Picking up another letter, he told Anselm that it was from his sister and the squire stopped playing with Cairo to ask if she and Lord Guy were staying in Ascalon much longer; they had retreated there after Easter and there was growing impatience about their absence from Jerusalem. Men were eager to learn more about their future king.
“Yes, they are still in Ascalon,” Baldwin confirmed. “She promises, though, that they will be here for my Christmas court.” Like his subjects, Baldwin found it frustrating that Guy remained such a stranger. Yet he could not blame his sister for wanting time alone with her new husband. He knew that most men were withholding their judgment until they got to know Guy better. He was, too, especially after hearing William’s troubling account of the de Lusignan attack upon the English queen. But Sybilla had already reached her own verdict, for never had she sounded so happy. They could only hope that her assessment of Guy de Lusignan was right.
He had just opened a letter from Joscius, the Bishop of Acre, when Cairo barked sharply.
Anselm hurried over to open the door, listened briefly, and then glanced toward Baldwin. “My lord, the Archbishop of Tyre has arrived at the palace and is requesting an audience.” He took care to keep his voice neutral, for he did not know if this was welcome news or not.
Baldwin hesitated before replying. He’d been hurt by his estrangement from William; as far back as he could remember, the older man had been his rock and his anchor. He wanted to mend their rift. But he was in no mood to resume their quarrel about the Easter conspiracy, not after the morning he’d just had. Yet how could he refuse to see William? “Tell the seneschal to escort the archbishop to my bedchamber.”
As soon as William entered the chamber, Anselm found an excuse to depart, escaping after he’d poured wine for them. There was an awkward formality about the first moments, as William waited respectfully for permission to sit. But protocol was forgotten as soon as he saw the young king’s face. In a day or so, Baldwin would have several spectacular bruises as a result of his fall. The skin along his cheekbone was only reddened now, yet that was enough for William’s sharp eye. He opened his mouth to express his concern, catching himself just in time. Tearing his gaze away from that proof of yet another mishap, he cast court decorum to the winds and said simply, “I have come to ask your forgiveness.”
Baldwin reined in his initial pleasure; wariness had become second nature to him by now. “Forgiveness for quarreling with me? Or for not believing me?”
“Both.” William leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands so tightly that Baldwin could see his knuckles whitening. “Bohemond swore to me that he and Raymond had never plotted against you and he was very convincing. That was no excuse, though. I ought never to have doubted you.”
Baldwin agreed wholeheartedly with that; he’d been shaken by William’s apparent willingness to give Raymond the benefit of every doubt. “How did you learn the truth?”
“From Balian d’Ibelin. He assured me that what happened at Easter was no de Courtenay plot, that it originated in Antioch and Tripoli.”
Baldwin had not fully realized how heavy a burden their estrangement had been, not until he suddenly found it easier to breathe. “I am glad that you know what really happened.”
“And you forgive me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then we can put this behind us?” William’s relief was overwhelming when Baldwin assured him it was already forgotten. But he sensed it would leave a scar. And as their eyes met, he saw that Baldwin feared that, too.
* * *
After a long illness, Emeric, the elderly Patriarch of Jerusalem, died on October 6 and all eyes turned toward the canons of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, for they had the responsibility to select a new patriarch. There were two obvious candidates—William, the Archbishop of Tyre, and Eraclius, the Archbishop of Caesarea. Others were allowed to address the canons on behalf of the candidates and Agnes de Courtenay made a passionate speech in which she urged them to choose Eraclius. William also asked to speak, and riveted the canons in their seats as he argued against the election of Eraclius, pointing out that the archbishop’s immoral life was an open secret, citing his notorious liaison with Pasque de Rivieri, the wife of a Nablus mercer.
Although William was not a particularly eloquent speaker, no match for Eraclius in that regard, few doubted that he was speaking from the heart. But no one expected what he did next. Instead of advocating his own election, he pleaded with them not to choose a prelate from Outremer. The kingdom would be better served, he insisted, by the selection of a wise man of God from elsewhere in Christendom.
The canons were impressed by his willingness to sacrifice his own ambitions to keep the patriarchy from going to Eraclius. But they were not convinced by his plea that they look beyond the sea for their next patriarch; most of them preferred to elect a man already known to them. Yet when they gathered in the chapter house to vote, they discovered to their dismay that they were split into equal factions between the two archbishops, and none could come up with a compromise candidate.
* * *
Denys was not looking forward to the unpleasant task he’d taken upon himself, but William was an old friend and he thought he should be the one to deliver the bad news. He was quickly ushered into the solar of the archbishop’s town house, where he was warmly welcomed. “How is the king?” William asked as soon as greetings had been exchanged. “Is he still ailing?”
Baldwin had been running a fever all week, troubled with a sore throat and cough, but Denys was able to assure William that so far the illness showed no signs of flaring into a more serious ailment. “He ought to have heeded his doctor’s advice that he stay in bed for a few days. You know how stubborn the lad is, though.”
William’s smile was sad. “I’ve never known another soul with a will as strong as Baldwin’s.” He waited until a servant had served them wine before resuming the conversation. “Is it true that the canons are stalemated over the choice for patriarch?”
Denys was not surprised that William had heard the news already. “The canons were unable to choose between you and Eraclius. When they could not break the deadlock, they came to Baldwin with both names and implored him to make the choice.” The sudden hope on William’s face was hurtful to see and he said hastily, “Alas, Agnes was present and she asked Baldwin to let her choose, reminding him that this had been done in another election for patriarch, when the king allowed his mother, Queen Melisende, and her sisters to make the choice.”
“And . . . and Baldwin agreed?” William sank back in his chair as if all the energy had suddenly been drained from his body, leaving only an empty husk. When Denys nodded somberly, he closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to maintain his composure. His disappointment was like a finely honed blade, too sharp to handle. But his fury was even greater, for what could be more outrageous than that accursed woman’s willingness to take such selfish advantage of her son’s sickness? He could not let his anger loose, though, had to remember that Agnes was Denys’s wife. When he finally felt that he could trust his voice, he said, “Again and again I’ve counseled Baldwin that he must accept God’s will, no matter how difficult that is. It seems that the time has come for me to drink my own poison, Denys.”
* * *
Upon his return to the palace, Denys learned that Agnes had wasted no time. After announcing that she would follow the example of Queen Melisende and consult with other ladies of high birth, she held a hasty meeting with Stephanie de Milly and Joscelin’s wife, Agneta, selecting Archbishop Eraclius as the next patriarch of the kingdom. Denys was a student of history, so he knew that many considered that earlier election to be irregular because of the queen’s participation. He was sure that Baldwin knew it, too, and decided that, if only from morbid curiosity, he had to know why the king had agreed to Agnes’s proposal.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Denys made his way to Baldwi
n’s private chambers, knowing that his stepson often found sleep to be an elusive quarry. His gamble paid off and he was admitted at once. Baldwin was lying on his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes. He seemed grateful for the company and when Denys refused the offer of refreshments, he asked Anselm to take Cairo for a walk, for this would not be a discussion for other ears.
Denys did not temporize. Pulling a chair up to the bed, he said simply, “Why?”
Baldwin regarded the older man in silence for a time, his expression pensive and not easy to read. “Ere I answer that, tell me your opinion of the two men.”
“Well . . . they are both qualified to serve as patriarch. They are well educated and whilst Eraclius is not a Poulain like William, he has been here long enough to learn our ways and to understand the dangers we face from Saladin. William is a good man, a far better man than Eraclius, but the latter is the better politician. Is that what tipped the scales in Eraclius’s favor?”
“My mother hates William. And he detests her and Joscelin. The animosity between them does not matter whilst I live, but what would happen if William were the patriarch when I die and the crown passes to Sybilla? William cannot dissemble to save his soul. Whether he willed it or not, he would become a rallying point for all who mistrust the de Courtenays, who are loath to accept a foreigner as king. The court would be split asunder, far worse than it is now, for I can keep peace between the two factions. Sybilla could not. If we have any hope of keeping Saladin at bay, we must be united, Denys. Dissension would doom us.”
Denys was impressed by the unsentimental and unsparing clarity of Baldwin’s thinking. Nor could he argue with Baldwin’s reasoning. Amalric would have been proud of the lad, for he had learned well the harsh lessons of kingship. But he knew Baldwin found it far harder than Amalric to heed his head and not his heart, for he loved William.
He yearned for the right words, for some comfort to offer. “I saw William a few hours ago and I’ll not deny that he was distraught. Yet you made it easier for him, Baldwin, by letting Agnes choose the patriarch. By being able to blame her and not you, he need not fear that the friendship between you has waned, and I think that is as important to him as the patriarchy itself.”
“Yes,” Baldwin said softly, “that was my hope.”
CHAPTER 29
October 1180
Jerusalem, Outremer
Reynald and Stephanie had wholeheartedly embraced Agnes’s proposal. It had never occurred to her that they would not, for she was offering them a rare opportunity—if she could make it happen. Stephanie was still flying high, showering Agnes with lavish, grateful praise. But Reynald had a soldier’s mind and he was already assessing their enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. “I can see one flaw in this plan,” he said. “What happens if Maria appeals to the Greek emperor for aid? Baldwin values that alliance. Would he risk alienating Manuel?”
“We need not worry about interference from the Greeks. The news has not gotten out yet, but two days ago Baldwin received word from Constantinople. The emperor died on September twenty-fourth.”
Reynald smiled, then, giving Agnes the approval he reserved for a skilled military strategist, while his wife laughed and clapped her hands. “What perfect timing!”
Agnes liked Stephanie. She did not see Reynald’s wife as a deep thinker, though, and was not surprised that the other woman did not immediately recognize there was nothing accidental about the timing of her scheme. “We’ve known since the spring that Manuel’s illness was mortal. I admit patience has never come easily to me, but this was worth waiting for. The new emperor is Manuel’s eleven-year-old son, Alexios, and we can be sure the boy will have far more to worry about than a complaint from a kinswoman he has never even met.”
“I assume Mary will be acting as regent?” Reynald had a connection of his own to the imperial court, for Alexios’s mother, Mary, was his stepdaughter, one of the children of Constance of Antioch’s first marriage. He wondered now if Mary would be up to a challenge of this magnitude. She was a virtual stranger to him; she’d been just thirteen when she’d been sent off to wed Manuel, the same year that he’d been cast into that accursed Aleppo dungeon. Whilst they’d reunited briefly during his diplomatic mission four years ago, all he could say for certes was that she was beautiful and unpopular with her Greek subjects, who scorned her as a foreign barbarian. No, he would not wager money on her chances of steering through the stormy waters ahead. Glancing over at Agnes, he asked if she wanted him to approach the king.
Agnes quickly shook her head. “No, it is better that I be the one to talk to Baldwin. I have the best chance of gaining his consent.”
* * *
Baldwin and Anselm were playing merels. At the sight of Agnes, her son smiled. “Do you have time for a game of chess, Mother?” He’d taught the basics to Anselm, but his squire’s grasp of the game remained too rudimentary to offer much of a challenge.
“Of course.” Agnes smiled back, glad to see him in good spirits. “We need to talk first, though.” She moved to the window until they finished their game, gazing out at the darkening sky. Anselm won and whooped in glee as he aligned all three of his pieces in a row. Initially, she’d disapproved of the deepening intimacy between them, but no longer. She’d finally recognized that Anselm was utterly devoted to her son and this mattered more than his low birth.
Anselm always found excuses to exit the chamber when she visited and he volunteered now to take Cairo for his evening walk. Once he was gone, Agnes sat on the settle and waited until Baldwin joined her, averting her gaze from his uneven gait. His pallor troubled her, but at least he was no longer running a fever and she took what comfort she could from that. They chatted idly for a while, agreeing that it was past time for Sybilla and Guy to return to Jerusalem and discussing how Manuel’s death would affect Joscelin’s stay in Constantinople, for they thought it likely that he’d have to renegotiate the treaty with the new government.
Baldwin was already on the alert, for it rarely boded well when his mother announced, “We need to talk.” Positioning a cushion behind his back, he braced himself both physically and mentally for whatever was to come. “What do you need to discuss?”
“Isabella. I think it is time to consider a marriage for her.”
Baldwin managed to suppress a sigh. “You do remember that Bella is just eight?”
“Of course. I am talking of a plight troth now, marriage once she is older.”
“Now, why do I think this is not going to please Maria?” He smiled but she caught the sarcastic undertone and realized she must be utterly honest with him about this marriage. Lying to Baldwin rarely worked.
“I do not deny that Maria’s distress will not displease me. I loathe that woman, Baldwin. Yet I swear upon the surety of my soul that our feuding is not the motivation for this plight troth. There is far more at stake than my mistrust of the Greek.” Moving closer, she rested her hand on his arm. “You know that I’ve always seen Isabella as a danger. But I thought that she posed a threat to Sybilla, not to you. That changed with the exposure of the Easter plot by your treacherous cousins. Whilst they failed with Sybilla, that was only because we were warned in time. Why would they not try again with Isabella?”
He did not argue, proving to her that he harbored some of the same anxieties. “What I most fear, Baldwin, is that Bohemond and Raymond might try to wed Isabella to Raymond’s stepson Hugues. If they were willing to dethrone an anointed king, why would they have any scruples about her age?”
“That had occurred to me, too,” he confided. “I reassured myself that we need not worry about that just yet, given her youth. That may have been foolish, as you point out. I suppose I did not want to think that Maria and Balian might plot against me.”
Agnes’s relief was so intense that she actually felt light-headed; for once, he was truly listening to her. “What mother would not want her daughter to be queen? Even if we
could be sure Maria would never conspire with your cousins, what if they simply abducted the girl? Think how many heiresses have been forced into marriage against their will. It is just too great a risk, Baldwin. Fortunately, there is a way out of this snare, one that secures your kingship and protects Sybilla’s position as your heir. It will even protect Isabella.”
Baldwin did not exactly roll his eyes at that last comment, but he came close. “And of course, your concern for Bella’s welfare is paramount. So . . . tell me, Mother. Whom do you have in mind for her bridegroom?”
“Humphrey de Toron. He is of high birth,” she said quickly, “the grandson of a man you and the other Poulains revered. Only Maria and those overweening Greeks would see it as a disparaging union. Our people would be delighted to see Isabella wed to one of our own.”
She paused to see if he’d object, was encouraged when he did not. “Moreover, he’d make a good husband for Isabella. He is quite handsome and from all I’ve heard, he is a kindhearted lad, one who’d treat Isabella very well.”
The corner of Baldwin’s mouth quirked at that. “Such a ‘kindhearted lad’ might well make an excellent husband. But few would see that kind heart as a kingly attribute.”
“No, they would not,” she agreed, so readily that he blinked in surprise. “A marriage to Humphrey would discourage malcontents from rallying around Isabella as a rival to you or Sybilla. He lacks the steel in his spine that a king needs to achieve the mastery of other men. This is why he is such a perfect choice for Isabella. With this marriage, we’d keep her from being used as a pawn against you or Sybilla at the same time that we’d be assuring Isabella’s future happiness. I will not pretend that matters to me. I know it matters to you, though. Marrying her to Humphrey will give her a loving, handsome husband whilst sparing our kingdom the risk of a civil war.”
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 47
