Lionheart (87 page)

Richard kept his eyes on the road ahead. “We reopen talks with Saladin,” he said, “and hope that he is as war-weary and discouraged as we are.”

HUMPHREY DE TORON was very busy for a fortnight, going back and forth between Jaffa and Jerusalem. Richard and Salah al-Dīn had been able to agree upon the basic terms fairly quickly, for they were not that different from those Richard had originally proposed to al-’Ādil. The land was to be divided, with the Saracens retaining the “mountain castles” and the Franks holding on to Richard’s coastal conquests, with the area in between to be shared by both. Salah al-Dīn and his council were willing to give Richard the Holy Sepulchre and to allow Christian pilgrims free access to Jerusalem, the sultan promising “to treat your sister’s son like one of my own sons.” But Ascalon was to be the rock upon which the peace negotiations foundered, for Salah al-Dīn insisted that Ascalon be destroyed, and Richard was not willing to agree to this.

RICHARD HAD DISPATCHED Humphrey back to Jerusalem in one last attempt to reach an accord. Learning that Richard had returned to Jaffa that afternoon, Henri was heading for the castle. It heartened him to see how much progress the city had made in the nine months since they’d ridden into desolate ruins. Once they’d rebuilt the walls, many of the former residents came back; at least the Christians did. It was Henri’s hope that the day would come when Saracens and Franks could once more dwell in the towns and countryside in relative harmony, for the kingdom could not survive without cooperation between the various peoples who laid claim to its hallowed, blood-soaked soil. It had happened before, so why not again? Henri tried to convince himself that eventually they’d have to end the war, if only because both sides were too exhausted to keep fighting. But by then, what would be left of Outremer?

There was a reassuring air of normalcy about the recovering city: women marketing, children playing in the streets, vendors hawking their wares on spread-out rugs. There was also a thriving traffic in sin. The contingent of prostitutes who’d followed the crusaders from Acre to Jaffa had stayed even after the army left, for there were always plenty of soldiers there—men convalescing from wounds and sickness, deserters, those in need of a brief respite from the war. Leaning out of upper-story windows, some of these ladies of ill repute called out to Henri and his escort as they rode by, promising all sorts of carnal delights for the right price. Henri just laughed and called back, “Sorry, sweethearts, I’m a married man now,” but a few of his knights cast wistful looks over their shoulders as they passed.

When they reached the castle, Henri was told Richard was abovestairs in the solar, and he headed in that direction. But as he opened the door to the stairwell, he found himself face-to-face with Humphrey de Toron. They both came to an abrupt halt. Henri had done his best to avoid just such an encounter, and he’d been so successful that he suspected Humphrey had been dodging him, too.

Deciding the least awkward approach would be to ignore the obvious, Henri said, as nonchalantly as he could, “I’d heard you were back from Jerusalem. Is Saladin still demanding that we raze Ascalon to the ground?”

“I regret so. With neither of them willing to compromise on this, the chances for peace do not look good. I did what I could to persuade the sultan, explaining the vast sums King Richard had spent on Ascalon, but to no avail. . . .”

Humphrey sounded as if he were blaming himself for the failure of the negotiations, and Henri wished he could assure him that he’d done the best he could under difficult circumstances, but he feared that Humphrey would take it as condescension. “My uncle has complete faith in you,” he said at last. He would have continued up the stairs then, but Humphrey was still blocking his way.

“Is she . . . well?” he asked, no longer meeting Henri’s gaze.

“Yes, she is.” Henri would have preferred to leave it at that, but he understood Humphrey’s concern. Deciding he owed it to the other man to ease his mind if he could, he said, “She is no longer troubled by early-morning sickness and her midwives have assured her that she is young and healthy and the pregnancy and birth ought to go as expected.”

Humphrey had lashes a woman might have envied, long and thick, veiling his eyes. But he could not control his face. Henri thought,
Hellfire and damnation,
and suppressed a sigh. “Humphrey . . . ”

Humphrey’s head came up. “No,” he said, “I do not blame you. The man I blame is dead and deservedly so.” He started to squeeze past Henri, but then stopped, the words coming out low and fast, as if escaping of their own will. “I will pray the child is a girl. I would not want to see a son of Conrad of Montferrat rule over Outremer.”

He didn’t wait for Henri’s response, was already gone before Henri said, very softly, “Neither would I.” He stood there for a time, thinking upon the odd turns and twists of fate that had brought him and Humphrey de Toron to this moment, and then took the stairs two at a time, his spurs striking sparks upon the stone grooves of the steps.

Richard and André were alone in the solar. “I was about to send word to you,” Richard said. “It will not be to your liking, though.”

“I know. I just met Humphrey de Toron downstairs. He said Saladin would not budge about Ascalon.”

“Neither will I,” Richard said, his voice flat and hard, “so the talks are done. On the morrow I want to send three hundred knights to Ascalon to strengthen its defenses and to destroy Dārūm. Is that acceptable to you, Henri?”

“Of course.” Henri looked around for a wine flagon, didn’t see one. “What is your plan?”

“Are you so sure I have one?”

“You always do.”

That earned him a fleeting smile from his uncle. “As it happens, I do. There is only one coastal port still under Saladin’s control. So let’s take it away from him.”

“Beirut?” Henri considered for a heartbeat or two and then smiled. “Beirut it is.”

“I thought you’d like that idea,” Richard said dryly. Glancing over at André, he explained, “I daresay my nephew would agree to lay siege to Constantinople as long as it meant we’d be heading to Acre first.”

Understanding then, André grinned. “Of course, his bride is waiting for him at Acre!” Shaking his head in mock regret, he said, “Ah, youth . . . when a man is utterly in thrall to his cock.”

They both laughed, but Henri did not mind their teasing. He knew there was no malice in it. And because he was a secret romantic at heart, he even felt a twinge of sympathy for his uncle, sorry that Richard would never be as eager to be reunited with Berengaria as he was to see Isabella again.

CHAPTER 34

JULY 1192

Acre, Outremer

The last Sunday in July was unusually hot even for an Outremer summer, but in late afternoon a westerly wind began to stir the fronds of palms and to rustle the silvery-green leaves of the ubiquitous olive trees. To take full advantage of it, Isabella, Berengaria, Joanna, and their ladies retreated to the palace roof, sheltering from the sun under a canvas canopy as they enjoyed the feel of a cooling sea breeze on flushed, sweltering skin.

Isabella had made herself as comfortable as her pregnancy would allow, resting her feet upon a footstool, easing her aching back with several small pillows. She’d been stitching a chrysom robe for her baby while Mariam read aloud to them from Chrétien de Troyes’s
Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart
. She put her sewing aside when Mariam excused herself to go belowstairs, and Anna at once hastened over. She was always eager to engage Isabella in conversation, and Joanna and Berengaria suspected it was because a faint scent of scandal trailed in Isabella’s wake. So far Isabella had good-naturedly indulged the girl’s curiosity, but the older women kept a watch on her, knowing Anna’s exuberance could be misread as impudence.

“I only had one brother,” Anna said sadly, “and he died. I still miss him. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“Yes . . . I had an older half-brother and sister from my father’s first marriage, who are both dead.”

Anna mulled this over, for she found the genealogy of the kingdom’s Royal House to be rather confusing. “Oh, of course! Your brother was the Leper King!”

Joanna winced, and Berengaria and Sophia frowned. But Isabella did not lose her composure. “Yes, Baldwin was sometimes called that. There are people who believe leprosy is divine punishment for sin. The Pope even declared that Baldwin’s leprosy was the judgment of God. In Outremer, we know better. My brother was well loved by his subjects and greatly admired for his courage and gallantry.”

Seeing then that Anna was distressed by her faux pas, Isabella deftly changed the subject, saying, “And I have four younger siblings, two brothers and two sisters born to my mother and Balian. They’ve lived in Tyre since Balian’s lands were captured by Saladin—” She stopped so abruptly that she drew all eyes. Letting out an audible breath, she summoned up a smile when she saw that she was the center of attention. “My baby is active today. If I did not know better, I’d think there was a game of camp-ball going on in my womb.”

Those who’d borne children shared knowing smiles, remembering their own pregnancies. Berengaria had avoided this subject whenever possible and she felt a twinge of remorse; it was rude, after all, to ignore Isabella’s coming motherhood. “When is the baby due?” she asked, as warmly as she could.

“My midwife says early November, most likely around All Saints’ Day, but definitely ere Martinmas.”

Anna had thrown a cushion on the ground and settled herself comfortably at Isabella’s feet. “Have you selected any names for the baby?”

“No, I’ve not had a chance to discuss it with Henri yet. We’ll probably name a daughter Maria, for that would honor both our mothers. If it is a son, I think I’d like to call him Henri.” Isabella raised her chin, meeting the eyes of the other women with a trace of defiance. If any of them thought that unseemly, they were wise enough to hide it. Seeing no disapproval on their faces, she leaned back against the pillows and addressed the issue head-on. “Balian told me the Saracens are scandalized that I would wed Henri whilst carrying Conrad’s baby. One of them asked him, ‘But whose child will it be?’ And my stepfather, bless him, said, ‘It will be the Queen’s child.’ They found that impossible to understand.”

Joanna had come to admire Isabella’s courage and she proved that now by saying emphatically, “Well, we understand and that is all that matters. You did what a queen must always do—put the needs of your kingdom first.” She paused to make sure the other women got the message—that gossip would not be tolerated—for she’d heard several of Berengaria’s handmaidens and even her own Lady Hélène doing just that.

“I agree,” Berengaria said, just as staunchly, her gaze singling out the worst offender, who blushed and averted her eyes.

Isabella was pleased that both queens had spoken out so forcefully, for she’d noticed some tension lately between her own attendants and a few of their ladies-in-waiting, and she suspected careless or malicious chatter was at the heart of it. Her sense of mischief soon asserted itself, though, and she could not resist pointing out the obvious with an impish smile. “I did indeed do what I believed to be my duty. Of course few women would see it as a great hardship to wed the Count of Champagne.”

Midst the laughter that followed, Anna took advantage of the mellow mood. “May I ask a question, Lady Isabella?”

The fact that she’d felt the need to ask warned Isabella that it was likely to be intrusive. “You may ask, Anna. I cannot promise that I will answer.”

“I was wondering . . . Did you ever think of reuniting with your first husband after Conrad was slain?”

She was at once rebuked by Sophia for asking something so personal, but Isabella decided it was best to have it out in the open. “The past is like an impregnable castle perched on a sheer cliff, visible to all for miles around, but impossible to enter. There is no going back, Anna. Nigh on two years ago, the barons and bishops of Outremer made it quite clear that they would never accept Humphrey as king, and nothing has changed since then.”

Anna nodded, satisfied. “Humphrey is good-looking,” she acknowledged, damning him with faint praise. “But Henri is handsome, too, and he is very dashing, as well, almost as brave as
Malik Ric
. I hope I can find a husband like him.” This last comment was delivered with artless abandon, as if the thought just happened to pop into her head. It was actually calculated to nudge the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. “I have another question,” she confided, meeting their eyes innocently, “this one for those who’ve been married. Can you tell me what it is like to lie with a man?” Before she could be reprimanded again, she said quickly, “I have the right to know, for I will be wed myself one day, and surely you’d not have me learn from the prattle of servants. I’ve heard the first time is supposed to hurt, but after that? Is it pleasant?”

Joanna was wryly amused when all eyes naturally turned toward her. She did indeed think Anna had a right to know; ignorance posed its own dangers. “Yes, it is pleasant,” she said, adding prudently that it must be enjoyed within the sacrament of marriage.

Anna leaned forward, blue eyes shifting from Joanna to Berengaria to Isabella, then back to Joanna again. “But what does it feel like?”

Joanna found that was not easy to explain. “It is . . . pleasurable,” she said, giving the other women a “help me” look.

Sophia remained conspicuously silent, confirming their suspicions about her years as Isaac’s wife, but Berengaria did her best. “It is an act of great intimacy, Anna. Most women find it very comforting to share such closeness with their husbands.”

Isabella had listened in growing surprise, not expecting them to use such bland, benign phrases for an experience so awesome. She opened her mouth to offer a far more vivid and compelling description of love-making, but caught herself in the nick of time, suddenly comprehending the reason for their caution.

Anna was disappointed, hoping for more specific answers, but she saw this was all she was going to get and, after a few moments, she wandered off with Alicia, who was obviously impressed by her friend’s boldness, for they were soon giggling together. Once the girls were out of hearing, Isabella leaned closer and lowered her voice. “At first I could not understand why you both were being so reticent, so reluctant to tell her the truth, but then I—”

“Reticent?” Joanna echoed, genuinely puzzled. “I
was
truthful with her, Isabella. It is important that young girls know it is not a sin to find pleasure in the marriage bed. If they are not told that by other women, they may pay heed to the wrong voices, to those who would have them believe that the loss of their virginity is to be mourned even within the sacrament of marriage. From childhood, they hear our priests preach that not even God can raise up a virgin once she has ‘fallen.’ Little wonder so many girls go to their marriage beds in such dread. Far better that Anna or Alicia should listen to us than to—”

“A Padre Domingo,” Berengaria interjected, and she and Joanna exchanged smiles, as if sharing a private joke.

Isabella was embarrassed now that she understood the magnitude of her mistake, and she was not sure what she was going to say if they questioned her about her “reticent” comment. Fortunately at that moment, Joanna cried out, “Anna! You and Alicia are too close to the roof’s edge.”

“There are men coming up the Jaffa Road, lots of them!” Anna shaded her eyes, balancing on tiptoe as she strained to see the distant banners, and then she turned back toward the women with a radiant smile. “It is
Malik Ric
!” Adding for Isabella’s benefit, “And your husband, too!”

ISABELLA WAS SOMEWHAT self-conscious about disrobing before Henri, for in the six weeks they had been apart, her body had changed dramatically, at least in her eyes. Her face seemed fuller, her slender ankles no longer so slender, her breasts larger than they’d ever been, blue veins vivid against the fairness of her skin. She supposed that many women felt like this as their pregnancies advanced, wondering if their husbands would continue to find them desirable. But few of them went to their marital bed carrying another man’s child. Would Henri still be able to see the woman behind that distended belly?

Her ladies had undressed her and she was already in bed when Henri entered. He was obviously eager to be alone with her, but he still took the time to greet her women courteously before he ushered them out; she’d been struck by his good manners from the time of their first meeting, when she was still Humphrey’s wife. Watching as he stripped with flattering speed, she felt desire stirring at the sight of his naked body. She’d been more fortunate than most women, for she’d been wed to three uncommonly handsome men, but she’d never wanted Humphrey or Conrad the way that she wanted Henri, and had since their first kiss upon the roof of the archbishop’s palace. She’d gloried in their love-making during their brief time together, experiencing sensations that were new and overwhelming, and she caught her breath when he turned, for he was offering indisputable physical proof of his need for her.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky. “No troubadour or trouvère would ever praise flaxen locks again after seeing you with your hair loose, flowing down your back like a midnight river.”

As he slid into bed beside her, she put her hand upon his chest, over his heart. “Thank you for that, Henri, for making me still feel desirable. I’m as swollen as a ripe melon, and I was not sure you would—”

She got no further, for he stopped her words with a kiss. “Melons,” he said, “are my favorite fruit.” He was nuzzling her throat, his breath warm on her skin. “But is it safe for the baby . . . ?”

“I asked the midwife,” she assured him, “and she said it was quite safe until the last month.”

The bed curtains were open and she could see the candle’s golden light dancing in his eyes; they were the blue of a harvest sky, she thought, for she was still in that sweet, bewitched state where everything about her lover was a source of pleasure and fascination. “So you asked the midwife,” he murmured, tightening his arms around her. “Dare I hope that means you missed me as much as I missed you?”

“I missed you very much, my darling.” She wasn’t sure she’d have confided so readily in Humphrey or Conrad, for she’d played a more passive role with them, as an innocent and then a dutiful wife. With Henri, honesty came easily, for with him, she felt free to be herself, free to admit that she’d been eager to have him back in her bed. “I was so glad when Dame Helvis told me our love-making would not endanger the baby. But . . .” She paused and then sighed when he kissed her breast; they were so close now that she could feel his arousal, hot against her thigh.

“But what, my love?”

“Well . . . look at my belly, Henri. How are we to . . . ?”

“Is that what is worrying you, Bella?” He laughed softly. “That is easy enough to remedy.” And he proceeded to prove it.