“That you resign the office of Constable. The crux of the matter is that Champagne doesn’t trust you and doesn’t want a man he doesn’t trust as his deputy. He’s traumatized by the image of what Burgundy did to King Richard. I can’t say I blame him. In the circumstances, it doesn’t make any difference if you’re guilty or not: if he doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t trust you. Shall we sit while we discuss this?” Ibelin gestured toward the straw pallet.
Aimery nodded absently and sank down onto the crude bed. Ibelin handed him a pottery mug that he’d stashed in an inside pocket of his cloak, and then removed the cork closing the jug to pour wine for Aimery. It was strong red wine, and Aimery swallowed it gratefully. Only after he’d had a few sips did he look hard at Ibelin and ask, “What are you suggesting? That I resign as if I were guilty? And then what? Go beg in the streets?”
“Hardly. You know perfectly well my lady and I will make you and your family welcome at Caymont—such as it is. I can certainly use another pair of hands to dig irrigation ditches!” Ibelin laughed dryly at his own joke. Aimery did not.
They looked at one another.
“We’re not the brave young knights we once were, are we?” Ibelin remarked, remembering their youth, when both had been landless knights seeking their fortune at the vibrant court of King Amalric of Jerusalem. Then the Kingdom had stretched far beyond the Jordan . . .
“Is that my only choice? Resign and live on charity or rot here?”
“No. You can defend yourself before the High Court of Jerusalem. You have many friends there—and, unlike Champagne, they’ve known you for decades. You stand a good chance in the High Court.” He paused before adding, “Then again, many on the High Court hate your brother. If you lose, you’ll be banned from the Kingdom, such as it is. Or, you could choose trial by combat and put your future and that of your family in the hands of God.”
Aimery tipped the mug up and drank in deep gulps, then held the mug out to Ibelin for more. He was beginning to understand how this man had managed to extract concessions from the victorious Saladin in impossible situations. He certainly had a way of making you see the risks of any decision! “What does Eschiva want me to do?”
“I haven’t asked her. I came straight here.”
“And your lady?”
“The same. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her, but she did go to her daughter to plead your case. I daresay she will have succeeded in making Isabella feel guilty.”
Aimery’s lips turned up in acknowledgment of the debt he owed the Dowager Queen. Out loud he confined himself to remarking, “Indeed, she can be very persuasive.” He paused and then remarked with a deep sigh, “I gather you think I should take this offer to resign?”
“I do. I don’t want your case to come before the High Court, because it will tear the Kingdom apart, and we’ve just barely patched it back together again. Champagne’s rule is far too fragile as it is. And it certainly doesn’t help that the King of England is rotting in a German jail. No one is going to come to our aid if al-Afdal, hothead that he is, decides to break his father’s truce. We’re entirely on our own, and our resources are tiny. The only thing that keeps me from despair is Cyprus.”
“Cyprus,” Aimery echoed wistfully.
“Yes. It’s rich enough to feed us, close enough to receive us, and it could be a source of men and materiel, too—if it were in the hands of a good lord.”
“Meaning my brother is not?”
“Is he?”
“God help us all!” Aimery threw up his hands.
“Amen. But assuming the Lord helps those who help themselves, then the first step might be for you to go to Cyprus.”
“Are you crazy? Guy told me flat-out he didn’t need my help and he didn’t want it!”
“That was before Geoffrey gave up on him and sailed back for France,” Ibelin pointed out.
Aimery thought about that. There was something to it. Their older brother Geoffrey had been pulling Guy’s strings ever since he came out to Outremer in 1188. While he didn’t share Aimery’s resentment of Guy, he had shared his assessment of him. Geoffrey had counted on Guy being fully restored to his kingdom and so receiving from him the rich county of Jaffa and Ascalon for himself. When King Richard recognized first Montferrat and then Champagne as the rightful King of Jerusalem, and—worse still—bartered away Ascalon in the Treaty of Ramla, Geoffrey had lost interest in the Holy Land altogether. He’d gone with Guy to Cyprus the previous fall, only to sail for France this spring. Guy was now alone on Cyprus with only a handful of followers.
“It’s worth a try,” Ibelin prodded.
If only you knew how you are tempting me, Aimery thought, his memories of Cyprus starting to banish the walls of his prison. And why shouldn’t he give in to this temptation? What did he have to lose? His position as Constable was precarious at best and deadly at worst. Champagne would almost certainly find a new excuse to imprison him—assuming he could even talk himself out of the charges he’d already leveled.
“Eschiva and the children can stay with us, of course,” Ibelin sweetened the lure even more.
Aimery knew that the happiest years of Eschiva’s life had been when she lived with Balian and Maria. Caymont wasn’t Ibelin, of course, but she’d be with people she loved and trusted. The children would be in the countryside where they could grow up in the fresh air, riding, swimming, and climbing trees with their cousins. And maybe, just maybe, he could talk his brother into giving him that slice of Cyprus that he so desperately coveted. Outwardly he shrugged to disguise his inner excitement. “You’re right. It’s worth a try.”
Ibelin’s face broke into a smile, and then he flung his arms around the prisoner. They hugged each other in mutual relief before Ibelin got to his feet and pulled a still somewhat benumbed Aimery up after him.
Aimery was feeling slightly manipulated, yet comforted himself with the thought that he was in good company. Ibelin was the man who had reconciled Tripoli with Lusignan, obtained terms for a city already conquered, and secured a kingdom already lost. What chance had he against the Great Negotiator?
Meanwhile Ibelin pounded on the door with his fist and demanded, “Open the door! The Constable has resigned!”
“Please, my lord,” John pleaded earnestly with his father. He was dressed in his chain-mail hauberk and straining to look as mature as possible. “I want to go with Lord Aimery. It’s my place. As his squire.”
Balian frowned. Watching his eldest son grow into a resourceful, responsible, and yet optimistic young man was one of his greatest joys. He did not like being separated from John at all, but up to now he’d been in Acre, only a few hours away. Balian had been able to visit him, or call him home, on short notice. Cyprus was different. Cyprus was across the water, a strange and unfamiliar place. He knew Aimery would do his best to look out for John, but ultimately they were both at the mercy of Guy de Lusignan—the last man on earth Balian trusted.
“Has Lord Aimery asked you to go with him?” Balian growled, preparing to give the former Constable a piece of his mind.
“No, he didn’t. He told me I was released from his service, but I—I told him I wanted to go with him.” John stumbled a little over his words.
Balian knew his son well, and by his reaction quickly guessed he had already pledged himself to Aimery. “Did you give him your word?”
John swallowed guiltily, but stood his ground. “Yes, my lord.”
“You had no right to do that without my permission,” Balian reminded his son sharply.
“My lord—Papa—Lord Aimery’s completely alone! You know how much Guy hates him. He’s as likely to throw Lord Aimery out of his court as Champagne did—”
“Yes, exactly, so what good will you being there do?” Balian retorted dismissively.
To his father’s astonishment, John had a ready answer. Meeting his father’s eye, John declared firmly, “I can make sure his armor glistens and his spurs gleam and ensure that no one can sneer at him for a beggar
. I can show him the respect he deserves, and in so doing shame them. Most of all, I can remind them of where you stand, my lord. I can remind them that the Lord of Ibelin holds Aimery de Lusignan in greater honor than either claimant to the crown of Jerusalem.”
Balian caught his breath and held it. When he let it out it was with a sense of rueful respect. “If you don’t master the sword and lance, John, you can make your living in the courts.”
“Does that mean I can go with Lord Aimery?” John jumped at the unspoken shift in his father’s stance.
“Yes, damn it. It means you may go with him, but don’t think I can’t come after you! If I have any reason to think you’re not safe, not keeping good company, or not remembering your duty to God, I will haul you back to Caymont and make you dig irrigation ditches with me!”
John broke into a smile of relief and excitement. He flung his arms around his father with a heartfelt, “Thank you, father! You won’t regret this! Wait and see—Lord Aimery plans to demand land from his brother, and when he does, he’ll reward me, too. We’ll have something for Philip and a dowry for Margaret. I promise you, Father, I’ll make our family richer and stronger!”
Balian shook his head at so much youthful optimism and enthusiasm, but held his son tight for a moment before stepping back with sigh of resignation and capitulation to warn, “You’re very young, John. You have a lot to learn, and not all of what you need to learn will be pleasant. Whatever happens, remember who you are: that the blood of the Eastern Roman Emperors runs in your veins.”
John sobered immediately and looked at his father squarely and earnestly. “I won’t forget that; but even more, I won’t forget that I am the son of Balian d’Ibelin, the man who saved the people of Jerusalem.”
The unexpected blow almost felled his father. He could only defend himself by embracing his son a second time in gratitude and pride.
Chapter Three
Encounters in Seaside Taverns
Caesarea, Kingdom of Jerusalem
April 1193
THE WIND WAS HOWLING AROUND THE corners of the stone buildings crowding the little harbor. It chased anything not tied down along the streets and rattled the shutters of the warehouses and taverns. Waves crashed against the sea wall, sending spumes twenty feet into the air before the water cascaded down in tatters on the glistening surface of the massive stones. The ships huddling in the shelter of the harbor were tossed about on the swells, their masts rolling from side to side and their rigging banging incessantly. The galley captain had been right when he’d refused to sail yesterday, John registered to himself. At the time, Lord Aimery and he had been extremely annoyed (and the former a little insulting) about the captain’s refusal to put to sea. Now that Lord Aimery had taken leave of his family, he was anxious to quit the Kingdom. By the look of the weather, however, it might be two or three days before the wind let up and the seas settled.
Unfortunately, the Lord of Caesarea, a friend and supporter whose hospitality they had counted on, was unexpectedly absent. They’d been forced to rent a room at a tavern near the Cathedral of St. Paul. This had seemed a final insult to Lord Aimery, and he had retreated into the room in a bad mood. John could understand how he felt, but he couldn’t stand being cooped up in the small, stuffy room with a brooding Lord Aimery, either. With the excuse of “checking on the horses,” he had extricated himself. The horses, however, had been fine, contentedly nibbling at their hay nets, so he had decided to take a walk along the harbor front. He was enjoying the spectacle of the waves shattering on the outer wall built by the Romans. Each wave flung up fountains of glistening water that caught the sunlight. It wasn’t cold, although a bank of clouds hung over the Western horizon, threatening rain by nightfall.
The waterfront was all but deserted. The ships were battened down to withstand the storm, and both loading and offloading were too difficult with the swells bashing vessels against the sides of the quay. Only at one of the many taverns had a couple of tables been set up in the lee of a large warehouse. John decided to pause for a glass of ale and a bite to eat. (John was always hungry, but Lord Aimery had largely lost his appetite since leaving his family behind.) Only one other customer, an old salt staring morosely into his pottery mug, was braving the wind. John chose a table with a good view of the harbor and settled himself.
His father had given him a purse of coins so he would not be entirely dependent on Lord Aimery. His father had stressed that he should always have the cost of the passage home tucked safely away “just in case.” John had conscientiously sewn this sum and a little more (to cover meals and such) inside one of his boots. Even so, there still seemed to be a lot of copper and silver coins weighing down his purse. He felt an “obligation” to lighten the load a little.
The fact was, this was the first time in his life that he’d ever had his own purse and the right to spend money as he pleased. Not that John had any intention of wasting his money “foolishly,” but it made him feel “grown up” to sit down at a table, signal the proprietor over, and ask what he had to offer.
“Fish soup, pig’s feet, and cabbage stuffed with rice and cheese,” the Syrian proprietor answered, eyeing John suspiciously. He might be tall for his age, but he had no need to shave, his limbs were thin, and his chest hadn’t filled out. He looked like the teenager he was.
“I’ll take the pig’s feet and your best ale,” John answered with a shrug, to imitate nonchalance and familiarity with something that was actually novel.
“If you can’t pay, boy, I’ll haul you inside by your big ears and make you work off the price of the meal in the kitchen,” the proprietor warned gruffly.
“I can pay,” John answered indignantly.
The proprietor huffed off, and John returned to watching the entertainment offered by the waves and the boats in the harbor until a big dog with a thick coat of shaggy brown hair came around the corner from the nearest alleyway and stopped to stare at him. John had always wanted a dog, but after they were driven out of Ibelin and had to live in cramped quarters, his mother firmly prohibited dogs from the house. He’d tried to befriend some strays, but they all disappeared somehow. This dog immediately captured John’s sympathy, because the wind was blowing hard enough to reveal his scrawny skeleton underneath his fur. Furthermore, he looked at John with large, intelligent eyes. After a glance over his shoulder, he padded forward to sit three feet away from John. From here he watched John solemnly—until the proprietor arrived with a dripping bowl, a wooden spoon, and the mug of ale. Immediately the dog ran a dozen feet away before stopping to look over his shoulder. No sooner was the proprietor gone than the dog returned. Reading John’s mood correctly, he now risked coming closer, his ears half cocked, his nose lifted, and his tail swaying slowly from side to side, hopeful but wary.
John reached into his bowl of stewed pig’s feet, removed one, and tossed it to the dog. With practiced ease the dog snatched the morsel in his teeth, but rather than gulping it down and waiting for more, he darted with his prize around the corner to the alley. John was sorry to think people had made him so afraid. But he soon returned, and since the pig’s feet weren’t very good, John shared another one and then two. Each time, the dog disappeared around the corner to eat.
Having given most of his meal away to the dog, John was still hungry when he’d finished, so he ordered a loaf of bread and sausage. The proprietor put his hands on his hips and looked down at him. “You’ll have to clean pots for two days to work that off!” he warned.
John indignantly showed the proprietor his purse to prove he could pay, and the man shrugged and retreated. Too late, John noticed that the man at the next table had also seen him show his purse, and he started to feel a little nervous. He’d been so absorbed in the dog that he’d failed to notice that the establishments around him were starting to come to life as the sun went down. The tables were filling up.
To distract himself from his own foolishness, John looked for the dog again. He was waiting as before, watching w
ith big solemn eyes what John would do next. John patted the side of his thigh. “Come here, boy!”
The dog took a step closer, and then another, but then lost his courage. A moment later the landlord returned with John’s second order and the dog retreated in guilty haste. As soon as the latter was gone, John tore off the end of the loaf of bread and tossed it to the dog. The dog at once disappeared around the corner, only to return shortly. John cut off a piece of sausage and held it out to the dog, trying to get him to come closer. He stepped nearer, his ears lifted and his tail thrashing the air, but he could not actually eat from John’s hand. John gave up and threw it to him, and again he disappeared with it.
By now all the tables were full, and the men at them were starting to make John feel uncomfortable. John didn’t like the looks the women were giving him, either; they were both patronizing and predatory. But the men were worse. John saw or imagined that some of them were eyeing him like “easy pickings.” When he noticed the man who had watched him show his purse to the proprietor elbow the man beside him, he put his hand to his hilt. This only made a man with an ugly scar on his neck and a mouth full of broken teeth smirk at him condescendingly; his expression implied contempt for both John’s sword and his ability to wield it.
It was time to get out of here, John concluded, shivering as the first drops of rain sprinkled from the now overcast sky. He called for his bill, paid off the proprietor with an (unintentionally excessive) tip, and rose to return to his lodgings. To avoid the clientele on the dockside, he decided to return through the town, and so turned into the same alley where the dog had always disappeared. Almost at once he tripped and nearly fell headlong over a man wrapped in a blanket.
The dog was beside him and jumped up with a defensive bark, followed by a hopeful wagging of his tail as he recognized John. John found himself looking down into the face of a skeletal man. Although his hand was completely covered by the blanket he was clutching around himself, it still held the half loaf of bread John had given the dog. The dog had been feeding him, John registered in amazement. Embarrassed by the whole situation, John turned and hastened back the way he’d come.
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