Trumpet fanfares sounded in welcome, and the population of Kyrenia had turned out in great numbers. They appeared flattered by (or at least curious about) a visit from the King of Jerusalem. Guards had to keep the crowds from flooding onto the quay, and people had clambered to the rooftops and crushed onto the balconies of the houses lining the harbor in such numbers that Ibelin wondered that the balconies didn’t break.
With a gentle thunk Champagne’s ship went alongside, and the gangway was hastily shoved out and onto the quay. Ibelin approached the foot of the gangway, and Champagne sprang lightly onto the other end. He crossed the gangway with easy strides, and when Ibelin went to bow to him, pulled him up into an embrace instead. “Father!” Champagne exclaimed loudly for the crowd, before turning to John and embracing him as well, calling him “Brother!”
“Welcome to Cyprus, my lord,” Ibelin continued with the protocol. “If you are not too exhausted, horses await”—he gestured with his hand to the finely caparisoned horses waiting just beyond the quay—“so that I may escort you directly to my lord King of Cyprus at St. Hilarion. It is a ride of only five to six hours. We can make it before dark if we depart at once.”
“Of course, of course,” Champagne agreed at once, smiling graciously and waving to the cheering crowds around them.
He did it very well, Ibelin noted, with a boyish enthusiasm that was quite pleasing. Philip of France had always looked as if he detested cheering crowds, while Richard of England had acted as if cheers were his natural right. Champagne, in contrast, looked flattered by the applause—and that was endearing.
As they reached the horses, Georgios sprang down from his own mount to hold Champagne’s off stirrup, while the king mounted the borrowed (but excellent) stallion. When everyone was ready, Ibelin led the way through the crowd with Champagne beside him. John and Champagne’s entourage of six knights followed in their wake.
The noise of the crowd and their obligation to acknowledge it prevented conversation until they had passed out of the city. Here they picked up an easy trot for the first part of the winding road up the face of the mountain, and Ibelin addressed Champagne. “Did all go well in Armenia, my lord?”
“Splendidly! Bohemond has been released,” Champagne exclaimed enthusiastically. “Bohemond’s eldest son Raymond will marry Leo’s niece, the daughter of Leo’s elder brother.”
Ibelin nodded; he had heard of this agreement from the men who came to inquire if King Aimery would receive Henri of Champagne on his return from Armenia to Acre. “It was Leo’s plea that I reconcile with Aimery that was the last straw,” Champagne added with a winning smile. “The High Court has been pressing me to make peace with him practically from the day he left the Kingdom, and the Bishops of Trani and Brindisi lectured me ad nauseam about the need for all Christian monarchs to join together—quite a piece of hypocrisy for two men representing the monarch who so vilely imprisoned my uncle!” Champagne could not resist noting with a disgusted snort.
“I think I could have ignored them,” Champagne continued, “but not Leo of Armenia. He was so sincere. He appears to have loved your brother very well,” Champagne ventured with a sideways glance.
Ibelin nodded. “My brother was a likable man—generous and jovial, and a good man to have beside you in a fight, too.”
Champagne nodded, remarking dutifully, “I would have liked to have known him,” before proceeding more hesitantly, “and yet I almost had the feeling Leo was more interested in this reconciliation between myself and Aimery for your niece’s sake.” There was an unspoken question in that statement.
“That could well be,” Ibelin nodded again. “He hosted her after she had been seized by pirates, and he conceived a deep, almost paternal affection for her. He showed great understanding for her feelings and did not press her to show herself in public, but he was very solicitous of her welfare, bringing many doctors and priests to counsel her.”
“Then she suffered maltreatment from the pirates?” Champagne asked in genuine shock.
“She was not violated, no, but she was at Paradisi to recover from an ailment that still plagues her—and the trauma of being seized, for a time bound in the hold of a ship, watching a failed rescue attempt, and then the weeks of uncertainty—they all took their toll.”
Champagne nodded in sympathy. “Isabella was outraged, as you can imagine! She was desperate for me to do something, but what was I supposed to do?”
“That, I assure you, is the way we all felt. Aimery suffered a foretaste of hell until Erik Andersen could report who the pirates were and where they were headed.” Ibelin hesitated, but since the conversation had turned to Eschiva anyway, he decided this was as good a time as any to warn Champagne. “You face more hostility from Eschiva than from Aimery, by the way.”
Champagne looked genuinely startled. “Why is that? I swear I have always been as gracious and kindly to her as any man could possibly be—”
“Except for ordering her husband dragged from her bed and thrown into a dungeon for a deed he did not do,” Ibelin pointed out.
Champagne looked at his father-in-law perplexed. “Is that the way she sees it?”
“Eschiva is less political than either my lady or yours,” Ibelin explained simply. “She rarely thinks in terms of kingdoms and politics. She is loyal to her husband, and she believes he was wronged. In her eyes, you were unjust, and she has said she could never forgive you.”
Champagne flinched—but then, frowning slightly, he sank into his thoughts. He focused on the climbing road that zigzagged back and forth up the steep slope ahead of them. Finally he turned to Ibelin and asked, “So is there any point in this visit?”
“Certainly! Aimery and I persuaded her that she should receive you and at least hear you out. You will have to exert all your charm to overcome her enmity,” Ibelin warned solemnly before adding with a smile, “But I daresay you are up to the task.”
“I will certainly do my best!” Champagne assured him.
By the time they dismounted in the forecourt of St. Hilarion, Champagne was as agog as they had all been the first time they saw the rocky mountain crest that housed the irregular and impregnable castle of St. Hilarion. “It might as well be an eagle’s nest!” Champagne exclaimed, looking about in awe and nearly dizzy at the view down to the coast.
“Eagles do indeed nest all over the place,” Ibelin answered, with a gesture toward the gnarled, wind-stunted trees around them in which many birds of prey made their homes.
“Those towers up there must give you a spectacular view!” Champagne admired.
“On a good day, they claim you can see all the way to Rhodes. It’s not true, of course, but it feels like it. We certainly can see any ships approaching from the West long before they reach us. It’s a wonder Isaac Comnenus was so surprised by your uncle’s fleet. People must have seen it approaching for a day before it actually got here. But then, they may have kept the information to themselves, seeing how little they liked Isaac. Fortunately for your uncle and us, Isaac preferred the luxury of the palace in Nicosia to the semi-wilderness up here.”
Champagne asked Ibelin to pause while he caught his breath. They had been climbing steadily ever since they left the outer ward, and it seemed like over two hundred steps. He let his eyes sweep along the northern coastline in wonder. “It is a beautiful place,” he admitted.
Ibelin nodded, and they continued, their men behind them.
In the courtyard of the upper castle banners were hanging from the windows, and these flapped and curled in the stiff breeze. The arms of Lusignan fluttered proudly from all the surrounding rooftops, while the household knights and officials stood on the steps up to the great hall. Champagne paused to straighten his surcoat and his hat and then advanced through the narrow space that opened for him, with Ibelin a pace behind. He nodded acknowledgment to the men he knew: Henri de Brie, Barlais, the Chenechés, Jubail, and Bethsan.
They passed out of the fading natural light of dusk into the artificial
light of hundreds of torches and lamps. Here the women were gathered in their finery, along with the clerics. On the dais at the far end of the room stood Aimery and Eschiva. Aimery had opted for armor and a silk surcoat with the arms of Lusignan—quartered with the arms of Jerusalem. That was an affectation Guy had started (legitimately), but which Aimery had now retained (provocatively, in the circumstances, Ibelin thought). Eschiva, in contrast, was in full Greek splendor: a dress stiff with cords of braided gold and studded with jewels that glistened in the unsteady light of the torches and lamps. Neither was crowned, of course, but then nor was Henri. Although both men carried the title of “king,” neither had yet been anointed. It was something that helped make this meeting possible.
Aimery solemnly descended the steps of the dais to meet Henri halfway down the hall. The two kings embraced, kissing each other in a gesture of public reconciliation. “Jerusalem, welcome to Cyprus!”
“An honor, Cyprus, an honor.”
Aimery turned and led Champagne up the dais steps and to Eschiva, standing immobile before the table.
Champagne bowed deeply before her and kissed her hand. “My lady! My lady wife, Queen Isabella, begged me to deliver a kiss from her.” Although Eschiva caught her breath and drew her head back slightly, Henri ignored her obvious reluctance and took a step forward to deliver a kiss on both of her cheeks. As he did so he whispered, “Please forgive me, dearest Eschiva. I did wrong to arrest your husband, but for the sake of our children let us be reconciled.”
Eschiva had not been expecting such a complete apology from Henri. She was genuinely flustered by it. She had prepared herself to be cold, inhospitable, disdainful, punishing. But how could she be, if he was so willing to admit he had been at fault?
Champagne drew back enough to smile directly into her eyes, his blue eyes pleading with her. “Please. At least let us focus on the present, the future. I long to meet your sons again. Ibelin tells me they are growing fast and are already showing signs of the Lusignan good looks.” Again Champagne had aimed well: Eschiva was inordinately proud of her three sons, and any flattery of them won her favor.
“Come, my lord king, join us at the table,” Aimery suggested, evidently unsure how Eschiva was reacting, and anxious not to prolong this moment in case her animosity toward Champagne still held the upper hand.
Champagne responded by bowing deeply to Eschiva and gesturing for her to precede him. She went around to the other side of the table and took her seat between the two kings. Maria Comnena sat beside her son-in-law, with her husband beside her, and Burgundia had been given the seat of honor on her father’s far side. Champagne gallantly kissed her hand as he passed her on the way to his own seat. His “Enchanté” made the twelve-year-old blush with pleasure.
Champagne turned to Aimery. “I’m quite serious,” he exclaimed, speaking across Eschiva but to her as well. “I’m most anxious to meet your sons—because, you see, they are the main reason I am here.”
Aimery raised his eyebrows, and Eschiva frowned slightly.
“Marriages, as we all know, are the best means of burying bad blood. Leo and Bohemond are just the most recent example of a breach healed by bonds of marriage. The great Christian capitals of the East, Constantinople and Jerusalem, were united by my beloved mother-in-law’s marriage to King Amalric.” Champagne turned to smile at Maria Zoë. “So, you have three sons and I have three daughters; let us betroth them to one another.”
“All of them?” Aimery asked, astonished.
“Exactly!” Champagne retorted with a smile, his eyes shifting from Aimery to Eschiva. He had taken her by surprise, he could sense that—she looked stunned—but it was hard to tell if she was also pleased or the reverse.
When Eschiva spoke it was to protest, “Your girls are still very little. The youngest, Philippa, is not yet a year old.”
“And Guy is already a youth, I know,” Champagne conceded, “but your middle son is not so very much older than my Alice, and your littlest, Hugh, is only months older than my Philippa. The reality is that children are fragile. We cannot know for sure if all our children will reach adulthood, and this alliance is too important to allow it to hang on the life of any single child. That is why I think we should commit not to specific betrothals, but rather to the principle of marriage between the eldest surviving son of the House of Lusignan and the eldest surviving daughter of the House of Champagne-Jerusalem.” As he finished, Champagne cast his eyes around the table to assess the reception to his proposal. He saw fundamental consent with the idea from both Ibelin and the Dowager Queen. Indeed, even Aimery was nodding. Eschiva was the only one who looked uncertain.
Aimery seemed to sense the same hesitation, because with a significant glance to his wife, he announced that they would think about the proposal and speak among themselves. Then he gestured to the food being brought in, signaled for the squires to pour the wine, and changed the subject.
The detailed negotiations lasted almost a fortnight, with Eschiva insisting tenaciously that the daughters of Champagne bring Jaffa as their dowry. Her argument was that Richard of England had bestowed Jaffa on Geoffrey de Lusignan, who had turned all his claims in the Holy Land over to Aimery. Champagne resisted the idea for a long time, until Ibelin pointed out that a Lusignan stake in the Kingdom of Jerusalem would make it more likely that the kings of Cyprus would expend Cypriot resources to defend Jerusalem. Champagne saw the logic of that argument, and it was agreed.
The night before Champagne was to depart, the festivities lasted late into the night. The mood was very good, and Eschiva let Champagne take her briefly onto the dance floor. She was too weak to dance for long, but as he brought her back to the high table she was exceptionally flushed, and Aimery bent over to brush a kiss on her forehead, remarking proudly, “You look like a young girl again.” He was only partially lying: she did look younger than she had in years. “It’s good that Champagne is leaving tomorrow, or I would have to fear he was seducing you,” he teased.
Eschiva shook her head. “Never, my love. But will you forgive me if I go to bed now? Before the end of the festivities? I’m feeling dizzy.”
“Of course! You’ve been holding up wonderfully these past weeks, but there’s no need to overdo it.” Aimery turned and looked around for someone to escort Eschiva. Philip d’Ibelin, who had been standing attentively behind the high table, came at once. “Bring the queen to her chamber; she needs to rest,” Aimery ordered.
Eschiva pushed herself to her feet, and Champagne at once jumped up. With the perceptiveness of a well-mannered nobleman he asked, “Is something wrong, my lady?”
“Nothing except that you have exhausted me, my lord,” Eschiva answered with a faint, yet contented smile. “That last dance. I think I overdid it a little—but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’m just a touch dizzy.” Indeed, she was swaying slightly. Philip slipped his arm around her waist and half carried her off the dais into the solar.
Eschiva was hardly able to stand, and Philip called to another squire who happened to be there to come help him. They supported Eschiva on either side and together helped her up the stairs to her chamber. At the chamber door, Eschiva dismissed the strange squire and told Philip to help her to the bed.
“Should I send for Beatrice or one of your other ladies to help you undress?” Philip asked anxiously, feeling out of his depth in the bedroom alone.
“No, no. I don’t need to undress just yet. I’ll just rest a bit. Maybe I’ll go back down to the hall later, when I feel better.”
Although the words were reassuring, something about her demeanor made Philip hesitate. “Should I bring you something to drink?”
“No, no. I’ve had more than enough wine. Just lift my feet up onto the bed.” Eschiva was sitting on the bed, and as she spoke she laid her head back on the pillows. Philip dutifully lifted her feet up onto the bed, slipping off her shoes at the same time.
Eschiva smiled at him down the length of her body. “Have I ever told you what
a good squire you are, Philip?”
“Who? Me?” Philip asked, astonished. “John’s the good—”
“Yes, John’s a good young man. I’m sure he’ll go far, but I’ve liked having you around me more. John was always so earnest, you know. You make me laugh. Whatever happens, don’t lose your sense of humor, Philip.”
“Aunt Eschiva?” (Technically they were cousins, of course, but because of the age difference Philip had always called her “aunt” in private.) “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Philip. Now hurry back so Aimery doesn’t start worrying, but . . . ”
“Yes?” Philip prompted, still uneasy.
“Your father. Tell your father—no, never mind. He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“What he has meant to me. All my life. Long before Aimery and the children . . . ”
“Aunt Eschiva . . . you sound very strange. . . . ” Philip admitted.
“Nonsense. I’m happy. Very happy. Things have turned out so well. So much better than I ever dreamed. I don’t really care about being a queen, you know, but it means so much to Aimery to be king after all those thankless years groveling at Guy’s arrogant feet. And I like the thought of our children . . . I’m so glad that Champagne came. So glad we could be reconciled. Go. I need to rest.” She patted Philip’s hand in a gesture of both reassurance and dismissal, and he slipped out of the room.
By the time Aimery came to bed, Eschiva was in such a deep, peaceful sleep, with a smile on her lips, that he did not want to disturb her. It was just hours before he needed to rise and escort the King of Jerusalem to Limassol so he could sail back to Acre. A formal escort of barons and knights would accompany him, so Eschiva had no need to join them. It would be better if she slept in late or whiled the whole day in bed to recover from the strain of the past weeks. He closed the door gently behind him, and slept in the anteroom.
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