The Land Beyond the Sea Read online

  Baldwin’s initial annoyance had faded and he was regarding William with genuine puzzlement. “I told you it was just a bruise,” he said mildly.

  “And you were right.” William looked at Agnes over the boy’s head and nodded almost imperceptibly, to assure her he was speaking the truth. She swayed slightly and sat down abruptly in her chair, her shoulders slumping.

  Baldwin was still studying him and he made haste to distract the boy from his strange behavior, furious with himself for losing control like that. “You know,” he said, “now that the light is better, I do see a few golden whiskers along your jawline.”

  “Yes!” Baldwin pumped his fist in the air. “I was beginning to think the both of you were blind,” he teased, glancing back at his mother with a grin. “I told you they were there.”

  “Yes, you did, dearest,” she acknowledged, and as her eyes met William’s again, he could only marvel that for the first time in their contentious relationship, they’d actually shared a moment of wordless understanding, experiencing the same acute emotion—sheer terror followed by relief sweeter than any nectar could be. He doubted it would ever happen again. But he knew now that in this, he’d wronged her. He could no longer deny that she loved her son.

  CHAPTER 6

  May 1175

  Jerusalem, Outremer

  William was not happy to find himself cornered by Eraclius, the new Archbishop of Caesarea. He had never liked Eraclius, considering the other cleric to be pompous, luxury loving, and far too worldly for one now a prince of the Church. It was especially aggravating to have to listen as Eraclius criticized Raymond de St. Gilles, for he thought there was some truth in the complaints.

  William’s feelings for the regent had become complicated, even conflicted, in recent months. He knew he owed his chancellorship to Raymond as much as to Baldwin, and was grateful for the count’s backing. He still believed Raymond was performing his duties as regent admirably—when it concerned matters within the kingdom itself. Raymond continued to include the other barons in his decision-making, and he’d not attempted to deny access to the young king as Miles had done. He’d even shared royal patronage with the king’s mother; Eraclius had been Agnes’s choice for the archbishopric of Caesarea. And unlike Miles, he’d established good relations with Grand Master Jobert of the Knights Hospitaller and the far more prickly grand master of the Templars, Odo de St. Amand. But his diplomacy was giving William cause for concern.

  Raymond had immediately abandoned their alliance with the Greek emperor Manuel, which had been the cornerstone of Amalric’s foreign policy. Instead, he’d turned for aid to the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, seeking his advice in finding a suitable husband for Sybilla and putting Outremer firmly in the German emperor’s camp. William agreed that Frederick enjoyed great prestige throughout Christendom, having proven himself to be a strong ruler and a courageous warrior. But in reaching out to Frederick, Raymond was denying their kingdom any further assistance from Emperor Manuel or the Sicilian king, both of whom loathed the German emperor and had what he lacked—formidable naval fleets.

  William knew that Baldwin was uneasy about Raymond’s decision to cut the ties his father had labored so hard to forge. Not surprisingly, Maria was quite upset by this sudden diplomatic shift from Constantinople to Germany. But the Greeks had never been popular in Outremer and many of the barons of the High Court welcomed this rupture with Emperor Manuel. William could only hope that they’d have no reason to regret it.

  William was even more troubled by Raymond’s dealings with Saladin. After assuming power in Damascus, the sultan had turned his attention to Aleppo, ruled in the name of Nūr al-Dīn’s young son, and Mosul, whose amir was the boy’s uncle. In January, Raymond had mustered the kingdom’s army and marched north into Syria, determined to keep Saladin from capturing Aleppo. The amirs in Aleppo and Mosul had hastily requested aid from the Franks. While newcomers to Outremer were always shocked to learn of these opportunistic alliances between enemies, the Poulains and Saracens were far more pragmatic, willing to embrace the axiom that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Raymond set a high price for his help: the release of a large number of Christian hostages, sixty of whom were his own, pledges for his payment of the balance of his ransom. The Aleppo amirs agreed, but the deal fell through and Raymond angrily withdrew from the field.

  What happened next had given William some uneasy nights. Saladin had seized the Aleppine castle holding the Frankish hostages and he offered to release all of them without any ransom in return for a truce. Raymond had accepted, and once Saladin no longer needed to fear an attack by Raymond’s army, he marched on Aleppo. Its amirs had been desperate enough to reach out to the outlaw sect, the Assassins, who sent men into Saladin’s siege camp at Aleppo. But they failed to kill him, and in April, he fought a pitched battle with the combined forces of Aleppo and Mosul, winning a decisive victory. The defeated amirs had been compelled to accept his terms, and although Aleppo and Mosul retained some degree of independence, they’d been seriously weakened while Saladin’s power and prestige had been greatly strengthened.

  The Frankish army had disbanded then, after four months in the field, and William thought they had little to show for it. While he approved of forming pacts with Saracens, he believed it should only be done to encourage disunity and rivalries among them. Supporting the rebellious rulers of Aleppo and Mosul made sense; a truce with Saladin did not, for he’d profited far more from it than the Franks did.

  William was still loath to hear the Archbishop of Caesarea give voice to his own misgivings, and he felt compelled by gratitude and loyalty to defend Raymond’s decision, saying coolly, “You seem to have overlooked the fact that nigh on a hundred of our Christian brethren gained their freedom because of Count Raymond.”

  Eraclius’s response was a sardonic smile. “And how convenient for the count that sixty of them were his own hostages, so now he need not worry about paying the rest of his ransom.”

  “I am sure the count will fulfill the terms of his agreement with the amir of Aleppo, for he is a man of honor,” William said, thinking sheepishly that he was beginning to sound as pompous as Eraclius. He was relieved, then, when Balian joined them and provided him with an excuse to end this disagreeable conversation by declaring that the king and Count Raymond wished to see him.

  As William hastened across the palace courtyard, Balian fell in step beside him. He’d been mildly irked by Eraclius’s patronizing greeting, calling him “Young d’Ibelin” as if he were still a green stripling, not the twenty-five-year-old lord of his own fief. “That man can vex me merely by opening his mouth,” he confided, and William smiled wryly.

  “He vexes me just by breathing. Does the king truly want to see me or were you kindly throwing me a lifeline?” When Balian confirmed the summons was real, William quickened his pace and they parted upon reaching the great hall. There, Balian sauntered toward his brother and the d’Ibelins’ newest family member, Amaury de Lusignan, who had recently wed Baudouin’s eldest daughter, Esquiva. Baudouin had celebrated his own wedding less than a fortnight ago, marrying Elizabeth, the widow of the Lord of Caesarea, for he’d finally acknowledged that no baron of Outremer would be chosen as Sybilla’s husband. Smiling as Balian approached, Baudouin slid over to make room in the window seat before resuming their discussion. Amaury had heard that Saladin was very skilled at a game called mall, and wanted to know more about it. It was not a sport of the Poulains, however. While Baudouin had heard of it, he did not know how it was played, although that did not keep him from hazarding some guesses.

  Balian waited until Baudouin paused for breath and then said nonchalantly, “Mall is played on horseback, with two teams trying to score against each other by swinging long-handled mallets to drive a ball toward designated goal lines. It is a very fast game and quite dangerous even for expert riders, so it says much for Saladin’s horsemanship if he excels at it.”
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  He grinned at Baudouin’s look of astonishment, for no one ever fully outgrew sibling rivalry, and younger brothers would always enjoy outshining their older ones. Baudouin demanded to know how he was so well-informed about mall, but Balian had no intention of revealing his source—that the subject had once come up in a casual conversation with Queen Maria, whose father had played the game in Constantinople, where it was called tzykanion.

  “Let’s just hope that our young king does not become curious about mall,” Balian said, “for if he learns that it is a challenging game even for the best of riders, nothing will keep him from trying it.”

  Baudouin grinned, too, for all of Baldwin’s vassals were proud of his horsemanship, one of the most admired skills in their world. “He would, indeed! If not for that weak arm of his, he might even have learned to shoot a bow on horseback, the way the Saracen archers do.”

  Soon after that, Amaury produced a pair of dice and they began to play hazard. Balian excused himself after the second game, for a stir at the end of the hall heralded the entrance of the king, flanked by his chancellor and regent. They clearly had good news to share, for Baldwin and William were beaming and Raymond was almost smiling. Catching sight of Balian, Baldwin waved him over.

  “It is my pleasure,” he announced, “to introduce the new Archbishop of Tyre.”

  Balian made William a playful bow, then offered his heartfelt congratulations. He was delighted for his friend, knowing how much William had wanted the archbishopric and how much he’d feared Agnes would sabotage his hopes.

  “As soon as he is elected,” Baldwin said, “we will celebrate his consecration with a great feast.” Adding, with a mischievous, sidelong glance toward William, “One that will strike envy into the Archbishop of Caesarea’s heart.”

  William flushed, for he’d not realized that Baldwin had noticed his rivalry with Eraclius. Now that he was to be an archbishop, he would have to learn how to keep his face from being the mirror of his soul, he vowed, for that was a skill that had so far evaded him.

  Baldwin had just invited Balian to accompany him on a visit to the stables, saying one of their best broodmares had foaled a colt, sired by his father’s favorite destrier, Caesar. Grateful that he’d not been included, William was looking around to see if Raymond was still in the hall when Baldwin suddenly turned back and retraced his steps.

  “I forgot to tell you,” he said, “that I shall be inviting Maria to your feast.” Smiling at the look of surprise on William’s face, he lowered his voice. “I’ll not deny that I like that lady not. But I know you’d be pleased to have her there, so consider this a gift, my lord archbishop.” Shrugging off William’s thanks, he said, “I’ve thought about it and I want Isabella to feel welcome at my court. I’ll admit I never found her very interesting, yet her company is bound to have improved now that she’s learned to talk,” he joked, before saying revealingly, “I do not want my sister to grow up a stranger to me.”

  William felt a pang at that, for Baldwin had just confirmed his suspicions, that Sybilla was a stranger to him, for all that the same blood ran in their veins. Apparently, it was too late for affection to take root in a garden so long neglected. He was proud of Baldwin for being willing to include Isabella in his life, even knowing how greatly that would displease his mother. And if he could not resist smiling at that thought, William did not see that as such a sin, not for the man who’d just been elevated to the highest ranks of Holy Church, such an unlikely destiny for a merchant’s son born in Jerusalem forty-five years ago.

  * * *

  William was sure that he’d never have a week as happy as this past week in June. Baldwin’s fourteenth birthday had been celebrated in grand style, and William’s heart had swelled with pride at the fine young man he was becoming. He’d even managed to keep his fears at bay, for every day that passed without Baldwin showing any symptoms of leprosy was a day that edged them farther away from the cliff’s edge. William’s consecration as Archbishop of Tyre in the sacred Church of the Holy Sepulchre, presided over by the patriarch himself, was a deeply emotional experience, for never had he felt so close to God, and the festivities that followed had given him memories to cherish for the rest of his life.

  “My lord archbishop?”

  William blinked, once more back in the present, back in his comfortable new quarters in the royal palace. His servant was standing before him, patiently holding out a cup of watered-down red wine. Accepting it with a smile, William carried it over to his writing desk; he was indulging himself for a few hours, putting aside his duties as chancellor and archbishop to work upon his history of the kingdom. He was about to dip his quill pen in his inkpot when the door banged open with a loud thud and Baldwin stormed into the chamber.

  He was obviously furious, his fair skin scorched with hot color. But he seemed so distraught that William was alarmed. Anger alone could not explain his agitation, for Baldwin had never had a temper that would kindle at the slightest spark.

  “You’ll not believe what I was told, William!” In recent months, Baldwin’s voice had begun to deepen, but it cracked now, making him sound more like the boy he still was.

  Getting hastily to his feet, William signaled for his servants to leave, and as soon as they were gone, he urged Baldwin to sit down and take several deep breaths to calm himself before continuing.

  Baldwin did not seem to hear. He’d begun to pace the chamber, too upset to keep still. “Arnulf’s older brother has returned from his studies in Italy,” he said, and William was so disquieted himself by now that it took him a moment to remember that Arnulf was one of Baldwin’s former schoolmates.

  “Arnulf brought him to the palace to meet me, and when I learned he’d been studying at the medical school in Salerno, I decided to talk with him. Salerno doctors are said to be the best in Christendom and I thought he might know a way to restore feeling to my arm.” Baldwin gave William a quick, almost apologetic glance. “It is not that I’ve lost faith in my doctors. But sometimes it seems to me that they are not telling me all they know.”

  He’d not meant that as an accusation. William still flushed; they had indeed been keeping much from Baldwin. “Take this,” he entreated, holding out his own wine cup with a hand no longer steady, for he already knew what was coming.

  Baldwin accepted the cup and took a deep swallow of wine. “So, I told Arnulf that I wanted to speak with his brother—Eustace, his name is—in private, and once we were alone, I confided in him about my injury and how it has not gotten any better despite all the poultices and ointments. I was beginning to regret asking him, for he kept interrupting with questions. But when I explained that I could not feel anything in my arm or hand, not pain nor heat nor cold, he . . . he went whiter than chalk and looked at me as if . . .”

  Baldwin did not want to relive that chilling moment and let his words trail off. Taking another gulp of wine, he braced himself to tell William the rest. “I demanded to know what he thought was wrong with me. He did not want to say, stammering and no longer meeting my eyes. I insisted, though, and finally he . . . he blurted out that a loss of sensation was a symptom of leprosy.

  “Leprosy,” Baldwin repeated incredulously. “Leprosy! I lost my temper and said he did not know what he was talking about, that I’d have been told if this were so.” Surprised to find that he’d already finished the wine, he looked around, then set the cup on a coffer. “I do not want this man practicing medicine in my kingdom, William. He is either incompetent or a fraud, for who knows if he really did study in Salerno.”

  Baldwin began to pace again, welcoming the anger surging through his body, almost hot enough to melt that small, icy prickle of fear. But then he turned back toward William and saw the stricken look on his face.

  “Oh, God . . . it is true? I have leprosy?”

  “No, lad, no! We do not know that is so!”

  “But it could be so? I could be a leper
?” They stared at each other, and for a moment it seemed as if time itself had stopped. When William reached out, the boy jerked away and his hand just brushed Baldwin’s sleeve. “How could you keep this from me?”

  “We . . . we did not want to burden you with such fear, for it might never come to pass.”

  “‘We,’” Baldwin echoed, his voice cracking again. “Who else knows? My mother? Count Raymond?”

  William nodded miserably, for although he’d been sure they were acting for the best, he saw now that their silence had inflicted yet another wound, one almost as shattering to Baldwin as Eustace’s shocking diagnosis. “And the High Court,” he admitted. “Your father felt they had to know ere they elected you king.”

  “My father, too? You all knew? You all knew but me?”

  William would be haunted by the memory of this moment until he drew his final breath. “Sit and let’s talk,” he pleaded. “I promise to answer all your questions, lad, will hold nothing back, I swear it.”

  Baldwin’s mouth contorted. “Why should I believe anything you have to say?” Not waiting for William to respond, he whirled then and fled the chamber.

  “Baldwin, wait!” William hastened after him, but he did not have the speed of youth and when he finally emerged, panting, from the stairwell into the courtyard, Baldwin was nowhere in sight.

  * * *

  It had not been a very hot day, but William had to keep blotting sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Slumping down upon a bench in the gardens, he gazed up at the sky. Dusk was still an hour or so away. If he could not find Baldwin by dark, he’d have to let others know the king was missing. He did not want to do that, for surely the last thing the boy needed was to be thrust into such a maelstrom of concern and curiosity. Yet he did not know where else to look.

  Even though he’d not expected to find him there, he’d gone first to Baldwin’s private chambers. He’d sent his servants to make discreet queries of Agnes’s servants, casually asking if the king was with her. He’d tried Count Raymond next, again with no results. It had occurred to him then that Baldwin might want to pray; that would have been his own first impulse. But that frail hope soon died, for the chapel was empty. He’d already questioned the palace guards himself, receiving assurances that the young king had not gone out through any of the gates. Now he was utterly at a loss, not knowing where to search next.