by Hight, Jack
‘You will.’ Sinan disappeared though the screen.
Yusuf rose and followed him to the next room. No one was there. Yusuf stepped out of the tent, but again there was no sign of Sinan. Saqr still stood beside the entrance.
‘Did you see him?’ Yusuf asked.
‘Who?’
One of the guards who circled the tent was approaching, and Yusuf turned to him. ‘A man was here. Dark hair and a long beard. Did you see him?’
‘No, Malik.’
Yusuf circled the tent and found a slash in the side where Sinan must have exited. His eyes went to the ash- and lime-covered ground. There were no footprints. How was that possible? He came back to where Saqr stood and peered into the darkness beyond the torches.
‘Are you well, Malik?’ Saqr asked.
‘Have Qaraqush and Al-Maqaddam come to my tent.’
Qaraqush arrived first. He was still blinking sleep from his eyes. ‘I was dreaming I was in paradise surrounded by virgins. Why in the name of—’ He stopped short when he saw the expression on Yusuf’s face.
Al-Mashtub arrived a moment later. ‘We were unable to find Sabir’s killer.’
‘Sinan,’ Yusuf said.
‘Sinan was here?’ Qaraqush demanded.
Yusuf nodded. ‘We will strike camp first thing tomorrow.’
Qaraqush blinked, speechless. Al-Mashtub recovered first. ‘Why, Malik?’
‘Our business here is finished. The Hashashin will trouble us no more. We will return to Cairo. It has been too long since we were home.’
Chapter 23
MARCH 1177: JERUSALEM
‘You cannot make Reynald regent, sire,’ John said. He stopped pacing the king’s private chamber and turned to face Baldwin, who, as usual, was huddled before the fire. ‘You cannot.’
‘I have no choice, John.’
Baldwin had come of age and assumed the throne the week before, but his illness had left him too weak to leave the palace except on rare occasions. The Haute Cour had called for a new regent to be elected. Agnes had already forced Baldwin to send Raymond back to Tripoli, and now she was pushing for Reynald to take his post.
‘He hates the Saracens, sire. He will bring war, a war that we cannot win. Particularly not after Myriokephalon.’
Baldwin frowned. ‘Do not remind me.’ Six months ago, the army of Emperor Manuel had been caught in a pass and routed by the Turks near the fortress of Myriokephalon. The Kingdom could no longer hope for any help from Constantinople. They were on their own.
‘Anyone but Reynald, sire.’
‘I have no choice,’ the king repeated. ‘I am expendable now that Sibylla is with child. I cannot defy Agnes.’
John met his eyes. ‘But I can.’
Baldwin shook his head. ‘She will not listen to you, John.’
‘I must try.’
John crossed the palace to Agnes’s apartments. Before he reached the door, Reynald emerged. He walked down the narrow corridor towards John.
‘Out of my way, Saxon.’ John did not move aside to let him pass. ‘I will be regent soon. I can have you hanged for your insolence.’
‘I have the backing of the King,’ John replied.
‘The King is a leper. He will be dead soon enough. You would do well to remember that.’ Reynald pushed past John and strode away.
John reached Agnes’s chambers and knocked. She opened the door herself. ‘John. I thought I heard your voice. Come in.’
John waited until she had closed the door. ‘What have you done?’ he demanded.
Her perfect eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Reynald is not fit to be regent.’
‘He is a man that the Saracens fear. With him as regent, they will think twice before attacking.’
‘He is a savage who kills for sport. Reynald did not honour the treaty while lord of Kerak. If he fails to honour it as regent, he will start a war we cannot win.’
She smiled. ‘I am no fool, John. I do not need a priest to give me lessons in politics.’
John took a step towards her. ‘Please, Agnes. Do not make him regent.’
‘It is already done. It will be announced tomorrow.’
John shook his head in disgust.
‘Do not look at me like that, John. I know you despise me, but what I have done, I have done for Baldwin, for the Kingdom.’
‘Why do you care what I think of you?’
She shrugged. ‘Because you understand. Because you too would do anything for Baldwin. Because you loved me once. And I loved you.’ She reached out to touch his face.
John caught her hand. ‘You never loved me.’ He went to the door and then turned back. Her eyes were shining. ‘You had best keep Reynald on a short leash. Peace is our only hope.’
AUGUST 1177: JERUSALEM
‘Why did he have to show up now?’ Baldwin complained as he entered his chamber with John and William in tow. ‘The man is a damned nuisance.’
They had just returned from a feast held in honour of Philip of Alsace, who had arrived in Jerusalem on crusade only the day before. As Count of Flanders, a rich province north-east of Paris, Philip was one of the most powerful lords in Europe. He had come on crusade at the head of two hundred knights. His arrival could not have come at a worse time.
‘It is all I could do to keep Reynald in check these last few months, and now this. Philip has spoken of invading Egypt. Egypt!’ Baldwin sank into his chair beside the fire. The flickering light played on his features. Baldwin had always been mature beyond his years, but over the past few months the skin over his forehead had thickened, deepening the creases in his brow and making him look much older than his sixteen years.
‘Egypt is not why he is here,’ William noted as he sat across from the king.
‘I know,’ Baldwin said darkly. ‘He is here for my sister.’
Sibylla had not been married four months when her husband Guilhem died of malaria, leaving her pregnant. Her child would rule as king or queen, and her husband would be king until that child came of age. She was once again the most sought-after prize in the Kingdom.
‘Philip would not be a bad ally,’ John noted. ‘He is your kinsman, and they say he is a great warrior. He has men, money and influence in France and England.’
William snorted. ‘Influence will not bring us the men we need to defeat Saladin. We need blood ties to either France or England. And Flanders is far from the Holy Land. It would be better to marry her to a local lord.’
‘She should not marry at all,’ Baldwin said. ‘Her husband has not been in the grave for two months. She should mourn for a year at least.’
‘What does your mother say?’ John asked.
‘On this, at least, we are in agreement. But Sibylla is beside the point. What matters is that Philip has come on crusade, and Reynald supports him. That means war with Saladin, a war that I fear we cannot win.’
‘Perhaps Saladin will not attack,’ William offered. ‘If Philip strikes in the north, against the lands of Al-Salih—’
‘Al-Salih is his lord,’ John said. ‘Saladin will fight to defend him.’
‘By Christ’s wounds,’ Baldwin cursed. ‘Damn Philip!’
The three of them lapsed into silence. Baldwin huddled in his chair while William poked the fire. Even with Philip’s knights, the Kingdom did not have nearly enough men to fight Saladin’s armies. Philip and Reynald’s crusade would doom them all. Reynald! John looked to the king. ‘Perhaps Philip’s arrival is a blessing in disguise, sire.’
‘How so?’
‘Philip is your cousin, yes?’
The king nodded. ‘We share a grandfather. Philip’s father married King Fulk’s daughter while on crusade.’
‘Which makes Philip the closest male relative you have, closer even than Raymond, and much, much closer than Reynald.’
Baldwin sat up straight. ‘Which makes him an ideal regent. Very clever, John. William, go and draw up the forms of investiture for a new regent. John,
fetch Philip here. My mother is to know nothing of this.’
John knocked on the door of Philip’s chamber in the palace. There was no response. ‘Count Philip!’ John called. He knocked louder. Finally the door opened a crack to reveal a girl of no more than sixteen, a sheet held up to cover her nakedness. She was thin, with delicate features and saucer-like eyes. John recognized her as a palace servant, charged with washing and changing the linen.
‘Lord Philip is occupied,’ the girl said shyly.
‘Tell him that King Baldwin wishes to speak with him.’
The girl looked over her shoulder, and John could hear a low voice coming from the room. She turned back to John. ‘He—he will wait on the King shortly.’
‘Baldwin wishes to speak with him now,’ John insisted. ‘Tell him it is about Sibylla.’
The door opened wide. Philip stood beside the girl. He was tall, broad-shouldered and clean-shaven with long brown hair and dark-green eyes. He was completely naked.
‘Why did you not say so?’ Philip slapped the servant girl’s buttocks. ‘Off with you now, Alda.’
‘My name is Celsa, my lord.’
‘Of course it is.’ Philip kissed her hand. ‘Run along now, Celsa.’ He gently pushed her out of the door. She stood in the hallway barefoot, still wrapped in the bed sheet. She hesitated. Then she hurried away, her cheeks scarlet. John shook his head.
Philip had stepped back into his room and was sitting on the bed as he pulled on fitted linen hose. ‘I was told by Lady Agnes that I would not have an audience with the King until tomorrow.’
‘She was mistaken.’
Philip pulled a tunic of blue velvet over his head and cinched it about his waist with a leather belt. He slipped his feet into pointed leather shoes and stood to smooth back his long hair. ‘Take me to him.’
Baldwin’s chambers were in the same wing as Philip’s, no more than fifty paces away, but John led them on a circuitous path that took them down into the kitchen and then up the servants’ stairs and into the king’s chambers though a back door. Baldwin sat waiting in his chair by the fire.
Philip bowed. ‘Cousin.’
Baldwin looked past him to John. ‘Were you seen?’
‘No, sire.’
Baldwin turned to Philip. ‘Sit.’ He gestured to the chair across from him.
Philip sat and crossed his legs casually, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. ‘You wished to speak with me of your sister, Sibylla?’
‘Unfortunately, I cannot offer her to you.’
Philip’s relaxed posture vanished. He gripped the arms of the chair. ‘But your man said—’
‘I know what John said. He asked you here to speak of Sibylla, and we are speaking of her. Her husband died less than two months ago. It is too soon for her to marry again.’
‘Then we have nothing to discuss.’ Philip started to rise, but John put a hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.
Baldwin leaned forward. ‘On the contrary, we have a great deal to discuss. You have come to the Kingdom to go on crusade. I am asking you not to.’
‘But that is preposterous! I have brought hundreds of men at great cost.’
‘And you could not have come at a worse time. The Kingdom is in no position to go to war. Our peace with the Saracens is all that protects us.’
‘That is not what Reynald de Chatillon says.’
‘Reynald is a fool.’
Philip’s eyes narrowed. ‘He is your regent.’
‘Yes, and now we have reached the crux of the matter. John, bring our guest some wine.’
John went to a table by the window and returned with two cups that had already been poured. Philip took a sip, nodded in satisfaction, and took a long drink. Baldwin examined his cup before setting it aside. ‘I wish to offer you the regency, Philip.’
‘What?’ Philip blinked in surprise.
‘You would serve as co-ruler until I die. Afterwards, you will rule alone until my heir comes of age.’
‘But what of my lands in Flanders?’
‘I am offering you a kingdom, Philip. If you accept, you will be given Jaffa and Ascalon. That will solidify your standing here in the Holy Land.’
Philip sat speechless, staring at his cup of wine. Finally he looked up. ‘And the barons of the Kingdom will accept this?’
‘They can hardly refuse. You are a powerful lord and my closest male relative. And I am their king. If I tell them to support you, they will do so.’
‘And in return?’
‘You will abandon your crusade.’ Philip opened his mouth to protest, and Baldwin raised a hand to silence him. ‘You may fight, only not now. Wait until the advantage lies with us.’
Philip took another drink of wine. He shook his head. ‘Why offer me the regency? You have only just met me.’
‘I have told you my reasons.’
‘Surely the Saracens are not so great a threat as you suggest. Reynald tells me the Kingdom still has thousands of sergeants and hundreds of knights. Jerusalem itself was conquered with fewer men.’
‘The Saracens were not united then as they are now.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then you must leave Jerusalem. You will not use my lands to launch your attack.’
‘I could still attack from Tripoli or Antioch.’
‘You could.’
Philip ran a hand through his hair as he considered the situation. ‘I swore an oath, Baldwin. I have come to fight, and many of your men have already pledged their support. The Templars and Hospitallers are with me. Reynald has offered a hundred knights. I do not need your permission to go to war.’
‘No, you do not. But I urge you to do as I ask. You are new to these lands, Philip. I have lived here all my life. I know what the costs of an attack on the Saracens would be.’
Philip moved to take another sip of wine, realized his cup was empty, and set it aside. ‘When must I decide?’
‘Now.’
‘Then my answer is no.’
‘I beg you to reconsider.’ Baldwin leaned forward and grasped Philip’s wrist.
The count looked down at Baldwin’s sore-covered hand and flinched. He pulled his hand away. ‘My home is in Flanders, not here. I have come to fight for God. Afterwards I will return home.’ He rose.
The calm that Baldwin had maintained now broke. ‘But you are dooming the Kingdom!’
‘No, Cousin, I am saving it. You said yourself that the Kingdom is weak and the Saracens strong. You need me to redress the balance. I will march north and I will not stop until I have taken Aleppo.’
Baldwin studied his cousin for a moment; then his shoulders slumped and he looked away to the fire. ‘You will leave Jerusalem before week’s end,’ he told Philip. ‘John, take him away.’
OCTOBER 1177: CAIRO
Yusuf’s forehead creased as he stared at the scrap of paper in his hand. He squinted as he re-examined the minuscule script used in the pigeon post. He shook his head in disbelief. He had read it correctly.
‘The peace has been broken, Brother,’ Selim said. ‘An army from the Kingdom has laid siege to Hama.’
Yusuf set the paper aside and looked to the men standing before him in the audience chamber. They were his most trusted councillors: Selim, Imad ad-Din, al-Fadil, Ubadah and Qaraqush. ‘Has Baldwin taken leave of his senses?’ Yusuf asked of no one in particular. ‘He must know he cannot win.’
‘It is not Baldwin who leads the attack,’ Imad ad-Din responded, ‘but a crusader from the West; Philip, the Count of Flanders, wherever that may be.’
‘I do not give two straws where he is from,’ Yusuf snapped. ‘We had a treaty with Jerusalem.’
‘The treaty does allow for a suspension of the peace in the event of a crusade,’ Imad ad-Din pointed out.
Ubadah stepped forward. ‘It does matter who or why, Uncle. This is our chance! This Philip has taken most of the knights of the Kingdom with him to the north.’
Selim nodded. ‘Jerusalem is pract
ically undefended. Allah has given us a clear path to the Holy Sanctuary. You will be the conqueror of Jerusalem, the saviour of our people!’
Yusuf rose and went to the window. He could see the white walls of the new citadel rising on the hills south of the city. The citadel was to be the new seat of his government, the heart of a flourishing kingdom. It was only one of many projects he had begun. He had dug new wells in Cairo and begun a bridge across the Nile at Giza. Further north, his men were at work on dams in the Nile delta. The port of Alexandria was being dredged. He had built new madrasas for learning in cities across Syria and expanded the courts to ensure swift justice. And he had posted men to secure the caravan routes from bandits so that trade could flourish. Peace had been good to his people, much better than the years of victories bought with blood and taxes. War would threaten all of it.
Yet what choice did he have? The Franks had attacked, and it was his duty as king to defend his lands. ‘The damned fools,’ he muttered. If they wanted war, then he would bring it to them. When he was done, the Franks would never spurn peace again. His decision made, Yusuf straightened and spoke with authority. ‘Qaraqush, gather the army, and send to my brother in Damascus for more men. We will set out at once for the Kingdom and meet Turan’s men at Ascalon. Allah willing, Jerusalem will be ours before the new year. If the Franks do not then beg for peace, I shall drive them into the sea.’
NOVEMBER 1177: JERUSALEM
John entered the chancellery with a box containing the pigeon post under his arm. He sat down and began to sort through the messages. He looked first at missives from Tripoli and Antioch. They all related the same news. The army under Philip was making little progress in its siege of Hama. John continued to scan the messages until he came to one from Ascalon. He left at once for the king’s quarters.
He arrived to find Baldwin in a meeting with Reynald, Agnes and Amalric de Lusignan. The king sat huddled by the fire while the three others stood around him. They were discussing possible husbands for Sibylla. John took up a position in the corner and waited for an opportunity to present his news.
‘Guy de Lusignan,’ Agnes said emphatically.
Baldwin frowned. ‘No, Mother. For the hundredth time, no. I do not pretend to think I will live to an old age. After I die, the man who marries Sibylla will be king of Jerusalem until my sister’s son comes of age. He should be a great lord.’ Baldwin glanced at Amalric, who was Guy’s brother. ‘Guy is a nobody. And he is a Frenchman, new to our lands.’
