Al-‘Ādil began to discuss the coming nuptials in the spring, at which time four of his daughters would be wed to four of Yūsuf’s sons, demonstrating to all that the bond between brothers went beyond blood. This public proof of Yūsuf’s trust would discourage the overly ambitious from seeking to undermine his position as the sultan’s governor in Egypt, and he’d been honored when his brother had suggested it. Āliya was just as pleased, for their daughter was to be one of the brides. Given the extreme youth of the children, the marriages would not affect their lives for years to come. But these unions were a powerful pledge of unity, a means of protecting the future of their dynasty, one founded by Kurdish outsiders who’d once been scorned by the caliphs of Egypt and Baghdad.
He saw that Āliya was tiring and he had risen to go when a eunuch came in search of him, saying he had been urgently summoned by the sultan. Al-‘Ādil and Āliya shared a smile, the same thought in both their minds: At last! This would be a historic day, one that would long be remembered—the seventh day of the ninth month of Ramadān in the year 577. He paused to mentally calculate the Christian calendar, for this would be a significant day for their kingdom, too. The fourteenth day of their month of January in the year 1182. The date that marked the beginning of the end for the Franks now that Aleppo had fallen to Yūsuf.
* * *
The sultan was not alone, attended by ‘Imād al-Dīn, his chancellor; al-Fādil, his vizier; and ‘Īsā al-Hakkari, who’d only recently regained his freedom after his capture at Montgisard. Al-‘Ādil’s excitement faded, for he was sensitive to his surroundings and there was no joy in this room. His brother was standing by a window, his back to the door. He turned only after al-‘Ādil said his name, and the younger man drew a sharp breath. “Yūsuf, what is wrong?”
“Seventeen days ago, ‘Izz al-Dīn rode into the city of Aleppo, where he was acclaimed as its lord and given control of the citadel and the treasury.”
Al-‘Ādil gasped. How could that have happened? Taqī al-Dīn was not always reliable, too headstrong and hot-tempered. But Farrukh-Shāh was as dependable as the tides and the moon. How could they both have failed to keep ‘Izz al-Dīn from claiming Aleppo?
He saw the pain in his brother’s face and realized he must be suffering from one of his periodic attacks of colic. So he put his questions to the others and they were the ones to tell him. Farrukh-Shāh had been unable to provide Taqī al-Dīn with the expected reinforcements, for he’d had to race south into Outrejourdain to deal with the Frankish lord they called Prince Arnat, Reynald de Chatillon. And without his brother’s aid, Taqī al-Dīn did not have enough men to intercept ‘Izz al-Dīn.
Al-‘Ādil glanced from one grim face to another, then back toward his brother. As great a disappointment as this was, it was a setback, not a defeat. “Although this is regrettable,” he said slowly, “‘Izz al-Dīn can still be dealt with. Unless . . . is there more to this than you’ve told me?”
His brother moved away from the window and he saw that he’d misread the older man’s expression. It was not pain. It was rage, a rage he’d never seen Yūsuf display before. “Farrukh-Shāh made the right decision,” he said, and al-‘Ādil blinked in surprise that he’d not called their nephew by his family name, Da’ud. This was the sultan he was facing, not the affectionate brother or indulgent uncle.
“Arnat dared to do what we once thought unthinkable. He led a raid across the Sinai and into the Hijāz, the very heart of Islam. He advanced as far as Tabuk and was on the road to Medina and Mecca when he learned that Farrukh-Shāh had invaded Outrejourdain and was burning and pillaging around al-Karak to draw him back to defend his own lands. Allah be praised, it did.”
Al-‘Ādil was stunned. Their spies had warned them months ago that Arnat was planning to break the truce, but they’d never imagined he had an undertaking so audacious, so outrageous in mind. If he’d not been forced to return to protect al-Karak, could he have reached Medina, where the Prophet was buried? Or Mecca, the holiest of cities, birthplace of the Prophet, site of the most sacred of mosques, al-Masjid al-Haram, and the Kaa’ba, the House of Allah? The loss of Aleppo, great as it was, paled into insignificance when compared to sacrilege like this.
“What will you do now, Yūsuf?”
The sultan was silent for a time, almost as if he were listening to a voice only he could hear. “This man Arnat is the most dangerous of all the infidel Franks and he will answer for his infamy. This I swear by the greatness of Allah, that the day will come when I slay him with my own hand.”
CHAPTER 31
February 1182
Nablus, Outremer
Humphrey de Toron’s nervousness increased as they approached Nablus. He’d done all he could to avoid inconveniencing Isabella’s parents; he’d waited until after her actual birthday so he’d not intrude upon their family celebration and he planned to lodge his men in a local inn rather than expecting Balian and Maria to provide shelter for them. Yet he knew that his visit would not be welcomed. They would be civil; Balian might even be amiable. But the marriage was as distasteful to them today as it had been fifteen months ago. He could only hope that Bella did not share their reluctance. At least they would not attempt to poison her mind against him, as his own mother would have done in similar circumstances.
He glanced over at his squire, who was carrying Bella’s birthday gifts. Not all squires were young or apprentice knights; Ivo was a dour man of middle age, chosen for Humphrey on his fifteenth birthday. He was sure that Ivo acted as his mother’s informant; he doubted that his stepfather would have bothered to spy on him. He hoped Bella would be pleased with her presents, pleased with him. He very much wanted this marriage to take place, for it would be a great honor to be King Baldwin’s brother by marriage. He knew, too, that his parents would blame him if the plight troth was broken. He’d also become very fond of his young betrothed. Bella was a sweet little lass and he wanted her to be willing to wed him when that day eventually arrived. It would be wretched to have a wife loath to share his life and his bed.
After sending his men to the inn, he continued on to the palace, accompanied only by Ivo. Balian was awaiting him on the steps of the great hall. After dismounting, Humphrey launched into a hasty explanation of his visit, gesturing toward the wicker birdcage and the chess set wrapped in a linen cloth. “Bella told me that she’d once had a tame lark, so I thought she might like another one. And I promised that I would teach her to play chess. . . .”
As always, the boy’s unease evoked a flicker of sympathy. But Balian wanted to respect Bella’s future husband, not pity him. “I am sure Bella will be delighted with the gifts.” Taking Humphrey into the great hall, he dispatched a servant to fetch Isabella. Humphrey had also brought a gift for his hostess, several jars of Maria’s favorite wine, and Balian offered thanks on her behalf before explaining, “My wife will not be able to bid you welcome, Humphrey. Her birth pangs began during the night and she is sequestered with the midwife and her ladies.”
Humphrey stared at him in dismay. While he’d known that Maria was pregnant, he’d not realized that she was so close to the birthing. “I am so . . . so sorry,” he stammered. “I will not stay, of course, for you’ve no need of guests at such a time. I will leave the gifts and—”
“Actually, lad, your arrival is a blessing of sorts. At ten, Bella is old enough to understand the dangers of the birthing chamber. I’d be grateful if you can distract her, keep her from dwelling upon her fears for her mother.”
Humphrey nodded solemnly. “Of course I will.” He hesitated then. “Lord Balian . . . may I have a few moments in private with you first? There are some things you need to know.”
It had been Balian’s experience that no good ever followed a sentence that contained the words “things you need to know.” But he also knew that such revelations were almost impossible to avoid and so he led Humphrey toward the stairs.
Humphrey waited until
they were alone in the solar. “You know, of course, about the raid that my stepfather made into the Hijāz. At that time, he also captured a rich Saracen caravan on its way from Egypt to Damascus and Saladin has demanded its return, reminding King Baldwin that their truce is still in effect. When the king ordered Reynald to release those taken prisoner and to make restitution for the goods seized, Reynald balked. King Baldwin is understandably furious at his defiance, but Reynald . . . he does not care.”
Humphrey’s distress was obvious in his reluctance to meet Balian’s gaze. What was equally obvious was the reason for his anxiety. The boy feared that Baldwin might be angry enough to punish Reynald by repudiating the plight troth.
Balian frowned. If Reynald could get away with defying a royal command, other lords would be tempted to do the same if their own interests were threatened. He was not surprised by Reynald’s boldness, merely surprised that it had not occurred sooner. How long could a dying king command obedience from his vassals?
“Baldwin will neither forget nor forgive. But Reynald’s disgrace will not affect you, Humphrey, for the plight troth was not meant to please Reynald and your mother. The king sees it as a way to honor the memory of a man he greatly respected.”
“My grandfather?” When Balian nodded, Humphrey drew his first easy breath since his stepfather had dared to flout the royal will. “So I need not fear that the king will blame me for Reynald’s betrayal?”
“I am sure you do not,” Balian assured him, for Baldwin knew full well that the lad was utterly under Reynald’s thumb even though he was now of legal age.
“Thank God,” Humphrey said, so softly that Balian could not tell if the words were meant for him. But then the youngster raised his head, meeting Balian’s eyes for the first time. “There is more, my lord. My inheritance concerns you and Queen Maria since it will one day affect Bella, too. You have the right to know that the king has commanded me to exchange my hereditary lands of Toron and Chastelneuf for a money fief of seven thousand Saracen bezants.”
Balian’s eyes narrowed as he considered Baldwin’s action. It would not be detrimental to Isabella’s future, for the money fief was a generous one, and Humphrey would still inherit the lordship of Outrejourdain from his mother, one of the largest fiefs in Outremer. But why would Baldwin do this? “Did Baldwin explain to you why this must be done, Humphrey?”
The boy nodded. “He said the kingdom’s northern borders could be better defended if Toron and Chastelneuf joined Beirut as Crown lands.”
Balian supposed there was some truth in that. But as he called up a mental map of the castles, it occurred to him that Beirut, Toron, and Chastelneuf formed a barrier between Tripoli and Tiberias. Jesus wept! Could Baldwin’s action be aimed not at Saladin but at Count Raymond? He knew Baldwin no longer trusted the count. Could his distrust go as deep as that?
* * *
No woman ever faced the birthing chamber without some fear. During her past lying-ins, though, Maria had been blessed to have a midwife in whom she had complete faith. When she was pregnant with Isabella, she’d asked Amalric to find a midwife whose native tongue was Greek. Dame Agathe had safely delivered Isabella and then the doomed Melisende, helping to ease Maria’s grief after the baby’s death. So, after she married Balian, Maria had arranged for Agathe to come from Jerusalem for her lying-ins with Helvis and John, and she’d wanted Agathe to attend her again when this baby was due. But the older woman had been stricken with a recurring ague fever, leaving her unable to travel, and forcing Maria to engage a stranger.
Dame Odile was a well-spoken, handsome woman who was said to be the most popular midwife in Nablus. She was pleasant, reassuring, and seemed very knowledgeable. It was just that they had no history, and Maria had not yet learned to trust her. Nor was Maria pleased by the presence of Mary de Brisebarre, sister to the notorious Brisebarre brothers, Walter and Guidon. Mary meant well, making a special trip to Nablus so she could attend Maria during her lying-in; she was a talker, though, and her nonstop chatter soon wore on Maria’s nerves. But she was family now, Baudouin’s new wife and therefore Maria’s new sister-in-law.
Fortunately, Maria was attended, too, by Balian’s niece, Etiennette; by Dame Alicia, her French-speaking lady; and by Isabella’s governess, Dame Emma. Realizing that Lady Mary was more of a hindrance than a help, they took turns distracting her while Odile monitored the dilation of Maria’s womb and assured her that it would not be much longer, even predicting she would be delivered of a son. So far, all had gone as expected. The pangs had progressed as they ought while Maria paced, sipped wine mixed with feverfew, and prayed silently to Greek Orthodox saints said to protect women in childbirth.
Maria was relieved when her waters broke, for that usually meant the birth was drawing nigh. Her women stripped her of her wet chemise, replacing it with a dry one, and placed a blanket around her shoulders when she sat back on the birthing stool, for she’d begun to feel cold. Odile knelt and raised Maria’s skirt. “The mouth of your womb will soon be fully opened, madame.” She sounded so pleased that Maria knew she was already anticipating the benefits she’d gain once word spread that she had a queen’s favor.
Odile had anointed her hands in thyme oil and her touch was gentle; Maria still found it intrusive. Bracing herself for those probing fingers, she closed her eyes. But then she heard the midwife’s gasp. “What? Is something wrong?”
Odille’s face had gone the color of newly skimmed milk. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it turned into a grimace that sent a chill up Maria’s spine. “The baby has shifted position in your womb.”
Now it was Maria who gasped, for every woman knew babies must be delivered headfirst, that when one was malpositioned, the birthing could result in the death of both mother and child. “What . . . what happens now?”
Odile’s initial shock had eased and this time her smile was more convincing. “I must nudge the little one back into the proper position,” she said, making it sound like a foregone conclusion, and Maria grasped gratefully at her certainty. Ignoring the frightened looks on the faces of the other women, she told Odile to do what she must. The pain was greater than she’d expected, different from birth pangs, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Odile made two attempts to shift the baby, both attempts failing. She finally sat back on her heels when blood began to trickle down Maria’s thighs. “It is no use. He will not budge.”
Maria found it hard to swallow. “Can the baby still be delivered?”
Odile summoned up another smile. “Of course, my lady! I’ve usually been able to turn them in the womb, but I’ve also delivered babies that came rump first, even feet first.”
“And the mothers, the babies? Did they all live?”
Odile’s smile held firm. “They did.” But as their eyes met, Maria knew that she lied.
* * *
Balian hated the tradition banning men from the birthing chamber, for he found it impossible to wait patiently for word, not when his wife’s and child’s lives were at risk. So, as a compromise, Emma or Alicia would periodically seek him out to assure him that nothing was amiss. But it had been a while since he’d gotten one of these reassuring updates, and when he could endure it no longer, he left the hall and swiftly mounted the stairs to Maria’s chamber. An apology for the intrusion was already forming on his lips as the door opened a crack. When it opened wider and the midwife slid out to join him in the stairwell, his heart skipped a beat. Why had she not sent Emma out? Why would she leave Maria unless something was wrong?
“I was about to call for you, my lord. Your lady’s baby has turned in the womb and I could not get it back into the natural position.” Not sure how much he understood of the birthing process, Odile hesitated before confessing, “It is very dangerous to deliver a baby like this. Often the baby dies and the mother can die, too. I need you to go into the town for another midwife, my lord. Maud is the only one I know who has h
ad much luck in delivering malpositioned babies. But . . . but she might not come if I ask, for she resents me for my success. Her practice has fallen off since I moved to Nablus and she thinks I’ve spread falsehoods about her, which is not true—”
“Enough! Just tell me where I can find her.”
“She has a house by the new hospital of the Hospitallers, across from the souk.” Odile wanted to warn him that Maud could be difficult. He gave her no chance, though. Leaning against the wall, she listened to the thud of his boots on the stairs. He had to bring the old woman back with him; he had to convince her! Having to ask her rival for help was so very hard. But if the baby or—God forbid—the queen could not be saved, at least she’d not have to bear all the blame; it would be Maud’s fault, too.
* * *
When Odile reluctantly admitted she’d sent for a second midwife, Maria’s initial reaction was a jolt of fear, for that sounded as if Odile was giving up. But she soon realized that if this were true, she wanted another midwife. Although Odile did her best to sound optimistic, insisting that the baby would be born safely, Maria no longer believed her.
Maria had no idea how much time had elapsed. During her other birthings, she’d yearned to be told her womb was fully dilated. Now she feared hearing that; as long as the baby remained in her womb, it was safe. The contractions were stronger, but they were different from her past labors. She’d never experienced such severe back pain, nor such waves of nausea. Odile urged her to drink powdered mint mixed with wine to settle her stomach; Maria could not keep it down. Etiennette hurried over so she could wash her mouth out with water and then gently wiped the perspiration from her face. Maria leaned back against Alicia, trying to get a few moments’ rest between contractions. The sudden thump upon the door startled them all. Mary gave a stifled scream, Etiennette spilled some of the water, and Maria jerked upright on the birthing stool just as another contraction struck. By then, Odile was already at the door, flinging it open.
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