Lionheart (98 page)

Balian shrugged. “The midwives may have miscalculated. Or the baby may have decided to come early.”

Richard knew little of the birthing chamber, but Henri had told him that Balian had four children with his Greek wife. “Are Isabella and the baby in danger?”

“Early births pose more of a risk to the baby, but it is always dangerous,” Balian said quietly, “always. Maria had planned to be at Acre with Isabella when her confinement began, and I’d feel much better if she were here,” he confessed. “But wishing will not make it so. We’d best go inside, for Henri will have need of us. It is likely to be a very long day.”

MEN WERE NOT PERMITTED in the birthing chamber, but that did not keep Henri from making numerous trips abovestairs to plead for news from the midwives. Emma would come out, tell him cryptically that all was proceeding as it ought, disappear back inside, and Henri would return to the hall to pace and fret. Richard tried to occupy him with a chess game, but he was too distracted to concentrate for long. After he pushed away from the table and headed yet again for the stairs, Balian came over.

“The lad has the attention span of a sand flea right now. I was the same way when Maria was giving birth to our first. Fortunately, it does get easier. May I sit, my lord? I’ve something to say to you.”

Richard gestured to a chair, somewhat warily. Balian had given Henri his full support as soon as he and Isabella were wed, but he’d stayed aloof from the crusade while Conrad lived, and Richard remembered that all too well. “I am listening.”

“I thought you ought to know what the Bishop of Beauvais is saying about you.” Richard’s mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. “I’m well aware of the lies he’s been spreading—that I am responsible for Conrad’s death, that I sent
Assassins
to France to murder Philippe, that I am in league with Saladin and the Devil to betray Christendom to the Saracens. I’d not be surprised if he is claiming that I’m a secret Muslim, too.”

“But do you know he is also accusing you of poisoning Hugh of Burgundy?”

“Good God Almighty!” Richard shook his head incredulously. “It is a wonder they are not blaming me for the murder of Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral!”

“Or the Great Flood or the expulsion from Eden,” Balian suggested dryly, and they found that sharing a laugh dispelled some of the lingering tension between them. “Above all, they are saying that you accomplished nothing, that your campaign was a failure because you did not recapture the Holy City. I daresay they’ll find men to believe that. But not in Outremer. Ere your arrival, the Kingdom of Jerusalem consisted only of the city of Tyre and a siege camp at Acre. Because of your efforts, our kingdom now stretches along the coast from Tyre to Jaffa, we will have an opportunity to strengthen our defenses, Saladin no longer controls Ascalon, and Christian pilgrims can worship again at the Holy Sepulchre. That may not sound like much to lazy French burghers back in Paris, but it means a great deal to those who call Outremer home.”

Henri and André had been telling Richard this, too, but he discovered now that it meant more coming from a man who was not his friend.

AS WORD SPREAD that Isabella was in labor,
poulain
lords began to arrive at the palace and a palpable air of tension overhung the great hall. Henri was too focused upon his own unease to notice, but Richard did. He knew what they feared and were murmuring among themselves: What would happen to their kingdom if Isabella’s child was stillborn and she did not survive? It was a realistic fear, for the birthing chamber could be as dangerous for a woman as the battlefield was for a man. And although Henri had wed their queen, he was not an anointed king, for he’d not yet been crowned. Isabella had not, either, but she had a bloodright to the throne; Henri did not.

Richard found that their anxiety was contagious, and after a cursory supper that went largely uneaten, he slipped out of the hall. Twilight had yielded to night and the air was cool against his skin. The waning moon had not yet risen but the courtyard was bathed in starlight. He sat down upon a marble bench, frustrated by his lingering fatigue; when would he feel like himself again? Not wanting to think of Isabella’s ongoing ordeal, nor of his fleet, now at the mercy of the unforgiving Greek Sea, he welcomed a diversion, the appearance of one of Jacques d’Avesnes’s Flemish hounds. Joanna had taken her cirnecos with her; Jacques’s big dogs had been spared the sea voyage when Isabella and Henri offered to adopt them. Richard fondled the hound’s drooping ears, but the dog’s presence was stirring hurtful memories of Jacques and all the men who’d died in Christ’s Name, gallant ghosts hovering in the shadows, reminding him how many would not be coming home.

He raised his head at the sound of footsteps. Henri was coming toward him, holding a lantern. He did not need it, though, for his smile alone could have illuminated the entire courtyard. “Isabella is resting,” he said, “after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl.”

Richard’s relief momentarily rendered him speechless. “I am so glad, Henri, so glad for you both!”

“I wanted you to be the first to know, but as soon as the others in the hall saw my face, there was no need of words.” Henri set the lantern down on the bench, but he was too wrought up to sit. “We’re going to name her Maria after both our mothers. I always thought newborn babies were red and wrinkled and bald. Yet Maria looks like a little flower, with a feathery cap of dark hair like Isabella’s.”

“Our time in the Holy Land has been very different from what we expected it to be. But surely the greatest surprise is that you’ve become a father,” Richard said, smiling, and Henri laughed aloud.

“If any soothsayer had predicted that in Outremer, I’d wed a widowed, pregnant queen, I’d have thought him madder than a woodhound!” Henri laughed again, before saying, “I have a confession, Uncle. I’d been praying that Isabella would give birth to a daughter, not a son.”

“You ought not to feel guilty about that, Henri, for it is only natural that you’d want to see a son of your own as king one day.”

“I think I could have loved Conrad’s son, for I’d be the only father he’d ever know. But what if I were wrong, if I came to resent him for taking precedence over my blood sons? It just seemed so much easier—and safer—if only she’d have a girl. Of course I did not let Isabella know I had these doubts.” Henri perched on the end of the bench, still so energized that he seemed like a golden hawk about to take flight at any moment. “But when the midwives finally let me in to see her, she confided that she’d been praying for a daughter, too!”

Richard decided that his cousin Isabella was either deeply in love with his nephew or a very clever young woman; either way, he thought their chances for a good marriage were excellent. “As you say, lad, easier and safer. And I’ll wager that by the time I come back to Outremer, you’ll have a son of your own to show me.”

“ ‘Come back’? You mean that, Uncle?”

“Of course I do.” Richard was surprised by Henri’s surprise. “I did not fulfill my vow to retake Jerusalem. Nor did we make peace. We agreed to a truce that will last for only three years and eight months. Did you truly think I’d leave you on your own to fend off the Saracens when war resumes?”

Henri was overwhelmed. “You have no idea how much that means to me! I thought that when you sailed for home, our farewell would be final. You believe Jerusalem could be taken?” He tried to dampen down his excitement, then, for he owed his uncle honesty. “But could you come back without putting your own realm in jeopardy?”

“We could not take Jerusalem because the Saracens were united, as they had not been when it first fell to the Christians. Had we not faced Saladin, had we not been subverted at every turn by Burgundy and Beauvais, our chances for success would have improved dramatically. Saladin is a great prince, but as he himself pointed out to me, he is not a young one, and his brother is far more capable than any of his sons. By the time I return, his empire might well be torn asunder. As for my own empire, it will not be easy, but it can be safeguarded. I’ll start by putting the fear of God into Johnny. Then I’ll teach Philippe that there is a high price to be paid for treachery.” Richard’s face had hardened as he thought of his disloyal brother and the unscrupulous French king. But after a moment, he smiled at his nephew. “With you as my ally instead of Conrad and without the French to hinder us, think what we can accomplish!”

PIERRE AND JEAN DE PRÉAUX had delayed their departure as long as they could, anguished by the prospect of having to leave Outremer with their brother still a Saracen prisoner. They’d even discussed remaining until the following spring, but they both had families of their own back in Normandy. They’d reluctantly decided to sail with Richard when he left, and that day was fast approaching. Richard had been busy settling all of his outstanding debts and arranging for a horse transport for Fauvel and his Arab stallions. He’d had a public crier proclaim that his creditors should present themselves at the palace and he’d made sure that payments were made to the garrison at Ascalon, to masons for work done on Jaffa’s walls, to merchants for supplies provided to his army. After being told by Baldwin de Bethune that Richard expected to leave by week’s end, the Préaux brothers paid their own debts and informed the innkeeper that they’d be vacating their chamber in two days. They were heading for the market to buy St Denys medallions, for they’d be sailing on his name day, when the summons came from the king.

They hastened to the palace, hope flickering. In the past Richard had twice managed to relay to them messages from their brother, and at Jaffa, he’d promised to ask al-’Ādil to pass on a message to Guilhem. As painful as it was to leave without knowing his fate, it would be even worse if they had to depart without bidding him a word of farewell. Upon entering the great hall, they were told Richard was awaiting them in the solar and they hurried into the stairwell. To their surprise, Richard himself opened the door. Jean’s view was partially blocked by his brother’s shoulder. He thought he saw Henri standing behind Richard and he wondered why they had not thought to ask the count to get a message to Guilhem; he was known to have a good heart, after all, and he’d have the time that Richard did not. But it was then that his brother shocked him by pushing past Richard into the solar. Mortified by such a breach of protocol, Jean started to stammer an apology on Pierre’s behalf. Richard just laughed and swung the door open wide, enabling Jean to see the man caught up in Pierre’s bear hug. With a hoarse cry of disbelief, Jean lunged forward so he, too, could embrace Guilhem.

What followed was bedlam, with all three brothers talking at once, laughing and weeping and pounding one another exuberantly on the back, while Richard and Henri watched, smiling. Guilhem was noticeably thinner; his once-round face now had angles and hollows. He looked older, too, to their searching eyes. But his humor had not changed, nor had his hearty, loud laugh. “Who’d ever have thought,” he joked, “that your little brother would turn out to be worth a king’s ransom!”

“Actually an emir’s ransom,” Henri corrected with a grin, “or ten emirs, to be precise. My uncle freed ten highborn Saracens to gain Guilhem’s release.”