Balian shrugged. They’d already discussed Raymond’s letter at exhaustive length. In theory, the plan was a good one. Gerard de Ridefort and Reynald de Chatillon would do all in their power to thwart Raymond’s reelection as regent, and the patriarch would speak out against it, too. Holding the High Court session whilst they were in Jerusalem for the little king’s funeral would neatly thwart their opposition. The only weakness in this strategy was the involvement of Joscelin de Courtenay. Neither d’Ibelin brother found it easy to embrace Joscelin as an ally. Raymond was giving them no choice, though.
“I can see why Raymond believes Joscelin has decided their alliance is in his own self-interest,” Baudouin said grudgingly. “It just seems unnatural to trust a de Courtenay.” Glancing over at his sister-in-law, he asked her what would never have occurred to him to ask his own wife—what she thought of Raymond’s actions.
Maria did not find that an easy question to answer. She had never warmed to Raymond, knowing he remained an enemy of the Greek empire. She thought he was an opportunist and had not forgiven him for his vengeful attack upon innocent Greek villagers and monks to avenge his wounded pride. Yet she could not deny that his interests and those of the other Poulain lords were in harmony, and she agreed that Raymond had shown he could rule and rule well as regent. He was also more likely to look favorably upon Isabella’s claim to the crown, and she very much wanted her daughter to be Queen of Jerusalem, seeing that as her rightful heritage.
“I wish Raymond had told us more about his plans after he is reelected regent,” she said. “Does he mean to honor his vow to submit Isabella’s and Sybilla’s queenship claims to the Pope and those western kings?”
Balian knew Maria thought that solution to the succession was both unwieldy and unworkable. He agreed with her and suspected that most of the Poulain lords did, too. It had been a compromise meant to satisfy both Raymond’s allies and his foes and, like most compromises, it ended up satisfying no one. But since they’d all sworn holy oaths to adhere to its provisions, he did not see what choice they had. “Raymond’s message was rather sparing with details,” he acknowledged. “I suppose we’ll have to go to Tiberias to get the answers we need.”
“Isabella thinks she and Humphrey ought to attend Baldwin’s funeral.” While Maria understood her daughter’s reasoning, she was loath to be parted from her so soon, and she had an almost superstitious reluctance to see Isabella ride away from Nablus again.
They considered that and soon agreed that Balian, Baudouin, and Humphrey would ride to Tiberias for the High Court session and Maria and Isabella would journey to Jerusalem for the little king’s funeral. Since Isabella and Humphrey had already retired for the night, they withdrew to their own bedchambers, although no one slept well.
The following morning, their plan was quickly accepted by Isabella and Humphrey, for she was grateful to have her mother at her side for a funeral sure to be heartrending and Humphrey was always glad to avoid any encounters with his hated stepfather. They were finishing breakfast when they heard shouting. The noise did not subside and they headed outside to discover what was causing so much chaos.
A large group of horsemen had filled the courtyard, led by the Count of Tripoli. He was accompanied by his wife and his four stepsons, all of whom looked very grim, even fearful. But it was Raymond who held their attention, for he seemed like a stranger. He’d always prided himself upon his public stoicism, his dispassionate response to setbacks or disappointments. This man’s emotions were exposed for all to see: rage, shame, shock, and utter misery. His face burning with heat, he said hoarsely, “De Courtenay betrayed my trust. They are planning a coup, mean to crown Sybilla and Guy de Lusignan, and it may be too late to stop them.”
CHAPTER 43
August 1186
Nablus, Outremer
Upon learning of Joscelin de Courtenay’s planned coup, Raymond had hastily sent out messages to the members of the High Court, urgently summoning them to Nablus rather than Tiberias. They soon began to arrive, horrified and angry, with some of their anger directed at Raymond for letting himself be duped like that. He was in no mood to accept reprimands, mortified that he’d fallen for Joscelin’s ruse, and there were some tense exchanges, with Denys and Balian acting again as peacemakers. Before they could decide upon a course of action, they heard from Sybilla. Already assuming the authority of queenship, she invited them to come to Jerusalem for her coronation. After a hastily convened court session, they agreed to dispatch two Cistercian monks in response, forbidding Sybilla and her allies to proceed with the coronation, warning that would violate the holy oath they’d all sworn at the time of Baldwin’s death.
* * *
Sybilla made sure that her son was given a regal burial; that was all she could do for him now. As his funeral cortege passed through the city streets on the way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, she wept again and was touched to see that some of the bystanders were crying, too, even though she sensed that their tears were as much for themselves as for the little dead king. The future, always precarious in Outremer, had never seemed so uncertain, so fraught with fear.
Guy had gone to consult with the man who would soon be their chancellor, Peter de Lydda, so Sybilla was alone when Patriarch Eraclius arrived at the palace and asked to see her. She would later realize that this had been deliberate on his part. But initially she had no suspicions, for he’d been very kind to her since their arrival in the city, and she escorted him up to the solar where, six years ago, it had been decided that she would wed Guy.
Once they’d been provided with chilled pomegranate juice, she hesitated before dismissing the servant, wondering if it would be proper for them to be alone. She reminded herself, then, that she was to be queen and no longer constrained by the foolish conventions that bound others of her sex. As soon as the door closed, she took a sip of her juice, regarding the patriarch pensively. She did not fully trust either Reynald de Chatillon or the grand master of the Templars and wished Joscelin had joined them in Jerusalem instead of remaining in Acre, which he’d now garrisoned with his own men. She did feel comfortable speaking candidly with Eraclius, though, for it was in the Church’s interests to have a good working relationship with the new queen and king.
“Is it true, my lord, that the grand master of the Hospitallers has balked at taking part in my coronation?” She’d hoped that was just another of the wild rumors sweeping the city and felt a pang of disappointment when he said it was true, for Roger de Moulins had a reputation for probity and honor. “Why? How can he think Isabella has the better claim? I am the eldest!”
“He insists that since all the lords of the kingdom swore holy oaths to refer the succession to a royal commission, what we plan to do is lawless and offensive to God.” Assuming she was unaware of it, he explained then that the coronation regalia was kept in the treasury, in a chest locked with three keys, entrusted to the patriarch and the grand masters of the Hospitallers and Templars. “De Moulins is refusing to surrender his key.” Seeing how perturbed Sybilla was by that, Eraclius leaned over and patted her hand. “You need not fret, my lady. Reynald de Chatillon and Gerard de Ridefort have gone to the Hospitaller quarter to take the key from de Moulins. Then we can proceed as planned.”
Sybilla was frowning. She’d been offended when the Count of Tripoli and the members of the High Court had sent those two Cistercian monks to deliver that insulting message, one that warned against holding her coronation. She’d taken it as a threat and she and Guy had approved when Reynald and Gerard ordered the city gates to be shut, keeping their enemies out. But she was troubled by the absence of so many highborn lords. She’d expected that they would rally around her once they realized her allies had outwitted them. So far, though, she could count only on the patriarch, her uncle, the grand master of the Templars, and just three of the barons—Reynald, Guy’s brother Amaury, and her dead son’s grandfather the Marquis of Montferrat. All the others were
at Nablus, still defiant and determined to keep her from becoming queen.
“I do not want to rule over a divided kingdom. We need to unite against the infidels. Surely there must be a way to get the barons at Nablus to accept my queenship?”
Eraclius could not believe his luck. He’d not known how to ease into a conversation as dangerous as it would be difficult, and now she’d given him the perfect opening. “There is a way, my lady, but it will not be easy. It will mean putting the welfare of the kingdom first.”
She nodded, thinking this was what Baldwin had always done. Despite her lack of experience, she had no illusions about ruling, had seen how heavily royal responsibilities had weighed upon her brother. Guy seemed to believe governing would be easy; she knew better. “What do you think I ought to do, my lord?”
Eraclius exhaled deeply and then went for it. “You need to end your marriage to Guy de Lusignan, my lady.”
When she had time to think about it afterward, Sybilla would wonder why she’d not seen this coming. But she had been disarmed by his eloquent expressions of support and by the sympathy he’d offered for the death of her son. “I thought you were on my side!”
“I am, my lady, I am! You are our rightful queen. But you asked how you could conciliate the other lords and reconcile them to your rule. The only way to do that is to remove the reason for their opposition. They do not object to you; it is your lord husband they find unacceptable. Fairly or not, the great majority of the High Court members do not believe Guy can be a good king. They do not trust him, do not want to follow him into battle. If you agree to annul the marriage—and I can do that for you—their resistance will melt away and they will hasten to do homage to you as their queen, leaving the Count of Tripoli isolated and alone.”
Sybilla got abruptly to her feet. Moving to the window, she gazed down into the courtyard below. He was encouraged by her silence, by the fact that she’d not rejected his proposal out of hand. “I know what grief this would give you, madame. But great sacrifices are sometimes required of the highborn. Your lord father was faced with just such a difficult decision, having to part from your mother ere the High Court would recognize his claim to the throne.”
“Are you saying that you would refuse to crown me if I will not disavow my husband?”
“If it were just up to me, my lady, I would right gladly crown you, no matter what you might decide. Alas, I am compelled to speak on behalf of others. You need to understand the depths of the resistance to Lord Guy, even amongst those who have already declared in your favor. And as you already know, the barons at Nablus are adamantly opposed to crowning your husband. This is your only hope of winning them over and avoiding a possible civil war.”
When she remained silent, he quickly assured her that the legitimacy of her two young daughters would not be affected by an annulment. He was sure he could convince the others that Lord Guy should be permitted to retain the lordships of Ascalon or Jaffa. And of course she would have the final say when it came time to take another husband. “You have the blood right to the throne, madame, now that your brother and your son are dead. It would be a great pity if you forfeited it because of misguided loyalty.”
He was pleased with that last sentence, feeling he’d conveyed clearly how much was at stake without stooping to threaten. When she turned away from the window, he found it hard to read her expression, but he was struck by her resemblance to her mother in that moment, for it was not always so noticeable.
“You have been candid with me, my lord, so I shall be candid with you. I will never agree to repudiate the man who is my husband, both by the laws of God and men. If I am to rule, it will be with Guy at my side. And if you balk at crowning me, your refusal will put you and your allies in a very awkward position. You and Gerard de Ridefort and Reynald de Chatillon will have to ride to Nablus and humble yourselves before the Count of Tripoli. Can you see them doing that?” She smiled then, again evoking memories of Agnes, for the smile held no mirth, only challenge and mockery.
His bluff called, Eraclius mustered up a mirthless smile of his own. “I hope you understand that I was not speaking for myself. It will be my honor to crown you as our queen.”
* * *
Eraclius returned to the patriarch’s palace in a foul mood. He was angry with Sybilla for being so stubborn and with himself for underestimating her. Whilst he’d realized he might be putting their relationship in jeopardy, the stakes were too high for timidity. He was not as sure as the Nablus barons that Guy was utterly unfit to be king. He did have doubts, though, about the man’s ability to lead others, and he’d spoken the truth when he’d told Sybilla that the best way to unite the kingdom would be to annul her marriage. Yet if it came to a choice between Guy de Lusignan and the Count of Tripoli, he saw that as no choice at all.
He was still brooding later that afternoon when Reynald de Chatillon was announced. The other man was in good spirits, so Eraclius assumed his confrontation with Roger de Moulins had been successful. Reynald quickly confirmed this assumption by launching into a triumphant account of his clash of wills with the grand master of the Hospitallers.
“De Moulins is the worst sort of fool, an honorable one. He blathered on about the sanctity of holy oaths and the wishes of King Baldwin of blessed memory. He kept refusing to surrender his key to the treasury coffer until I thought Gerard was going to hit him. Our grand master is more bad-tempered than a badger.”
“What happened? You look too pleased with yourself not to have the Hospitaller key.”
Reynald grinned. “We kept at him until he’d had enough. By then he’d probably have given us the Holy Grail if that would shut Gerard up. He finally shouted, ‘Enough!’ and flung the key through the open window. We had only to head down to the courtyard to collect it. But I think we can safely say that none of the Hospitallers will be attending the coronation.”
Reynald waited for the patriarch’s response, got only a curt nod, and gave Eraclius a speculative look. “Why so downcast? Do not tell me you broached the subject of annulment with Sybilla? I warned you that was a fool’s errand. You ought to have heeded me.”
Eraclius wished he had. “It had to be done,” he insisted. “Do not pretend that you think Guy has the makings of a good king. You’d have been relieved, too, had I been able to talk some sense into Sybilla.”
Reynald shrugged. “But I knew you’d fail. No man would choose his wife over a crown. Women are irrational by their very nature, though, so it was only to be expected that Sybilla would cling to Guy like a limpet.”
“Tell me the truth, Reynald. Are we about to make a mistake in crowning Guy de Lusignan?”
“I am a soldier, not a soothsayer. Whilst I cannot claim that de Lusignan has inspired confidence in anyone but his besotted wife so far, that is not to say that he cannot learn. And he is still the best of a bad lot. Would you rather have my craven milksop stepson on the throne? Or Raymond de St. Gilles, the man so eager to ally himself with infidel Saracens? If they are our choices, what else can we do?”
Eraclius had no answer for him. They were all in God’s hands now.
* * *
Sybilla had been too young to recall her father’s coronation, but she had vivid memories of the day her brother became king. He had not yet been told he was a leper, so it must have been a happy time for him. Her own emotions were conflicted, joy seasoned by unease, pride in her victory, sadness when she thought of her son, resentment that her coronation should be so poorly attended, and regret that her mother was not here to see the crown placed upon her head.
Gerard de Ridefort and Reynald de Chatillon had retrieved two crowns from the treasury; they glimmered on the high altar, their gems catching the candlelight, and she wondered if they’d be as heavy as they looked. When it came time for the patriarch to place one on her head, she discovered that it was. Once she was anointed with the sacred chrism, she rose to her feet and some in the
church raised a cheer. What happened next took her by surprise, though.
Eraclius lifted the second crown, but instead of beckoning Guy forward, he held it out to Sybilla. “My lady queen, as a woman, you will need a man to rule at your side. Bestow this crown upon the one whom you most trust to govern your kingdom.”
Sybilla’s first reaction was anger, seeing this as the patriarch’s sly way of deflecting blame for Guy’s controversial coronation. If his rule proved to be as inept as so many feared, Eraclius could then say he’d not been the one to crown Guy. But as their eyes met, she changed her mind, deciding this was meant as a gift, his attempt to make amends and regain her favor. If she crowned Guy, people would remember that, remember that Guy’s claim to the kingship was utterly dependent upon her. Guy would remember it, too. And as much as she loved him, that was not a bad thing, either.
Turning toward him, she smiled. “I, Sybilla, choose as king my husband, Guy de Lusignan. I know he is worthy of this honor and that with the help of God, he and I will rule our people well.” And when Guy knelt, she set the crown upon his bowed head.
* * *
At Nablus, the barons had chosen a serjeant to spy for them and, disguised as a monk, he’d ridden off to learn if their foes would dare to crown Sybilla and Guy. Now he was back and the barons filed into the palace great hall to hear his report. He began by explaining how he’d managed to get into the city. The main gates remained barred, but he’d been able to enter by a postern gate of the Jacobite church of St. Mary Magdalene. Although he was proud of his ingenuity, he knew better than to dwell upon it, and he wasted no time in confirming their worst fears, relating how he’d watched as the patriarch crowned Sybilla and she then crowned Guy.
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