Baudouin was staring after Amaury. “You mean Amaury would have made a better king than Guy? God save us, your new squire, Ernoul, would make a better king than Guy!”
Balian had often heard Baudouin aim scathing comments at Guy’s handsome head. He’d never heard him sound quite so bitter, though, and he did not like it. Baldwin’s doctors were no longer sure that his fever would prove fatal; he had actually improved enough to make a slow journey back to Jerusalem by horse litter for further treatment. But all knew this reprieve would be fleeting. Baldwin was dying and when he did, the crown would pass to Sybilla and Guy. Baudouin must find a way to accept that, for what other choice did he have?
* * *
Salāh al-Dīn withdrew his army downstream. The Franks then set up their own camp at Ain Jālūt. They had the largest force ever mustered in Outremer, thirteen hundred cavalry and over fifteen thousand foot soldiers, and the Saracens numbered even more. These two great armies were now separated by only a mile, as the men waited to see what their leaders would do.
* * *
Jakelin de Mailly found that a large crowd had already gathered outside Guy’s command tent, hoping to overhear some of the heated discussion going on inside. Several of Jakelin’s fellow Templars were standing by the tent and he started toward them before recognizing Gerard de Ridefort. They’d not noticed his approach yet, so he was able to veer away in time and took up an inconspicuous stance amid the German crusaders; their liege lord, the Duke of Louvain, was taking part in Guy’s war council. The others within the tent were the lords of Outremer, the cleric in charge of the True Cross, the Count of Tripoli, and the grand masters of the Templars and Hospitallers. Only Prince Bohemond of Antioch was absent.
The men were a diverse group: knights and their squires, foot soldiers—all the Poulains who’d responded to Baldwin’s summons. There were a number of pilgrims, too, who’d been about to depart the Holy Land, and when they heard of the Saracen invasion, they’d immediately hastened to join the army at Saforie. So had many of the Venetian, Pisan, and Genoese sailors on the ships waiting to take the pilgrims back to their homelands. Jakelin admired their courage and piety, for the safe sailing season was ending and they’d be stranded in Outremer until the following spring. He just wished they’d come better prepared for a campaign; they had weapons, but few had thought to bring food with them and there were already serious shortages reported throughout the camp.
Within the tent, voices were rising again. Reynald de Chatillon’s was easily identified, so Jakelin assumed the second one belonged to the Count of Tripoli; Balian had told him that the two men had been at each other’s throats since their arrival. He knew what was causing such dissension; by now, all in the camp did. The council was split in twain, torn between those who wanted to take the war to Saladin and those who wanted to adopt the traditional military tactics of Frankish armies: avoiding a pitched battle whilst shadowing the Saracen force, thus keeping the invaders from laying siege to any of their towns or castles.
To no one’s surprise, the man arguing so fiercely for battle was Reynald de Chatillon, supported by Joscelin de Courtenay; Amaury de Lusignan; the grand master of the Templars, Arnaud de Torroja; and the crusading noblemen. The men who favored a more conservative, cautious approach included almost all of the Poulain lords and the grand master of the Hospitallers, Roger de Moulins. Both sides were deeply entrenched and their angry debates had been going on since their arrival at Ain Jālūt four days ago. Meanwhile, their supplies dwindled and the patience of the army eroded by the hour, for the majority of the men sided with Reynald. They wanted to fight.
When the council finally broke up, Jakelin waited until Balian emerged and then fell in step beside him. “Nothing has changed, I take it? By now we know what most of the council members think, Balian. But what of Guy? What does he think?”
“God alone knows, for I do not. He began well, Jake, by giving us all a chance to speak. It soon became obvious that the council was stalemated and it was for him to make the decision: war or wait. Since we have remained in camp, you might think he has sided with Raymond and the Poulain lords. But I honestly do not know what his true thoughts are. It is almost as if he is so fearful of making the wrong decision that he can make no decision at all.”
“Well, if he heeds Count Raymond and you, he’s made the wrong decision for certes,” Jakelin said with a grin, for he, too, wanted to fight.
“Do you truly think there is a right decision, Jake?”
Jakelin halted in surprise. “You do not?”
“I have been doing my best to convince Guy that we should not take the field against Saladin, that it would be foolhardy to risk the destruction of our army against a larger force, for a defeat would mean the death of our kingdom, too. But I could argue just as persuasively that we ought to do battle with Saladin, for we’re not likely to ever muster so many men as we have now and this chance might not come again.”
“Jesu, Balian, what are you saying? That it does not matter what we do, that we are doomed whether we choose to fight or not?”
“I do not believe we are doomed!” Balian snapped, sounding as angry as Jakelin had ever heard him. “The Almighty will not forsake us in our time of need. But prayers alone will not be enough. We need to stop fighting one another and unite against Saladin.”
“You would not happen to know how we can manage that miracle?”
Jakelin’s wry tone took the edge off Balian’s anger. “I’m working on it,” he said, and they exchanged rueful smiles. They continued on in silence. Jakelin knew Balian was heartsick about Isabella’s wedding and wished he had comfort to offer. But he could think only to ask how Maria was bearing up.
Balian was silent for a time; he found it painful to talk about the looming marriage that would bind Isabella to a family he and Maria loathed. “About as well as you’d expect,” he said at last. “Once Maria realized that she could not change Baldwin’s mind, she swallowed her pride and wrote to Humphrey’s mother, asking Stephanie if Bella could continue to live at Nablus for a few more years after the wedding. It was a very reasonable request since Bella is only eleven. But Stephanie knows nothing of a mother’s love and she insisted that Bella’s proper place must be with her husband at Kerak.”
Jakelin started to say how sorry he was, then realized how hollow those words would sound. “This is probably not the best time to give you more bad news, Balian. But you’ll hear about it soon enough. My order needs a new seneschal and I fear our grand master will choose Gerard de Ridefort.”
Balian stared at him. “You are not joking? Has your grand master lost his wits?”
Jakelin could only shrug. “Gerard is very good at currying favor with powerful people. Remember how he weaseled his way into Count Raymond’s household? Then he got the de Courtenays to vouch for him as the kingdom’s marshal. So it should be no surprise that since joining our order, he has done all he could to make life easier for the grand master, always eager to volunteer and offering support and praise for Master Arnaud in our chapter meetings.” After making a face, Jakelin added glumly, “And here’s a thought to keep us all awake at night. If Gerard does become our seneschal, we’d best pray for the health and safety of our grand master. If he dies suddenly, his seneschal will be likely to succeed him.”
Balian found that prospect so appalling that words failed him and he could only shake his head in disbelief. Before he could question Jakelin further, they heard shouting and turned to see one of their best turcopole scouts galloping into the encampment. After recognizing Balian, he reined his stallion to a sudden stop. “My lord, where can I find the Count of Jaffa?”
“In his tent. What has happened, Ilyas?”
“Saladin has dispatched raiding parties to ravage and plunder the countryside. They have already burned the village at Jenin and taken Forbelet and they are now heading toward Mount Tabor to attack the monasteries there.”
* * *
The October sky was aglow with the vibrant colors of an Outremer sunset and Balian paused for a moment to watch the dying of the day. Then he braced himself for an encounter he did not expect to enjoy and, approaching one of Guy’s household knights, announced that he needed to speak with the Count of Jaffa.
Guy’s tent was both spacious and luxurious, even having an inner partition like the tent of Saladin that Balian had seen years ago. He thought Guy would have done better to choose more modest accommodations for his first command; he knew many had been put off by Guy’s obvious glee in his rise to the regency. After a delay that he suspected was deliberate, he was finally ushered into the tent’s inner section, where he found himself met with hostility.
He was not surprised by Joscelin de Courtenay’s blatant animosity, but he had not expected Guy to be so openly antagonistic, for they’d never quarreled. Apparently just being Baudouin’s brother was damning in Guy’s eyes. Only from Amaury did he get a polite greeting.
Guy gestured impatiently when Amaury offered wine, cutting off his brother rudely in midsentence. “What do you want, d’Ibelin?”
Balian allowed himself to raise an eyebrow at the truculent tone, no more than that. “I want to talk to you, my lord count, about this campaign and what I think we should do.”
“I know what you’ve advised, that we not do battle. What more is there for you to say?”
“That I have changed my mind.” That got their attention. Amaury looked interested, Joscelin skeptical, and Guy oddly angry. “I did indeed urge caution, for reasons we’ve already discussed in council. We must always weigh the risks ere we commit our men to battle, especially when the enemy is so eager for that battle. I’ve found,” Balian said, with a faintly ironic smile, “that it is rarely a good idea to do what the Saracens want us to do.”
“So why are you now arguing the opposite? What new game is this?”
Balian was at a loss to explain Guy’s attitude, but he was determined to have his say. “I have changed my mind because circumstances have changed. In the past two days, the Saracens have wreaked havoc upon the kingdom. They have destroyed Jenin and Forbelet and plundered the Greek monastery of St. Elias, and now we hear that they are threatening Nazareth.”
For the first time, Balian acknowledged Joscelin’s presence. “You were at Ascalon when King Baldwin decided not to engage Saladin’s army. You agreed, as we all did, that it was the right decision by the young king, for we were hopelessly outnumbered. But when Saladin turned his raiding parties loose upon the countryside, the king changed his mind. He told us that he could not watch and do nothing whilst his people were slaughtered, their houses burned, and their livestock stolen. That, too, was the right decision, resulting in our great victory at Montgisard. But even if we’d lost that battle, it still would have been the right decision.”
Guy raised his hand, as if he’d heard enough. “You need to consult with your fellow conspirators, d’Ibelin. They continue to insist that we must refuse to do battle with Saladin.”
“‘Fellow conspirators,’” Balian echoed. “What are you talking about?”
Guy and Joscelin exchanged knowing glances, and then Guy deliberately turned away, moving to the table and picking up a pair of dice. “Jos? Amaury? Who’s for a game of hazard?”
Balian was too astonished for anger. After a moment, he turned and walked out. Exiting the tent, he headed back toward the area where the men of Nablus were camped. He soon heard hurried footsteps behind him and swung around to confront his pursuer.
It was Amaury de Lusignan. “I will likely regret this,” he said, “but we ought to talk.”
“About what? Whether your brother has gone stark, raving mad?”
“He should have heard you out, not dismissed you as if you were a servant. But he’d just learned he’s been betrayed and men tend to lash out at any and all targets when that happens.”
“What betrayal? And what did he mean when he called me a conspirator?”
“This morning, Guy summoned Count Raymond and your brother. He wanted to know if they were still unwilling to do battle with Saladin. Unlike you, they have not changed their minds. But later Joscelin came to us with rumors his spies had picked up in camp. Trusting soul that he is, he spies on others besides the Saracens.”
“What are these rumors he claims to have heard?”
“That some of the Poulain lords have ulterior motives. They do not want us to win a great victory over Saladin, for the glory would go to Guy as commander of the army, and then they’d have no hopes of getting the regency away from him or keeping him from becoming king.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Balian said wearily. “And Guy believed that?”
“Is it really so far-fetched, Balian?”
“Yes!”
“I wish I could say that, too. But I wanted you to understand why Guy’s nerves were so taut and why he acted like such a horse’s arse with you.” Amaury started to turn away, then stopped. “I argued for a battle because I believe we have a chance to rout Saladin’s army the way we did at Montgisard. And, yes, I was also aware how much Guy needs this win, how much he needs his first command to be a success.” He did not wait for Balian to respond and walked back toward his brother’s tent.
Balian watched him go. How could Guy believe such arrant nonsense? How could any man of honor be willing to let our kingdom suffer just to deny Guy the victory? Surely Count Raymond could never countenance that? Or Baudouin?
* * *
Salāh al-Dīn’s attempts to lure the Franks into battle came to naught, and after an eight-day standoff between the two armies at Ain Jālūt, he stopped trying. On October 13, he broke camp and headed toward Damascus. The Franks were still fearful that he might launch another attack and so they marched back to Saforie to keep watch. But they soon received an urgent message from the king, summoning his lords to Jerusalem.
CHAPTER 35
November 1183
Jerusalem, Outremer
Balian had disregarded the king’s summons, for if war was no longer looming, he was determined to put his wife and daughter’s needs first, and he returned to Nablus so he could escort Maria and Isabella to Kerak for the wedding. Having to leave them there was as difficult as anything he’d ever done, but Baldwin was awaiting him in Jerusalem. Promising Maria that he would come back to take her home after the wedding, he and his men settled into their saddles for another long journey, all those endless miles stretching between Kerak and the Holy City.
Upon his arrival in Jerusalem, Balian and his knights stopped at one of the public bathhouses to wash away the grit of the road and then continued on to his town house, where he changed his clothes before setting off for the palace. Baldwin might well be angry with him for missing a High Court session, so he went first to the Archbishop of Tyre’s town house to learn the lay of the land; William would know what sort of reception he’d get if anyone would.
* * *
“No, you’ve not missed the High Court session,” William assured him. “Baldwin has scheduled one for week’s end, so you’re just in time. He has been conducting a very thorough investigation, interrogating Guy and all of the lords who were with the army at Saforie and Ain Jālūt, trying to piece together what happened. Like me, Baldwin does not understand how we could have assembled the largest army in the history of the kingdom and yet failed to strike a single blow at the enemy. Nor do the people understand. Guy has been booed whenever he rides through the city streets,” he said with a touch of malicious satisfaction.
So public opinion has turned against Guy, judging his first campaign to be a failure, just as Amaury feared. Balian agreed with that conclusion, but not for the reasons that men were debating in taverns and on street corners. He was too weary to argue with William, though, nor did he see any point to it, for William was no soldier. Gratefully accepting a cup of wine, he sank back agains
t the settle cushions, feeling as if every bone in his body was aching. “Should I expect a cold reception from Baldwin?” he asked, thinking it was no small feat to be able to have offended both the current king and the future king at the same time.
“No, not at all. Baldwin told me that he’d expected you to accompany Maria and Isabella to Kerak. He also said he was eager to hear what you had to say about the campaign. Why look so surprised? Baldwin has always respected your opinions, Balian.”
Balian took a swallow of his wine. “It sounds as if Guy has few friends left at court.”
“You do not know the half of it, lad. I’d often wondered if the man had any talents aside from seducing Sybilla. Well, it turns out he has a gift for making enemies. I am sure you will agree that his position is a precarious one, as even he ought to realize. Whose favor should matter the most to him? Whom should he be most concerned about pleasing?”
Balian assumed that was a rhetorical question, yet William seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he provided one. “First and foremost, he needs to keep Sybilla happy since his claim to the crown depends upon hers. And to have Baldwin on his side, of course. After that, mayhap the patriarch, Eraclius, and then as many members of the High Court as he can win over.”
William nodded. “That is just common sense, no?”
Balian regarded the other man curiously. “What has Guy done, William?”
“When Baldwin conferred the regency upon Guy, he kept for himself Jerusalem and an annual revenue. His doctors told him that it would be better for his health if he resided in a coastal city, so he requested that Guy exchange Tyre for Jerusalem. Guy refused to do it.”
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