‘Aunt Ermengarde. She stews a lot of fruit.’
He nodded again, slid the spoon round the bowl, then pushed it aside.
‘Listen to me, Idela. I want you to – I want to ask you something.’
‘I cannot.’
‘What?’
‘I know what you want to say. You want me to leave with you.’
‘Yes.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Oh.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Oh.’
‘When she’s well again’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, then perhaps.’ She put her hands on the table, so that he could hold them if he cared to and murmured, ‘I like you, Ernoul. I respect you and admire you. You’re—’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re amusing, usually. I am flattered by your attention. Looking for me at the stall. Riding up here. Asking me to go with you—’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘But you must see, I cannot leave her alone, not yet.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I suppose not.’ He glanced at his spoon, then at her surprisingly elegant hands. He chose the spoon and tapped it unrhythmically against the wooden bowl. It made a hollow clock-clock, so he put it down again.
‘How long?’
‘—will the illness last? Some weeks, I fear.’
‘Dog’s vomit!’
‘That’s not—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. But I could be at the farthest reach of the world by that time.’
‘Not quite.’
‘You know what I mean. Few men are as busy as Lord Balian.’
‘It’s not my fault, Ernoul,’ she sighed. ‘I’d go with – I might think of accompanying you, if it were possible.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘She has stomach pains, and she finds it difficult to move her. The doctors say’
‘So you’ll stay with her until she recovers.’
‘I must.’
‘Won’t your father miss you?’
‘He will hire an assistant. Do you want some more fruit?’
‘No.’ Then, realizing that it would prolong his visit, ‘Well, yes, a little.’
She refilled the bowl and brought it back to the table. In truth, you’re attractive, she thought. I would go with you now, if I could. What a shame you are not a chemist. If you were of my class we might marry and save our money for a shop and I would have your children and they would all be as handsome as you. But you have stepped down from the courts and castles, and when you’ve taken me away and loved me and lost interest in me there will be no marriage. But I don’t mind. If you will wait until my aunt is in good health again, I’ll go with you. Which girl would not? I have never been loved and I would like to see Lord Balian’s castle, or wherever you take me.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Will you have some wine?’
‘Thank you. Will you?’
‘I don’t – very well, a little.’ She found two pewter mugs, poured the wine and sat opposite him again, her hands on the table, waiting to be touched.
‘Good,’ Ernoul commented, his mouth full. ‘Tell your aunt, that, if you tell her I was here—’
‘I won’t.’
‘Well, that’s for the best, perhaps.’
‘Where will you go now, I mean, when you leave?’
‘On to Nablus. The king has convened a council of barons, but they have to be found and alerted. Letters must be written—’
‘I can write,’ she volunteered.
Ernoul coughed into his mug. ‘Can you? That’s excellent.’ He reached forward and patted her hands. ‘Well done! There are not so many.’
Idela blushed from his praise and because at last he had touched her. Pressing her good fortune she added, ‘And, of course, I read. I enjoy fables and songs; the stories of Charlemagne.’
‘Yes, yes! Wonderful. I allow, I did not think you could – would—’
‘I understand. Oh, yes, I have the appetite for it.’ With inspired insight she mourned, ‘But I lack the opportunity. As you say, there are not so many of us. If I could find the books—’
‘I’ll bring you some. Do you like poems?’
‘Did I not say so? Poems best of all.’
‘How strange. I, uh, sometimes, when I’m not too busy—’
‘You write poems?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Please, you must show me some. I’ve never met a poet.’
‘Well, I’m not a, not what you might term—’
‘But if you write poems, you are a poet.’
‘Put so,’ he shrugged modestly, ‘I suppose I am, in a way.’
‘I’m sure you are a fine poet. When will you—?’
‘That depends on Lord Balian. If I am not required to assist him with the king’s convention, I could return in four or five days.’
‘Four?’
‘So be it. Four. But will your aunt—?’
‘I’ll give her something.’ She smiled. ‘I know a herb that induces sleep. It’s harmless, of course.’
‘Naturally. Idela?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for—’ He gestured aimlessly, then concluded, ‘the plums and wine.’
‘It gives me pleasure, dear Ernoul.’
He coughed again, inspected her hands and said, ‘You keep them well. They’re – well-kept hands.’
‘Thank you. Yours seem very strong.’
‘It’s the riding. It toughens them.’
‘Yes, I expect it does.’
They sat in silence for a moment, each awkwardly studying the other’s hands. Then Ernoul nodded, as though Idela had told him something, and stood up. He drained his mug, said, ‘I must hurry if I am to catch my Lord Balian,’ and put the mug down over-hard on the table. ‘I will do my best to return in three, I mean four days.’
‘I will look for you, my dear Ernoul. And don’t forget your poems.’
She went with him to the back door, moving close behind him. He turned abruptly – what is the matter with me, he thought, I’m moving like a pole-axed ox – and accidently swept his arm against her breasts.
‘I’m sorr—’
‘It’s noth—’
He caught her by the shoulders and she rested her hands on his hips. Then they sought no more excuses and embraced with clumsy exhilaration.
He is strong. He, aah… Well, now, Fostus, this’ll stop your taunts… Four days… Die, you feeble old woman, let her free . . . I’ll memorize every word he writes . . . Idela, Idela… which castles will we see? I’ll be terrified, no, not with you beside me… Idela…
They moved apart, smiled and bade each other a demure goodbye. She waited in the doorway until he had saddled his horse, then indicated that he should lead the horse round, while she crept to the front of the house. When she opened the street door he was mounted and waiting. They whispered goodbye again and he rode away through the hot, dead town. She waited until he had turned east, toward the town gates, then closed the door quietly. Humming to herself, she walked back to the kitchen to wash the bowl and mugs and to gaze at where he had sat and stood. Then she hunted for the sleeping draught that Aunt Ermengarde would take in soup in four days time.
Ernoul’s fantasy had not come true, yet could not compare, would never compare with the reality. He rode at reckless speed along the Sahl Mukhna road, mumbling, not caring that the dust blew into his mouth. Could dust ever prevent a poet from composing lines dedicated to a beautiful, dark-eyed girl?
* * *
Ernoul failed to overtake the Lord and Constable of Nablus and learned, not for the first time, that Balian of Ibelin could behave with as much severity as any feudal castellan. Fostus was in no way involved, yet found to his disgust that his sympathies were aroused and. divided evenly between his irate master and the protesting squire. Ernoul’s stupidity might have been overlooked at another time, but now time and tempers were running short.
What had happened, on the young man’s own admis
sion, was that he had driven his horse so hard in his efforts to catch up with the riders that the animal had eventually stumbled and gone lame. This necessitated his making a five mile journey on foot in the furnace heat of the valley, heading northward along the road to the nearest village. When he had reached it he had purchased a fresh horse and saddle and arranged for a cart to be sent back to reclaim the injured palfrey. As though that was not trouble enough, he had then ridden a hundred yards out of the village on the fresh horse, shaken his head and collapsed in a heat faint. The villagers had carried him back and put him to bed, stabled the horse – who may have wondered at the brevity of his outing – then sent the local veterinarian off in the cart to bring back the lame animal. The veterinarian was actually a blacksmith and only treated animals to supplement his earnings, so he decided to charge for the heat as well as the distance and spent the ten miles there and back counting on his fingers.
It was not until two mornings later that Ernoul rode into Nablus, the city called ‘little Damascus,’ and made his way up the hill road to the castle. He had stretched his leave of absence by a night and a day, and Balian was in no mood for pleasantries.
When Ernoul presented himself in the library, Balian snapped, ‘I was on the point of dispatching a search party. I hoped they would not find you still in Ramallah.’
‘They would not, my lord.’ He recounted his story, while Balian listened without expression. When he had finished he was told, ‘You may expect no refund for either animal. If, in truth, you left your lady when you say you did—’
‘Yes, I swear—’
‘then you had no need to travel so fast. You were told to report here, in the castle, yesterday morning. Now you are late, overspent and a victim of the heat. What value are you to me at this time should I need some urgent service of you?’
Ernoul hung his head and thought, how do I tell you that I was wearing the wings of love?
Angry though he was, Balian had already guessed the reason for the accident. He said, ‘I imagine your visit was a success—?’
‘Well—’
‘and that you were hurrying after us to crow about it. You’re loyal and industrious, but I cannot believe that it was merely your anxiety to return to duty. No doubt you will want to visit her again.’
Ernoul shrugged. ‘If I happen to be passing that way.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Balian smiled wryly. ‘However, I hope you have not arranged to pass that way on a set date and day.’
In two days’ time.
‘Oh, no. I would not think of—’
‘That’s as well, because I have several commissions for you. Word of the king’s council is on the lips of the people: God knows how they learn of these things so quickly. So our friends and allies must be brought to King Baldwin before others move to delay the meeting. I am sending you with a letter for Walter Gamier, Lord of Caesarea…’
On the coast, some thirty miles north-west of Nablus. Time enough to return here, then ride south—
‘When you have delivered it to him in person, you will go down to my brother Baldwin’s domain of Ramleh. I’m told that Reginald of Sidon is staying with him, so we can catch two loyal fish with one net.’
Forty miles south of Caesarea. Twenty or more from Ramallah. I cannot keep the tryst. Aah, Idela
‘From there you will go directly to my house in Jerusalem. When were you supposed to see her?’
‘Two days from now,’ Ernoul blurted. ‘I mean—’
‘I know full well what you mean. You mean that you hate me and our Lords of Caesarea and Ramleh and Sidon, and the king and his politics, and all councils and letters and anything that keeps you from that dusty hill town. I advise you not to make a habit of lying to me, but I know what you mean and I understand it.’ He paused and looked down at the quills and parchment rolls on the table in front of him. Then, facing Ernoul again, he said, ‘You’ve taken my anger fairly; will you now accept my apology? Not for the anger, that was correctly placed, but for driving a wedge between you and Mistress, ah—’
‘Idela.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He turned to the single library window. It was a rarity – small, uneven diamond panes of coloured glass set in a heavy lead frame. There were no latches or hinges and the window was sealed in place. The glass had been brought from Constantinople in 1178, and the window fitted while Balian was absent from Nablus. On his return Queen Maria Comnena had taken him to the library and shown him the window – her present to him. Like most men, he had asked, ‘Why?’
‘Because you light my life,’ she had told him. Then, like most women, she asked, ‘It pleases you, doesn’t it?’
Balian treasured the window and, when no one was looking, he would sometimes stand on a bench and wipe the glass with a rag. Now the crimson and violet diamonds made a player’s mask of his face. He blinked orange eyes and moved dark green lips as he mused, ‘This meeting. I am of the opinion that it will tear the kingdom like rotten cloth.’
‘Do you know what the king will do to Regent Guy, sire?’
‘No, but he is no longer interested in the exchange of cities. It will go beyond that. Danger builds up ahead of us, my friend.’
Ernoul said, ‘Danger for Guy, I hope.’
‘I hope for nothing of the kind,’ Balian corrected. ‘Guy is weak, but so is the kingdom. None of us will gain from bleeding each other.’ He moved and his lips turned blue as he added, ‘Christ, if only he had accepted Baldwin’s offer!’
‘Perhaps he would have done so, if Amalric had not forbade it.’
‘Amalric? He has a simple creed concerning Guy. He wants his brother to do everything he says, and refuse everything others tell him. What with the Lusignans and the Courtenays—’ He sighed and ran the tips of his fingers over the lower panes. ‘We’re like this window. All of the same shape, yet each of a different thickness and colour. The lead binds us, but lead can be so easily melted…’
Ernoul nodded, though could think of nothing to say.
Balian stood for a moment, scouting the uncertain future. Then he brought his hand down and turned from the window. ‘Enough of this; I’m no seer. If you’re ready, let’s make some progress with these letters.’
* * *
That evening, Ernoul found Fostus in the main armoury.
Although he had noticed the squire ride in during the morning and had subsequently learned of the lame horse and the heat stroke, he could not resist taunting him about Idela. He let Ernoul wait awhile, then looked up from a pile of carefully selected crossbow bolts and grunted, ‘Oh, it’s you. Just arrived?’
Ernoul had come with the express purpose of asking a favour of the constable, so he stifled a retort and said, ‘I know I was late back. Lord Balian made me smart for it. I thought you’d have heard about it by now.’
‘I never listen to petty gossip. Your late-coming is not so remarkable, is it?’
‘I don’t mean – Listen, Fostus, will you help me? I have to leave for Caesarea at dawn. I want to send word to Ramallah—’
‘To your lover?’
‘She isn’t yet, but believe what you will. Anyway, I said I would visit her there in two days’ time ’
‘That was foolish.’
‘Perhaps it was. Anyway—’
‘You’re tongue-tied. Anyway this, anyway that.’
‘Anyway,’ Ernoul insisted, ‘by then I’ll be on the road to Ramleh. If you could find some excuse to— ’
‘You want one of my men to waste their time running errands for you, is that it?’
Ernoul wanted to point out that they were Lord Balian’s men. Instead, he said, ‘Please. It’s important to me.’
‘What do you want sent, a letter?’
‘Yes, and some – just a letter.’
Fostus selected more vicious looking bolts. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to see who’s free.’
Ernoul nodded and remembered not to thank him. But he knew Fostus would do it. He had not said yes straight out, nor
had he said no. But he would arrange it, and he knew that Ernoul knew it.
They continued with the pretence, the squire saying, ‘Yes, see who’s free,’ and the constable growling, ‘Write your silly letter. It may get sent; it may not. And don’t fall off your horse again.’
‘Then you did hear about it.’
‘It was not to be avoided. Everybody laughing…
Ernoul wrote his silly letter by candlelight. He also wrote a poem – TO idela – a flowery, ill-disciplined affair that was intended to make her smile at his wit and weep at his absence. The poem made a nice balance with the business-like letter of apology, but in order to give her a better impression of his range, he also included two other poems and his account of the confrontation between Lord Balian of Ibelin and Lord Reynald of Chatillon at Kerak, last June. He sent no books, because he had written none, and did not want her to be confused by conflicting styles.
When he took the package to Fostus, the hirsute warrior weighed it in one hand and asked, ‘Am I supposed to find you a horseman, or a camel train? What more can you find to say to her, after she has leafed through this?’
‘Quite a lot.’
Misunderstanding him, Fostus said, ‘Indeed it is.’
* * *
They came from Nablus and Caesarea, Ramleh and Antioch, Tiberias and the great Hospitaller fortress of Belvoir. They came, the loyal barons, together with the Grand Master of the Hospital, because Baldwin the Leper had summoned them. This alone proved that his strength was not yet gone.
Other leaders were not invited and did not make the journey to Jerusalem. Guy of Lusignan remained in Ascalon, Reynald of Chatillon in Kerak. The Grand Master of the Temple, Arnold of Toroga, stayed in the Templar stronghold of Safed.
Still more were in Jerusalem itself, but were barred from the council. The Seneschal of the Kingdom, Joscelin of Courtenay, along with his sister Agnes, Patriarch Heraclius and the Constable of the Kingdom, Amalric of Lusignan, were all refused entry to the Royal Palace. They knew the nature of the meeting – it might be King Baldwin’s last chance to exert pressure on his recalcitrant Regent – but they did not know, none knew, exactly what fate he had planned for corn-haired Guy.
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 13
