Templar Silks

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  Ancel raised his brows. “Do we have to sing for our supper? I assume we’ve been invited as the entertainment.”

  William’s eyes were drawn again to the lady Paschia, who was now engaged with someone else, laughing softly at something the man had just said. Indeed it was difficult to look away. She strongly reminded him of Queen Alienor in the way she was witty, intelligent, interested in her subject for the duration of the conversation and then moving on. She was a great asset to Heraclius, even if her position was ambiguous and frowned upon by many. “I suspect that since the patriarch and the grand masters of the temple and hospital have agreed to lead a mission to France and England, they will want to know everything they can about those courts.”

  “Are you going to tell them?”

  “Not everything, obviously.”

  “Do you think Henry will come?” Ancel asked. “Or one of his sons?”

  William shrugged. “Henry is a law unto himself. I would say not, but he is so contrary that he might do it to shock everyone.”

  Ancel nudged William with his elbow. “If Henry does decide to come, then our fortune is made. He’s bound to make you his marshal. He might even get rid of de Lusignan. We could marry heiresses and become great lords.”

  William shot Ancel a look of tolerant affection and shook his head. “I would not light the fire under the pot just yet.”

  “Do you remember when we were boys and we would sit in the barn and dream of having such things even though we were younger sons and knew it was unlikely to be our lot?”

  William chuckled. “I recall you stealing a jug of the best wine from the barrel in the undercroft and we knew we’d be thrashed if we were caught.”

  “But we weren’t caught, were we? And now look at us. Truly, what is there to lose, since we started off with so little?”

  William conceded Ancel the point, although it could be argued that they had gone from stealing wine to robbing shrines, with many murky places in between. But there was always the dream to strive for.

  “Besides,” said Ancel, “if they believe the king of France or Henry or one of his sons is going to rule in Jerusalem, we shall reap the benefit of their patronage for a little while at least. They will want to favor us in return for all the favors we may potentially do for them.”

  William laughed sourly. “Now you truly are thinking like a courtier, Brother.”

  * * *

  The patriarch’s palace stood cheek by jowl with the church of the Holy Sepulchre and was a magnificent edifice with decorated arches and columns and domed roofs. Most of the High Court of Jerusalem was attending the patriarch’s gathering, although King Baldwin was absent. Recent events and the long Easter celebrations had taken their toll, and he was resting in his own palace, being treated by his physicians.

  Food had been set out along trestle tables where guests could help themselves, although the ranks were separated, and the higher end of the hall was reserved for the most exalted attendees.

  William wore a green silk tunic and a cloak of soft, dark-red wool purchased in the cloth market. He had visited a bathhouse that afternoon and had been scrubbed and pummeled until his skin glowed. His hair had been trimmed and his beard closely shaven so it hugged his firm jawline. Colorfully attired and perfumed, he blended with the rest of the court, no longer standing out as a raw newcomer.

  A roast pig doused in sandalwood sauce was the centerpiece of the banqueting board.

  “It looks like Ancel’s face when he takes off his helmet after a tourney,” Eustace declared. “You wouldn’t catch me with a face as red as that!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, it would depend on the circumstances, wouldn’t it?” Ancel, resplendent in his tunic from Kerak, good-naturedly thumped Eustace’s arm as he retorted.

  Amid the joshing, William looked around, absorbing details. The patriarch sat at the head of the hall with his high-ranking guests—mostly the barons who had opposed Guy de Lusignan. Their wives were present too, and Sybilla, the king’s sister. Madam de Riveri sat at her side, gowned in her bloodred silk, and the two women were smiling and talking together in the relaxed manner of friends.

  An attendant mounted the dais steps and stooped to speak to the patriarchess. She thanked him, and her eyes sought and met William’s. Murmuring to Sybilla and lightly touching Heraclius’s arm, she left her place and crossed the room.

  “I am glad you have come.” She offered William her hand. “The patriarch will be most keen to meet you again.” She sent her dark gaze around his men. “And these are your companions? What fine knights. I was impressed, messires, with your performance at Kerak.”

  William performed brief introductions, and she had a gracious word and a smile for each one. “Your brother?” She looked almost surprised when William presented Ancel.

  “I am the handsome one, my lady.” Ancel flashed a grin.

  She arched her eyebrows in amusement. “There is a certain resemblance between you. Indeed, I saw you at the tourney. I hope the ground was not too hard, messire.”

  Ancel flushed, but his smile remained. “No, my lady, I bounce well. It is one of my particular skills.”

  She laughed softly. “And a very useful one to have, I am sure.” She took William’s arm, laying claim to him. “Come, messire, I will introduce you to the patriarch. It has been good to meet you, gentlemen.” She swept a look around William’s men, dismissing them with courtesy but firm intent.

  “I told my lord that you might not seem to be anything out of the ordinary, but that you had great potential and might be of use to him.” Her brief glance as she led William to the dais was mischievous.

  “I am glad you think so—the second part certainly,” he answered in kind. He was on his mettle, for this was an important moment, and it was vital he judged it well.

  “Oh, the first part always makes the second more interesting, I find.” Her voice was as smooth as dark silk. “Like unwrapping a gift.”

  Her words sent a frisson through him, and he was intensely aware of her light grip on his sleeve and her scent, an intoxicating blend of incense and roses.

  They reached the high table, and she curtseyed to the patriarch, while William bowed.

  “Sire,” she said, “this is the young man I mentioned to you. He has served the king of England and is familiar with the French court.”

  Heraclius folded back the sleeve of his gilded overgown and exchanged an indulgent look with his mistress before fixing William with a sterner one. “We have been introduced before.”

  “Yes, my lord, at Kerak.” William bowed again.

  Heraclius’s expression grew shrewd and calculating. “I have seen you often in the king’s entourage, and you appear to have found employment with others, including the Prince of Antioch.”

  “Sire, I have helped when I have been requested, but I am my own man.”

  “That may be so,” Heraclius replied, his tone interested but skeptical. “Madam de Riveri thinks well of you and believes you may be useful, but I would know more about you before I make that decision.” Leaning back, he stroked his chin. “What were your duties when you served the king of England?”

  “My lord, I served his son until he died. I was his tutor in arms and master of his military household,” William replied gravely.

  “Was not the young man at war with his father?”

  “Indeed, sire, and it was a tragedy to witness the strife between them, but I had pledged my oath to the Young King and I served him loyally. King Henry wished me Godspeed on my mission to lay his son’s cloak at Christ’s tomb, and he has promised me a position in his household on my return. I am familiar with his court, and my older brother is his master marshal, as was our father before him.”

  Heraclius proceeded to question William in detail, and now he was incisive and demanding, wanting to know exactly what his duties had been, how many men
answered to him, who he knew, how close he truly had been to King Henry and his sons. Ancel had spoken to William of singing for their supper, and now William had to do just that, but seriously and without any of a minstrel’s boastful glitter. Heraclius wanted facts and detail, clear and hard, without evasion.

  William was conscious of Paschia de Riveri watching the exchange like a cat at a mouse hole, missing nothing, a half smile curling her lips. He knew how the game of patronage played out at court, and he included her in the discussion by meeting her gaze and bowing his head, acknowledging that it was her influence that had brought him here. He afforded Sybilla, Countess of Jaffa, the same courtesy. The women of the court were the keepers of its undercurrents and tides, and the most powerful knew how to move men along and through such waters. He was aware of them feeding on the information as if it were rich sustenance, and from the glint of satisfaction in Madam de Riveri’s eyes, he understood she was pleased by his responses. As if she had brought a gift to her lord and was proudly satisfied at having her judgment borne out.

  Gradually the patriarch’s guard relaxed. He smoothed his silk gown over his knees and said, “I believe you may indeed be of use to me and my colleagues in planning our mission. I am hosting a meeting tomorrow after Compline, and I would like you to attend and give us the further benefit of your expertise.”

  William experienced a warm feeling of achievement at the patriarch’s offer. “It will be my honor, my lord.” Dismissed, he bowed and then backed from Heraclius’s presence. The patriarchess murmured to her lover and kissed his cheek while he fondly patted her arm. She lowered her lids and looked demure before flicking a glance at William and smiling. He was uncertain whether it was for him or merely a sign of her pleasure that matters had gone as she wished.

  * * *

  “Messire Marshal.” Heraclius advanced to greet William and usher him into his chamber, his manner more informal and welcoming than it had been in public the previous evening. A concentration of lamp- and candlelight fell upon a table around which a dozen men sat on benches like disciples at the Last Supper. William noted the presence of the Templar Grand Master Arnold de Torroja and, beside him, his seneschal Gerard de Ridefort. The Hospitaller Grand Master Roger de Moulins was here too, his posture alert but more relaxed than his Templar associates, and he too had a companion Hospitaller with him. Also at the table were the secular lords Raymond of Tripoli, Bohemond of Antioch, and the brothers Badouin of Ramlah and Balian of Ibelin, and a scattering of clergy—a mixture of factions, but all prepared to come together tonight.

  Heraclius presented William to the men and then directed him to a place on the bench at his right-hand side, where a servant furnished him with a cup of wine.

  “My lords,” Heraclius announced once everyone was settled. “We are here to do God’s work today, whether we be laypeople or clergy. This man knows the courts of England and France well and has served the king of England and his household. I trust him to tell you from his own heart what he knows of these matters and let you all be the judge of his veracity.”

  William cleared his throat, aware of their keen scrutiny and knowing he must measure his words, for they, in turn, would be measured. “I hardly know what to say to you, my lords, but I will do my best to give you useful knowledge. There is great trouble at the courts where you seek support, but all are firmly united in the wish to preserve the kingdom of Jerusalem. As you know, there is a deep bond between my lord Henry’s court and this one.”

  He received nods of agreement around the board.

  “It is true that my lord King Henry and Queen Alienor have been embroiled in many disagreements recently, but they were united in their wish for me to present the cloak of their son at the tomb of Christ, whom I commend to the eternal master of us all. However, I ask you to consider the part of a man with four grown sons, all jousting for position at his own table, and the father being jostled upon that table. It is a precarious position at times but one he is more than able to sustain through his own tenacity and power.” He paused to add water to his cup, for the wine was strong and he did not want his tongue to run away with him.

  “His court is served by diligent men. Each matter is dealt with in its turn, and there are trusted servants and officials ready to see that orders are carried out. The court is held together by an able king whom people agree to serve, fearing otherwise, if they did not serve truly. Even his own sons, he rules with a rod of iron and brooks no instance of contradiction or insurrection, and so he keeps a tight rein on everything.”

  Heraclius pursed his lips. “Would you say that Henry was willing to give his sword to Jerusalem?”

  “I do not know the answer to that, sire,” William replied diplomatically. “Jerusalem is truly a place that enriches the soul, but what of the heart? My lord king has fought long and hard for his domains.” He saw the gathered men exchange concerned glances. Their dilemma was how to persuade Henry to release the reins he currently held in order to grasp those of Jerusalem.

  “Indeed, that is interesting,” Heraclius said. “How then may we encourage him? Will he not come now and follow his son’s trail to the sepulchre?”

  An image of the Young King’s cloak upon the tomb crossed William’s mind and struck like a hammer to his heart. “That I cannot tell you, my lords. He is a courageous man, but he has his own wars to fight. Whether he will take on the wars of Jerusalem, I know not. I can assure you he is a great ally to have and decisive, but it all depends on the opportune moment.”

  The flagon was passed around while the group digested William’s words.

  Heraclius said, “We know that the king of England is very generous in his monetary wishes for the kingdom too.”

  William inclined his head and murmured a platitude. Talking about Henry’s silver was delicate ground. “King Henry cares for appearance and material wealth only as it suits his purpose as a monarch. This wine, for example. Never have I tasted better, but it would be wasted on my sovereign lord, were you to present him with a tun of it. The wine of the English court is like vinegar and one must often filter it through one’s teeth while trying not to shudder.” He was amused to see the grimaces exchanged among the gathered men. “I do not seek to disparage my king, only to tell you what to expect. He also does not care for elaborate banquets or rich food. In truth, he barely notices what he eats. Food to him is no more than sustenance. He is unable to remain still for longer than a moment. If he talks to you, be prepared to have him pace the room and constantly fidget. But do not make the mistake of believing he is not listening. He has keen ears and even sharper intelligence, and he will give you no mercy in conversation. He is a man like any man, but he is also a great king, even if he shuns many trappings of that kingship. Do not be misled by his appearance. He is decisive and forceful, and he can see through deception at a glance. You must be direct with him, yet at the same time, you must be subtle.”

  Heraclius stroked his chin. “What would be the best advice to bring him to a positive decision to come to Jerusalem?”

  William considered the question. “I would say do not try to press an answer from him, for you are unlikely to receive one if he thinks you are pushing him in a particular direction. You would be wise to make allowances and bide your time.”

  Further questions followed—about Henry’s advisers, about his sons, and about Philippe of France, who was also sworn to make pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

  “Would you agree that the king of France is a fine man?” Heraclius asked.

  William managed to keep a straight face. There were different interpretations one could put on that term. “He is an adept politician, my lord. He treats his foes and allies alike and, in this way, always keeps himself at the center of events.”

  “How would he behave if King Henry were to come to Jerusalem?”

  “My lord, I think his purpose would be to help himself, rather than assisting in the venture,” Wil
liam replied. “Although he would make it seem that he was offering every help.”

  “Perhaps if the king of England and the king of France were to be brought together in diplomacy,” said Roger de Moulins. “If they were to make a joint venture, rather than just one or the other.”

  William suspected that pigs would fly before such cooperation happened. “That again I cannot say, sire. All I can tell you is what I know from my experience at both courts.”

  William’s part in the meeting finished soon after that, and Heraclius saw him to the door personally, rather than dismissing him with a servant. “I am in your debt,” he said. “And I thank you for your advice, as do my companions. We shall need to talk to you again because we have so much to prepare before the summer.” He removed a gold ring from his little finger and presented it to William. “Show this at my door and you shall be passed through.”

  “I shall await your summons, sire.”

  Heraclius gave him a meaningful smile. “Do not worry. It shall be to your advantage,” he said, and returned to his guests.

  William looked down at the ring in his hand and wondered at the twists and turns of fate that had brought him here from the soft green pastures of home. What was he to do with this, for it was clearly another offer of reward and patronage. Accept and attach himself and his men to the favor and protection of the head of the Church in Outremer? But at what price? What else did Heraclius want from him?

  As William turned to leave, Paschia de Riveri emerged from another doorway clutching a fluffy tabby cat in her arms, and he had to sidestep swiftly to avoid a collision.

  “Messire Marshal!” she declared with surprised delight. “Of course, I had forgotten you are here to talk with the patriarch.” The cat leaped from her embrace and stalked off down the corridor, its tail waving like a bushy banner. “I trust the meeting went well?” Her thick black hair hung in loose ringlets tonight, her only head covering a slim band of gold silk beaded with sapphires.