It was a miserable morning, with rain clouds piling up in the west and a damp breeze scudding into the city above Tancred’s Tower and the Tower of David. Heraclius positioned himself on a mounting-block in the square in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and waited for late-comers to join the large crowd that had already gathered. His clerics had gone through Jerusalem at dawn, proclaiming that the Patriarch would address them at mid-morning on a matter of grave importance. Rumours had circulated widely, but the people wanted to hear from the Patriarch’s own lips that the Lord Jesus Christ had been seen again in the Garden of Gethsemane, that Raymond of Tripoli was to be excommunicated, that Baldwin V had died, that Heraclius was resigning his post and intended to enter a monastery in Antioch. Comment and observation passed like coins among the assembled crowd, stilling when the Patriarch raised his hands in the damp air and called for silence.
‘Good people of Jerusalem! May God bless you this morning and give me the words with which to make His message clear to you. As some of you must know by now, the beloved and pitiful infant who was to have grown to govern us has been taken to Christ’s bosom and now rests in peace for all eternity.’
He frowned, angry that his resonant voice should be eddied this way and that by the breeze. He liked to speak in the square on dry days. His words rolled against the far walls and along the narrow entrance streets, and the audience became malleable, indulgent when he was pleased, incensed when he ranted. However, on a gusty day it was uphill work; they just stood there like posts while the dampness settled on them. Drawing more breath into his lungs, he continued:
‘His death robs us not only of a hapless, untried king, but also throws upon our shoulders the problem of a disputed succession. Claims have been laid; some so outrageous as to be an insult to all who would see fair government in this land. You!’ He pointed at a nearby artisan. ‘Would you lay claim to the throne?’
The man grinned good-naturedly and shook his head. He would have to tell his friends that one.
‘No,’ Heraclius boomed, ‘and nor would I. Yet there are some.’ Slandering liberally, he enumerated, ‘Baldwin of Ramleh puts himself forward. More, I assume, because the name fits than for any lasting reason.’ The crowd laughed at the simple joke, encouraging him to name others. ‘His brother Balian would love to be king, but then he has always been a king-lover! Oh, yes, and foremost among these pretenders comes our Regent, Raymond of Tripoli. His claim? Perhaps that his father’s wife was the daughter of Baldwin II. A long way to reach for a drop of royal blood!’ They sensed the wit in that and laughed in the damp air.
‘Unfortunately,’ Heraclius pursued, ‘Tiberias is of a more serious turn of mind than either Nablus or Ramleh. He will not be content to wish the crown upon his head, but will make some real attempt to have it placed there. This, as the sapient ones amongst you must have long since realized, would be a gross violation of the laws that govern succession here, in the Kingdom. Raymond has no rights beyond those that appertain to his position as Regent. You know to whom the throne belongs. You know it goes to Princess Sibylla, daughter of our Lady Agnes of Courtenay and King Amalric, who was king before the leper Baldwin. You know the rights of the case! Tell me you know!’
‘Sibylla!’ they shouted. ‘We’ll have none but Sibylla!’
Earlier that morning, Agnes had paid out a fair sum of money for the services of a dozen leather-lunged idlers. These were now planted in the crowd, and they began to earn their fee.
‘Where is the Regent? Bring him before us! Patriarch, do you know his whereabouts?’
‘He is at Tiberias, gathering strength, I hear. We expect him to move on Jerusalem at any—’
‘No! We want Sibylla, not him. Close the gates! Keep him out of the city! Patriarch, help us!’
‘Is this what you want, all of you?’
‘It is!’ they roared. ‘Sybilla must be crowned!’
‘I think as you do,’ Heraclius smiled. ‘Princess Sibylla left Ascalon last night. She will be in Jerusalem within a few hours. I promise you, good people, you shall have a queen by nightfall!’ Led by the noisy dozen, the crowd chorused their approval. The piled clouds broke into an avalanche of rain, and the Patriarch blessed the assembly in haste, then hurried under cover. He knew that Agnes would hear a full report of the proceedings, but as he shook his wet robes he felt confident that she would find his performance satisfactory. He was not to know that his inflammatory speech had been heard by Sir Conrad, Commander of the Knights of the Hospital, nor that Sir Conrad and three Hospitallers, Edouard de Cavanne, Cesarini the Italian and Matthew of Dorset would soon be on their way to Tiberias to warn Raymond that he had been duped.
* * *
Reynald of Chatillon arrived from Jericho. He was welcomed by his friend, Grand Master Gerard of Ridefort and by Joscelin of Courtenay and Amalric of Lusignan. Agnes, determined that the action she had planned and instigated should not pass her by, persuaded the Lord of Kerak to make his headquarters in her house. Once he had agreed, the others followed suit.
During the morning, Gerard of Ridefort and Constable Amalric left to organize the defence of the city. As the prompters had demanded, the city gates were closed – the Jaffa Gate in the west wall, St Stephen’s Gate and Herod’s Gate and the Postern of St Lazarus in the multi-towered north wall, Zion Gate and Dung Gate in the south, and in the east, near the Temple Enclosure, the Gate of Flowers, and of Jehoshaphat, and of Paradise. Templars manned the walls, while patrols roamed the countryside to the north, watching for signs of Raymond’s advance.
At Joscelin’s command, the cities of Acre, Tyre and Beirut were occupied by troops loyal to his faction. In the capital, the barons and citizens waited for Sibylla to reach them.
The Crown of Jerusalem was kept in a closely-guarded vault in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There were three locks in the vault door, each responding to a separate key. Heraclius kept one key, Gerard of Ridefort another. The third was held by the Grand Master of the Hospital, Roger of Les Moulins, and it was this gruff Crusader who presented the Patriarch with his first real problem of the day. Having sworn fealty to Baldwin V and having shown unswerving loyalty to his friend and ally, Regent Raymond, Roger refused to hand over his key.
Heraclius, Gerard and Reynald went to the Hospital to collect it from him.
‘This is madness,’ Reynald snarled, his red hair matted with rain. ‘You are out-voted and out-numbered here. Sibylla will be crowned, so give your key with a good grace.’ He sensed that he was bullying the wrong man; Roger was a heavy-set knight, with an untarnished reputation for courage and fidelity. But somehow the key had to be extracted from him.
‘It is not madness,’ Roger countered. ‘It is the only shaft of sanity to pierce this gloomy scene. I and my men owe no allegiance to Princess Sibylla and you shall not have the key. You call me out-voted and out-numbered. I say I am out-witted and all but a prisoner in this city.’
His fellow Grand Master could not resist a gibe. ‘Then leave your key and quit Jerusalem. We’ll not detain you.’
‘No, brother Gerard, that you won’t. But I’ll detain you.’
‘We must have the key,’ Heraclius snapped. ‘There’s no merit in your gesture.’ He brushed rainwater from his face and wished they had chosen a drier venue for their argument.
Roger said, ‘There’s as much merit in it as in your entire action, Patriarch. The gates barred, the walls manned. Is this the way to prepare for a coronation?’
‘It’s the will of the people.’
‘On my bare arse, it is. You juggle with them, cleric, and when your act is over you’ll drop them like so many wooden balls. Don’t prattle to me about the will of the people. You are their will, and that in itself insults them.’
‘We want the key,’ Gerard threatened. ‘Do you give it to us, or do we take it from you?’
‘One step, newcomer, and I’ll use a key that’ll open you. You feckless man! You still have one foot wet from crossing the sea. How dare
you blow your words at me!’ He clasped a hand to his sword, and his eyes widened with anger. By God, if these three tried to take what was his—
Heraclius dearly wanted to retreat out of sword’s length, but could not make the move.
‘Listen,’ he pleaded, ‘Grand Master, we don’t mean to ride against you—’
Reynald and Gerard both glanced disgustedly at him. What a fish he was.
‘but we must have your key.’
‘Break down the door. One lock won’t hold you for long.’
‘That would be sacrilege!’
‘To my mind it is already that, Patriarch. The Kingdom will exist a long time before it witnesses such a devious display, though I doubt that with men like you in charge it will exist beyond the year.’ He glared at them for a moment, then cursed them and strode into the Hospital. Gerard started after him, but Reynald said, ‘Stay put. We will get our key.’
They waited for several minutes, looking up sharply as Roger growled, ‘Grovel for it then. It befits you to use a dirty key for your work.’ He leaned out of a second floor window and hurled the object over their heads. Heraclius ran to retrieve it from the mud, while Reynald and Gerard stood rigid with anger. The Patriarch shouted, ‘I have it! Keep me company,’ and hurried away, head bowed, through the rain. They followed him like hunting dogs that had been called off at the kill.
* * *
Sibylla arrived at the headquarters on the Mount of Olives, accompanied by Guy and members of their household. Her mother greeted her as though she were already queen, then led her upstairs to speak with her in private. Guy smiled nervously at his brother, and Amalric said, ‘Do you remember Sepphoria?’
‘I do.’
‘As we rode out of camp, do you recollect that I told you that your handsome features had purchased you a piece of the world?’
‘Something like that.’
‘They’ve done more. They’ve bought you an entire kingdom.’
‘I don’t comprehend. If you mean because Sibylla is to be crowned—’
‘Did you bring your best clothes with you?’
‘Yes, they are being unpacked.’
‘Change into them, and be quick about it. We want the princess made queen without delay.’ He watched Guy depart, then shook his head. Gerard of Ridefort came beside him. ‘What is it, Lord Constable?’
‘A dice roll,’ Amalric said. ‘One face makes a man rich, another makes him – Oh, I don’t know. It’s a dice roll, no more or less.’
Gerard’s normal sullen expression was replaced by bewilderment. Was Amalric asking for a game of dice to pass the time? He shrugged and rejoined Reynald of Chatillon and they discussed Grand Master Roger and what they would have done to him if the quaking Churchman had not been there.
Sibylla and her mother descended the stairs. The princess was dressed in white silk, with a woven gold cord at her waist. Her hair had been brushed, her face whitened, her fingers weighted with rings. Amalric, Joscelin, Reynald and Gerard bowed low to her. She looked tired after her long ride east and pinched by the sorrow that even she must have felt for her dead child. She had neglected it during its short life, but its death had left a guilty taste in her mouth. Throughout the journey from Ascalon she had struggled to convince herself that it would have died anyway, in its mother’s care or not. Beside which, it was not her fault that it had been taken from her. That was her brother’s doing. Baldwin IV had snatched the child, and no mother could have prevented that.
She stood at the foot of the stairs, talking quietly with Agnes and Joscelin, then edged aside as Guy came down, apprehensively smoothing his yellow hair.
Agnes said, ‘Make ready, my lords. I want my daughter protected each step of the way.’ She nodded at Joscelin, who opened the front door and led the group down the hill. The rain had ceased, but the ground was still wet, and they were careful not to brush the trees and bushes as they passed.
The crowds were waiting for them inside the city walls. The group made slow progress along Via Dolorosa, and Guy noticed that the cheers and shouts of good-will were directed at Sibylla, not at him. He remembered how the Leper King had tried to make him exchange Tyre for Jerusalem and muttered with relief, ‘That would have been a pretty pass. It’s as I thought, they don’t like me here. Well, I spit on them. When Sibylla’s crowned I’ll ask her to settle the court at Ascalon.’
They reached the square of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and Heraclius came forward to greet them. Gerard murmured, ‘There’s no sign of the Regent, but he may circle to the south. We want no slowness about the ceremony.’ The Patriarch blinked acknowledgment, signalled to the Templars to herd the crowd back a few feet, then presented Sibylla to her people. As was the tradition, he called, ‘Good people of Jerusalem! Do you accept Princess Sibylla, daughter of King Amalric of Jerusalem, as your monarch?’
‘Yes!’
‘Do you accept Princess Sibylla of Jerusalem as your monarch?’
‘Yes!’
‘Do you accept Princess Sibylla of Jerusalem as your monarch?’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
‘So be it, in the sight of God and you all.’ He turned and led Sibylla and the nobles into the church.
There was some pushing and jostling, and then Sibylla knelt before the Patriarch while he intoned, ‘Do you, Sibylla, swear to uphold the laws of the Kingdom of Jerusalem—’
‘I so swear,’ she whispered.
‘and do you swear to respect the rights of those who hold land by grant or gift—’
‘I so swear.’
‘and do you swear to give succour and protection to those in need, above all to devout widows and the orphans of Christ—’
‘I so—’
‘and to mete out justice to all men—’
‘swear.’
‘and to safeguard those historic privileges bestowed by former monarchs on the Church—’
‘Yes.’
‘and to hold faith in the same?’
‘Yes.’
‘Say, “I so swear”.’
‘I so swear.’
‘Then, by the power invested in me I consecrate you queen, henceforth to be known to the world as Queen Sibylla of Jerusalem.’ He placed the crown on her head. She started to rise, but he waved her down again.
‘Wait,’ he murmured, exchanging a glance with Agnes of Courtenay. Her expression told him what he wanted to know, and he continued, ‘You are Queen, but in all you are still a woman. Look beside you, on that cushion, and see the crown that is there. Any woman who is Queen must have a man to assist and support her in her rule. It is for you as for any other. Therefore, take that and place it on the head of he who is best fitted to help you govern the realm.’ Under his breath he hissed, ‘Go on! Yes, who else but he!’
Sibylla took the second crown, stood up and beckoned her husband. Guy moved forward, the soles of his shoes held flat to the ground. He looked dazed and drew breath quickly through his mouth. While Heraclius whispered directions in her ear, Sibylla bade Guy kneel. She leaned down, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Sire, wear this crown, for I know no better man on whom I could bestow it.’ She placed the heavy gold crown on his head and repeated after Heraclius, ‘You are the King, henceforth to be known to the world as King Guy of Jerusalem.’
Unable to contain himself, Gerard of Ridefort gave a roar of triumph and stabbed a finger north, toward Tiberias…
Chapter Fourteen
Nablus, Jerusalem, Moab
October, December 1186
They moved stiffly about the Council Chamber, massaged tired eyes with clenched fists, reached up to stretch and stay awake. The Council had been in session since sunset; now dawn was not far off and the barons were no nearer a solution to their problem.
Although the castle belonged to Balian of Ibelin, it was Raymond of Tripoli who had convened the meeting. It had taken the better part of a week for the few loyal peers to reach Nablus, but all who would come were now together in the chamber.
Balian lowered himself into a wide leather chair and curled his hands over the carved chair arms. His thin, sandy hair had been worried and fingered until it hung unkempt over his forehead. He wanted to yawn, but dared not in case it became contagious. Instead, he shifted his legs, stretching them out, then gazed despondently at the smoking fire pit in the centre of the room. It’s time for a drink, he thought. We’ve stayed away from the wine long enough. But he was too tired to rise immediately and was still slumped in the chair when Reginald of Sidon moved between him and the fire. Reginald did not see the outstretched legs, tripped and stumbled against the edge of the fire pit. Balian raised a hand in mute apology, but Reginald’s patience had long since evaporated.
Straightening, he snapped, ‘Is this your game, setting trip-wires for us?’
‘Hold your tongue,’ Balian retorted. ‘If you watched where you put your feet—’
‘Do you imply that I’m not alert? I’m more awake than you, host, lying there devoid of ideas!’
‘Devoid of – Mind what you say, Sidon! I’ve put forward more suggestions this night than you will in a winter week!’ He came out of his chair and they stood, ready to trade blows.
From the other side of the fire Raymond of Tripoli bawled, ‘Does it come to this? Two friends laying on while the Kingdom rots? Shame on you, Balian! And you, Reginald, do you travel from the coast for a tavern fight? Make your peace and leave your energy in your head.’
Balian had already dropped his guard. He essayed a smile and Reginald gripped his hand for an instant. ‘We’re fools,’ the Lord of Sidon said. ‘It’s true, I wasn’t watching—’
‘Shush, we’re all frayed tonight.’ Peering through the smoke he asked, ‘Lord Regent? What if I were to fetch some wine?’
‘Well said,’ Raymond assented, ‘I’m dried out. Do so, then we’ll talk on.’
While Balian left to rouse the servants, Reginald joined Walter of Caesarea and Baldwin of Ramleh, and Raymond walked over to where Humphrey of Toron was seated on the floor beside Ernoul. Whenever the general discussion lapsed, the two young men talked of the weeks they had spent together at Toron, reminding each other of things they had said or done, seeing again in their mind’s eye the castle and countryside, the chessboard and dusty ball yard and the proud, high-stepping Zerbino. Raymond stood in front of them, waiting for them to return to the present, then asked, ‘Are you bearing with this endless discussion, Lord Humphrey?’
The Knights of Dark Renown Page 21
