At the sight of Balian standing there alone, she clasped a hand to her mouth. “She would not come?”
“She is here. One of my men is helping her mount the stairs.” When he brushed past her, she made a half-hearted protest at his intrusion into this female sanctum, but that was for form’s sake; all she cared about was that he’d fetched Maud.
Balian never even heard her objection. In two strides, he’d crossed the chamber to Maria’s side. “I have brought the midwife, Marika.” He spoke swiftly, for he had not much time to persuade her before Maud entered the chamber. Maria was a daughter of the Greek Royal House and Maud did not look like a woman fit to serve a queen, a blunt-speaking, rough-hewn peasant with no education, no longer young. “She does not make a good first impression, my love. But I spoke with her at length and she convinced me that she knows the art of midwifery as few others do. I believe she can save you and our baby and I beg you to let her try.”
Maria needed no urging. Having lost faith in Odile, she saw Maud as her only chance of survival. “Yes,” she whispered before another contraction took away her power of speech. She felt her husband’s lips on her forehead, and then he was forgotten as she was engulfed by the pain again. When she opened her eyes, he was gone and a stranger was hobbling across the chamber toward her.
Maria’s first thought was that Balian had been right to alert her, for she’d rarely seen a woman so unprepossessing. Squat and stoop-shouldered, she leaned heavily on a cane, and the wisps of hair escaping her veil were well salted with grey. The paternoster looped at her belt proclaimed her to be a Christian, but the darkness of her skin proclaimed some Saracen blood. Her clothes were threadbare and faded, her shoes caked with mud, and the contrast to the elegant Odile could not have been more dramatic.
Ignoring Odile’s stilted attempt at welcome, Maud slowly sank to her knees before the woman on the birthing stool. “I am not as crippled as I look, lady. My knees are bad, but my hands have been spared the joint evil,” she said, holding them out for Maria’s inspection. Her French was underlaid with an odd sibilant hiss, for like most of the poor, age had claimed many of her teeth. “Did your husband tell you about me?” When Maria shook her head, she shot Odile a sardonic glance. “That one neither, I’d wager. My mother was a midwife, too, and I learned at her knee as she’d learned from her mother. I’ve been delivering babies for nigh on forty years and what I do not know is not worth knowing.”
Odile looked indignant and Mary and Etiennette were regarding Maud as if she were an apparition. But calm and confidence were what Maria desperately needed now, even coming from such an unlikely source. If this woman could offer hope, she would willingly overlook her rough edges and her low birth. Her mixed blood might even be a boon. Saracen medicine was more advanced than the medicine of the Franks; Maria had lived in Outremer long enough to have no doubts about that. It made sense, then, that Muslim midwives might know secrets their Frankish sisters did not. “Was your mother a Saracen?”
Maud hesitated before admitting with a hint of defiance, “She was, lady.”
“Good. . . .” That shocked the other women, but Maria cared nothing for their disapproval. “Have you delivered many babies like mine? Did they live?”
Maud did not reply at once, her small, dark eyes intently searching the younger woman’s face; it was, Maria thought, as if she were trying to see into her very soul. “I need the truth,” she said tautly, and Maud nodded slowly.
“Aye, I can see that. Not all of them lived, lady. A babe lying crosswise in the womb cannot be delivered alive.” Maria knew—all women knew—that if it came to a choice, midwives always chose the mother over the child. She was glad, though, that Maud left that unsaid, for she could not bear to think of it, not now.
Maud had reached into a sack, pulling out a glass vial. “But babies need not come headfirst, not if the midwife knows what she is about. This is a mixture of linseed oil and fenugreek. It will make it easier for me to reach into your womb and see what’s what.” Pouring the oil into her palms, she then raised Maria’s chemise and began to probe. Almost at once, she expelled an audible breath and then she grinned. “Bless him, your little one wants to come butt first and with the legs up around the ears. I’ve never lost a baby willing to come out like that, nary a one!”
Maria found herself blinking back tears, for that old woman’s toothless smile was surely one of the most beautiful sights of her life. Maud was rummaging in her sack again, this time pulling out something small and metallic. “I always have my mothers hold on to this whilst the babe comes,” she said, pressing the object into Maria’s hand. Before she could examine it, she was hit with another contraction. While she writhed on the stool, Maud began to snap out instructions, telling the other women to add wood to the hearth and to move that brazier of coals closer, saying the chamber had to be warm for the baby. They bridled a bit at taking orders from Maud, but obeyed. Once she’d gotten her breath back, Maria examined the talisman. It was a pendant, made of lead, showing the figure of a woman; she held a book in one hand, a cross in the other, and was standing on a dragon.
“St. Margaret of Antioch,” she said softly. The patron saint of women in childbirth, at least in the Latin Church. Bringing the pendant to her lips, she kissed it reverently, and when the next pang began, she did as Maud bade and held on to it tightly.
* * *
Maud had not lied to Maria; over the years, she had delivered babies that were malpositioned in the womb and the position of Maria’s baby was indeed the safest of these births. She well knew, though, that much could go wrong even when the baby presented headfirst. Maria had given birth to other children and Maud took comfort in that. Nor did Maria seem likely to panic and that, too, was reassuring. Still, it was daunting that this woman had been Queen of Jerusalem. Maud had never attended a mother of such high rank and she had a natural suspicion of those in power. But it was too late to worry about the consequences if this ended badly and she set about delivering Maria’s baby.
The first danger was the risk that the navel cord could wrap itself around the child’s neck or be squeezed between the baby’s body and the mother’s womb, so she was very relieved when another inspection eased that fear. Since Maria’s womb was still not fully dilated, she insisted that the queen not bear down yet, much to the latter’s dismay. Maria acquiesced after Maud explained that the mouth must be at its widest in order to deliver her baby’s head. Maud then had Emma soak a towel in hot water and place it against Maria’s lower back, which eased the intensity of her pain. Mary agreed to keep the hearth fire going and Maud took a certain grim amusement in seeing a highborn lady performing a task usually done by servants, by those like herself. “Soon now, lady, soon,” she said soothingly and hoped she was right, for prolonged labor could sap a woman’s strength at the time when she’d need it the most.
Once Maria could bear down, it was not long before the infant’s bottom became visible. The baby’s legs slid out with only a little guidance from Maud’s nimble fingers. The other women cried out joyfully as the little body emerged, thinking the worst was over. Only Maud knew this was actually the most dangerous moment, for if the queen could not deliver the baby’s head quickly, the child would die. Maud’s mother had admitted she was not sure why this happened, saying some midwives thought the baby started to breathe as soon as its skin and cord touched the air. That presented no problems if the baby came out headfirst, but in a birth like Maria’s, the child would suffocate if delivery was delayed too long. Maud did not speculate about the reason for such deaths, caring only that they not occur on her watch, to one of her mothers.
“Bear down again, lady,” she urged. “You’re almost done.” She wanted to cheer when she saw the nape of the baby’s neck, and then Maria gave one final push, groaned, and her daughter entered the world, sliding into Maud’s outstretched hands. Carefully laying that slippery little body upon her mother’s belly, she announced it wa
s a girl, hoping that Maria would not be too disappointed. To judge by her smile, she was not, and Maud smiled, too, then let Emma and Alicia help her to her feet. Steered toward a chair, she sank gratefully onto its cushion, willing to let Odile take over now, to clean the baby, cut and tie the cord, then deliver and dispose of the afterbirth. Her knees were throbbing and she felt so stiff that she wondered if she’d ever be able to straighten up. She was getting too old for this. But as she watched the queen cuddle her daughter, she thought that if this were indeed her last delivery, it was a most memorable one.
* * *
Maria awoke with reluctance, for never had she felt such exhaustion; it took an effort even to lift her lashes. But she remembered, then, what had happened and the need to see her baby vanquished her fatigue. As soon as she stirred, she was the center of attention, and once she’d been propped up in bed, the wet nurse placed her daughter in her arms. She was a beautiful baby, almost as perfect as Isabella had been, showing no signs of her perilous entry into the world. Maria brushed her lips against the infant’s silky cap of dark hair, delighted that her little legs were no longer oddly upraised. Maud had assured her they would soon lower of their own accord and by then, she accepted whatever the old woman said as gospel. It was still a relief to see her baby’s legs now safely tucked into their cocoon-like swaddling.
Balian soon appeared, looking more rested. Kissing her and then their daughter, he pulled a chair over to the bed, and for a time they were content to remain silent, savoring this precious moment of family harmony. When Maria realized she was hungry, her admission unleashed a torrent of activity and she was given a cup of pomegranate juice to sip as they waited for food to be sent up from the kitchen. The baby still slept peacefully and Maria and Balian exchanged smiles. After he leaned over to kiss her again, she observed that he needed a shave and he acknowledged that with another smile, rubbing his chin ruefully.
“Last night you said you no longer wanted to name her after your mother. Are you still sure of that, Marika?”
She nodded. “I want to name her Margaret.”
“Ah, after the saint? Mayhap we ought to name her Maud,” he joked half seriously, and Maria laughed, for a memory had suddenly surfaced—her husband jubilantly seizing the astonished midwife and giving her a grateful hug after his first glimpse of his new daughter.
Another memory came to the fore. “Balian . . . you said Humphrey de Toron is here?”
“He arrived yesterday with gifts for Bella’s birthday.” Seeing her brows draw together, he reached over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I was glad to have him here, for he was a great help in keeping Bella occupied. She seems to like him very much, Marika.” He was not surprised when her expression remained skeptical, for he knew how strongly she opposed this marriage. He understood her reluctance to see Bella sent off to a household headed by two people so hostile to her; he shared it. But he was enough of a realist to hope that she’d come to accept what could not be changed. “He is a good lad, Marika, kindhearted and eager to make Bella happy. She could do far worse. You know that is so, my love.”
Maria was silent for a moment. “Yes,” she said at last, “I do. But tell me this, Balian. Do you think he will ever be strong enough to protect her?”
He would not lie to her, not even to offer comfort. “No,” he admitted. “No, I do not.”
CHAPTER 32
March 1182
Jerusalem, Outremer
Balian and Maria were not planning to attend Baldwin’s Easter court. Because Margaret was too young to travel, Maria did not want to leave her, and Balian did not want to leave his wife, who was still recovering from her childbirth ordeal. The choice was taken away from him, however, by the arrival of a terse message from William, urging him to hasten to Jerusalem.
The roads were muddy from the winter rains at this time of year and travelers usually took two days to cover a distance that could be ridden in a day during the summer. But Balian was racing both the sun and his apprehensions, and as sunset turned the sky into a celestial cauldron of fiery color, the walls of the Holy City slowly came into view against the horizon.
* * *
Knowing that Balian had been in the saddle all day, William wanted to send to the kitchen for a meal, but Balian refused, suspecting that what he was about to hear would chase away his appetite. Baudouin and Denys arrived soon afterward, and to Balian’s surprise, they were accompanied by Hugues of Galilee. Although he would one day inherit his mother’s rich principality, Hugues had not yet taken an active role in the political life of the kingdom, content to defer to his stepfather. His presence here tonight indicated that might be about to change.
Once greetings had been exchanged and William ordered wine for the newcomers, it was Denys who took command of the conversation. “We summoned you because the kingdom is in crisis, Balian,” he said bluntly. “Baldwin has made a grave error and it is up to the High Court to make him understand that he has blundered. You know that he remains very suspicious of Count Raymond and I cannot blame him for it.”
Balian saw Hugues sit upright as if he meant to protest. Denys noticed that abortive movement, too. “Mayhap you should be the one to tell him, Hugues.”
Hugues hesitated and then turned so he was facing Balian. “It has been two years since my stepfather has set foot in the kingdom. He knew the king bore him a bitter grudge and he thought it best that they had time apart. But he could not stay away from Galilee any longer and he and my mother intended to celebrate Easter at Tiberias. We’d only gotten as far as Jubyal when we were intercepted by the king’s men, ordering Raymond not to enter Outremer.”
“Christ Jesus,” Balian said softly; this was worse than he’d feared. “What did he do?”
“He was loath to spill blood, so he went no farther. I hurried to Jerusalem and sought to convince the king that Raymond had no evil intent, that he’d meant only to deal with matters in Galilee and posed no threat. Baldwin did not believe me.”
Balian understood now why Denys was here, throwing in his lot with the barons even if that put his relationship with Baldwin at risk. With so much at stake, he’d been forced to choose sides. “What does Baldwin mean to do? He cannot keep Raymond out of Galilee forever.”
“He can if he charges Raymond with treason,” Denys said somberly. “We think he intends to do that and then turn Galilee over to Hugues.”
“My stepfather is an honorable man.” Hugues sounded defensive, as if expecting them to argue with him. “Yes, he plotted against the king, but he truly believed it was for the best. He was thinking only of the good of the kingdom. He does not deserve this.”
“What do the other members of the High Court say? Who supports Baldwin in this?”
“Who do you think, Little Brother?” Baudouin gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “Joscelin and Agnes have been pouring poison into Baldwin’s ear for nigh on two years now, seeking to convince him that Raymond is not to be trusted, that this time he wants the crown for himself. Guy and Sybilla have also been urging Baldwin on. So have Agnes’s lapdog Eraclius and that arrogant whoreson de Chatillon and of course Gerard de Ridefort, who swears Raymond is the Antichrist since he reneged on his promise of that heiress. The rest of the lords are horrified, including the grand masters of the Templars and the Hospitallers.”
“Reynald de Chatillon is here? He is no longer defying the king?”
“Oh, he still balks at compensating Saladin for that captured caravan. But he’d not miss a chance to stab Raymond in the back and Baldwin accepted his support, for he knows he’ll need all the allies he can get.”
Balian found himself wishing that Maria could have accompanied him, for he trusted her judgment. “What happens now?”
“Two days hence, the king is meeting with the High Court,” William said, sounding as unhappy as he looked, “and we must try to convince him that he is in the wrong.”
Balian
did not ask the obvious question, for he already knew the answer. If they failed, their kingdom could be facing a civil war.
* * *
Baldwin was already in the upper chamber of David’s Tower when his lords began to arrive, for he did not want an audience as he staggered toward his chair; walking was becoming more and more of a challenge even with a cane. Agnes and Sybilla had both been given seats on the dais even though they could not participate in the debate. Sybilla was so radiant that she was attracting admiring glances from many of the men. Baldwin was one of the few who knew the reason for her radiance; she was in the early stages of pregnancy.
Baldwin’s vision was slowly failing him, yet he still had enough sight in one eye to study the men as they took their seats. And he realized that of all the people in this chamber, only his mother and his chancellor, William, truly understood why he clung so tenaciously to his kingship—because he knew he alone could unify their divided kingdom and because he needed to believe that there was a reason for his suffering.
The High Court session was going to be an unpleasant experience. William and Denys had pleaded with him to let the Count of Tripoli enter the kingdom, warning that they’d have to speak out against him if he did not. But he was convinced that Raymond was untrustworthy, that if the count must choose between integrity and ambition, he would always choose self-interest.
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