‘Just this then. You will not grow rich by opposing our all-powerful Regent. Reynald of Chatillon can afford to do it; he already possesses one sixth of the entire Kingdom. But you – You lost your lands in Edessa long ago and now have nothing more than a building in Acre and a shared house here.’
‘I am well aware of—’
‘It bears repeating. And so does this. My advice the other day is my advice now. Make a brother of the grey-hearted Lord of Tiberias. Assist him, be with him, befriend him.’
‘I remember you said something of the kind.’
‘So I did and so I do. Then get about it. Be taken to Galilee. Lay your path now, for in a few months’ time— ’ She stretched her thin fingers and let her shoulders rise and drop.
Joscelin gazed at his pinched sister, hypnotized by her. Dully, he, ‘In a few months time— ’
‘The Child King, fool. Will it live? Look at it; it’s in your care. You’ve seen it. Can you say that it will survive more than one winter? It’s sick unto death! It’ll die, and, if fortune smiles, it will die beside your path. Ah, you tax my patience too high. Get on and be the Regent’s man for a while. From today he will welcome any friend who calls.’
Joscelin pressed his lips tight together. Not for the first time he dreamed of drawing his knife and plunging it into his sister’s skinny frame. God in heaven, she was the leper’s mother, yet she made no move to see his corpse! She was so cruel, so cold. Yet he knew he would not touch her, for if she were dead, who would guide him then? So he nodded and left the house on the Mount of Olives and went into Jerusalem in search of his friend the Regent.
* * *
Ernoul retired to his chambers in Nablus and lay distraught on his bed. Idela, who now lived with him at the castle, came to comfort him, but achieved nothing. She had never seen King Baldwin IV and could not understand what there was about the young monarch that made his loss so deeply felt. But it was enough for her that Ernoul was miserable. She sat with him for an hour, and then he climbed from the bed and showed her his half of the letter that Reynald of Chatillon had hacked in two at Kerak. She thought the royal seal was magnificent, but beyond that she could not share his pride, nor his grief. She had grown used to castle life; courts and kings were another matter.
* * *
Fostus went alone into town and drank himself into a stupor. The innkeeper recognized the Constable of Nablus and sent him back to the castle in a hay cart. The innkeeper’s son drove the cart and made the horse walk round all the potholes in the road. He was terrified that the squat figure slumped in the back would awake and make trouble. He decided that if Fostus did wake, he would jump from the cart and run home and tell his father that the horse had bolted, throwing him into the road.
* * *
The Lord of Kerak received the news by carrier pigeon. He was not moved, one way or the other. Baldwin had been a nuisance to him in the past, though, set against that, the king had come to the rescue of Kerak. He was a leper, and lepers were bound to die sooner than most. And it was not yet time to move against Regent Raymond. For one thing, the Kingdom, and Moab in particular, was suffering from the worst drought in fifty years. There was plenty to do in Oultrejourdain, without becoming involved in the politics of Jerusalem. And for another, the child Baldwin had to live out its puny life and die, leaving the succession in dispute. Then, and not before, would he make his move, and do so with all the power at his command. He was an impatient man, but he was always prepared to wait, if he knew that the waiting would not last long.
* * *
So the twenty-four-year-old king was buried, and his seven-year-old nephew was lifted on to the throne of Jerusalem.
Raymond gained an early success when Saladin accepted his proposals for a four-year truce. Whatever hotheads like Reynald might have thought about it, the people of Palestine heaved a sigh of relief. Food was scarce and becoming scarcer; they could well do without the Saracen raiding parties, the burned crops and rustled livestock. The truce had come at the right time. Now all they needed was rain.
Heraclius and Roger returned from Europe, angry and despondent. None of the three Western rulers had answered the call to arms.
The Grand Master sought solace within the Hospital, the Patriarch with his mistress, Pashia de Riveri.
The death of Arnold of Toroga left a vacancy at the head of the Temple. Reynald heard of it and came from Kerak. With the help of Heraclius and Constable Amalric of Lusignan, he secured the post of Grand Master for Raymond of Tripoli’s old enemy, Gerard of Ridefort. Joscelin of Courtenay apprised Reynald and Gerard of his intended temporary friendship with the Regent, and with their connivance voted against Gerard’s election. Raymond, naturally, was surprised and pleased by this volte face on the part of the Seneschal. He did not yet welcome him with open arms, but he was prepared to give Joscelin a try.
Amalric’s brother continued to hold Ascalon, and many of the Frankish leaders came to accept that Guy and Sibylla had all but vanished from the political scene. They could not have reached a more dangerous conclusion. Until now a weakling and a vacillator, Guy of Lusignan believed that by having resisted the king’s demands to open the gates of the town he had shown a new and durable side of his nature. Guy irresolute was bad enough; Guy inflexible for the wrong reasons presaged a disaster.
* * *
Time passed.
The inhabitants of Palestine died, or lived at starvation level, or were hardly aware that the earth had turned to stone. Food was sent from Sicily and Cyprus, Italy and France. The winter came, and the rains, and then the gentle spring of 1186. The worst was now over for the farmers; little by little the foodstocks were replenished and the animals grew fat. None on either side had broken the truce and, as Head of the Kingdom, the child Baldwin seemed less pallid than before. In the autumn of 1186 he was moved to the Seneschal’s palace at Acre.
In the first week of September he coughed blood, whimpered and died.
The doors of hell banged open and the demons sprang free.
Chapter Thirteen
Acre, Jerusalem
September 1186
For the first time since he had become embroiled in his sister’s plans Joscelin of Courtenay realised why Agnes had sent him to be Raymond’s man. He knew what he had to do – what she would have done in his place – and within an hour of the child king’s death the Seneschal was in conference with the Regent.
‘It’s time to move,’ Joscelin said. ‘When Saladin gets word of it—’
‘He will do nothing,’ Raymond asserted. ‘He will honour this truce as he has honoured those in the past. We have nothing to fear from Sultan Saladin.’ He glanced down sharply as Joscelin gripped his arm. He did not care to be touched by another man and started to pull away. But the Seneschal would not let him go. His words took on a greater urgency and, holding Raymond, he all but convinced himself that his motives were honourable.
‘Your sincerity is without equal, Regent, but think on this. We are a dispersed force at the best of times. True, you have held us together, off and on, for many years. But we have always had a figurehead, be it a leper or a child. Now we have none, and, with respect, how long can we cohere without a king?’
‘Release my arm.’
‘What? Oh, I was hardly aware—’ He withdrew his hand, raised it as though to touch the Regent on the shoulder, then said, ‘Look, Raymond, see it for what it is. You are not given to false modesty, and you know full well that the people look to you to lead them.’
‘As Regent I do what is expected—’
‘Yes, and it’s exemplary. But as king—’
‘You would have me crowned? Are you saying—’
‘Ah, such piety. You’ve thought of it more than once.’
Angrily Raymond snapped, ‘I am not after the throne for its own sake. If you think that, you don’t know me.’
‘I think only that you are the man.’
‘I lay no claim to the throne.’
‘No, and yo
u have none, by blood or title. But you have earned it. Or put another way, if not you, then whom? Princess Sibylla, with a head full of feathers? Princess Isabella, for all her awareness still little more than a child? Constable Amalric? Myself? Or would you rather see it seized by Reynald of Chatillon, or some other firebrand? No, Lord Regent, it must be you. And you know it, I would say.’
Raymond frowned. ‘You would support me in this? Until recently, you and I had a poor record of agreement.’
‘I voted against Gerard of Ridefort, don’t forget that.’
‘Yes, and since then I’ve placed some trust in you. But—’
‘For the Kingdom,’Joscelin mouthed, ‘I would support a troubadour, if he were the right man.’
‘I don’t know. There are so few for it, and so many against.’
‘God in heaven, Raymond, how can you say that? The people themselves are for it. And among the barons you have the Lords of Ibelin and Ramleh. Antioch is with us, and Sidon, and Roger of the Hospital, and others who can be talked round. Delegate your duties here, then return to Tiberias and alert your wife. By that time I will have – ’ remembering his sister’s phrase ‘ – laid a path in Jerusalem. I’ll send word to you in three days, four at most. You are the man, Raymond. Can you say otherwise?’
‘I’ll think on it.’
‘Then for God’s sake think fast. I’ll be in the palace. Send your aye or nay to me there.’
They parted, and Joscelin dictated a hurried report which he sent in secret, by relay, to Agnes. Raymond discussed the situation with no one, then told Joscelin what the Seneschal already knew; if it was truly the will of God and the people, the Count of Tripoli would wear the Crown of Jerusalem.
That evening Raymond left Acre for Tiberias and, an hour later, Joscclin rode south toward the capital.
* * *
Agnes of Courtenay read the report once quickly, then a second time, memorizing it. She was alone in her house that night – alone save for the servants who were in their own quarters – but even so she took a taper from a jar, lit the wax stick from a pitch torch held by a bracket to the wall, then burned the report and scattered the ashes. ‘Good brother,’ she murmured, ‘for once you have followed your orders.’
The report stimulated the woman into action; she had anticipated the child’s death and planned accordingly. Now she had confirmation of what she had long suspected. Raymond of Tripoli was after the throne, and the precautions she had taken were shown to have been both timely and needful.
Without waiting for Joscelin to arrive she dispatched two letters, each bearing the Seneschal’s seal. Then, when her runner had left to raise the relay riders, she wrapped a mantle round her thin shoulders and hurried down the Mount of Olives. She took no guard with her – it would be a foolhardy brigand who dared waylay Agnes of Courtenay – but she kept a needle-sharp knife under her cloak in case she was attacked before she was recognized.
She paid her first call on a white, Moorish style building at the western end of the Street of the Furriers. The house had a small street door and exterior steps that led up to the main sleeping chambers. The steps were closed off at night by an iron gate. A bell pull hung beside the gate, and Agnes jerked the handle continuously until a servant emerged from the street door. In the darkness he mistook Agnes for a man, and an unimportant one at that.
‘Yes, what is it? The household is asleep.’
‘Is the Constable within?’
‘Who wants to know?’
Agnes threw back her hood and the servant gasped and said, ‘Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t see—’
‘Well, is he in?’
‘Yes, my lady, he’s upstairs.’ He fumbled with a heavy key and pulled back the gate.
Agnes started to climb, then turned and looked down at him. ‘Your name is?’
‘Bernard, my lady. My father was in the service of the Constable, and now I, I have the honour.’
The way she repeated his name made him shiver.
Inside, she found Amalric of Lusignan alerted and up from his bed. He wore a new-fashioned bed robe, a scarlet and lemon affair that curled his visitor’s lips.
‘Pretty Amalric,’ she remarked, ‘you are over-dressed for the news I bring.’
Tall and sallow, a match in height for her brother and Regent Raymond, he had once lusted with her and now loathed her. He had not shared her bed in more than two years, yet remembered her carnality as though the years were a handful of days. He had come under her spell, used her and been used by her, then regained his senses and drawn away from her. She had never forgiven him for having rejected her blandishments, while he, in turn, could not forget that this hideous woman had held him so long in thrall.
Spitefully he retorted, ‘And you are usually engaged in other pursuits at this hour of the night.’
‘I find no shortage of companionship, sweet Constable. Nor do I need the assistance of such finery in the bedchamber. However, I did not come out this way to admire the hang of your cloth. The child Baldwin is dead. I’ve sent word where it should be soonest heard. You know your part in this, or must I refresh you?’
‘I know what I’m to do, though prolonging our discussion won’t get it done.’ He glanced pointedly at the door. Agnes had no choice but to leave.
She said, ‘If you are ever lonely here after dark, let me know and I’ll free one of my kitchen girls.’ Then she smiled and left the antechamber. Amalric made an obscene gesture, winced as the door was slammed shut, stripped off his bed robe and stalked naked to his clothes.
She paid her second call on the Pale of the Patriarch. She had some trouble in finding the house, for she had not visited Heraclius at home for many months. Usually, if she wanted anything from him, he came to her. After all, he was her occasional lover, and she had no particular desire to meet Pashia de Riveri, mistress to mistress. But now time was too short; such niceties would have to be overlooked. She rang the crude spring bell over the entrance, stood back to see if a candle was burning in any of the upper rooms, then rang the bell again, repeatedly.
Heraclius himself opened the door. He blanched when he saw her, but before he could speak she stepped past him into the long, tiled reception room. A fire burned at the far end, and six candles added to the mean, wavering glow. As ever, she thought, at sundown he turns miserly. Heraclius followed her in, closed the door quietly and in an agonized whisper said, ‘What are you doing here? She is in the next room!’
‘Does she know about us, my dear Patriarch?’
‘Yes!’
‘Then my presence will not shock her. Bid me be seated, won’t you? I believe you are growing more weighty in the belly. Tut, tut, you will injure me – or her – one of these nights.’
‘Please, Agnes, I beseech you. Tell me why you are here. Oh, yes, yes, be seated if you must.’
‘I have been with our Constable.’
‘You are not’
‘Ha! I wouldn’t bite a nail for that prancing creature. Can you see us together?’
‘No, but—’ He rubbed his round, fire-reddened face. ‘Please, say what you came for.’
Agnes opened her mouth, then closed it again as Pashia de Riveri entered the room. The two women looked at each other, while Heraclius wondered whether or not to introduce them. Beneath his acute embarrassment he was intrigued to see them together. Pashia, so faithful to him for so long, the draper’s wife who had been called a whore and had now become Madame la Patriarchesse, and Agnes, mother of Princess Sibylla and the dead leper Baldwin IV, a fifty-two-year-old wizen who had experienced four husbands and as many lovers as could find their way to the Mount of Olives. Though each had seen the other at a distance, they were face to face in his house for the first time, and they turned his interest inward, acidulating it until he was choked with self-disgust. He didn’t want either of them, not the voluptuous one who was so easy to wound, nor the skinny one who was never called Queen. He wanted to be left alone.
‘I want to be—’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes?’ Agnes probed, ‘what do you want to be, Patriarch?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘Pashia, go to bed. I have business with our Lady Agnes.’ He hesitated, then risked, ‘It will not take long.’
Pashia asked, ‘Do you have enough light? Some wine, perhaps? Fruit, or bread, though it’s grown rather stale?’
‘We require nothing. Go to bed.’
‘As you wish. Then I bid you welcome and good night, Lady Agnes.’
‘Pashia, my sweet. Sleep sound.’
For an instant nobody moved. Then Pashia nodded at Heraclius and went out, walking with exaggerated care.
Agnes smiled. ‘She sways well for you, Churchman. I was never able to carry so much flesh on my hips.’
‘Please, it’s late.’
‘Ah, yes. Some news to help you stay awake.’ She settled herself in a chair and recited Joscelin’s report. ‘Tomorrow you will handle the people. Your task will be easy, because the claim is sufficiently strong. Give your speech as we rehearsed it. By midday the others will be here.’
‘Reynald? He cannot arrive so quickly from Kerak.’
‘He is not in Kerak. For the past two weeks he has been waiting in Jericho.’
‘But how did you know the child would die? We heard that it’s health was improving. Reynald might have waited—’ He stopped short and gasped, ‘Did you know? Did you have aught to do with its death?’
Agnes patted his arm. ‘Concern yourself with events here, my dearest. Give your speech, and do what must naturally follow and i shall be well pleased with you. Well pleased, Patriarch. You’ll see.’
He thought, only Agnes could promise the best of the world and make it sound like a threat from the bowels of hell. He nodded, and she said, ‘Move your chair opposite mine. Closer. Yes, like that. Now, does this amuse you?’
* * *
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 20
