Joscelin raised his cup in a mock salute. “A pity that Balian has to go down with the ship, too. He’s rather a decent sort.”
Agnes shrugged, for while she bore the youngest d’Ibelin brother no grudge, in war, it was inevitable that the innocent would suffer along with the guilty.
* * *
The king’s summons caused Baudouin and Balian some unease, for they feared Baldwin had gotten word of troop movements by the Saracens. But when they reached the royal palace, they found no sense of urgency or tension, reassuring them that Outremer was not in danger of invasion. As they crossed the courtyard, Baudouin came to a sudden halt. “There is Hugues of Galilee,” he said in surprise. “I wonder why he is not off fighting in Syria with Count Raymond.” He detoured, then, in the youth’s direction, giving Balian no choice except to follow.
Baudouin was never one to deny his curiosity and once greetings were exchanged, he asked Hugues why he’d not joined his stepfather’s campaign. Balian caught Hugues’s look of discomfort and was quick to put the correct interpretation upon it. Because so many highborn women were made widows by war, it was not unusual for Poulain families to be headed by stepfathers. Often these relationships were rocky ones. Balian’s own mother had remarried after his father’s death and while he’d been too young to remember his stepfather, he knew his brothers had detested the man. Having seen young Humphrey de Toron with his new stepfather, he did not doubt that the boy was afraid of Reynald de Chatillon. But the four sons of Lady Eschiva were luckier than most, for they had forged a close bond with the Count of Tripoli after he’d married their mother. So, if Hugues was not in Syria with his stepfather, it must mean that he shared their concern for the kingdom’s safety; he was the eldest of Eschiva’s sons and the eventual heir to the principality of Galilee, after all. Yet if he confided his fears, it would seem as if he were being critical of Count Raymond, which the boy was clearly not willing to do.
Deftly seizing control of the conversation and thus sparing Hugues the need to answer, Balian explained that they had been summoned by the king. Hugues’s expression lightened at that. “Then the king is no longer bedridden?” he exclaimed, alarming both the d’Ibelin brothers, for they’d not heard that Baldwin’s lung fever had returned.
“Ah, no, it is not that,” Hugues assured them. “He took another bad fall two days ago, even worse than the one back in April at his Easter court.”
Hugues offered no details of the fall, nor did they ask for them. They understood at once what this latest fall meant: Baldwin was continuing to lose feeling in his right foot.
* * *
Baldwin shifted in his seat. The solar was shuttered, yet his eyes remained very sensitive to light and even the oil lamps seemed unnaturally bright. His head was pounding and, though he’d tried to hide it, he was still experiencing occasional bouts of dizziness. But he’d insisted upon being present at this meeting with the d’Ibelin brothers, for it was rare to have good news to impart and he needed to be able to do something that would bring joy to others. While his mother had finally stopped urging him to return to his bedchamber, she continued to watch him as if she were counting his every breath and he kept from lashing out at her with difficulty; both his temper and his nerves had been inflamed since his fall.
Archbishop Eraclius was keeping the conversation going, with some help from Joscelin. Baldwin had been surprised that he’d asked to be included. His mother was obviously here to stave off the Angel of Death. Baldwin hoped Joscelin was motivated merely by curiosity. Jesu forfend that both his mother and his uncle should start treating him as if he were a fledgling with a broken wing, too helpless to fend for himself.
When the d’Ibelins were announced, they came to an involuntary halt, their eyes drawn to the wide white bandage that covered the gash on Baldwin’s forehead. Their responses were quite different, though. Balian chose diplomatically to ignore it; Baudouin gave a low whistle.
“I’d wager your head feels like a split melon, sire,” he said sympathetically. “I still remember when my brother clouted me with a mallet. I not only saw stars, I saw the moon and sun, too, plus half a dozen comets.”
“I did no such thing,” Balian protested.
“Not you, lad . . . Hugh. You were still in your cradle then. I deserved it, though, for I’d been teasing Hugh all morning.” Glancing back at Baldwin, Baudouin said, “You’ll feel like a dog’s dinner, sire, for a few more days, but you’ll soon be on the mend. My mother used to insist that the male head is too hard to suffer lasting damage and I daresay she was right.”
Baldwin found himself returning Baudouin’s grin, preferring his brash joking to the smothering solicitude he was getting from everyone else. “Do sit,” he said, and gestured for Anselm to pour drinks for them all. The squire served wine to the others, cold water to Baldwin, knowing that he continued to struggle with nausea. Baldwin gave him a grateful look, then nodded to the archbishop to begin; he wanted to keep his own talking to a minimum, for he feared that his speech was still slurred.
Archbishop Eraclius beamed at the d’Ibelins, looking so friendly that they were immediately on guard. “It is my honor to speak for the king in this matter. He wishes to discuss a marital alliance between the House of Ibelin and the Crown.”
“Hallelujah!” Baudouin was on his feet, letting out a shout that reverberated like thunder, causing the others to laugh and Baldwin to recoil, for he was very sensitive to noise since his head injury.
Balian was astounded, for he’d been sure that Sybilla was beyond his brother’s reach. As if reading his thoughts, Baudouin winked at him before saying, “I would be deeply honored, my liege, to wed your sister, and I will never give you cause to regret your trust in me.”
There was a split second for Balian to realize something was amiss. Baldwin looked dismayed, but the de Courtenays were smiling, smiles he could only describe as smug. The archbishop leaned forward in his chair, saying earnestly, “Ah, my lord, I am indeed sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. The bride is not the king’s sister. It is his stepmother, Queen Maria.”
Baudouin dropped back into his chair, at a rare loss for words. Sybilla was the glittering prize he’d been pursuing even before her marriage to Guillaume of Montferrat. But he was far from a fool and despite his initial disappointment, he realized that marriage to Maria Comnena would transform their family fortunes, too, linking the d’Ibelins to the Royal Houses of Jerusalem and Constantinople. Looking over to get his brother’s reaction, he was startled to see that Balian’s face had drained of all color; even his lips were white.
Balian had never allowed himself to probe his feelings for Maria, for what would be the point? She treated him as a friend and he was realistic enough not to aspire to more than that. And now she was to be his brother’s wife? He felt as if all the air had been driven from his lungs, a blow that had stolen both his breath and his power of speech. He knew he should offer Baudouin his congratulations, but he could not do it, not yet. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the shock to subside, and when he opened them, he found they were all looking at him, Baudouin concerned, Baldwin frowning, and the others still smiling.
“You all right, lad?” Baudouin asked softly before returning his gaze to Baldwin and the archbishop. “Well, I cannot deny I had the Lady Sybilla in mind, but I’ve always had the greatest admiration for Queen Maria and so I—”
“My lord archbishop!” Baldwin’s interruption was deliberate, an attempt to spare Baudouin further embarrassment. How could this have been bungled so badly?
Responding to the cold fury in Baldwin’s voice, Archbishop Eraclius said quickly, with all the polished sincerity at his command, “My lord Baudouin, I must beg your forgiveness, for I seem unwittingly to have led you astray again. The marriage that the king has in mind is one between Queen Maria and your brother, Lord Balian.”
Baldwin kept his eyes on Balian, not wanting to watch Baudouin�
�s reaction, and some of his misgivings eased, for he’d never seen such a blaze of joy on anyone’s face that he now saw on Balian’s. Well, at least the archbishop had not been lying when he’d intimated that Balian was smitten with Maria. There was some consolation in that.
“Me?” Balian was too stunned for a moment to realize what a wound his brother had just suffered, and by the time he turned toward Baudouin, the older man had managed to pull himself together. Shooting Agnes a furious look—for he never doubted that she had set this up to shame him—Baudouin then rallied enough to muster up a weak smile.
“Good for you, lad.” Adding, still with that sham smile, “So we’ll be getting a queen in the family, after all, eh?”
Silently vowing to offer Baudouin the next great heiress who became available for marriage, Baldwin smiled at Balian. “You are agreeable to the match, then?”
Balian burst out laughing. “I think that is a safe assumption, sire.” It was a strange sensation, like being drunk—not on wine, on happiness. He felt a stab of guilt that he could be so joyful whilst Baudouin was bleeding, yet he could not help himself. This is how an escaped falcon must feel when soaring toward the heavens, he thought, freed of all tethers, with nothing ahead but the beckoning horizon.
That poetic fancy gave way almost at once to a more skeptical voice, this one firmly rooted in reality. Whatever had possessed Maria to agree to a marriage like this? A marriage that would be considered disparaging, mayhap even shameful, back in Constantinople, for she was a daughter of the Greek Royal House and he was a minor baron at best. His fief of Ibelin encompassed less than a hundred miles, only a tenth the size of the lordship of Nablus.
“And Queen Maria . . . she is willing to wed me?” He found reassurance in the smiles of Baldwin and the archbishop, but the de Courtenays were watching him much too intently. Like cats at a mousehole, he thought, as a horrible suspicion began to form in the back of his brain. “She has agreed to this?” he said, so sharply that Baldwin and Baudouin blinked in surprise.
Baldwin merely nodded, for he was still trying to use his voice sparingly. When he glanced toward the archbishop for confirmation, though, he did not get it. “Actually, my liege, I’ve not yet spoken to the queen,” Eraclius said calmly. “We were to meet earlier, but it was not convenient and so I suggested she come to the palace. In fact, she ought to be here at any moment, for Nones has just rung.”
“You have not talked to her about the marriage?” Baldwin sounded so incredulous that Eraclius belatedly began to wonder if it had been wise to do the bidding of the de Courtenays.
“It was my understanding that the lady would be amenable to the match, sire,” he assured Baldwin, whilst assuring himself that he’d not made a mistake. Even if the king were wroth with him afterward, he’d be able to convince the lad that his intentions had been good. The favor of Agnes and Joscelin de Courtenay was worth the risk, for how long could Baldwin rule? Either he’d become so disabled that he would be utterly dependent upon his mother and uncle, or he’d die, leaving Sybilla as his heir, who’d be even more reliant upon Agnes and Joscelin for advice. And with the backing of the de Courtenays, who knew how high he could rise? Mayhap even the patriarchy itself.
Baldwin did not appear convinced, though, and Eraclius was somewhat unsettled by the reaction of the d’Ibelins. They exchanged a meaningful look and then turned to stare at the archbishop and the de Courtenays, in a way he could only describe as threatening. They clearly were realizing what had really gone on here, and he did not doubt that he was witnessing a silent declaration of war. Eraclius did not lack for confidence, though, would never have gained an archbishopric if he shrank from conflict, and he continued to smile blandly at them, thinking that he had even more motivation now to make sure that the de Courtenays emerged triumphant from the coming power struggle.
* * *
As soon as she stepped across the threshold, Maria sensed danger. It was not just the unwelcome presence of the de Courtenays. There was palpable tension in the solar. Baldwin looked as if he ought to be in bed, almost as pale as the linen bandaging his head, the pupils of his eyes so dilated that most of the blue had disappeared. He was dealing not only with pain; the taut line of his mouth and the fist clenched on his thigh testified to a smoldering anger. Only the archbishop seemed to be his usual complacent self. His long, elegant fingers were adorned with splendid ruby and emerald rings and he was polishing them against his sleeve, putting her in mind of a peacock preening his gorgeous tail feathers, for Peacock was William’s private name for him. She was expecting hostility from Agnes and Joscelin and they did not disappoint, regarding her coldly but with an odd intensity, too, almost anticipation.
It was her glance toward the d’Ibelin brothers, though, that caused her stomach muscles to tighten and her breath to quicken. Baudouin was a flaming torch, all but giving off sparks, not so surprising in light of his volatile temperament and his animosity toward the de Courtenays. But she’d never seen the equable, mellow Balian look as he did now. He was usually as adept as Baldwin at concealing his inner thoughts; today his defenses were down, his emotions overflowing like a river at flood tide. Whatever had happened to cause him such distress? She was not even sure if that was the right word to describe his agitation, for there was rage in his dark eyes, too, so much rage that she felt a flicker of fear. What had those accursed de Courtenays done now?
Approaching Baldwin, she said, “My liege,” for she’d stopped calling him by his given name the day that he’d been crowned and he’d never invited her to shun formality, as he’d done with William. “The archbishop sent me word that you wanted to discuss something of importance with me.”
“I do,” Baldwin said slowly, enunciating his words with care, for he no longer trusted Eraclius to speak for him. “Please sit down, madame.”
“Let me get you a seat, my lady.” Balian had risen when Maria entered the solar, as had his brother. Picking up his own chair, he positioned it for her, and during the few moments that his back was to the others, he looked intently into Maria’s face and silently mouthed the words, “I did not know, I swear.”
Thoroughly alarmed by now, she settled herself in the chair, and gazed at Baldwin with what she hoped was a serene smile. “My lord king, how may I be of service?”
“It is my hope that you will give serious consideration to marrying again, madame.” Seeing her eyes widen and then cut toward Baudouin, Baldwin said swiftly, wanting to forestall any further misunderstandings, “I believe that a marriage between you and Lord Balian d’Ibelin would be advantageous to you both, as well as to my sister Isabella. I am sure you’d agree that Lord Balian would be a caring stepfather to the little lass.” Baldwin hesitated then, for he’d not prepared for this, assuming the archbishop had already secured her consent. Should he elaborate upon the political benefits of such a match? Yet surely Maria was capable of figuring that out for herself. He might not have liked his stepmother during her marriage to his father, but he’d never faulted her intelligence.
At mention of Balian’s name, Maria’s eyes had gone even wider. Her astonishment was so obvious to them all that no one spoke, scarcely breathing as they waited for her response. She took her time as she absorbed what she’d just been told, words she’d clearly never expected to hear. And then she smiled, first at Balian and then at Baldwin.
“Lord Balian is a man of honor, integrity, and courage, my liege. I have no doubts that he would be a kind husband and, as you said, a caring stepfather to my daughter. But marriage is a sacrament, one that ought not to be entered into lightly. I would ask, therefore, for time to think about this ere I give my answer.”
That did not please either the de Courtenays or the archbishop. Before they could object, Balian said quickly, “Of course, my lady. That is a most reasonable request. Please take as long as you like.” He was immediately backed up by Baudouin, both d’Ibelin brothers throwing down a gauntlet without a
word being spoken, daring the others to protest.
“I think that is quite reasonable, too,” Baldwin said, quelling any incipient rebellion by his mother or uncle.
Maria thanked him with another smile that gave away nothing of her thoughts, and allowed Balian and Baudouin to escort her from the solar. Baldwin rose, too, saying tersely that he was tired, a rare admission for him to make. When Agnes would have come with him, he stopped her with a level look, one that conveyed suspicion and frustration and a mute plea for privacy.
He glanced over his shoulder at the archbishop as he reached the door, the expression on his face promising a discussion in the near future that Eraclius would not enjoy, and then he disappeared into the stairwell, with Anselm trailing discreetly at his heels.
Agnes wanted to wait in the doorway, making sure he did not trip or have another dizzy spell. Knowing that would have angered him, she forced herself to trust Anselm’s quick reflexes should Baldwin stumble again.
Joscelin moved past her to close the door. “Well, that did not go as planned,” he said, giving Eraclius a look that made the archbishop begin to bridle.
“Surely you are not implying that is my fault? I did exactly as your sister asked.”
Agnes was not satisfied with Eraclius’s performance, either. She’d told him that she was looking forward to Baudouin’s humiliation almost as much as to Maria’s undoing. But she’d not expected him to be so heavy-handed. By deliberately dragging out the suspense to embarrass Baudouin, he’d aroused Baldwin’s suspicions. She said nothing, though, for she did not want to alienate the archbishop; he was too useful an ally to lose. She was bitterly disappointed by Maria’s surprising sangfroid, so sure had she been that the Greek would erupt like Sicily’s famous mountain of fire. She still remained confident that Baldwin would be angered when Maria gave him a prideful refusal. Mayhap the archbishop’s miscalculation might even work to their benefit. Baldwin had been truly indignant that Baudouin had endured such an affront to his dignity, and that could make him even more determined to see Maria and Balian wed, feeling he owed that to the d’Ibelins.
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