Templar Silks

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  William suspected that she had not forgotten at all, that this meeting was more than happenstance. “Favorably well I think, madam, but you will have to ask the patriarch for a fuller accounting.”

  “Indeed, I intend to.” Her look sparkled with flirtation. “I hope your assistance will reap suitable reward.”

  “Thank you, madam. If I can render any service to your household, I shall do so gladly.”

  “Be assured I shall take you up on that offer—should the need arise.”

  The cat returned and twined around their legs, rubbing and purring. She stooped and picked it up, and it butted its head beneath her chin, its paws kneading.

  “Madam.” William bowed and took his leave, his step light with the knowledge of a task well accomplished. He had given a good account of himself to the patriarch and the others; his information had been judged a thing of value, and that meant more doors opening to him and his men.

  The lady Paschia intrigued him too; she reminded him so much of Queen Alienor, or Alienor as she must have been when she was a vibrant, young woman at the French court, engaged in the game of playful flirtation. The thought gave him a frisson, a pleasurable sense of challenge and danger. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that she was still standing where he had left her, watching him, the cat in her arms, her cheek pressed against its fur.

  * * *

  William was summoned to several more meetings between Heraclius and his associates concerning the expedition to France and England. Some were conducted at the patriarch’s palace and some in the king’s chamber with Baldwin presiding. Between such gatherings, William and his entourage were kept busy with various employments, particularly advising the nobles and clerics of the court on the purchase of horses, saddlery, and harness, one of the senior duties involved in the marshal’s role in Outremer. William was also employed to source horses and tack for specific commissions after word of Bohemond’s purchase went around the court.

  William and his men gave instruction in weapons and tourney training to young knights and squires and provided armed escort on the pilgrim route between Jerusalem and the River Jordan, where the road was particularly susceptible to attacks from bandits and thieves. At times, they were pilgrims themselves, visiting and worshipping at the numerous holy places surrounding Jerusalem—Nazareth, Bethlehem, Bethany. They visited the River Jordan and were cleansed and baptized anew, and they rode up to the shores of the Sea of Galilee, where Christ had walked upon the waters and called his disciples to him.

  With Heraclius and the leaders of the military orders preparing their mission to the courts of Europe, their knowledge was much in demand. Should Henry or Philippe of France agree to come to Outremer, then William and his men would be positioned to play a vital role in the royal entourage, and thus, as Ancel had predicted, they were feted and cultivated by the Jerusalem court. William suspected that the outcome would not be as the envoys desired, but until they had their answer, the rewards to William and his men were generous.

  Returning one day from a visit to a horse trader, William met Augustine, who had been about his own business for the Templars and was also returning to the city. He admired the four horses William had bought. “I hear you are acquiring quite a reputation,” he said.

  William grinned. “An honorable one, I hope.”

  “Yes indeed, and not just about horseflesh—although you are also the subject of much speculation. Many are saying you are King Henry’s harbinger.”

  “If I am, it is news to me,” William said ruefully. “For the moment, I am but a horse master.”

  “And word from the horse’s mouth is always the one to bet on. Is that not what they say also?”

  “I thought the saying was about gift horses,” William retorted, making Augustine laugh.

  “I suppose it depends on what you seek… My own news is that I am to travel with the patriarch and the grand masters on their mission.”

  “You will be a valuable asset. We could not have managed without you on our own journey.”

  “Oh, you could have,” Augustine said with a dismissive wave. “We were all a part of a greater whole.” Nonetheless, he looked pleased. “Our journey is the reason I am well seasoned now.” He gave William a keen look. “Do you believe the patriarch will succeed?”

  Everyone asked William that question, and his answer was always circumspect. “The patriarch is a man of the world and a fine orator—I hope that will be enough to persuade either King Henry or Philippe of France.”

  “King Baldwin is very sick,” Augustine said, his expression somber. “We all know his days are numbered and that we need aid—we cannot stand alone.”

  “Yes, I know,” William said quietly. “We can only pray.”

  * * *

  Having stabled their horses and attended to the four new ones, William and his men repaired to their lodging. Ancel hesitated as a sturdy woman came walking toward them, a covered basket over her arm. Seeing Ancel, her homely face creased into a beaming smile.

  Ancel flushed. “I will see you in a while,” he muttered to William, and broke away to speak to her.

  William observed their greeting—the pleasure on both their faces, the light touch of hands. “Should I know about this?” he asked Eustace.

  The squire shrugged. “We buy food from her sometimes—bread and cheese and pies.” His eyes lit up as he mentioned the latter. “Lots of pies.”

  William vaguely remembered seeing her. He had had so much on his mind recently that a woman selling food in passing to his men was of little consequence.

  Ancel gestured to William to continue on his way, from which William deduced that it had gone further than just a matter of tasty pies. Thoughtful, diverted, suddenly seeing Ancel in a new light, he walked on. A glance over his shoulder revealed that his brother was now carrying the woman’s basket and that she had linked her arm through his.

  William sent his men on to their lodging while he paid a visit to the patriarchal palace to report his return and that he had found four horses, two of which might suit Heraclius’s stable. Expecting to leave a message with one of the patriarch’s servants, he found Heraclius himself cloaked and spurred, standing in the courtyard, having just dismounted from his bay stallion. As William approached, Heraclius threw his soft hat on the ground, his face flushed with anger as he shouted at his groom, uncharacteristically out of temper.

  “How has this happened?” he demanded. “Do you know how much time this will cost me? Where am I to find another horse?”

  “Your eminence, may I help you?” William asked, bowing.

  Heraclius glowered. “I doubt it,” he snapped. “My palfrey has the colic, and now my remount is lame. I have important business in Bethany. How am I supposed to go there when the only other beast of worth in the stable is my lady’s palfrey and in foal? By all that is holy, I do not believe this! My grooms are idiots!”

  Having served King Henry, William was accustomed to dealing with outbursts of enraged exasperation when confronted with mundane problems that foiled imperious intent. “Shall I take a look, sire?”

  “As you wish.” Heraclius gestured irritably and swept his hand through his hair. “Front nearside. I cannot believe this!”

  “Hold him steady,” William ordered the stable boy. Soothing the horse with gentle words, he ran his hand down the affected leg from shoulder to hoof, noting that there was no heat or signs of tenderness. The bay’s ears flickered, but it displayed no serious signs of pain. William coaxed the stallion into lifting his hoof and looked at the underside. With a calm, steady movement, he unsheathed a small knife from his belt and, gripping the bay’s leg firmly, cleaned out the inside of the hoof, dislodging a small but sharp chip of stone from the frog. “Here is your culprit.” He set the hoof down and showed the fragment to Heraclius, then patted the bay’s neck and directed the lad to walk him round the yard. The horse mo
ved gingerly at first but picked up smoothness and pace with each long stride.

  “He might be a little tender on that hoof, so do not press him, but he should take you to Bethany. You might want to encourage your stable hands to be more diligent.”

  Heraclius’s color remained high, but his expression had turned to one of relief. “Oh, I intend to. I will not have this kind of sloppy care of my horses. You have saved me much aggravation, messire Marshal. It is always difficult finding a comfortable and trustworthy mount.”

  “I have just returned with four good horses from a trader near Tiberius,” William said. “You might wish to look at them for your own stable.”

  “I would indeed be interested,” Heraclius said. “Bring them to me the day after tomorrow.” He turned to the bay but paused as his mistress and her maid emerged from a doorway. The lady Paschia was wearing a very fetching headdress decorated with peacock feathers.

  She greeted Heraclius with a touch on his sleeve and a smile. “I am going to the market,” she said. “I thought you would have left by now.” She acknowledged William with a dip of her head and a swift glance from her dark eyes.

  “Messire Marshal has just cured Charol of lameness,” Heraclius said. “Otherwise, I would be going nowhere.”

  “It was but a stone fragment that needed cleaning out of the hoof,” William said. “From the way he is striding out, I do not think much damage has been done beyond slight bruising.”

  “But you knew what to do and how to go about it in a way that did not upset the horse, and I am most grateful.” Heraclius looked shrewdly at William. “It occurs to me that I have sufficient room to lodge you and your men. You will be more readily available to my summons while I make ready to leave. I can provide a roof over your heads and food in your bellies and, in return, make you responsible for my stables and horses, as befitting the role of a marshal.”

  William hesitated, uncertain how to respond. There were so many factions vying for dominance, and he did not want to be seen favoring one side over another, lest he become caught up in the rivalry. Yet the offer was tempting. Bohemond had returned to Antioch, and that particular patronage had ceased. Heraclius’s household was well organized and comfortable, whereas their lodgings were a trifle cramped. It would be pleasant and logical to dwell here while awaiting King Henry’s decision. There was room to stable his own horses, and it was no small consideration to have food and shelter provided. “That is most generous, sire.”

  The lady Paschia gave Heraclius a melting look and stroked his hand. “You must accept, messire Marshal,” she said, turning a dazzling smile upon William, making his stomach jolt. The peacock feathers waved jauntily in her headdress.

  He bowed. “Madam, I shall give the matter full consideration.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” She kissed Heraclius on the cheek and continued on her way. Heraclius briefly followed the sway of her hips before he dragged his attention back to William, who had swiftly dropped his own gaze.

  “You do not have to agree here and now,” Heraclius said, reaching for the bay’s bridle. “Come and see me when I return, and we shall discuss terms…although you will save yourself trouble if you agree sooner rather than later. My lady always gets her way.” With a wry smile, he mounted his restored horse and trotted from the yard, leaving William to his interesting dilemma.

  * * *

  It was late when Ancel returned to the lodging with heavy eyes and the expression of a man well fed and well pleasured. The others, who were playing dice, greeted him with cheerful whoops of welcome and accosted him with bawdy remarks and gestures. Ancel flushed bright red and stooped to make a fuss of Pilgrim, who had dashed up to him, tail wagging so frantically that his back end almost collided with his nose.

  William was sitting at another table adapting a bridle for a baron’s troublesome horse. He gestured to the scanty remains of a couple of roast hens and a dish of spiced lentils. “We left you some, but I doubt you’re hungry.”

  Ancel sat down on the bench beside William and continued to fuss the dog. “No,” he said, but helped himself to a half cup of wine. “You are all just jealous,” he said as a toast to the others, and received another barrage of good-natured banter.

  William looked at his brother and experienced a rush of affection and protective amusement. Curiosity too, but he reined it in and waited.

  “It’s like being at home when I’m with Asmaria,” Ancel said quietly once the others had settled back into their game. “It’s safe and it’s comfortable.”

  “And this is not safe or comfortable?” So that was her name, Asmaria.

  “Well yes, I do not mean it in that way.” Ancel screwed up his face. “We are brothers in arms and together, but it is not the same as sitting at a hearth, watching a woman stir a cooking pot or knead bread while she sings to her children, and the man looks on with his feet stretched to the fire, knowing he has to provide for them, but they also are providing for him.”

  “I do not suppose it is,” William said. There had been little time for such moments of idyllic domesticity in their childhood, although the occasions when it had happened made the memory all the more precious, and he could understand Ancel wanting to taste that sweetness. Strange to come all the way to Jerusalem to find such comfort. “So the lady has children?”

  “A boy and a girl,” Ancel said. “Her husband was a cook, but he died a year and a half ago. Now she sells food to pilgrims and launders and mends.”

  “And provides other services too?” William set the harness aside and refreshed his brother’s cup.

  Ancel shook his head. “No, that is not her trade.”

  “But you paid her?”

  Ancel flushed. “She did not ask for money. It was not like that. Yes, I gave her money to lighten her burden and buy something for the children—but it was not payment. It was provision and caring.” He jerked his head toward the others, indignation sparking in his eyes. “They do not understand that. All they think of is money paid to a whore for spreading her legs.” He lowered his voice a further notch and said vehemently, “Asmaria is no whore, and I will not have her named thus.”

  William heard the sincerity in Ancel’s tone, and the steel. Since arriving in Jerusalem, his youngest brother had changed, becoming more of his own man, and if this woman gave him comfort and stability, he would not stand in his way. “She shall not be named thus in this household, you have my promise on that.” He poured wine into his own cup and changed the subject. “While you were away about your business, I had a proposal.” He told Ancel about Heraclius’s offer. “I have said I shall think on it.”

  A frown crossed Ancel’s face. “Does that mean we shall have to kneel to him and swear allegiance?”

  William shook his head. “It will be open to discussion how far our service goes, but I think it no bad thing while we await the outcome of his mission. When he returns, we can decide whether to remain or leave.”

  Ancel pursed his lips, considering. “So we would have lodging in the patriarch’s palace and use of his stables and eat at his expense?”

  “In essence, yes.”

  “Then I think it a good thing too,” Ancel said, “as long as I can come and go as I please outside my duties.”

  “Of course.” William gave his brother a knowing look. “This is the patriarch’s favor in return for our information and the keeping of his yard. He has us close to hand for his own convenience. That is all.”

  * * *

  Ten days later, William and his men moved into the patriarch’s palace. Heraclius was absent again, about other business, but they were shown to their quarters by one of his stewards. William’s knights were provided with sleeping space in the guardroom, and William was given a small wall chamber above the patriarch’s hall on the side nearest to the stables. There was space only for a bed and a stool, but it had a narrow window and a niche for a lamp, an
d since it was within the palace itself was a mark of high favor. In negotiating the terms of their occupancy, Heraclius had not asked William to swear allegiance to him but, in return for food and lodging, expected him to be available when summoned and to care well for his horses, acquiring new stock as necessary.

  William was summoned to attend several more meetings to discuss the machinations of King Henry’s court until he wondered what else he could possibly tell them. One day, Heraclius requested his presence in his private chamber. The room was separate to the one where he usually conducted his business and was more intimate, with cushions and low tables. Rich hangings draped the walls, and small bowls of burning incense sent fragrant smoke wafting in layers like the finest muslin. Servants came, soft footed, and poured wine, and the lady Paschia set a platter of rose-flavored sweetmeats before the men and then, with a swift smile, retired to the far end of the room with her maid.

  Once they were settled, Heraclius said, “I have asked you many things about your king, and you have answered me fully and courteously, but now I must ask you about the silver he has promised to aid our cause but that yet remains beyond our reach with the Templars.”

  William had known they would come to this. As well as requiring a ruler and material aid, such as horses and equipment, the kingdom of Jerusalem was hungry for money. He understood that Heraclius wanted reassurances, but William had no intention of committing himself on issues beyond his remit. “It is a matter for King Henry himself,” he replied. “I cannot say.”

  Heraclius gave him a sharp look. “But you must know something about it if you have been at close quarters with him. He made a solemn promise to God that he would pay recompense to atone for the death of his archbishop, and he has done this but has yet to release any funds. Surely a man of his standing would not go back on his word, but I would know his mind on this.”

  Many opined that the patriarch was bland and pleasure loving; having come to know him better, William thought him smooth and urbane, a man with a taste for luxury and fine things, but it was like thick padding over a pillar of the utmost granite. Heraclius was no fool.