Baldwin was silent for a moment. There was no real surprise, for he’d never fully trusted either of his cousins. “What does Gervase say they intend to do once they reach Jerusalem?”
“He told me that they mean to compel Sybilla to marry a man of their choosing now that the Duke of Burgundy has repudiated their betrothal. I am sure you can guess whom they have in mind—Baudouin d’Ibelin, God rot him!”
“And what do they have in mind for me?”
“Gervase says they expect you will abdicate, allowing Baudouin and Sybilla to be crowned in your stead.”
Baldwin’s composure was beginning to unsettle Joscelin. He did not really understand his nephew, which made it difficult to predict how Baldwin would react in a crisis. And what could be a greater crisis for their family than this? His eyes searched Baldwin’s face intently, but he could not penetrate that inscrutable court mask and his unease grew. What if Baldwin saw this as a chance to escape the yoke of kingship? If he did, could he be blamed for it? Yes, by God, for if Sybilla wed Baudouin d’Ibelin, they would lose all that they’d gained during Baldwin’s kingship. Determined that he would not go down without a fight, Joscelin moved as close as he dared get to his nephew and said almost accusingly, “Baldwin, they mean to stage a coup! Are you going to let them force you from the throne?”
Baldwin realized in that moment that he did not always like his uncle very much. He did trust him, though, and he supposed that mattered more. “No, Uncle,” he said coolly, “I am not. I do not know why God wants me to rule as the leper king and I will not pretend it has been easy. But it is not for mortal men to challenge the Almighty’s will. I mean to do as God bids me and I do not believe He wants me to surrender my crown to men without honor or loyalty.”
Anselm broke into a wide grin, resisting the urge to cheer. Instead, he hurriedly passed wine cups around, pleased when Baldwin told him to pour one for himself. Agnes waved her cup away, keeping her gaze locked upon her son. “I have never been so proud of you,” she said, her eyes catching the candlelight so that they seemed to glow like sapphires. Baldwin rarely initiated physical contact with her, for he could never shake a sense of guilt, fearing he was exposing her to his accursed malady. Now, though, he reached for her hand and held it tightly, wanting her to know that without her unconditional love and support, he’d have been lost and alone in the darkness of his earthly purgatory.
“We must summon the High Court on the morrow . . .” His words trailed off, though, as he faced a frightening truth. How many of those lords could be trusted? How many were allied with his cousins against him?
CHAPTER 26
April 1180
Jerusalem, Outremer
They gathered in the palace solar the next morning, disheartened that there were so few of them. Baldwin had sent word to Reynald de Chatillon and, at his mother’s urging, to Eraclius, the Archbishop of Caesarea. Sybilla was present, of course. Denys’s inclusion had been a contentious one, for Joscelin was opposed to his presence, arguing that he was too friendly with the d’Ibelins and Count Raymond to be trusted. But Agnes insisted that Denys would never betray Baldwin, and Baldwin agreed with her. The invitation to Roger de Moulins, the grand master of the Hospitallers, had been controversial, too, for Eraclius and Reynald de Chatillon both disliked him. Since Baldwin felt Roger was an honorable man, he prevailed.
The council had begun with Sir Gervase Vernier, summoned to tell them all what he’d already shared with Agnes. He did not look like a man who thrived on attention, lacking the swagger or bravado that would have made him memorable, but they realized that his unobtrusive manner was the hallmark of the successful spy. He repeated his story concisely and convincingly, and then withdrew, for his part was over.
Joscelin and Eraclius at once began an animated discussion of the High Court members, arguing about which lords could be trusted. Baldwin soon called a halt, realizing they were wasting time. He had not slept and it showed on his face. His voice was steady, though, and while his dispassionate demeanor continued to vex Joscelin, the others were reassured by his self-control. Kings were expected to remain calm even as others panicked.
“At first I thought to summon the High Court.” Baldwin felt a tickling in his throat and swallowed with an effort, hoping he’d be able to ward off a coughing fit. “I no longer think that would be wise. My uncle is convinced that many of its members are already allied with Bohemond and Raymond. But what I fear is that if my cousins are given the chance to address the court, they could make a credible case for themselves. Few know yet of the Duke of Burgundy’s betrayal. That dramatic revelation alone could sway men in their favor. None will be willing to wait another two years to select a new husband for my sister.”
His honesty was met with silence, for as much as they wanted to refute his bleak conclusion, they could not. Reynald was the only one present who seemed at ease. “I think it is time to discuss the number of men we can muster and how quickly they can get to Jerusalem.”
The grand master of the Hospitallers looked appalled. So did Denys. The others seemed willing to entertain the idea, and Baldwin moved swiftly to quash it. “You are talking about a civil war, Reynald. There has to be another way than that.”
“I am waiting with bated breath to hear what it is,” Reynald drawled. “We are lying to ourselves if we think blood need not be spilled. They mean to seize power, to force you from the throne, my lord king, and to replace you with a man of their choosing, a man who will owe his crown to them. If that is not reason enough to go to war, what in Christ’s name is?”
The Hospitaller grand master stood. “My knights and I will have no part in this.” Before the others could react, Roger de Moulins bowed to Baldwin, turned, and strode toward the door.
Reynald was unimpressed by his dramatic departure. “One gone. Who will be next to abandon the sinking ship? My money is on you, my lord,” he said, aiming a sardonic smile in Denys’s direction.
Denys was known for his equanimity, but now anger crossed his face, a lightning flash that briefly illuminated his interior landscape. Before he could retaliate, Sybilla rose to her feet, drawing all eyes. “There is a better way,” she said. “Their plot depends upon my marriage to Baudouin, does it not? Well, then, why cannot I simply refuse to wed him?” Glancing around, she was both puzzled and disappointed by their lack of response. “They cannot drag me to the altar, after all,” she insisted. “Surely my refusal would put an end to their treachery.”
Baldwin saw that it would be left to him to reply, and he sighed softly, not wanting to bruise her pride. “In theory, you are quite right, Sister. But I think you do not realize how much pressure would be brought to bear upon you. Not just from my cousins—from the High Court, from the patriarch, many of his bishops, even people in the streets, all of them desperate to see you wed now that you’re no longer betrothed to the Duke of Burgundy. It would be argued that you must make this marriage if the kingdom is to survive, that if you balked, you’d be inviting Saladin to launch jihad. They’d give you no rest and eventually, you’d have to yield.”
“No . . . no, I would not.” But her denial did not sound convincing even to Sybilla herself, and she hesitated, then returned to her seat.
Another silence fell. But Eraclius had been awaiting just such a moment. “I believe I have a solution to this dilemma,” he said, and all heads swiveled in his direction. “Their plot depends upon Lady Sybilla’s marriage to d’Ibelin. The Lady Agnes’s spy said nothing about them claiming the throne for themselves. They are trying to give their coup a semblance of legitimacy, for they prefer to cast themselves as kingmakers, not rebels or traitors. So, to thwart them, we need only find another husband for the Lady Sybilla, taking her off the marriage market, so to speak,” he concluded with a satisfied smile. Yet like Sybilla, he did not get the response he’d been anticipating from his audience.
Agnes was shaking her head impatiently, as if she’d
expected better from him. Denys seemed grimly amused. Joscelin heaved a theatrical sigh. Reynald’s smile looked suspiciously like a smirk to Eraclius; they might be political allies, but there was no love lost between them. Sybilla was frowning thoughtfully and Baldwin just looked bone weary.
Unable to summon the energy to soothe the archbishop’s vanity, Baldwin said what the others were thinking. “That idea has already occurred to me, my lord archbishop, to all of us. It is a solution both simple and elegant—find my sister a husband and the problems go away, slinking back to Tripoli and Antioch with their tails between their legs. There is just one drawback: Where do we find this new husband for Sybilla?”
“I will not make a disparaging marriage,” Sybilla said abruptly. “I will not wed a man who is not wellborn—not even to save the kingdom!”
“I agree, Sister.” Baldwin tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Sybilla has the right to make that demand. So we would need a man of the nobility, one with battlefield experience. He could not be related to her within the forbidden degrees, for there would be no time to seek a papal dispensation. And he must be here in Jerusalem, ready to marry her ere my cousins arrive in the city. So you tell me, my lord archbishop. Where do we find such a man?”
Eraclius scowled. “Surely we could find someone suitable, mayhap amongst the men who accompanied those French lords who arrived whilst I was in Rome.”
“Now, why did we not think of that? What of the Count of Grandpré? Or the Viscount of Provins?” Reynald sounded as if he were enjoying himself. “Ah, but they both left with the Count of Champagne.” He reeled off the names of a few more French lords, pretending to remember then that they, too, had departed the kingdom. “No, wait . . . you are right, my lord archbishop. There is one man who meets all of the king’s qualifications—Baudouin d’Ibelin.”
Eraclius rose to his feet, glowering at Reynald, and Baldwin sought to keep the council from disintegrating into chaos by saying, “Enough! Our enemies are not in this chamber. They are out on the watershed road, leading an army toward Jerusalem.” Unfortunately, the authority in his rebuke was weakened when he was then seized by a prolonged coughing fit, so severe that Agnes hastily poured him a cup of wine and the others shifted in their seats. It was never comfortable to bear witness to the king’s losing battle with his mortal malady.
Alarmed by his stepson’s labored breathing, Denys stepped into the breach. “Whilst we could have done without Lord Reynald’s sarcasm, he is right about the scarcity of worthy bridegrooms. I can think of only two possible candidates, excluding Baudouin d’Ibelin, of course.” The irony, he thought, was that Baudouin would actually have been the best choice, but he knew better than to make that argument. He did not see how Baudouin could have been a part of the conspiracy. There simply was not enough time, for conspiracies were not committed to parchment and then sent to Damascus for Saladin to read first. It did not matter, though, not now.
Rising, Denys moved to stand beside Baldwin’s chair. “The late constable’s grandson, Humphrey de Toron, is of good birth. He is also fourteen and has never even seen a battle. You are his stepfather, Lord Reynald, but I think you will agree that he is not yet capable of leading our army against Saladin.”
“Fourteen or forty, it makes no difference. Men would not follow that milksop out of a burning building.” Reynald’s brutal honesty aroused a prick or two of pity for his stepson and it occurred to Sybilla that a callow fledgling like Humphrey would be as malleable as wax, easily molded into a husband so bedazzled that he’d be eager to do her bidding. But she agreed with Baldwin and the others that she must marry a man grown, a man who knew how to wield a sword, both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber. An idea had been taking shape as she’d listened to them argue, and she let it solidify as they moved on to discuss and eliminate Hugues of Galilee. He was Raymond’s stepson and that alone disqualified him.
“It is actually quite simple, my liege. If you want to keep your crown, you have to fight for it. If you are not willing to do that, you need to start practicing your abdication speech.”
“It is not that simple, Reynald,” Baldwin snapped. “The Lord God wants me to fight the Saracens, not my own people.” But his anger was diluted by despair, for he saw no way out of this trap. It was then that his sister rose again, this time addressing herself to him alone.
“Baldwin . . . there is one possible candidate. He is not a Poulain. But he is of good birth, has experience in combat, and he is here in the city.” They were all staring at her now, and she paused, then threw the dice. “Amaury de Lusignan’s younger brother . . . Guy.”
Baldwin felt the faintest spark of hope beginning to stir, a lone ember almost smothered by ashes. “Amaury is a seasoned battle commander,” he said slowly. “And Sybilla is right; the de Lusignans are an important family in Poitou, vassals of the English king. But Amaury is wed to Baudouin d’Ibelin’s daughter.”
Sybilla almost reminded him that they were considering Guy, not Amaury. She caught herself in time; better not to seem too eager. She could have kissed Joscelin when he assured Baldwin earnestly that Amaury was no longer in the d’Ibelin camp, that he was utterly trustworthy, a man of prowess, which was one of the highest compliments that could be bestowed upon a knight, encompassing courage and fighting ability and leadership skills. Sybilla allowed herself the smallest of smiles as she saw what was occurring. Whilst Guy was not really known to them, Amaury was—a proven soldier, a man capable of inspiring confidence in others, a man capable of ruling Outremer had he only been free to wed Sybilla. But if they could not have the older brother, why not the younger one? Why should they not be arrows from the same quiver?
Baldwin tried to dampen his rising excitement, for this was too important a decision to be made impulsively. “What do you all think of Guy de Lusignan?”
“Well, he is here and he has a pulse,” Reynald said dryly. “I suppose we could do worse.”
“If a man afoot is offered a horse, he’d be a fool to bicker over its color,” Eraclius said sententiously. Joscelin’s friendship with Amaury had colored his assessment of the younger de Lusignan, and he did not hesitate, declaring himself in favor of the marriage. Denys had more reservations, but that was because Guy de Lusignan was a stranger to him and, given the exigency of their circumstances, that did not seem reason enough to argue against the man.
Having gotten a tepid approval from Denys, Baldwin turned toward Agnes. “What of you, Mother? Would you be comfortable with it if Sybilla were to wed Guy de Lusignan?”
Agnes glanced over at her daughter and then shrugged. “What else can we do? If the choice is between a civil war and Guy de Lusignan . . .”
Sybilla was bewildered by her mother’s reaction, for she’d expected Agnes to have strong views about the selection of a son-in-law. Yet she’d sounded almost . . . indifferent. Sybilla looked from Agnes to Baldwin, and then she understood. What mattered the most to her mother was not her marriage. It was safeguarding Baldwin’s kingship. As always, his needs came first.
Joscelin volunteered to fetch the de Lusignan brothers and departed with such eagerness that his enthusiasm proved contagious. There was a palpable easing of tension in the solar, and Sybilla realized that would work to Guy de Lusignan’s advantage. The others wanted to find him acceptable and that made it more likely that they would do so. She was touched when Baldwin asked her if she had any misgivings about the marriage; he was the only one who’d given her feelings any thought. She was glad that she could reassure him of her willingness to wed Guy. She would do what she must for the kingdom, she said, striving to sound dutiful and brave.
When Joscelin returned with the de Lusignans, it was obvious that he’d briefed them on Baldwin’s plight. Amaury looked as they would expect a man to look after being informed that his brother was to wed a queen, like one scarcely able to believe their family’s good fortune. Guy seemed dazed. Striding toward Baldwin, Am
aury bowed deeply and then offered an eloquent avowal of loyalty and gratitude.
Guy started to follow him, but swerved at the sight of Sybilla. Reaching her side, he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand, his eyes blazing with such joy that she felt as if he’d set her body afire with that one glance. Only then did he rise and turn back to the king. Amaury was frowning at this breach of etiquette, obviously irked that Guy had not first expressed his thanks to the man who was making this miracle possible. It occurred to Sybilla that Guy had never been able to escape from his brother’s shadow. Not until now, she vowed, giddy with the triumphant euphoria surging through her veins, the intoxicating sweetness of knowing she had taken her fate into her own hands, no longer a pawn in this game of kings.
Sybilla would remember little of what followed. Guy said all the right things, making a favorable impression upon an audience already predisposed to approve him. Baldwin had then given his consent, but only after making it clear to Guy that power still rested in his hands and Sybilla’s son by Guillaume of Montferrat would stand closer to the throne than any sons he and Sybilla might have, conditions that Guy accepted without hesitation. It seemed to Sybilla that time had speeded up, for before she knew it, they were discussing her wedding, wanting it to take place that very day. That in itself was extraordinary, as marriages were not performed during Holy Week. This obstacle was brushed aside by Eraclius, who offered to officiate himself.
Agnes bestirred herself at that, seeing that her daughter seemed unable to take charge of her impending wedding. “We must find you a gown fit for a bride. I suppose it would not be seemly to wear the gown from your wedding to Guillaume. No matter, we will do right by you.” For the first time, she considered the marriage not as Baldwin’s salvation but as a life-changing event for her daughter. “You do not mind forgoing the usual wedding revelries?”
Sybilla let her mother steer her toward the door, where she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Guy’s. He smiled, and for a moment, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the solar, in the kingdom, mayhap even the world. “No, Mother, I do not mind,” she said, and for once she did not even notice that she’d earned her mother’s unqualified approval.
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