Templar Silks

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  “I am sorry King Henry would not agree to come to Jerusalem,” Augustine said, “for he is a man who well knows the business of ruling a kingdom.”

  William shrugged. “I gave the patriarch all the help I could, but in truth, I knew it would be a miracle if he succeeded.”

  Augustine’s mouth twisted. “It was bound to fail from the moment they met. The English barons thought our envoys too richly dressed and scented for the land of Christ and could not understand why they were seeking aid when they were wearing gold and pearls and drenching themselves in perfumes that only earls and kings could afford.”

  William winced. “I warned the patriarch that King Henry would not appreciate such an approach.”

  “Well, perhaps it was an excuse too for the English barons to sneer at men with different ways, and also perhaps it roused their envy. But you know how much Heraclius sets store by his garments and his person—how worldly he is.”

  “Yes,” William said.

  “He should have gone to the king of England in ashes and rags, tearing out his hair, not in gold and riches. Why should people give their silver to Outremer when we clad ourselves in more wealth than their kings?” Augustine rolled his eyes. “But the king still offered him money, and Heraclius answered what we really needed was someone to govern the kingdom. Henry agreed to come, but only if his barons consented, but of course, he directed them in private to refuse. We were blocked at every turn.”

  “I am not surprised,” William said, “but you were right to try. Again, I am sorry it did not come to fruition.”

  “I told King Henry you had succeeded in your mission to lay his son’s cloak on the sepulchre, and I said you had done him great service. I spoke with Aimery too, and we prayed for you and gave thanks.”

  William’s stomach clenched. “I am not deserving of your prayers and accolades,” he said, “for I am not in a state of grace.”

  Augustine gave him a serious look. “Well, that is all the more reason to strive to attain it. If you cannot find a state of grace in Jerusalem, then where else can you?”

  “Yes,” William agreed with a touch of despair. “And the same for the falling. It comes twice as hard.”

  “If there is anything I can do…any matter you wish to discuss…?”

  William shook his head. “No, but I thank you for the offer and the news. I will talk to you later.”

  * * *

  “You have to come away with me.” William drew Paschia into his arms the moment she arrived at their assignation in the dome. “Now, soon, before Heraclius returns.” He buried his face against her throat, inhaling her scent. “I have told you I will protect you and our child and I mean it—to the last drop of blood in my body and the last beat of my heart.”

  She pushed herself away from him. “You say you will give me everything, but you ask me in return to abandon my security. Love might enrich our lives, but it does not give us the wherewithal by which to live. Believe me, I have seen love go begging because it does not have the means to flourish.” Reaching up to her hair, she began unpinning the elaborate coils. Concealed among the lustrous tresses were small pouches of money and gemstones. “I have been sewing the same into the linings of my cloaks and gowns,” she said. “I must bring as much wealth as I can muster without others suspecting.” Unpredictable as ever, she flashed him a sudden smile, inviting him to admire her ingenuity.

  A spark of optimism kindled in William. If she had taken the time and trouble to find ways of transporting her jewels, it was a step forward. “That is indeed resourceful. I have done the same with my cloak and my belt lining, but I don’t have time to grow my hair!”

  She laughed. “You could always wear a wig or stuff your braies—although they are already well occupied!” She angled her gaze downward and then set her arms around his neck and kissed him until they were both breathless. She pulled him onto the bed, eager to the point of being voracious, and it was almost like their first time together. Each time he made to draw back, she urged him on, arching, biting, gasping her pleasure. Even when she climaxed, she did not rest but began building again, to the next one, feverish almost to the point of desperation.

  Eventually, William held her still and calmed her with long, smooth strokes of his hand. “Enough. I dissolve the truce and cry quarter. You have won.”

  Her breathing gradually calmed, and she lay in his arms, rosily flushed, sweat glistening, while he caressed her belly.

  “I did not think you would yield the contest so easily,” she said with a smile.

  “That was not easily.” He returned her smile, but he was preoccupied, suspecting that she had been trying to lose herself in physical sensation to avoid the moment when she had to make hard decisions. “Nothing has ever been easy with you.” He laced his fingers through hers, and added softly, “We shall make a good life together. We can settle in Saint Omer and raise our children and breed the finest horses in Christendom.”

  She stroked his face. “It is a beautiful dream, William,” she said wistfully.

  “It is more than a dream,” he replied with fierce conviction. “It is real.”

  “And when I am with you, you make me believe it is real.”

  “Then cast aside your doubts and believe. I shall organize our route. Start packing what you need.”

  She kissed him and turned away to dress. As she coiled the jewels back into her hair, she changed the subject. “I need your escort tonight to visit the Count and Countess of Jaffa. I have promised Sybilla that I will attend her, and Guy wants to talk to you about horses.”

  William grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was socialize with Guy de Lusignan.

  “I ask you to do it for me,” she said, jutting her chin. “Look at what I am giving up for you.”

  William swallowed his irritation. After all, it would not be for much longer, and for her sake, he would bear it. “As my lady wishes,” he said, but without enthusiasm.

  “I do wish it.” She kissed him again, swiftly, and was gone.

  William’s mood was pensive as he left the room. The chapel was empty, and he kept to the shadows as he made his way outside. Crossing the courtyard, he noticed Mahzun of Tire deep in conversation with Paschia’s uncle and was immediately on his guard. Zaccariah eyed William narrowly. Mahzun glanced once and then looked away. Ignoring them, William departed the palace and made his way swiftly to Asmaria’s house to find Ancel.

  His brother was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the main room, eating a pie and playing dice for spills of wood with the children. He grinned on seeing William and spread his hands in welcome. “Will you join us?”

  William shook his head. “I have to escort Madame la Patriarchess to a gathering organized by the Count and Countess of Jaffa.”

  Ancel snorted. “I wish you good fortune of that.”

  “I doubt any will come,” William replied, making a face. “I want a word.”

  Ancel pushed the last morsel of pie into his mouth, dusted off his hands, and, telling the children he would return in a moment, followed William out into the hot, still air.

  William watched a brown lizard with copper-jewel eyes basking on the wall. “I’ve just seen Augustine at the palace. He’s here ahead of the envoys, and he says that King Henry is not coming.”

  Ancel shrugged. “We always knew that in our hearts.”

  “Perhaps it is time to go home while the pilgrim ships are still sailing.”

  Ancel eyed him sharply. “And not wait for the patriarch’s return?”

  William stared at the lizard and did not meet his brother’s gaze. “Whether we stay or go, the situation will not improve. You see how it is with all the factions fighting for control and the drought worsening.”

  Ancel pursed his lips. “What if I want to stay?”

  Imagining what would happen to Ancel if he did, William shook his head. �
��How would you make your way in the world without an affinity?” He gave Ancel a concerned look. “Do you really wish to do that?”

  “No, I want to go home, but I was thinking about Asmaria and the children. They have become part of my life, and it will be difficult to tear myself away from them.”

  “Then ask her if she will come.”

  Ancel chewed his lip. “I do not know if she would. She has made her life here and has her own livelihood.” He eyed William curiously. “I thought you would say leave her behind.”

  “No,” William replied in a subdued tone. “I would not ask you to do that.” He experienced an upwelling of love for his brother, who possessed all the innocence and integrity that he lacked. Whatever he did, he was going to let someone down. If only he could unravel what was woven, but that was impossible; he had to make the best of the cloth he had. When he thought about telling Ancel about Paschia, the words jammed in his throat.

  “I will see what she says,” Ancel replied.

  William hugged him fiercely with a mingling of affection and guilt. Ancel returned the embrace and drew away, looking bemused. Turning to go back inside to his dice game, he paused with his hand on the door. “Asmaria heard in the market today that there has been another raid on the pilgrim route near Tiberius.”

  “Yes,” William said. “Onri is taking out a Templar patrol tomorrow, and we are to ride with him, although I do not know how well we will fare. The raiders know when to attack and when to lie low. I shall see you at dawn.”

  * * *

  That evening, William escorted Paschia to the gathering at the Count of Jaffa’s hall, where Sybilla immediately summoned her to join the women. By moving around the edges of the room, making sure that someone was always in front of him, William managed to avoid Guy de Lusignan.

  Gerard de Ridefort, grand master of the Templars, was present and spoke briefly to William about the following day’s patrol. “The raids have been escalating,” he said with displeasure. “These men must be stopped and pilgrims and merchants protected. It does not reflect well on the order or on the kingdom that their activities continue and make fools of us all.”

  “Indeed, sire,” William replied. “But it is difficult when they slip away into the hills and the desert or cross into territory we do not control.”

  “Then perhaps we should control it,” de Ridefort said, his mouth downturned.

  Guy joined them, and William had no choice but to make his obeisance to a man whose notion of setting an example was to plunder merchant trains himself and ignore the boundaries.

  “You are elusive, messire Marshal,” Guy said, his look calculating.

  “I have many duties, sire, as you can appreciate,” William answered neutrally.

  “Indeed, but perhaps you should curtail the least important in favor of the most pressing.”

  “That is what I already do, sire.”

  Guy raised a gilded eyebrow. “Then you should think again. Times change swiftly in Outremer, and what is true one day may be false the next.”

  “I have observed that too, sire.”

  Guy’s blue eyes sharpened. “Actually, I was hoping you might look at my dun stallion. He’s gone lame on the nearside forehoof.” William had no time to deal with such trivia but, to keep Guy from pestering him, said diplomatically, “If you wish to bring him, I will look, sire.”

  “Good, I shall do so, and we shall talk some more. You still owe me that saddle.” He pressed William’s arm and turned to de Ridefort. “A word if you will, my lord.”

  The two men moved away, Guy smiling and clearly pleased with himself.

  William grimaced. He intended to make very sure that he was not available when Guy came visiting.

  Paschia joined him for a moment, and her own expression was smug, like a cat that had just licked cream off its whiskers. “There, it is not so difficult after all to have a rapport with the Count of Jaffa, is it?”

  William suspected she had maneuvered him into attending this gathering for that very purpose and that Guy had been briefed to pounce. “Indeed not,” he said, “but sadly I cannot stay longer. I have to talk to the men about tomorrow—with your permission, of course, madam.”

  She gave him an amused if exasperated sigh and hooked her little finger around his in a brief intimate gesture. “If you must, but first the Countess of Jaffa wishes to speak with you. I want you to return when you have finished your business with your knights, for I shall require an escort to my quarters.”

  “As my lady desires,” he said.

  “And you know all about my desires,” she replied flirtatiously. Ill at ease, William donned the mask of a courtier and went to present himself to the Countess of Jaffa. Sybilla smiled and bade him sit by her side, signaling a squire to pour him wine and offer him a platter of colored almond paste flavored with rosewater. She inquired how he was faring with genuine warmth and interest. William matched his tone to hers and replied with courteous, conversational platitudes.

  After a brief lull, Sybilla faced him directly, still with a smile on her lips. “The kingdom of Jerusalem needs more men like you,” she said. “We have so few who are truly reliable and trustworthy.”

  “I am honored, madam.” It was more of the same thing, but he was constrained by the circumstances to sit and listen.

  “If you chose to stay and swear fealty to me, I could give you wealth and lands beyond anything waiting for you in England. Instead of a handful of knights, you would have a considerable affinity, and you would be able to equip them with the finest of everything and be a man of high standing.” She gestured with her hand, palm upward, to illustrate her largesse.

  William inclined his head. She was a skillful player, for it was an excellent inducement, and he might have seriously considered it were it not for her husband. “Madam, again you honor me. I shall certainly think on the matter.”

  Sybilla gave him a meaningful look. “Do not think about it too long, messire. He who waits loses. You have already proven your worth, and we shall gladly welcome you and grant you a place in all of our counsels.” Her words subtly emphasized the point that he would have the increased political weight that came with a higher status. And that too was an enticement.

  “Indeed, madam, I shall think on it, and thank you.” He bowed and, as he took his leave, wondered if he could overcome his antipathy. If he could sit at their council table, then perhaps he could have an influence from within. He glanced toward Guy and imagined saluting him, taking orders from the man. It was like exploring an aching tooth to see if it still hurt and discovering that, yes, it did, and no amount of sweetness would dull the discomfort.

  He was making his way out of the palace when Zaccariah joined him. “Do not return for my niece,” he growled. “I shall escort her myself.” He set his hand to his dagger hilt in emphasis. “You will stay away from her if you know what is good for you.”

  William eyed him with contempt. “Since my lady requested me as escort, I shall do her bidding unless she commands me otherwise.”

  Zaccariah grabbed William’s arm. “You have trespassed on ground that is not yours, and that trespass will end!” he hissed.

  William wrenched free and walked off but was disturbed, because the threat from Zaccariah was more than just bluff.

  He dealt with his men, giving them orders for the morning, warning them not to stay up late carousing, for they had to be on the road at dawn. He double-checked the horses, the harness and equipment, and while his practical mind was busy with the task, he pondered what Sybilla had said and placed it side by side with his intention to leave. To embroil himself with the Lusignans and gain wealth, prestige, and power or to depart with Paschia and face a less exalted but ultimately honorable future in his homeland? Either choice could, of course, mean an early death.

  Preoccupied, he returned to the palace to escort Paschia and her maid back t
o the patriarchal lodging. There was no sign of Zaccariah; no dark figures lurked in the shadows with a blade.

  Paschia looked up at him and smiled expectantly. “I trust that your meeting with the Countess of Jaffa was successful?”

  “The countess certainly gave me food for thought.”

  “And have you decided what to do?”

  She must know what had been asked. She and Sybilla had probably talked about it over one of their embroidery sessions, trying to find persuasions that would bind him here.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And that is?”

  “I am already sworn to the king of England and his queen, and I have promised to return to them. I cannot in good conscience give my oath to the Countess of Jaffa.”

  “In ‘good conscience’?” Her voice rose in disbelief mingled with scorn. “It seems to me that you only have a conscience when it suits you, messire. Do you know what you are throwing away for you and your men?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And also, what I am not losing.”

  “Is that so?”

  She pressed her lips together, and they walked the short distance to the patriarch’s palace in strained silence. Unspoken words hung between them, and the longer the silence lasted, the fuller it became and the smaller the aperture grew for the words to be expressed. All too soon, yet with a feeling of dull relief, William brought Paschia to her door.

  “I will bid you good night, madam,” he said formally, all too aware of the maid and the torchbearers. Zoraya might be trustworthy, but any one of the others would carry tales for a fee.

  “I wish you Godspeed and success on the morrow,” she said stiltedly. “Visit me on your return and we shall talk.” She gave him a brief assessing look, one that William had seen often before when matters had not gone to plan but she was pondering ways of pushing them until they did.

  He bowed and put his hand over his heart where the key to the dome lay against his skin. Pain twisted inside him as he watched her enter the house and firmly close the door.