Kingdom

by Hight, Jack

  Baldwin headed back to the corner where the other children were pretending to fight with swords. Yusuf called after him: ‘Ma’a as-salaama.’

  ‘Allah yasalmak,’ Baldwin replied, and ran over to join in the play.

  John looked to Yusuf. ‘You see. Not all Franks hate your people, Yusuf. Baldwin will be king someday. He can bring peace.’

  ‘He is a clever child. Perhaps you are right, John.’

  Later that morning John emerged from the Templum Domini with Yusuf at his side. They had been forced to leave quickly when one of the monks had taken offence at Yusuf’s presence.

  ‘Have you seen enough?’ John asked hopefully.

  Yusuf pointed to the Al-Aqsa mosque, which lay beyond a series of arches, the remnant of some long-vanished structure. ‘I wish to visit the mosque. It is time for noon prayer.’

  John’s eyes widened. ‘You wish to pray there?’

  ‘How can I visit Jerusalem and not pray in Al-Aqsa, one of the holiest places in all of Islam?’

  ‘And the Templar headquarters.’

  ‘The Grand Master said I was welcome.’

  ‘The other knights are not as enlightened as Bertrand.’

  ‘I thought you said the Franks could learn to respect my people.’

  ‘Not the Templars,’ John grumbled. ‘They are fanatics.’

  ‘Please, friend. I may never return to Jerusalem again.’

  ‘Very well,’ John sighed, ‘but let me do the talking.’

  John led them to the Temple, which was fronted by an arcade held up by pointed arches. Two Templar sergeants with spears in hand framed the entrance that sat in the shadows of the arcade. The guards eyed Yusuf suspiciously and then looked to John.

  ‘What is your business here, Father?’ one of them asked. He was a short man with a thick, bull-like neck. From his accented French, John guessed that he was Norman, and a new arrival to the Holy Land.

  John gestured to Yusuf. ‘King Amalric has engaged me to show this man the city.’

  ‘He is a Saracen?’ the guard asked.

  John thought about lying but decided against it. ‘Yes.’

  The second Templar lowered his spear so that it pointed towards Yusuf’s chest. ‘He is not welcome here.’

  John stepped between Yusuf and the spear point. ‘We will be no trouble. He only wishes to see the main hall.’

  ‘He is a sand-devil,’ the thick-necked Templar spat. ‘He will not enter.’

  John drew himself up straight. ‘I am a canon of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and in the name of the Patriarch, I order you to step aside.’

  ‘The Temple was granted to us by King Baldwin II,’ the guard replied. ‘The Patriarch has no power here.’

  ‘Leave,’ the other guard barked, jabbing his spear so that it stopped just inches short of John’s chest.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Bertrand de Blanchefort approached from behind the guards. ‘John?’

  ‘Grand Master.’

  ‘And Emir Saladin.’ Bertrand turned to Yusuf. ‘How do you find Jerusalem?’

  ‘A beautiful city. I had wished to pray inside your Temple. It is holy to my people.’

  Bertrand turned to the guards. ‘Let them in.’

  The bullish guard scowled and reluctantly stepped aside.

  John followed Yusuf inside. They walked down a wide, high-ceilinged nave lined with columns on either side. Windows set high above shed a dim light. At the end of the nave, they found themselves standing under a dome. Yusuf pointed to a niche built into the wall of the hallway to their left. ‘A mirhab; the mark on the wall indicates the direction of Mecca. I shall pray there.’

  John stood just outside the niche while Yusuf began to pray, murmuring the first words of the Sura al-Fatiha. ‘In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful—’ Yusuf had just knelt for the first time when John noticed the bull-necked guard approaching. He held up a hand to stop him, but the man shoved him aside. He grabbed Yusuf from behind, lifted him from the ground, and set him back down facing east.

  ‘That is the way to pray, Saracen!’

  John’s fists clenched. ‘Leave him be, friend.’

  Yusuf put a hand on John’s arm. ‘Easy,’ he whispered. ‘I do not wish to cause trouble.’ He turned to the Templar. ‘The Grand Master gave me permission to pray as I please.’

  The Norman glared at them and then turned and stomped away. Yusuf resumed his prayers. Watching him, John could remember when he had been struck by the strangeness of Muslim prayer, the kneeling and prostrating. After seeing Yusuf pray hundreds, even thousands of times, he now realized that it was not so different from Christian prayer. He had spent more time than he wished on his knees since he became a priest. And now that he was supposed to pray seven times a day, the five daily prayers required of Muslims did not seem so odd.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the Templar, who had returned without John noticing. ‘East!’ The man pointed as he shouted at Yusuf. ‘You should face east!’

  Yusuf looked to John and raised an eyebrow, as if to say: ‘See. This is why peace between our peoples is not possible.’

  John grabbed the guard by his surcoat and pulled him away. ‘I said leave him be.’

  The Templar knocked John’s hand aside and swung at him. John sidestepped the blow, grabbed the man’s arm and pivoted, using the guard’s momentum to swing him towards the wall. At the same time, he stuck out his leg. The Templar tripped over it and slammed face first into the wall. He roared in pain and began to rise. John punched him hard, catching him in the jaw, and the Norman slumped to the floor, unmoving.

  A half-dozen Templars had gathered around them now and were staring at John wide-eyed. Yusuf took his arm. ‘I have finished my prayers. We should go, friend.’

  ‘Fresh bread!’ a vendor cried. ‘Fresh bread!’ His voice was drowned out by the ring of steel upon steel. John jumped to the side to avoid the sparks flying into the street from where a blacksmith hammered down on a red-hot sword blade. He continued down the steeply sloped street, leading Yusuf through the crowd that had gathered at the shops in the shade of the Temple Mount.

  ‘John!’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘Here!’

  John turned to find himself confronted by a veiled woman flanked by two sergeants in mail. She wore a bulky caftan that revealed nothing of the shape underneath. A single blonde curl had escaped from her headdress. ‘It is I, Agnes.’

  John bowed. ‘God grant you joy, Lady de Courtenay.’

  Agnes gestured towards Yusuf. ‘And who is your friend?’

  ‘This is Saladin, Emir of Tell Bashir.’

  ‘My lady,’ Yusuf said.

  ‘A Saracen lord in Jerusalem … how intriguing.’

  ‘He is a guest of King Amalric,’ John explained.

  ‘The lands beyond the Jordan fascinate me,’ Agnes said. ‘You must tell me all about them, Saladin. Come. I am not allowed at court, but I keep a home in the city not far from here.’ She turned and strode through the crowd without waiting to see if they would follow. Her sergeants walked ahead of her, clearing a path.

  John glanced at Yusuf, who shrugged. They followed Agnes back towards the Mount, and down a dim passageway vaulted over with stone. Past it, Agnes turned right into the narrow streets of the Syrian quarter. The people here were mostly Jacobites, who looked to the Patriarch of Antioch rather than the Pope as their authority. They spoke Arabic, and the men wore trimmed beards and skullcaps.

  Agnes’s home was a nondescript building on a quiet side street. A tiled entryway opened on to an interior courtyard with a burbling fountain in the centre. ‘Wait here,’ she told them. She pointed to some stools in the shade of the western wall. ‘I will return in a moment.’

  John and Yusuf sat, and a servant brought them glasses of orange juice, so sweet that it made John’s teeth ache.

  Yusuf leaned close to John and whispered in Arabic. ‘What do you know of this woman?’

  ‘She is the former wife of King Ama
lric.’

  ‘Why did they divorce? Was she unfaithful?’

  ‘No. The rumour at court is that they divorced because of consanguinity. They share a great-great-grandfather.’

  ‘Then why were they allowed to marry?’

  John shrugged.

  ‘Speaking of me?’ It was Agnes, who had stepped silently back into the courtyard. She had changed into a green silk caftan, loose at the arms and tight about the waist, a plunging neckline offering a provocative glimpse of shadowy cleavage. She had removed her veil and wore her long blonde hair down around her shoulders. Both John and Yusuf rose as she approached. ‘I see that you have been served refreshments,’ she said and smiled. She had the sort of smile that would make men act the fool. John glanced at Yusuf, who was staring wide-eyed, enraptured.

  ‘Please, sit,’ Agnes instructed and took a seat on one of the stools. As she did so, she leaned forward, and John could not help but stare down the front of her caftan. Some very unpriestly thoughts flashed through his mind, and he decided it would be best to leave soon. He remained standing while Yusuf sat beside Agnes.

  ‘Thank you for your courteous invitation to your home, my lady,’ John said. ‘But we must excuse ourselves. We are expected at the palace.’

  She waved away his remark as if she were swatting a fly. ‘Nonsense. The King is meeting with Chancellor William. They will be busy for some time.’

  ‘But William is in Constantinople,’ John countered.

  ‘He returned this morning with important news. Now sit, John.’

  John reluctantly did as she asked. He had heard nothing of William’s return, and he was the chancellor’s secretary. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I make it my business to stay informed. After all, Amalric is the father of my children. Tell me, how is the young prince?’

  ‘He is well.’

  ‘And he makes progress in his studies?’

  ‘He has a gift for languages, and he enjoys history and swordplay. He will make a good king.’ Agnes looked pleased, and John smiled, happy to have pleased her. But this was not what he wanted to discuss. He frowned as he realized how easily she had led the conversation away from William’s return. ‘You said that the Chancellor brings news, my lady?’

  ‘He does. I will tell you, but first I want to hear from you, Saladin.’ She turned to him and placed a hand on his knee. Yusuf blushed scarlet. ‘You have recently returned from Alexandria?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘I understand that you were charged with defending the city?’

  ‘Yes. My uncle left me with a thousand men, plus volunteers amongst the Alexandrians.’

  ‘And how many did you face?’

  ‘The combined Frankish and Egyptian forces numbered well over ten thousand.’

  ‘You must have been frightened.’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  ‘I would have been,’ Agnes said. ‘I am sure of it.’

  John was not so sure. The Lady de Courtenay seemed more than capable of looking after herself.

  ‘Everyone feels fear,’ Yusuf told her, ‘but a warrior learns to rise above it.’

  Agnes leaned towards him, revealing another glimpse of the curve of her breasts. ‘And you are a great warrior, are you not?’ Yusuf’s eyes were locked on her bosom. John frowned. Why was she so interested in Yusuf? What could she hope to gain from him?

  ‘Do not pout, John,’ Agnes said. She winked conspiratorially at Yusuf. ‘He is upset because we have ignored him.’

  John forced a smile. ‘I am not upset, my lady.’

  ‘You are a poor liar. It is an endearing quality. My former husband, Amalric, is also a poor liar.’ She paused, and her mouth tightened for just a moment. But when she spoke again, her tone was light. ‘You must grow accustomed to women ignoring you, John. You are a priest, wedded to the Holy Church. A great loss for the women of Jerusalem. You would have been quite the catch.’

  John opened his mouth to reply but could find no words. He could feel his face flushing as red as Yusuf’s.

  She laughed at his consternation. ‘Surely you must know that women find you attractive, John. A strong jaw, eyes as blue as the summer sky, broad shoulders. Ah, but you do look ill in your priest’s cloak. I would prefer you in mail, or in a simple caftan, like Saladin here.’ She turned her attention back to Yusuf. ‘Are you married, Emir?’

  ‘He is not,’ John said, hoping that she would turn her green eyes back towards him.

  Agnes ignored him. All her attention was on Yusuf. ‘Ah, but you have your eye on someone, yes?’ Yusuf looked away. ‘You do! What is she like? Blonde? No, of course not; she is a Saracen. Dark hair then, and dark eyes, and golden skin like the desert sands.’ Yusuf was staring speechless at his feet. ‘Forgive me, Emir. I see that it pains you to speak of it. Let us talk of happier things. King Amalric is to be married. That is the news that William brings.’

  ‘Married? Are you certain?’ John thought back to his conversation with Amalric, the day they had arrived in Cairo. The king had talked of marriage. Had he known then?

  ‘Yes, I am sure, John. He is to marry Maria Komnena, grandniece of the Emperor Manuel.’ Agnes’s delicate nose wrinkled, as if she had smelled something disagreeable. ‘She is a sad little thing. But she brings a large dowry, and her marriage will seal the alliance between Amalric and Manuel.’

  Yusuf leaned forward, interested. ‘When will this marriage take place?’

  ‘Maria is a girl of only ten. They will wait until she is older; thirteen perhaps. Poor girl. I was no older when I was married.’

  ‘To Amalric?’ John asked.

  ‘No, to Reynald of Marash. He was a beast of a man, but I did not have to bear with him for long. He died shortly after our marriage. After that I was engaged to Hugh of Ibelin, but he was captured in battle before we could marry. The story has a happy ending, though. After Amalric divorced me, Hugh came to court me once more. We were married last year, eight years after our first engagement.’

  John winced. He had not known she had married again. He rose. ‘We truly must go, Lady de Courtenay.’

  ‘Then I bid you farewell and Godspeed on your journey, both of you.’

  ‘Pardon, my lady? I have no plans to leave Jerusalem.’

  A smile played at the corner of Agnes’s mouth. ‘Plans have been made for you, John. Amalric is sending you and William to Aleppo to negotiate the release of the prisoners that Nur ad-Din took at Harim.’

  Agnes was very well informed indeed. John wondered who her contacts were at court. ‘Why would the King send me?’ he asked.

  ‘Amalric hopes your friendships amongst the Saracens will prove valuable in the negotiations.’ She rose. ‘I do not wish to keep either of you from the preparations for your journey. Thank you both for honouring me with your company.’

  Yusuf bowed. ‘It is we who were honoured, my lady.’

  She gave him her most winning smile. ‘God keep you, Saladin. My man will show you out.’

  A servant stepped forward and led Yusuf towards the exit. John began to follow, but Agnes grabbed his arm. ‘I have no confessor in Jerusalem, Father. I would appreciate it if you would visit from time to time to relieve me of the burden of my sins.’

  John hesitated. William had warned him to be wary of the Lady de Courtenay, yet he enjoyed her easy manner, the touch of her hand on his arm, the warmth in her smile.

  ‘Of course, my lady.’

  Chapter 7

  FEBRUARY 1165: NEAR THE PORT OF SAINT SYMEON

  Yusuf stood at the rail of the ship and watched the coast drift past. John and William had offered to travel with him to Aleppo, and Yusuf had gladly accepted. Three days ago they had boarded a ship in Jaffa. Now, as they rounded a rocky spit of land, Yusuf could just make out the mouth of the Orontes River, a low point on the otherwise mountainous coast. The port of Saint Symeon, which served the crusader city of Antioch, lay just up the river.

  ‘May I join you?’

  Yusuf turne
d to see William approaching. ‘Where is John?’

  ‘Still below. I fear the sea does not agree with him.’ The priest stood beside Yusuf and leaned his elbows on the rail so that the silver cross about his neck hung out over the water. ‘You enjoyed your visit to Jerusalem?’

  Yusuf nodded.

  ‘I have spoken to Amalric about opening the city to Muslim settlement.’

  Yusuf blinked in surprise. ‘And what did Amalric say?’

  ‘He is not opposed to the idea. The other cities of the Kingdom all have Arab residents. And half the homes in Jerusalem lie empty. Muslim settlers would mean more revenue.’

  ‘And more taxes means that he can pay more warriors.’

  ‘True, but that is not why I wish to open the Holy City to your people. I believe that Christians and Muslims can share Jerusalem as they did before the Crusades. I believe that we can learn to respect one another’s faiths.’

  ‘John says the same.’

  ‘You should listen to him.’

  ‘Tell that to your Templars. When I visited Al-Aqsa, one of them accosted me while I prayed.’

  ‘John told me,’ William said. ‘The Templar was newly arrived in the Holy Land. He may be a savage now, but the East will civilize him. Think of John. He started like that Templar and look at him now.’

  ‘Now he is a priest,’ Yusuf said with a trace of bitterness. ‘He serves King Amalric.’

  ‘Yes, but he respects your people, loves them even. He longs for peace.’

  ‘And what of your king? Is his alliance with the Emperor Manuel meant to bring peace?’

  ‘Amalric is no fool. He battles with Nur ad-Din because he fears him. This alliance will make the Kingdom secure. Amalric will not need to fight.’

  ‘But he will want to. I have met your king. He is a warrior, like Nur ad-Din.’

  William shrugged. ‘That may be, but it is the responsibility of men like us to guide our kings, Saladin.’

  ‘No, it is my duty to serve my king.’

  ‘And what better way to serve him than by offering sage advice? The treaty that was signed in Egypt could be the beginning of a new age of peace. But peace is a fragile flower. We must cultivate it.’