“I have no words,” he said in lieu of greetings. “We are all sick at heart. We never wanted this to happen.”
Balian did not doubt Hugues’s sincerity. He believed they did mourn the men who’d been slain at Cresson Springs. It was no consolation. “Are you speaking for your stepfather, too?” he said coolly, and when Hugues assured them that he was, the Archbishop of Nazareth inquired acidly why the count had not ridden out with them, then.
“My lord father is as grief-stricken as we are,” Hugues insisted. “He did not want to let the sultan’s men ride freely across Galilee, did all he could to keep blood from being spilled. He tried to warn his people to stay clear of the Saracens. If only he’d been heeded—” He stopped abruptly, for Balian had raised his hand and his knights were muttering angrily.
“You’ll never hear me defend Gerard de Ridefort. But blaming the men who died is not the best way to exonerate Raymond. Whether you like it or not, Hugues, there will be many who see him as culpable, too, for what happened at Cresson Springs.”
“I understand that,” Hugues said softly. He’d known at once that he’d stumbled. Yet what could he say? Loyalty and love kept him and his brothers from admitting how horrified they’d been by the choices Raymond had made, first in allying with Saladin and then in allowing a Saracen army into Galilee. “So does my father. He knows that he contributed to this calamity. He was stunned when we saw the Saracens ride by with the heads on their lances—”
“You saw that?”
Hugues could not suppress a shudder. “We were so relieved when their army approached Tiberias on their way to cross the river. It was not yet sunset and we thought they’d honored their promise to do no harm in our lands. Then we saw the prisoners being herded along like cattle and then they were close enough for us to see the heads. My father and Roger de Moulins were friends. . . .” Hugues swallowed, then pleaded, “Tell us how to make amends and we will do it.”
Again, Balian was sure that Hugues was speaking from the heart. He was still not convinced that he was also speaking for Raymond. Would the count’s remorse be strong enough to prevail over his pride? “I cannot tell you that, Hugues, not until after I see your stepfather.”
Hugues gave Balian a look of mute entreaty. He wanted to distance himself from Raymond’s epic blunder but could not bring himself to abandon his stepfather in his hour of greatest need. He wanted to tell Balian how sorry he was for the death of his Templar friend, Jakelin de Mailly. He wanted to help his fellow Christians on their way to enslavement. He wanted to erase the images of those bloody heads from his mind and memory. Yet he knew that his family could overflow the Salt Sea with their tears and it would change nothing.
* * *
Eschiva and Raymond were awaiting them on the steps of the great hall. So was Denys, for he’d arrived from Sidon that afternoon, thinking he was to attend a peace conference and finding himself thrust into a maelstrom. As soon as very tense greetings had been exchanged, he pulled Balian aside and into an emotional embrace, for he’d heard of the disaster at Cresson Springs earlier in the day, but had only learned that Balian was not among the slain once he’d reached Tiberias.
“Hugues says the Saracen force numbered between six and seven thousand. Why did our men engage them when they were so greatly outnumbered, Balian?”
“Gerard de Ridefort.”
Denys closed his eyes. “I ought to have guessed. . . .” Hugues had also told him that the Templar marshal, Jakelin de Mailly, had been slain, that they’d seen his head on a Saracen lance. Knowing that Jakelin had not been among the Templars escorting their grand master, he’d hoped that Hugues was wrong, for it would be easy to misidentify a man under such gruesome circumstances. Looking now at Balian’s haunted eyes, Denys no longer doubted. They’d lost more than a hundred skilled fighters; they’d also lost two voices of reason and common sense in Roger de Moulins and Jakelin de Mailly. “In that message you sent to Raymond, you said de Ridefort was one of the few survivors. How could God have let that happen?”
Balian’s jaw muscles tightened. “This was the Devil’s doing, not God’s.”
* * *
They’d gathered in the castle solar, the four envoys on one side of the table, the count and his family on the other, for his wife and sons had insisted upon being included. Her eyes swollen and reddened, Eschiva took a seat beside her husband, proud of Hugues when he chose to sit on Raymond’s right, for she knew how conflicted his loyalties had become. Reaching over to touch Raymond’s arm, she tried to convey a silent message—that he must not seek to justify himself, for his reasons had become irrelevant as soon as the first knight had died at Cresson Springs.
At first, Raymond seemed to understand that, for he spoke with real emotion of his horror once they’d learned of the battle. He offered eloquent testimonials to the courage of the slain men, his voice thickening as he praised Roger de Moulins. The envoys listened in silence and that may have caused his expression of contrition to take on defensive undertones. He began to explain why he’d felt he had no choice but to do what he’d done, that all of his actions were reactions, prompted by his need to protect his family and lands. When he said that Cresson Springs need not have happened, that there would have been no bloodshed if the grand masters had only followed his instructions and remained at Le Fève, he found himself face-to-face with his new reality—that truth could not drown out the screams of dying men, not when those men were his fellow Christians.
The Archbishop of Nazareth was so enraged that he shoved his chair back, making ready to stalk out. Although Joscius was more restrained, it was clear that he, too, had been deeply offended. Denys simply looked away. And Balian discovered that his patience had been a casualty, too, of the battle at Cresson Springs.
“You can insist that Guy provoked you into rebellion, Raymond. You can blame Gerard de Ridefort for his recklessness and lunacy. You can argue that the Saracens did not seek this battle. You can defend yourself from now till doomsday. But it will not matter. Not anymore. Not after your countrymen were killed by an army you allowed to enter Galilee.”
Raymond had not interrupted, although it was obvious that he was finding it difficult to keep silent until Balian had his say. He leaned forward then, his body language conveying not anger so much as the urgency of his need to make Balian and the others understand.
Hugues did not give him the chance. “He is right, Father. The townspeople were on the verge of rioting yesterday when they saw the Saracens ride by with their prisoners and those grisly trophies. You had to bring the sultan’s men into the castle for their own protection. Some of your own knights are ready to rebel, to disavow their oaths if you hold to this alliance with Saladin. And whilst I cannot speak for my brothers, I cannot follow you on this road any longer. I cannot. . . .”
Raymond opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Tearing his gaze from Hugues, he looked at his other stepsons, his eyes moving from face to face. He then glanced over at his wife. To those watching, he seemed to have aged in a matter of moments. His shoulders slumped and his fists unclenched, his chin sinking toward his chest. No one spoke for a time that seemed interminable to them all. When Raymond finally raised his head to meet Balian’s eyes, saying, “What would you have me do?” they knew that they had won.
* * *
Upon hearing of the debacle at Cresson Springs, Guy de Lusignan hastily mustered an armed escort and headed north. He was on the road when he received a message from his envoys, telling him that the Count of Tripoli had agreed to all their demands. He’d ended the alliance with Saladin, banished all of the sultan’s men from Tiberias, and promised to swear homage and fealty to Guy as his king. Guy sent back word that he would meet Raymond at the Hospitaller castle of St. Job, midway between Nazareth and Nablus.
* * *
When they reached Nazareth, the envoys were joined by Gerard de Ridefort, who’d recovered enough to bear witness to the
public humiliation of the man he hated above all others. At first, Gerard had tried to justify his actions at Cresson Springs, but his protestations had goaded Balian into an eruption of volcanic rage. After that, Gerard displayed uncharacteristic discretion, staying away from Balian and keeping to himself, while Raymond ignored Gerard so completely it was as if the grand master were invisible to his eyes. It was not a journey any of them would want to remember.
Balian felt a weary sense of thankfulness as they saw the castle of St. Job come into view, for the Hospitaller citadel was only fifteen miles or so from Nablus and he desperately wanted to see his family, to embrace his wife and hear the laughter of his children. He was praying that the peace talks between Guy and Raymond did not veer off course at the last moment, for he trusted neither man to rise to the occasion and put the welfare of the kingdom first.
The castle gates were opening, and then riders emerged, galloping out to meet them. There was considerable surprise when they saw that Guy was in the lead, for they’d expected him to receive Raymond in the great hall, amid all the panoply of kingship. They were even more surprised when Guy halted his knights and then rode on alone. Raymond spurred his stallion forward and they met in the middle of the road. Dropping his horse’s reins to anchor him, Raymond dismounted. So did Guy. As their audience watched nervously, the count sank to his knees before the man he’d refused to acknowledge as king. A collective sigh swept the ranks of the spectators, a wave of overwhelming relief that Raymond was doing his part as promised, humbling himself as his penance for Cresson Springs. But none of them had anticipated what happened next. Guy reached out and raised Raymond to his feet, then embraced him as if he were a former ally returning to the fold and not a man guilty of rebellion and possibly treason.
Balian had urged Smoke on, wanting to be closer to the two men in case Raymond’s submission flared into yet another confrontation, and Denys and Joscius had followed after him. Drawing up alongside him, Denys said in astonishment, “Fiend take me, Guy’s going to be a gracious winner! Who saw that coming?”
“Not me, for certes,” the archbishop acknowledged, sounding suddenly cheerful. “And not Raymond, either. He looks poleaxed.” Guy was speaking with animation, keeping his hand on Raymond’s arm, and some of his words floated back toward them on the mild May breeze: “peace between us” and “Saladin the real enemy.”
“Would I sound like an utter fool,” Joscius asked, “if I dare to hope we can finally come together to unite against the Saracens?”
“They think so,” Denys said, glancing over his shoulder toward the other men, who’d begun to cheer and clap. All but Gerard de Ridefort, whose face could have been carved from stone, so expressionless was it.
Balian said nothing, not wanting to rob his friends of this rare moment of hope. But even if the kingdom did unite behind Guy, it would not be for long. For their unity to last, Gerard de Ridefort would have had to die at Cresson Springs with the men he’d doomed. The snake was still in Eden.
CHAPTER 47
June 1187
Nablus, Outremer
Balian had mustered all of the knights and serjeants of Nablus in response to Guy’s summons, and the palace courtyard was a tumultuous scene as men made ready to depart. Balian’s children had seen him ride off to war before, but Thomasin and Helvis were old enough to understand that this time the danger was greater, for Saladin had gathered the largest army ever to threaten their kingdom. Balian had done his best to reassure his daughter and nephew, promising he’d return safely once the invasion had been thwarted. Did they realize this was a promise he might not be able to keep? He could only hope not.
Pained by the forlorn look on Helvis’s face, he gave her one last hug. As he stepped back, his gaze rested for a moment upon Maria, standing in the doorway of the great hall. They’d said their farewells in the privacy of their bedchamber, with an unspoken urgency that left them both drained and shaken. But she seemed composed now, submerging the wife in the queenly persona she’d perfected in the twenty years since her marriage to Amalric had thrust her upon the public stage. As their eyes met, she even managed a smile.
Ernoul was holding the reins of Balian’s palfrey, Smoke, for his war horses, Khamsin and Demon, would be led, not ridden. Balian started to swing up into the saddle, stopped in midmotion, and then strode across the courtyard toward his wife. Heedless of their audience, he gathered her into an embrace so tight that she felt as if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. She did not complain, clung to him just as tightly. Neither one spoke, for they’d said what needed to be said during the night. When he returned to his stallion, she followed, beckoning to their daughter as he mounted and signaled to his men. He did not look back, but Maria continued to watch, an arm around Helvis’s slender shoulders, until he was no longer in sight.
* * *
Just as Baldwin had done before Montgisard, Guy had issued the arrière-ban, requiring all able-bodied men to join the army. The kingdom could muster six hundred and seventy-five knights and over five thousand armed serjeants and turcopoles. The Templars could normally provide three hundred elite knights and close to a thousand serjeants, and the Hospitallers could supply three hundred knights and serjeants. But both orders had been weakened by their losses at Cresson Springs. Raymond had brought most of the two hundred knights of Tripoli, as well as one hundred knights from his wife’s Galilee. Bohemond had signed a truce with the Saracens so he could drive the Turkman raiders out of Antioch; he’d still sent fifty knights under the command of his eldest son and Raymond’s godson, Prince Raimond, in response to Guy’s appeal. There was a contingent of Italian sailors, too, and the usual pilgrims eager to fight the infidel. When Guy boasted that this was the largest army ever to assemble in Outremer, few doubted him, for they had the evidence of their eyes. Their camp at Saforie had tents beyond counting, thousands of horses, and at night, the summer darkness was lit by hundreds of smoky fires.
* * *
Denys paused to watch as the sun sank below the western horizon, leaving a trail of flaming colors in its wake. He welcomed the coming of twilight, for that would mean a reprieve from the brutal July heat. He was starting back to his tent when his attention was drawn by a burst of laughter. A group of men were joking as they crowded around someone hidden from Denys’s view. Their language was alien to him; he thought it was probably an Italian dialect. Most likely those sailors from Genoa, he thought. He was about to pass on by when their circle split and a familiar figure emerged from their midst.
Denys stopped at once, waiting for Balian to join him. “None of them speak any French,” he explained, “so whenever a problem comes up, they ask me to interpret for them. I know some of my father’s Piedmontese, and it is close enough to their Ligurian for us to communicate.”
“How did you pick up any Piedmontese? Your father died the same year you were born.”
“He’d wanted Hugh and Baudouin to learn some of his language, and they were happy to tutor their little brother.” Balian smiled at the memory. “I’ve heard tales about how older brothers love to torment younger ones. Mine were more protective than not, mayhap because they were so much older than me.”
As always when he spoke of his brothers, Balian’s voice resonated with warmth. Denys thought he must have been shocked that Baudouin had not accompanied Prince Raimond and the knights from Antioch. He’d been startled, too, and he took this opportunity to learn more about Baudouin’s puzzling absence. “I heard Raimond brought you a letter from Baudouin. How is he faring in Antioch?”
“I was taken aback that Baudouin did not come with Prince Raimond,” Balian admitted. “His letter offered few answers. He mentioned campaigning against the Turkmen and spoke vaguely of coming when he could. But no matter how much he loathes Guy, he’d never be indifferent to the kingdom’s survival. So, I questioned Bohemond’s son and he finally confessed that Baudouin has been ailing and did not want me to know. He assure
d me that Baudouin is now on the mend, though.”
Denys did not like the sound of that and he saw that Balian shared his concerns. Baudouin had once insisted upon going on a chevauchée despite being afire with fever and he’d continued on a boar hunt after he’d gashed his head when his horse stumbled and threw him. If he were truly “on the mend,” he’d be at Saforie with them. But even if Baudouin was gravely ill, there was nothing Balian could do about it for now. Saladin had crossed the Jordan River five days ago, leading a vast army that was camped at Kafr Sabt, just ten miles from Saforie.
They walked in silence for a while. Balian invited Denys to share his supper and they were soon seated in Balian’s tent, being served a mutton stew by his squires. After sending the youths off to eat, they relaxed over a flagon of wine. The tent flap was open, offering a glimpse of the darkening sky, but the lit oil lamps kept the shadows at bay. Aside from the ones lurking under Balian’s eyes, Denys thought, for the younger man looked as though he’d gotten little sleep. Most likely he had not, for yesterday had been the two-month anniversary of the slaughter at Cresson Springs. The wound inflicted by Jakelin’s needless death would take far longer than that to heal, assuming it ever did.
“I was skeptical at first,” Denys confided, “when Guy bragged that no King of Jerusalem had ever led a larger army. But as I walked through the camp tonight, I thought he might well be right. We must have over fifteen thousand men here.”
The Land Beyond the Sea Page 75
