Johanna’s fingers tightened around hers, but her gaze turned elsewhere. “He has . . . sent to me again.”
“He means only to threaten you.”
“Easy for you,” Johanna said bitterly. “No harm comes to you.” But she was still clinging tight to Edythe’s hands.
Edythe said, “Who harms you harms me.”
“I believe you. I believe you.” The Queen flung her arms around her and they embraced. Edythe held her tight; she had again the idea that she had to give Johanna somewhere to rest.
“Have you seen him? Answered him?”
“I—” Johanna stirred. “I—no.”
Edythe said nothing but held her fast; she knew Johanna was lying. Whatever had happened, she was under de Sablé’s whip hand even more now.
Johanna said, “What shall I do?”
“You cannot go against your own heart. Don’t see him. Give him no answer at all. Don’t do what he wants.”
In her arms Johanna sighed and was still. Edythe wondered what she was not saying; she felt a rush of tenderness toward the other woman, who got herself into such tangles. She thought, Well, who doesn’t? Unwillingly she thought of Rouquin. She patted Johanna’s shoulder and murmured reassurances, wishing she could put him out of her mind.
Johanna had never really thought Edythe was spying on her for the Templar. But someone was, or how would he know she still had the letters? Maybe he had been guessing. But she could not be sure. She had to keep him quiet. She wrapped up her mother’s letters in a bundle and sent them to him. Her mother said nothing wicked anyway, not outright.
She kept on arguing against the Crusade, but she made sure nobody overheard.
She said, “Now that Philip is gone, you can go home, too. We can all go. Philip will not keep his word, you know that. He will start trying to take Normandy from you before he is even back to Paris.”
Richard was sitting by the balcony, where there was a breeze, one leg folded with the ankle on the other knee. He said, “Now that Philip is gone, the Crusade is all mine.”
Rouquin was staring at her, his eyes hard with temper. “We came to take back Jerusalem.”
Johanna said, “Is Aquitaine not good enough, or Poitou, or Anjou, or Normandy, or England, all the sweet lands our father left you? It’s not just Philip; even our witless brother schemes—”
Richard laughed. “Oh, yes. Wicked John. Whom Mother, apparently, outdid like the sluggard schoolboy he is.” He turned to Rouquin. “Have you scouted the way to Jerusalem?”
Rouquin drifted over toward the table. Johanna had sent off all the servants, and he poured his wine himself. “I will if you order it.”
“That’s unlike you. You’ve done nothing?”
Rouquin swung around, bristling. “Jerusalem is far from here, and the country’s harsh and dry and full of Saracens. That much I’ve found out.”
“Well, then,” Richard said. He turned to Johanna. “May I call a page now?” His voice was silky with exaggerated courtesy.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course.” She watched as Rouquin drained his cup in a swallow, filled it again, and went over past the divan, toward the balcony, away from Richard.
The King sent the page for Humphrey de Toron. There would be a few moments while they were alone again; Johanna said, “You risk so much, staying here. Everything Mother and Father built—”
“John can’t beat a one-legged man to the privy,” Richard said.
“But Philip can,” Johanna said. “You know this. He is not the fighter you are, but—”
“Damned right he isn’t,” Richard said. “And he’d better heed the Pope’s letter, too. While I’m on Crusade, everything is safe.”
“It isn’t working that way for John,” she said.
“Nothing is working for John,” Richard said. He raised his voice. “My lord de Toron, come attend us.”
The young man joined them, slender, elegantly dressed, with his perfect manners and his lifetime’s knowledge of the country. Johanna drew away, toward Rouquin, who had his back to the King and the handsome courtier called in place of him.
The sun was going down and the courtyard outside was filling up with shadows. Now suddenly Rouquin went closer to the balcony; he was looking down into the courtyard below. Johanna followed him.
Behind them, Richard said, “We were talking about Jerusalem.”
Humphrey answered, “I am at your service, my lord.”
“Can we march there straight from here? What is that ground like?”
“Aaah—”
“My cousin says it’s rough, and a far way to the city.”
“Then my lord de Rançun already knows the country.”
Johanna stood just behind Rouquin; she thought the lord de Rançun knew when he was being edged out, too. Past his shoulder she looked into the courtyard below.
“It’s a long march,” Humphrey was saying, “through some very hilly places, and full of bandits.”
Still staring out over the balcony, Rouquin said, through tight lips, “In the Leper’s time, the port for Jerusalem was Jaffa.”
“My lord de Rançun is as always well informed,” said Humphrey de Toron. Somehow he made this sound like a pat on the head.
Johanna leaned on the wall by the balcony door. Down there the servants were gathering in front of the kitchen, waiting for the last meal to come out. The door sprayed a bright yellow flood of light out into the deepening blue twilight. Rouquin was still staring down into the courtyard. She wondered if he was watching something particular or just keeping his back to Humphrey.
“Jaffa,” Richard said. “That’s south of here? How far?” The divan creaked; he had leaned forward. “What’s the coast like?”
Humphrey’s musical voice answered him. “It’s one straight long beach from here to Egypt. There’s some high ground—the hills you can see from here, at the southern end of this bay—and there are some ruined cities.”
Out there, a dark form walked into the courtyard from the garden. Rouquin put his hand on the side of the door. The form became a person, who Johanna saw was Edythe. She wore her plain long dress, and the square-necked kirtle; her coif was coming loose, and her hair showed. In her hands she had bunches of herbs.
Johanna remembered the night in the garden, when they had both acted strangely at the same time. Abruptly much became clear to her.
She said, quietly, “Rouquin?”
Humphrey was saying, “Jaffa to Jerusalem is only one-third as far as the distance between Acre and Jerusalem, and there is a road. Supply lines, support.”
“Then we should take Jaffa first,” Richard said. “How far is it from here?”
Rouquin turned stiffly and went out of the room, without asking leave, without saying anything. Johanna watched him go. She thought, Well, it’s best if she does refuse him.
Humphrey said, “Ten days. Two weeks maybe. Depending.”
“On what Saladin does,” Richard said.
“On how you both do,” said Humphrey.
They would be fighting again soon. He would forget her then. Johanna felt her eyes burn. She wondered how Edythe felt and recalled some moments from a new view and thought, She loves him.
Yet it was no wonder she denied him. She was no child, but a knowing woman. She would see that between a servant and a prince there could be only one arrangement, in which he would have everything. This unaccountably made Johanna sad. She went back to the divan and sat down, not listening to her brother talk about the coast down to Jaffa.
The wind was blowing off the land, hot and gritty; Edythe drew the tail of her coif across her mouth and nose to keep from breathing sand. Johanna, beside her, moved closer into the protection of the wall. Below them the great gate of Acre was full of men, some on horses and some on foot, milling around talking, many times looking up the road, and into the sky.
Out beyond the city a little, on the slope, the captured garrison was lined up, thousands of men jammed together, their hands tied together
and to each other, surrounded by mounted knights.
It was almost noon; the Saracens would soon bring the ransom and their prisoners, and these would go free and Saladin would return them the True Cross. Then, again, Johanna would hammer on her brother that the Crusade was fulfilled and he should go home. She had confided this to Edythe at the same time she had warned that someone else was spying on them for the Templar Grand Master.
Edythe plucked at the front of her gown, trying to peel it away from her body. The heat of the sun pounded down on her, and sweat soaked her shift; she thought with all the coming and going in the citadel that de Sablé likely needed no real spy but only to ask a few questions now and then. She wished she could ease Johanna’s mind, but Johanna believed the worst, because she did not dare otherwise.
Edythe frowned. The road up and over the hill toward Saladin’s camp was still empty. This was taking too long. She looked up at the sky; the sun seemed to be at its peak.
Down there Richard nudged his horse forward, looking at the ground. He wore a fine white silk surcoat over his mail, and on his head was his gold crown, each engrailment studded with a jewel; his shield with its three leopards hung from the cantle of his saddle. He looked impatient. Edythe could tell what he was watching now; the shadow his horse made, however he moved, stayed directly underneath. It was noon.
He rode back toward the gate, scowling. On the wall around Edythe and Johanna and the other women, a crowd of people was pushing closer to the edge to watch, more and more coming up every moment. Someone whispered, “I’ve heard Saladin has killed all his Christian prisoners. The devil. He cannot meet the terms.” A woman sobbed, her hands to her face.
Edythe glanced at Johanna, who was leaning over the wall. “Look there,” the Queen said.
She rushed over, hoping to see some sign that this was coming to a good end, but it was only Richard in the midst of a crowd of yelling, shoving men. They were all on foot around his horse, and their arms stretched toward him like waving tentacles. Edythe looked up the road again: nothing.
Below, King Conrad shouted, “Time, sire, he needs more time, surely—”
“They aren’t coming,” Edythe said, under her breath, and Johanna grunted.
A brawny knight in a red surcoat shoved Conrad out of the way. “Sire, he’s making a fool of you. He’s broken the bargain. Now we should make these prisoners pay their own ransom in blood.”
Richard recoiled at that. Edythe thought, Oh, God, he won’t. He can’t. His horse half-reared, his hand tight on the reins. King Guy shouted, “Yes, yes, he’s had time, he thinks you will yield, again, sir, he’s testing you.” Richard’s head turned, taking in the other men around him, all clamoring at him.
The brawny knight flung a fist up. “Our dead cry from their graves for revenge! Let these prisoners pay for what we’ve all suffered!”
“Who is that?” Edythe asked.
“Hugh of Burgundy,” Johanna said. “Richard hates him; they had an argument once and Hugh called him an awful name. There’s de Sablé.”
“The Saracens—” someone yelled. “Kill the fucking Saracens!”
The Grand Master of the Templars was forcing a way through the babbling mob around the King. “Sire—Sire—”
Edythe felt almost dizzy from the heat; Johanna wiped her face with her sleeve. Below them, de Sablé was saying, in a voice that pierced all the babble, “Sire, after Hattin, when they massacred my brothers, it’s said Saladin looked on with joyful face. Now might we repay.”
“Revenge,” somebody shouted, and other voices picked it up. “Revenge!”
Johanna said, “He needed that money.”
“Besides,” Edythe said, leaning on the wall, faint, “now Philip is winning.”
Down below Richard spurred his horse, driving away from the press of men, as if he fought free of enemies. Alone on the road, he swung the horse neatly on its hocks and faced them.
“Yes, kill them. I can’t feed them, anyway—I can’t let them go—I can’t leave them here—kill them all.”
Edythe gasped. Johanna covered her face with her hands a moment. Then she lifted her head, and her eyes turned toward Edythe; she reached out and caught the other woman by the arm. “Let’s go home. Let’s go home.”
Edythe felt as if the sun’s heat pinned her fast where she was. Below her the knights were riding toward the captives on the slope. She saw the swords drawn, and the captives saw them, and began to scream. Johanna was pulling her. She stumbled away after the Queen, down to where their horses waited. She thought, This is why you are a monster, my lord. Not the other thing. The screams rose, out there, shrill with terror, and inside the gate knights and men-at-arms fought to get out, to join in the slaughtering. Their voices rose, howling. She shut her eyes, following Johanna away, away.
She went into the garden, where Berengaria had coaxed some green things back to life; Johanna followed her like a lamb after the bell. Neither of them spoke. Berengaria was indoors, the little Queen having more sense than they did, knowing to stay out of the heat and away from the men. Edythe kept having to dash tears from her eyes. She concentrated on picking bunches of yarrow, which she would grind later into a paste. She had found some beautiful jars in the apothecary shop to store such balms in. A healing balm. Her stomach twisted.
A page came in the garden gate. “The King.”
She straightened, moving away. He had shed the crown, the surcoat, the mail; he wore a Byzantine tunic with a plain border, scuffed riding boots, a belt of braided gold. He had just murdered three thousand men. Her stomach was cramped. He was hers, still, hers, no matter, but her belly hurt.
He came up before his sister, who had stood to greet him, and they kissed. Johanna took one of his hands. “Will you have some wine?”
“No. I have a lot to do, Jo, I can’t stay long. I wish I could.” He put her hand away. He looked tired, or distracted. Not especially remorseful. Edythe realized he would never speak of what he had done.
“You’re leaving Acre,” Johanna said. “You won’t reconsider.”
“No. I’m taking the army down the coast to Jaffa. You can stay here.”
Edythe drew closer; she said, under her breath, “Jaffa.”
Johanna said, “Richard, you must take care. This is a strange place, and they have such strange ways—I am afraid.” She put her arms around him, and they held each other; he laid his cheek against her hair. Edythe thought, again, Of anyone, this is whom he loves. Johanna stood back.
“Will—the Templars go?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.” He glanced at Edythe.
Johanna’s face smoothed out, calmer. One problem solved. She sat down on the stone bench behind her. “Very well, then. But we should go with you. Berengaria and I.”
Edythe thought she said this to be dutiful; surely she knew he had already made up his mind to leave them in Acre. Berengaria had come in the gate and stood there listening.
Richard said, “This will be a rough march. We’ll have some fighting, maybe a lot of fighting. And I don’t know what we’ll have when we get there. You should stay here until I send for you.”
Johanna bowed her head, as if submitting to this. Then Richard was turning to Edythe. “Can you treat wounds?”
Edythe said, “I—I have—” Thinking of the bumps and scrapes of pages, a lapdog’s broken leg, and digging a needle out of Alys’s finger.
Johanna surged up off the bench. “You can’t take her—by herself—she’s a woman!”
Richard said, “She is the only doctor I have, and she’s done well at it. I’m taking the fleet down, too. She can go on shipboard. She’ll be in no danger.”
Edythe said, “I want to go.”
Johanna said, “Why?” and Richard said, at the same time, “Good.” He moved a little closer to Johanna, and his voice fell. “She’s good luck to me. And if I get sick.”
Johanna was staring at Edythe. “But I need her.”
“It will only be a little whil
e,” Richard said. He patted his sister’s cheek and turned and went, passing Berengaria as if he never saw her at all. Edythe turned back to picking yarrow. She was going to Jaffa. She was going to Jaffa to find out what it meant to be a Jew.
Eleven
ACRE
Johanna said, “I shall miss you very much. I don’t know why you’re going.”
Edythe said, “I can do some good.” She kissed Johanna’s hand. “My lady. Pray for me.”
“I will,” Johanna said. “And pray for me also, I will think of you every hour.”
Edythe went down the plank to the galley; the captain met her, short and lively, with bright blue eyes in a dark face. His name was Ayberk and he spoke strange but fluent French. He said, “Welcome, lady, welcome. Richard the Basileus has placed you in my care.” He crossed himself, Greek-wise. “I will watch you close, and you will have fear of nothing.” He took her to the foredeck, where a little tent was rigged.
Almost at once the galley set its huge triangular sails. One of half a hundred ships, they went south across the long shallow bay, turned the hilly cape at the far end, and anchored in the shallows just off a white beach.
Night fell. They fed her excellently, stewed meat and yogurt and bread. She slept in the tent; Ayberk himself slept on the deck just outside. In the morning, the army still had not appeared on the shore. Ayberk seemed unconcerned. And in fact by midday groups of horsemen were straggling down over the hill toward them. There was no sign of any Saracens. They made a camp, and Edythe spent another night there on the ship.
The next day they sailed south again, going close along the coast, the army marching just beyond the sand of the beach. The heat and the idleness had her half-asleep; she pushed the little tent open, to get some breeze. She missed Johanna, and she was wishing she had something to do, when Ayberk came up.
“Saraceno.”
She jerked upright. Shaded her eyes with her hand. Ahead of them, under their great sails, the galleys stretched in a line into the south, hardly a length apart and only a hundred yards off the beach. Just above the white sand the Crusader army rode, studded with upright lances and little pennons. Beyond, on the hills, a white dust cloud was rising.
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