The Last Crusader Kingdom

by Helena P. Schrader

  Eschiva understood all that, but she still detested the man for the way he’d treated the English King. She considered Henry VI a treacherous, unscrupulous rat, and she didn’t like the thought of her husband taking an oath of fealty to him. But she had voiced her reservations as forcefully as she dared earlier, and held her tongue now.

  “With luck, we could have an answer before the sailing season closes. Maybe in time for your next confinement,” Aimery announced, laying a hand on her belly with a smile. Eschiva smiled back and put her hand on top of her husband’s for a moment. It pleased her that he was taking such a strong interest in this child. It was their seventh, after all. Many men lost interest after they had secured an heir, and Guy was growing like a beanstalk at the moment, thriving visibly.

  “I’ve decided to christen him Hugh, after the founder of the Lusignan dynasty,” Aimery declared, patting her belly before removing his hand.

  “And if it’s a girl?” Eschiva asked.

  “Then we’ll name her after you,” he answered with a shrug. “But this one is a boy. I’m sure of it.”

  Eschiva nodded, knowing that he couldn’t possibly know.

  “The other thing I wanted to tell you is that Ibelin thinks he has a solid agreement.”

  Eschiva sat up straighter and held her breath. For three weeks her uncle had been negotiating with the abbot of Antiphonitis and Father Neophytos on Aimery’s behalf. “The Greeks want us to celebrate ‘reconciliation’ in a joint Mass in their cathedral with the Archbishop officiating.” Aimery’s tone reflected his uncertainty.

  “There’s no harm in that,” Eschiva encouraged him.

  “It means kneeling down in front of their archbishop.”

  “It means kneeling down before Our Lord!” Eschiva corrected him firmly.

  Aimery nodded his head, but his expression suggested he remained unconvinced. “They want a public display of us recognizing their church and clergy. They specifically demanded that not only all my knights participate, but that you and Guy do so as well.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Eschiva told him.

  “How? What do you mean?”

  “The participation of your son and heir is intended to bind him publicly and in the eyes of God to this agreement, but it is also a pledge by the Greek clergy to recognize him as your heir.”

  “I worry that such a public pageant—procession on foot from here to the cathedral and back, not to mention a three-hour church service—will exhaust you,” Aimery admitted, his eyes full of worry. It had not escaped him that Eschiva had not recovered from her miscarriage, nor that she was paler than ever he remembered, her skin almost transparent.

  Eschiva reached up and hooked her hand behind his neck to draw his face down for a kiss. “Thank you for worrying about me,” she told him warmly, before releasing his head and declaring in a more practical tone, “Did you know Maria Zoë found her coronation robe in a chest here when she was doing the inventory? She sold it to Isaac Comnenus back in 1188, when she and Uncle Balian had lost everything after Hattin. Isaac, being a usurper, was keen to have anything that hinted at legitimacy, and Maria Zoë exploited his insecurity to sell him first her coronation crown and then her coronation robe. Richard of England apparently took and kept the crown, but didn’t have an eye for women’s clothes. He probably didn’t even think to look for valuables in the clothing chests of Isaac’s wife! Maria Zoë found it, but she has outgrown it, of course: it was made for a thirteen-year-old. I certainly can’t wear it in my condition, but Burgundia would look lovely in it. It is in the style of the Eastern Empire, with broad bands of gold embroidery studded with pearls.” She smiled up at her husband.

  Aimery considered her with a bemused expression. “You’re saying not only that you want me to go through with this, but also that you want me to bring our younger children to Cyprus, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s time for them to start identifying with this island as their future.

  “It’s the best white wine on the whole island,” John declared enthusiastically as he poured for his parents. They were celebrating the successful conclusion of a peace agreement between the Greek Patriarch and Aimery de Lusignan in private. The real spirit behind the agreement had been Father Neophytos, but he had no official position, and the Patriarch was recognized by the entire Greek population as an authority. Ibelin, however, was in some ways even more gratified by the fact that his nephew Henri, along with Barlais and Cheneché, had also embraced the peace. The latter expressed doubts about whether the peace would hold, but all agreed that it was worth trying.

  Balian himself was astonished by how good he genuinely felt. His last two forays into diplomacy had ended “successfully”—but at incredible cost. The first, the surrender of Jerusalem in 1187, had saved the lives and freedom of three-quarters of the Christian population, but left the Holy City itself and its poorest inhabitants in Saracen hands. The second, the Treaty of Ramla in 1192, had secured the coast of the Levant for the Franks, but left his own heritage of Ibelin and Ramla and his wife’s dower of Nablus in Saracen hands. The agreement they celebrated today (not a treaty, as it was not between sovereign powers) was far more modest. It might not even find a mention in the chronicles, but it was more satisfying because Balian could see no drawbacks to it.

  The Greek churches were to retain not only their structures but their tithes, and Latin churches would be built on royal land and draw revenues from land allotted to them from the royal domain. Furthermore, the laws of Manuel I were to be reinstated, with all customs, taxes, and tolls at the same rates as in the last year of his reign. The penalties for criminal and civil offenses for the Greek population were likewise to be restored to those of the last Comnenus; only treason and other crimes against the “Crown” were to be tried in Latin courts on the basis of the laws of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, which were to apply generally to the Frankish and other immigrant populations.

  Maria Zoë lifted a red glass goblet, with crosses of gold enameled into it, and toasted her husband. “My lord! To the finest diplomat in Christendom!”

  “With the grace of God,” he modified before sipping the wine. His eyes widened and as he set the goblet down and he turned to his firstborn son to exclaim, “That is good! Where is it from?”

  “A village called Paradisi.” John pronounced it in the Greek fashion, as “Paradhisi.” “It’s on the south coast just east of the ruins of Salamis.”

  “We need to secure barrels of it,” Balian concluded.

  “I can see about that,” John agreed with a smile. “But shouldn’t I first take word to Father Andronikos about this agreement?”

  His father dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “Father Andronikos isn’t important anymore. His intervention saved us from further bloodshed, and God will bless him for that, but at this point he has no further role to play.”

  “I know,” John conceded, “but we should at least have the courtesy to tell him about the agreement and thank him.”

  “I thanked him most emphatically the very day that Father Neophytos agreed to intercede. Being a man of peace, the agreement itself is his greatest gratification.”

  “I’m sure,” John agreed again, “but surely he has a right to hear the terms?”

  “He’ll hear them from his bishop, as will all the other priests on the island.”

  “But shouldn’t he hear it first,” John insisted (his tone was becoming decidedly impertinent), “since he was partly responsible? Surely you see—”

  “What I see is a young man talking back to his father!” Balian snapped. “I’ve given you a great deal of freedom, John. Don’t think that gives you the right to talk back to me as you never would have done to Lord Aimery. Don’t forget you’re still only fifteen, and you aren’t knighted yet.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with my age or whether I’m knighted or not,” John rejoined stubbornly, his jaw hardening in a way so similar to Balian’s that Maria Zoë thought she was seei
ng her husband at fifteen. “All I said was that Father Andronikos deserves to hear about this agreement before—”

  “I’m not deaf, and I can’t see why this means so much to you—unless the real reason you want to ride halfway across the island is to see Father Andronikos’ daughter.”

  This accusation took Maria Zoë completely by surprise, but the way John flushed and then started denying it in a breathless rush of outrage made it all too obvious that Balian had hit a nerve.

  “Now we’re at the root of things,” Balian declared, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I hereby forbid you from ever going back to Kolossi! I won’t have you dishonoring me—or such an honorable man of God as Father Andronikos—by debauching his innocent daughter!”

  “Balian!” Maria Zoë exclaimed in shock. His accusation seemed groundless and his tone unjustified. But before she could say anything in the defense of her son, John jumped to his feet and shouted at his father, “You’re not being fair! What have I ever done to make you think I’d dishonor Eirini? I’m not Haakon Magnussen or Amalric! You have no right—”

  “I have every right!” Balian barked back, raising his own voice in face of so much impudence. “And if you keep on like this, I’ll have you flogged.”

  “I’m not a child!” John shouted. “I won’t stand here and let you insult me and humiliate me!” With these words, John flung his chair over on its side and strode toward the door. Despite his father’s shout to turn around and come back, John charged out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “He’s going to regret this!” Balian announced with controlled anger, his jaw clenched.

  “Frankly,” Maria Zoë countered pointedly, “I think John was perfectly justified! You were being unfair. You have no grounds for imputing such dishonorable behavior to John. He has never been anything but honest, upright, and chivalrous in his dealings—”

  “You haven’t a clue what goes on inside a fifteen-year-old boy!” Balian scoffed. “They’re all ruled by their loins, and when it comes to an attractive girl, they think with what’s between their legs. I can’t, and won’t, risk having John shatter everything I’ve worked for! Imagine it: a Frankish youth rapes a Greek priest’s daughter! The island would explode—”

  “John isn’t going to rape anyone, much less Father Andronikos’ daughter!” Maria Zoë protested, losing her temper.

  “Rape, seduce. What difference does it make? It—”

  “Let me tell you that the difference is like to the difference between heaven and hell!” Maria Zoë cut him off furiously. “If you don’t recognize that, then you’re no better than—”

  “This isn’t about what the girl feels!” Balian cut her off. “It’s about the way it would be perceived and exploited by the likes of Brother Zotikos! I don’t give a damn if the girl seduces and rapes John! If she’s deflowered by a Frank, everything I’ve worked for these past weeks is ruined!” Balian jumped to his feet and paced to the far side of the room to stand with his back to his wife.

  Maria Zoë took a deep breath to get a grip on her anger. While she remained convinced that Balian was completely in the wrong, she also recognized that this outburst had more to do with his inner fears that something could still go wrong. She wanted to reassure her husband, and she wanted to reconcile him with his firstborn. She just wasn’t sure how. The silence extended from seconds to minutes.

  At last Balian turned around and returned to the table. He didn’t sit, just took his glass and sipped from it standing. At last he looked at his wife, and the reproach in her eyes irritated him. “I know John doesn’t intend to do anyone any harm,” he told her firmly. “I know he’s exceptionally responsible and mature for his age, but he’s playing with fire and doesn’t even know it! He doesn’t know how unutterably powerful sexual desire can be!”

  “Come,” Maria Zoë tried to reason. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have been able to control yourself at his age?” Maria Zoë tried to make it a joke, but it fell flat.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Damn it! Why did he choose this time and this girl to lust after?”

  “I expect,” Maria Zoë observed dryly, “that he didn’t choose either. Love is notorious for taking us all by surprise when and where we least expect it. I hardly intended to fall in love with a landless knight, either, you know. But let’s not assume the worst. Sit down and drink with me. You forbade John from going to Kolossi. He won’t defy you. He’s a good boy.”

  But that’s exactly what John did. He stormed out of the confrontation with his father, went to his chamber and packed a bunch of things in a saddlebag. He took all the money he owned, and then went to the stables, with Barry anxiously at his heels. Just as on that night when Lord Aimery had been arrested two years ago, he saddled his stallion in the dark and set off into the night. Now, as then, no one thought to stop the son and heir of Balian d’Ibelin.

  He had ridden far beyond Nicosia and was on the treacherous highway to Limassol before the anger had burned itself out enough for him to moderate his pace and take stock of his situation. A part of his brain suggested he should turn around and return to Nicosia rather than pursue open defiance. He could express his indignation in other ways. He could seek his mother’s intervention. He could appeal to Lord Aimery and Eschiva. He could treat his father with icy-cold politeness, freezing any attempt at friendliness.

  But after considering his options, he concluded he couldn’t go back. The injustice of his father’s accusation drove him forward. He had never, ever done anything that anyone in their right mind might interpret as dishonorable when it came to women.

  Taking pity on Troubadour and a lagging Barry, however, he dismounted, removed the saddle and bridle, and hobbled the horse where there was plenty of grass. He lay down on the saddle and took Barry into his arms (something the dog loved) to help keep him warm. Eventually he put himself to sleep with imaginary conversations in which he defended himself to his father. At dawn he rose unrested, re-tacked Troubadour, and set off again, with Barry loping along, tongue hanging out, at their heels.

  John was beginning to fear his father would send men after him to bring him home, so he avoided villages as much as possible. He skirted any habitation, riding through open countryside. He paid a shepherd to share some cheese and bread with him, paying far too much and giving half to Barry. He regretted setting off in his Frankish clothes, remembering nostalgically his adventures in Greek attire.

  On the second night he begged the hospitality of a peasant family. They were far too terrified of a Frankish “knight” to say no. Again he paid handsomely, particularly for meat for Barry, because he knew they had little to share. In return the housewife served him a generous breakfast and gave him bread and cheese for the next stage of his journey.

  John spent his third night in Limassol, but far from the Templar commandery where he might be recognized and arrested on his father’s orders, seeking a humble hostel instead. The other guests were mostly old, decrepit, and poor, and they looked askance at him and his big dog, but his silver remained welcome. The snoring and smells of the other guests in the common room, however, sent John to sleep in the stable. He climbed up into the hayloft and made his bed there, with Barry as his pillow.

  In the morning he gave Barry a washing in a fountain and then found a bathhouse for himself. He indulged in a thorough cleaning and a haircut. He sent his underwear and shirt to a laundry while he steamed away the grime of the road. Thus it was midmorning before he embarked on the last stage of his journey to the village beyond Kolossi where Father Andronikos lived.

  By now a new kind of nervousness had overtaken him. What if Eirini wasn’t glad to see him? What if her father shared his father’s views of his intentions?

  He had already resolved to pretend he was representing his father and had come to share the terms of the agreement, but that wouldn’t give him any excuse to be alone with Eirini. . . .

  John’s changing thoughts and moods produced an erratic pace. Some
times he pressed ahead eagerly. Sometimes he slowed to a walk as he rehearsed speeches and imagined encounters in his head. He had already passed the turnoff to Kolossi when abruptly, out of a grove of trees, an armed knight burst out to block the road in front of him. John reached for his hilt as his heart leapt into his throat. It didn’t help that he recognized Sir Galvin almost at once. John was (naively) more afraid of his father’s wrath than he was of robbers.

  “Been taking our sweet time about this trip, haven’t we?” Sir Galvin mocked with a grin as he blocked the road.

  John drew up. Sir Galvin was bigger, stronger, and more experienced in combat. He also rode a larger and heavier horse. Nor did it help that Barry recognized Sir Galvin as the man who often gave him scraps of meat and started wagging his tail in delight. The dog would be no help to him now, and John did not stand much of a chance trying to force his way through anyway. He didn’t try. Instead he called out defiantly, “I’m not going to just turn around and go docilely back with you! You’ll have to tie and gag me.”

  “Now why would I want to do that, laddie?” Sir Galvin asked with a grin. “You father simply suggested you shouldn’t be riding about on your own at your tender age.” That was a provocative and calculated insult, John noted furiously as the old knight continued, “He sent me to escort you.”

  Damn him! John thought resentfully. Now he would have someone watching his every move and word when he was with Eirini! He glowered sullenly at Sir Galvin for half a minute, while trying to think what he could do or say to shake off this unwanted “nursemaid,” but his brain was empty. After another half-minute he conceded defeat and nodded.

  Sir Galvin turned his horse on his haunches and fell in beside John, Barry trotting happily beside them, and John rode the remaining mile to the village where Father Andronikos lived in resentful silence. They arrived as the priest was ringing the little bell in the rectangular frame over the church door. He smiled and waved at them. “Welcome, welcome! Join me in thanking the dear Lord for your lord father, young Janis. He has worked a miracle.”