The Land Beyond the Sea

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Isabella was not too interested in his family. “What else do we both like?”

  “I love horses and dogs and I’ve heard that you do, too.” She brightened at that, for she enjoyed talking about her pets, and he soon learned that she had a dog called Jordan, a pony named Jericho, and a white mule named Cyprus, and she’d had a lark named Bethany, but it died. Humphrey in turn told her about his greyhound, Robyn, and his palfrey, Smoke, smiling again when she interrupted to say that her stepfather had a palfrey named Smoke, too.

  By now they’d reached the fish ponds and Humphrey explained that they were usually stocked with Saint Peter’s fish, which were found in the Sea of Galilee, but fish stews often held bream, too, even pike, though they would eat the smaller fish if put in the same pond. “Fish are no different from men,” he said, puzzling Isabella, for fish and men seemed utterly unlike to her.

  Seeing that Isabella seemed comfortable with Humphrey, Emma had lagged behind. When Humphrey noticed that, he gave her a grateful look, for he had something to say that was meant only for Isabella’s ears. “We are alike in another way, Isabella. We are both pawns.”

  “What is a pawn?”

  Picking up a small pebble, he tossed it into the pond. “Do you know how to play chess?” When she shook her head, he promised to teach her. “In a chess game, the pieces are named after the king, queen, bishop, knight, and rook. Pawns are the weakest, least important pieces and are the ones most often sacrificed.”

  She still did not understand, but nodded when he asked if she did. “We may be pawns, Isabella, yet that does not mean we cannot be friends and allies. I hope that we can.”

  Isabella thought that over before nodding again. “I would like that.”

  Just then, they heard running footsteps and a moment later, a man came panting into view. Neither Humphrey nor Isabella had seen him before, yet he’d obviously been searching for them, for he gave a sigh of relief when he spotted them by the fish pond. “The king sent me to find you, my lord Humphrey. You and the Lady Isabella are wanted in the palace solar.”

  * * *

  Emma paused at the door, leaving Humphrey and Isabella to enter on their own. Humphrey’s mother immediately began to scold him for disappearing, saying sharply that they’d been looking everywhere for them. He flushed and mumbled that he’d been showing Isabella the fish ponds, looking so uncomfortable that Isabella found herself feeling sorry for him. Her parents offered no reprimands, but she found no reassurance in their frozen smiles and anguished eyes. Isabella felt an icy knot forming in her stomach. It had gone away during their walk in the gardens; now it was back. Baldwin looked to her as if he had a stomachache, too, and she thought that the only ones who seemed glad to be here were Humphrey’s parents.

  Her mother hugged her tightly, explaining that she and Humphrey must clasp hands and repeat the words, “I plight thee my troth.” Isabella said she understood, although in truth she did not understand any of this. If this plight troth was making them all so unhappy, why was it being done? But she did not balk, for she sensed that would do no good.

  Humphrey took her hand in his and, turning to face her, said slowly and clearly, “I, Humphrey, do plight thee, Isabella, my troth.” His back was to the others now and as Isabella dutifully echoed the vow, he winked suddenly and squeezed her hand, reminding her that she was not utterly alone, that they were in this together as friends and allies. Isabella was surprised to find that she could take some comfort from that secret message.

  CHAPTER 30

  February 1181

  Jerusalem, Outremer

  When he received the king’s summons, Reynald de Chatillon knew it was because of the turmoil in Antioch. No longer fearing the wrath of the Greek emperor, Prince Bohemond had repudiated his wife, Theodora, and married his longtime concubine, to the dismay of the Church and his vassals. Since he was Bohemond’s former stepfather, Reynald expected Baldwin to ask him to intervene, for political unrest in Antioch would inevitably affect the other two Christian realms, Outremer and Tripoli. Upon his arrival at the palace, Reynald ran into Eraclius, for the new patriarch had also been summoned, yet more proof of the depths of Baldwin’s concern.

  They were escorted up to the king’s bedchamber, which usually meant that Baldwin was ailing again. As they expected, he was lying on the bed, although fully dressed. What did startle them was that the chamber was deep in shadows. The windows were still shuttered and only a few candles and a sputtering oil lamp provided illumination. Eraclius and Reynald exchanged a puzzled look, then came forward to greet the king and Agnes, for no one else was present.

  They could not make out Baldwin’s face, for his bed was situated in the darkest corner of the room. But his voice sounded as it always did, level and dispassionate. “There have been new developments in Antioch. When Bohemond refused to put his concubine aside and take Theodora back, their patriarch excommunicated him.”

  Eraclius nodded approvingly, not seeing what else the patriarch could have done in the face of Bohemond’s defiance of the Church. Reynald was surprised that the patriarch had already gone to one of the Church’s most lethal weapons; they were usually the last resort. Thinking that was a sign of weakness, he said skeptically, “And did this bring Bohemond to heel?”

  “It only spurred him to greater outrages,” Baldwin said grimly. “He retaliated by seizing Church property and carrying off holy relics. Their patriarch responded by laying all Antioch under an interdict.” Baldwin shook his head sadly, for the denial of all sacraments except baptism was sure to cause great suffering to the people of Antioch. “The patriarch then retreated to his castle at Cursat, only to have Bohemond lay siege to it.”

  “Bleeding Christ!” During his fifteen years in an Aleppo dungeon, Reynald had learned who the true enemy was, and he’d vowed to devote the rest of his life to fighting the Saracens if only God would set him free. Before Aleppo, he’d been indifferent to oaths; this one he would never betray. He was furious that Christians would be squabbling amongst themselves like this whilst Saladin continued to consolidate his power. “The damned fools! We have to put a stop to this madness ere it is too late.”

  “I agree.” Baldwin glanced from Reynald to Eraclius. “My lord patriarch, I want you to lead a delegation to Antioch and try to make peace between Bohemond and the Church.” His gaze flicked back to Reynald. “I would like you to be part of the delegation, too, my lord, since you were once wed to Bohemond’s mother.”

  Reynald knew how little that would mean to Bohemond, and was sure that Baldwin knew, too. But desperate men grasped at hope the way drowning men gasped for air. “I will do whatever I can.”

  Eraclius rose to his feet. “There is much to be done. I will take the Bishop of Bethlehem with me.” He paused to consider. “The Archbishop-elect of Caesarea, too.”

  The men were well-respected churchmen, but there was one obvious omission. When he realized that Eraclius did not intend to include the man most qualified for such a diplomatic mission, Baldwin opened his mouth to object, catching himself just in time. He must let Eraclius handle the task as he saw fit, even if that meant unfairly excluding William.

  Eraclius’s eyes came to rest upon the king’s mother, who until now had taken no part in the discussion. He knew neither she nor Baldwin would like what he was about to say, but so be it. Whilst he was grateful to Agnes for her help in securing the patriarchate, he did not feel he was beholden to the de Courtenays, and it might be best to show her that early on.

  He bade them farewell, saying he would notify Baldwin when he was ready to depart. Then, he paused. “There is one thing you should know, my lord king. I intend to stop in Tripoli and ask Count Raymond to accompany us to Antioch.”

  Baldwin’s bed was shrouded in shadows. His voice revealed what his face did not, though. “I do not think that is a good idea, my lord.”

  “Indeed it is not!” Agnes shot Eraclius a look th
at could have kindled a fire in the hearth. “That man is not to be trusted!”

  “I did not say I trusted him, madame,” Eraclius said with patronizing patience before turning his attention to the king. “Sire, I understand your misgivings. But the count and Bohemond are more than cousins and friends. They were conspirators in that Easter plot against you. Who would Bohemond be more likely to heed than Raymond?”

  Agnes was not convinced. She realized, though, that this was not an argument she could win and she reminded herself that what mattered now was restoring order to Antioch.

  Eraclius and Reynald soon departed; Agnes remained behind. She wanted a private conversation with her son, for they’d only had a few moments to talk before the others arrived. She had accompanied her husband back to Sidon after the Christmas festivities and so had not seen Baldwin for nigh on a month. When they were apart for any period of time, she dreaded what she would find upon her return. He was usually evasive about new symptoms and, because of the darkness in the chamber, she’d not even been able to judge for herself how he looked.

  “Have you eaten yet, Baldwin?” In the past, when she hovered too much for his liking, he would playfully cluck to remind her that she was acting like a mother hen. Now she got only a noncommittal sound that could have been a yes, a no, or merely the clearing of his throat. But she was determined not to be put off; she knew that some days were harder than others for him, and she feared that today was one of them. Why else would he shut out the sun like this?

  “Where is Anselm?” she asked, wanting to send him down to the kitchens for some of Baldwin’s favorite foods. When Baldwin said he was walking Cairo, she frowned, thinking this was typical of Anselm, underfoot when he was not wanted, disappearing when he was needed. Well, at least she could do something about this depressing darkness. Striding over to the closest window, she slid back the bar latching the shutters.

  “No!” There was such panic in Baldwin’s cry that she froze. He’d flung up his arm to shield himself from the surge of sunlight, shouting at her to close the shutters. She complied with difficulty, for her hands had begun to shake. Once darkness had been restored to the chamber, she hastened toward him, but he turned away when she leaned over the bed.

  “Baldwin . . . what is wrong? For the love of God, tell me!”

  She feared he was not going to answer her. Then he shifted his position, rolling over to face her. “I cannot abide the light.”

  They were so close now that she could finally see his face; it was deathly white and one of his eyes was obviously inflamed. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me what has happened.”

  Using his left arm to brace himself, Baldwin sat up. “It began two days ago. I’d been having some discomfort in my right eye and my vision occasionally blurred, but it never lasted long. Then I woke up on Wednesday and when Anselm opened the shutters, I felt as if a dagger had been driven into my eye. It is tolerable as long as I am not exposed to strong light. . . .”

  “What did Abū Sulayman Dāwūd say?”

  “He confessed that he’d long feared this day might come, though he’d said nothing to me. Whilst lepers often suffer from eye ailments, it does not happen to them all, and he hoped that I’d be spared this. Sometimes a leper loses the ability to blink and the eyes dry up. Sometimes the colored part of the eye—called the iris—becomes infected, as with me, and causes great pain in sunlight. He says there is a Saracen ointment that will ease the pain and he is getting it for me. But he warned that . . . that eventually both eyes will be infected and I will go blind.”

  Baldwin had spoken without emotion, his voice toneless, his words without inflection, just as on that night when he’d been burned by hot bathwater and realized he did have leprosy. But as he raised his head, she could not keep from crying out, for his eyes betrayed him, revealing the depths of his despair and his terror. She sobbed and then she was clinging to him as if they were both drowning, holding him tightly as he wept against her shoulder.

  * * *

  Baldwin had been determined to celebrate his Easter court in spite of his deteriorating health. With the exception of the Count of Tripoli, who was not welcome in Outremer, and Joscelin and Baudouin, who were still in Constantinople, all of the kingdom’s lords and their ladies were in attendance. None commented upon their king’s lack of eyebrows or the eye patch he wore during the daylight hours or his shambling gait, at least not in public. And Baldwin soon received positive proof that his vassals remained loyal to him. In Holy Week, word reached Outremer of Pope Alexander’s encyclical to his bishops throughout Christendom, in which he’d called for a new crusade. But what reverberated throughout the court and kingdom and generated much anger were the Pope’s comments about Baldwin:

  The king is not such a man as can rule that land, since he, that is to say Baldwin who holds the government of the realm, is so severely afflicted by the just judgment of God, as we believe you are aware, that he is scarcely able to bear the continual torments of his body.

  Upon reading that, Baldwin felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach without warning. Since he’d been stricken with the scourge of leprosy as a child, he’d never believed that the Almighty was punishing him for past sins. Yet now the Pope himself was proclaiming that his suffering was the “just judgment of God.” Baldwin forced himself to go about his usual duties, and soon saw that his subjects were united in their outrage, utterly rejecting the Pope’s harsh verdict. Even their prelates and churchmen and priests shared the universal condemnation, and when he was cheered as he rode through the city streets, Baldwin was deeply thankful that his people understood even if the Pope did not.

  Sybilla and Guy did not arrive until Easter eve, and while some faulted them for missing the solemn ceremony of Tenebrae, the Maundy Thursday almsgiving, and creeping to the cross on Good Friday, most were happy to see them, late or not.

  It was Baldwin’s hope that with this visit, he could at last take Guy’s measure. Why was Guy so hard to read? The outer packaging was reassuring, for he was handsome and well-mannered and had so far shown few of the flaws so common to sons of Adam. But what of the man’s heart and mind? Baldwin supposed they must wait until Guy’s mettle was tested in the council chamber and on the battlefield, trying to ignore the seditious inner voice whispering that by then, it would be too late, that it was already too late for second thoughts or belated qualms.

  * * *

  Baldwin smiled at the sight of his sister, for Sybilla radiated a bridal glow even after a year of marriage. She’d brought her son, Baldwin’s namesake; he was in his fourth year and bore a distinct resemblance to his late father. Baldwin refused to let himself dwell upon what might have been had Guillaume not succumbed to hectic fever and welcomed them with as much energy as he could muster up. Sybilla returned his greetings warmly, although she took care to make sure young Baldwin did not get too close to his royal uncle. Baldwin did not fault her for that and they were all relieved when the little boy’s nurse ushered him from the chamber.

  Agnes and Denys had trailed in after Sybilla and Guy. Anselm could offer them nothing to eat or drink as Holy Saturday was a strict fast day, so they plunged at once into animated conversation. After Sybilla and Guy had related a lighthearted account of their journey from Ascalon, finishing each other’s sentences in the habit of the long married or the still infatuated, Baldwin told them of the news from Antioch.

  “Patriarch Eraclius and the delegation had some success. Eraclius convinced their patriarch to lift the interdict and Reynald talked Bohemond into returning the Church property he’d confiscated.” Baldwin paused, yet fairness compelled him to add reluctantly that Count Raymond had been of considerable help in gaining Bohemond’s cooperation.

  Baldwin then revealed that a stalemate existed over Bohemond’s marriage. “He still refuses to repudiate his concubine and take Theodora back. Until he does, the patriarch will not absolve him from the excommunication edict.
Bohemond apparently finds that acceptable, although few of us could imagine sacrificing salvation for the sake of a woman.”

  “It would depend upon the woman,” Guy quipped and Sybilla gave a low, throaty laugh. Agnes, Denys, and Baldwin did not share her amusement; while a happy marriage might be the ideal, people preferred not to have one flaunted in their faces by the fortunate husband and wife.

  “I wish I also had good news to share from Constantinople,” Baldwin resumed. “But their boy emperor is running into trouble even faster than we’d all feared. Last month a plot was discovered against his government, led by his own half sister. The protosebastos and the emperor’s mother, Mary, ordered the arrest of the plotters. The lad’s sister and her husband then sought sanctuary in Sancta Sophia Cathedral.”

  Sybilla and Guy declared their sympathy for the young emperor, but Baldwin was worried that they did not fully grasp the ramifications of this tumult in the Greek empire. The Emperor Manuel had cast a protective shadow over Outremer. Now that there was no longer hope for military aid or money from Constantinople, Baldwin was acutely aware of his kingdom’s vulnerability and he wished he could be sure that his sister and brother-in-law also understood that. He’d already discussed this with them during his Christmas court, though, and he did not want to appear as if he was lecturing them.

  It was then that his mother spoke up. “Did you hear what the Pope did, Sybilla?” Agnes was still seething; the mere mention of Alexander’s name could send her into a wild rage. Needing to share her indignation with her daughter, she quickly told Sybilla and Guy about the Pope’s cruel attack upon her son.

  Sybilla was shocked and then, furious. “How dare he say that? Baldwin was ten years old when he was infected with leprosy. What mortal sins could a ten-year-old commit?”