Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (12 page)

“She has finally caught on to you,” I said. “Look, why don’t I shadow Mary while Balthazar is away? Maybe she’ll take advantage of his absence to follow her own pursuits. I can start when she leaves the Queen this afternoon.”

“All right,” said Scarlet.

$ $ £

Mary led me nowhere but to market and back, to market and back. She ate with Leo and his family at night and took no lovers while her husband was away. At least, outside the castellum.

Inside the castellum one day, however, she turned left in a hallway instead of her normal right. I hung back long enough to give her some breathing space, then poked my head around the corner just in time to see her vanish into a room and the door close behind her. I crept up to listen, but it was a thick oaken door that fitted too snugly to allow any distinct noise through. All I knew was that it was a man and woman conversing.

When she emerged, I was at the other end of the hall, watching. Her garments appeared unmussed, her hair still in place, and no clue from her skin as to what had transpired inside.

Then Ralph Falconberg stepped into the hallway and watched her depart. It was his room that she had visited.

Was it a liaison? A little fund-raising on the side?

Or was she acting as a go-between for the Queen?

“It could have been something completely innocent,” said Scarlet when I told him about it.

“What connection could Mary have to Ralph Falconberg?” I asked. “He could be using her to communicate with the Queen, or to spy on her. He wants Isabelle, I’m certain of it. And she’s in a vulnerable state right now between the pregnancy and the uncertainty over Conrad.”

“Isabelle would not succumb to any man,” said Scarlet. “Especially a man like Ralph. He’s wasting his time if that’s what he’s doing.”

“But what if it’s something else?”

He shrugged. “Impossible to know what it is at the moment. In the meantime, I’ll be spending more time with the Queen. That should give her some protection.”

An unbidden thought crept into my brain. Who then will protect people from the Queen?

I
n the middle
of Christmas dinner a week later, the doors opened and William strode in, followed by Balthazar, who was carrying a bulging burlap sack.

“The prodigal returns,” observed Conrad, Isabelle sitting at his side. “What did you bring me for Christmas, my friend?”

“Show him,” ordered William.

Balthazar walked up and upended the bag over Conrads table. A pair of bloodied heads rolled out and tumbled across it like misshapen dice, sending a silver goblet spinning.

“There’re your Assassins,” said William. “Merry Christmas, Conrad.”

Isabelle put both hands to her mouth and fled, retching. Conrad looked after her and sighed.

“There may have been a better time and place for this, don’t you think, William?” he said.

William shrugged.

“I think thinking was a thing he didn’t think about,” chirped Scarlet.

“It never was my little brother’s strong point,” agreed Hugh Falconberg.

“Well, William, tell us who they are,” commanded Conrad. “Or were.”

“We followed the envoys north,” said William. “They kept to the main road past Sidon, but turned inland just before reaching Beirut. We saw them meet with two men. The men went into their tent and came out a little while later dressed as Franks. We figured they were disguised Assassins, so we followed your orders. After the envoys continued north, we waited for the two men to come by. I am sorry to say that they did not live up to their reputation, milord. It was an easy pair of kills.”

“Well done, William,” applauded Conrad. “One who may become king thanks you.”

“May I also say that Balthazar performed superbly in your service,” said William. “He is an expert tracker and knew the terrain well. He kept us from capture by Saracen patrols on at least three occasions.”

“My act of Christian charity in sponsoring you has been amply repaid,” said Conrad, smiling at Balthazar.

Balthazar bowed, looking a little sick. It’s one thing to track human prey, but quite another to carry the trophies back with you. I had the feeling that he did not enjoy the experience. Which was to his credit.

“What did you do with the bodies?” asked Conrad.

“We buried them where no one would notice,” said William. “Shall I mount the heads at the main gate?”

“No,” said Conrad. “It isn’t a good idea to flaunt this. Let the Assassins wonder for a while. If they know for sure, they’ll just keep sending more, and the next ones won’t be so easy to spot. Bury these.”

He grabbed the heads by their hair and tossed them to Balthazar, who caught them with distaste and put them back in the sack.

We all relaxed about the Assassins after that.

We shouldn’t have.

S
carlet
and I were entertaining the Queen a few days later when Balthazar appeared at her door, accompanied by his wife.

“Milady, I beg a moment of your time,” he said, coming to kneel before her.

I was surprised and sensed the same of Scarlet, but the Queen nodded as if she had been expecting this and motioned him to stand.

“Please, speak freely,” she said.

“I have come to apologize for my wretched conduct in your presence,” he said, almost in tears. “It was not my wish to upset you so, especially in your present condition. I was merely obeying William Falconberg.”

“As you were commanded to do,” said the Queen sympathetically. “I assure you, Balthazar, that I hold you blameless for that incident. The Falconbergs vie with each other for the conduct that demonstrates the most bravado. It is not the first time that we have seen this competition degenerate into this kind of crude behavior.”

“I thank you for these kind words, milady,” said Balthazar, kneeling again. “Bless you for them.”

“Good Fools, would you excuse us?” asked Isabelle. “I would speak with this gendeman alone.”

“Certainly, milady,” said Scarlet, concealing his surprise for the second time in minutes.

“Mary, be so good as to show them out,” commanded the Queen, and before we knew it, we were on the streets of Tyre.

“What is she up to?” sputtered Scarlet. “What would she with that ambitious refugee?”

“Maybe she thought she could get information out of him that she couldn’t get out of Mary,” I speculated. “She does have this ability to bewitch lesser men, which is to say, all of us.”

“Without me there?” he protested.

“Especially without you there.”

“What if he’s dangerous?”

“She seems not to fear him,” I observed. “If anything, he seems afraid of her. Why else would he come to apologize?”

“Good manners? No, not from someone like him. Maybe Mary made him do it.”

“Maybe,” 1 said. “Or maybe the Queen suggested it to Mary so that she could get Balthazar alone for questioning.”

“You like it when I am discomfited, don’t you?” he said accusingly. “Yes, I do,” I said.

“I tell you, Scarlet, pregnancy has sapped me of my beauty,” wailed Isabelle the next day. “Normally, I would have a man like that twisted around my little finger. But yesterday, I couldn’t get anywhere with him.”

“His wife was nearby,” said Scarlet.

“That would discourage any man from reacting to you,” I agreed.

She looked at us, tapping her foot expectantly.

“And you’re still beautiful,” we both added hastily.

“It took you long enough,” she said. “The odd thing was when I offered my condolences over the death of his wife’s sister. He replied that he didn’t even know that she had a sister, but he thanked me for the information.”

“Now, that’s interesting,” said Scarlet. “When a wife fails to mention a family member to her husband, then that’s suspicious.”

“As suspicious as a husband failing to mention a prior living wife to his current one?” asked Isabelle.

“Are you still convinced of that?” asked Scarlet. She nodded. “Well, Isabelle, I am going to have to add that to my list of things to change in the world. I swear that I will make you see some sense before this is over.”

O
ne morning in late January
, we rose to hear cries from the southern watchtowers. We looked in that direction to see a small cloud of dust heading up the road toward us. It soon cleared enough to reveal a dozen mounted knights, one of them carrying the colors of Champagne.

Young Henry had changed since I had last seen him at the Lion-hearted’s revels in Acre. Not physically so much—he still possessed the pale, almost unearthly beauty that had been the only benefit of his long illness. What was different was his mien. He walked with the swagger of the soldier who had bloodied his lance many times, and he looked with the eyes of a man far past him in years, one who had seen death coming from every angle already and no longer feared its approach. He led his men on foot through the streets of Tyre, and all who beheld him felt as if an archangel had come among them.

Mind you, not everyone was happy to see an archangel in town. It all depends on your perspective, I suppose.

Conrad had ample warning of Henry’s arrival and was fully arrayed when the youth was admitted to his presence.

“Well, well, it’s the nephew of many uncles,” he said, rising to meet him. “”fou are welcome in Tyre, my friend.”

“You are most gracious,” replied Henry. “The King sends his regards.”

“Where is he now?” asked Conrad. “We last heard at Ramleh, having, Moses-like, glimpsed his objective from afar without attaining it.”

Henry smiled icily. “Having fought so far like a true Christian, he found his faith strong but his arm weary,” he said. “He has returned to Ascalon to finish rebuilding the walls so that he has a strong base from which to set forth again. For which final task, he demands that you join him.”

“Let him demand,” said Conrad. “Let him cajole, plead, beg, threaten, bribe, or seduce. The answer will be the same. I will not jeopardize what has already been retaken at so much cost. With Ascalon, we now control a hundred miles of coastline with barely enough men to protect it. If we risk all on one more throw of the dice, then we can lose everything.”

“Is that your final response?” asked Henry.

“It is,” replied Conrad. “But I have a request of you, my friend. You must share with us as lavish a dinner as is at our disposal ere you depart.”

Henry hesitated slightly. I expect that the moral struggle was between eating with a man he regarded as the Devil versus having a genuine feast for the first time in months. In the end, his stomach won the argument.

“It would be an honor,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Good,” said Conrad. “Someone show him to his rooms.”

“I will,” said William Falconberg, stepping forward and saluting. “I am William Falconberg, milord. I am your servant.” He beckoned to Henry, who followed him out of the room.

“What do you think?” asked Conrad of Balian. “Does Richard truly mean to take on Jerusalem again?”

“I doubt it,” said Balian. “We have already had French deserters showing up at the tents, looking for ships home. He is running out of funds to keep them in provisions. He will lose all the French soon.”

“Then he must finally sue for peace,” said Conrad.

“Yes,” said Balian. “We should contact Saladin again as well. I suggest that you send your best man.”

“And who do you think that is?” asked Conrad, smiling.

“Myself,” said Balian modestly.

At the dinner, Conrad personally escorted Henry to the table, to the cheers of all in the room. As he introduced him to Isabelle, Henry knelt before her and kissed her ring.

As he looked up at her, we noticed a familiar expression cross his face, one common to many who were meeting the Queen for the first time.

“Look,” I whispered to Scarlet as we played on in our corner. “Jerusalem has conquered Champagne. God’s own warrior has been smitten.”

But Scarlet did not reply. He was staring at Isabelle in shock. For the Queen was looking at Henry in the same way.

“
A
m I to be king
?” demanded Conrad the following morning. l. Henry looked at him, stone-faced.

We were back in the great hall of the castellum. To Scarlets consternation, Isabelle had a newfound interest in the affairs of state and was sitting contentedly at her husband’s side, watching the two powers battle.

“Well? Am I?” Conrad asked again.

“The King has other concerns at the moment,” Henry replied, the slightest trace of a sneer in his voice, if not his face.

“Yes, and he expects me to drop everything and join him, doesn’t he?” said Conrad. “As if I haven’t already done enough since I’ve come here.”

“No one can say that they have done enough while Jerusalem remains in the hands of the infidel,” Henry said.

“Jerusalem!” Conrad said scornfully. “Yau just don’t get it, do you? Yau are not going to take Jerusalem, with my help or without. It’s over. Saladin has it, and he’s going to keep it, because he has several times more men than we do. And do you know why that is, my young friend?”

“Why, old man?” smirked Henry.

Conrad leaned forward into the lad’s face and shouted, “Because they already live here!”

Henry reeled back under the verbal assault. Isabelle turned toward Conrad.

“Husband, please,” she said, placing her hand gently on his arm. “Henry is our guest.”

Conrad shook her off impatiently.

“A guest,” he said bitterly. “We are all “guests” here, didn’t you know? Our protectors have to be shipped in, our money has to be shipped in, sometimes even our food. All so that we can cling to this strip of land by the sea and moan about Jerusalem. Hear me out, boy. You want Jerusalem, then you make the deal with Saladin. Truce, and free access to the holy sites, and we’ll split the profits from the pilgrims” progress right down the middle. We’ll hit them at the coast, he’ll finish them at the Stations of the Cross, the Church can collect the donations for the indulgences, and we’ll all rest easy.”

“This is sacrilege!” shouted Henry. “We are on a holy mission—“

“Then why did you retreat?” asked Conrad. “Why didn’t you die hacking at the gates of the Holy City? The Gates of Heaven were waiting if you had, weren’t they? Wasn’t that the promise? Why didn’t you all die there?”

“I wish that we had,” Henry said softly.

“There’re plenty of opportunities left to you,” said Conrad. “We’ll pray for you when you go. Won’t we, Beauvais?”

“Milord, perhaps—“ said the Bishop.

“Oh, no perhaps about it,” said Conrad. “No, we shall pray for Richard, and for you, young Henry. A special Mass in your honor. That much we are willing to do. But no more.”

“The King—“ began Henry.

“You know, if I was a king, things might be different,” mused Conrad, stroking his chin. “Might help Richard as one king to another. Noblesse oblige, or professional courtesy, or whatever royal whim I have. But not the way things are now.”

“King Guy de Lusignan fights bravely by Richards side,” said Henry.

“He’s no king,” retorted Conrad. “And Richard is giving him Cyprus, everyone knows that. That should be more than enough for him. But his claim to this kingdom died with his wife. The claim lies with the man who is married to the Queen of Jerusalem. It used to be through his wife. Now, it’s through mine. I am married to the Queen, so by all rights, the crown is mine. Don’t you agree?”

Henry looked at her, his face carefully expressionless today.

“Yes,” he said. “The man who is married to her would be a king indeed.”

She beamed at him adoringly.

“Maybe he’ll want us for a serenade,” I muttered.

“Oh, please don’t even think of such things,” groaned Scarlet.

“We wish you a safe journey,” said Conrad.

Henry stepped back and bowed. But he bowed to the Queen, not to her husband. Then he turned and left.

“Do me a favor and follow him,” urged Scarlet. “See who he talks to before he goes.”

“Right,” I said, and I made my farewells quickly.

Henry’s quarters were a suite of rooms on a lower level facing the curtain walls. The placement was deliberate—all he had to do was look out his window to see the inner wall blocking the view, a reminder of how secure the city and its putative king were.

I camped out on a windowsill at the end of the corridor leading to his rooms, idly playing my lute. No one took notice of me for more than a second. Henry emerged after an hour with his men, his gear collected. No one had visited during that interval, and no one local came out with him.

They passed by me and descended the stairs to the main entrance to the castellum. As I followed and observed, a figure detached himself from a doorway and intercepted Henry. It was the Bishop of Beauvais.

I crept down the steps, trying to hear what passed between them, but they spoke in tones too low to be heard. The Bishop nodded at something Henry said, held up his hands in blessing over the group, then turned and went back inside.

The Frenchmen retrieved their horses from the stables, mounted, and left without further contact. I followed them out the gates and watched until they vanished down the road to Acre.

The great hall was empty when I returned. I went to the Queen’s chambers and found Scarlet there.

“Anyone?” he asked when he saw me.

“The Bishop,” I said. “He blessed their departure.”

“He’s a choosy one for blessings,” said the dwarf. “Probably trying to wangle some money from Richard for that cathedral. Maybe he’ll send some of his men down to help in Ascalon. I’m not really concerned about Beauvais.”

“Who are you concerned about?”

He indicated the window, at which Isabelle sat, looking moodily out at the city.

“How fare you, milady?” I called.

“The city looks so gloomy today,” she said.

“The city looks fine,” said Scarlet. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the laborers are laboring and the courtiers are doing whatever it is that they do.”

“Does the sun truly shine?” she asked. “I had thought that it set in the south this morning.”

“For heaven’s sake, Isabelle,” snapped Scarlet. “He’s only a boy. Y>u’re married to a man.”

“Such a beautiful, noble boy,” sighed the Queen. “And truly, he is about my age, is he not? I thought that there was something almost tragic about him.”

“If by almost tragic you mean immature, then I would agree with you,” said Scarlet. “Now, stop being ridiculous.”

“Yes, that’s our job,” I said.

“Oh, Scarlet,” she said. “May I just have this little fantasy to amuse me? I felt as if I were Queen in the Courts of Love, and he was going to the Crusade because his love for me could never be requited.”

“Very pretty,” I said. “I’ve had some fantasies of my own. Would you like to hear one of them?”

“Shut up, Droignon, this is not the time,” said Scarlet. “Now, Isabelle, I want you to remember who you are. The Courts of Love are a fancy notion that someone came up with to please Eleanor of Aquitaine. If they existed, you would be my first choice for queen, no question. But in the real world, you are the Queen of Jerusalem, and you can’t be mooning over the nearest pretty boy like some romance-engorged maid. Half the court saw the expression you had on your face, and the other half will be saying they did inside a day. The only one who didn’t see it was your husband. Remember him? The one you married? Whose child you carry?”

“I remember, Scarlet,” she said. “I remember all the time. I remember every time I feel this new life move inside me. All I have to do is stand on my land and breed successfully, is that it? What good is being queen if I can’t have my way once in a while?”

“If your way takes you through Champagne, then there will be consequences,” warned Scarlet.

“I’ve had a noble beauty without manliness, and manliness without beauty,” she said.
“Yon
Henry possesses them both.”

“hbn Henry is a puppy,” said Scarlet.

She looked at him, realization dawning in her face.

“”You’re jealous,” she accused.

“Jealous?” exclaimed Scarlet, turning crimson. “Who am I to be jealous? I am your dwarf, your plaything, your slave. And your friend and confidant. If you want to fall for this green youth in the middle of your pregnancy and embarrass yourself and scandalize the city in the process, don’t let me stop you.”

He stormed out of the room.

“I’ll go calm him down, milady,” I said, bowing.

It didn’t take me long to catch up with him, an advantage of longer legs. I grabbed his shoulder, then let go before he had a chance to throw me anywhere.

“Go away,” he said.

“I was going away,” I replied. “It just happened to be in the same direction you were going away, my jealous master.”

“I am not jealous!” he shouted.

“Then stop acting as if you were,” I said. “So she’s gotten besotted. So what? Half the women who saw Henry acted the same way. People go through these little spates of madness every now and then. In Isabelle’s case, it’s probably just the pregnancy talking. It makes women strange.”

H
ey
! said my wife. You did not think that about me, I trust.

Of course not, Duchess. I thought that you were strange even before you became pregnant.

Oh.

“
I
t’s not about Henry
,” Scarlet insisted. “It’s the crown that I am worried about. We need Isabelle and Conrad to present a unified front if they are going to lead this small slice of Christendom successfully. If he cannot even hold the loyalty of his wife, he’ll never get it from the people. He’ll be a coronated cuckold.”

“Look, Henry’s gone back to Richard, so it will be months before he shows up around here again. Out of sight, eventually out of mind, say I.”

“I hope so,” Scarlet sighed. “We are so close to seeing the end of this Crusading debacle. I would hate to see something as petty as love get in the way of peace.”

“She doesn’t love him,” I reassured him. “He’s just a fantasy. Try having one of your own sometime. Ydu”11 be better for it.”

“I have one,” he said, but he spoke no further on the topic.

T
he French started showing
up a few weeks later. First just a couple, skulking about the tents, nervously looking around to see if anyone would challenge their desertion of their oaths and fellows. More trickled in, then the trickle became a veritable torrent of overdressed soldiers waving their falchions in one hand and their goblets in the other.

There was no room for them in Tyre, of course. Most of them came with whatever supplies they could lift from their adventures, but they didn’t bring much in the way of food.

Conrad welcomed them as a sign that the army was falling apart. He fed them as well as he could, all the while making certain that they knew where it was coming from. While the troops resisted his attempts to recruit them into his service, they felt enough goodwill in their full stomachs to start cheering him as King Conrad whenever he rode into their camp, spreading cheer and wine.

The novitiates latched onto them as a prime opportunity to practice their language and jesting skills. Little impromptu performances popped up all over the tent city. Peter, in particular, became a favorite of the new arrivals, a ready accomplice in the frequent practical jokes they would play upon each other.

It was Peter who brought us a morsel of information that kept us on edge for a few weeks.

“I’ve found two spies,” he announced with the supreme confidence of a ten year old.

We sat him down in the middle of the clearing and gathered around him.

“They say they are deserters,” he said. “But they don’t get drunk and chase women like the others do. They’ve been watching, and sitting with other people and asking lots of questions.”

“What kinds of questions?” asked Scarlet.

“About supplies,” said Peter. “Mostly, where does the food come from, how often do the fishing boats come in, that sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t sound like Assassins,” I said. “They already knew about the pirated ships.”

“No,” said Scarlet. “I have a feeling it was our little exploit with the supply ship. I was wondering when that particular chicken would come to roost. You’ve all kept quiet about it, of course.”

They all nodded furiously.

“What are their names?” asked Scarlet.

“Pierre and Phillippe,” said Peter. “Pierre is my name in langue d’oc, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” said Scarlet. “Let me think. They suspected Conrad’s dwarf, so I probably shouldn’t be getting too close to them. But they don’t know Droignon was involved.”

“Then I should check on them,” I said. “Peter, lead the way.”

He stood, puffed his chest out, and beckoned to me imperiously as the other children giggled. He took me through the confusion of tents with the ease of a Roman guide in the catacombs until we came upon one that had been pitched with military rigor.

I did not recognize the two men sitting in front of it, which was a relief. I was thinking about how to approach them when Peter marched up and said, “Messieurs, I found a man who knows your language and can sing your songs.”

Perfect, my lad, I thought as I walked up and bowed.

“What is this creature?” said one of them, a stout soldier who looked uncomfortable sitting on the ground instead of on a horse.

“I am Droignon, the jongleur,” I said. “I have come to entertain
11
you.

“For a fee, I suppose,” he said.

“Some men will work for a song,” I said. “But what is the song worth?”

“The worth of the song depends on the worth of the singer,” he said.

“A worthy reply,” I said. “Let me sing you a short one, and if you like it enough, then you shall hear more. Tell me where you are from, and I will sing the life of that place.”