The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  “Thank God!” she said fervently, seizing both his hands. “You’re alive!”

  “My dear lady!” Raoul said, bowing and kissing each of her hands in turn.

  “Oh, Isabelle, what a welcome visitor you have brought me. There’s no sign of my husband yet, is there?”

  “None at all, madam. Nor is there likely to be, in my opinion.” She gave what sounded like a sniff of disapproval.

  “There are so many, many souls that he must pray for, you see,” Eleanor said somewhat bitterly. “Isabelle, bring some wine and then leave us to talk for a little, will you please?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Now then, my dear Raoul,” the Queen said once they were alone, “sit down here beside me and tell me everything.”

  To his surprise, he found himself doing exactly that. He omitted nothing. He told her how he had become trapped in Khaliq’s garden, how Aysha had found out the truth, about his love for her, and how, eventually, he had learned of her death. To his disgust, he found that he couldn’t prevent tears from springing to his eyes and Eleanor’s sympathy made his welling emotion harder to control.

  “There was nothing else you could have done, Raoul,” she said, putting her hand on his. “She couldn’t possibly have escaped with you.”

  “I know that. It doesn’t help. If I hadn’t made her love me...”

  “She would never have known true happiness. Do you truly think she could ever have loved her husband? From what you say he sounds brutal and boorish.”

  “Probably not.”

  “There you are, then. You gave her a taste of paradise, even if it was only brief. She was lucky. Many women never have so much.”

  “I’ll not make the mistake of caring again,” Raoul said, struggling to control himself. “You should never let sentiment deflect you from your purpose. I’ve learned that now.”

  The Queen smiled.

  “It isn’t always a question of choice, Raoul, you know.”

  “I don’t know why you’ve let me waste your time like this, Your Majesty,” Raoul said abruptly after a moment. Eleanor raised her eyebrows at his sudden formality. “The Emir gave me letters for you and the Count of Antioch. Here they are.”

  She took the package he held out to her and broke the seals, unfolding the sheet of parchment which was addressed to her. Raoul waited silently while she read its contents. She then re-folded it and gave a brief, bitter laugh.

  “Prince Unur counsels well,” she said. “He advises resigning oneself to the inevitable and allowing God to steer one’s course in life. He makes no comment upon our proposition. With my sainted husband battering at his gates he presumably thought that none was necessary. You had better take this letter, along with the other one, to Prince Raymond. If Louis saw it, it would only upset him.”

  She held them out to him and he returned them to the pouch attached to his belt.

  “And please present these to your husband.”

  He handed her the purse which he had taken from Le Gros.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a few mementos from Damascus. Don’t open it. The contents might distress you. Is the Count of Antioch in Jerusalem, my lady?”

  “I believe so.” She gave a faint smile. “But he no longer lodges here in the palace.”

  Raoul stood up to take his leave.

  “Wait a moment, my dear.” She rose and put a restraining hand on his sleeve. “We promised you a generous reward for your service, I haven’t forgotten that. I am sorry to say that I am no longer in a position to fulfil my promise.”

  “It’s not important, my lady,” he said, trying to conceal his disappointment.

  “It’s generous of you to say that. And I know very well that it is important – for both of us! At present I am kept immured here and I have lost what little influence I had with my husband.”

  “I’m sure he’ll forgive you soon. How could he not do so?” Raoul managed to smile.

  “Do you know, Raoul, I’m not altogether sure that I want to be forgiven. It can be tiresome being married to a saint. There could even be advantages in our marriage being annulled. If I regain control of my dower-land, the Aquitaine, you won’t lack your just reward, you have my word on that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Find Raymond. Give him the letters – and my love. He too has little power at present but he’ll be grateful for your service.”

  “Do I not owe that to your husband?”

  “I don’t advise it. You’re one of mine, you see, and as such he’ll resent you. In any case I doubt if we’ll stay here much longer. Unless you enjoy waiting about in half-built cathedrals, I suggest you offer your sword elsewhere.”

  “If you advise it, I shall do so.”

  “I won’t forget you, Raoul de Metz. One day I shall send for you and I’ll expect you to fly to me instantly.”

  “I shall do so, my lady. I promise you.” He dropped on one knee and kissed her hand. “I hope you find happiness.”

  “Oh, Raoul, my dear, I’ve already had my taste of paradise. It’s power that interests me now. As we both know, it’s so much more satisfying.”

  He looked up and met her eyes: they were full of life and laughter.

  “You’ll succeed,” he said with a laugh. “I’d lay a bet on it!”

  “I certainly intend to. Fare well.” She reached down and kissed him. “Go now, my dear, or I shall be tempted to disgrace myself all over again.”

  He stood up and swept an elaborate bow. Then he kissed his hand to her and left.

  The following day he went to see Prince Raymond at his house in the west of the city. The Count was saddened by their ignominious defeat at the hands of the Saracens and clearly felt bitter towards Louis and King Baldwin for thwarting his hopes of regaining control of his city. He willingly accepted Raoul into his household, knowing that his knowledge of Arabic could prove very useful in future dealings with the Muslims. The Count was keen to find allies wherever he could and, unlike others, he bore no lasting grudges towards his enemies.

  During the autumn of 1148 and the winter of 1149, the remnants of the Crusader army remained in Jerusalem. They had no hope of regaining the territory which they had lost to Nur Ed-Din. It was sufficient just to hold on to what little they had left. Bertrand de Courcy stayed with King Louis’s forces but he and Raoul saw each other frequently, their friendship and liking for each other growing stronger as the months went by. In the spring Louis formed an alliance with Roger of Sicily. A new Crusade was proposed, this time against the Byzantine Empire. Manuel was generally held to blame for all their failures. It never seemed to occur to the French King that his own decisions might have contributed to their losses.

  In the summer Louis sailed for France on board a Sicilian ship. The Queen, her ladies and the most important members of their household went with them. Eleanor’s future still remained unclear. In public she had regained her status as Louis’s wife and the Queen of France. Rumour suggested that the King would divorce her as soon as they returned to Paris.

  Bertrand was not amongst those who were offered a passage on the royal ship. Freed from his obligations, he and a small band of Bretons joined Raoul in Raymond of Antioch’s force. The last of the Crusade leaders to remain behind was Bertrand of Toulouse who still insisted that he had been robbed of the barony of Tripoli. Eventually a curious alliance formed to help him recover it. Raymond’s men joined with those belonging to Nur Ed-Din and Emir Unur of Damascus. Together they beat Tripoli’s forces back, finally cornering the baron in his castle of Araima, which was built high on a hill top.

  Raoul had been pleased to discover that Shahin Miah was still with Nur Ed-Din’s army. Similarly, Shahin was delighted to see Raoul again and relieved to know that he had escaped from Damascus without further mishap.

  “I knew that we were destined to meet again,” he said, embracing Raoul warmly. “When I returned to the orchard and found you gone, I prayed that you were safe.”

 
; Raoul introduced Shahin to Bertrand de Courcy and the two men seemed instantly to like each other. Once Tripoli had been defeated and the usurper baron and his family had been escorted to Aleppo as prisoners, Raoul and Bertrand went with Shahin to Antioch for an extended visit. De Courcy was just as impressed and amazed as Raoul had been at first. He slowly grew accustomed to bathing daily and admitted after a while that Arab clothes were very much more comfortable to wear than western ones. He also, of course, appreciated the attentions of the pretty slave girls. The memory of Aysha still hurt but Raoul resisted the temptation this time to declare himself celibate for ever as he had once before. He found he could regard sex now merely as a bodily function, from which all emotion was absent. Quite deliberately, he rarely slept with the same girl twice and made no attempt to form an acquaintance with any of them.

  With advice and an initial loan from the Miah family, while he was in Antioch, Raoul did some profitable trading. With what was left after he had repaid his debt, he bought a small galley which plied up and down the coast, carrying anything which might be in demand. Some months later he was able to buy a second and then a third. The following year he took a small house in Antioch. After that, he divided his time between the life of a moderately prosperous Arab trader and that of a knight under Raymond’s command. Travelling by sea made the journey up from Jerusalem an easy one. Bertrand frequently accompanied him to his house and these days de Courcy’s knowledge of Arabic had become quite good.

  “I’m thinking of settling here permanently,” Raoul told Bertrand one spring night as they sat out in the walled garden behind his house. The air was pleasantly cool. They had eaten well and now sipped hot coffee from small porcelain cups.

  “What’s her name?”

  Raoul laughed.

  “Come on, Bertrand. You know me better than that. I’ve no interest in marrying. It just seems pointless to waste time with something in which I no longer have any interest. And eventually, if Raymond ever makes a serious attempt to regain Antioch, I’m going to be expected to fight against my neighbours and friends. I couldn’t do it.”

  “I see your point. I’ve also been thinking about the future. It’s time I went back to Sarzeau. My father’s getting old and I don’t want my brother Antoine thinking that he’s going to be the next Count of Morbihan. Then there are my sons. The older one must be nine years old now. When I last saw him he was five and playing with a little wooden sword. His brother was two: hardly more than a babe.”

  “I’ll miss your company, Bertrand. When will you leave?”

  “In a month or two. Whenever there’s a convenient ship sailing from Saint Symeon which will give me a passage. It’s too dangerous to travel overland.”

  A few days later they left for Jerusalem on board one of Raoul’s galleys. Raoul intended to take his leave of Raymond then ride Hercules north. Up until now he had stabled the destrier in Jerusalem. Guillaume, his former squire, had won his spurs and Raoul has sent him back to France some months before.

  The morning after they had arrived, Raoul was woken early by one of the pages.

  “There’s a messenger below with a letter for you,” the boy told him excitedly.

  “Could you not have brought it to me?” Raoul asked, getting reluctantly out of bed and pulling on his tunic.

  “No, sir. The man said he’s been told to put it into your hand and no other. It’s from some Duchess.”

  “I don’t know any Duchesses,” Raoul said frowning, trying to think who on earth this vital letter could be from. It sounded like a prank to him.

  He buckled on his sword, pulled on his boots then followed the boy down the winding stairs and out into the courtyard. The messenger, whose livery was unfamiliar to Raoul, was waiting for him respectfully.

  “I am Raoul de Metz,” he told him. “You have something for me?”

  “Yes, sir. From Her Grace of Aquitaine, sir.”

  “Queen Eleanor!” Raoul exclaimed taking the sealed parchment which the man held out. “Has Louis finally divorced her?”

  “In March, sir. I was despatched at once with letters to yourself and to Prince Raymond.”

  “You’ve made good time.”

  “Her Grace insisted I should do so: and paid me well for it.”

  Raoul drew a gold coin from his purse and tossed it to him.

  “Then doubtless so should I,” he said with a grin.

  “Thank you, sir.” The man bowed and turned away.

  Raoul went back up to his room, sat on the seat in the window and broke open the seal.

  “Poitiers, March 1152,” the letter began, the hand-writing as bold and purposeful as Eleanor herself.

  ‘My very dear Raoul,

  As I now have the power to fulfil my promise, I hope you will present yourself to me here with the greatest possible speed. The ‘Marie-Claire’, the ship which is to bring my messenger, will sail again as soon as any repairs have been made and provisions purchased.

  I must tell you that you are, as of this moment, Lord of Beauchamp. You and your heirs perpetual have full and sole possession of that fiefdom together with its keep, manors, farms, serfs and livestock. I can assure you that this does not include an obligatory wife.’ Raoul could hear Eleanor’s amused voice as he read her words. He smiled and read on.

  ‘Its revenues will allow you to live in some comfort. In return I ask only for your continued loyalty and service along with such men-at-arms, at need, as your lands can provide.

  I remain as ever, your grateful friend and well-wisher,’

  The letter was then signed with a flourish, ‘Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine’.

  Raoul read the whole thing through again, almost unable to take in the implications of what she had said. He then went in search of Bertrand and showed the letter to him.

  “What will you do?” de Courcy asked. “Will you do as she says?”

  “I must,” Raoul said. “I gave her my word. And I’d want to in any case. This changes everything.”

  “We can travel back together.”

  “So we can.”

  Later that day they went out to the port and agreed with the ship’s captain on a provisional date for sailing. During the days that followed, Raoul managed to provision the ‘Marie-Claire’ from his own stocks then sell his galleys to a rival merchant. Inevitably, because of the urgency of the sale, the price was lower than he might have wished. Having acquired another source of income, however, making a huge profit seemed suddenly less important. He sent a letter to Shahin Miah explaining his change of fortune as there was no time now for him to return to Antioch. A week later they boarded the ship and departed.

  They were lucky. There were no storms and a steady wind blew from the east. To Raoul it seemed a remarkably short time before they were landing at their destination. Bertrand disagreed. For him their journey seemed endless. Despite the relative calm of the sea, he suffered constantly from nausea and declared, once they set foot on dry land, that nothing would ever induce him to board a ship again as long he lived.

  Although it was only noon when they landed, they made no attempt to travel further that day. Their horses had fared better than Bertrand on the journey, but it seemed wise to allow them to rest; they found accommodation in a tavern near the port. Renaud, Eleanor’s messenger, had been accompanied on his journey by four men-at-arms from Poitiers. These men would form their escort on their way north. Raoul was surprised to learn just how extensive Eleanor’s duchy was. More than half their journey would be through country which was now under her control and her men could procure fresh horses wherever they wished, simply by showing their badges.

  That night, after a meal which forcefully reminded Raoul of how much he preferred eastern cooking, he and Bertrand took a seat in the main room of the tavern and sent for a bottle of the best red wine. The inn was crowded and many of its clients were already fairly drunk. After a while there was an altercation near the door before an aged crone pushed her way in. She approached the nearest group
of drinkers and seemed to offering them something.

  “She seems an unlikely looking whore,” Raoul said with a laugh. “I shouldn’t think she gets many takers. Even those women in Byzantium were better than that. Though you knew more about that than me, my friend!”

  “Don’t remind me,” Bertrand said with a shudder. “I must have been desperate. No, she’s probably saying that her young and beautiful daughter is waiting just outside. And when someone’s fool enough to go, they get a knife in their guts. You wait and see.”

  They watched the old woman for a while. The drinkers were listening to her surprisingly intently between occasional guffaws and muttered comments.

  “That old hag’s not a whore,” Bertrand exclaimed. “She’s a witch! She’s telling their fortunes.”

  “Cursed foolery,” Raoul said, draining his cup and re-filling it. “I’ve no belief in such stuff.”

  Sometime later, having been from one group of drinkers to another, the old woman approached Raoul and Bertrand.

  “A bit of silver and I’ll read your future, young sirs,” she said, holding out a gnarled and filthy hand.

  “Take yourself off,” Raoul said. “We’re not interested.”

  “Speak for yourself, Raoul. Here, mother,” Bertrand held out a small coin, “what can you see?”

  She snatched it and drew a set of small painted squares out of her pocket. Raoul’s fists clenched. These were smaller and made of wood but he was sure the images on them would be the same as on the tiles in Meg’s hut in Brocéliande. He pushed his stool back and stood up, calling to the landlord to bring another bottle of wine. While it was brought, paid for and opened, Raoul kept his back turned on his friend, shutting himself off from whatever it was that the old hag might be telling him. It would all be lies anyway.

  “And now you, my lovely.” She had crept up on him and he suddenly found her staring up into his face. “Such a lot is written there for you.”