He soon saw that his sense of foreboding had been justified. One by one, his lords rose to argue that he’d wronged the Count of Tripoli and his banishment must be lifted. They insisted there was no proof that Count Raymond was plotting against the Crown, and when Reynald and Joscelin angrily reminded them of the count’s failed Easter coup, some of them even seemed skeptical of that, saying he’d never been charged with any crime. It was obvious to Baldwin that many of the men were concerned with their own lands, fearing that if even the king’s cousin could be deprived of his wife’s principality, they were also vulnerable. But others were sincere in their concern for the peace of the kingdom and that was obvious to Baldwin, too.
He was particularly impressed by Balian d’Ibelin’s speech, for Balian did not try to defend Raymond’s honor as some of the lords did. He spoke instead of how strife amongst the Franks would embolden Saladin, asking how they could hope to fend off a Saracen jihad if they were fighting amongst themselves. That was an argument Baldwin could not easily refute.
What finally compelled Baldwin to concede defeat was the realization that almost all of the men in the chamber were adamantly opposed to his action, siding with Raymond against the Crown. The High Court would never agree to charge the count with treason or to exile him from the kingdom. Yielding would lacerate Baldwin’s pride. Nor had any of them been able to overcome his deep misgivings about his cousin’s loyalties. But he knew he had no choice.
The relief was palpable when he told them that. William offered to act as peacemaker between the king and his cousin and Baldwin agreed, wanting only to end this wretched business as soon as possible. He was thankful when the men did not linger once the session had ended, shepherded from the chamber by his stepfather and chancellor, who were perceptive enough to understand that privacy was the only balm they could offer for the wound they’d inflicted.
Once he was alone with his family, Baldwin allowed himself to slump back in his seat. He could sense his mother’s eyes upon him, but when he raised his head, he saw no reproach in her gaze, only concern for his dwindling strength. Joscelin did not look happy, yet he knew enough to hold his tongue. Guy did not show the same restraint.
“How could you give in to them like that? Surely they did not convince you that Raymond can be trusted?”
Baldwin discovered that the last of his patience had ebbed away during the ordeal he’d just endured. “No,” he said, with unwonted sharpness, “of course I do not trust Raymond!”
Guy seemed honestly baffled. “Why did you yield, then? Why let your enemies win?”
“Because I had no choice, Guy.”
“But you are the king!” Guy strode forward, stopping in front of him. “You weakened the Crown’s authority by surrendering to them. You damaged your kingship. Do you not see that? The English king would never have allowed his vassals to challenge him like this!”
“Nor would I if I were King of England!” Baldwin snapped. “But in Jerusalem, the king’s power is not absolute. He must share that power with the High Court.” He was suddenly very angry. “You are not a newcomer to Outremer, have dwelled amongst us long enough to have learned our customs and our laws. One day my sister will be queen and you will rule with her. God help us all if you remain as ignorant then as you are now!”
Guy flushed deeply, and for a moment, he seemed about to lash out at Baldwin. Before he could do so, Sybilla jumped to her feet. Baldwin thought she meant to intercede, to ease the tension. But when she moved to stand beside Guy, linking her arm in his, Baldwin realized that she was declaring her loyalties were with her husband, not her brother. The one who did intervene was Joscelin, saying hastily, “Our nerves are all fraying after that court session. I am sure Guy did not mean to insult you, Nephew. He knows how much he owes you, after all.”
That heavy-handed reminder served its purpose, prodding Guy into a terse apology. He and Sybilla soon found an excuse to depart, followed by Joscelin. Alone with his mother and Anselm, Baldwin no longer had to dissemble, for with them, he dared show his body’s weakness. “I must rest ere I can manage the stairs,” he confessed, and Anselm hurried over to the sideboard to pour him a cup of watered-down wine.
Agnes wanted to help, too, and when she noticed a cushion in the window seat, she snatched it up and placed it behind Baldwin’s back. “It is fortunate for Guy that he is so pleasing to the eye, for he has sawdust where his brains ought to be.” She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth, for she knew Baldwin needed to believe Guy de Lusignan would be a capable king. They all needed to believe that. “I will speak to Sybilla,” she said quickly. “She must see to it that Guy reads the legal codes and learns the customs of the realm.”
Baldwin had begun to find it difficult to grasp objects and feared that his fingers would eventually curve inward toward his palm, like the maimed hands of that leper he’d seen in the souk at Beirut. At least he could still touch his mother’s hand and he did so now, wanting her to know how much her support meant to him. He fervently hoped that no choice need ever be made, yet if it did, his uncle would stand with Sybilla, not with him. By coming to Guy’s defense, Joscelin had made that painfully clear. But by criticizing Guy so harshly, Agnes had shown that her loyalties lay with her dying son, not the daughter who was their family’s future.
* * *
William had arranged for the meeting between Baldwin and Raymond to be private, not wanting witnesses if it became as acrimonious as he feared it might. He’d also been very honest with Raymond, making sure he understood the depths of Baldwin’s hostility. But as they were ushered into the palace solar, he realized that he’d forgotten to warn Raymond of the ravages wrought by leprosy in the two years since Raymond had last seen the king. Too late now. He could only pray that Raymond did not inadvertently reveal either pity or revulsion. As they entered the chamber, he heard the count’s sharp intake of breath as he saw Baldwin’s eye patch, his cane, the lack of eyebrows and lashes, the nose flattened by the collapse of his nasal cavity, the raw lesions upon his forehead. By the time they reached Baldwin, though, Raymond’s face was impassive again and, as William blessed his self-control, he knelt before his sovereign, showing only the respect due the king.
Baldwin gestured for him to rise and then to be seated, and William was relieved that he did not intend to use his rank as a weapon. Neither did he pretend that this meeting was a social one. “You know you are here not by my doing. I was compelled to defer to the High Court. But since we have been yoked to the same plow, we must find a way to move forward together. Have you any suggestions as to how we can manage that?”
Raymond was not thrown off-balance by Baldwin’s candor, responding with candor of his own. “There was nothing sinister in my wish to return to Tiberias, my liege. There were matters in Galilee needing my attention. I know you were told I am aiming to claim your throne, but that is not so. I am innocent, and will swear that upon the True Cross if it will ease your mind.”
Baldwin’s lips twitched in a cold smile. “And are you also willing to swear upon the True Cross that you did not mean to usurp my throne two years ago?”
“No,” Raymond said calmly, “for we both know I was guilty then. Bohemond and I did intend to wed your sister to Baudouin d’Ibelin, whether you wished it or not. And I did hope that you would be willing to abdicate in their favor after their marriage, although I did not want to force your abdication. You have been a good king, Cousin. If not for the leprosy, you might even have been a great one. But you are a leper and there can be only one ending to your story. When the Duke of Burgundy balked at marrying Sybilla, we concluded that we dared not wait a year or two to find another husband for her. That is what spurred us to take the action we did.”
Baldwin studied Raymond in a silence that seemed interminable to William. “And now?”
“I was not seeking the throne for myself, neither then nor now. You have nothing to fear from me, for S
ybilla is no longer free to wed. Would Guy de Lusignan have been my choice? No, for I know little about the man, whereas Baudouin d’Ibelin is one of us and a proven battle commander. But there is no undoing the marriage, so we can only hope you chose well.”
William thought Raymond had made as good a case as possible for himself under the circumstances. When Baldwin did not challenge him further, William decided that he thought so, too. He doubted that Baldwin would ever truly trust Raymond again, for he knew that his young king was not one for forgetting or forgiving a wrong done him. He would be fair, though, in his dealings with Raymond, and to William, that was enough. Whether it would be enough for Raymond, only time would tell.
* * *
It was going to be an exceedingly hot summer; the days were already stifling, and it was only May. The bedchamber’s windows were open, but although the sun had set an hour ago, the heat still lingered. Neither Balian nor Maria noticed, for they were generating heat of their own. His barber had been ill for the past week and Maria had begun to complain about his stubble; despite growing up in a culture in which beards were a symbol of masculinity, she’d discovered that she enjoyed making love to a man who was clean-shaven. Balian had laughed at her when she’d suggested that she shave him and she’d taken that as a challenge. One thing led to another, until he found himself stretched out on their settle, his head in her lap and a razor at his throat.
“I must have been mad to agree to this. I very much doubt your lessons at the Greek court involved learning how to shave a man.”
“I will try to keep the bleeding to a minimum,” she assured him. When she finally did nick his chin, drawing blood, he did not object, for she apologized with a kiss. He returned it with enthusiasm, but she insisted upon finishing the shave. By now they were both enjoying this game of delayed gratification, anticipating its culmination in the bed conveniently close at hand. They never reached it, though, for just as their caresses were becoming more intimate, there was a sudden knock at the door.
“Can we pretend we’re not here?” Balian whispered, but Maria was already sitting up, adjusting the bodice of her gown, and he got reluctantly to his feet. After a brief exchange with someone on the other side of the door, he turned back to Maria. “William has just ridden in!”
Maria was equally surprised, for the archbishop always sent word ahead of a planned visit. With a wistful glance back at their bed, she repinned her veil, replaced one of her earrings, and followed Balian down the stairs to welcome their guest.
* * *
As soon as they saw William’s face, Maria and Balian braced themselves for trouble. He was traveling with an unusually large entourage, too; leaving their unexpected guests to their steward’s care, they led William up to the solar. He sank down upon the settle with a sigh that revealed both his weariness and his reluctance to unburden himself.
“I am on my way to Jerusalem to see the king; I have news he must hear straightaway. But it is news that you must know, too, and I did not want you to hear it from someone else.”
Maria’s heart began to beat faster, for he was gazing sadly at her, not at her husband. “What has happened, William?”
“There is no easy way to tell you, Maria. Last month, there was a coup in Constantinople and much bloodshed. Manuel’s cousin Andronicus Comnenus has seized power and the boy emperor and his mother are his prisoners. Your uncle, the protosebastos, was also captured, then blinded and maimed. There was no resistance, the citizens welcoming Andronicus, the commanders of the royal troops and the fleet all going over to him. For now, Andronicus is claiming he acted only to protect the young emperor and is showing him respect, at least in public, although Mary is being maltreated and few expect her to survive for long. Manuel’s daughter and her husband are already dead, believed to have been poisoned at Andronicus’s orders.”
Maria was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “What of my mother and my brother? Do they still live?”
“Yes, I was assured of that,” he said quickly, even though he knew how little that assurance meant, and Maria did, too.
Maria got unsteadily to her feet, moving toward the window. Looking blindly out at the encroaching darkness, she struggled to recall a lifetime’s lessons in self-control. After a few moments, she sensed that Balian was standing behind her. He said nothing, but by his very presence, he reminded her that she was not facing this alone, and she found that more comforting than any words he might have offered.
“My country is doomed,” she whispered, and when Balian put his arm around her shoulders, he felt her trembling. He feared that she was right. Andronicus Comnenus was notorious throughout the Levant, a charming and ruthless scoundrel. He’d caused a great scandal in Outremer by eloping with the young Queen of Jerusalem, the late King Baldwin’s widow, fleeing with her to the Saracen court. He’d eventually managed to be restored to Manuel’s favor, for he’d always been able to talk himself out of trouble. It was only a matter of time before he murdered the twelve-year-old emperor and claimed the crown for himself. From what Balian had heard of the boy, he was spoiled and lazy, more interested in games and chariot races than in lessons of statecraft. He still felt pity for the lad and for his mother, Mary, despised by the Greeks as a “Latin,” their disparaging term for those who followed the Church of Rome. But he felt sorriest of all for the little French princess who was to have been Empress of the Greeks, for she was close in age to his stepdaughter, Isabella. What would become of her now?
Some of Maria’s shock was ebbing and she frowned as she recalled the archbishop’s words. “You said there was no resistance to Andronicus, William, that he was welcomed by the people and the army. Yet you also spoke of ‘bloodshed.’ What did you mean by that?”
This was the moment William had been most dreading. “As soon as Andronicus seized power, the city went quite mad. Mobs rampaged through the streets, killing any Latins they could find. They burned the Latin quarter to the ground and murdered thousands, most of them Italians. Women, children, the aged, the ailing—none were spared. They invaded the Hospital of St. John run by the Hospitallers, killing all who were too sick to flee. Monks and priests fared the worst, for they were tortured ere they were slain. They even dared to murder a cardinal of Rome, a papal legate unfortunate enough to be in Constantinople at the time.”
Balian and Maria were staring at him in horror and William found he could not continue. The stories he’d heard from the Latin survivors of the massacre would haunt his sleep for years to come. The Latin cemetery dug up, the bodies thrown into the Bosporus. The mothers pleading in vain that their children be spared. The people burned alive, thrust back into their flaming houses. He did not want Maria to have images like that branded into her brain.
Her skin was ashen, her lips rimmed in white. For one so proudly Greek, hearing of the atrocities committed by those of her blood must rock her world to its very foundations. He had more to share, though, proof that the Greeks had no monopoly when it came to cruelty.
“I’ve heard the death toll is in the thousands,” he said bleakly. “But not all the Latins were slain. Some of them were warned by Greek friends and were able to flee to the ships in the harbor, where the Italian merchants had forty-four galleys. Instead of rejoicing in their reprieve, they chose to take vengeance—not upon the killers in Constantinople but upon the innocent Greeks living along the Hellespont. They raided towns and villages and monasteries, killing and looting. Not all of the Latin survivors joined in this orgy of revenge and they sailed for the Holy Land. That is how I learned of this, when their ships reached Tyre. I am escorting them to the king so Baldwin may hear their stories for himself.”
Maria leaned back against her husband, grateful for the strength in the arms encircling her waist. She could not imagine being able to endure this without him. “I must tell Isabella,” she said, and shivered at the prospect. How could she make Isabella understand? Would she be ashamed of her Greek bloo
d now? Thank God their other children were too young to be told!
“Do not worry about that now, Marika. We will tell her together on the morrow.”
“Yes, that would be best. . . .” She found it hard to focus her thoughts; there was an eerie sense of unreality about this night, almost as if she were listening to a fable from a foreign land, one that could not possibly be true. “I want to go to the chapel,” she said at last, for that was all she could think to do; mayhap prayer could staunch her bleeding.
One glance was enough to tell Balian she needed this time alone with God. Kissing her forehead, he slumped down in a nearby chair as the door closed quietly behind her. “When word of this spreads, there will be great anger against the Greeks, William. Do you think there might be outbreaks of violence, attacks on the Orthodox monasteries in Outremer?”
“No. Baldwin will take measures to keep the king’s peace. But it is good that Maria is now the wife of a Poulain lord, no longer the alien queen, the outsider. We know how quickly Agnes would have taken advantage of her sudden vulnerability.”
Balian nodded in weary agreement. “I’ve never admitted this to Maria, not wanting her to know my fears for our future. But I’ve taken comfort from her ties to the Greek royal family. I’ve told myself that if I were to die fighting the Saracens and our kingdom fell to Saladin, Maria could take our children and seek safety in Constantinople.”
William feared for their future, too. He loved Outremer, as the cradle of Christianity and as his homeland. But as he looked at Balian, he found himself thinking that a man’s need to protect his family was one of mankind’s most powerful, primal urges, and he was sorry he could offer Balian no solace. Whatever happened in Outremer, Maria dared not go home again.
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 53