It took him some time to water the horses, shake the dust from his clothes, and check that the flying sand had not worked its way into the chests. Then he found that the dray was once again stuck fast, and he was forced to repeat the business with the brushwood.
* * *
He crossed Alexander’s Causeway and entered Tyre through the Gate of Montferrat. During the last few miles of the journey he had talked ceaselessly to himself, nodding whenever a phrase pleased him, repeating single words over and over until they were right. Some he could not master and he made a mental note to avoid using them. By the time he reached the causeway he was ready.
He stopped inside the gate. There were two wagons ahead of him, each undergoing close inspection by the Tyrian guards. Then the first rolled forward and a guard jabbed a finger at him.
‘Bring it over here. Right. Name?’
‘Ern-Ern-Ernoul, Captain.’
‘I’m not a captain. Place of departure?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Place of – Where are you from?’
‘Oh, from, uh, from Tiberias.’ He sat slack-jawed and vacuous.
The guard was almost on to the next question, when he glanced up. ‘What? What do you mean, Tiberias? The Moslems have held that for four years.’
Satisfied with his stammer and the thick, inarticulate accent, Ernoul hurried, ‘You said, where am I – where was I from. Th-that’s Tiberias. Where I was born.’
‘I meant, where have you come from now?’
The young squire turned and peered back through the gate. ‘From Acre.’ He nodded briskly, as though the guard had said it first.
‘From Acre, eh? Right through the Saracen lines.’
‘Yes.’ Ernoul giggled. ‘They didn’t – they didn’t even stop me.’
The guard was joined by another. ‘This one’s the stupidest today. You, Ernoul. What are you carrying?’
‘Uh, chests. C-clothes chests. Things for, uh, Princess Isabella of Jerusalem. I was sent.’
The guards looked at each other. This was a change from vegetables and firewood. ‘Do you have any authority?’
‘Well, I was sent.’
‘Christ, he’s got half a brain. Any note? Something written?’ ‘
Ah, yes.’ With clumsy alacrity Ernoul dug into a leather pouch and produced two scrolls of parchment. Then, seeming terribly confused, he attempted to push one back into the pouch. It had the desired effect.
‘What’s that? The other one. Let’s see it.’
‘N-no, Captain. That’s for the p-princess.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m not a captain. But I’m going to fetch one. Keep an eye on him.’ He went into the gatehouse, returning with a bullish, thickset Crusader. Thank God, Ernoul thought, I don’t recognize any of them.
‘I’m Captain Landry. What’s in the pouch?’
‘I think it’s a letter. Yes, I think so.’
‘And you don’t want us to see it. What’s his name – Ernoul? Climb down, Ernoul. Come here.’
The young squire steeled himself not to flinch. If he had been as stupid as he pretended, he would not have been suspicious. So he went forward and took the captain’s back-handed blow on the face. The force of the blow knocked him against the dray. Inside he screamed to tell them who he was and what manner of animal they were, but he held back. ‘W-What was that for?’
Landry opened his armoured hand. ‘Give me the letter.’ Ernoul licked blood from his upper lip while the guard captain read both scrolls. The first was signed by both Conrad and Balian and merely authorized the transport of Isabella’s effects. The second was a letter from Maria to her daughter. Landry said, ‘That family never stops trying.’ If he had looked up then he would have caught the vestige of a smile on Ernoul’s lips.
‘Captain?’
‘What is it?’
‘C-can I go now?’
‘Search him.’ One of the guards went forward, explored the skinny body and shook his head. Landry asked, ‘Are you in the service of this Lord Balian?’
‘No, Captain. I just, uh, anybody.’ With a flash of feigned pride he exclaimed, ‘It’s my dray. I own – and the horses.’
‘You know you could be hanged.’
‘No! I didn’t steal them! I told you—’
‘For attempting to conceal this letter.’
‘I was only obeying – Captain, please.’ This was the hardest part for him. He sank down, one hand on the wheel of the dray, the other outstretched in a pathetic plea for mercy. He knew Landry had already dismissed him from his mind, but a poor, addled wagoner would not have known.
‘Get up,’ Landry snapped. ‘You’re blocking the gate. You two go with him. The Lady of Montferrat’s in the palace.’ Under his breath Ernoul whispered, ‘The Princess of Jerusalem.’ One of the escort looked at him, and he mumbled a few broken phrases and climbed on to the bench. The chests would be examined in the palace, but would reveal nothing. His face a study of submissiveness, Ernoul quietly tapped his foot against the angled rest.
Now – to make sure they met.
The Tyrians led him into a cobbled yard at the rear of the palace. They were met by members of Isabella’s bodyguard. Ernoul thought, her jailers, more like. The gate guards explained that even though the chests contained the Lady of Montferrat’s personal possessions, they would have to be examined.
‘Take the wagon over to that door. Draw it up closer, idiot, unless you want to hump them halfway across the yard.’ Ernoul nodded and backed the dray against the studded door. Where is she? Two of the palace guards off-loaded the chests and carried them into a long, well-furnished chamber. As the last chest was being taken in, Ernoul climbed down from the dray and started inside.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
It was time to be stubborn. ‘I have to s-s-stay with the chests. It says so.’
‘What says so? What are you blathering about?’
‘When I was at, uh, Acre. Marquis Conrad, the Defender of Tyre, he wrote in this – w-what did Captain Landry call it – an authority. Yes. It s-says I have to stay. It was read to me at Acre.’ He nodded, watching their expressions tighten. Good. The more confusion the better. But would one of them go back to the gate and ask to see the letter? Pray God they didn’t, for it contained no such order.
‘The L-Lady of Montferrat has other things still at Acre. I’m to s-stay and make a list.’
‘Don’t tell us you can write.’
‘I mean, uh, she’ll make the list.’
They gave up. He was told to wait by the door, while one of the palace guards went to find Isabella. Ernoul trembled, but he was not acting now. Will she play along? Does she truly loathe Conrad as much as we think? The eight months of silence cannot have heen of her own choosing. If they were, if she has turned against her family, then I am already hanged. Jesu, Jesu, let her play along.
* * *
‘What chests?’
‘Five of them, my lady. He says they’re full of things you left at Acre.’
She was genuinely surprised. It had been so long, she had asked Conrad so many times, that she had given up all hope of reclaiming them. In truth, she doubted if she could remember more than half of her possessions. Four years had passed since she had led the nine survivors from her castle – really Humphrey’s castle – at Toron. Four years of shared rooms, tiny houses, tents and palaces. She had moved from Toron to Antioch, then to Tyre, then to Acre and back to Tyre. Most of her clothes had been given to her by her mother, or more recently made by Tyrian seamstresses. Conrad had never been generous with his money, and he had yet to buy her a ring or a brooch. So although the five chests contained her own possessions, clothes, books, trinkets and some inexpensive jewellery, they took on fresh novelty. And, she knew, they would stir old memories, mostly of Humphrey and her family and Toron.
With mixed feelings she said, ‘I’ll look at them now. And I suppose you will want to look at them.’
‘It’s Marquis Conrad’s orders,
my lady. If it was left to me—’
‘Thank God it isn’t, or you would probably have stolen the lot.’ As they left the solarium where she had been playing a listless game of Jeu des Dames with one of her handmaids, she asked, ‘Who brought them?’
‘Some wagoner. We’d have sent him away, but he said he had orders to stay. Something about a list you’re to give him.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it. What list? Was this another of Conrad’s unexplained actions?
‘This wagoner, do you know him?’
The guard expelled air through his teeth. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t admit it. The man’s a dolt. We’ll stay close, my lady. There’s no knowing what they’ll do, when they’re touched by the moon.’
They went along a tiled passage, down steps and through an interior door into the long chamber. The guard moved ahead and called, ‘You. In here. The Lady of Montferrat’s ready for you.’
Ernoul came in from the yard, stammering his thanks.
* * *
He had to start as he meant to continue. Isabella must not be given the chance to greet him – not him, Ernoul – but must first collect herself, then react to the stupid peasant. Of course, if she now sided with Conrad, her words would be directed at the guards; ‘Arrest him, he’s an impostor.’
He edged forward on to the carpet. ‘M-m-m- Lady of Montferrat. The M-Marquis of Montferrat sends his greetings. He says—’
‘Take him out again. Brush him down. Don’t hurt him, but he’s a walking dust storm.’ She watched as Ernoul was prodded back into the yard. He had given her time. But she needed more. Angel of heaven, does he know what he’s doing? The risk, the simple, terrible risk he’s taking. Ernoul. Aah, it’s a welcome face.
We’ll stay close, my lady. There’s no knowing what they’ll do…
No. No! We must be left alone. He would not put his life in jeopardy, unless – He must have brought something. A letter? Oh, please, yes, a letter. But where? They must have searched him. They’ll examine the chests. Nowhere has better security than Tyre—
The guards brought him back.
‘And close those shutters. I’ve told you many times, I want water sprinkled in the yard twice a day. The dust rolls in here – Do you have any men outside?’
‘The gate guards have gone, my lady, but I can find some.’
‘Do it then. I want two of you in here. Put others to watering the yard. Enough, Wagoner; get to your feet.’ She gazed at him, aware that the guard was still watching her. ‘What is your name?’
Ernoul, my lady. I – I would not t-trouble, but I was told you would make a list of the other things.’ With a slight inflexion he added, ‘The things at Acre?’
God, dear princess, you look so worn. Is it safe for me to smile? Why not? An idiot’s allowed latitude, and I have my back to the guard. But why did you tell two of them to stay? How can I pass on – With hollow politeness, Isabella said, ‘You were fortunate to make the journey unharmed, Ernard. I hear that the Saracens—’
‘It’s Ernoul, my lady.’
The guard reacted swiftly. He caught the young squire by the collar of his gambeson and twisted it, half-choking him. ‘Watch your mouth. My lady will address you as she pleases.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Yes.’
Isabella said, ‘You may examine the chests.’
A second palace guard was brought in from the yard. He informed Isabella that the watering would begin immediately. She told him to close the outer door, moved to a small writing table to collect pen, ink and parchment, then waited while the guards made a careful examination of the first chest. Her attention was divided between the Tyrians, the contents of the iron-bound box and Ernoul, who stood silent, idly tapping his left foot. It was some time before she understood. Then, hoping it would be clear to him, she said, ‘Stop that. It wears on my nerves.’ He did as he was told, and the guards straightened up. ‘Nothing here. We’ll have to check the box itself.’
‘Do so. But first take it to the solarium.’
‘We can’t leave you with him, my lady.’
‘I’m safe enough,’ she said. ‘Look at him. He’s like a starved cat.’ She pointed, making Ernoul an object of ridicule. ‘Leave me a knife, I may have skinned him by the time you return.’
They were still in doubt. She slipped a hand into her purse and produced ten Tyrian dinars. ‘As a favour to me. If the chests are not taken now, they’ll lie here for days. The palace servants are more akin to this starveling than to you soldiers. They’re all bones or belly.’
It was an unsubtle statement, but she knew the palace guards despised the civilian servants. And ten dinars between two of them gave each enough for wine and a whore. They grumbled to show they were not neglectful of their duty, then they took the money. In return, they handed her a broad stabbing knife. As they lifted the chest, they warned Ernoul to keep silent and stay where he was. He bowed low to them and they carried the chest from the room.
They listened, Isabella near the interior door, Ernoul by the shutters. When she turned back to tell him it was quiet, she found him on his knees.
‘Princess—’
‘What an actor! God, I’m so glad to see you. Quick, get up. Take my hand. You do look starved, you know. Are things bad in the camp?’
‘Yes, and they get worse. Philip and Richard have both arrived.’
‘I heard.’
‘But you – You look—’
‘I know how I look. And I know how I feel. I’m older by a hundred years.’
‘Is Conrad – Does he maltreat you?’
‘He’s the devil itself. I cannot begin to tell you. But toss him aside. What of Humphrey?’
‘He’s well. Pitiable in his loss, but not injured. And Lord Balian and your mother, they are as well as the life permits. I brought—’
‘Ssh! Stand away!’
The guards returned. Ernoul bowed cravenly again and they examined the next chest. While he waited he thought, everything could have been secreted in the last box. But we were not to know. The soldiers ran their fingers around the inside of pewter mugs, glanced at scrolls of poems and history, slipped their hands into the sleeves of gowns and kirtles, tapped caskets to hear if the sides were hollow. They were thorough and unashamed. After a while they let the lid fall shut and lifted the chest.
When they had left, Isabella hissed, ‘Go on. You brought something?’
‘Two letters. One from Queen Maria, one from Humphrey. Your mother wrote two, so the gate guards could find one of them. And they did. The others are in my boot.’
‘So I guessed. Have we time, do you think?’
‘I’ll try.’ He dropped to the carpet, twisted his left leg and tugged at the boot. It would not come off. Isabella patrolled the room, moving from the inside door to the shutters, then back. She heard Ernoul grunt with frustration. Then he said, ‘I think it’s coming free.’
But it took too long, and she shook her head urgently. He climbed to his feet, bowing as the guards entered the room.
Isabella started her list. She thought of writing a letter – or a few lines at least – to Humphrey, but she knew the list would be scrutinized, here or at the gate. So she wrote, ‘One small bearskin rug, blue or mauve; One triptych, with inlaid frame; One table goblet in silver, inscribed with the four towers of Lord Balian’s seal; a bag of coins minted at Jerusalem in the reign of Baldwin the Leper.’
The goblet was in the third chest, and she crossed it from the list. The guards completed their examination and carried the chest from the room. There was not much more time.
Ernoul sank down, clawing at the boot. ‘It’s the sand, it s clogged! Wait. Give me that knife!’ She passed it to him and he cut the inner side of the boot from the ankle to the sole. He went too deep in his excitement and winced with pain. She said, ‘Leave it! There isn’t time!’
‘Take the knife!’
‘Ernoul—’
‘Take it!’ He wrenched the boot free, tore out the gritty, stained
letters and thrust them at her.
The guards found him on the floor, the boot in his hand. Isabella curled her fingers over her bulging money purse. ‘What’s this? What in hell are you doing, Wagoner?’ Ernoul pressed his bleeding ankle into the carpet and masked the cut leather with his hand.
Isabella said, ‘Leave him be. It seems that when lunatics itch, they scratch.’
‘We’ll take him outside. He’s not fit—’
‘No. Finish your inspection. Where was I, Ernard?’
‘My lady? Oh, you w-were recording a k-k-kirtle, green with orange thread. Or was it green thread?’
One of the guards snapped, ‘Put your boot on, pig.’ They went on with their inspection. Ernoul jumped his foot into the boot. Isabella let the tips of her fingers touch the crumpled parchment. She hoped it was Humphrey’s letter. Maria would understand that.
The fourth chest was taken out.
‘I can’t read them now. And I have no letter for him. I did not expect you.’
‘No. Give me a message for your family.’
‘Oh, they know what it will be. Tell Humphrey he has my heart. He will always have it.’
‘We’ll be rid of Conrad. One day, before long, we’ll strike him down. Lord Balian would have done it—’
‘I know. Though, for the first time in my life, I wish Lord Balian was as monstrous as Conrad. Then he would just – do it.’ She stabbed forward with the knife, then looked down, surprised. ‘You see? He’s turned us all to murder. Perhaps, when he comes back from Acre—’
‘No, Princess. Leave it to those who are practised. It will come.’
‘And until then—’ She moved her head, struck by an invisible blow.
The guards examined the last chest. Isabella completed her list and passed it to them before they could reach for it. Then, to save Ernoul from rough handling, she said, ‘You’ve shown some care in the transport of these things. My men will see you safely on your way. Perhaps you will return – with my remaining possessions.’
The Kings of Vain Intent Page 12
