Her brother and Eraclius were continuing to squabble, and she intervened before it got out of hand. “Of course we hoped that the Greek would openly defy Baldwin. But she is never going to accept Balian and that is what matters.” And when Joscelin asked nervously if there was any chance Maria might agree, she laughed. “Not a prayer in Hell, Brother. Not a prayer in Hell.”
CHAPTER 16
October 1177
Jerusalem, Outremer
William kept the bulk of his library at the archbishopric palace in Tyre, and when his clerks could not find a Latin chronicle, he realized he’d forgotten to pack it. He’d intended to get some work done today on his history of the kingdom, but he needed to check a passage in Fulcher of Chartres’s A History of the Expedition to Jerusalem. He looked now at the writing implements spread across his desk: a pumice stone for cleaning the parchment sheets, a knife to sharpen his quill, a boar’s tooth for polishing the parchment to keep the ink from running, an inkhorn, a ruler to measure the margins. All he lacked was the missing book and motivation.
He was reaching for the quill when a servant entered with word that he had a royal visitor. Maria’s unexpected arrival was a welcome distraction and he pushed his chair back, dismissing his clerk and requesting wine and wafers for three; he knew Maria would be accompanied by at least one of her ladies. For propriety’s sake, they never met alone.
One glance at Maria’s flushed face and he knew something was very wrong. Smiling at Dame Sophia, a matronly widow who spoke only Greek, he invited them to sit, but Maria shook her head. “I need to move, mayhap to throw things. What can you afford to lose, William?”
“Cushions are good for that purpose, unless you want to hear something shatter; in which case, I recommend holding off until the wine arrives.” Retaking his seat, he said bluntly, “What have the de Courtenays done now?”
Maria startled him by spitting out a Greek curse, for she rarely swore. “I knew they would retaliate for my renting a house in the city, yet I never imagined they’d make such shameless use of the d’Ibelins to strike out at me. William, they convinced Baldwin that I ought to marry Balian!”
His eyebrows shot upward. “You mean Baudouin, do you not?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, Baudouin’s brother. Balian.”
“Good God,” he said softly. As Lord of Ramlah and Mirabel, Baudouin would have been the natural choice. Yet in Constantinople, even he was not likely to be considered a worthy husband for the emperor’s kinswoman, once wed to a king. “This was a trap, then, with Balian as bait. And you say Baldwin was the one to propose this?”
“I spoke briefly with Balian and Baudouin once we left the solar and they told me that Agnes’s lapdog had convinced Baldwin I would agree to the match.”
William was relieved to hear that. He did not want to think Baldwin would have willingly been part of his mother’s conspiracy, for conspiracy it clearly was. Easily identifying Agnes’s “lapdog,” he mentally marked up yet another grievance against Caesarea’s ambitious archbishop. “That man is a disgrace to the Church. And Baldwin was their pawn. Damn them for that! He has enough woes without having to keep an eye peeled for his own family’s double-dealing.”
William was as alarmed as he was angry. If Agnes and Joscelin would dare to do this now, whilst Baldwin is still capable and quick-witted, what will they dare once his health seriously begins to deteriorate? A soft knock then announced the arrival of the food and wine and he waited until the servant withdrew before turning back to Maria.
“Let me guess what those fools had in mind. Once you were told of the proposed marriage to a man far below your own rank, you were supposed to react with outrage, defy Baldwin, and storm out. The de Courtenays do not know you at all, do they? What did you actually do?”
Maria smiled scornfully. “Agnes de Courtenay is more venomous than a desert scorpion, but she is not half as clever as she thinks she is. She assumed I would lash out in a fury because that is what she would have done in my place. Even if I were given to her sort of bad behavior, I would never have insulted Balian to his face like that. He and his brother were victims, too. So I smiled and politely requested time to consider the match, which Baldwin readily granted.”
Maria chose her next words with care. “I do not know if Baldwin realizes yet that Eraclius is Agnes’s accomplice in all of this. He might understandably be loath to acknowledge his mother’s guilt.” Seeing that William agreed with her, she said, “I think that he still wants the marriage to take place, for he saw it as a way of showing favor to the d’Ibelins.”
“So what will you do?” William asked, confident that she’d already formed a plan to thwart the de Courtenays, for she’d been trained since childhood how to navigate the stormy waters of statecraft. Such a pity that Sybilla had not also learned the lessons of queenship.
Maria finally took a seat and, then, a sip of her wine. “I shall tell Baldwin that I cannot marry again without the consent of the emperor and I will promise to write to him straightaway. Alas, he will not agree to the match, forbidding me to wed Balian.”
William nodded approvingly. “That is a diplomatic response and it has the advantage of being true. I do not imagine your great-uncle would be happy to hear you’d wed another Poulain, not unless he wore a crown.”
Maria’s smile this time was rueful, for she thought William had gone to the heart of the matter—that in Constantinople, the Franks were looked upon as barbarians and the Poulain nobility as parvenus, lords with questionable bloodlines and dubious backgrounds.
“I would welcome your help, William, in making my refusal acceptable to Baldwin, not as an act of defiance but one of obedience. And it is important to me that Balian understands this as well. I would not have him think he was rejected because I found him unworthy. He is a good man, deserves better than that.”
“Yes, he does.” William regarded her pensively. “I will do whatever I can to soften the sharp edges of your rejection. Would I be meddling if I offered an alternative course of action?”
“Please do. If you can see another way out of this snare, I would love to hear it.”
“I would suggest that you accept, that you marry Balian.”
Maria gasped. “You are serious?”
“I am quite serious. Whilst I realize this is not what you expected from me, I would ask you to hear me out.” When she nodded slowly, he took a deep swallow of his wine and then another, for he was aware that he was in a position to change lives and even to alter history, a daunting responsibility.
“Maria, I have been worried about you and Isabella for some time now. The de Courtenays and their allies hate you and feel threatened by your daughter. You have been isolated, lacking allies of your own, and your vulnerability will increase as Baldwin’s leprosy worsens.”
He paused to gauge her reaction and saw that she’d been entertaining these same dark thoughts on nights when sleep proved elusive. “Once Baldwin . . . can no longer rule, you will be even more susceptible to Agnes’s malice, for she does not care if the alliance with Constantinople flounders. I have no reason to think Sybilla bears you or Isabella any ill will. But she is eager to please her mother and uncle, so I fear she’d acquiesce if they tried to force you into another unsuitable marriage, this time to a man far less honorable than Balian. And if the Count of Flanders did not scruple to drag Isabella from the nursery to the altar, still less would the de Courtenays. I suspect their first priority would be to wed your child to a man of their choosing.”
Maria said nothing, but she’d paled and he saw her hands tighten on the arms of her chair. “Sadly, you are still viewed as an outsider by some, Maria, as the foreign Greek queen. You need protectors, men willing to stand up for you. And if you marry into the d’Ibelin family, you’ll have them. Not just Balian and Baudouin—the other members of the High Court, too, at least those who are friends to the d’Ibelins or who fear th
e de Courtenays. Many of them would see an attack upon the d’Ibelins as an attack upon them all.”
He paused again to give her an opportunity to respond. When she stayed silent, he finished the last of his wine before continuing. “Agnes never even considered the consequences should you agree to wed Balian. Not only would you have a husband, then, to defend you, your marriage would transform Balian from a lesser lord to one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. As Lord of Nablus, he and his brother would suddenly wield enormous influence, both with the king and the High Court. I can assure you that was not a part of Agnes’s calculations.” He could not help smiling at the thought of the de Courtenays’ reaction to such a dramatic alteration of the political landscape and he was gratified to see a faint smile cross Maria’s lips, too.
“You are an eloquent advocate for Balian, William, and I cannot deny that what you say makes sense. But . . .”
When she hesitated, he nodded understandingly. “That would still not be enough to convince Emperor Manuel, would it? May I speak candidly? You must do what you think is best for you and your daughter, not what your kinsman thinks is best. I suppose he would insist that an emperor’s protection is the strongest of all shields. It may not be true, though, when that shield is hundreds of miles away and the shield itself is held by a man long past his youth. He is nigh on sixty, no? What if he dies suddenly? What would that shield be worth then?”
Maria reached for her wine cup. “That is indeed plain speaking, William.”
“I did warn you.” Searching her face, he wished he could penetrate her own shield, divine her thoughts. “There are other considerations, too, Maria. Forgive me for asking so personal a question, but you are still a young woman. Have you not thought of marrying again? Of wanting more children, a brother or sister for Isabella?”
Her dark eyes were utterly unreadable. He chose to forge on, though. “You said yourself that Balian is a good man. I would say he is far better than most. There is no question that he would be devoted to Isabella, to any children you might have with him. But I also believe that such a marriage would bring you both happiness, more than most people can hope to find in this life. I know you think of him as a friend, so the door is already halfway open. He is also one of the few men in the kingdom who wants the woman as much as he wants the queen, and that is worth putting on the scales, too.”
He caught a spark of emotion before she cast her eyes down, yet he was not sure how to interpret it. Surely she knew how easy it would be to claim Balian’s heart? If even he, a man past his youth who honored his vow of celibacy, could see it, she must see it, too. Were women not supposed to have instincts about such matters?
Whatever was in her own heart, she was not going to share it. Realizing that, he felt some disappointment but was too wise to push. And so when she rose and thanked him rather formally for his advice, he responded in kind, rising to escort her and her maid as they turned toward the door. Returning to his desk, he settled back in his chair, ignoring the writing materials and stacked books, not stirring until one of his clerks entered.
“Your Grace, may I fetch anything for you? Are there any other books you need?”
“No, I am fine, Peter.”
Peter was delighted by the archbishop’s smile; they’d seen it rarely in recent weeks, banished by the Count of Flanders and then by the king’s accident. “You seem in better spirits.”
“Yes . . . I am.” William regarded the young man fondly, for he tended to treat his clerks as surrogate sons. “You see, lad, I may have been able to do a good deed this afternoon for two people whose happiness matters to me. We can only wait and see.”
* * *
As Balian could not afford to buy or rent a dwelling of his own in Jerusalem, he always stayed at Baudouin’s town house whenever he visited the Holy City. Climbing the stairs to his brother’s bedchamber, Baudouin halted, puzzled by the sound audible even through the closed door, a muffled thud coming at regular intervals. Giving a perfunctory knock, he pushed the door open just as an object flew past his head, struck the wall, and dropped to the floor at his feet. With admirable aplomb, he reached down, picked up the ball, and tossed it back to the man sprawled on the bed. He then took a conspicuous stance in the middle of the untidy chamber, looking around at the discarded clothing and dirty dishes with a pained expression. “A pig escaped from the market this morning and it occurred to me that he might have taken refuge up here with you, but I see not. Just out of idle curiosity, you do plan to let the servants in to clean in the next month or two?”
Since Baudouin’s casual concept of housekeeping had driven both of his wives to despair, Balian ignored the jibe, throwing the ball this time at the door. Baudouin snatched the ball in midair and strode toward the bed to scowl down at his brother. “How much longer do you intend to drink and brood?” he demanded, nudging an empty wine flagon with his foot. “It has been two days, in case you’ve lost count.”
Balian returned the scowl. “What would you have me do—challenge Eraclius or Joscelin to a duel?”
Baudouin had to smile at the image conjured up by his brother’s sarcasm. “As entertaining as that would undoubtedly be, I have something more sensible in mind. I think it is time for you to go and have a talk with a young Greek widow of our acquaintance.”
He was fortunate that he’d appropriated the ball, for Balian would have been tempted to aim it at his head. “I am sure she is looking forward eagerly to that discussion,” he scoffed. “What could be more enjoyable for her than to have to tell me to my face just how unworthy a husband I’d be?”
“Aha! I knew it! That is what you fear—taking another blow to your wounded pride. I am beginning to think that priests are the lucky ones, at least those who actually honor their vows of chastity. For the rest of mankind, women can addle our wits with alarming ease.”
Getting no response from Balian, he kicked aside another wine flagon and moved closer to the bed. “I came away from Wednesday’s ambush with several interesting insights. Until then, I had not realized just how cool your Maria is under attack. And I say ‘your Maria’ because I know now how much you want her. No, do not bother insisting that you care only for her crown. Not being an utter fool, of course you’d want to marry a queen. But a man does not turn as white as a corpse candle, the way you did, unless he lusts after the woman, too.”
Balian started to deny it, realized he couldn’t, and kept silent, hoping that would discourage his brother from continuing the conversation. It didn’t, of course. “If what you are dreading is being told you’re too lowborn to marry, you ought to know her better than that. If she refuses you, she’ll add so much sugar to it that you’ll taste only the sweet, not the sour.”
“If she refuses me? Surely you do not doubt that would be the outcome?”
“Probably so. But what if there is a chance, however slight, that you can convince her the marriage would be in her own interests as well as yours?”
Balian sat up, studying his brother intently. “Do you truly think there might be a chance of that, Baudouin?”
“To be honest, I do not know. I do know that you owe it to our family to make that effort. Our father made his fortune by pleasing a king enough to be given an heiress. That marriage carried him from obscurity to the nobility, allowing his sons to rise even higher. Think how high our sons might soar if you are able to marry a queen. The world is full of men who’d wed and bed a sow if she were a crowned sow. Few are ever as lucky as you, lad, for you could have it all—the woman you want, the lordship of Nablus, and an emperor for a kinsman. Not to forget that your stepdaughter might well be a queen herself one day. If that is not worth fighting for, what in Christ’s name is?”
Satisfied that he’d gotten his message across to the younger man, he said, “Catch,” and flipped the ball to Balian. Grinning, Baudouin sauntered toward the door, where he paused to share one final bit of brotherly wisdom. “God
knows why, you’ve always had a way with women. Mayhap you can charm a queen, too, mayhap not. But if you do not at least try to win her, you’ll take that regret to your grave.” Pausing for maximum effect, he added, “And if you do not try, Little Brother, I’ll never let you live it down.”
He ducked as Balian sent the ball whizzing past his ear and then disappeared into the stairwell, echoes of his laughter lingering until Balian got up and closed the door.
* * *
By the time Balian had bathed, shaved, and changed into his best clothes, the sun had begun its slow retreat toward the western hills. It would have been quicker to walk, but he chose to make a more impressive appearance by riding Smoke and taking his squire, Rolf, along, too. As Maria’s town house came into view, he reined in, ignoring Rolf’s puzzled look. He could not remember the last time he’d been so nervous, for he’d discovered at an early age that girls liked him as much as he liked them. For a few moments, he gazed at the crowded street, thronged with pedestrians, priests, vendors, beggars, carts, and stray dogs. Finally he reminded himself he was not riding into battle and, mocking his own foolishness, he urged his stallion on.
He was admitted at once and escorted to the great hall while Rolf led their horses toward the stable, looking back wistfully over his shoulder. Balian was sure that all their household had some inkling by now of the week’s amazing developments, for Baudouin could not keep a secret if his life depended upon it. And then he forgot about his curious squire, for Maria was coming toward him, smiling.
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