* * *
16th… 17th… 18th… November
The chaos of preparation took on a more ordered shape. The guests arrived in groups of ten and twenty, each with a heavily-armed escort. It was rumoured – when was it not? – that a Saracen raiding party had been seen in Moab, so the guests wasted no time in reaching the walls of Kerak. Reynald enjoyed his new role of host, protector and paterfamilias. He welcomed his friends, acted as guide for those who had not visited the fortress before and behaved with rare indulgence toward the lower order. He shook hands with smiths and carpenters, commended lonely wall guards, and several times went out of his way to exchange a joke with the sentinels who manned the watchtowers.
Stephanie glowed with pride. Here was her answer to all those who thought him gross and brutal.
‘Look at him now, and listen to him, then tell me if he is anything but a courteous man, a gentleman.’
Reynald’s urban friends reached Kerak within a few hours of each other. Joscelin of Courtenay came with his fifty-year-old sister, Agnes, and there was speculation in the kitchens as to whether or not she would seek a fifth husband among the noble gathering. The weight of opinion was in favour of her finding somebody, if only because, as they put it, ‘The pinch-faced hellcat has already bedded every easy man in the land.’ The cooks and serving girls were unashamedly spiteful toward Agnes. After all, free men were scarce – unless one wanted to marry a dirty-fingered farmer, or a drunken soldier – yet at fifty she was able to fill her bed like a basket in an apple orchard.
Amalric of Lusignan arrived, accompanied by the Grand Master of the Temple and the young Templar knight, Gerard of Ridefort. It was as well that Raymond of Tripoli was immersed in his work as regent, for Gerard of Ridefort nurtured a deep and abiding grudge against him. The young Flemand had reached the Holy Land ten years earlier and had joined the Count of Tripoli’s household. Gerard was a penniless adventurer, seeking, like so many, ‘hand and land.’ Raymond told him what he told every other new recruit. ‘Serve me loyally and do your work well and in time I will give you a place and a woman of your own.’ He did not like Gerard – he found the knight sullen and churlish – but he was prepared to admit that he fought well, though with a complete disregard for his own safety or that of his companions. Gerard was a weighty young man, with a round face and cheeks that gave him the appearance of one who lived with his mouth full of food. He was not Raymond’s kind, physically or mentally; nevertheless, the dour warlord favoured him in an attempt to smother his dislike.
Then, within a year of Gerard’s arrival, the vassal Lord of Botrun died, bequeathing his territories to his daughter Lucia, now Raymond’s ward. Gerard asked for her hand in marriage. Without hesitation, Raymond refused. He could no more imagine Gerard and Lucia sharing bed and board than – well, than a pig and a pelican.
If the Count of Tripoli had allowed some other knight, better suited, to marry his ward, he might have contained Gerard’s anger. But he did not. In a display of uncharacteristic cupidity he gave the girl to a Pisan merchant named Plivano, and took in exchange the bride’s weight in gold coin. In this way he made himself ten thousand besants and an implacable enemy. Gerard left his employ and joined the Knights of the Temple.
By 1183 he was regarded as the logical successor to Grand Master Arnold of Toroga…
Reynald treated the young Templar to a noisy and effusive welcome, then took him on a conducted tour of the castle. They had met before in Jerusalem, but this was Gerard’s introduction to Kerak. He was suitably impressed.
‘There are others,’ Reynald told him. ‘Not so large, but adequate for your needs. ‘We’ll have to secure one for you. Though, if my friend Toroga were to waste away—’
‘Say it not, Prince,’ Gerard murmured piously. ‘The Grand Master is a great man. I have never served better.’
‘Then we won’t say it.’ Reynald winked. ‘But if it were to happen, you would have your pick of strongholds. The Temple controls a good many of them, and you’re sure to be elected. Just be patient, my friend.’
‘I am, Prince. Naturally in time I would wish for a domain of my own, but for the present I am content to serve men like yourself and my Grand Master.’
Reynald clapped him on the shoulder and sniffed the air. ‘Wine,’ he said. ‘Let’s hunt it down.’
* * *
The light was fading as Isabella arrived with her mother and stepfather and the entourage from Nablus. They crossed the deep north fosse, rode under the wall that separated the castle from the town, then turned south again, wending their way through the inner fortifications. They dismounted in a flower-strewn yard, and Balian led Isabella forward to be presented to the chatelaine of Kerak.
My,’ Stephanie essayed, ‘you are a beautiful young lady. It’s so long since I last saw you’
‘And since I saw Humphrey. Where is he, Lady Stephanie?’
‘You’ll see him soon enough, child.’
‘I’ll have to, if I’m to marry him,’ the girl retorted. ‘But I want to know where he is now. Then I can hold a picture of him in my mind.’
‘Yes, well, I expect he’s being rehearsed by the priests.’
‘Don’t you know?’ Isabella pressed her. ‘I would know where he was every moment of the day.’
Balian grinned to himself, but made no attempt to extricate Stephanie. He decided it would do her good to match wits with an eleven-year-old. She might learn something from her future daughter-in-law.
‘He is,’ Stephanie said, ‘he is with the priests.’ Then, changing direction, ‘Dear Balian, do we find you well? And Maria. You show no ill effects from your journey, but then I remember you never do.’
Maria smiled and inclined her head. She thought Stephanie overpainted, but was happy to concede that her hostess had a charming simplicity about her. They were not friends and would never be close, though Maria hoped that this time the reason for their meeting would be sufficient to draw them together. It would be a pity if the mother of the bride could not hold hands with the mother of the groom.
She said, ‘I am sure the journey is as nothing compared with the effort you have engaged in here. I know this will be a fine marriage —’
‘If I could only see Humphrey,’ Isabella piped. ‘Not speak to him, just see him.’
‘You will do both,’ Maria said sternly, ‘but in good time. Now, come with me.’ She glanced at Stephanie, who hastened, ‘Ah, yes, of course. We have given over to you the entire north tower. The round tower. The, ah, wedding chambers are on the upper floor. The rest is as you wish to arrange it. Shall I lead the way?’
Isabella sniffed and trailed after her parents. It seemed rather pointless to be going to the wedding chamber without Humphrey, and she dragged her feet to register disenchantment.
* * *
In fact, Stephanie was wrong. Humphrey had eluded the clergy minutes earlier, when he had seen Balian’s party enter the castle. On the pretext that he was searching for some reference to a disputed phrase in the marriage ceremony, he had leapt two at a time down the stairway from the chapel and crouched in the shadow of the wheelwright’s shed until the group rode by. He let Isabella and her parents go without a sign – ‘God, she’s a fine-looking girl!’ – then stepped out quickly and gestured to Ernoul.
‘Dismount! Dismount!’ he hissed. ‘I want to talk to you.’
Fostus, who was riding alongside the squire, thought, Hellfire! Young Toron doesn’t want to go through with it. He wants a horse. He’s bound to ride out of here.
He put a heavy hand on Ernoul’s arm, then thought, nonsense, and released him. Ernoul slid from his horse, let Fostus grab the reins and edged over to where Humphrey waited. They greeted each other warmly, something they had been unable to do during Ernoul’s last visit to Kerak in June.
‘You seem well, my lord.’
‘Do I! In truth I’m bruised from head to foot. Did you hear of the fight I had with Reynald?’
‘I heard that you gave a magnificent account of yours
elf.’
‘Luck and magic, I swear it. I thought he was out there to kill me. I still believe he would have if I had not— ’
‘Thank God it was not so.’
‘mastered the quintain. I evolved a completely different approach. You see, instead of riding upright—’
‘I’m sorry, but I should rejoin Lord Balian in a moment. If you will tell me later. All the details; I may write about it—’
‘Ah, now, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Have you written songs?’
‘One or two. They’re played at Nablus, and I believe Lord Balian’s brother took one to Ramleh. But they are not generally known.’
‘No matter. I’m sure they have wit and grace. What I must know is this. Will you write one for me?’
‘You want one dedicated to you? Because you bested Lord Reynald? Isn’t that rather prideful?’
‘Idiot! You don’t understand. I did not say to me. I said for me. So that I can give it to the Princess Isabella.’
‘But you are better schooled than I, sire.’
‘Humphrey. My name is Humphrey.’
‘So be it, Humphrey. It doesn’t alter the fact that—’
‘Oh, you are so wooden. I cannot write songs. I never could. Letters, articles, criticisms, such things, yes, but not songs. It takes a special talent. Will you try? I’ll pay you—’
‘Not if you value my friendship. I don’t want payment from you. I’ll do it, or I won’t ’
‘Well, which is it?’
‘I’m thinking.’
‘Oh, you artistic men! Can you never stop thinking long enough to decide? I’m supposed to be nodding with the priests at this moment. All I need is a song to be performed for Isabella. Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! No, I’m sorry—’
‘Tell me. Have you ever been to Toron? The castle, I mean.’
‘What? No, never. What has that to do with—’
‘When we are married, Isabella and I, we will go to live in Toron. I would like you to stay with us there. For as long as you wish.’
‘I have a girl now.’
‘Excellent! Bring her with you. The four of us, we’ll have a wonderful time!’
‘Tomorrow, hmm?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well. I’ll do what I can. I cannot promise that it will be—’
‘Wit and grace, I know it.’
‘I don’t promise.’
‘What a time, the four of us. I thank you, Ernoul. You’re a good friend.’
‘I’ll give it to you after the service, my lo – Humphrey. Now I must go and find—’
‘They’ll be in the round tower. After the service, then. God speed you. Wit and grace.’
‘Wit and grace,’ Ernoul mumbled, worried that he had spent all his wit and grace on Idela…
* * *
19th November
They dressed her in a plain white chemise, a brown and grey kirtle that clung to her child’s hips and was laced tight below her small, underdeveloped breasts, a fur-trimmed cloak threaded in gold and black, and small pointed leather shoes, embroidered to match the cloak. Her pale, sun-lightened hair was plaited and cross-laced with green ribbon, while the kirtle was further decorated with a heavy silk girdle, again in green. The girdle was tied low in the front and ended in two huge tassels that hung to within a few inches of her shoes. She wore several brooches, agates and rubies set in silver, a cluster of emeralds held together with claws of gold wire, while her thin fingers were hidden by huge, chunky rings, each an iridescent reminder that the Comnenas and the Ibelins boasted as much history as any at Kerak.
They dressed him in a simple linen shirt, a purple and grey tunic with tight sleeves and wide, pendulous cuffs, and a ginger pelisson, also trimmed with fur. Over the pelisson he wore a mantle, its borders crusted with jewels. His feet were encased in stiff leather shoes and they pinched like the devil. His hair had been curled and larded and now felt as stiff as the unwelcome footwear. Like her, he wore rings, and to reassure her of his love, the magicked silver brooch. They told him he looked resplendent, but all he cared about was that his feet hurt and his head ached. Why wouldn’t they let him wear his old boots, and in God’s name why did they have to smear that perfumed grease on his hair? If this was what it took to be resplendent, he would rather towel his head and change his shoes and appear ordinary.
When the young couple were ready they were led from their respective chambers to where the families and guests waited in the bailey. The family chapel was too small to hold all those with a right to witness the ceremony, so a group of troubadours and jongleurs headed the procession as it moved slowly across the yard toward the main chapel.
She walked with Balian and Maria. She did not turn her head, though the temptation to do so was becoming unbearable. Here she was, a matter of yards from the church, and they had not yet let her see him. Did they expect her to go through the ceremony without looking to see if it was indeed Humphrey at her side? The idea of it made her giggle, and Maria put a hand on her arm to calm her. Balian, splendid in laced hose, scarlet and grey pelisson and fur-lined mantle, frowned down at her. Then, when she had stopped giggling, he murmured, ‘Have you ever heard such an unmusical mob?’
She erupted with mirth and shook her head in agreement. Maria glanced sharply at her husband, then smiled with him. It was true. The musicians of Kerak were making a dreadful racket.
He followed some way behind, separated from her by a crowd of guests, with an escort of dogs and children. He was accompanied by Reynald and Stephanie, and he took good care not to brush against his stepfather. He was now so suspicious of Bloodhead that he looked him over quickly to see if he wore a knife. Reynald had never wanted the marriage. It had been forced upon Kerak, as upon Nablus, by King Baldwin. However, in a few moments the children of the rival houses would be joined in wedlock. Unless the groom fell dying from a knife thrust…
Reynald was deft enough to do his work unseen, and when it was done he could shout, ‘Assassin! Nablus!’ or even, ‘Jealous suitor!’ There were many in the procession at whom he could point an accusing finger; his stepson knew this, so kept his distance.
The reached the chapel and filed inside. Stewards guided the guests to their pews. There was no mingling; Kerak sat with Kerak, Nablus with Nablus. It was cool and quiet in there, and Balian stilled a pang of envy as he looked up at the four, glassed windows. They were not as pretty as the window in his library, but they were much taller, and the top quarter of each window could be pivoted open.
When the guests were settled, the young pair walked forward to take their place at the foot of the choir stalls. Now able to look at each other, but not daring to, they knelt side by side and waited for the churchmen to enter.
They nearly cried out with shock when Heraclius, Patriarch of Jerusalem, took his place at the altar.
Reynald revelled in the murmur that ran round the chapel, then grinned at Stephanie. It had been a well-kept secret.
Mass was said.
Heraclius embellished the celebration with his own brand of sophistry. The man, he said, must remain faithful to his wife, whatsoever the temptations of the world. He must be pure of mind and, scrupulously honest, generous and forbearing. He would have learned much of value from his guardian and stepfather, Prince Reynald of Chatillon, Lord of Oultrejourdain, and he must carry those teachings with him, wherever he went. Gratitude was a virtue, and the young man had ample opportunity to show it now.
‘He means,’ Balian hissed, ‘that Reynald would take it well were he to be given a large portion of land in Toron.’
The woman, for her part, should control her own unnatural yearnings until it came time for her to conceive. Men had the demon in them, howling for release, and it was a woman’s duty to see that it remained encaged. God had seen fit to bring man and woman together in bed for the sole purpose of procreation, but once the seed was sewn in the woman’s belly there was no spiritual advantage to be gained from further love-play.
Balian grunted. ‘I doubt if he’s so damned pious when he’s abed with Agnes of Courtenay or Pashia de Riveri.’
‘He makes me sick. If I’d known that Reynald had recruited him for this—’ She sighed and held Balian’s hand. Heraclius droned on, flattering, condemning, passing out suggestion and monition. To hear him say it, a stranger would think Reynald nothing less than a disciple of Christ and a paragon of virtue. And he took his time saying it, so that, when he had concluded the celebration, the chapel was filled with an audible sigh of relief.
He motioned the couple forward, kissed the groom, then indicated that the young nobleman was free to embrace his wife.
So the seventeen-year-old Humphrey of Toron was married to the eleven-year-old Princess Isabella of Jerusalem, while, in theory, the fiefs and families of Nablus and Oultrejourdain were united, henceforth to act as one in the common cause.
In practice, Reynald strode up the aisle to speak with the Patriarch, and Stephanie hurried over to hug the bride and groom. Balian and Maria were left to make their own way from the chapel. They did so with good humour, though Maria hesitated at the door, loath to leave her daughter so soon in strange hands. It was not Humphrey who worried her; she judged him an attractive and intelligent young man, and Isabella was clearly dizzy with love for him. But it would unsettle the girl if Heraclius or Lady Stephanie attempted to implement any part of the Patriarch’s sermon. The couple should be allowed to stroll together among the guests, showing themselves in their finery and acknowledging the well-wishers. It was no time for discipline or morbid warning. The day now belonged to the children of Toron and Jerusalem.
Fortunately, Reynald and Heraclius disappeared into the vestry, while Stephanie contented herself with an embrace for each of the pair and a fussy, ‘Now, come along, you two. Everybody is agog to greet you.’
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 15
