Eschiva shook her head. “It will be too late. I am already dying.” She closed her eyes, crossed herself, and started reciting the Lord’s Prayer with a sense of peace. She could not know what would happen, but she was certain that Aimery would not abandon their children. As for herself, she had said the truth. She could sense that she was dying. She would surely not live long enough for her fate to be of consequence in the power struggle between her husband and her captors.
Chapter Nineteen
Leo of Armenia
Sis, Cilician Armenia,
December 1195
IBELIN SET SAIL FROM KYRENIA IN a Venetian galley and made landfall at Antiochia Mikra before sundown. Here, however, his vessel was denied entry. After being fired upon by crossbowmen in the breakwater tower, the ship put about and headed east. They followed the coastline to the Armenian port of Corycos.†
This much more significant port was guarded far more effectively. It had a magnificent fortress built on the island guarding the entrance, and a second, somewhat smaller, castle on the mainland. In addition, a pier or breakwater that would effectively close the waterway between them to a narrow passage was under construction. But this was a friendly port; they sailed in without obstacle.
No sooner had they docked than an Armenian customs official boarded. The Venetian captain explained that he was not trading, simply bringing passengers. Ibelin’s party of six knights included a man with Edessan roots and an Armenian mother, Sir Constantine. Sir Constantine spoke Armenian well and rapidly explained their situation. The customs official immediately agreed to take them to Simon, Baron of Corycos.
Ibelin and his party were welcomed at the Armenian baron’s town house, where news of the Lady of Lusignan’s kidnapping ignited indignation and anger. Their host and his knights were quick to offer their support, and there was brief talk of an immediate assault on Antiochia Mikra. (“We should have taken that rats’ nest long ago!” was the widespread feeling.) In the end, however, the calmer voice of the Lord of Corycos prevailed. Ibelin was promised horses and an escort commanded by the Baron’s eldest son, Ravon, to take him to Leo, the ruler of Armenian Cilicia.
After a night’s rest, Ibelin, his knights and escort set off for Sis, the Armenian capital, some two hundred miles to the northeast. They covered the distance in just over five days, entering Sis in late afternoon on the second Sunday in Advent, according to the Armenian calendar.
Sis, located at the foot of the Taurus Mountains, was a fine town with many stone houses behind a strong perimeter wall reinforced by tall, square towers at regular intervals. The domes of the churches dominated the skyline of the lower town, but the castle proudly stood above the town, banners fluttering boastfully from all its towers.
Ravon of Corycos was sufficiently important to gain them immediate and unquestioned access to the fortress. Their horses were taken by attentive grooms, and in a very short period of time a household official appeared. He bowed deeply to Ibelin, welcoming him in excellent French to Cilician Armenia and the residence of its ruler. He offered the hospitality of his lord to Ibelin and his party, indicating that the knights should share in the common meal in the great hall, while offering to take Ibelin to a guest chamber where he could bathe and change before an audience with Leo. Ibelin asked that one squire and Sir Constantine accompany him, a request readily granted.
Ibelin followed the household official up a series of stairs and down corridors to a tower chamber well-appointed with fur rugs, including an entire bear. The other furnishings consisted of elaborately carved chests, tables, and chairs, as well as a large box bed hung with fine curtains. The temperature here at the foot of the Taurus Mountains at this time of year was decidedly chilly, and the steward promised that a fire would be laid immediately. He also promised that a bath and hot water would be brought to the chamber along with refreshments. Adding that he could not know when his lord would grant an audience, he suggested that Ibelin make himself comfortable and partake of the refreshments. Then he withdrew.
Ibelin went to the window and opened the shutters to orient himself. He was confronted by a spectacular view of distant snow-capped mountains, and an extensive brick monastery complex with a large domed church on a nearer hill. The bells of the monastery clanged faintly on the cold air, and, as if they were a signal, the bells of the churches in the city started to ring in their different notes. Ibelin crossed himself and drew back into the room, shuddering from the cold air.
This was the farthest he had ever been from Ibelin in his entire life. The world here seemed stranger to him than Damascus. At least in Damascus he had spoken the language. . . .
He turned back into the room, and his eyes fell on Sir Constantine. The knight was slight and wiry, his strength not visible but, Ibelin knew from experience, dogged. Sir Constantine was somewhat taciturn by nature, not to say melancholy, a function perhaps of his history. His grandfather had been killed in the skirmish that led to the capture of Joscelyn II of Edessa, and with the fall of Edessa six years later his family had lost their lands. The family fortunes further deteriorated when his father was taken captive alongside Bohemond III of Antioch and Raymond III of Tripoli when Constantine was not yet a year old. He had not seen his father again until he was eight. Constantine himself had fought with Tripoli at Hattin, and had been one of the knights to fight his way off the field with the Count—but like Sir Sebastian, he had sought service with Ibelin following the surrender of Jerusalem. Sir Constantine had no land, no family, and no clear purpose in life.
“Tell me everything you know about Leo of Armenia,” Ibelin ordered, stepping down from the window seat in search of warmer air. As the sun set, the chill was becoming greater, and Ibelin could see his breath in this tower chamber.
“He’s about your age,” Sir Constantine opened. “His father was treacherously murdered when he was only fifteen, and he and his brother had to seek refuge with his mother’s kin. Ten years later, the man who had probably instigated the murder, Leo’s paternal uncle, was in turn assassinated by his own bodyguard. Leo’s older brother, Rupin, was recognized as prince. Rupin was a strong friend of the Franks; he was married to Humphrey de Toron’s elder sister Isabella.”
That piece of news took Ibelin by surprise. “Is she still alive?”
“I don’t think so—or if so, she is in a convent, for she retired there at the same time as her husband went into a monastery.”
“I thought he was the ruling prince?” Balian asked, confused.
“He was, but Rupin was lured to Antioch on the pretext of negotiations over the disputed border, and was immediately seized by Bohemond and imprisoned. The Armenians had to secure his ransom at huge cost, including recognizing Antioch’s suzerainty over Armenia, and the agreement took years to negotiate. Meanwhile, Leo held the reins of government, and with very few men had to defend his brother’s territory from both the Seljuks and the Greeks. Eventually Rupin returned from captivity, but he was a broken man. He retired to a monastery rather than resuming his rule.”
“Was that his choice or his brother’s?” Ibelin asked sharply.
Sir Constantine shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I was not here. But my Armenian relatives always spoke highly of Leo. They did not ever suggest foul play on his part.”
Ibelin nodded. “Go on. What happened next?”
“Although Armenia had been humiliated, Antioch was in no position to exploit the advantage, because it was 1187. With the collapse of the Kingdom of Jerusalem following Hattin, Antioch had to prepare for an onslaught from Saladin. In fact, the situation was so desperate that Antioch and Leo buried their differences, and a marriage between Leo and Bohemond’s niece cemented their new alliance. Meanwhile, with the Seljuks striking almost to Sis itself, Leo gathered what forces he could and went to meet them head-on. He won a dramatic and unexpected victory over the Seljuks, driving them back into their own territory. After that he supported the crusade of Friedrich Barbarossa, providing horses, supplies, and medical care fo
r the many wounded. After Saladin abandoned the Templar castle of Baghras, Leo seized it, rebuilt it, and garrisoned it. That, however, provoked outrage from Bohemond of Antioch, who felt the castle belonged to him. Leo invited Bohemond to discuss the dispute at Baghras, and promptly took him, his wife, and his entourage hostage.”
“What?” Ibelin gasped in sudden alarm.
Before Sir Constantine could answer, a troop of servants arrived with burning coals, tinder, and logs. Although they had been speaking French, which the servants presumably did not understand, Ibelin and Sir Constantine waited until the fire was devouring the kindling voraciously and the servants had withdrawn before continuing.
“Is Antioch still held?” Ibelin asked as the door clunked shut.
“Last I heard,” Sir Constantine replied evenly, “but we have not always been well informed of events here.”
“Last you heard, where was he being held?”
“Right here, in Sis.”
Ibelin stared at Sir Constantine. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? We may have just walked into a trap!”
“How so?” Sir Constantine answered levelly. “Leo seized Bohemond in revenge for what Bohemond had done to his brother. That is the Armenian way. But he has no quarrel with us. He will treat us with great hospitality. As you see.” Sir Constantine indicated the servants now lugging buckets of steaming water and a tub into their chamber.
Ibelin watched warily as the tub was set on a mat before the fireplace and water was emptied into it. Then, with resignation, he beckoned Georgios over to help him undress. Lost in thought, he undressed and stepped into the tub. He supposed that Sir Constantine was correct about the lack of motive for any hostile act, and their reception so far had been exemplary. Still he felt uneasy. Maybe it was just being so far from familiar surroundings—or the increasing sense of chasing a mirage.
The only evidence they had that Eschiva was in Antiochia Mikra was the statement of a Norse sailor that the ship carrying her had been headed that way when it was intercepted. Who was to say the pirates hadn’t changed course thereafter? Then again, the fact that he’d been denied entry to Antiochia Mikra seemed to confirm the hostility of its ruler. Nor had Corycos’ men doubted for an instant that the tyrant there was capable of such an act of perfidy as the kidnapping of a young mother and her children.
With a sigh, Ibelin stood up and accepted the towel Georgios held out to him as he stepped out of the tub. While Balian dressed in clean clothes, from his braies to his best silk surcoat, Sir Constantine bathed, followed by Georgios. Meanwhile red wine, flatbread, cucumber yogurt, and bowls of beef, beet, and bulgur stew had arrived. The food was loaded onto the table along with wooden cutlery and local pottery. Ibelin, Sir Constantine, and Georgios gathered around to eat heartily.
They had not finished, however, before a knock interrupted them, and the household official bowed deeply before proclaiming, “My lord would see you now, if it is convenient to you, my lord.”
Ibelin nodded and stood. Sir Constantine grabbed one of the flatbreads to eat as he followed behind his lord. They were escorted through a large and crowded hall in which they saw the other knights of their party and nodded greeting, but continued to an audience chamber. Here the walls were covered with bright frescoes of scenes from the Gospels, the saints’ heads surrounded by solid gold halos. At the center of the far wall was a raised dais with a carved throne on it, and magnificent carpets covered the floor around it. But the throne was empty, and before Ibelin had fully oriented himself, a man in long silk robes and a heavy velvet cloak trimmed in gold strode toward him with an outstretched hand. “My lord of Ibelin,” he opened in French (to Ibelin’s relief ).
Ibelin went down on one knee and bowed his head. Leo of Armenia, however, grabbed him firmly by the elbow and pulled him up to deliver a kiss on each cheek. “Any member of the House of Ibelin is welcome here. I will never forget how your brother was one of the few men to stand by me when the Sultan Saladin joined forces with that snake Isaac Angelus and tried to crush Armenia!”
Balian staggered physically at these words, but Leo of Armenia was too busy talking to notice. “He fought like a lion—not to say St. George himself! Alas, he was not immortal, and he died of the wounds he had suffered as we pursued the Turks all the way to Sarvandikar. It was a grave loss, and I bitterly regret that he did not live to enjoy the reward I would have given him. Did you not know this?” Leo asked, astonished, as he paused long enough to register his guest’s expression of amazement.
“You are speaking of my brother Baldwin, Baron of Ramla and Mirabel?” Balian asked back, dazed and disbelieving.
“Yes. Didn’t you know he had died?”
“I presumed it, because I have heard nothing from him in the last eight years. But I had no idea where, when, or how. He—he fought with you against Saladin?”
“And Isaac Angelus, that traitorous bastard!”
“When—when, again, did you say he died?” Balian asked, beginning at last to understand the silence that had so puzzled him after Hattin.
“1187. That was the reason I could not send help to Jerusalem. Surely you knew that? I was fighting for our freedom, our very existence, right here—with your brother at my side. He was a wonderful man, a great knight. I gladly called him friend and would have happily made him a baron, with a good Armenian wife.”
“My lord, forgive me. I honestly did not know. When my brother left the Kingdom of Jerusalem, he said he was going to Antioch. We heard that he was received there with great honor. After that, however, we heard no more from him. He seemed to just disappear. We had no idea where he was or why he did not send us word of his doings. It is a great comfort to hear that he died as he would have wanted, fighting for Christ.” But the greatest comfort was to think that he had not abandoned his only child out of indifference or because he had a new wife and a new family. Balian begged God to be allowed to tell Eschiva this news, while the prince of Armenia assured him that he spoke the truth.
When the Armenian finished, Ibelin told him, “If it is as you say and you were my brother’s friend, then the news I bring will cause you distress. I am here on account of his only surviving child, his daughter Eschiva, the Lady of Lusignan.”
It was Leo of Armenia’s turn to look astonished. “Is the Lady of Lusignan not well?”
“The Lady of Lusignan was kidnapped by Kanakes from a coastal manor to which she had retired with her youngest children in order to recover from her last childbirth. A galley in the service of Lusignan intercepted Kanakes’ ship off Antiochia Mikra and managed to rescue the youngest child, but the Lady of Lusignan herself was too weak to make the transfer from one ship to the other. She, her daughters, and the Lord of Lusignan’s middle son were, we believe, landed by Kanakes at Antiochia Mikra. We presume that Kanakes was in the pay of Isaac of Antiochia Mikra.”
“The whoreson!” Leo burst out emphatically. “If it is true, he will either release them to me or I’ll crush him!” He grabbed Ibelin by the arm and assured him earnestly, “I swear to you, I will secure their release. Have no more fear for their safety. I will secure their release—not just for your brother, whom I loved well, nor indeed for the good Lord of Lusignan, whom I respect, but for Christ Himself. This was a despicable deed!”
Ibelin liked the sound of that, but what if they were wrong and Eschiva was held by someone else?
Mountains of Cilicia, January 1196
Dying was proving to be much harder than Eschiva had expected. It was now, Eschiva calculated somewhat uncertainly, over a month since their capture. Although she could not stand without feeling dizzy and so remained in bed most of the time, her condition appeared to have stabilized.
Since their arrival at the isolated farmhouse, they had been in the care of the two women. Although the Lusignans and their caretakers had no common language, humanity was a language in itself. The women had taken an instant liking to bright-haired, curious little Aimery, and he was already their darling. He followed
them around as they went about their chores, and his laughter rang out like church bells, always lifting Eschiva’s heart—until she thought of Hugh.
When she thought of Hugh, she felt the desire to join him wherever he was. But if she died, would they be reunited? He had been without sin, but she had many sins on her conscience and no confessor to give her absolution. Besides, whenever she found herself wishing she could hold Hugh in her arms again, she was called back to the present by little Aimery, Helvis, or Burgundia.
The women had been very solicitous of Helvis, cleaning her face gently and with sympathy. They seemed concerned that she might have scars, and had produced ointments that they smeared on the cuts with obvious good intent. Indeed, although they showed boundless indulgence for little Aimery, they were no less kindly and motherly to Helvis and Burgundia.
With Eschiva, admittedly, they were more reserved. It was hard to tell if they were following orders to keep their distance or simply intimidated by what they had been told about her. Whatever the reason, they avoided meeting her eye, and seemed embarrassed in her presence. Nevertheless, they had cleaned all their clothes and provided them water and sponges so they could clean themselves as well. They brought fresh bread and milk for little Aimery daily, but otherwise the diet consisted of salted or dried meat or fish, lentils, and occasionally dried fruits. At times Eschiva felt she couldn’t face this mixture again and refused to eat altogether, but then Burgundia would come and coax her.
“Don’t die, Mama!” Burgundia pleaded. “What would we do without you? We need you! Please eat at least a little,” she begged. Whereupon Eschiva would dutifully take the flatbread and nibble on it until it was consumed. Then Burgundia would kiss her with a heartfelt “Thank you, Mama!”
Eschiva saw little of the guards keeping them here, and nothing of Brother Zotikos. She supposed everyone was awaiting Aimery’s response. She tried to picture it, and depending on her energy level she pictured either him storming ashore to rescue her, or negotiations that dragged on for years. The absence of her wedding ring, however, led to terrible nightmares. She had been only eight when Aimery slipped it on her finger, and as she grew older, the knuckle had grown but not the first section of her left ring finger. They had been forced to cut through the gold and pry it open to remove it from the finger that had worn it for twenty-two years. In her sleep, her subconscious combined the missing ring with her most sinister fear: divorce. Instead of Brother Zotikos and his minions cutting off the ring, it was Aimery himself. More than once she had woken up thrashing in her bed, whimpering for Aimery not to leave her.
The Last Crusader Kingdom Page 41