Salāh al-Dīn’s enemies in Mosul and Aleppo continued to plot against him, and in April the sultan struck back. Taking advantage of his truce with the Kingdom of Jerusalem, he led an army across Outrejourdain and defeated the lord of Mosul in a battle at Tell al-Sultān. He then turned his attention to Aleppo, whose amir hastily sought an alliance with Bohemond, the Prince of Antioch. While Bohemond was quite willing to ally with Aleppo against Salāh al-Dīn, he set a high price for his support. Nūr al-Dīn had refused to ransom Agnes’s brother, Joscelin, or Prince Bohemond’s stepfather, Reynald de Chatillon. But Nūr al-Dīn was dead and at Bohemond’s insistence, the amir of Aleppo agreed to free both men upon payment of large ransoms.
Once free, Reynald de Chatillon had hastened to Antioch and joined his stepson, Prince Bohemond. Joscelin de Courtenay chose to return to the kingdom ruled by his nephew, and plans were made to give him an elaborate welcome into Jerusalem. Agnes was unwilling to wait and on the day of his expected arrival, she and her husband and their household knights rode out to meet him on the watershed road a few miles from the Holy City.
* * *
Denys glanced curiously at his wife. The May sun was hot and the earth so parched that it was hard not to inhale the dust being kicked up by their horses’ hooves. She’d pulled her veil across her nose and mouth, but her skin was flushed with the heat and she was squinting against the sun’s unrelenting glare. Catching sight of a small copse of tamarisk trees not far from the road, he suggested they halt for a time in the shade and she agreed so quickly that he wondered why she’d not chosen to await Joscelin with Baldwin in the comfort of the royal palace.
Denys helped her to dismount and she gratefully accepted his wineskin, taking a long swallow. Answering his unspoken question then, she said, after glancing around to be sure none of their men were within earshot, “I wanted to be the one to tell Joscelin about . . . about Baldwin.”
He nodded approvingly, for Joscelin was bound to be stunned by the news. He’d not known Agnes’s brother well at all, remembering him vaguely as a man who was brave on the battlefield, proud of his sister’s prestigious marriage to the king’s brother, and given to boasting when in his cups, but amiable, withal. “What is Joscelin like? Were the two of you close?”
“I suppose. . . .” After a moment or so, she said pensively, “He was just a year younger, yet I always felt protective of him, mayhap because he was so impulsive or because he was so often in our mother’s bad graces. I can see now that she feared he’d turn out like our father, who was well meaning but weak. I do not believe Joscelin was weak, though, just carefree. . . .”
Denys did not think that was a trait likely to survive twelve years in a Saracen prison. Well, they’d soon see what changes time and captivity had wrought, for swirling dust clouds gave warning of approaching riders.
Agnes was shocked by her first sight of her brother, for this stranger did not match the Joscelin of memory. He was forty now and carried those years heavily. His prison pallor stood out sharply among the sunbrowned faces of his escort. His fair hair was cut unfashionably short and he still had the beard grown in captivity. He was much thinner than she remembered and looked as if it had been a long time since he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, slouching in the saddle as if his bones were too weary to keep his spine upright. She could see none of the jubilation she’d expected, just the taut wariness of a man who’d long lived with daily danger. But when he saw her, he smiled, and for just a heartbeat, she caught a glimpse of the boy he’d once been.
Dismounting hastily, he tossed the reins to the closest rider and a moment later she was in his arms. “I never thought you’d be able to raise the ransom. I despaired when I was told they were demanding fifty thousand dinars for my freedom. But you did it, Sister, you did it!”
“Well, I had help from Baldwin,” she said somewhat breathlessly, for he was crushing her ribs. “What Denys and I could not raise, we got from the royal treasury.”
“Bless the lad for that!” Releasing Agnes, Joscelin embraced his brother-in-law next. “Bless you both.”
“You might want to spare a blessing for the Count of Tripoli, too,” Denys said, for he thought it would not be amiss to let Joscelin know he also owed a debt to Count Raymond. “As regent, his consent was necessary ere Baldwin could act.”
“But not for long,” Agnes said, with enough satisfaction to confirm Denys’s suspicions that she did not share his favorable opinion of the count. “Baldwin reaches his majority next month,” she said, for Joscelin’s benefit, not sure if he remembered his nephew’s age. He’d embraced her so exuberantly that his brimmed cap had been knocked askew, and she was saddened by the sight of his receding hairline. Had she not known better, she might have guessed him to be approaching his fifth decade. Informants had assured her that he’d not been treated as brutally as their father. It was painfully obvious to her, though, that his imprisonment had left some deep scars. And now she had to inflict yet another wound.
“Joscelin, there is no easy way to say this. There is something you must know. Baldwin is a son any mother would be proud of, courageous and clever and handsome. But he is very ill. He has . . .” Saying it aloud proved too much for her, and she looked imploringly toward Denys.
“The lad has leprosy, Joscelin,” he said so quietly that it took a moment for his words to sink in.
When they did, Joscelin’s jaw dropped. “Jesus wept!” Stepping back, he ran his hand through his hair, a gesture she’d often seen him make as a boy when under stress. She’d half expected him to protest, for he’d always been stubbornly optimistic, all of their family’s life lessons to the contrary. She saw no disbelief in his eyes now, just horror, and she thought sadly that hope must have breathed its last sometime during those long years of confinement.
Joscelin was struggling to come to terms with what he’d just been told. “I’d heard rumors that the lad was ailing, but this . . . Holy Mother of God! Does the High Court know? And what of Sybilla? Will she be recognized as his heir?”
Agnes opened her mouth, but she said nothing, leaving it to Denys to reassure Joscelin that Sybilla was indeed Baldwin’s heir. “Thank Christ for that,” Joscelin muttered, and then, “Jesu, but I need a drink!” Before Denys could offer his own wineskin, the other man swung back toward his waiting escort, grabbed a proffered wineskin, and drank until he choked.
Agnes turned away, retreating back into the shade cast by the tamarisk trees. Denys followed, saying softly, “You cannot blame him, Agnes. He does not know Baldwin, for the boy was just two when Amalric disavowed your marriage, barely three when Joscelin was captured. The lad is a stranger to him, so you cannot expect him to love Baldwin as you do . . . not yet. It is only natural that he’d want to know how your family will be affected by Baldwin’s affliction.”
She knew he was right, as usual, and resented him for it, for always being so dispassionate and logical. She did not want to be rational about Baldwin’s tragedy, wanted to scream and swear and curse God. Joscelin was coming back and so she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and reminded herself that at least she could trust Joscelin to be loyal. In a world in which loyalty was more often illusion than reality, that was not to be scorned.
* * *
The High Court was meeting in the great hall of the palace at Acre. Windows had been opened in hopes of enticing the breezes wafting in from the sea, for the summer had been a scorching one so far. Escorted by her brother, Agnes took one of the chairs that had been set aside as seats of honor. She thought Joscelin looked better after a month of freedom; he was clean-shaven again and had begun to put on weight. His nerves still seemed taut, however; he flinched at sudden noises and he’d confided that he could not sleep through the night. He had quickly embraced the role of uncle, winning Sybilla over with flattery and joking with Baldwin, although Agnes had noticed that he was careful to keep his distance. But so did all in the know; it was as if B
aldwin was marooned upon a small island and only she and William were willing to reach across the void and make physical contact.
Baldwin was already seated, legs stretched out in front of him. He was wearing knee-high leather boots, indicating he’d either been riding before the High Court session or planned to do so afterward; she knew he spent almost all of his free time in the saddle, astride his beloved Arab. He looked so handsome and healthy that she found herself on the verge of tears. No one would ever guess that his body was being claimed by that insidious disease. At Easter, another symptom had surfaced—small skin lesions on his back called maculas—but the only obvious indication of impairment was the defiantly red linen sling cradling his right arm.
After the invocation, Baldwin rose to his feet. Once he was sure that all eyes were upon him, he looked toward Count Raymond. “Now that I am fifteen, the age of majority in our kingdom, the regency is at an end. I would like to thank my cousin, the Count of Tripoli, for his excellent service and loyalty.” He and the count exchanged smiles that were perfectly polite but without warmth, before Baldwin turned back to their audience.
“There are some matters we must discuss. The seneschalship has been vacant since the death of Miles de Planchy. I want my uncle, Joscelin de Courtenay, to take that post.”
That came as no surprise, and even those who disliked Agnes could not object, for Joscelin was his closest male kin. Baldwin was not sure how they’d respond to his next action, though.
“I want to make it clear that I hold Count Raymond in high esteem and I shall continue to value his advice as a member of the High Court. But I do not intend to ratify the treaty that he made with Saladin last summer. I do not believe it is in the best interests of our kingdom to assist the sultan in eliminating his rivals. Our truce allowed him to defeat the amir of Mosul and now our spies say he means to move again on Aleppo. We cannot permit him to gain control of that city, for if all of northern Syria falls to him, we will be encircled by our enemies. So I have spoken with Constable Humphrey, Count Raymond, and the grand masters of the Templars and Hospitallers about a summer campaign against Saladin.”
Baldwin could not help looking then toward Raymond. The older man’s face was without expression, but his hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had whitened. Baldwin wished that there had been another way, one that would have spared Raymond’s pride, for he did not doubt his cousin’s sincerity. Raymond truly believed that they’d be better off by making peace with the Saracens. But Baldwin was just as sure there could not be a lasting peace with a man who believed in jihad.
While there were murmurings among the men, they seemed neither surprised nor dismayed. Truces came and went; war was a constant. Baldwin waited to give any of Raymond’s loyalists a chance to object, and when none did, he said, “Next is the matter of my sister’s marriage. Guillaume of Montferrat has written that he will be sailing with the Genoese fleet and he expects to arrive in Outremer in late September.”
Again there were murmurings, and some frowns, most of them directed at Count Raymond. He’d convinced them that a marital alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor would benefit their kingdom, but in May Frederick Barbarossa had suffered a serious setback. When he’d confronted the Lombard League at Legnano, his army had been routed and he himself had been wounded. After such an overwhelming defeat, the imperial alliance lost much of its luster and, to many, it no longer seemed like such a good idea to marry Sybilla to one of Frederick’s vassals.
Baldwin and Raymond were aware of this growing discontent, but they were not expecting outright opposition. Yet that was what they now faced, as several of the lords rose to argue that the plight troth should not be honored. Raymond scowled, starting to get to his feet. Before he could respond, Baldwin raised a hand for silence.
“I know that some of you now have misgivings about this marriage. That is understandable. But we cannot disavow the plight troth between Guillaume and Sybilla. Frederick would see that as a grievous insult and it is never wise to insult emperors. Even if he is less likely after Legnano to offer us military assistance, he remains a very powerful man. The French king would also be greatly affronted, for Guillaume is his kinsman, too.”
Baldwin was pleased to see that they were listening intently, even the most vocal critics of the marital alliance. “I intend to reach out to the emperor of the Greeks in Constantinople, hoping to repair the damage done to our relations by the overtures made to Frederick. Yes, Manuel was wroth that we’d allied ourselves with a man he loathes. I still think he will be amenable to restoring diplomatic and military ties. It was not my doing, after all.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Raymond stiffen. It was the truth, though, so however bitter the brew, his cousin would have to swallow it. “There is another reason for honoring the plight troth. If we were to reject Guillaume, we’d have to start another search for a suitable husband for my sister, which would take time.”
Baldwin paused, his gaze flicking toward his mother and William, for he was about to depart from the script, having told no one what he now meant to say. “And time,” he said steadily, “is a luxury we cannot afford. You all know that when I was chosen as king two years ago, it was suspected that I might have leprosy.”
There were stirrings in the audience and then, utter silence. “You have been told, too,” Baldwin said, “that I developed other symptoms of this malady in December. So, there is no longer any doubt. I am a leper and it is only right that all in the kingdom are made aware of it.”
His mouth had gone dry and he had to swallow before continuing. “I do not know why God has afflicted me with this dread disease. Nor do I know why He wants me to rule as a leper king. But He does and so I do not plan to abdicate. I will not endanger the kingdom, though. Upon that, you have my word. I will serve as long as I am physically able, and when I can no longer perform my duties as king, I will turn the government over to my sister and her husband.”
It was very quiet once he was done speaking, and then someone started to applaud. It was soon taken up by the others. Baldwin was not the only one to see the irony in this standing ovation, but they did not know what else to do. Glancing toward his mother, then, he saw that she’d bowed her head, her face hidden. William was wiping away tears, and others were, too. Baldwin felt a flicker of pride that his own eyes were dry.
CHAPTER 10
August 1176
Bekaa Valley, Syria
As Baldwin walked through their camp, he was followed by smiles. It meant so much to him that he’d won the approval of these seasoned soldiers and knights. He knew he’d done nothing heroic during their July incursion into the Damascus plain. It had been a successful raid, though; they’d advanced as far as the village of Dārayyā, just four miles from Damascus itself. There’d been little blood spilled, for the villagers and farmers had fled, taking what belongings and livestock they could, as word spread of Baldwin’s army’s approach. His men had torched the crops in the fields, returning to Sidon laden with plunder, and Baldwin supposed that was enough for them. Soldiers were always grateful for the opportunity to enrich themselves at the enemy’s expense.
This second campaign was more ambitious. Upon learning that Saladin had departed for the north to assault Masyāf, the stronghold of the feared Assassins, the Franks took advantage of his absence to raid again into the sultan’s lands. Baldwin led his men into the Bekaa Valley while Count Raymond attacked from the north. Their raiding parties spread devastation far and wide, although once again the villages had been abandoned by their inhabitants, who’d driven their cattle into the marshlands, then taken refuge in the hills. When the two armies joined forces, morale was high and the summer sky was stained with the smoke of burning fields and houses.
Baldwin continued to acknowledge the greetings and grins, thinking that if he’d had no chance for personal bravery, at least he’d not embarrassed himself on this, his first c
ampaign. He’d yet to bloody his sword, though, and that troubled him. He knew this was how war was conducted by both sides. He’d been told that pitched battles in Christendom were rare, for few commanders wanted to risk all on one throw of the dice. Even in Outremer, where enmities were more intense because the Franks and Saracens were convinced they were fighting infidels, battles were not that common. Sieges and the lightning raids called chevauchées were the staples of warfare. But he could not imagine minstrels singing about stealing sheep or burning barns.
Baldwin would have liked to discuss his disappointment with someone more experienced than he in warfare, but who? He respected Count Raymond. He’d never warmed to the man, though, not finding him very approachable. While Humphrey de Toron was a fine soldier, one whom Baldwin admired greatly, his gruff nature did not inspire confidences. His uncle, Joscelin, was still a stranger. Baldwin had been willing to appoint him to high office and to give him a wealthy heiress, Agneta de Milly, but he did not feel comfortable confiding in Joscelin. His new squire, Anselm, had done his share of fighting before he’d joined the leper knights, yet their great disparity in rank kept Baldwin from choosing him as a confidant.
The day was waning and Baldwin had started back toward his tent when a familiar face caught his eye. He at once detoured in Balian d’Ibelin’s direction.
Balian rose to his feet quickly, saying, “My liege,” then sat back down on the ground after Baldwin joined him. By now Baldwin had gotten accustomed to the way others took such care to keep at a safe distance; what other choice did he have? It was isolating, though, as if he were alone on a desert oasis, able to watch as caravans passed by, unable to reach out to them. He was grateful, therefore, for the few who were able to hide their unease in his presence, and as Balian was one of them, that was another reason to seek out his company.
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 16
