Knight of Jerusalem

by Helena P. Schrader

  “They are both well,” Ramla answered, tight-lipped.

  “I was hoping to see them here at the Christmas court,” Lusignan continued. “I wanted to reassure myself that my dear bride had not suffered in Salah-ad-Din’s raid on Ibelin.”

  “You know she did not,” Ramla answered, frowning. “The Saracens were driven out before they had even laid siege to the castle.”

  “Yes, of course,” Aimery agreed, his eyes still narrowed, “but for a child it must have been quite frightening, don’t you think?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Ramla agreed. “Which is why her mother and she did not want to risk the trip to Jerusalem,” he lied.

  “Surely you could have sent an escort strong enough to overcome their fears?” Lusignan pressed him.

  “They did not want to come,” Ramla insisted stubbornly.

  “How convenient for you,” Lusignan answered, unconvinced.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ramla tried to sound indignant, but he was too conscious of being caught red-handed to be credible.

  “I mean, my lord, that I’m neither blind nor deaf. I’ve heard the rumors that you want to set aside your wife and disinherit mine! I can see which way the wind is blowing.” He glanced toward the main hall, where Princess Sibylla was laughing a little hysterically as she wove in and out among the dancers.

  And for a second time in one evening, Ramla was taken by surprise while watching Princess Sibylla. This time it was by his brother, who emerged from the hallway behind them. “The King would like to see you,” he announced—adding, to the astonished looks from both men, “both of you.” Then he turned and led his brother and Lusignan back along the corridor toward the King’s apartments.

  “What’s this about?” Barry wanted to know, made nervous by Lusignan’s remarks about the King’s protectiveness toward his sister.

  “I have no idea,” Balian answered, his face on the corridor ahead, which was lit by torches only every ten feet or more.

  “The wildest rumors are circulating about you and the Dowager Queen,” Barry remarked with a glance at Lusignan—who only raised an eyebrow, but otherwise retained a closed, wary look.

  “If the rumors you’re referring to have to do with my marriage to the Dowager Queen Maria Zoë,” Balian responded, “they are correct. I would have preferred to tell you in more private and appropriate surroundings, but I did not find you in your chamber when I sought you out earlier this afternoon.”

  Barry frowned. He had been trying to find Sibylla at the time, and his guilty conscience made him lash out at his brother in a tone he might not otherwise have used. “How do you dip your wick in something that frigid without it freezing off?”

  Balian just burst out laughing, remembering his lovemaking with Zoë. Then, still grinning, he quipped, “Fortunately for me, you weren’t the only man to suffer from that misconception, or I would probably have had more competition.”

  Aimery de Lusignan snorted to himself, adding mentally that others had made a different mistake: of underestimating how fond the King was of his stepmother. He could almost regret that he had not pursued Queen Maria Zoë himself, but he had not done so badly by bedding Agnes de Courtney. Furthermore, watching the exchange between the brothers, he thought it might not be such a bad thing that Balian had made such a brilliant match. Ramla might have inherited three baronies and be aiming even higher, but he greatly overestimated his talents and his worth—which was dangerous. Furthermore, he lacked subtlety and tenacity. Balian, in contrast, had consistently surprised those in power by his low-key competency, and Lusignan did not believe success was ever all luck. Last but not least, Lusignan had been impressed by how little opposition surfaced when the King announced to the entire court, smiling and proud, that he had personally sanctioned and witnessed the marriage of his stepmother to Balian d’Ibelin. There had been some lewd jokes and questions along the lines of Ramla’s remarks, and some speculation about what the King hoped to gain by such a misalliance, but many more people had taken the attitude that Balian had earned the reward with his service at Montgisard—if not before. Certainly the Archbishop of Tyre had taken this line, declaring he was “delighted” to perform the service—and the Comte de Tripoli had followed suit, openly and heartily congratulating first Balian and then the Dowager Queen. That spoke volumes, Lusignan thought. It was a rare man who had as few enemies as Balian d’Ibelin.

  They had reached the entry to the King’s apartments, and the guards brought their crossed lances upright to allow Balian and his companions to enter. The antechamber was empty, but lit by several candles. The light caught on the gilding of the lamps. No one guarded the inner door, and Balian approached and knocked once before calling through it: “Your grace, I have brought my brother and the Marshal.”

  Balian then opened the door and stepped back, gesturing for his brother and Lusignan to enter before him. The King awaited them, standing. He was dressed as he had been earlier for the banquet, in his full regalia with crown. Lusignan and Ramla dutifully bowed before him and murmured, “Your grace.”

  “My lords,” Baldwin opened, “I have called you here together so that we can settle a delicate matter before the Christmas court disperses.” He fixed his gaze on Ramla. “My lord, you petitioned the Patriarch of Jerusalem to dissolve your marriage—”

  Aimery de Lusignan started to exclaim something, but a gesture from the King made him strangle it in his throat. Although he bottled his outrage, the look Aimery sent Ramla was one of unfettered fury. Balian was glad not to be the recipient of that look; Lusignan would make an uncomfortable enemy, he thought.

  “As far as the Patriarch and I can see, my lord,” the King continued, “your wife is completely blameless. She has borne you no less than six children, even if only one survives, and there has never been a hint of scandal concerning her virtue. She came to you a child bride, innocent and trusting, and she is not related to you within the prohibited degrees.”

  Ramla’s face was reddening with every word, and Balian recognized that he, too, was working himself into a rage.

  “However,” the King continued, arresting the rising rage just before it exploded, “the Lady Richildis has informed us that she wishes to retire from the world and take holy orders. She is willing to consent to the dissolution of your marriage—” the King held up his hand to silence Lusignan’s objections a second time— “on the condition that her surviving child, Eschiva, is recognized as the heir to Ramla and Mirabel, regardless of any issue you may have by a subsequent marriage.”

  Ramla started and seemed on the brink of protesting—but then he remembered that as King of Jerusalem, he would have no need for Ramla. He almost wanted to laugh, but he controlled himself. “I agree to these terms, your grace,” he declared and bowed deeply.

  “Good,” Baldwin nodded, satisfied, but he did not smile. “That was your wife’s condition. Now hear mine: I will agree to the dissolution of your marriage and consent to a new marriage with any heiress in the realm—on the condition that you cede Ibelin to your brother Balian.”

  Ramla spun about to look at his brother as if he’d been stabbed in the back. The look on Balian’s face was so stunned, however, that Lusignan laughed. He did not know if Balian were bluffing or truly surprised, but either way, this reinforced his earlier assessment: Balian had a gift for advancing without appearing to be grasping. He was a man to watch.

  Ramla frowned at Lusignan, who forestalled any comment from his father-in-law by remarking flippantly: “Not such a high price to pay for what you’re hunting, is it? What does Ibelin owe? Ten? Twelve knights?” Lusignan was enjoying himself, now that he knew his heiress would not be disinherited.

  Ramla swallowed the bitter medicine. He bowed deeply to King Baldwin. “As you wish, your grace.”

  “Good,” the King said again—and now, at last, he smiled. “And, my lord, when I say any heiress in the Kingdom, that includes my sister Sibylla—”

  All three noblemen gaped at the King.<
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  Baldwin looked very pleased with himself as he asked with a slight tilt of his head: “Do you think my illness has dulled my wits? I know perfectly well the game you’re playing, my lord of Ramla, but be sure you know the rules. You may marry my sister Sibylla if—and only if—you are her choice. I have agreed to let her choose her next husband. If you are that man, so be it.”

  Ramla bowed more deeply than before, this time in genuine gratitude. What was Ibelin compared to this? Let Balian have the scraps—and his frigid beauty. Sibylla was the real prize—Sibylla and Jerusalem.

  Chapter 13

  Ascalon, April 1178

  AFTER A HARD WINTER AND A hesitant spring, it was finally warm enough to sit outside. Maria Zoë seized the opportunity to take the children onto the rooftop terrace to soak in the sun. There was a whole nursery at Ascalon now, and Maria Zoë felt a little sorry for Balian. After all, he had been catapulted into marriage and confronted with his impending fatherhood without much preparation. Yet when his sister-in-law retired to a convent, he had not hesitated to take both his niece Eschiva and the still half-mature Beth into his household as well.

  Since Ibelin was now his responsibility, he had also sent Father Michael to Ibelin to assist the steward and provide him with reliable assessments of the population, revenues, and costs of rebuilding the town. More important, by offering him double his wages, Balian had induced Roger Shoreham to accept the position of Captain of the Garrison at Ibelin, and to start organizing a citizen militia along the lines he had so effectively forged in Ascalon. Maria Zoë knew Roger himself had been eager to take up the challenge (and not a little flattered by Balian’s trust in him), but reluctant to go because his wife resisted leaving her friends and family. It helped, however, that young Edwin Shoreham eagerly seized the opportunity to establish his own workshop in Ibelin, where he could hope to earn the lion’s share of the carpentry work that went along with rebuilding the eastern part of the town. Once her favorite son and daughter-in-law decided to move to Ibelin, Mistress Shoreham had capitulated, and she and Roger had already moved into the generous apartment over the gate to start their new life, turning over the command of Ascalon’s garrison to one of his former rivals for the post.

  Mathewos, too, had accepted Balian’s offer to take service with him directly. That had been an easy and natural decision for the Ethiopian, as his wife was dead and his eldest son was already in Balian’s service; his daughter and younger son were both unmarried and given no choice in the matter. He had been sent ahead to oversee the remodeling and expansion of the stables, which had been badly damaged by housing so many homeless over the winter.

  Balian was anxious for his child to be born in Ibelin, but he had promised the King to stay in Ascalon until Pentecost, by which time the King hoped to have appointed his replacement. Maria Zoë was not entirely unhappy to remain in Ascalon while so much construction was going on in Ibelin. The costs of rebuilding the eastern part of the town were being carried by her revenues from Nablus—and since these revenues were substantial, Maria Zoë and Balian had opted to do all repairs as rapidly as possible. Balian felt this would not only restore the prosperity of Ibelin, but also help people get over the shock of what had happened.

  While the town and parts of the castle were being rebuilt, Maria Zoë was given time to move her personal belongings into the castle and also make some changes of her own. From the time of its construction forty years ago, the ladies of Ibelin had not had much chance to put their mark on the place, and it remained essentially a fortress. Maria Zoë wanted to change that. She wanted a pleasure garden, for a start. She wanted two more windows in her bedchamber and another set of double-light windows in the solar. She also wanted glazing on the windows of the hall and a proper bath chamber in the northeast tower. Balian had no objections, since she was paying, but while the work was being done there would be a lot of noise, dust, and workmen. Maria Zoë was happier here in Ascalon.

  Her contentment was heightened by the fact that this pregnancy seemed to be going much better than her first, and—equally important—because Isabella had taken to her new home like a duck to water. Isabella had accepted, trusted, and obeyed Balian from the moment she met him. Maria Zoë had introduced him as her “new father,” and Isabella had asked if he was like her brother Baldwin.

  “Well, I’m not a king,” Balian had answered, amused, going down on his heels to be at her level, and Isabella had generously told him that that was all right. “There can only be one king in a kingdom at a time,” she told him solemnly, and Balian had managed to keep a straight face as he agreed with her.

  Isabella then shamelessly asked if he would give her a puppy, since her mother would not. Balian had told her absolutely not, until she was old enough to take care of a puppy and the dog it would become. Isabella had been somewhat baffled by this firm rejection, because her brother Baldwin never said no to her—but the look she had cast at her mother suggested she laid the blame for Balian’s answer squarely at her mother’s feet.

  Since then, however, Maria Zoë had observed the way Isabella watched alertly when Balian gave orders to the garrison and his household. She noted that people did what he told them to do, and when the next spat came and she wanted something she couldn’t have, she accepted Balian’s “no” with no more than a frown and indignant muttering to herself.

  It also helped that both Eschiva and Beth mothered Isabella as only two growing girls with a new, live doll can. Of the older girls, Eschiva generally took the lead, simply because she had been raised in freedom and the expectation of inheriting a fortune. Beth, while rapidly learning French under Eschiva’s tuition, had yet to overcome her instilled timidity and passivity, which rendered her incapable of initiative—except when it came to caring for smaller children. Maria Zoë suspected that she had cared for young siblings in her father’s home, but these had apparently died or been adopted by the same uncles who left her to die.

  As they stepped out onto the terrace, Isabella started running around “inspecting” the potted plants for buds.

  “Don’t touch!” Eschiva admonished when Isabella reached out to grasp a hibiscus plant in her plump hand.

  Isabella looked over at her cousin, astonished. Then she intentionally and provocatively did exactly what she had been told not to do. Eschiva frowned and stormed after her cousin, but Beth intervened. She raised her hand to signal for Eschiva to hold back and went to stand behind Isabella. Bending over her and stroking her hand, she urged, “Softly, Isabella, softly.” Then, taking the younger girl’s hand in hers, she explained patiently: “You don’t want to break the stems.” Isabella looked up at the native girl with wide eyes. Beth was still caressing Isabella’s hand, making it relax in hers. Smiling, she started to reach out to the hibiscus with her other hand. “Look! Like this,” she demonstrated.

  Then the sound of a man wailing the call to prayers shattered the scene.

  Beth started violently and looked around her with so much terror that Isabella became alarmed and started crying. Eschiva put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes.

  Maria Zoë pulled herself to her feet and went to put an arm around the terrified Beth. “It’s nothing to be afraid of,” she assured the girl.

  “But, but . . .”

  “It’s coming from right inside the house!” Eschiva protested, opening her eyes but keeping her ears covered.

  Maria Zoë gave Beth a last hug and then left her to go to the railing and look into the kitchen courtyard. Sure enough, three turbaned men were kneeling on the cobbles, their hands on their thighs. One of them led the group in prayer and they all bowed their heads down to the ground. They stood, bowed with their hands on their knees, and then went down on their knees again and put their heads to the ground.

  So these were Balian’s prisoners, Maria Zoë registered. He had reported the capture of three men at the Battle of Montgisard in the hasty letter he wrote her immediately following the battle. At the time of their marriage, he had been
in high hopes of receiving substantial ransom payments, but since then the negotiations had dragged on inconclusively. She had known they were being held somewhere in Ascalon, but until today she had not actually seen them.

  As they sat upright on their heels, Maria Zoë could clearly see that one of them had a smashed nose over a disfigured lip. Balian had told her that one of his captives had lost three and a half teeth to Gladiator’s hoof. The man with the broken shoulder, however, had healed enough so that she could not be sure which one of the men below went by the name of Rashid. She guessed, however, that it was the man on the far left, since he seemed the oldest of the three prisoners. Balian had told her Rashid was the oldest and most reasonable of his captives.

  The youth, in contrast, was a “hothead,” Balian claimed, but also the most valuable of the captives: the son of a powerful official at Salah-ad-Din’s court in Damascus and a scion of one of the leading Seljuk families in Syria. Balian was naturally frustrated by the lack of progress in the ransom negotiations, but today another messenger had ridden in from Damascus, and Balian was meeting with him now. Maria Zoë suspected the prisoners had heard about this messenger and had asked to come out, ostensibly to pray, but actually in hopes of encountering him.

  The prisoners had finished their prayers and stood chatting together, glancing frequently toward the exit. Maria Zoë tensed slightly, but then she realized that at least a dozen of Balian’s men were also in the courtyard, watching the captives attentively.