Little had changed in the throne room. The young monarch still lay inside the gauze tent and was still propped up with scented pillows and silk cushions. He was still guarded, but now by a special detachment composed of men-at-arms from his own household, plus two Hospitallers and two donated by Raymond of Tripoli. This was no time for equality; however fast the vile disease corroded his body, however much he might welcome death, he had to be safeguarded from sword thrust and arrow shot. When the king died it would be at God’s decree, not a Frank’s.
The palace had been scoured for chairs and six of them were now arranged in a half-circle, facing the curtained pallet. The members of the council had gathered at Balian’s house and come on with him; the king’s secretary fetched them from the antechamber and they entered, two by two, knelt before the bed, then took their seats. The royal guard manned the doors and windows, while the squires and stewards took their places behind their respective warlords.
Baldwin’s secretary, with two clerical assistants, settled himself at a small desk, ready to record the meeting.
Ernoul’s first thought – pure vanity – was that the secretary looked frail and tired, and would probably never write a history of the kingdom. It was a pity, because the old man held a unique position; he was witness to all the decisive moments in the affairs of Palestine, and had access to every document and record in the royal coffers. Against which Ernoul had half a letter from King Baldwin to Reynald of Chatillon, the half that had rolled from the table dormant when Bloodhead had hacked out his answer to the king’s demands. He eyed the secretary until the old man caught him looking, then dropped his gaze and waited for Baldwin to speak.
‘My gentle lords. You have all travelled from other cities to be with me here. Some of you have covered a great distance. You, Raymond, who with Balian helped bring about this council, and you, Grand Master Roger. To all of you I would show my gratitude, and wish only that your numbers were doubled.’
Some of the barons leaned forward in their chairs. Baldwin’s voice was failing, there was no doubt of it. They made an effort to keep silent, knowing he would be unable to repeat his words.
‘You are here, as you know, because I need your advice in the matter concerning my present Regent, Guy of Lusignan, and the offer I made to him to exchange jurisdiction of Tyre for that of Jerusalem. It was my intention to move the palace up to Tyre and to give Guy some measure of control of this windy city.’
The barons had already seized on two points. Baldwin had spoken of Guy as ‘my present Regent’. Did this mean that the Poitevin was to be deposed? Secondly, he had said that it was his intention to move. Was he no longer pursuing his offer? Now it required no effort for them to stay silent. The Leper King had already planned his stratagem. It was not their advice he sought, but their nod.
‘However, as you also know, that offer was flatly rejected. He claimed I was laying a trap for him, putting him among his enemies, so on and so forth. There was no trap, and his enemies are his own affair. But I will not be gainsaid over some reasonable request. My Seneschal is against me. So is my Constable. And now my Regent. I swear to you, if I could rise from this mattress, if I could shed this filthy skin, if I could only do that— ’ He coughed feebly and a physician appeared from nowhere, pushed aside the curtain and poured a few drops of dull liquid into his gaping mouth. After a moment Baldwin moved his head and the physician withdrew.
‘I am sorry. I am too ill to pretend otherwise. Anger turns pathetic on my tongue. Yet – I am coldly angry, don’t think me incapable of the emotion. It comes with the knowledge that I have hatched a nest of vipers. I have, it seems, made an error in all my most influential appointments. It’s past time I did something to rectify them. In Guy’s case I am about to do so.’ He paused to catch his breath, then said, ‘With your unanimous approval I shall depose Count Guy of Lusignan from the post of Regent of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, confiscate the lands he holds at Ascalon and Jaffa, seize control of those several other cities and fiefs I allotted him and, in his stead, appoint my former Regent, Count Raymond of Tripoli, Lord of Tiberias. Do you so approve?’
There was a gasp and a shout. Yes?!
Baldwin let his eyes roll sideways. His secretary signalled for silence.
‘Furthermore,’ he whispered, ‘I intend to seal the door on Guy and all his faction, by proclaiming my baby nephew and namesake heir to the throne of Jerusalem.’
There was another gasp and Reginald of Sidon exclaimed, ‘But he’s Guy’s stepson!’
‘He is,’ Baldwin agreed, ‘and he is also the son of my fool’s-mate sister, Sibylla. A nicety, don’t you think? Now the Lusignans will have the thankless task of raising young Baldwin as a constant reminder that he will one day reign and they won’t. Guy’s buttocks will itch like the devil, but he’ll never scratch them with the throne.’ He stretched his eaten lips in a grotesque smile and boasted happily, ‘I find the idea not far short of brilliant. Raymond will govern during the child’s minority; you will all give him such assistance as is necessary. And I – I will gain some quiet satisfaction, knowing that I have cut off the heads of a few Frankish vipers. I would that they were Moslems, but a snake is always dangerous, whether in the hills or the house. In the matter of the child then, do you approve?’
They nodded. They had reservations, but these they kept to themselves. Guy was unlikely to accept the loss of his title and his lands without a fight. The question was, could he be broken before the kingdom was thrown into the turmoil of civil war? What help would Amalric give him? Or Joscelin? Or Reynald? If they added their weight to his, the kingdom would hang in a precarious balance…
As for placing Sibylla’s son on the throne of Jerusalem, that presented even graver problems. The child was sick, had always been sick, and showed no signs of improvement. If he was to be proclaimed heir, he must be brought into safe-keeping before the feather-brained princess starved or smothered him. Then he must be guarded night and day for as long as was necessary. And what if the soldiers and physicians failed to keep him alive? How long would the Lusignans and Courtenays and Chatillons acknowledge Raymond of Tripoli as their ruler? Would they even accept him now as Regent?
Yet, with all these reservations, the barons were convinced that King Baldwin had acted correctly. The present situation could not be allowed to continue. He had chosen to tear open the vipers’ nest. It now remained to be seen which among them would be first bitten.
Chapter Nine
Kerak
November 1183
The Lusignan–Courtenay alliance reacted predictably to Baldwin’s demands. Joscelin, the Patriarch Heraclius and Arnold of Toroga came to plead with the king, stayed to argue and were ejected from the palace by the royal guard. The sick child was snatched from Sibylla and given into the care of the court at Jerusalem. Sibylla had never cared much for her son, but now she made a show of protest, claiming that her brother monarch was no better than a thief. When this tactic failed she retired with Guy to Ascalon, where they closed the city gates against the king’s agents. Joscelin of Courtenay made the mistake of insisting that, as the child’s uncle, he should take care of young Baldwin. The king consented with alacrity; it gave him the opportunity to have his Seneschal watched, his every movement noted.
With Guy barricaded in Ascalon, Raymond of Tripoli caught up the reins of the regency. He was ably assisted by his fellow peers, though Balian of Ibelin was excused so that he might return to Nablus and help his wife in preparation for an event of some importance to the family. This was the forthcoming marriage of his stepdaughter, Princess Isabella of Jerusalem, and Reynald of Chatillon’s stepson, Humphrey of Toron. The ceremony was set for 19th November, at Kerak, and was, by any judgement, an extraordinary mixture of sugar and salt.
Queen Maria Comnena had little time for Stephanie of Milly and less for Reynald and his friends. Balian, himself, was a sworn opponent of all that the Lord of Kerak held dear and, like Maria, he had nothing in common with the Red Wolf’s pack.
Joscelin and Agnes of Courtenay might be there, as might Amalric of Lusignan and the Grand Master of the Temple. The knights of Shaubak would be invited, plus an upstart Templar named Gerard of Ride-fort, who was fast becoming a protégeé of Reynald’s. There would be the usual motley collection of minor barons and, if he knew anything about Reynald, several representatives of Italian commerce and Bedouin brigandage.
For their part, Balian and Maria would go with a small group from Nablus and whoever else among their friends was free. Unfortunately, Raymond of Tripoli was still trying to get Guy out of Ascalon without laying siege to the city, and had taken Reginald of Sidon as his aide. Balian’s brother, Baldwin of Ramleh, would come and hopefully so would Walter of Caesarea and Roger of Les Moulins. The king’s physicians had been approached as to the state of his health, but they had insisted that he was too ill to make the journey.
So Balian went home to his wife and stepdaughter and allowed them, this once, to inveigle him into sharing the problems that confronted a worried mother and an eleven-year-old bride- to-be.
* * *
In Kerak, both Reynald and Humphrey were out in public again. The citadel was large enough for them to avoid contact, save at mealtimes, or when the court was in session. Humphrey still carried the scars of the month old ‘martial instruction,’ but he had risen in the esteem of civilian and soldier alike. He had proved himself inventive at the quintain, lucky in the sword fight, and courageous in both. They had not thought he had it in him. So far as they were concerned he now had every right to return to his books; he had earned their respect and they were satisfied.
Reynald, of course, was far from satisfied. He still did not know in the heart of his heart if he had really intended to kill his stepson. He professed innocence to Azo and those others who dared discuss it with him, but it annoyed him to see Humphrey up and about, the hero of the crowd, one of the very few to escape in nomine domini and only the second man ever to knock the sword from his hand. For a short while he made a sincere attempt to turn the incident to profit –‘Humphrey is a product of Kerak, and he is my stepson. He has drawn his skills from me. He has become a warrior because he lives with a warrior. It is as though I fought against myself.’ – but he did not believe it. It had been a fortuitous accident. If they were to fight again today, Humphrey would fall quickly and stay down.
Also, the business of the silver armour still rankled. Humphrey was right when he had shouted, ‘What can you do about that?’ Reynald knew there was nothing he could do. Humphrey had claimed that he had received a present from Isabella, Princess of Jerusalem and his future wife, leaving Reynald with no choice but to call off the wedding, or swallow his anger.
If he had known that Humphrey was referring to the silver brooch and not the armour he would have extracted the truth from him, by strappado or thumbscrew.
Looking back, Humphrey realized that this misapprehension was the luckiest part of the whole dreadful day. Well, no, it wasn’t luck. It was pure, sweet magic.
A few hours after the fight he had mentioned to his mother that it would be better for everybody if she kept silent about her present to him. She gave one of her delicate, if-you-say-so shrugs and asked him if he had made a list yet of the people he wanted at his wedding. He named three or four, commented on his paucity of friends – thanks to Lord Reynald’s antisocial ways – then said, ‘Doesn’t it concern you that no honourable man will come here without protest? You, yourself, have hardly any friends. You are the chatelaine of the second greatest fortress in the kingdom—’
‘I have Reynald,’ she said simply.
‘Yes,’ Humphrey sighed, ‘and I grant you he is not from the usual mould. But is any one man really enough?’
‘Enough for what? He is my husband. I ask little or nothing of him, only that he be—’
‘You don’t talk together. In all my life I cannot remember a time when you did.’
‘What nonsense. We speak at length. Not all our words have to fall on your ears.’
‘I didn’t suggest—’
‘And as for the other aspects, I have troubadours and jongleurs, maids, nurses, children and travellers. There are always travellers passing through.’
‘That may be,’ he said, ‘but I mean intimates, confidantes, the wives of other nobles. Look, you do not enjoy the company of Queen Maria, nor that of Raymond’s wife, Eschiva. Nor, on the other side, Agnes of Courtenay, or Princess Sibylla—’
‘I quite like Agnes.’
‘You loathe her, as we all do. It’s politic to say otherwise, that’s all. Tell me what you have in common with Agnes.’
‘Well – we both enjoy Kerak.’
Humphrey exploded. ‘Enjoy it? She doesn’t enjoy it, she covets it!’
‘And flowers.’
‘Oh, and flowers. Your cooks probably like flowers, but I don’t see you in conversation with them.’
‘Say what you will, I’m content.’
‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘I believe you. That’s the sadness of it. Or perhaps it’s a mercy.’
‘I don’t know what you mean by sadness and mercy, but then sometimes I don’t understand you at all. Are these four young men the only ones you wish to invite?’
‘No, Mother, they are not. But they are the only four I know who will dare to come. Still, with luck I will have Lord Balian’s squire to converse with. Perhaps Reynald will challenge him to single combat; he’s about as strong as I.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily, then gazed at Stephanie and said, ‘Do you know something terrible, Mother? When the wedding is over I will go and take my place in the family castle, my family castle at Toron, and I will then be just like the others. It would take a very special compulsion to bring me back here again, even for a day. I don’t share your love of this place, nor its master. What do you think of that?’
‘I think it’s stupid, hurtful talk. You’ll visit us, and we will visit you—’
‘Oh, no. You may come as often as you please. I encourage it; it’s time you stepped beyond these walls. But not Reynald. His lair is here. I’ll not have him soiling mine.’
‘You should not speak—’
‘I give you my word. My stepfather will not set foot in Toron. And if he tries to— ’
‘You should not speak so about your—’
‘If he tries to, Mother, I will stand in the gateway with a crossbow and shoot him before he reaches the drawbridge. God be my witness.’
Stephanie chewed her lip and went away, leaving her son to his books and his dreams…
* * *
Isabella spent the week prior to her departure for Kerak listening to a variety of stories, some pleasant, some horrific. Directly, or indirectly they all had to do with the wedding night. She was amazed at the number of women who insisted that she be the receptacle for their experience and ignorance. The older ones, who had been married perhaps three or four times and had had a dormitory of lovers, told her that one man had done this to them, another had done that. The first husband was a risible lover, the third magnificent. She heard how some men concealed their shyness with violence, how others would only make love in total darkness, or with their clothes on, or their eyes tight shut. The women recited tales of brutality, bestiality, or, with a blush or a laugh, told how some were unable to – how should they put it? – enter the temple of love. The eleven-year-old princess listened solemnly to the flow of memory and opinion, then relayed what she had heard to her mother. Queen Maria Comnena was horrified, though sensibly did not betray her feelings. Instead, she told Isabella how it was with her and Balian, how she hoped it would be for Isabella, once Humphrey shared her bed.
The girl asked, ‘But suppose he cannot, what they said, suppose he’s unable?’
‘Sadly, it’s a common enough failing among men out here. But it can be cured. If it should be so with him, send him to speak with Lord Balian.’
‘Was he ever like that, unable?’
Maria smiled. ‘No, but he would not think poorly of one who was. Thou
gh I feel we are putting the most dreadful slight on the handsome Humphrey.’
‘No matter,’ Isabella said promptly. ‘If I’m to help him, if he needs such help, I must know how.’
‘Then, as I say, if he should be too nervous, and so for a while incapable, send him to our Lord Balian.’
‘What if he beats me? I’ve heard that many men take a stick to their wives. Does my stepfather’
‘He has no need.’
‘I don’t think I would mind,’ the girl said. ‘If it was done with love, I mean. Or if I deserved it.’
Maria raised her eyebrows. ‘But no one has ever laid a hand on you.’
‘No, but it would be different with Humphrey. I wouldn’t mind what he did. Don’t you think he’s the most wonderful man who was ever in the kingdom?’ Her eyes shone and she bubbled with laughter.
‘I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘of course, I don’t know how true it is, but I have heard that there are men who—’ She dropped her voice to a whisper and continued, ‘who ask their women to beat them! With sticks and branches and such! Is that possible? I hope Humphrey is not so inclined. He has beautiful skin. I couldn’t bear to hurt him.’ She regained her matter-of-fact tone. ‘But don’t worry. If I find he has trouble of that sort, I’ll send him to Lord Balian. Now, what else should I know?’
Well, Maria thought, at least you will not hide your body, or hang your head as I was taught to do. Poor Balian, he had a miserable month when we were first married. Humphrey is luckier than he can know. His young bride will be more woman to him than most who are twice or three times her age. A man needs that, but I gave Balian a chilly month before I learned it.
‘What else?’ she replied. ‘Very little, I would say. You seem as well appraised of the facts as anyone.’
‘I think I am,’ the girl nodded. ‘I only hope he is.’
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 14
