He refused to torment himself by reading any hidden meanings into her smile. Instead, he kissed her hand in his most courtly manner, saying, “My queen . . . I think we need to talk.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “I think we do, Lord Balian.” As he followed her toward the door that led out into the inner courtyard, he caught no surreptitious glances being cast their way; apparently her household was better protected against gossip and rumors. Trailed by two of her ladies, they strolled toward the corner garden. It was much more modest than the palace gardens that had once been hers, but there was a small fountain, a few date palms, and a spreading tamarisk tree that offered shade. There was no need to seek shelter from the sun, though, for the day’s heat was ebbing away, the light softening as it took on the golden haze of dusk.
Coming to a halt on the pebbled pathway, Balian paid no heed to their chaperones, knowing they spoke only Greek. Maria was tall for a woman, but he still towered over her, for he was above six feet in height. Gazing down into her upturned face, he wanted nothing so much as to kiss her. “I know I need not assure you that my brother and I were as surprised as you by the archbishop’s ambush.”
“I never doubted that for a moment.”
“I want there to be honesty between us. So I will not deny that I very much want to marry you. We both know why I’d not have asked you had the de Courtenays not forced the issue.” Smiles usually came easily to him, but not now; it felt fake, as if he were attempting to pay a debt in counterfeit coin. “On the ride here, I was rehearsing the arguments I might make on my behalf. Alas, it was much easier to think of the reasons why you would not want to marry me.”
She seemed about to speak and he reached out, taking her hand. “Granted, there would be the pure pleasure of watching Agnes fall into the pit she’d dug for us. But I would not have you wed me merely to spite her, however tempting that might be for us both.”
“I agree,” she said, with the hint of a smile in her voice. “It is indeed tempting, yet not enough reason to wed.” Turning then toward a marble bench, she led him to it, letting him keep her hand in his.
The delicate tamarisk blossoms swayed above their heads in a rustling pink cloud; it was like being enveloped in a feathery cocoon, one that swallowed up the sky and created the illusion of solitude, as if the world beyond its floral boundaries had ceased to exist. “This may sound like those honeyed words that men use to win a lady’s favor, but never have I meant anything more. If the Almighty were to allow me to take any wife of my choosing, there is no woman in all of Christendom whom I would want more than you.”
Maria was able to make a realistic assessment of her own attributes, considering herself to be pretty but not a great beauty as Agnes had been or Isabella gave promise of becoming. So it was a revelation to see that in Balian’s eyes, she was very beautiful, indeed. “I should have spoken up ere this,” she confided. “I had never been courted, though, and I could not resist experiencing it just once. The truth is that I’d already made up my mind. I am quite willing to marry you.”
Although Balian was an optimist by instinct, he had not truly expected to hear those words. “If my brother were here, I know what he would do—tell me to rush you off to find a priest ere you could change your mind. And I may well regret this, but I have to ask. Why?”
Maria had always been one for advance planning, believing that gave her an advantage over those who raced ahead recklessly, heedless of what might await them. She was pleased to find that Balian shared that trait and thought his question was a quite sensible one under the circumstances.
“That is a story which begins with an emperor and ends with an archbishop—William, not that slimy hypocrite Eraclius. Your suspicions about my great-uncle are correct, Balian.” This was the first time she’d used his given name, an act of undeniable intimacy, and she was surprised by the pleasure it gave her. “He would not approve our marriage; he’d not approve any marriage of mine that did not benefit his empire in some way. But William reminded me that Outremer is Isabella’s homeland, and therefore it is now mine, too. He also argued persuasively that my position is a precarious one and marriage to you would offer me some protection against the malice of the de Courtenays. So I returned home to consider all that he’d said, and I made an unexpected discovery. The more I thought about marrying you, the more appealing the idea became.”
She smiled then, almost shyly, and Balian could wait no longer. Putting his arms around her, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her. His mouth was warm, tasting of wine and the mint leaves he’d chewed to sweeten his breath, and she found she enjoyed it more than Amalric’s kisses, which had always felt oddly impersonal, as if his were a need that any soft female body could satisfy.
When the kiss ended, Balian kept his arm around her shoulder, turning so he could caress her cheek with his free hand. “No one who dwells in the Holy Land can doubt the existence of miracles,” he said with a smile so sunlit that it caught at her heart. “But I must confess that I never expected our Lord God to perform one for me.” He began to laugh then. “My brother is going to be insufferable about this, for he was the one who prodded me into coming here today. I would have come eventually, just needed a bit more time to work up my courage. He will be convinced, though, that our marriage is all his doing!”
Maria laughed, too, blithely ignoring the dumbfounded faces of her ladies-in-waiting. It was a small shock to realize that Balian had just shared a confidence more personal and intimate than any she’d gotten from Amalric in nigh on seven years of marriage.
“For me,” she said, “our history began on that day five years ago when I rushed into William’s chamber and blurted out that Agnes de Courtenay was a bitch. I was mortified that a stranger had heard my intemperate words, especially a man kin to her by marriage. You gallantly came to my rescue and I soon learned to value your friendship greatly. Yet there is so much we do not know about each other. Your age, for one. Tell me some things about yourself that a wife ought to know.”
“I turned twenty-seven on the ides of April,” he said obligingly, letting his fingers linger on the curve of her throat. “My favorite color is emerald green. My favorite food is a Saracen dish, sikbāj. I’ve always had a special fondness for St. Philip the Apostle, mayhap because he was born in Galilee. I would barter the surety of my soul—almost—to own an Arabian stallion like Baldwin’s Asad. And I very much want to kiss you again.” Leaning over to nuzzle her cheek, he murmured, “Your turn now.”
“I was twenty-three in June. My favorite color is a sapphire blue, which is also my favorite gem. I enjoy playing chess more than any other game. Isabella is so besotted with Baldwin’s puppy that she coaxed me into getting one for her, so I hope you like dogs. And I want to kiss you again, too.”
This time the kiss was different, not as tentative, and when it was over, they both felt as if a promise had been made, one to be fulfilled on their wedding night in the privacy of their bridal chamber. Maria was beginning to understand how different marriage to Balian would be. He proved that now by saying, “Will Isabella be happy about this? Mayhap it might help if she participates in the wedding?”
And it was only then that Maria could admit to herself how very lonely these past three years of widowhood and exile had been.
* * *
Baldwin’s doctor would not let him take Asad out for runs yet, but he was hopeful it would be soon, for his symptoms were disappearing. He no longer suffered from nausea or dizziness or slurred speech and the headaches were greatly reduced. “Good boy,” he said as his stallion took the apple, his breath warm on Baldwin’s palm. “Mayhap tomorrow.”
His spirits were better this morning, for he’d had a productive meeting with the grand master of the Templars. Odo de St. Amand agreed that it would be wise to strengthen the garrison at Gaza Castle, their fortress close to the Egyptian border, and he would head out on the morrow with all of the Templars still in Ou
tremer. Their spies had reported that Saladin had not dispersed his army even after learning there was no longer any danger of an invasion, and Baldwin often found it difficult to sleep at night, worrying what the sultan had in mind.
Asad enjoyed being groomed and whickered as Baldwin drew the curry comb along the Arabian’s withers. Hearing footsteps approaching the stall, Baldwin said, “Did you get the hoof pick, Anselm?” The grooms usually made themselves scarce whenever he was in the stables, finding work as far away from him as they could, and rather than having to hunt them down when he needed something, it was easier to have Anselm accompany him on his visits to Asad.
When the squire did not answer, Baldwin glanced over his shoulder and straightened up in surprise, for his stepmother was standing a few feet away, flanked by the d’Ibelin brothers. She was resting her hand possessively on Balian’s arm and all three of them were smiling.
Baldwin emerged from the stall, thinking that Balian looked like a man who was sure he was in the midst of a dream and was praying he’d not wake up. “I am going to make a wild guess that congratulations are in order,” Baldwin said with a grin, and they laughed, for they were still in that blissful state when laughter came as easily as breathing.
Baldwin joined in their laughter, for this was a satisfying resolution on so many levels. Eraclius had insisted with great passion that he’d sought only to serve the Crown by rewarding the d’Ibelins for their loyalty, arguing that vassals were more devoted to a generous king than to a stingy one. While Baldwin still had doubts about the archbishop’s good faith, he’d not pursued them. Nor had he let himself dwell upon his suspicions about his mother and uncle’s part in it, for they seemed like paltry concerns when compared to the threat of a Saracen invasion or his newfound fear of falling. He could still appreciate the irony of such an ending, for someone’s pigeons had surely come home to roost with a vengeance.
* * *
They found Agnes in the great hall, engaged in conversation with Stephanie de Milly. Reynald de Chatillon had just returned from a quick trip to his isolated fortress at Kerak, for he’d wanted to make sure it was prepared for a siege should Saladin raid into Outrejourdain. The fact that he’d brought his wife and stepson back with him showed the d’Ibelins that he, too, shared their unease about the sultan’s intentions.
“Let me be the one.” Baudouin’s eyes were agleam with such anticipation that Balian and Maria could not deny him. They both were impressed by the grace he’d shown in accepting his younger brother’s elevation at his expense, joking that he might yet snare a queen of his own since Sybilla was still free. Agnes and Stephanie had their backs to the door and had not yet noticed the new arrivals. That changed as soon as Baudouin strode across the hall, unsheathing a smile almost as lethal as his sword of Damascene steel. When Agnes whirled to stare at Balian and Maria, they waved cheerfully, savoring her look of horror as much as Baudouin did.
“I do believe,” Balian said, “we’ve just received our first wedding gift, Maria.”
* * *
Maria and Balian were wed in the splendor of the Holy Sepulchre, the marriage Mass performed by an archbishop and attended by a king, with a large, curious crowd gathered to watch as the bridal couple exchanged their vows at the church door. The celebration that followed the ceremony was much more private, for Maria had already had one formal, lavish wedding and Balian’s chief concern had been to marry as soon as possible. Baldwin had excused himself after the service and a number of Balian’s and Baudouin’s friends were no longer in Jerusalem, off seeing to the safety of their own fiefs. So it was a rather small group that convened at Maria’s town house to honor the newlyweds. Her cooks had not stinted on the food, though, offering numerous dishes cooked in the differing styles of the Franks, Saracens, and Greeks. The final course had included Lombardy custard, stuffed dates, plum and apricot fritters, and a special serving of marzipan for the youngest guest.
By then, Isabella could not do justice to it. She had been very proud to be part of the wedding, permitted to stand beside her mother as Maria plighted Balian her troth and he slipped the ring upon her third finger, declaring, “With this ring, I thee wed.” She was almost as excited to attend her first feast. But her eyelids were at half-mast midway through the meal and she could no longer hide her yawns. When her mother suggested it was time for bed, she was too sleepy to object, and when her new stepfather lifted her up, she snuggled willingly into his arms, putting him in mind of a purring kitten. Heads turned their way as he and Maria rose from the table, for wedding guests were usually on the alert in case the bridal couple tried to slip away before the raucous bedding-down revelries. Their parental mission was so obvious that no one objected, although Baudouin reminded them that the dancing would begin once the tables were cleared away, so they ought not to tarry abovestairs.
As they left the hall, Isabella’s new nurse caught up with them, for she’d been seated at one of the lower tables. Emma de Bāniās was an anomaly in Maria’s household, for she spoke French, not Greek, and was a Poulain by birth, not one of the women who’d accompanied Maria from Constantinople. But Maria thought it was time for her daughter to have a French-speaking governess; while the child spoke both languages, French was her mother tongue.
As soon as Balian lay Isabella down upon her bed, Emma took over. Already half-asleep, Isabella did not even seem to notice as her shoes and stockings were removed. Maria reached over and gently squeezed a small bare foot, murmuring something in Greek as she kissed her daughter’s cheek. Balian had asked William to teach him a few Greek phrases and was gratified to find that he understood “matakia mou” meant “my little eyes,” which William said was a popular pet name for children in the empire.
As they stepped back from the bed, their eyes met and they experienced their first moment of wordless communication as a married couple, the same thought occurring to them at the same time. Why go back to the hall?
“You’d not mind missing the dancing and the minstrels?” Maria did not want to drag her new husband away from the festivities if he truly wanted to be there. But she had no desire to subject herself to the bedding-down revelries again, so she was pleased when he said he was sure they could entertain themselves without the help of harpists and jugglers. Leaving Isabella to Emma’s care, they slipped out into the stairwell.
Their bridal bedchamber was ready for them, lit by white wax candles and fragrant with the last of the garden’s autumn flowers. Wine was set out, even a plate of fruit, cheese, and comfits in case they hungered for food as well as each other. Balian crossed to the table and poured wine into a cup fashioned from Acre’s famous red glass. Bringing it back to Maria, he said, “To our life together,” and they took turns sipping the sweet, spiced wine.
While Balian bolted the door against any mischievous wedding guests, Maria removed her marriage belt of small coins and medallions; this was a Greek wedding tradition, and she’d been delighted when Balian had surprised her with one. She was accustomed to being dressed and undressed by her handmaidens, and she suddenly realized that she could not remove her bliaut without help. “This may seem like a strange question for a wife to ask her husband, but how are you at getting a woman out of her clothes?”
“One of my greatest talents,” Balian assured her, which he proceeded to prove by turning her so he could unfasten her lacings with adroit fingers. Once she was free of the bliaut, he assisted her in taking off her gown, a green silk brocade with flowing violet sleeves; he’d been pleased that she’d remembered emerald was his favorite color. Clad only in her chemise, she sat down to loosen her hair. After her marriage to Amalric, she’d adopted the Poulain fashion, wearing her hair in two long braids, but for her wedding, she’d chosen to put her hair up, as a Greek bride would. Once the pins were out, Balian picked up her brush and began to pull it gently through her tousled, dark hair. “It is like polished ebony,” he marveled, reveling in the silky feel and breathing in the fain
t scent of her perfume.
“You do not regret, then, that I do not have the flaxen hair and blue eyes so beloved by Frankish minstrels?” she teased, and when he responded by leaning down to kiss the nape of her neck, she sighed, thinking how different this night was from her wedding night with Amalric. “Balian . . . thank you for sparing me the bedding-down revelries. Enduring that once was more than enough.”
“Ah . . . because you were so young,” he said sympathetically, undoing the clasp of her elegant necklace, gold studded with garnets, sapphires, and pearls.
“It was not just my age. At home, we celebrated weddings, too, and the guests would escort the couple to their bridal chamber, but they did not come in. In Constantinople, male guests would never be permitted to enter a bride’s bedchamber. The Greeks are not as strict as the Saracens in that way, but the women’s quarters are barred to men unless they are family or eunuchs. Even at our wedding feasts, the men and women sit at separate tables.”
“Truly? You did once tell me that highborn Greek women veiled themselves like the Saracens when they ventured out in public, but I did not realize they were so sequestered.” He found himself feeling a rush of tenderness for that lonely little bride, naked in bed with a stranger, surrounded by raucous, bawdy drunks. “You must have thought that we really were the barbarians Greeks believe us to be.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I remember being greatly relieved when they finally left; I’d been half expecting one of them to snatch the sheets away. But worse was to come.”
His hand tightened involuntarily upon her shoulder. “Amalric had his way with you? He ought not to have consummated the marriage that night, for you were only . . . thirteen? Bloody swine.”
He sounded genuinely angry and Maria turned so she could see his face. “No, you are wronging him, Balian. He did not touch me that night, waited until I was fourteen.”
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 28
