They agreed that was the ideal name for the puppy. Almost as if understanding he was being talked about, Cairo began to bark, then scrambled onto Baldwin’s shoulder to lick his face. And when his antics coaxed a smile from her son, Agnes silently blessed her impulsive, unpredictable daughter.
* * *
By the time Maria and her daughter reached Jerusalem, Isabella was tired and that made her cranky, so when she was told she must accompany her nurse, she insisted she wanted to see Baldwin first. As much as Maria loved her child, she believed in the need for discipline and she was not swayed by Isabella’s pleading. Telling the steward that she must see the king straightaway, she was soon following a servant into the stairwell that led to the royal solar.
She’d hoped to find William with Baldwin, but her heart sank when she saw the others in the solar: Agnes and Joscelin de Courtenay, Reynald de Chatillon, and Archbishop Eraclius. As she came forward to greet her stepson, she could feel their eyes upon her, hostile, measuring, and predatory. Not for the first time, she wondered what would become of her and her daughter when Baldwin died and Sybilla and the de Courtenays ruled the kingdom.
Baldwin did not look well to her, pale and tired and gaunt; he’d lost an alarming amount of weight during his lengthy illness. She knew he was surprised by her appearance, for she did not attend the court unless invited to do so, but he greeted her with courtesy, and gestured for her to take a seat. “Did you bring Bella with you?”
She nodded, saying that Isabella was eager to see him. That seemed to please him. It did not please the others. Although nothing was said, their animosity blanketed the solar like woodsmoke. Ignoring them, Maria kept her eyes on Baldwin. “I am here,” she said, “to talk to you about the Count of Flanders.”
“I assume you wish to protest his marital plans for Bella. But he is no longer in the city, having decided to visit some of our holy sites, and I do not know when he will be back.”
Despite his efforts to sound unperturbed, Baldwin was angry about the count’s sudden departure while their plans for the Egyptian campaign remained unresolved; Maria caught echoes of that anger in his voice. And what she had to say would only add fuel to the fire. “He may well be planning to visit those sacred sites, but he came first to Nablus to see me.”
Baldwin’s court mask slipped, allowing her to see his surprise. Before he could respond, his mother and uncle spoke up.
“Why would he want to see you?” Joscelin asked in astonishment. Maria did not know if he meant to be offensive or was merely curious, but she took it as an insult. She was a daughter of the Greek Royal House, after all.
Agnes had been standing by Baldwin’s chair, her eyes drilling holes into Maria’s brain. “And you made him welcome?” she said in disbelief. “Surely you do not want your daughter married off to one of his vassals? God knows we have never agreed upon anything, but I would have thought we’d be united in this—wanting to see that man stoned in the marketplace.”
“Half of Jerusalem would turn out for that,” Reynald said laconically.
“Of course I do not approve of the count’s outrageous marriage schemes,” Maria said coolly, “and as Isabella’s mother, I’d like nothing better than to pick up that first stone. But I could not turn the count away until I’d heard what he had to say. That is what queens do.”
Baldwin’s mouth twitched and Reynald looked faintly amused. But Agnes, Joscelin, and the archbishop were so obviously unamused that Maria felt a dart of satisfaction. Turning back to her stepson, she said, “For a man who claims that he came to the Holy Land only to honor God, Count Philip is spending an inordinate amount of his time on temporal matters. In addition to his plotting to marry your sisters to men of his choosing, he is here to fulfill a mission entrusted to him by the French king, Louis Capet. Louis wants to wed his youngest daughter to the Emperor Manuel’s son and heir, and Count Philip asked for my help in bringing that about.”
“And you agreed to help him?” Agnes’s voice dripped scorn, and Maria decided the other woman probably was sincere in this if in nothing else—unable to understand how she would be willing to aid the man who’d have forced Isabella into a marriage at age five.
“Yes, I did,” she said defiantly. “His mission to Constantinople has nothing to do with his selfish, lawless plans for my daughter. I considered whether my great-uncle would be interested in an alliance with the French king—and of course, he would be—so I advised the count how best to approach him with the proposal.”
“I would not throw that man a rope if he were drowning,” Agnes said proudly as Joscelin moved into Maria’s line of vision.
“And you felt the need to make a trip to Jerusalem just to tell the king this? Are there no scribes left in Nablus, no messengers?”
“Uncle.”
Baldwin said no more than that, but Joscelin subsided, and Maria was impressed by the quiet way her stepson asserted his authority. With the de Courtenays, it could be no easy task, she thought. “I have more to tell you, my lord king. During his visit, the count also spoke of the Egyptian campaign. He was surprisingly candid, mayhap because he saw me as an ally after I agreed to write to the emperor on his behalf. He said he had no intention of taking part in the attack upon Egypt because you refused to make it worth his while.”
Even though Baldwin had already reached that conclusion, it was still infuriating to hear it confirmed in the count’s own words. “Damn him,” he said softly, “damn them all,” and the others knew he meant the foreigners, the outsiders who were so sure they understood the Kingdom of Jerusalem better than the native-born Christians, so sure the Poulains were not worthy guardians of the Holy Land.
“I told him,” Maria said, “that he’d be making a great mistake if he did not join the campaign. I warned him that if he remained in Jerusalem whilst you made war upon Saladin, his honor would suffer and the High Court would blame him if that war went badly. Although I doubt that he cares what the High Court thinks of him, he does not want to antagonize my great-uncle, who would blame him, too. He seemed taken aback by my speaking so bluntly, but he is an arrogant man, not a stupid one. He said he’d give it some thought, and the next day he told me that he would agree to join the campaign.”
“Did he, indeed?” As Baldwin’s eyes met Maria’s, she experienced something she never had before, a moment in which she knew exactly what her stepson was thinking, and they exchanged a look of silent understanding.
Agnes saw it, too, and felt a quiver of fear. “Is that why you are here?” she snapped. “To claim credit for changing the count’s mind?”
“No,” Maria said, not taking her eyes from Baldwin. “I came to tell you that it does not matter what Count Philip says or promises. He cannot be trusted.” She hesitated then, for she was about to venture into a quagmire of conflicting loyalties. Hers were dual. She was Greek to the marrow of her bones, would yearn for Constantinople until the end of her earthly days. But she would never go back, for she would never willingly leave her daughter and Outremer was Isabella’s homeland, mayhap even her kingdom one day.
She knew that Baldwin was aware of the growing discontent of the Greek envoys. But he did not yet know how deeply suspicious they’d become; the Greeks had little confidence in Latin Christians in the best of times. She feared that if the Egyptian campaign was thwarted by Philip’s intransigence, her great-uncle would not send his fleet to Outremer again.
She could not tell Baldwin what had been told to her in confidence by Manuel’s envoys. She could warn him, though, that he faced opposition from within his own ranks. “You know, my liege, that the Count of Tripoli strongly disapproves of your alliance with the Greek empire. He mistrusts the Emperor Manuel and he’d not be disappointed if the Egyptian campaign were called off. Nor would your other cousin, the Prince of Antioch.”
Baldwin was caught off-balance by that. They all were, even Reynald, who was Bohemond’s stepfather. Wh
en Baldwin glanced in his direction, he shrugged. Agnes could endure no more and stepped in front of Maria. “What nonsense is this? Bohemond has no grievance against the Greek emperor. He wed a Greek princess last year, for God’s sake!”
“Yes . . . my sister, Theodora.” Maria had paid a visit to Antioch after the wedding, not having seen Theodora since her own marriage to Amalric a decade ago. She’d found a very unhappy young girl, homesick and miserable, who confided that Bohemond had not wanted to wed her, that Manuel had insisted upon it as part of his price for aiding the Franks. She’d not have expected him to be faithful, Theodora had sobbed, for he was a man, after all. But he was besotted with his longtime concubine, shamed her by flaunting the woman in public, and during one of their quarrels, he’d told her that their marriage would last only as long as Manuel lived.
Maria could not reveal any of this, though, could not betray her sister’s marital misery. “I am not claiming that Bohemond shares Raymond’s hostility toward the Greeks. But he has long viewed the Saracen castle at Hārim as a threat, for it is only twelve miles from Antioch, and he has been complaining that he’d rather besiege Hārim than sail for Egypt with the Greek fleet.”
There, she thought; that ought to alert Baldwin to his cousin’s unreliability whilst avoiding mention of his smoldering resentment of the marriage forced upon him by Manuel. Baldwin said nothing, but he looked so weary that Maria felt a twinge of regret for adding to the crushing burdens he was already laboring under. Yet he had to know. Rising, she said she ought to make sure that Isabella was settled in. Baldwin unexpectedly rose, too. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, “for I want to stop by the stables.”
Reynald also got to his feet. As they all exited into the stairwell, Agnes heard her son tell Maria to bring Bella to his bedchamber that evening, saying he had a surprise for her. She knew what it was; he wanted to show his new puppy to his little sister, who would naturally be thrilled, bonding with him over that damned dog.
She managed to wait until the door closed, cutting off the rest of their conversation, before she exploded. “You see what she is doing, Joscelin? She is using that brat of hers to worm her way into Baldwin’s good graces, and he has such a kind heart that it will work!”
Joscelin thought that his sister was rather irrational about Maria, for he did not see her as the threat that Agnes did. It would be different if she still lived at court, but she saw Baldwin only twice a year, at his Christmas and Easter celebrations. How much ground could she gain during such brief visits? “It is fortunate that she lives in Nablus,” he said, hoping that Agnes would be satisfied with that.
Agnes knew him well enough to realize he was only humoring her, and she scowled, frustrated that he was blind to the danger that Maria Comnena posed. She was thankful that Archbishop Eraclius was more perceptive than her brother, as he proved now.
“I think we must be vigilant, madame,” he said, nodding vigorously. “We dare not take that woman too lightly. She is Greek, after all, a race known to be as subtle as the serpent, and she is far too friendly with the Archbishop of Tyre, a man just as untrustworthy.”
Joscelin had gone over to the table to refill his wine cup and quickly brought it up to conceal his grin. While many priests thought it was a minor sin to break their vows of chastity, openly taking hearth mates who were wives in all but name, the higher a man climbed on the Church ladder, the more cautious and circumspect he usually became. Even an archbishop’s miter had not changed Eraclius’s lustful habits, though; he was notorious for his indiscreet dalliances. Whereas Joscelin doubted that William of Tyre could be tempted even if a squirming, naked woman was thrust into his bed—the poor sod.
Agnes had begun to pace. Whilst it was true that she hated the Greek, she was also afraid of her. Maria had a powerful weapon—that child. Baldwin wanted the best for his sister and Maria was playing upon that, insinuating herself back into his life. If they could not find a suitable husband for Sybilla or—Jesu forfend—she did not give birth to a healthy son in December, her claim to the crown might well be challenged in a few years by Isabella, especially if Baldwin remained set upon this alliance with Constantinople. As Baldwin’s health continued to fail, some might see the emperor’s blood kin as a better choice than Sybilla, and Manuel had gold enough to buy half the members of the High Court. Even Isabella’s youth might work to her advantage, for a long regency offered unlimited opportunities for unscrupulous, ambitious men to enrich themselves at the Crown’s expense.
Her heart and pulse were racing. She could not fight for Baldwin whilst having to watch her back, too. Although she knew that was a battle she and her son were doomed to lose, she would never give up. Yet if leprosy could not be defeated, Maria Comnena could. She must find a way to banish the Greek bitch from court, to make Baldwin see her true colors. But how?
* * *
The city that the Franks called Cairo was not actually a city at all. Its proper name was al-Qāhira and it was a vast fortress, built two hundred years ago as a residence for the caliphs of the Fātimid dynasty, their wives, concubines, servants, slaves, court officials, and army brigades. Its Great East Palace was famed for its opulence, said to contain over four thousand chambers, although al-‘Ādil wondered if anyone had ever actually counted them. After his brother had staged his bloodless coup against the caliph, they had discovered that the stories of its lavish accommodations were indeed true. The caliph’s throne was of solid gold with silver steps, and the carved ceilings were inlaid with gold. There were marble pillars; pavements decorated with dazzling mosaics; curtains strewn with pearls; coffers overflowing with the finest brocades, silks, ivory, rubies, emeralds—riches beyond any man’s wildest dreams. But none of it had the sultan kept for himself.
He had no craving for luxury, preferring to live as simply as a Sufi holy man, and he had laughed when it was suggested that he move into the caliph’s Great East Palace. He’d chosen the more modest vizier’s palace as his dwelling, turning the Great Palace over to his army commanders and giving the Lesser West Palace to his brother. The riches were distributed to his loyal followers, used for good deeds, and shared with his liege lord, for he’d not yet been ready to renounce his allegiance to Nūr al-Dīn. That inevitable confrontation had been avoided by the latter’s death three years ago, and he then openly claimed what was already his, the sultanate of Egypt. It was a remarkable rise to power for a Kurd, for an outsider. But all that he’d accomplished was threatened now by the infidel invasion.
As he entered the gardens of Kafur, which adjoined the Lesser West Palace where he’d lived for the past six years, al-‘Ādil paused to savor the tranquil scene that met his eyes, knowing how fleeting this moment of peace would be. The sun had begun its slow retreat from the waiting dark, trailing golden clouds in its wake and reflecting the blood-red sky in the canal and the distant waters of the Nile. He enjoyed living in the former pleasure-house of the caliphs, not sharing his brother’s taste for austerity. Above all, he loved these gardens, shaded with tamarisk, willow, and sycamore trees, fragrant with flowers for much of the year, echoing with the cooing from the dovecotes and the songs of thrush, lark, and chaffinch. Would the day soon come when infidel boots sounded on its paved pathways?
The gardens covered a huge area, but he knew where to find Āliya, for she liked to watch the sunset from one of the marble pavilions near the canal. She was there, seated on a bench with her maid, Jumāna, while two of the household eunuchs hovered at a protective distance. She would never have ventured out in public unless she was modestly veiled, yet here in the privacy of their gardens, she had unfastened her veil to take advantage of the breeze wafting from the river, and al-‘Ādil halted so he could watch her unobserved. Even though they’d been wed almost a year, she could still take his breath away. His pet name for her was “Ghazāla,” for she had the grace of a young gazelle.
Āliya leaned over to whisper something to Jumāna and when both women lau
ghed, al-‘Ādil found himself smiling. He’d known from the first that Āliya was clever, for she’d taken pains to ingratiate herself with his first wife, Halīma, and she’d befriended his brother’s favorite wife, Shamsa. But he’d not realized how clever she truly was until she freed Jumāna, the daughter of a household slave in Āliya’s family household.
The girls had been raised together, and both intimacy and affection had developed between them, as often happened in such cases, for slaves were usually well treated in accordance with the teachings of the Qur’an.
But if Āliya was willing to share confidences, items of clothing, and perfume with Jumāna, she was not willing to share her new husband, and she’d soon noticed the way his eyes occasionally lingered upon Jumāna.
Al-‘Ādil did find Jumāna desirable; he’d not deny that. He did not think he’d have acted upon that desire, though; at least he hoped not. But Āliya had made sure that he’d not give way to temptation. She did not let jealousy poison their marriage; nor did she blame Jumāna. She’d simply arranged for Jumāna’s manumission, then innocently informed al-‘Ādil of her good deed, for the freeing of slaves was always encouraged as an admirable act of piety. It also made it impossible for him to take Jumāna to his bed, for women taken as concubines could not be of free status; the Qur’an spoke clearly upon that, saying that a man could have sexual intercourse only with his wives or those possessed by his right hand—slaves. Al-‘Ādil had been amused by her adroit handling of the matter, for he appreciated subtlety, knowing what a rare talent that was. Even as a youth, he’d seen that guile and indirection served as both a shield and a weapon, and he was pleased that Āliya understood this, too.
Āliya happened to glance in his direction then. Jumping to her feet, she glided toward him, her gold and silver ankle bracelets jingling with each step of her red leather slippers, turning her approach into a dance. “How glad I am to see you, my heart!” She did not embrace him, though, for in that, too, she was a proper wife, aware that open displays of affection belonged in the bedchamber.
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 24
