Baldwin nodded eagerly, and with concentration directed his horse to fall in beside his stepmother’s. Her woman fell in behind them and Balian gestured for Abdul to ride beside the waiting woman, while he rode past the rest of the party to clear the way for the Queen and Prince. Although he kept a sharp lookout, Balian did not think they encountered anyone who recognized who they were. Their party looked far too ordinary: a knight on pilgrimage with his wife, his son, and their servants. Before they reached the Church of the Nativity, however, he led them off the main road and halted. Turning back, he approached the Queen.
“My lady, the crowds are getting thicker, and the risk of recognition increases. I strongly advise against proceeding any further together.”
To his relief, Maria Zoë nodded. “You are right, sir.” Turning to Baldwin, she explained, “If no one learns of this, we can repeat it, but if your father finds out, he will take measures to prevent it happening again. Maybe he would even forbid you—or me—from going anywhere without his company or at least his guards. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“No, of course not,” Baldwin agreed solemnly, but he looked very disappointed nevertheless.
“Baldwin.” Maria Zoë reached out a hand, and Balian audibly caught his breath. She looked him straight in the eye and held up her hand to show she was wearing thick leather gloves. Then she put her hand on Baldwin’s shoulder and looked the boy in the eye. “I will find ways to see you again. You must trust me. Sir Balian and I will conspire together and find ways for us to meet. But now, go back to Jerusalem with Sir Balian, and I will continue with my pilgrimage.”
The summons to the Queen did not come unexpectedly after this exchange, and Balian went prepared with several suggestions of where they might rendezvous on future rides. Nor was he surprised that the Queen dismissed all her ladies except the Egyptian so they could speak in private; her other ladies were all noblewomen from the Kingdom and might have seen an advantage in betraying her. What surprised him was the cordial tone the Queen adopted as soon as the other women had withdrawn. It was as if one minute he had been facing a haughty queen, so cold the very temperature of the room was chilled by her presence, and the next he was being asked by a pretty young woman to make himself comfortable.
Balian reacted with wariness, suspecting she might be trying to manipulate him. “I am quite comfortable standing, my lady,” he responded to her invitation to make himself comfortable in the armchair opposite her own.
Maria Zoë caught her breath, wounded. The encounter with Baldwin had been the first ray of sunshine in her life since the birth of Isabella. She could not remember enjoying anything in her whole life as much as she had enjoyed planning and executing the secret rendezvous with her stepson, and plotting new meetings had enlivened her days and distracted her from her sorrows. But she needed Sir Balian’s cooperation if her plans were to be realized. No, she corrected herself, she wanted his cooperation.
But he was standing in front of her looking as tense and wary as a caged cat, and abruptly she realized he felt trapped and misused. She cringed as she remembered her tone of voice in the mews, and remembered how her ladies called her haughty and cold. That was how Sir Balian saw her, too, she realized with a shock. “Forgive me, sir,” she stammered out. “Baldwin and I have put you in an impossible situation, forcing you to disobey the King and risk your future. We should not have done that. I’m sorry. I—I just—I so wanted to see him again!” she admitted rather helplessly. Without her façade, she felt very weak and lost.
Maria Zoë’s tone was so sincere and her expression so distressed that Balian’s defenses collapsed. “Baldwin wanted it as much as you did, and I did not have the heart to say no to him,” Balian conceded with a shrug.
“You truly care for him,” Maria Zoë observed. “I could tell that from the very first moment. You were laughing together. I fear he has had little cause for laughter since his illness was discovered and people started whispering it might be leprosy. You have no idea how hard it was: one minute he was heir apparent to the throne, surrounded by his family, faithful servants, and fawners of every class, age, and sex. The next minute he was a pariah, isolated from everyone he loved and trusted, locked in a golden cage and surrounded by slaves. We were not even given a chance to say goodbye to one another. Nor was he allowed to take leave of his sister Sibylla, whom he loves more than anyone in the world.”
Balian nodded, but added, “The Archdeacon of Tyre has tried to be a surrogate father to him, my lady, and he seeks to distract Baldwin from his situation with many lessons that expand his horizons.”
“Baldwin told me you are learning Arabic with him,” Maria Zoë noted cautiously. She had so looked forward to meeting Balian in private, but already the conversation had deviated from her initial script, and she was finding it both more exciting and more confusing. Baldwin was one thing, but quite inexplicably she found herself almost as interested in Balian as in her stepson.
“That was the Archdeacon’s doing. For some reason Baldwin balked at learning Arabic, and Archdeacon William thought I might have more luck in persuading him. I told Baldwin that a man was always at a disadvantage when he did not understand what was being said around—or about—him. I said the disadvantage was greater still if that man was a king. I pointed out that he must speak the language of his foes better than they his, if he did not want to be tricked and deceived and outmaneuvered. He protested he would have translators, and I told him that if he relied on translators, he would become their tool rather than the reverse. ‘But you will be my translator,’ he announced with one of his trusting smiles—and I had to admit that for all my fine talk, my knowledge of Arabic was rudimentary. At which point, of course, I was trapped, because Baldwin triumphantly declared that then we would learn Arabic together.” Balian laughed at himself and Maria Zoë found herself joining in.
As the laughter died, she asked him: “And do you find that onerous?” She was thinking of how difficult she had found her French lessons. French was such an illogical language!
“No, just difficult!” Balian declared emphatically.
Maria Zoë laughed again, with a feeling of lightheartedness she could not remember since her marriage. She begged again, “Please sit down, sir. I want you to tell me more about Baldwin and how I can help make his life more tolerable. I will try to meet him again, of course, but we need to be very, very careful. The worst thing that could happen to him would be for you to be dismissed from his service. We cannot risk that.”
Balian felt flattered, but even more, he was impressed that the Queen cared enough for her stepson to want to do what was best for him. He showed his revised opinion of her by at last taking the seat offered. Then he suggested, “One thing you could certainly do, ma dame, is write to Baldwin. Send him letters about all that is happening at court and in the Kingdom. His father and the Archdeacon William tell him what they want him to hear, but I think he would benefit from hearing things from your perspective.”
Maria Zoë caught her breath and looked at Balian, startled. “You seem to be the only one in the Kingdom of Jerusalem who thinks I have an opinion at all—let alone one worth hearing.”
Balian flinched, realizing he had just blundered. He had automatically assumed the King consulted with his Queen, if only because of her powerful connections. It had not occurred to him that Maria Zoë felt she was ignored. Publicly, after all, she always appeared at the King’s side, very much his consort.
As he floundered about for an answer, Maria Zoë bridged the awkwardness by declaring, “I would be delighted to write Baldwin my observations about developments in the Kingdom.” Then she paused and considered Balian carefully. At first she had been attracted to him because he so clearly loved Baldwin, and now in a few short minutes he had made her laugh twice and shown more respect for her intellect than her husband had in five years of marriage. She was getting dangerously close to liking this man more than any other she had met in Jerusalem.
This is
risky, she told herself, and deflected her thoughts with a question. “What do you think of this man calling himself Salah-ad-Din? He seems most audacious—setting aside the Fatimid Caliphate just like that! Declaring himself Sultan of Egypt without, as far as I can see, even a ‘by your leave’ from his lord Nur-ad-Din.”
“I do not consider myself an expert on Egypt, my lady,” Balian began cautiously, “although my brother campaigned with your husband there. Still, it is obvious that the situation had become increasingly chaotic. And if the fear of a Sunni invasion induced the Fatimids to request our aid a decade ago, five invasions have left the people war-weary and hating us as much as the Damascenes.”
Maria Zoë heard the implicit criticism of her husband’s policies, particularly his recent attempts to seize control of Cairo, but she felt no need to defend her husband. Besides, Balian was in good company: the Templars, too, had refused to take part in the fourth expedition to Egypt, saying that since it was in violation of an agreement, it would only bring God’s wrath upon the Kingdom, a prediction that the results seemed to bear out. Meanwhile, Maria Zoë knew from her parents that the Greek Emperor and court were furious about the lack of coordination during the campaigns, and that there was mounting resentment of the alliance with Jerusalem. She chose instead to remark, “But how can a Sunni Muslim from Syria simply declare himself Sultan of the Shiite Caliphate of Egypt?”
“By first pretending to serve the Shiite Caliph, and only turning on him after he had established firm control over the city. But there is nothing to say Salah-ad-Din will hold on to power for long. He is very vulnerable. He has given the Shiites a rallying cause. At the same time, he has made his master Nur-ad-Din suspicious of his ambitions. And he is of neither Arab nor Turkish blood, but a Kurd.”
“Yes, I had heard that,” Maria Zoë agreed, nodding, “and many Arabs and certainly the Seljuks undoubtedly look down on him for it, but the Kurds are fierce fighters. It would be foolish to underestimate them.” Maria Zoë had been raised on stories of the Greek Empire’s many campaigns against this intransigent people.
Rahel, who had been standing by the door, cleared her throat and gently signaled that it was time to terminate the interview. It would be dangerous for Maria Zoë’s reputation for her to be alone too long with a bachelor knight, even in Rahel’s presence. Already the women of the household must be gossiping about what she wanted with Sir Balian.
And they were right to be suspicious! Maria Zoë admitted to herself, with a sense of guilt for her feelings toward this landless knight. So she brought the conversation to a close. Standing, she thanked Balian, and assured him she would write to Baldwin often. She offered Balian her hand. He bowed deeply over it, nodded once, and departed.
No sooner had the door closed behind him than Maria Zoë was overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness. From the moment she decided to meet with Balian, it had buoyed her up, and now it was already over. The rendezvous had been so very short, and yet it had been far more than she had dared expect. Indeed, it had been more than she had imagined it could be. She had expected a man who cared for Baldwin, and she had found a man who made her laugh and talked to her like she was an intelligent human being.
It was cruel that someone as attractive and sympathetic as Sir Balian was right here in her husband’s household—and she dared not meet with him again anytime soon. She was so very lonely in this strange court, and letters—whether to her parents or to Baldwin—could not substitute for the warmth of a smile or a candid conversation as if among equals. Maria Zoë felt tears welling up in her throat. It was one thing to barricade herself inside her façade against people she hated like her ladies or, increasingly, Amalric himself, but she didn’t want to hide from Balian! And yet she must. . . .
The interview also unsettled Balian. After standing indecisively in the corridor for several moments, he made his way to the spiral stairwell leading to the ramparts of the large southwest tower. From here he had a view along the western wall of Jerusalem with its rows of square towers.
Balian admitted to himself that he had never in his life been so attracted to a woman, high or low, as he was to Maria Zoë. She was beautiful, of course, but her public face was so perfect it was intimidating. Today, as during the ride to Bethlehem, he had seen behind the façade to the real flesh-and-blood woman, and she was . . . tantalizing.
Damn it! Balian beat his fist on the stone balustrade. Leave it to him to be attracted to a woman so utterly inaccessible it was ludicrous.
Then again, all women had become inaccessible since he had taken the position with Baldwin. Ladies never sat near him at meals, nor would they dance with him, and even the serving girls gave him a wide berth. Balian supposed he might have been able to pay a whore enough to risk infection with a man presumed to be carrying leprosy, but Balian had never gone to whores and had no intention of starting. Yet the reaction of women to his position had been an unexpected shock. He might never have been a ladies’ man like Barry, but he had enjoyed the company of ladies; he liked music, dancing, and flirting. Now he was excluded from all of it.
All he had was the confidence of the most beautiful and exalted woman at court. . . .
He would have liked to think that today’s interview would be repeated, but that was unreasonable. She would not risk it again. She dared not. Her position at court had already been weakened by giving birth to a girl child. She dared not give the King an excuse to set her aside by appearing to dally with a bachelor knight.
And why would she want to? Balian tried to rein in his fantasies. She had been gracious to him and her interest in Baldwin was sincere, but he would be a fool to make more of her kindness than was intended. She was his Queen.
And you are her man, a voice from his heart whispered.
Barry would laugh himself sick! What do you take yourself for? Some modern-day Lancelot? Show me all your deeds-at-arms! When was the last time you even broke a lance? Valorous knight, indeed! Playing nursemaid to a leper prince!
But the Queen respects me for exactly that: for playing nursemaid to an innocent boy, struck down by an illness that terrifies even the bravest. You’re terrified of it, too, Barry! Otherwise you wouldn’t be avoiding me.
Balian remembered the way the Queen leaned forward when she got excited about something she was saying, the way she frowned a little when she listened intently. She was a worthy object of admiration—and he had nothing else.
Nodding to himself, he turned his back on the view he had not been looking at and left the ramparts of the citadel. It might be an illusion, but he felt stronger and prouder for pledging himself to his Queen.
Chapter 4
Jerusalem, July 1174
THE PATRIARCH OF JERUSALEM DROPPED ON his knees and began praying so intently that his knuckles turned white. He banged his head against his clasped hands in distress. It could not be! It simply could not be true!
But the corpse was stretched out on the large, sumptuous bed before him. He had himself heard the gasped confession and administered the last rites. Amalric, King of Jerusalem, only thirty-seven years old and until a week ago apparently in the best of health, was dead.
How could he be stricken down like this? Just when Nur-ad-Din was dead and the Syrians were in disarray. When things had looked so promising for the Kingdom. It was bad enough that the attempt to seize Banias had failed; why must the King then drink dirty water on the return journey and become stricken with dysentery? And if he were to be struck down in his prime, why must it be before he had sired another son? Even an infant son would have been better than a leper!
Or why hadn’t the leper died first? Then, at least, they could have married the elder girl off to a powerful and vigorous nobleman, a fighting man capable of stepping into Amalric’s shoes.
But a leper? Were they really going to place the crown of Jerusalem on the head of a leper? Didn’t that besmirch the Crown itself? The nobles would never accept such an abomination—much less the Templars and Hospitallers.
&n
bsp; Jerusalem had from the start been an elected kingship. They would elect a man from among their own ranks—Raymond de Tripoli, perhaps, or Humphrey de Toron, or Miles de Oultrejourdain. The leper would be bypassed, set aside, put away in a mountain monastery, where everyone could soon forget the shame of a leper prince of Jerusalem.
But then the Patriarch caught his breath, reminded of a conversation he had had with the Archdeacon of Tyre. Tyre had argued that God had made the heir to Jerusalem a leper to teach humility to the haughty and vain nobles and bishops of the Holy Land.
Was it possible, the Patriarch asked himself now, that God was angry that the nobles of Outremer had dared to create a king in his city at all? After all, the good Godfrey de Bouillon had refused to “wear a cross of gold where Christ had worn a cross of thorn.” His brother and his brother’s successors had not been so scrupulous. But the Patriarch dismissed this notion almost as soon as he thought of it. Too much time had elapsed since the coronation of Baldwin I.
But those early kings had been more devout and God-fearing than his contemporaries, the Patriarch reflected, and maybe God felt it was necessary to teach this self-indulgent and impious generation—men like Heraclius, who openly lived with his concubine, and Reynald de Châtillon, who dared humiliate the honest and aging Patriarch of Antioch—a lesson in humility. Weren’t all lepers sent to sift the holy from the unholy? For the service to lepers was recognized as near to saintly, and those that served lepers demonstrated their devotion to God. Maybe God had a wise purpose, after all, in sending a leper boy to rule over His Holy City and all the Holy Land.
There were noises on the far side of the door, and the Patriarch realized that the barons were getting restless. Most of them had been with Amalric on the campaign, and they had brought him home to Jerusalem to die. Those few members of the High Court of Jerusalem who had not been on the campaign had been summoned at once, while the Grand Masters of the Templars and Hospitallers had been all but living in the anteroom for days.
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