In a state of high excitation she entered the Great Hall.
Chapter Four
Kerak
June 1183
He leaned on the massive table dormant, waiting for his tardy callers to reach him. The table stood on a high dais and ran most of the forty foot width of the hall. There were other tables in the body of the hall, and these could be knocked down and stacked against the walls when more space was required for trials, dances, or debates. But the table dormant was a permanent fixture, dominating the room as he dominated its occupants.
In preparation for the meeting, some of the trestle tables had been dismantled. Those that remained were bare of everything but wine stains. Guards were stationed at ten-yard intervals round the tapestry-covered walls. They wore the long, ringmail hauberks, plain iron skull caps or Norman ‘acorns’ complete with neck guard and nasal bar. Each man carried an eight-foot spear of ash or apple wood and curled his left hand over the top edge of a kite-shaped shield. The shields were turned from elm, banded with iron or boiled leather. All had a raised boss in the centre, though there was no uniformity of design. The guards stood with their feet slightly apart and tried to ignore the draught that blew through the leather-curtained windows.
Flames curled from a stone pit in the centre of the hall, and Reynald peered through the firesmoke, searching for Fulcon. He wanted to know why he had been kept waiting; why so much time had elapsed between Fulcon’s departure to release the visitors from the dung yard and their arrival here, in the Great Hall. He wanted to know, too, why men who should be thoroughly nauseated approached him with long strides, their shoulders back and heads erect. The Captain of the North Garrison had failed him somewhere and he wanted to know why.
But Fulcon was absent, so the explanations would have to wait. The man was clearly incompetent, but he would be given the chance to speak for himself at his trial. His excuses might yield some information that would later prove useful to whoever took his place. Something of value could be garnered from every trial, and some example set by every subsequent punishment. But all that could wait until tomorrow. The advancing Crusaders were of more immediate concern.
He recognized Balian, and the hairy ape Fostus, and Sir Conrad of the Hospital. He had heard that in the event of the death of Roger of Les Moulins, Sir Conrad might succeed him as Grand Master of the Order. So there seemed little point in offering the Commander of Knights a well-paid post at Kerak. Anyway, Reynald accepted, once they had taken their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience they became deaf to the blandishments of the world. Well, to hell with them; he had never trusted the Hospitallers.
He pushed himself away from the table and threw an arm over the leather backrest of his chair. The weight of his arm dragged the sling down and strained the thongs that bound it to the chair posts. On his right sat Stephanie, then three visiting knights from the other great Moabite fortress of Shaubak. On his left sat his seventeen-year-old stepson, Humphrey IV of Toron, and beside him Captain Azo of the South Garrison.
The knights from Shaubak were confused about something. One of them leaned across to ask their host if the squat arrival was Fostus, bodyguard to the House of Ibelin.
Reynald nodded, then said, ‘What of it?’
‘Nothing, Prince,’ the spokesman hurried. ‘We had heard—’ He shrugged, sorry that he had asked.
‘Ah, no, you don’t stop there. What have you heard, Sir Aime? Do you have some sneaking regard for that stunted figure?’
‘I – no, not at all. We – I thought he was dead, that’s the sum of it. I heard rumour that he had been killed near Sebastia.’
‘Would you hasten his death?’
‘Well, I – I have no direct quarrel with him.’ He glanced at his companions, but they were busy looking elsewhere. Unwilling to pursue the subject, he coughed noisily, giving the visitors time to approach the dais.
Balian recognized the red-haired Lord of Kerak, and the Lady Stephanie, and young Humphrey of Toron. He knew none of the knights from Shaubak, nor the Captain of the South Garrison, but he smiled wryly to himself because Humphrey was so out of place in their company. They were all thickset, florid men, while Stephanie’s son had a thin face, thin nose, and the swollen lips of a girl. Balian had last met him a year ago, in Jerusalem, and remembered that he spoke softly and used his thin hands and thin fingers to illustrate what he said. This was a nicety, because Humphrey used words well – when Reynald allowed him to speak – and was readily understood by all save the most ignorant Crusaders. He also spoke fluent Arabic and had already acted as interpreter between Christian and Moslem. Reynald of Chatillon must have looked twice when he first met Humphrey, knowing that when he married Stephanie of Milly he would get the frail linguist for a stepson.
Seated beside Reynald, Stephanie looked composed and attractive in a white silk gown embroidered with gold and blue thread and laced at the bosom. She wore her hair loose and, because she was a long way from the fire, she kept her squirrel-skin cloak around her shoulders. Aware that a gentlewoman must not show her true feelings, she kept her hands below the table and twisted them together with excitement.
Balian had met her, too, on previous occasions, though not by choice.
When her second husband had been struck down in the streets of Acre, the Frankish kingdom was ready to accept his murder as the outcome of a private dispute. De Plancy was known to be mean of purse and arrogant of manner, and they guessed that he had died for the price of a pair of shoes. But his widow had thought otherwise. De Plancy had been out-voted on the question of the regency. Where most men would concede defeat, he had taken it in bad grace and sworn to continue the fight. He had then gone to Acre to curry support for his cause. News of his activities must have reached Raymond of Tripoli, and the new regent might well have been worried by such durable opposition. This was how Stephanie had seen it, believing that nothing was more natural than that Raymond should wish to silence his rival once and for all. She had therefore laid her husband’s murder at his door. And, suspecting that Raymond would have first conferred with his friends, she had named as his accessories the Knights of the Hospital and the Ibelin brothers, Baldwin and Balian.
So for the last nine years the members of Kerak and their allies had drawn apart from those of Tiberias, Ramleh and Nablus. Now when they met it was by accident, or through absolute necessity.
But apart from the mutual hostility that existed between the families, Balian had his own reasons for avoiding the chatelaine of Kerak. Attractive though she was, Stephanie enjoyed only two topics of conversation – herself, or Kerak. If a man would stop and listen to her while she chattered about the colour of cloth and the price of rugs, then more fool he, but at least she would regard him as a friend. And if the subject was not drapery or cooking, it would be Kerak. She had fought so long to hold it, lived so long in it that it had become her world and her way of life. She knew every step and stone, rat hole and bird’s nest, shadow and sun trap. She knew Kerak and its furnishings, but precious little else. It was ungallant to remark on it, but Balian knew that there were times when Lady Stephanie waxed exceedingly tedious. He had watched her in conversation with her ‘friends’ and seen them stiffen with boredom. Even more irritating was her divided wish to be surrounded by raucous, virile men, and yet to hold their attention with talk of filigree work and sweetmeats. Balian sighed, grateful that his own wife Maria Comnena was so very different.
He stopped a few feet from the table, bowed to Stephanie and offered a courteous greeting to the assembled family.
Humphrey said, ‘It’s good to see you again, Lord Balian. Have you come directly from Nablus?’
‘From Jerusalem.’
‘Well, either way it can be a ferocious journey at this time of the—‘
‘Where’s Fulcon?’ Reynald interrupted. ‘It’ll fall badly on you if he’s come to harm.’
‘We left him well,’ Balian said. ‘He fouled his clothes, releasing us from your recreation yard, but he would
not change until he had seen us fed. As you say, Sir Humphrey, a ferocious—’
‘Fed?’ Reynald pressed. ‘He gave you food?’
‘A gentle man, your Captain Fulcon. Hay and water for the horses, meat and wine for the men. I think he would not want us to appear before you in a state of exhaustion. It’s well known that men need their wits about them in your presence, Lord Reynald.’
‘I am called Prince here.’
Balian smiled, said nothing, then turned to Humphrey. He had no quarrel with the delicate young man, which was as well since he was betrothed to Balian’s stepdaughter, Isabella. This incredible arrangement was the result of an attempt by the leper King Baldwin to reconcile the houses of Ibelin and Kerak. Baldwin was the son of the late King Amalric I and his first wife, Agnes of Courtenay, while Isabella was the daughter of Amalric and Maria Comnena. The young princess was therefore the king’s half-sister and answerable to him. On the death of Baldwin’s father, Maria had married Balian, and Baldwin had insisted on the betrothal. There had been no reconciliation, of course, but the arrangement stood and Humphrey and Isabella were to be married at Kerak later in the year.
Laying this problem aside until the appropriate time, Balian said, ‘Where were we? Ah, yes, you asked about the journey. You know the extent of the Arava valley.’
‘I do,’ Humphrey nodded. ‘A playground for scorpions and devils.’
‘It is indeed, and sadly we lost a good companion there. This young knight, Sir Guibert was—’
‘We have heard of the corpse you brought with you,’ Reynald intruded, ‘but I am more interested to learn what else you carry. I issue few invitations to the flies at the court in Jerusalem, yet they wing their way here. Do you bring a message from the leprous Baldwin, or have you been in council again with your fellow barons? You meet every week, I should say, by the weight of grave conclusion that falls on our ears. What fresh threat of disaster betokens our downfall? Are we lost yet again to Islam and the satanic powers?’ He gazed wide-eyed, as though he believed his fears, then glanced left at Humphrey and Azo, and right at his wife and the knights from Shaubak.
‘Only your fleetest horses will save you now,’ he warned them. ‘Our good Lord of Nablus has made a – what was it – a ferocious journey, risking all to alert us.’
The ingenuous knights hesitated, unsure whether to laugh, or take him seriously. Reynald enjoyed their discomfort and let Balian see how Shaubak looked to Kerak for guidance. Then he lurched forward, slammed his fist on the table and roared with laughter. The knights joined him in chorus. The kingdom lost to Islam? Satan stalking their fleeing horses? How absurd. Of course it was funny.
Azo laughed with them, while Stephanie smiled demurely, inwardly confused. Why would Reynald talk of flight? That was the coward’s way, and not at all in his character.
Humphrey caught Ernoul’s eye and looked away again, embarrassed. He had heard of the young chronicler and, although he had read none of his writings, he wondered if Ernoul would record his stepfather’s coarse display.
Balian waited for the laughter to subside, then said, ‘You have answered your own question truthfully, Lord Reynald. I do indeed bring the threat of disaster.’
One of the knights blurted, ‘Saddle the horses!’ and erupted at his own wit.
‘What disaster?’ Humphrey asked. ‘The truce with Saladin is still in force. Unless you mean the encroaching illness of the king; is that it?’
‘No, the king struggles bravely. But you were close to it when you mentioned the treaty of peace we held with the Saracens.’
‘I was among those at Jerusalem when it was signed. You were also there, I recollect.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘You said held. Why, do we not still hold it?’
‘Until a short while ago, yes, in writing. Though in point of fact it was lost the moment Lord Reynald set sail on the Red Sea.’
‘But that was a scientific expedition!’ Humphrey protested. ‘How could that affect the treaty?’
Balian stared, genuinely astonished. ‘Is that what you heard? A scientific expedition? Is that the story here?’
‘Certainly. And everywhere else, so far as I know.’ He turned to his stepfather. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’
Reynald studied the vaulted roof. ‘It was intended as such,’ he said, ‘and as such it started. But during the first week our ships came under attack. We had no choice but to defend ourselves. If the truce was broken, it was not by us.’
‘Your memory fails you,’ Balian commented bitterly. ‘We have eye-witness reports—’
‘Paid raconteurs.’
‘Among them survivors of al-Hawra.’
Reynald shrugged. ‘Where, or what is al-Hawra?’
Beside him, Humphrey was worried. He had heard rumours of a great Saracen sea victory, and it had been linked with that very name. He had also heard of a pilgrim ship that had been sunk with all hands, though the information was sketchy and he had discounted Reynald’s presence on the scene. On the other hand it was rumoured that the Mediterranean would rise in the autumn and flood the Holy Land, and that an Italian physician in Tyre had discovered the secret of eternal life. The days would be too long without rumours to set the mind turning, but they were not all to be believed. He was worried, yet exercised caution as he echoed, ‘Yes, Lord Balian, what or where?’
‘It’s where, Sir Humphrey. The place at which, two months ago, Lord Reynald’s fleet was routed and destroyed by the Saracen navy—’
Stephanie said, ‘But you told me the ships had been sold at Aqaba.’
‘So they were,’ Reynald insisted, thinking of Ter e Mer and the one other that had been left to guard the port. ‘So they were.’
‘Under the command of Admiral Lulu,’ Balian concluded. ‘That alone might, or might not have brought about the present state of affairs. However, it is what follows that causes us the greatest concern.’
‘Everything causes you concern,’ Reynald told him, ‘and you cause me concern when you try my patience. If you have a message, deliver it and return home. But I warn you, Ibelin, those things that trouble you most may leave me cold. I do not answer to the wailings of Jerusalem. I am too far removed from that nervous city.’
‘You’re miles from it, I agree. But you are still part of the kingdom. You have certain respon—’
‘No, I do not! Not to you, nor the leper you helped crown, nor any of your timorous companions-in-arms. I live on these lands and defend them and govern them well. I—’ He broke off, felt the fury rise within him and pushed himself to his feet. They were off the subject of naval battles now. For a change they would discuss the long-time rivalry between him and the jealous king-lovers of Jerusalem. Or rather, he would speak, while the rest of them kept silent.
He pounded the table with his fist again and snarled, ‘You listen to me, Balian of Ibelin. I came to this country thirty years ago. I’ve visited every city, every town, every windswept hamlet. I’ve ridden on every road, crossed every ford between Cilicia and Egypt, climbed all the hills and scaled most of the mountain ranges. I was Prince of Antioch when your family were still digging for a name. I subdued Cyprus in less than a month, returned to lead a force to the very gates of Damascus, and drove the enemy from my own lands. I held those lands and would be holding them yet if I had not been tricked into an ambush.’ He snapped his teeth together and stabbed a calloused finger at his visitors.
‘Now mark this,’ he went on, ‘and mark it well. They dragged me behind a horse, tied a rope round my neck and dragged me to Aleppo and threw me into prison. They thought I would die there. None of my frail allies made an attempt to ransom me, something I am unlikely to forget. So I was left to my enemies, who thought to break me, or age me, or reduce me to nothing. Some here know how long they tried. Some may not. You!’ – pointing at Ernoul – ‘You skinny creature who clutches Lord Balian’s skirts, do you know? Think of it as I say it. Think what sixteen years in prison would do to you. Yes, boy, sixteen years! And all that time they tried t
o break me and they failed and I watched and waited and kept a whole mind. I dodged death at the hands of those black pigs, and I came away from that prison, and now I am Prince Reynald again, and Lord of Kerak. I am master of all the land between the Jordan and Arabia, as far north as the Zerka and south to the Red Sea. I’ve fought my way from nothing, not once, but twice. I have earned my place here, and I do as I wish on my own lands. I am Oultrejourdain! And by God’s eyes I will not be told by you!’
His voice reverberated round the walls, so that the men-at-arms seemed to chorus his claim; I will not be told by you, not be told by you, told by you, by you, you, you…
The echoes died away and for a moment there was only the creak of leather and wood, and the hiss of the wind edging past the curtains, and the spit and crackle of the deep, central fire. Humphrey stared down at the table. Stephanie sat with her eyes closed, trembling with excitement. Captain Azo and the knights from Shaubak gazed straight ahead at the visitors.
Then Balian nodded assent.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you have earned your place. And so long as it is not to the detriment of the kingdom, you have the right to do as you wish in your own fief.’ He sensed Ernoul glance sharply at him, but ignored the squire and continued, ‘however, your lands stop short of Aqaba and the Red Sea. It is Arab territory, defined by the treaty, where you least of all may move freely. Do as you wish in Oultrejourdain, Lord Reynald; we have no wish to curb you here. But we are all bound to observe the same treaty of peace, and not even you—’
‘Aah, you timid creature! That was your truce, not mine. I signed nothing. The Moslem pigs have pushed their snouts against Kerak before—’
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 5
