At Anselm’s signal, a squire brought a horse up from the rear. Baldwin struggled from the litter, but despite Anselm’s help, he could not mount. Most of the knights averted their eyes, for even the least sensitive among them could find no humor in their king’s humiliation. To men he’d fought with, he’d never be a laughingstock.
“Let me give you a hand, sire.” Dismounting swiftly, Balian came forward to balance Baldwin while Anselm guided his boot into the stirrup. Taking advantage of his height, Balian then boosted Baldwin up into the saddle, all the while trying not to remember that the young king had once ridden like those mythical Greek centaurs in Maria’s bedtime tales to their children.
Reclaiming his reins from Baudouin, Balian swung back up into Smoke’s saddle. As their eyes met, he saw that his brother also understood the significance of Baldwin’s action. Unlike most of his men, he did expect Guy to defy him and he was determined to have that confrontation as a king, not an invalid.
They halted again once the walls of Ascalon came into view. They would normally have entered via the Jerusalem Gate, but its complex defenses would be too challenging for Baldwin to navigate on his own. They chose, instead, the Jaffa Gate. Baldwin could still distinguish some light and shadow in his left eye and he’d joked to Anselm that it would be hard to miss a walled city. But now that he was astride a horse he’d never ridden and acutely aware of his body’s weakness, his fear of making a fool of himself was as strong as any fear he’d felt on the battlefield. Some of his anxiety eased when he realized that he was not alone: Denys was riding on one side, Anselm on the other, ready in case his horse balked or, Jesu forfend, bolted. So far, the gates stayed shut and although he could not see them, he was sure that men would be lining the battlements, staring down at him.
When they reached the square tower protecting the Jaffa Gate, Denys adroitly maneuvered his horse so that Baldwin’s mount shifted sideways. When he felt his leg brush a hard surface, Baldwin leaned from the saddle and slammed his left hand against the wooden door. “Guy de Lusignan! As your king and liege lord, I demand that you give me entry!”
He could hear voices now from the men up on the walls, echoes of alarm and excitement running through their ranks. He waited and then struck the gate again, repeating his formal demand for entry. He did this three times, following the protocol for dealing with a rebellious vassal. There was no response from within; the gates of the city remained closed to him.
* * *
From Ascalon, Baldwin rode to Jaffa, the other city under Guy’s command. At Jaffa, his reception was quite different; the citizens and castle garrison came out to welcome him into the city. He quickly appointed a new governor for the citadel, thus depriving Guy of one-half of his fief. When he resumed his journey, he continued up the coast to Acre, where he’d summoned a general assembly. They’d been planning to discuss sending another delegation to the West with a plea for help. But his lords knew that he also meant to strip Guy of all his holdings in the Holy Land, to turn this would-be king into an outlaw or an exile.
* * *
The general assembly was held in the great hall of the palace at Acre. With the exception of Guy, all of the lords of the kingdom were in attendance, even Count Raymond and Amaury de Lusignan. When challenged by Baudouin and others, Amaury calmly retorted that unless the king relieved him of his duties, he meant to continue serving as Baldwin’s constable. While that did not satisfy his critics, it did silence them. After the invocations were completed, the patriarch and the grand masters of the Templars and Hospitallers rose and approached the dais.
Eraclius declared that they had a matter to discuss, so urgent it must take precedence over other business. The patriarch was known to be an eloquent speaker and he launched into a well-rehearsed presentation, saying they all agreed that the king had good reason to be wroth with his disobedient vassal, the Count of Jaffa. But they’d come to entreat the king to forgive Count Guy, insisting he must pardon the count for the good of the realm.
Baldwin heard them out in a stony silence that should have warned them. Apparently, it did not, though, for all three of them seemed genuinely surprised when he said, turning words into weapons, that he had no intention of pardoning the Count of Jaffa, not even if the Archangel Gabriel himself were to plead on the count’s behalf. They did not argue with him, realizing it would be in vain. Instead they shocked the audience by turning and stalking out.
Their angry departure threw the assembly into chaos. Since the planned delegation to the West was to be led by the patriarch and the grand masters, there could be no decisions made in their absence. Once calm had been restored, Baldwin called for silence. “We must postpone discussion of the delegation until another time. We can discuss, though, the rebellion by the Count of Jaffa and the consequences of his rebellion.”
“What do we need to discuss?” Baudouin rose to his feet. “De Lusignan has forfeited his rights to the lordships of Jaffa and Ascalon by his defiance of our king.”
It had been a long time since Baudouin had found such favor with Baldwin. “The Lord of Ramlah has gone to the heart of the matter. Guy de Lusignan has proven himself unworthy to be a king, a regent, or a lord of this realm. I would strip him of his title and his fiefs and ask that the general assembly support me in this in accordance with the assize governing liege homage.”
Like the High Court sessions, general assemblies required patience, for each man was determined to have his say. At first, Baldwin was gratified by what he heard, for Guy found none to defend him; even his brother held his peace, a silent observer as Guy was judged and found guilty. But gradually it became apparent that few of the lords were echoing Baudouin’s demand that Guy be dispossessed. They were willing to condemn Guy in the strongest language possible, yet stopped short of taking the next step—to pass the judgment that Baldwin wanted.
It was Denys who finally spoke for them, taking on that burden as the king’s stepfather. “We are in agreement, my liege, that Guy de Lusignan deserves to lose the lands and honors he gained through marriage to your sister. But we are caught between a wall and a very sharp sword, for de Lusignan will not willingly relinquish Ascalon. We shall have to go to war to rid ourselves of him, and that we dare not do. If we fight amongst ourselves, we are giving Saladin the keys to the kingdom and I think you know that as well as any man here.”
“I cannot pardon a vassal who has defied me as de Lusignan has done. No king could.”
“I know,” Denys said sadly, “I know. . . .”
Baldwin slumped back in his seat. He could not even muster up anger, for whilst he was right, so were they. He dared not let Guy get away with his defiance, not if he hoped to hold on to any shreds of royal power. But neither could they risk a civil war.
Baudouin was one of the few willing to take that risk, so convinced was he that Guy de Lusignan’s very presence was poisoning his homeland. The danger was too great that Guy and Sybilla would seize power when Baldwin died, he argued with impassioned candor. Eventually even he subsided, realizing that Saladin cast too great a shadow for most of the men.
It was then that Balian came up with a way to end the impasse. “Sire, if I may speak? We are in agreement that we cannot uproot Guy from Ascalon by force. But neither can he be allowed to escape the consequences of his lawless behavior. May I suggest that we wait, bide our time? Guy will not dare to venture from the safety of Ascalon’s walls, fearing he’d be seized and dragged to Jerusalem for judgment. For now, he is a defanged snake. Let him cower in his lair whilst we deal with the greater danger, the threat Saladin poses to the kingdom.”
At first it seemed too simple a solution. Once they considered it, they realized its brilliance lay in that simplicity, offering them a path out of the wilderness. None were happy with it, Baldwin least of all, but this was the best they could do for now and they knew it.
* * *
“I do not understand, Humphrey.” Isabella fough
t back a wave of panic, for she’d not been prepared for this. “Why can we not spend Easter with my family?”
Humphrey no longer met her eyes. “Easter is one of the most sacred days on the Church calendar and my mother and Reynald want us to observe it together.”
That made no sense to Isabella. She could have been invisible for all the notice Stephanie and Reynald took of her, and the only time they paid any attention to Humphrey was when he’d somehow incurred their displeasure. “You know how disappointed I was when I was not allowed to visit my family last month on my twelfth birthday. I did not make a fuss, though, did I? But I can wait no longer, Humphrey. I’ve not seen them since November and it is now near the end of March! You must talk to them again, make them understand that.”
Humphrey did not know what to say. Emma did, though. Stepping forward, she regarded him with ill-concealed contempt. “My lord, is it not time you finally tell her the truth?”
Isabella swung around to stare at her. “Humphrey would not lie to me, Emma. Would you, Humphrey . . . ?” He looked so stricken that she faltered. “Humphrey?”
“Forgive me, Bella. I was just trying to spare you hurt. . . . I did not know how to tell you that my mother and Reynald have forbidden you to visit your mother and Balian.”
“But . . . but why?”
“They say that . . . that your mother is an evil influence upon you.”
With that, Isabella’s shock gave way to anger. How dare these hateful people malign her mother like that? She started toward the door, stopping when Humphrey did not move. “Are you not coming with me? We must talk to your parents, make them understand.”
Humphrey well knew how futile that would be. But he also knew that he could not let her venture alone into the lion’s den.
* * *
Stephanie sat on a coffer while her maid brushed out her hair; it reached to her hips and attracted an admiring glance from Reynald as he entered their bedchamber. “Leave it loose,” he said, and she gave him a knowing smile, for that meant he wanted to swive her that night.
“A courier has arrived from Antioch,” he said. “The news about Constantinople is bad.”
“It could hardly get worse,” Stephanie pointed out, for the Greek empire had begun to resemble a doomed ship, water pouring in from a hole in its hull while its rigging burst into flames. The news had reached Outremer in December that Andronicus had done what all had feared he’d do. He’d ordered that the boy emperor be strangled and his body thrown into the Bosporus. He’d then wed the boy’s twelve-year-old widow, surely the most ill-fated of any French princess.
“Bohemond thinks it will indeed get worse. He says Andronicus will prove more bloody-handed and depraved than any of the Roman emperors, including Nero and Caligula.”
Stephanie had no idea who Nero and Caligula were and suspected that Reynald did not know, either. “Does Bohemond think Andronicus might be overthrown?” she asked. Before Reynald could respond, a knock sounded at the door, and they both were surprised when her maid ushered their daughter-in-law into the chamber, trailed by Humphrey.
Isabella was never sure how to address her in-laws. Even though she was of higher rank as a king’s daughter and a potential queen, they seemed to want her to show deference and so she did, sensing it was better to humor them. She dropped a perfunctory curtsy now, trying to act as if there were nothing unusual about her presence in their bedchamber.
“I apologize for the intrusion, my lord, my lady. But Humphrey has told me that you do not want me to go to Nablus to see my family and surely he must have misunderstood. . . .” Isabella’s heart was racing and she paused for several deep breaths, not wanting them to see her unease. “I have not seen them in nigh on four months and I miss them very much.”
Stephanie and Reynald were staring at her in astonishment, which quickly turned into annoyance. “You will adjust, Isabella,” Stephanie said briskly, “for this is the way of our world. I am not saying that you can never see your parents. But you cannot go running off to Nablus whenever the whim takes you. A wife’s place is with her husband, as Humphrey ought to have explained to you.”
“But I miss them very much, madame! Not just my mother and stepfather. I miss my brother, Johnny, and my sisters Helvis and Margaret. They miss me, too, and they are too young to understand why I have not come to see them—” Isabella stopped then, for Stephanie was glaring at her the way she usually glared at Humphrey.
“Will there be anything else, Isabella? If not, we bid you good night.”
Stephanie’s tone was so icy that Isabella shivered. “But I do not understand,” she said so plaintively that Humphrey winced. His mother was not moved, however.
“It is not necessary that you understand,” she snapped, “merely that you do as you are told.”
Isabella hid her hands in the folds of her skirts so Stephanie would not see that they were trembling. “I have a right to know why you are forbidding me to see my family.”
Reynald had been faintly amused by the girl’s obstinacy, for he knew his wife was accustomed to unquestioning obedience from Humphrey. But this had gone on long enough and he said brusquely, “You want an answer, girl? We think your mother would not be a good influence upon you. There you have it. Now, off to bed with you.”
Isabella was still afraid, but she was furious now as well. This man had defied her brother, defied his king. He was no better than a brigand. How dare he insult her mother? “I love my mother very much,” she said, and Stephanie lost all patience.
“I am not surprised that Maria has raised a spoiled brat, but you will mind your manners here or suffer the consequences!”
No one had ever spoken to Isabella like that and she took an involuntary backward step. One glance toward Humphrey told her that she could expect no aid from that quarter. Forcing herself to meet her mother-in-law’s angry eyes, she said as steadily as she could, “My mother is a queen. She taught me the lessons of queenship, too, for I might well be a queen myself one day. She told me that queens must have long memories.”
There was a moment of utter silence. Stephanie took a quick step forward and Isabella flinched. But then Reynald burst out laughing. “By God, you’ve got spirit, girl,” he said with a grin. “Seems like there are some ballocks in your marriage, after all.” With a scornful glance toward Humphrey, who flushed darkly, staring down at the floor.
Although Stephanie frowned, Reynald’s was the hand on the helm of their marital ship, and she held her tongue. He crossed the chamber, halting in front of Isabella. He towered over her, for he was almost as tall as Balian, but he was smiling. “You’ve given us much to mull over, lass.”
Isabella knew he was lying; they were not going to reconsider. She also knew there was nothing she could do about it, not yet. She murmured a thank-you that meant as little as his own words, curtsied, and let Humphrey lead her from the chamber.
Neither spoke as he escorted her across the bailey toward her bedchamber in the southeast tower. Just as they reached the door, he put his hand on her arm, for he knew Emma would be waiting within. “I am sorry,” he said softly, “so very sorry. . . .”
Isabella felt very sorry, too, in that moment, sorry for his misery and his shame and his inability to give her what she most needed—strength. She’d become quite fond of him in these past few months, but she felt a new emotion stirring now, almost maternal, an instinct to protect him as he could not protect her. “I do not blame you, Humphrey,” she assured him. “None of this is your fault.” She found a smile for him, then slipped inside, where she could share her heartache with Emma, where she could weep for her family and the end of her childhood.
* * *
There could be no estrangement between the Crown, the patriarch, or the Templars and Hospitallers, and since all involved knew that, a peace was soon patched up between Baldwin and Eraclius and the two grand masters. In June, a delegation sailed f
or the West, led by Eraclius, the Hospitaller Roger de Moulins, and the Templar Arnaud de Torroja, their mission to appeal for military and financial aid from the Pope and the kings of England and France. They were instructed to offer the keys to Jerusalem, the Holy Sepulchre, and the Tower of David to any king willing to return with them and undertake the defense of the Holy Land. Eraclius snubbed William, the senior churchman in his absence, by naming the Bishop of Lydda as his vicar until his return. For Jakelin de Mailly and his Templar brethren, the departure of their grand master had more immediate consequences. The command of their order now rested in the hands of their seneschal, Gerard de Ridefort.
* * *
It had been a hot July. Isabella had opened her window after the sun had flamed out, but her bedchamber was sweltering. She’d talked Emma into playing chess. Under Humphrey’s patient tutelage, she’d soon mastered the basics and hoped that practice would hone her skills; she was nursing a fantasy in which she challenged Reynald de Chatillon to a game and soundly defeated him. She was frowning at the chessboard when a knock sounded at the door.
When Emma started to rise, Isabella stopped her, for she had noticed that her dog was sniffing at the door, tail wagging wildly. “Come in, Humphrey!”
Entering the chamber, Humphrey paused to play with Jordan, who was jumping around like a furry whirling dervish. As much as he loved dogs, he knew he was using Jordan to delay the inevitable, and he straightened up reluctantly. Isabella was smiling at him, genuinely glad that he was here. She was so trusting that it well-nigh broke his heart. He’d wanted nothing but her happiness, yet he’d brought only misery into her life. If depriving her of her family was not bad enough, he’d put her safety at risk, too, for as long as she lived at Kerak, she’d be in danger. Saladin hated Reynald as much as he did, and Kerak would be a target until the Saracens finally succeeded in capturing it.
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 61
