The sister’s eyes took in Beatrice and Amalric, who were obviously with Bart. “Are you a family?” she asked.
“Yes, or what’s left of it,” Beatrice answered for them. “My name is Beatrice d’Auber, and my father—”
“Is Sir Bartholomew!” the sister answered, her face breaking into a broad smile. “Holy Virgin Mary! Your father has nearly killed himself with worry, prayer, and battlefield heroics! I can’t begin to tell you all he has been through! But, wait! You wouldn’t be Constance, would you?” she addressed Constance, who nodded vigorously.
“And this is your daughter?” Sister Adela’s eyes took in Anne on Constance’s arm.
“We’re missing my baby Joscelyn and Constance’s older girl, Melusinde,” Beatrice told her.
“Oh, of course! You don’t know. Joscelyn is already in Tyre!”
“What?” Beatrice asked in disbelief.
“It’s a long story.” Sister Adela diverted further questions until she could think of a way to gently break the news of Joscelyn’s conversion and attitude.
“And Melusinde?” Constance asked hopefully.
“Nothing yet,” Sister Adela answered deftly, “but the process of returning the slaves is far from over. There’s no reason to assume the worst. What we must do instead is to get word to your father! He will be overjoyed to see you, and you need not worry about your future. Two queens are anxious to welcome you home.” Then, because she could no longer contain her own joy, Adela embraced the remnants of Sir Bartholomew’s family one after another, with as much feeling as if they were her own.
Only when she started crying from relief did Beatrice realize just how much she had feared her father would be dead, and how desperately she wanted to see him again.
Acre, Christmas Eve 1192
The Ibelins now lived in a suite of rooms in the royal palace in Acre. The choice was not entirely voluntary, since the owners of the house in Tyre had returned after five years in Pisa and demanded restitution. Balian had opted to leave the horses at his increasingly substantial stud outside Tyre, while accepting Queen Isabella’s offer of a suite at the royal palace. Her court was there, and the High Court also met frequently in Acre, since they needed to re-establish coherent government after the chaos of the preceding five years. Yet while Isabella and Henri de Champagne had been generous, Maria Zoë was acutely aware that her husband was unhappy.
The loss of Ibelin and Ramla still weighed heavily on him. He said he did not regret the choice he had made, but he worried what legacy he would leave his sons. As a result, he and Reginald de Sidon, now her son-in-law, were poring over maps again, making plans for a new assault on Sidon and Beirut. Champagne had promised that if they could re-establish Christian control from Tyre to Tripoli, Balian would be given the lordship of Beirut. Of course, they would have to wait until the end of the truce before making an attempt, and three years was a long time for impatient men.
Maria Zoë watched the two men from the window niche while pretending to read the beautifully illustrated “Song of Alexander” that King Richard had found among Isaac Comnenus’ treasure on Cyprus and had given her as a parting gift. Reginald appeared rejuvenated by his marriage to Helvis. More surprising, Maria Zoë thought, Helvis seemed remarkably content for a girl married to a man old enough to be her grandfather. Helvis was proud to be a “married woman,” and liked being seen at Reginald’s side. It gave her a sense of status and security—not to mention that he doted on her and gave her almost anything she asked for.
Balian, in contrast, looked older than his forty-three years, and despite his restless interest in the assault on Sidon and Beirut, Maria Zoë sensed that his heart was not in it. Much as he longed for a lordship to call his own, he was profoundly tired of fighting. More than once, and often at unexpected moments, he muttered things like: “Too many people have died” or “Blood cannot produce a harvest.”
A knock on the door was followed by the appearance of Helvis. She was dressed primly with a starched white wimple encasing her fresh young face, and she announced boldly, “Reggie, I need your help.”
Sidon at once straightened and with a smile to Balian announced, “My lady calls,” before following Helvis out of the room, leaving Balian brooding over the map.
Maria Zoë put aside her book and stood. John had been begging to start training as a squire, and Maria Zoë had asked Champagne about a position with him. She hadn’t yet broached the subject with Balian, however, because he seemed reluctant to be separated from John. Thinking this might be a good moment, she stepped down from the window niche, but got no farther. Another knock on the door made Maria Zoë freeze and Balian spin around, startled. “Yes?”
The man who entered wore a bright turban of silver silk, fastened together with a huge sapphire, but his beard was bright red. Balian recognized him at once. It would be too much to say he smiled, but his expression was welcoming as he exclaimed, “Khalid al-Hamar, I did not expect to see you again so soon.”
The newcomer bowed deeply to Ibelin and then glanced at Maria Zoë, still standing on the step down from the window seat. He looked politely in the opposite direction, expecting her to modestly dart out of the room.
Maria Zoë glanced at Balian for guidance, and he shook his head, introducing her instead in Arabic with a provocative flourish, “My lady, Dowager Queen of Jerusalem, Lady of Nablus, Ramla, Mirabel, and Ibelin, Maria Comnena.”
Khalid looked at him uncomprehending, before remarking, “You Franks have no honor. A wife is a treasure that should be kept as such—under lock and key—not exposed to the rude gawking of strangers.”
“Why? Are you afraid your wives will run away? I have no such fear, Khalid. My lady has cleaved onto me even in my hour of greatest misfortune. As for your gawking, it does no harm.”
Khalid shook his head in bemusement, before asking with a provocative smirk, “Are you not ashamed to let another man rape your wife with his eyes?”
“Are you not man enough to look at a woman without lust?” Ibelin countered with raised eyebrows before adding, “If not, then look, but God help you if you insult her in word or deed—for then I will kill you, ambassador or not.”
Their eyes locked until Khalid nodded and with a faint smile admitted, “I believe you. But what is the point of keeping women where they do not belong? We have important matters to discuss. This is no time to be distracted by the callings of the flesh!”
“Nor will I be by the presence of my lady, because, Khalid, she is so much more than a creature of the flesh. A woman is like a book of poetry. No matter how exquisite the cover, its value lies in the thoughts and sentiments contained inside. A man who confines himself to looking at the cover, or just feeling the pages, denies himself the greatest riches of all: those that satisfy his mind, heart, and soul. It is because I honor those qualities in my wife, that I will not banish her as if she were nothing but an irrational animal placed on earth by God to satisfy my lust.”
“Your false religion misleads you in this as in much less. Women are without the rationality that sets man above beasts, and—unless kept under lock and key to be enjoyed only as appropriate—they distract us from our duty to Allah.”
“Indeed, one of us is mistaken, Khalid, but for the present let us agree to disagree on this as we also disagree on the divinity of Christ.”
Khalid nodded and, studiously looking away from Maria Zoë, announced: “I bring a message from my master, may God’s blessings be upon him, the Sultan Salah ad-Din.”
“Then you are doubly welcome,” Balian answered with a bow. “Please, make yourself comfortable, and I will send for refreshments.”
The entire exchange had been in Arabic, leaving Maria Zoë uncertain what was being said. At this point, however, Balian turned to her and explained, “Emir Khalid al-Hamar has brought a message from Salah ad-Din. I expect it is news of Sir Bartholomew’s missing granddaughter.”
When the trickle of slaves had tapered off and Constance’s daughter Melusinde
had still not returned, Ibelin had sent a personal message to Salah ad-Din inquiring after her. He had provided her name, description, and information about the date and place of her capture, as well as when and where she had been separated from her mother. That had been more than a month ago.
“Should I leave you alone?”
“Of course not! I just gave our friend Khalid a lecture on the nature of woman. We agreed to disagree. Besides,” Balian added, “when I am the Sultan’s guest, I respect his customs; I expect the same courtesy from him and his servants in return. I would be grateful, however, if you could send to the kitchens for suitable refreshments.”
When Maria Zoë returned, she found her husband and his guest already in earnest conversation, so she resumed her place on the window seat, picked up the book, and again pretended to read, while surreptitiously watching her husband’s face. It was flushed, and she sensed that he was excited about something. His shoulders were straighter than they had been for months, his neck stretched, and his eyes glittering with attention. His guest looked quite pleased with himself as well. It would seem, Maria Zoë concluded, that the girl had been found.
Moments later Georgios arrived with a tray of refreshments, and the mood at the table shifted. The men slid into small talk, Maria Zoë surmised, and she dropped her eyes to the text of her book in case they looked her way. Laughter from her husband and her guest drew her attention once or twice—but then as the guest rose to depart, the intensity returned to her husband’s face and he nodded several times in answer to the other’s message. Perhaps the guest was saying when and where Melusinde would be returned?
The guest bowed deeply one last time to her husband and then withdrew without even acknowledging Maria Zoë’s presence; he was intent on pretending she did not exist. As soon as the door fell closed behind him, Maria Zoë set her book aside and asked eagerly, “They’ve found Melusinde?”
Balian had been gazing at the closed door, lost in thought. At her words his shoulders sank, and as he turned around he shook his head and admitted dully, “No. They haven’t.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “The Sultan swears he made inquiries across all his territories, but no one came forward. She may already be dead. . . . Or perhaps the man who owns her values her more than the price offered by the Sultan for her return, although Khalid claims the Sultan offered double the normal price.” Balian paused before asking in a low voice, “How in God’s name am I going to tell Constance—on Christmas Eve!—that her daughter is irretrievably lost?”
Maria Zoë grabbed his hand and raised it to her lips. Their eyes met. “I’ll tell her,” she assured him. Then she modified it to “Beatrice and I will tell her,” knowing it would be useful to engage the support of the elder and more level-headed of the Auber sisters. But at the moment, she wasn’t worried about Constance. What distressed her was to see her husband looking so defeated. Yet something had invigorated him only moments earlier. “But you seemed so pleased,” she prodded. “When I returned, you looked as if you had had good news.”
Balian started slightly. “Yes, God forgive me, I was pleased. You see, Khalid told me the real reason he was here was to negotiate with Champagne. The Sultan is offering a minor modification of the borders established by the Truce of Ramla.”
“Ibelin?” Maria Zoё guessed, her spirits already soaring.
Balian shook his head. “Not quite. What the Sultan offered is the territory that made up the lordship of Caymont. According to Khalid, he made the return conditional on Champagne bestowing it upon me as my fief. Why would Salah ad-Din do such a thing?” He asked baffled.
Maria Zoё shrugged. “That’s not so hard to fathom. He’d rather you were content with Caymont than coveting Beirut. Or, should I say, he’d rather see you as Lord of Caymont than Lord of Beirut.”
“And you think I have a right to accept Caymont?” Balian pressed her.
Maria Zoë sifted rapidly through her memory for everything she knew about this lordship in her former kingdom. “It was made vacant at Hattin, when Guillaume and his son were both killed.”
“Yes. There are no other claimants,” Balian confirmed. “Still . . .”
“What is it? Why are you hesitating? You were pleased when he told you. I could see it not only in your face but in your bearing.”
“Am I that easy to read?”
She smiled softly and reminded him, “Beloved, I’ve been your wife for fifteen years.” She squeezed his hands and looked him in the eye. “What makes you hesitate?”
“I once told the Sultan that if God had wanted me to be a great lord, he would have made me one.”
“Ah.” Maria Zoë considered that, nodding slowly, before asking, “And you haven’t noticed that you are a great lord?”
“I have nothing!” Ibelin snapped back, frowning.
“Nothing,” Maria Zoё repeated. “Except the attentive ear of the King and Queen, the respect of the High Court, the loyalty of the army, the gratitude—not to say adulation—of the released slaves, the love of the common people. No voice in this kingdom carries more weight than yours. Is that nothing?”
Balian drew a breath and held it. He did not want to seem indifferent or ungrateful for the things she had listed. “The mood of kings and common people is fickle, Zoë; tomorrow I may be hated or just forgotten.”
“And God? Do you think His love is fickle, too? Don’t you think it possible that God is giving you Caymont because He thinks you deserve a material reward?”
“Through the Sultan of Syria? The man who has taken Jerusalem from us?”
“It’s a small barony, like Ibelin, but rich,” Maria Zoё remarked rather than answering directly.
“Smaller, actually. Six knights, I believe, was all it owed to the Crown.”
“It had sugar plantations, oil mills, and vineyards,” Maria countered.
“Yes, I think you’re right,” Balian conceded. “It would be enough to give our sons an inheritance and Margaret a dowry. . . .”
“Yes, it would—without diminishing in any way your stature in this kingdom or detracting from your more important legacy.”
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
“You gave up Ibelin for the freedom of thousands. That is the legacy your children will never forget. It is an example they will find hard to live up to.”
He answered by pulling her into his arms and kissing her firmly and gratefully. “You are right to remind me I have riches beyond measure—riches that cannot be measured in acres or income—because I have you, Zoë. You are my greatest treasure, an endless wonder, greater than the most splendid poetry on earth.”
Maria Zoë hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. He was standing straighter again, and she could feel energy pulsing through his veins. His face was lit from the inside. She knew she had to foster that newfound flame of hope. “Balian, tonight we will celebrate the birth of Christ,” she reminded him. “Rising up from the grave, He brought us all new life. In His name, it is time to stop mourning what we have lost, and to concentrate instead on rebuilding what we still have.”
Historical Afterword
BALIAN D’IBELIN WAS INDEED GIVEN THE lordship of Caymont near Acre, and as stepfather to the Queen he was viewed as the most senior of all the barons in the truncated Kingdom of Jerusalem. The last royal charter still in existence today that he witnessed dates from late 1193, which has led most historians to assume he died about this time. However, the records are not complete, and there could well be other explanations why he did not witness royal charters. The fact is, we do not know the date or place of his death.
Maria Comnena lived until 1217, by which time her great-granddaughter Isabella II (also known as Yolanda) was Queen of Jerusalem.
Guy de Lusignan died in late 1194 and bequeathed Cyprus to his brother Geoffrey, who had already returned to Europe and was not interested in it. The leading Latin noblemen on Cyprus chose Aimery as their new overlord. Within two years Aimery had pacified the island,
established a Latin clergy, and submitted the island to the Holy Roman Emperor in exchange for a crown. He was crowned King of Cyprus in September 1197, shortly after the death of his wife Eschiva. His eldest son, Hugh, married Alice, the daughter of Queen Isabella I of Jerusalem by Henri de Champagne. They founded a dynasty that lasted over three hundred years.
Henri de Champagne was never crowned King of Jerusalem, always styling himself only the Count of Champagne. He and Isabella had three daughters together before he was killed in a bizarre accident in November 1197. The barons of Jerusalem chose Aimery de Lusignan as Isabella’s fourth husband, and they were married in late 1197 or early 1198. They both lived until 1205. Isabella’s only son came from this last marriage. The boy died as an infant, however, and Isabella was succeeded by her daughter by Conrad de Montferrat, known in history as Maria de Montferrat.
John d’Ibelin, Balian’s eldest son, was made Constable of Jerusalem in or around 1198 by Aimery de Lusignan, but he exchanged this position for the lordship of Beirut, which had been recaptured from the Saracens in 1197. At King Aimery’s death he was named regent of Jerusalem to rule for his immature neice Maria de Montferrat. He held the position for five years until a husband was found for her. He was later to lead a successful baronial revolt against the Holy Roman Emperor, but that is material for another novel.
Philip d’Ibelin, Balian’s second son, served as regent of Cyprus during the minority of Henry I (son of Hugh I) of Cyprus. His eldest son rose to be Count of Jaffa and Ascalon and took part in the Seventh Crusade alongside King Louis IX of France. He was also a renowned jurist who composed a major work on the constitution of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
Helvis, Balian’s eldest daughter, married Reginald de Sidon, and their eldest son, Balian, inherited Sidon from his father. After Reginald de Sidon’s death Helvis married Guy de Montfort, a brother of Simon de Montfort the Elder, an uncle of the English constitutional reformer, Simon de Montfort the Younger.
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