The Land Beyond the Sea

by Sharon Kay Penman

  * * *

  Jakelin received his usual warm welcome when he stopped at Nablus on his way to the commandery in Acre. Once his Templar companions had been made comfortable, Balian led him out into the pallid March sunlight toward the stables. Jakelin was soon leaning over a stall door, smitten with the occupants: a sleek Arabian mare and a suckling foal. “Khamsin’s the sire?”

  Balian nodded. “Baldwin bequeathed Asad and his mares to his stepfather, although he did specify that a few colts go to his little nephew, hoping they’d teach the lad that horses give men wings. But he remembered how much I love Arabians and he very generously gave me Star,” he said, gesturing fondly toward the bay mare.

  Jakelin had yet to take his eyes from the Arabians. “Have you named the colt yet?”

  “I thought I’d leave that for you to do. He’s yours, after all,” Balian said and grinned at Jakelin’s dumbfounded expression.

  “Balian, are you serious?” Once he was sure that Balian was, Jakelin embraced him, thumping him exuberantly on the back. “How can I ever repay you for such a gift?”

  “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Balian assured him and they both laughed.

  After a moment, though, Jakelin’s smile ebbed away. “I cannot accept him, of course, but I will never forget your generous gesture.”

  “Why can you not keep him? I know about your vow of poverty, that Templars are not allowed to own any personal property. But Templar knights are permitted to have horses. Moreover, the marshal is in charge of the order’s horses, the one who decides which ones the brothers get. So why would this colt pose a problem?”

  “What you say is true. But there are other rules that govern our lives. One states that the grand master may take another brother’s horse and keep it for himself or give it away. And the brother who loses his horse must accept its loss without becoming ‘vexed or angry.’” For a few heartbeats, Jakelin let his gaze rest sadly upon the bay colt. “Can you honestly say that Master Gerard could resist the temptation to claim an Arabian, especially if he could take it from me?”

  Balian wanted to argue with him. He could not, for he knew the nature of Gerard de Ridefort and knew, too, of the bad blood between him and Jakelin. “Well, as far as I am concerned, he is still yours and I am just boarding him for you. The colt will not be old enough to be ridden for a few years. Mayhap you’ll have a new grand master by then.”

  Jakelin supposed he was violating the spirit if not the letter of his oath by taking such grim pleasure in that thought, for he and his brethren swore “to strictly obey their master, for nothing is dearer to Jesus Christ than obedience.” He did not care, though, for he’d never known another man less deserving of such absolute authority than Gerard de Ridefort.

  Hearing Khamsin’s welcoming whicker, Balian moved toward his stall, leaving Jakelin to continue admiring the mare and her foal. He was feeding the stallion a lump of sugar when Jakelin finally joined him. “I’ve more sugar if you want to try giving it to Demon,” he joked, and the Templar showed off his rudimentary Arabic with “Ya ibn el kalb,” a Saracen curse that called Balian the son of a dog. Since they both liked dogs, that never failed to amuse them.

  “I suppose you have gotten the summons from de Lusignan?”

  Balian nodded. “We are to assemble at Saforie in a fortnight. I assume we are to ride to de Chatillon’s rescue yet again, for I’ve heard that Saladin has left Damascus and is moving south. At least this time Maria and I need not fear for Bella’s safety. We suggested to Humphrey that he and Bella celebrate Easter in Jerusalem, and he agreed. I’ll be damned ere I let our daughter be caught up for a third time in Reynald’s blood feud with Saladin.”

  Jakelin shared Balian’s anger with Reynald for breaking the truce. He thought that sooner or later Saladin would have broken it himself, for their Templar spies had reported that the sultan seemed to be taking his pledge to wage jihad more seriously after almost dying of that quartan fever. But the timing could not have been worse for their kingdom. How could they hope to win without the Count of Tripoli, without Baudouin d’Ibelin, without aid from the West?

  He said nothing, not wanting to burden Balian with his fears. His friend had enough fears of his own, for he had six hostages to fortune, and he would ride off to war haunted by the future of his wife and children. Jakelin had occasionally envied Balian for bedding a queen and siring sons, for a life so different from the lonely one he’d chosen for himself. Not now, though. On this blustery March afternoon, he was thankful that he fought only for Almighty God and the Lord Christ, that his family was to be found amongst his Templar brethren.

  * * *

  That evening, after a Lenten meal for the household and their Templar guests, Balian and Jakelin withdrew into the solar. Balian was teaching his nephew, Thomasin, to play chess, and the board was still set up. Jakelin glanced at it wistfully. He’d loved that challenging, strategic game, but it was another of the many activities forbidden to him as a Templar. One look was enough to show him the game’s likely outcome and he shook his head in mock sorrow. “Whoever is playing red is sure to lose, so I assume it must be you.”

  Before Balian could riposte, Maria entered the solar, accompanied by a servant bearing wine and cups. “Are the children abed, Marika?”

  “Abed, if not asleep.” They exchanged the rueful look of longtime parents, and Balian explained to Jakelin that their children were all owls, not larks, making bedtime a war of wills.

  Maria instructed the servant to put the wine on the table. “You have a visitor, Balian. He looks like a Saracen, dresses like one, too, but speaks fluent French. He gave me a cryptic message for you, saying you know him as Bernard.” Balian’s reaction to the name “Bernard” was so dramatic—he pushed away from the table, so abruptly that wine slopped over the top of the flagon—that it confirmed Maria’s suspicions about the identity of this mysterious stranger. Telling the servant to escort their guest up to the solar, she then found a chair for herself, for this was clearly not a meeting to be missed.

  Balian could not imagine why the kingdom’s renowned spymaster would be seeking him out. Rising to his feet when Bernard was ushered into the solar, he invited the intelligencer to take a seat and passed around the cups of wine that had been poured by the servant. “You have already met my wife, Queen Maria, and this is the marshal of the Templars, Jakelin de Mailly.”

  Bernard acknowledged the introductions with grave courtesy, but his dark eyes held a gleam of dry humor. “I know you are too well-mannered, my lord, to ask me why I am here, so I will not keep you in suspense. I am on my way to Antioch and decided to stop at Nablus and Sidon for there are things you and Lord Denys need to know.”

  Balian did his best to cover his surprise. “I take it you are not acting for the king.”

  “No, I am not. I’ve been aware for some time that you and Lord Denys are the only two lords left in the kingdom capable of recognizing the gravity of the danger facing Outremer. By now you will have been summoned to Saforie. Do you know what the king has in mind?”

  “Brother Jakelin and I were discussing that earlier today. We assumed this would be yet another mad dash to Kerak to save de Chatillon from a reckoning he richly deserves. But your presence here raises doubts about that.”

  “De Chatillon is on his own,” Bernard confirmed. “Fortunately for him, my sources tell me Saladin is not bringing siege engines, so Kerak Castle is likely safe enough. The same cannot be said, of course, for the surrounding villages or the town.”

  Balian studied the other man intently. “If we are not chasing after Saladin as he heads into Outrejourdain, who are we fighting?”

  “King Guy plans to lead your army north into Galilee and lay siege to Tiberias.”

  “Christ Jesus,” Balian whispered. Maria said nothing, but all the color had gone from her face. The table rocked again, this time as Jakelin leaped to his feet.

 
“I know who planted that malignant seed in Guy’s brain!” he snarled. “This is Gerard de Ridefort’s doing!”

  “You are quite right, Brother Jakelin. Your grand master did indeed suggest this to Guy. At first, I thought Guy was susceptible because he feels he owes his crown in some measure to de Ridefort. But it is becoming obvious that our king is as malleable as wax, most likely to be influenced by whoever gets to him last.”

  That was a devastating judgment to pass upon a king, but it was not one they could refute. Balian glanced toward Jakelin, the same thought in both their minds: How could the Almighty have allowed Guy de Lusignan to rule over the Holy Land? And then Bernard said, “There is more. You’ve not heard the worst yet, my lords, madame.”

  While they could not imagine what would be worse than outright war between the King of Jerusalem and the Count of Tripoli, it did not occur to any of them to doubt Bernard. They were still not prepared for what he was about to tell them.

  “Count Raymond has his own spy network, so it was not long ere he learned of the king’s intentions. He still balks at doing homage to a man he believes is unworthy to rule, so he began looking for allies.” Reading their thoughts, he shook his head. “No, not the Prince of Antioch; Bohemond has his own troubles this spring. Raymond reached out to Damascus and hastily negotiated a truce with Saladin.”

  His audience considered this news to be somewhat anticlimactic, for Antioch and Tripoli had occasionally made separate truces with the Saracens in the past; they considered themselves to be sovereign states. When Jakelin pointed that out, Bernard listened politely before saying, “This truce is not limited to Tripoli. It covers Galilee, too.”

  Balian’s first impulse was to try to rationalize Raymond’s action, for they’d been allies for years and both his brother and Archbishop William had believed the count to be a man of honor. But Galilee was an integral part of Outremer, and he sensed that Raymond had crossed a line. Maria and Jakelin shared his unease and they offered no defense of Raymond, either.

  “There is more. Raymond also asked Saladin for military aid in repulsing an attack on Tiberias. The sultan was happy to oblige, dispatching troops to Bāniās, just a day’s ride from Tiberias. And he is sending soldiers to reinforce Raymond’s garrison in the town. So, when our army attacks Galilee, we’ll be fighting the Saracens and the count’s men.”

  A deathly quiet followed this revelation. It was true that Raymond was only trying to protect his lands and family and vassals. It was also true that what he’d done was treasonous. Maria was the first to break the stricken silence, saying she assumed he’d informed Guy de Lusignan of Raymond’s alliance with Saladin.

  “I did, madame. Guy was very angry, yet shaken, too, for he’d never expected that Tiberias would be defended by Saracens. But the Templar grand master assured him that Saladin’s involvement would make no difference. He argued that the sultan would be occupied in besieging Kerak, so any help he provided to the count would be limited. And he bolstered Guy’s resolve by reminding him how justified they’d been to suspect Raymond of treason.”

  Balian felt as if the ground were shifting under his feet, much like the earth tremors that occasionally rocked Outremer. “So, they still mean to besiege Raymond at Tiberias.”

  “They do,” Bernard said. “Unless you can find a way to stop them, my lord.”

  * * *

  Upon arriving at Saforie, Balian chose the two most important of his vassals to accompany him on the six-mile ride to Nazareth: Viscount Amand, Etiennette’s husband, and Renier Rohard. He’d told them how much was at stake, so when they parted from Balian at the archbishop’s palace, they headed to the closest tavern to drown their fears in wine.

  Balian was admitted to Guy’s presence without delay. He felt a stirring of hope when he saw that Guy was attended only by his brother. He’d been convinced for some time that the de Lusignan family’s allotment of common sense had all gone to Amaury.

  “I’m glad that you’re here, d’Ibelin,” Guy said with a smile that seemed sincere and actually was, for he respected Balian’s proven prowess on the battlefield and he was willing to make a fresh start with the lords who’d done homage to him, letting bygones be bygones now that they’d accepted his kingship. “How many men did you bring with you?”

  Amaury winced, for his brother should have known that Balian personally owed service for twenty-five knights, fifteen for Nablus and ten for Ibelin, while the total for Nablus was eighty-five knights and three hundred serjeants. He opened his mouth to ease the awkwardness of the moment. The words never left his lips, for Balian spoke first, saying in a low voice, “Not enough men, my liege, not nearly enough.”

  Guy was puzzled by the response. He glanced toward his brother to see what Amaury had made of it, in time to hear him say to Balian, “So you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Balian had given much thought to his strategy, deciding that Guy was more likely to be receptive to advice from an ally, not criticism from an adversary. “Sire, I understand your anger with the Count of Tripoli. My brother knew that he could not continue to hold Ramlah if he refused to do homage to our king. Count Raymond ought to have withdrawn to Tripoli after challenging your sovereignty in Outremer. But it would be a grave mistake to besiege Tiberias. We dare not fight one another, not when Saladin is gathering the largest army ever to threaten our kingdom, more men than we faced at Montgisard.”

  Guy appreciated Balian’s admission that he had a legitimate grievance with the Count of Tripoli. Wanting to show he could be reasonable in return, he offered Gerard de Ridefort’s rationale for their attack upon Tiberias. “Saladin will be too busy in Outrejourdain to pay much heed to what we do in Galilee.”

  “Sire, I would that were so. But Saladin has specific reasons for invading Outrejourdain: to protect Muslims returning from their hajj to Mecca and to take vengeance upon Reynald de Chatillon for his latest caravan raid. Once their pilgrims are safely past Kerak and Reynald’s fields are wreathed in smoke, he will turn his attention again to jihad and to us.”

  Guy shook his head, saying they could not be sure of that. “And you do not know what Raymond has done,” he said, pausing dramatically. “He has allied himself with Saladin!” Disconcerted when Balian said he did know that, he blurted out, “How?”

  “A Devil’s deal like that could not be kept secret for long, my liege.”

  “No, I suppose it could not,” Guy conceded. “But if you know about Raymond’s treachery, how can you argue we ought not to punish him for it? Surely you are not defending him?”

  “No, sire, I am not. I expect that he will claim he never did homage to you, so his actions cannot be treasonous. Be that as it may, he is betraying our kingdom and his Christian brethren by making a military alliance with a man pledged to our destruction.”

  Disarmed by Balian’s harsh judgment, Guy nodded approvingly. “I am glad that you see this so clearly. I still do not understand why you are so set against our laying siege to Tiberias. Would you have him escape the repercussions of such a despicable act?”

  “Sire, I will never again look upon Raymond de St. Gilles in the same light,” Balian said, and he was convincing because he meant every word of it. “But nothing matters more to me than the survival of our kingdom. I do not see how we can defeat Raymond and the Saracens, too. Tiberias would not be easy to besiege, for they could never be starved into submission, not when they can get supplies by way of the lake. And when Saladin returns from his raiding into Outrejourdain, we risk being caught between his army and the men defending the castle.”

  Amaury had been an intrigued witness to their surprisingly civil debate. Balian had made no argument that he’d not already made to Guy himself, but he was realizing that what was said did not matter as much as how it was said. “So, what do you think we ought to do about Raymond, Lord Balian?” he asked. He added mendaciously that a Poulain’s viewpoint might be of special value.
After fifteen years in Outremer, he thought he understood its peculiar politics as well as any of the native-born lords. He was quite willing, though, to endow the Poulains with a mystical wisdom if that would make it easier for Guy to embrace Balian d’Ibelin rather than Gerard de Ridefort as his military mentor.

  “Sire, if you offer the count an olive branch instead of the sword thrust he expects and fears, I think he will reach for it.” Balian looked searchingly into Guy’s face. “If you succeed in luring him back into the fold, you will destroy a dangerous alliance without having to take the field. If he still balks, you lose nothing, for you will be able to tell your lords that you did all you could to effect a reconciliation. They will be more likely to rally around you then, especially if it seems that Raymond chose an alliance with the infidels over one with his fellow Christians.”

  Guy rose and moved to the window, where he gazed out at the soaring spires of the cathedral, a vast, impressive structure even though it was not yet completed; it reminded him that nothing was done overnight, that patience was needed both for masons and kings. Raymond deserved to be punished for his treachery. But at what cost? Could he forgive Raymond’s treason if in doing so, he’d save his kingdom from being lost to the infidels? He decided that he could, and felt a touch of pride that he was capable of such magnanimity.

  “It is worth trying,” he declared. “I will disband the army and send envoys to Tiberias, urging the count to discuss settling our differences and uniting against our common enemy.”

  Balian could only nod. The Almighty had not forsaken the Holy Land, after all.