Templar Silks

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  “I don’t know about that, sire,” Eustace said gruffly.

  “In here.” William touched his heart. “That is what I mean.”

  Eustace blinked hard and pinched his inner eye corners between forefinger and thumb. “Sire, I do not know about that either.”

  “But I do. Come, do not grow maudlin on me. Do you remember all the horse races you used to win?”

  He was rewarded with a grin, and once more, Eustace was away like a hare, chasing stories of the old times and the joys of the tourneys and fairs they had attended. Tiring, William was still able to interject comments and take pleasure in the moment. Other, more spiritual times and reflection would come, but for now, he was happy to dwell in the lightness of memory and bestow it as a final gift upon his squire.

  By the time Eustace departed, the rain had stopped. William dozed and was lightly aware of Roger, one of the chaplains, speaking to him and the comfort of prayers. He mumbled a response, an amen, and followed his dreams into another time and place.

  32

  Jerusalem, May 1185

  Sitting on the bed in the domed chamber, William waited for Paschia. He had been absent on a horse trading deal all week, and she had been attending the lady Sybilla and only now had she sent him a message via her Nubian boy. William had done his utmost to be discreet but was still on edge that he might have been seen. A part of him thought he should end these assignations, even while another part said he might as well continue, because he was as good as dead anyway. But he still had a responsibility to his men…

  Hearing light footsteps on the stairs, he reached for his knife. Of late, he had not been sleeping well and had been jumping at shadows. Paschia arrived and, seeing the blade in his hand, she stared. “What are you doing?”

  William let out the breath he had been holding and sheathed the weapon. “I don’t know anymore,” he said. “I was not sure it was you on the stairs.”

  “Who else would it be?” She gave him a look that suggested he was being foolish.

  “Your uncle or one of his men… He knows.”

  Alarm flitted across her face. “What do you mean ‘he knows’?”

  “About us.” He told her what had happened in the stables. “He says unless I pay him ‘rent,’ he will tell Heraclius everything.”

  “He will not do that,” Paschia scoffed. “It would weaken his position, and without me, he is nothing. I know things about him that are just as damning. He is trying to intimidate you into giving him money because he will do anything to claw it into his coffers. But I agree that it is not good because now he has leverage.” She stroked his eyebrow with her forefinger. “Do not worry. We will manage this. Offer him a percentage of what you make on the horses. He might even put more clients your way.”

  William curled his lip.

  “Or do as he asks and pay him.” She gave an indifferent shrug. “There are many ways around.” She kissed him gently—tender, nipping kisses that became more passionate until they were breathless and tumbled onto the bed together. She trailed her silk sleeves over his body until he thought he would go mad, and she held him on the edge until he was desperate but still enduring because he did not want it to end, and he was determined not to yield while she straddled him and took her own fierce pleasure. The sight of her with arched spine and head thrown back, lustrous hair spilling to her hips, almost undid him, but he clenched his teeth and held on to his control until she gasped and fell forward upon him, and at last, he could take his release.

  Afterward, she wiped them both with a cooling rosewater lotion. Enjoying the long, smooth strokes, the sensual reward even in the return to reality, he touched her cheek. “If I pay your uncle, I am letting him make a whore of you, and I will not do that.”

  “But that is all he understands.” She drew back to look at him. “You are only of use to him while there is profit in it. He tolerates you for the moment because of your standing with the king of England, who might come here to rule in Jerusalem, but he is weighing up the odds, and if your king chooses not to come, then you lose your influence and you become worthless to him unless you have something else with which to bargain.”

  “I am not afraid of him,” William said, but his mind filled with the image of the dagger in the corner of the stable and those hard, narrow eyes.

  “You should be.”

  William gently tucked her hair behind her ears, his knuckles brushing the filigreed gold at her lobes. “Then if I am to pay him, let it be a bride price; let me make this proper between us. You are a widow. I am unwed. In law, there is nothing to stop us, and we do not have to stay here. We could go anywhere in the world.” Taking her hand, he kissed her palm, tasting salt and inhaling the scent of sandalwood.

  She tugged free of him and, turning away, began to plait her hair, her movements jerky. “I told you before that you should not ask.”

  “Perhaps, but still I am doing so—for better not worse.”

  She shook her head. “You cannot spring such words upon me and expect an immediate answer. I will have to think on it.”

  She was like a cat that had suddenly had its fur ruffled the wrong way when it had been enjoying being petted. “Then do not think for too long. I am making preparations to leave, and I want you to come with me as my woman and my wife, and then all will be honorable.”

  Without reply, she continued to dress. He leaned around and tilted her face to, and he saw the fear in her gaze. “I love you. I will look after you and protect you, I promise.”

  She rose to her feet without responding to his words. “I have to go, and so should you.”

  “But you will think about what I have said?”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, but he sensed her withdrawal.

  When she had gone, he sat on the bed where they had just made love, scooped his hands through his hair, and wondered how it had ever come to this.

  * * *

  William did not see Paschia after that for almost three weeks. She spent much of her time in the Lusignan household, and he was absent on patrol and engaged in horse dealing outside Jerusalem. Her uncle had not been near him since their confrontation in the stable, but William knew it was only a matter of time before more demands were made. Zaccariah had set a watch on the patriarch’s chapel, and it was no longer as easy for William and Paschia to make assignations. The domed chamber was now a flawed sanctuary, for the world had intruded and burst the bubble. Sometimes William would receive a summons and set out, only to turn back or pretend to be doing something else because Zaccariah or his squire would be in the chapel.

  Eventually, however, Zaccariah left on business, taking his most trusted men with him, and William and Paschia were finally able to snatch an afternoon together.

  As they lay entwined and sated, Paschia gently tickled his nose with a strand of her hair. “What would it be like if we had a baby?” she asked with a musing smile. “A little boy with your eyes, or a girl with my hair?”

  Her words shook him out of his lethargy like a splash of cold water in the face, and he was immediately alert, wondering whether this was yet another of her playful games aimed at enhancing desire, or something else. He knew how much she enjoyed feeding on his responses. “It won’t ever be mine,” he said warily. “Not unless you came away with me and agreed to be my wife, and who am I but a penniless knight?” She had told him not to worry, and like Adam in the Garden of Eden, he had taken her word at face value that all would be well. Now, he gently pushed her up and away from him with his arms. “Really? Are you with child?”

  “What if I were?” she said with a note of defensive challenge.

  He drew her back down against him. “If you were, you would be my bride in all ways.” He eyed her warily and stroked her flat belly. “Is it true? Are you?”

  She looked down and fiddled with the plain gold ring on her index finger. “I do not know. My flux is
late.”

  William conned over his rather patchy knowledge of women’s matters. “You cannot stay here if this is truth. You will have to come with me.”

  She gnawed her lower lip. “My flux may yet come.”

  “But we should make plans.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was wan, and her earlier air of intimate teasing had dissipated as swiftly as smoke in the wind.

  With no small effort, William tugged a gold ring of his own from his little finger and slipped it onto one of hers. “I want to make this right and honorable between us. Love me or leave me, I give you my ring. It was my mother’s and now it is yours. If you will come with me, I will be a happy man and I hope you will be a happy mother to this child we have made between us. I ask you again: marry me and come with me.”

  She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “You are honorable and good. I love you and I love your honesty, but I cannot follow you barefoot in my shift.”

  “I would provide for you and the child,” William said. “You would never go wanting, and you would never be beholden again to your uncle or forced to play political games to survive.”

  “But I would be dependent on you,” she said. “Even if you love and honor me, you are not in a position of a man like Heraclius, with great power at his command. I do love you,” she added in a subdued tone, and stroked his arm. “I never expected it to happen. I took you to ease my lust and be my comfort while Heraclius was away, but it has become much more than that, and now I must decide what to do.” A bleak look entered her eyes. “I have lived my whole life with uncertainty, with only my wits between death and survival.”

  “Then we are alike,” William said, “for I too have had to live like that. I do understand.”

  “You do not,” she said. “I could not follow you around with a small child. I would be little better than one of the baggage whores in an army’s tail.”

  William tightened his mouth at her words and she swiftly touched his face. “I am not trampling your offer in the mud, my love, but I must be practical.”

  “I have money,” he said tautly. “Enough for us to be comfortable.”

  “And when men learn who I am? Who I have been? Will they then give you employment, or will they turn from you in contempt? What will my status be? You say you have money, but can you afford to keep me as Heraclius does?”

  “You will be my wife.” A stone lodged in his belly. “You cannot stay here, that much is obvious—you cannot conceal a child in the same way as a lover. I have offered you my worldly goods, my heart, and my honor. If that is not enough, then it is not, and there is no more to be said.”

  She pulled out of his arms and, leaving the bed, went to the window. He stared at the long dark hair spilling down her back and felt an overwhelming mingling of love and pain.

  She gazed at the ring he had given her, and at length, she sighed. “Very well, I will try, but it is not a promise.”

  William’s heart turned over. “But what if you decide you cannot? What of Heraclius? You cannot stay in Jerusalem.”

  “I have contacts. If it came to the worst, I could go to them for a time and I would be helped.”

  “But do you have more trust in them than you do me?” he demanded. “If it is more than lust, why will you not come with me?”

  “Because there is more to it than that.” She whirled around with an exasperation the match of his own. “We have to have the means to love. It is not just about you and me. I have people beholden to me in the palace, and you have your men.” She gave a defensive shrug. “It is not certain yet. We should wait until I am sure.”

  “Then why tell me if you are not sure?” He suspected she had wanted to play with him and test his reaction. Perhaps appeal to his virility and add an extra fillip to their lovemaking, because that was her nature.

  “Because it is preying on my mind and who else can I tell?” she snapped. “My uncle?” She shuddered and, for an instant, covered her face with her hands. He reached for her, but she avoided him and went to her clothes. “We should go; we have been here too long already.”

  “I will protect you. I swear I will.”

  She gave him an enigmatic look. “I know you think that,” she said, “but I have learned not to rely on anyone. The only person who can protect me is myself.”

  When she had gone, William donned his own clothes and thought about what Paschia had told him and how he was going to manage to take her to safety as his wife. He looked down at his little finger, at the pale band of skin where his mother’s ring had lain, and, feeling the loss, wondered if he had given it in vain. He knew that the contacts of whom she spoke would involve Sybilla, which meant she would be beholden to the Countess of Jaffa and, by association, to Guy de Lusignan, and that made him feel sick. He had to make her see that leaving with him was their best future, although how he would do that he did not know. They were in a bind, and one way or another, they would have to deal with it. For now, he had a great amount of thinking and organizing to do, but circumspectly. He wanted to make everything honorable and right, but to do so would expose a festering murk of lies and deceit of which he was deeply ashamed and, once in the light, the repercussions might destroy them both anyway.

  * * *

  William sat on a bench in the hall of the king’s council chamber, thankful for the cool stone wall at his back that gave shelter from the beating eye of the sun. Outside, Jerusalem baked in a furnace. Dogs and beggars panted in the shade, every plant wilted, and each day was clear, hard blue and gold, like the colors in the city’s blazon. The sky and the kingdom—hot, dry, burning.

  The spring had not been wet enough for seed to grow, and the scanty rainfall had done nothing to green the grass or fill the cisterns. New wells had been dug in the valley of Hinnon but with patchy results, and the water was brackish and unpleasant to drink. Famine threatened, and grain would have to be imported at inflated prices from overseas neighbors less seriously afflicted by the lack of water.

  William observed the little king, who sat on a miniature padded throne beside Raymond of Tripoli as the business of the kingdom went forward. The child’s attention was wandering. His paternal great-uncle, Conrad de Montferrat, had arrived from Europe to be his guardian alongside Joscelin de Courtenay, who was the same from his mother’s side. Guy de Lusignan was present too, and as restless as a hungry lion. He wore a gold silk tunic, and his impatience showed in the way his fingers plucked at the embroidery on the sleeves. He folded his arms, unfolded them, and leaned back, puffing out his cheeks. The court had confirmed Guy’s position as Count of Jaffa, and although Raymond thoroughly disliked him, he was being the consummate diplomat and treating Guy with neutral courtesy, his air that of a parent ignoring a tiresome adolescent.

  Saladin had agreed a truce because he had his own difficulties in his territories. For now, the sere kingdom of Jerusalem was ostensibly at peace with its Saracen neighbors, while droughts and internal politics took their toll on both, but the reality was less smooth. Bands of brigands and thieves abounded on the roads and among the hills, waiting for their opportunity to rob pilgrims and merchants, and hotheaded young men on both sides continued to skirmish, raid, and break the truces. A convoy of merchants with a cargo of precious sandalwood had recently been robbed and slaughtered to the north of Jerusalem, and Raymond had promised to send out extra patrols and be vigilant.

  “I ask my lord de Ridefort to see to the matter,” he said, addressing the Templar grand master who was sitting close to his right-hand side. “I realize that these were not pilgrims, but these brigands are as likely to target them on another occasion, and we must hunt these people down before they grow stronger.”

  De Ridefort inclined his head. “I shall see that it is done.” His reply was neutral, even if his posture was stiff with his dislike of the regent.

  William suspected that he and his men would be recruited to the task,
for it was ideally suited to the secular knights in the city.

  The next supplicant was ushered into the hall to kneel before the regent, and William saw with shock that it was Augustine de Labaro, whom he had last seen setting out with the deputation to England and France. Even in the heat, he wore his heavy white mantle with the red cross of the order on his breast. Although lean and hard-traveled, he was immaculate as he knelt to Raymond, little Baldwin, and the senior advisers occupying the dais. Raymond gestured for him to rise, and Augustine bowed again before handing over the wallet of letters he had been holding. William’s chest was tight with anxiety, for if Augustine was here, then Heraclius would not be far behind.

  “I left the patriarch and the master of the Hospitallers at the French court with King Henry and King Philippe,” Augustine said. “The kings are still debating what to do, but neither is prepared to come to Jerusalem at this stage, although both have pledged their support.”

  A muscle flickered in Raymond’s jaw, and a murmur rippled around the chamber.

  “The kings have given permission for the Church to preach to the people and encourage them to support Outremer in any way they can, especially the knights, and many have undertaken to come as soon as they may.” Augustine hesitated. “When I left, we were unaware that King Baldwin had yielded up his mortal soul to God, although the news will surely have reached the patriarch and Grand Master de Moulins by now.”

  “When do they expect to be back?” Guy de Lusignan demanded, his expression intent.

  Augustine bowed in his direction but turned to address Raymond and the child king again. “By the end of August,” he said.

  William bit at a loose strip of skin against his thumbnail. So, he had about eight weeks left if he was going to depart with Paschia, which was a fine margin. Matters would need to be set in motion immediately.

  Once the court session had broken up, William sought out Augustine to speak with him, and they clasped each other like brothers.