The Land Beyond the Sea

by Sharon Kay Penman

  “The king did not want to go to the public baths because of the rain, so he decided to have a bath here. After the servants brought up buckets of hot water, I helped him undress and then went over to test the bathwater. Whilst it was very hot, my lady, I thought I could cool it by adding the water from the washing basin. When I turned around, the king was about to step into the tub. I cried out a warning and he jerked back in time. His toes were bright red, though, and there was more redness where the water had splashed onto his ankle. I hurried over to see how bad the burns were, but he . . . he pushed me away. I said there was an ointment in one of the coffers. He did not seem to hear me. He just kept staring down at that bathing tub . . . and then he told me to get out.

  “I did as he bade, of course. The other servants went off to find places to sleep. I did not feel right doing that, so I waited. For a long time, there was only silence, and then I heard a crash. More noise followed and I tried to talk to him through the door, asking if I could be of any help. I just heard a loud thud again, as if something had been thrown at the door. . . .”

  Yves was a few years older than Baldwin, but he looked younger now, scared and confused. “My lady . . . did I do something to make him angry with me? I did not mean to. . . .”

  “You did nothing wrong. Go off to bed now.” Looking relieved, he fled, and only then did Agnes approach the door. She felt no surprise to find it barred from the inside. “Baldwin? It is your mother. Will you let me in?” There was only silence. “There is no one else with me and I promise not to stay if you do not want me to. Open the door . . . please.”

  What if he continued to refuse? He could not be left alone in there. But the door could not be forced. She would not do that to him. “Baldwin, I beg you,” she whispered, words that she’d never have thought to utter in this life. After another interminable silence, she heard the bolt slide back and the door slowly swung inward.

  She’d never dreaded anything so much as she now dreaded crossing that threshold. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, surveying the wreckage of Baldwin’s bedchamber. The floor was strewn with shattered cups and flagons, a dented metal mirror, clothing, boots, a hairbrush, books, whatever he’d found within reach. Almost at her feet lay a wooden bucket, staved in when it struck the door. In the midst of all this destruction stood her son. The room was cold and at some time during his rampage, he’d put his braies and shirt on again, but he was still barefoot and she instinctively started to warn him about cutting his feet on the broken glass, catching herself just in time.

  She had no words, so she walked over and put her arms around him. She feared that he’d pull away, but he simply stood there, limp and unresponsive in her embrace. He’d had a growth spurt in recent months, and when she remembered how proud he’d been that he could now look down upon her, she felt such a stab of pain that it took her breath away. “Come, my dearest,” she said, and guided him toward the bed, finding a path through the debris littering the carpet.

  He sank down upon the edge of the bed and she sat beside him, clasping his hand in hers as she waited until he could talk about what had happened.

  “The water was hot enough to boil,” he said at last. “But I did not feel the heat, would have been badly burned if not for Yves.”

  She stared down at his foot, wincing at the reddened skin. She wanted to ransack the chamber until she found the ointment Yves had mentioned and slather it upon his burned toes. She forced herself to sit still, although she could not keep her fingers from tightening around his. William had tried to tell her about the symptoms of leprosy. She’d refused to listen, as if hearing it would make it so. How she regretted that now! “You . . . you are thinking of your hand,” she said, “how you lost feeling in it, and you fear this is the same. But you may just have been tired, Baldwin, or distracted, your thoughts elsewhere. This could be an accident, nothing more. . . .”

  For the first time, he looked her directly in the face, and then he slowly shook his head.

  “Let me prove it to you.” Before he could react, she reached down, took his foot in her hands, and then dug her nails into his heel. “Did you feel that, Baldwin?” When he nodded, she could have wept, so great was the intensity of her relief.

  “You see? There is no numbness. You felt the pain! It is not . . . not what you fear.”

  He was shaking his head again. “William told me that the first symptom is an inability to feel heat or cold,” he said tonelessly. “Next I will be unable to feel pain, and then the foot will become so numb that I’ll feel nothing at all. It is already starting. The burns hurt, but not as much as they ought. . . .”

  Agnes wanted to put her hand over his mouth, anything to stop those awful words, so precise, so impersonal, as if he were speaking of someone else’s pain. She’d even have welcomed another flare-up of wild rage, anything but this eerie detachment, this utter lack of hope.

  “I am not willing to accept this! Nor should you, Baldwin. There are other doctors in the world, physicians more knowledgeable than that Syrian doctor of yours. We will find one, that I promise you, my dearest, someone who knows what is really wrong with you and how to treat it. We can go to Constantinople. The Greeks are skilled in medicine. . . .”

  She got no further, for he was actually smiling, the saddest smile she’d ever seen. “I know what is wrong with me, Mother,” he said softly. “I am a leper.”

  His words seemed to echo in the air between them. Agnes’s throat closed, cutting off speech, as she was overcome by sorrow so overwhelming, so savage, that she truly thought she might die of it. Baldwin suddenly tensed and then recoiled, stumbling to his feet and backing away from the bed.

  “You must not be here with me like this! Leprosy is contagious. Even the breath of a leper is said to be dangerous. Forgive me, I never thought—”

  “Baldwin, no!” She rose so swiftly that she’d reached him before he could retreat, grasping him by the shoulders so tightly that her fingers would leave indentations in his skin. “I do not know if you have leprosy,” she said in a choked voice. “But you will always be my son, always! And . . . and if it comes to pass that you are right, we will face this disease together and fight it together.”

  When she later looked back upon that moment, she would realize that her bravado and her faith had been equally false, that in the depths of her soul she’d always known this day was coming, that her beautiful, brave son was doomed. When had God ever shown pity on her and her own?

  She saw now that Baldwin had desperately needed to hear what she’d just said—that he was not alone in this, that he was still worthy of being loved. He did not resist when she embraced him again, clinging to her as tightly as he’d done as a small boy, awakened from night terrors and in need of a mother’s comforting arms. Neither spoke. Reaching up to stroke his cheek, she found that his skin felt hot against her fingers. And when she realized that it also felt wet, she could no longer hold back her own tears.

  CHAPTER 9

  January 1176

  Jerusalem, Outremer

  Oh, poor Baldwin!” Sybilla’s eyes filled with tears. She clapped her hand to her mouth and sank back in her chair as if overcome, a response that seemed deliberately dramatic to her mother’s critical eye. But Sybilla’s shock was very real. While she’d been aware that there was some mystery surrounding her brother’s health, she’d never imagined he could be suffering from the ailment of those accursed by God.

  “Are the doctors sure it is leprosy? There is no hope?”

  “His chaplain says there is always hope.” Agnes’s mouth turned down, as if the very taste of the platitude was a bitter one. “His doctors do not agree.”

  Sybilla’s thoughts were stampeding. Fumbling to catch one, she asked, “What happens now? What will he do after he abdicates? Will he join the leper knights?”

  “He is not going to abdicate,” Agnes snapped, and Sybilla flushed. She thought
it was a perfectly reasonable question and she ought not to be faulted for asking it. It was true that she’d always been envious of her brother, for he’d been allowed to grow up at court whilst she’d been banished to that secluded, boring convent. She’d been a bit resentful, too, that he had a crown in the offing and the most she could hope for was an arranged marriage in which she had no say. Her jealousy had sharpened since their father’s death, for her mother’s partiality toward Baldwin was obvious to anyone with eyes to see. She felt a prick of guilt now as she realized why.

  “He will continue to rule?” she asked dubiously, not seeing how that could be possible.

  “Of course he will.”

  Sybilla glanced from her mother to her stepfather. She’d only gotten to know Denys since her return to court. She thought he was one of the ugliest men she’d ever seen and was baffled that her glamorous mother would have chosen him as a husband. But he’d always been kind to her and he was very clever, so she hoped he’d be more forthcoming.

  “I do not understand. Leprosy is very contagious; everyone knows that. How could Baldwin keep . . . mingling with others? Surely the danger would be great that he’d infect—”

  “Would you prefer to return to the nunnery, Sybilla, where you’d feel safer?”

  Sybilla gasped. “That is not fair, Mother!”

  Denys agreed with her and intervened before Agnes could lash out again at the girl. “It is true that people greatly fear leprosy, Sybilla. But it may not be as contagious as they think. Lepers are banished from society in Christian kingdoms like France and England, in part because it is a relatively new malady in those lands. It has been known for centuries, though, in Outremer, Syria, Egypt, and the cities of the Greek empire, so we’ve had more time to observe it. We’ve long had lazar houses set up for those stricken with leprosy, and we’ve seen that not all of the brave souls caring for them contract the illness themselves. You mentioned the knights of St. Lazarus. Did you know that not all of their order are lepers? Whilst their grand master must be one, they welcome others, too. Yes, some of those men become infected. There are also knights and serjeants who live with their leprous brethren for years and never do so. That would not be possible if leprosy were as contagious as so many think.”

  “I . . . I did not know that.” Sybilla had an easy face to read, and Agnes was convinced she saw the moment when the girl began to consider how she’d be affected by this stunning revelation. “Does Guillaume know of Baldwin’s leprosy?”

  Agnes had an easy face to read, too, and Denys quickly stepped into the breach. “He was told there was a possibility that Baldwin might have a serious illness, no more than that.” While there had been no mention of leprosy, the letter he and Raymond and William had draughted had made it clear, nonetheless, that Sybilla—and the man she married—stood next in line to the throne should the concerns over Baldwin’s health prove justified. Denys did not doubt that Guillaume had understood that Sybilla’s marriage portion might include a crown. But he was not about to say that in his wife’s hearing, for her heart and head were still at war; he’d noticed that she had yet to speak the word “leprosy” and her son’s name in the same sentence.

  Sybilla wanted to believe he was right, that the healthy could not catch this dread disease by the mere touch of a leper’s hand or by breathing in the same air. But what if he was wrong? She felt anger beginning to stir, for she ought to have been warned as soon as they’d begun to suspect it. Baldwin . . . a leper. The very thought was enough to make her shiver. She’d always heard leprosy was punishment for mortal sins, especially carnal ones. Yet what sins could her brother have committed? How could he deserve a leper’s living death? Whilst she’d envied his crown, she’d never have wished this upon him. Surely God knew that. Did her mother, though?

  “I am so sorry,” she said softly. “What . . . what should I say to him?”

  “Say nothing unless he does.” Agnes leaned over and grasped her daughter’s hand. “Say nothing to anyone else, either, Sybilla. We’ve told the members of the High Court and we will make it known throughout the kingdom in time—but not until Baldwin is ready.”

  Sybilla was relieved to be spared a talk with her brother, for she had no words for a calamity so great. As soon as Agnes’s grip eased, she got hastily to her feet. “I shall pray for him,” she promised solemnly. “I shall pray every night without fail.”

  * * *

  Once the door had closed behind her daughter, Agnes got to her feet, too. “More fool I,” she said acidly, “for thinking she might be of some comfort to Baldwin. We’ll be lucky if she does not faint if his shadow even crosses her path.”

  Denys watched as she paced, her skirts whipping around her ankles. When she seemed to have burned off some of that angry energy, he said, “You cannot blame the lass for being frightened, Agnes. It is only to be expected. As little as we like it, we must face the fact that once Baldwin’s leprosy becomes known, many will shrink from him, fearful of getting too close.”

  She whirled around to glare at him. “I never will!”

  “I know you will not, my dear,” he said, “but not all will have your courage.”

  No one had ever looked at her as he did now—with admiration. Suddenly so weary that she actually ached, she sat down beside him again on the settle. “I am afraid of leprosy, too, Denys. But when I am with Baldwin, I can think only of his pain and his fear.”

  “I know,” he said again, reaching over to squeeze her hand in a rare gesture of affection. He considered himself a student of human nature and could usually predict how a man would react in any given situation. In truth, he’d not have thought Agnes capable of this sort of selfless love, and he suspected that she’d been surprised, too, by the fierce intensity of her maternal instincts. A pity she had none to spare for Sybilla, but then Baldwin’s need was far greater.

  “We have to talk about this, Agnes. It is true that Baldwin is likely to find more acceptance in Outremer than he would in other Christian lands. But the fear will always be there, too. Baldwin’s squire Yves sought me out a fortnight ago. Baldwin is an honorable lad and he felt he had to tell Yves about his leprosy. Yves was stunned, then terrified. He was ashamed to face Baldwin and afraid to face you, so he came to me, pleading to be released from royal service.”

  Agnes was outraged. “Baldwin is well rid of that craven wretch! Let him go, then. We’ll find Baldwin a squire who knows the meaning of loyalty, one who—” She cut herself off in midsentence as she finally comprehended what Denys was trying to tell her. “Dear God,” she whispered. “No one will want to serve as his squire, will they? But he must have a squire, Denys. He cannot remove his boots with one hand and later, as his condition worsens . . .” That was a door she could not bear to open; she dared not look too far ahead. “What can we do?”

  “I was at a loss, too,” he confessed, “until William came up with an inspired idea.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Agnes, I know you detest him. That is an indulgence you can no longer afford, though. Baldwin is going to need all the friends and allies he can find.”

  She could not argue. “I know,” she said grudgingly. “So, what is this ‘inspired’ idea?”

  “The knights of St. Lazarus—”

  “No! The last thing Baldwin needs now is to look daily upon a leper, to see what horrors await him! How could you even consider that, Denys?”

  “As it happens, I agree with you—and so does William. He has in mind a member of the order who is not a leper but who is accustomed to living amongst them and does not fear leprosy as others do. He spoke with their grand master, who suggested a serjeant named Anselm. He’s a Poulain, grew up in Beth Gibelin, and has been with the order for more than twenty years. William and I met with him and he said it would be a great honor to serve Baldwin.”

  While Agnes was resentful that William had set this in motion without consulting her
first, she also felt a vast sense of relief. “Baldwin and I will have to approve him, of course.” She fell silent then for a time. “Denys . . . must we tell Baldwin that Yves was too spineless to stay in his service? Could we not concoct a family emergency to explain his departure?”

  “No,” he said simply. “We cannot lie to Baldwin, Agnes, even if it is to spare him pain.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “I am sure he knows by now anyway, for I doubt that Yves is any better than Sybilla at hiding his fear.” When Denys slid his arm around her waist, she leaned against him. “This might be for the best. Having lived with lepers, Anselm must surely be knowledgeable about the disease. Mayhap Baldwin will be able to ask him questions that he’d not ask us or his doctors. And Anselm can reassure him that he may well remain healthy for years ere the leprosy gets worse. That may be a comfort of sorts to him. . . .”

  Denys said nothing, unwilling to tell her that this comfort was likely a false one. When she’d confided in him after Amalric’s deathbed revelation, his instinct had been the same as William’s—to learn as much as possible about the disease that would kill his stepson. Although he did not speak Greek as the archbishop did, his Arabic was far better and he’d been able to consult Saracen treatises. They made grim reading, for the inevitable outcome was death. What he’d found most troubling was that some physicians believed leprosy was more virulent when it was contracted in childhood. If that was true, Baldwin would not have as much time as Agnes hoped. But after reading at length about the devastation that leprosy inflicted upon the human body, Denys knew that a shorter life span would be a mercy for the lad.

  * * *