipation and dread of another personal summons from her—although none materialized.
When Paschia was with Heraclius, she was devoted to him and solicitous of his well-being. She ensured that refreshment was always to hand and placed comfortable cushions at his back. She was quietly efficient in the background but swift to come forward at need and play the gracious hostess. She threw herself wholeheartedly into the preparation for his mission and made it clear that her life’s purpose was satisfying him and seeing to his welfare. She was affectionate, kissing his cheek, holding his hand, protecting him when he needed a quiet moment—playing her role to the hilt.
If people considered her actions inappropriate or condemned him for a worldly prelate, they said nothing in public, even if eyebrows were raised behind closed doors. Everyone knew that the lady had powerful connections and that her influence was far-reaching and, depending on one’s faction, could either be a safety net or a pernicious web.
In public, Paschia would often slant William looks, reminding him of the power she wielded. In conversation, she was courteous and witty. Sometimes she would play chess with him, and William greatly enjoyed these sessions, even while he knew he was dancing with fire. It was a chance to test each other’s mettle and probe for weaknesses and, at the same time, in juxtaposition, to build a rapport—the safety net and the web. Her play was keen and her ruthless business sense fully to the fore, although again, in paradox, she was mercurial and prepared to take enormous gambles if she thought they would pay off, and in doing so, she continued to keep him off balance. They won and lost an equal number of games, but she would always leave the table at a point when she was victorious, and she would look at him and smile.
One day she showed him her pigeons, explaining how the messages were attached to their legs and how they were sent to specific lofts elsewhere in order to speed the carrying of information. Such a system could be adapted for use in King Henry’s domains, and William was keenly interested.
“But some must fall to hawks,” he said.
“Indeed, that is why we always send more than one—and sometimes decoys, if we suspect we are going to be intercepted. The patriarch has delegated the task to me because he knows I work well with the birds and can be trusted.”
William remembered the pigeons he had seen winging their way toward Ascalon from the king’s camp at Caesarea back in January. The red curtain in the patriarch’s tent and the listening silence behind it. So many secrets and conspiracies.
A few days later, Heraclius asked William to find Paschia a new mount. “Her gray is heavily in foal,” he said, “and my lady can no longer ride her. She will have duties while I am absent that will require her to ride out. I need a good horse of sound temperament and suitable disposition. I leave it in your hands to find the right beast, and do not stint on the cost.”
* * *
“Oh!” Paschia gasped as she stared at the palfrey William was holding in the stable yard. Her eyes alight, her expression that of a delighted child, she hurried to his side. “What a beauty!” She looked around at Heraclius, who was standing with his arms folded, a smile on his lips. “Truly for me?”
Heraclius said indulgently, “For who else would I have gone to such trouble? I sent William here to the Bedouin to find you a mount, and he has done us proud.”
“Indeed, more than that!” She bestowed on William a smile as bright as the sun, and his heart somersaulted within his chest. He had groomed Rakkas until his hide shone like a bronze mirror reflecting a dark pool. He had combed and braided his lighter mane and flame cascade of tail and harnessed him with a bridle and a lady’s saddle of embossed red leather that Heraclius had ordered several weeks ago.
She ran back to Heraclius and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you! I want to try him—now!” She twirled, laughing like a child, her face radiant and joyous.
William had never seen her like this before, and it was a revelation that stunned him.
“And so you shall, my dear,” Heraclius said indulgently, “but I have business to attend to. Messire Marshal will escort you, and I shall s
peak with you later.”
William had other duties waiting too but had no choice but to comply with the patriarch’s order. He let Paschia feed the gelding two plump brown dates and then led him to the mounting block and assisted her to the saddle, which she gained with ease, her hands confident on the reins. William sent Eustace to saddle Chazur and swiftly organized his knights to fetch their horses and provide a mounted escort. Several of Heraclius’s own men joined them, including Paschia’s uncle Zaccariah and the mercenary Mahzun of Tire. William was deliberately courteous toward them, and they responded in a similar wise, but an atmosphere of bristling watchfulness verging on hostility prevailed, like dogs circling each other’s territory.
Leaving the patriarch’s palace, the group rode toward Saint Stephen’s Gate and the leper hospice on the western side of the city, intent on following a circuit of the walls. Paschia’s new mount responded to her lightest touch of rein and heel and was curious but little bothered by the crowds and the cries of the beggars and hucksters they encountered on their way out of the city.
“Make way!” bellowed Mahzun of Tire in his huge voice. “Make way for the Lady Heraclius!”
She smiled and threw handfuls of coins into the crowd from the generous pouch with which Heraclius had presented her, and she made gracious flourishes, like a queen. William was fascinated by her power—how much she had and yet how little, because it was all dependent on the patriarch. But he admired how well she used it.
“This is a beautiful horse,” she said to William as they rode out of the gates and turned eastward toward the Postern of the Magdalene. “You truly do have a skill.”
“I learned almost from birth,” he replied, “but the Bedouin have the finest mounts I have ever seen. Most are too lightly built to be destriers, but as palfreys and chasers, they have no compare.”
“He is like his name. He dances.” She touched him lightly with her spur and the horse sprang into a bouncing trot. Then she reined him down again and looked at William. “You know Heraclius pays the nomads for information.”
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