Balian sighed.
Aimery continued, “I need a Constable who can take command of Jerusalem’s fighting forces and face down Hildesheim and his German barons.”
“Did you have someone in mind?”
“Yes: you.”
That took Balian by surprise. He started and then stared at Aimery with eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“But, of course, if you prefer to return to Cyprus as my lieutenant there, then I imagine I could find someone else. . . .”
Balian snapped for air, at a loss for words—but then he pulled himself together and replied forcefully, “I would indeed prefer to return to Cyprus, and I would be honored to serve as your lieutenant there.”
“Good. That’s settled, then.” Aimery smiled, indicating he had expected this response, before continuing, “So that still leaves the issue of a Constable for Jerusalem.”
“You know that Ralph of Tiberius was a rival for your position as husband to Isabella and King of Jerusalem?” Balian asked cautiously. He had bought the support of the Tiberius brothers for Aimery by agreeing to marry Meg to Hugh. To Aimery he stressed, “Ralph fought very well at Hattin, and both he and Hugh, I understand, distinguished themselves in this recent battle against al-Adil. You might think seriously about naming Ralph Constable as a means to cement his loyalty to you.”
“You do remember why Champagne arrested me, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it would be the same with me and Tiberius: I would never completely trust him. I want a Constable that I trust 150 per cent.” He paused and waited for Balian’s somewhat reluctant nod before adding, “I was thinking of your son John.”
“John?” Balian could not believe his ears.
“He’s stood up to Hildesheim once already,” Aimery pointed out.
“John’s mature beyond his years. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s brave, but not foolhardy.” Balian listed John’s virtues readily, but then hesitated and added, “And he’s only eighteen.”
“Baldwin was fifteen at Montgisard,” Aimery countered. “And I’m told Henry Plantagenet defeated his rival King Stephen at fourteen.”
Balian nodded absently. Hadn’t he told Meg only weeks ago that John was old enough to be regent? But that was different, because the title of regent was based strictly on blood ties. He reminded Aimery: “Kings automatically command loyalty; Constables need to earn it.”
“Fair enough, but it’s not as if I were a feeble old man or a minor child. I expect to command my own armies in any major conflict. I need a Constable for the working days, not for the crises. John is the Queen’s closest male blood relative. Who else should hold my horse at the coronation?”
Balian nodded again, and then with a smile he conceded, “Then so be it. I am grateful to you for recognizing John despite his youth.”
“He may not be so grateful,” Aimery quipped. “Such prominence and responsibility will cut his youth short.” Aimery was only half jesting.
“His youth was taken from him by Hattin,” Balian countered, and then caught his breath.
“Yes?” Aimery prompted.
“If you take John from me,” Balian opened, “then I want Philip back.”
“I thought you might,” Aimery admitted. “He’s half Greek already anyway, and apparently Champagne had no less than four body squires, all of whom are idle and in need of employment. Sons of barons, of course.”
Balian nodded. “Good. Was there anything else?”
“Just one thing.”
Balian waited.
Aimery became deadly serious. “You could have advised Isabella to abdicate in favor of her daughter, confident that you would have been named regent of Jerusalem. Weren’t you tempted?”
“Not really.”
Aimery raised his eyebrows.
“We reap what we sow. I surrendered Jerusalem for forty thousand Christian lives, and Ibelin for fifteen thousand more. So I have no right to claim territory. Furthermore, I owe those people a livelihood. We can offer them that on Cyprus.”
“In short, you chose Cyprus over Jerusalem.”
Balian smiled faintly. “I chose Cyprus over Acre. If we had Jerusalem—and Ibelin, I might have made a different choice.”
Aimery nodded in understanding. Part of him, too, preferred Nicosia to Acre, but the temptation to wear his brother’s crown had been too great in the end. “So Cyprus will be your kingdom, then. The last kingdom.”
“The last kingdom,” Balian corrected, “is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Paphos, Kingdom of Cyprus, Epiphany 1198
They’d left Acre on a cold northerly and it had been a rough, wet crossing, but as they approached Paphos harbor the wind died away and milder air enveloped them. Within a half-hour the wind had backed around to the south, and although it was only a gentle breeze, it was enough to carry them through the harbor entrance. As they cleared the breakwater and the full harbor came into view, they were startled to find lanterns burning from the mastheads and on the decks of all the ships at anchor and along the quay. Not just that, but a snake of flickering light marked a procession making its way out of the city to the harbor. The chanting of the monks leading the procession reached them across the water as Ibelin, his wife, and his two youngest children stood on the foredeck of Haakon’s Ghost.
“What is it?” Balian asked Maria Zoë.
“I don’t know. It must be a local custom,” she answered.
Balian turned around and signaled to Erik Andersen. “Don’t take her to the quay just yet. Let’s wait and see what’s going on and what happens next.”
Andersen ordered the helmsman to head the ship into the wind and then drop the sail, so that the snecka just drifted.
The procession was carrying an icon surrounded by candles on a litter. Acolytes swinging silver incense burners flanked the litter; the bishop and a dozen priests preceded it while the people of Paphos followed, dressed in their best. Eventually the procession reached the harbor, and the litter was set down on the edge of the quay. The crowd spread out around the litter and a respectful silence fell. The bishop held aloft a large wooden cross—and then, to Balian’s astonishment, he flung it into the water with all his might.
Instantly, several young men launched themselves from the bows of the anchored ships and started swimming furiously toward the cross, in an evident competition to get to it first. From the shore and the ships, people cheered and encouraged their favorites. One woman’s voice calling “Vasili! Vasili!” was particularly clear. As the swimmers converged on the floating cross, the excitement grew. There was some wild splashing, and then one young man held the cross above his head and the crowd cheered.
The victor swam with the cross to the quay, and the bishop reached down to take the cross from his outstretched hand. Others lay belly down on the quay to help the swimmer climb up the side and stand, dripping wet, beside the litter with the icon. A blanket was offered the swimmer, along with blessings from the bishop.
Singing broke out again, but now it was spontaneous and uncoordinated. Some of the men appeared to have brought wine with them and started to nip at it and pass it to their friends. The bishop turned and the litter with the icon started its journey back toward the cathedral, with many but not all the people falling in behind.
Ibelin nodded to Andersen that they could proceed, and the captain ordered the oars run out. They went alongside just as the last of the procession disappeared between the buildings lining the quay, but there were still a large number of people milling about peacefully on the quay.
The Ibelin family went ashore and began to walk the short distance to the fortress, but a woman, recognizing the baron and his family, blocked their way and gestured emphatically toward the city as she spoke in a flood of words too fast for Balian. “What’s she saying?” he asked.
Both Maria Zoë and Philip answered. “She’s telling us to hurry so we can catch up with the procession.”
“Do you think we
should?” Balian asked Maria Zoë.
“Yes, let’s see what this is.”
They changed direction and picked up their pace in order to catch up with the end of the procession. They soon found themselves winding their way through Paphos past open doors displaying house icons, all lit by candles. At the head of the procession, the bishop blessed each icon and the usually elderly woman tending each as he passed by. Nuts, dried fruit, and wine were offered to the people following in the bishop’s wake. With each house they passed, the mood seemed to become less solemn and more joyous.
They must have tagged along for a quarter-hour or more before someone noticed and recognized Ibelin and his wife. Suddenly the names “Ibelin” and “Comnena” were being repeated up the length of the procession, like an echo that got ever fainter—until it started coming back the other way.
“Ela! Ela! Come! Come!” the voices said, and hands grabbed Balian’s and Philip’s arms, gesturing toward the front. Ahead of them people stood back to make way, and they were drawn forward through the length of the procession toward the front.
There was no question of refusing or resisting, but Balian was baffled by what appeared to be unmitigated goodwill. This wasn’t the passive acceptance of last year, nor was it the support of the immigrants. The people here were almost all Greek, and they were smiling and nodding. He caught sight of Ayyub/Antonis with his wife and her family around him. Father Andronikos was nodding and smiling as if he could take credit for everything. Meanwhile, more and more women reached out to touch Maria Zoë’s dress and murmur blessings for her as well.
As they reached the head of the column, the bishop broke into a wide smile and pulled Balian into his arms to kiss him on both cheeks. He exclaimed in Greek, in a loud voice that carried far: “My son! We thought you had abandoned us to return to your homeland, but you have returned to us! What a wonderful, additional reason to rejoice on this Holy Day!”
Maria Zoë caught her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “I think we have come home,” she whispered.
Balian d’Ibelin died in an unknown place on an unknown date of unknown causes. His grave no longer exists or has not been found. He was survived by his wife Maria Comnena, who died in 1217, and his four children. The House of Ibelin was to provide regents for both Jerusalem and Cyprus, seneschals and constables and queens, as well as scholars, jurists, and patrons of the arts. It was the most powerful family in Outremer for the next two centuries, yet never challenged the Crown.
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Helena P. Schrader
Historical Notes
First a word about the setting of this novel, as many readers may be surprised at how sophisticated, cosmopolitan and civilized the late twelfth century appears in this book:
• Although the bulk of the population in the Holy Land was still Christian at this time, the native Orthodox population spoke Arabic and used Arabic names; immigrants spoke their native languages and a smattering of Arabic. Second- and third-generation immigrants were bilingual, speaking both French, the language of the elite and administration, and Arabic, the language of the bazaars and the poor.
• The Holy Land under the Franks was an important crossroads of civilization. This resulted in considerable technological innovation and progress. Examples of this are: 1) wall fireplaces with chimneys. Although not known in the Arab world, the introduction of wall fireplaces and chimneys in Frankish homes predates their widespread use in Western Europe; 2) extensive use of glass in windows; 3) running fountains; 4) sewage systems that relied on water to flush out refuse.
Turning to specific historical events:
• Henri de Champagne ordered the arrest of Aimery de Lusignan, Constable of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, because he spoke up in defense of the Pisan community. Champagne suspected the Pisans of being in a plot with Aimery’s brother Guy to depose him. According to the Old French Continuation of William of Tyre, Aimery was released because the grandmasters of the militant orders “and the barons of the Kingdom” went to Champagne and “upbraided him for having arrested the Constable. . . .” The text does not make clear that the issue here was a constitutional one, but the subsequent rebellion of the barons of Jerusalem against the Hohenstaufen kings hinges on precisely the issue that no member of the High Court could be arrested without an order by his peers (the High Court)—i.e., not by the King alone. I felt it was important to introduce this significant constitutional issue here.
• As I note in the introduction, there is no evidence that John d’Ibelin was squire to Aimery de Lusignan, but such a close relationship would help explain the otherwise surprising fact that King Aimery appointed John Constable of Jerusalem when still only eighteen or nineteen years old.
• In the Jerusalem Trilogy, Balian d’Ibelin was given a fictional younger brother Henri. He was invented when I wrote my first (unpublished) novel set in the Kingdom of Cyprus during the baronial revolt against Friedrich II. At the time, I was already trying to speculate on how the Ibelins became established on Cyprus, and hypothesized a younger son or younger brother who came to Cyprus with Guy, despite the hostility of Balian to Guy. Now that I’ve refined my interpretation of what happened, this fictional younger brother is no longer necessary.
• However, continued research turned up the fascinating fact that Balian had a nephew, the son of his maternal half-sister (whether Ermengard or Stephanie is not recorded) and her husband (first name unknown) de Brie. The Bries were powerful on Cyprus in the next generation. Hence the Henri d’Ibelin of the Jerusalem Trilogy has been reborn in this book as Henri de Brie, a nephew (rather than a brother) of Balian.
• In the Jerusalem Trilogy, I changed the name of Balian’s brother Baldwin to Barisan to avoid confusion with Baldwin IV, the Leper King. However, as King Baldwin is not a character in this story, here I have used Balian’s brother’s real name, Baldwin.
• Due to confusion about when Aimery and Eschiva married and the dates of their children’s births, and to avoid confusing name duplications, I used the name “Hugh” for their eldest child in my Jerusalem Trilogy, but have corrected that in this book to Guy. Hugh was not born until September 1195. On the other hand, to avoid the duplication of the name John, I have renamed Aimery and Eschiva’s second son “Aimery.”
• Despite the commonly quoted excerpt from the Chronicle of Ernoul that suggests Guy de Lusignan arrived in Cyprus in late 1192 to find a peaceful but depopulated island, there is substantial evidence that the revolt against the Templars continued throughout Guy’s very short rule and into Aimery’s reign as well. The Christian sources note that the Templars were driven from the island, and that the mightiest and wealthiest militant Order in Christendom did not think they had the strength to hold it—incredibly strong evidence that the revolt was very serious indeed. Even Ernoul’s account implies that the male population was decimated—otherwise the new settlers would not have been urged to marry the widows. Most important, the Cypriot chronicler St. Neophytos talks of an extended period of violence, bloodshed, and disorder.
• Neither the exact date nor the cause of Guy de Lusignan’s death are known. George Hill, in A History of Cyprus, Volume 2: The Frankish Period, claims Guy died “suddenly” in April 1194. The more reliable Peter Edbury says in The Kingdom of Cyprus and the Crusades that Guy died “at about the end of 1194” without venturing to suggest a cause. La Monte speaks only of “1194.” I chose a date that suited the story line. As for the cause of death, since any violent death—whether assassination or accident—is more likely to have been recorded, we can assume that Guy died of an illness. For dramatic purposes, I have chosen to make it a slow, painful death. The symptoms described here are compatible with stomach cancer. Opium was widely available in the crusader states.
• Neophytos is a historical figure, later sanctified, who wrote an important chronicl
e of the period. His account alleges terrible oppression by Isaac Comnenus, and claims that the island was depopulated and impoverished before the Franks came. He also rails against the Franks, however, accusing them of further oppression. In fact, he systematically accuses all rulers, including Manuel I Comnenus, of poor governance, making it hard to know if one really was better or worse than the others. St. Neophytos is known to have received visitors, and was revered in his own time. He also visited Palestine and Jerusalem before it fell to the Saracens.
• A conflict between the Latin Church and the Crown of Cyprus about tithes in the early thirteenth century makes it clear that the Greek Church was initially allowed to retain the tithes from their traditional lands—and that Ibelin’s sons, notably Philip, supported the Greek—not the Latin—Church.
• Humphrey de Toron is said to have gone with Guy to Cyprus, and he was apparently dead before Aimery married the woman he still considered his wife, Isabella of Jerusalem. The date and circumstances of his death are not recorded. The notion of his joining a monastery is my own invention.
• Bizarre as it may seem, the incident of a Greek pirate named “Canaqui” (Kanakes in Greek) kidnapping Eschiva “and her children” is a recorded fact. The date of the incident is, however, unstated, and although at least one source says it was after Aimery was king, we know that Eschiva died before he was crowned. I have chosen, therefore, to place the incident in the winter of 1195-1196. It is also recorded that she was seized from “Paradhisi,” on the coast. The Latin Continuation of William of Tyre explicitly states she had been “ill” and had gone to Paradhisi for a change of air—i.e., to recuperate. The nature of her illness is unrecorded.
• The rescue attempt by Magnussen is entirely fictional, but I thought it a fitting end for my Norse crusader.
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