Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (7 page)

“Another Falconberg?” I guessed from his reception.

“That’s William, the youngest,” replied Scarlet.

“I saw him in Acre,” I said.

“Not surprising,” said Scarlet. “Conrad uses all of the brothers as his emissaries.”

“You are most welcome, my friend,” said Conrad as a bowl of stew and a goblet of wine were shoved in front of William. “How does King Richard?”

“He has departed Acre,” said William.

“He’s returned to England?” exclaimed Conrad. “Without any warning to us?”

“Wrong direction,” said William. “He’s gone south and east.”

There was a sudden silence in the room, broken only by the youngest Falconberg digging into his cold stew. He sopped up the dregs with a piece of bread, then looked up to see everyone staring at him.

“He’s going after Jerusalem?” said Conrad.

“Well, it’s not as if I could stop him,” William said.

“No,” said Conrad slowly. “I suppose that nobody could.”

I could sense Scarlet wince at that.

“We thought that he might be inadequately supplied to make such an attempt,” said Balian.

“He is,” said William. “The men are terrified. The French are bringing up the rear, just so they can make a break for it if they have to. But Richard leads onward. They still haven’t finished refortifying Acre.”

“If Saladin cuts around to the north, he could take the city again,” mused Conrad. “I wonder if he knows that?”

“Please, must we speak of this dreadful business?” said the Queen. “My dear, this is your kingdom that is being fought over,” said Conrad, patting her hand. “Every mile conquered is yours, and every mile lost is your loss as well.”

“And this is my dinner as well, and you’re spoiling it,” she said petulantly. “I want my Scarlet to perform again.”

“Then so he shall,” said Conrad, a bit wearily. “My Lord Dwarf, would you be kind enough?”

“One can never be kind enough, milord,” said Scarlet. “There can never be a limit on kindness. Well, Monsieur Droignon, what shall we play?”

“How about the Puppeteer?” I suggested sotto voce.

He grimaced. “I always end up playing the puppet. Can’t we do something else?”

“Yes. The Puppeteer with me as the puppet.”

It was the first time that I had actually surprised him.

“I’ve never been the Puppeteer before,” he said in delight. “Let’s go.” He had to use a high stool to pretend to maneuver my invisible strings, but it went over splendidly, maybe even more than usual given the role reversal and the contrasts between our heights.

“Wonderful!” cried the Queen, clapping her hands at the end. “You were marvelous, Scarlet. And you, too, Monsieur Droignon.”

We bowed.

“My friends, this will conclude our feast,” said Conrad when the applause died down. “I will ask our spiritual leader to give us a blessing.”

The Bishop stood, his hands raised.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we give thanks for this food with which we have been blessed,” he began.

“You’re welcome,” muttered Scarlet.

“Grant us the restoration of the lands walked upon by Your Son,” he continued. “And in Thy mercy and wisdom, inflict failure upon our enemy.”

“Amen!” shouted the brothers Falconberg to this last, and the rest of the room joined in, stomping on the floor until it shook.

“He didn’t specify the enemy,” I pointed out.

“I wonder if he meant Richard,” replied Scarlet.

“Now, good friends, go with our thanks,” said Conrad. “I ask that those at my table remain for some discussion.”

The room cleared, and the servants came in to take away the emptied dishes, grumbling about the scant leavings. The two of us continued playing softly in our corner.

“I want to talk to you about Acre,” said Conrad. “I’m not happy about the position in which Richard left it.”

“My husband, must we always talk about war and strategy?” complained the Queen. “Talk instead of peace and happier things.”

“I wish that I could, my sweet,” said Conrad, patting her tenderly. “And I pray that the time comes soon when we will. But though it makes us men fierce and warlike in your eyes, never forget that we do this for your honor and safety.”

“I know, I know,” said Isabelle sadly. “I just wish for once… My lord, forgive me. I am weary of this talk, and there is nothing my voice can add to the discussion. Good gentlemen, I beg your indulgence.”

We rose as she exited. She turned just before the entrance to the hall.

“I will await you, Conrad,” she said, and then she left. Two servants closed the doors behind her.

Conrad stood looking at the doors for some moments, then resumed his seat.

“Where was I?” he said.

“Acre,” prompted Balian.

“Yes, Acre,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Should we be reinforcing it?”

“Milord,” said the Bishop, pointing to us. “Shouldn’t you be sending the fools out of the room?”

“Them?” laughed Conrad. “Let them stay. The music will help the discussion along. Now, if Richard took the Crusaders toward Jerusalem, then they most likely will not be returning. Saladin knows the territory better than they do. How many did he leave behind to guard the city?”

“Those who were wounded and a few token squadrons,” replied William. “But there are supposed to be Pisan and Genoan ships coming in soon with supplies and men.”

“Which means that Acre will soon become a battleground for the Pisans and Genoans,” said Balian. “They’ll be at each other inside a fortnight.”

“How close is the city to being defensible?” asked Conrad.

“The walls and gates will take another week of repairing,” said William.

“You’re Saladin, what would you do?” demanded Conrad of the room.

“I’d go after the Crusaders,” said Hugh.

“Let them get in too deep, intercept the supply lines when it’s stretched too thin,” agreed Ralph.

“And harass the rearguard into taking flight,” finished William.

“You’re Richard, what would you do?” asked Conrad.

“Go home,” called out Scarlet, and the table burst into laughter.

“If only he would,” said Balian. “I would stick to the coast, where it’s more fertile, and raid the area for food while hoping a supply ship or two straggles in. Maybe try for more of the coastal cities first.”

“That would be smart,” said Conrad. “But that wouldn’t necessarily be Richard. I think he’s going to strike out to Jerusalem while he still has enough loyal troops, and look to take Saladin’s head on the way. The coast is no good to him. Haifa’s been destroyed, Caesaria’s not worth the effort, and Ascalon is too far. He wants Jerusalem and nothing else, and only Jerusalem can still inspire the men. They haven’t come all this way just to take the coast.”

“Then what do we do?” asked Balian.

“We wait,” answered Conrad.

“We’re getting to be good at that,” muttered William.

Conrad stood, strode angrily over to him, grabbed him by his hair, and shoved his face into his bowl.

“There will be no insubordination in this room,” said Conrad, looking around the table. “Not if we’re going to pull this off.”

“You’re not the king yet,” spluttered William.

“And what is the word on that?” demanded Conrad, still clutching the youngest Falconberg’s head.

“Richard still supports Guy de Lusignan,” said William quickly, then he flinched as he felt Conrad’s grip tighten. He continued quickly, “But the French barons are solidly for you. If it came to a vote now, you would be king.”

Conrad released him.

“Then why hasn’t it come to a vote?” he asked quietly.

“Because Richard is moving so quickly,” replied William, wiping his face with a cloth. “The succession is not of the moment.”

“Well,” said Conrad, walking back to his seat. He folded his hands before him. “Let us pray that the expedition be resolved successfully.” He looked around the table. “For the French,” he finished, smiling.

“Amen,” said the Bishop of Beauvais piously, casting his eyes toward Heaven.

The room emptied, leaving only the Bishop, Conrad, and the two of us. The Bishop knelt before the table.

“What is it, Philip?” asked Conrad wearily.

“Milord, I am leaving Tyre to rejoin the Crusaders,” said the Bishop.

“Are you?” exclaimed Conrad. He studied the Bishop’s face, looking for any sign of guile. “Well. Keep an eye on them for me, will you?”

“Of course,” said the Bishop. He stood, turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. “We’ve come so far and endured so much. I truly would like to see Jerusalem before the end.” He left.

Conrad rested his head on his hands, looked over at Scarlet, and smiled.

“I shall stay here,” he said.

“No sense in rushing into anything,” said Scarlet.

“That’s what I think,” said Conrad. “If we reinforce Acre without being asked, we will be seen as seeking it for ourselves.”

“Which you are, of course,” said Scarlet.

“Of course,” said Conrad. “But why waste the men? If Saladin wins, then we’ll get it by truce. If the Crusaders win, they’ll hand it to us on a silver platter. Either way, Acre is ours.”

He stood and stretched, groaning under the weight of his armor.

“Affairs of state,” he sighed.

“Milord?” Scarlet piped up.

“Yes, little Fool?” replied Conrad.

“The Queen awaits,” said the dwarf, winking.

Conrad trudged toward the door, shaking his head.

“That’s what I said,” he muttered. “Affairs of state.”

Too old for her, I guessed. Too weary to make a young wife happy, yet dependent on her position for his own ambitions. He should try harder, or other men might want his place both on his throne and in his bedchamber, I thought.

For I had seen Ralph Falconberg looking after her like a hungry wolf as she left the room.

A
few days later
, we were playing in that same corner of the great hall while Conrad was conferring with Balian d’lbelin. A servant came in and whispered something to the Marquis. He frowned for a moment, then waved his hand in assent. As the servant left, the Marquis turned to us.

“There’s an envoy from Richard,’’ he said quietly.

“Should we make ourselves scarce?” I asked. “Just in case we are suspected.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Scarlet. “We are known to be the fools in Tyre. If we hide from the envoy, he will suspect us all the more. Put faith in God and in your whiteface, Brother Droignon. We shall brazen this one out.”

The envoy was Clarence d’Anjou, a toady of Richard’s who volunteered to be an envoy whenever a battle was looming. Invariably, his missions took him in the opposite direction, hence his appearance in Tyre. His armor gleamed, his surcoat was glorious, and a peacock feather was stuck in the helm that he carried in the crook of his arm.

“My lord Marquis, the King sends his greetings,” he said as he strode into the room.

“My thanks for them, and for your troubles,” replied Conrad courteously. “I trust that your journey was uneventful.”

“Sir, thanks to the Lionhearted, this road is safe for Christian travelers once again,” said Clarence.

“How does the King?” asked Conrad. “We hear that he intends to take Jerusalem next. We wish him well.”

“He will be glad to hear it,” said Clarence, then he paused for effect. “And he will be even more glad to hear it in person.”

“Then, when we see him again, we shall wish it to his face,” replied Conrad smoothly.

Clarence smiled. “The king asks that you join him, bringing sixty knights and as many sergeants, foot soldiers, archers, and crossbowmen as you can safely muster.”

“I can safely muster none,” said Conrad. “We have only enough to defend these walls and those refugees outside who are under our protection. We cannot abandon them to the mercies of the Saracens. It would be dishonorable. Indeed, it would be un-Christian.”

“Then the king requests that you release to him the hostages that were entrusted to you by King Philip so that he may ransom them and use the funds for this expedition.”

Conrad raised an eyebrow at this. “I am astounded by this request, my friend,” he said. “Those hostages were given me to use as I see fit for the reinforcement of Tyre, nothing else. I swore an oath to that king that I would not sell them for personal gain, an oath of which Richard is well aware. Surely he cannot have expended all that he has gained from selling the hostages he had in Acre?”

There was a long pause during which Conrad sat smiling slightly and Clarence stood with his mouth agape.

“Unfortunately,” began the envoy, then he switched topics. “There is another matter.”

“Out with it,” said Conrad encouragingly.

“Certain supplies were expected at Acre,” said Clarence. “They did not arrive, and we have reason to believe that they came to Tyre instead.”

“Did they?” said Conrad, tearing off a piece of a freshly baked loaf of bread on the table and munching on it.

“Our information was that they arrived in this city in a convoy, escorted by a dwarf. This same dwarf, your dwarf, had been seen nosing around Acre. A messenger from the supply ship was found drunk and in questionable company. He blames your dwarf for leading him astray.”

“I am not his dwarf,” said Scarlet sharply.

The envoy looked at a spot over his head and sniffed.

“Did you speak?” he said haughtily.

“Did you hear?” retorted the dwarf. “I am used to being overlooked, milord. Not to mentioned kicked, bumped into, trampled and, worst of all, going entirely unnoticed even when I make some noise. But to make insinuations about me when I am in the room while pretending I’m not even here is the height of rudeness. However, I will say it again, for I have a soft spot for the hard of hearing.” He jumped onto a stool and shouted, “I am not his dwarf!”

“Whoevers dwarf you are, you’re a thief,” said the envoy. “We demand the return of our supplies.”

Conrad picked up the remainder of the loaf and tossed it into the envoy’s helm.

“Take that to your king,” he said. “That is all he shall have of me or of Tyre. Remind him that I am not a Crusader. I care not a whit about Jerusalem or any place that may only be won by throwing away men’s lives.”

“You’re a coward,” said Clarence, “’tour king—“

“He is as much my king as Scarlet is my dwarf,” said Conrad. “I know all about the loyalty of kings. I sat at the right hand of the Emperor of Byzantium, threw myself into the thick of battle to destroy his enemies, and was rewarded by the joyous privilege of having to flee for my life from Constantinople. I learned a few things from that. One is that the word of a king is only smoke that vanishes on the slightest change in the wind. Another is that the whole point of having good walls is staying inside them, Ycall me a coward, milord? If I was, I would call you out just to prove I am not. But I have an entire city thankful that I came here to save them. My duty is to Tyre, not Richard.”

“Then I shall leave you to hide,” said Clarence. “Guy de Lusignan— King Guy—is by Richard’s side, fighting bravely and earning the respect of all. When Jerusalem is restored, perhaps he shall be as well. My lord Marquis, I bid you adieu.”

He left.

“That may have been a bit precipitous,” commented Balian.

“I want someone in Acre,” said Conrad. “Who should we send?”

“How about Ralph Falconberg?” suggested Balian. “He’s the sharpest of the brothers.”

“Good. Do it,” said the Marquis. Balian left to give the word, and Conrad turned to us. “I hope you appreciate what I’ve done for you,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll find some way for us to repay your loyalty,” said Scarlet.

“Oh, yes,” said Conrad, grinning evilly. “I will.”

We left the castellum on that note.

“
I
am
glad he sent Ralph out of Tyre,” I commented as we walked toward the gates to the causeway. “There’s something about him that I don’t like.”

“Really?” said Scarlet. “He’s a smart man. Generally considered one of the best legal minds in the kingdom.”

“Then that’s another reason. But at the feast the other day, he gave your queen such a lascivious stare that I’m surprised it didn’t shred her gown.”

“Oh, well, he is a lecherous beast,” Scarlet acknowledged. “But he knows his limits. And God knows he wouldn’t be the first to look at her like that.”

“She is a rare beauty,” I conceded. “It is surprising that the Marquis does not respond as eagerly as one would think.”

“He grows old,” said Scarlet. “I think he tires of the lifelong striving for fortune. He probably thought he would be comfortably set up long before now, rather than the warrior-king of an overcrowded, besieged

•a city.

“Yet he stood up to Richard today,” I said. “Was that greed or nobility speaking? Perhaps he has grown into leadership during his time here. He never took the cross to come here. He could leave at a moment’s notice, taking whatever treasure he has stashed away. But he doesn’t.”

“No,” said Scarlet. “He’s a rare bird. Many kings become thieves, but for a thief to become a king and then play the role to the hilt— well, now you can see a little of why I support his cause. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for Richard’s men. The Lionhearted won’t be happy with Conrad.”

“Or with us,” I added. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“I have something to show you,” he said as we emerged from the last gate into the world outside the city.

We walked through the tent city. Thousands of people with nowhere to go and nothing to do. The men sat around, discussing, planning, forming unofficial councils with much debating and no deciding. The women glumly stood with buckets in lines by cisterns and mobbed wains loaded with foodstuffs, not even thanking the people who brought them.

Yet the children still played, streaking barefooted over the caked earth, chasing each other around the tents, pretending they were soldiers and pirates as do children everywhere. They greeted Scarlet with shouts and shrieks, and he waved and patted, tousled and tickled, sending his merriment amongst them.

I did the same, of course, but I was new to them, and a terrifying giant next to the comforting child-sized Scarlet. An artfully placed pratfall or two cut me down to the right size, however. I have often found that height is less intimidating to children when they see it stumble.

We came out the other side of the camp and passed into a group of low hills. Within a few paces we were completely shielded from view. Scarlet directed me around to the right. There was a small stand of trees, and a clearing inside them about the size of the great hall we had left earlier.

In the clearing were about two dozen children, ranging in age from about five to sixteen. Among the older ones I recognized our recent escort from the supply ship. They were divided into two groups, each of which was engaged in a familiar routine of stretches and tumbles.

“Welcome to the eastern branch of the Fools’ Guild,” said Scarlet. “When things are calm, I’m out here on Thursdays, training these children. I am now making you a guest lecturer.”

He clapped his hands, and the children quickly formed two lines.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” he said. “This monstrous large man to my right is Monsieur Droignon, my brother from the Fools’ Guild.”

“Are you really brothers?” asked a small girl, looking back and forth at the two of us.

“I got the height, and he got the looks,” I replied.

Scarlet bowed to me.

“All right,” he continued. “Younger children with me for language.

Monsieur Droignon, take the older ones through some advanced tumbling techniques.”

“I would be delighted,” I said.

The smaller children scooted over to the edge of the clearing, clambering over each other to sit as close as possible to Scarlet.

“What were we speaking last time?” he asked them.

“Greek,” they called out.

“Very well. Today, it shall be Tuscan.”

I turned to my charges, who were looking at me curiously, having only seen me in borrowed armor previously. I pointed to one lanky youth, and said, “Back flip, then dive into two forward somersaults, ending on a handspring.”

He did it perfectly. I had each of them do the same, then picked up a branch and handed it to the first boy.

“Repeat it,” I said. “But hold the branch this time in your right hand. If it breaks while you are doing that routine, you lose.”

“Why?” he asked.

“My pupils, both Scarlet and I trained under a group of aging fools who had us do what we regarded as the most absurd, ridiculous tasks,” I said. “Every single one of them has helped me at some point in my career, and a few of them saved my life on various occasions. If you are lucky enough to survive the journey, maybe you will travel to the Guildhall and come under the wrathful glare of that doddering Irish priest who runs it. But for now, lets see if you can tumble without breaking that branch.”

“Is he truly as old as they say?” asked another boy.

“His first student was Methuselah,” I replied. “Tumble!”

Hesitantly, he began his routine, holding the branch out awkwardly. At the second somersault, it came under his body and snapped. The others laughed nervously.

“Good for a first try,” I said encouragingly. “Now, everyone get a branch. First to complete the routine without breaking it gets a penny.” They scrambled around the tree trunks, collecting branches. Then they began, flipping and rolling, occasionally colliding. There were shouts of glee as the branches broke right and left, but soon they got the hang of it, and finally one flipped from a one-arm handstand to his feet and held an unbroken branch aloft in triumph.

“Excellent,” I said, tossing him his reward. “What’s your name?”

“Ibrahim,” he replied.

“Well then, Ibrahim, let me show you why this matters,” I said, pulling my dagger from my sleeve. “Stand over there with your feet apart.”

He did, eyeing my weapon with trepidation.

I took a breath, gathered myself, and flipped into a series of rolls, turns, somersaults, and leaps, the dagger out and slashing the air in every direction. I finished with a front flip, throwing the blade. It stuck in the ground between my targets feet. The children looked at me in awe.

“If you can do it without breaking a stick, then you can do it with a knife and not cut yourself,” I said, retrieving the dagger. “Fools don’t wear armor, so we have to compensate with speed and surprise when we fight, Master this technique, and you’ll—“

“Droignon, cease!” shouted Scarlet, enraged. He strode up to me. “Just what do you think you are teaching them?”

“Guild fighting techniques,” I said. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted advanced tumbling, not advanced killing,” he said. “These children are survivors. They have no families and have had to scrap for everything ever since they escaped the Saracens. I want them to get out of here and become jesters across the seas. They already knew how to fight. I am trying to teach them how to live.”

“It helps to know both,” I objected.

“How many men have you killed?” he demanded.

“I don’t think that’s—“

“How many?”

“A few,” I said.

He looked at me sadly. “How many? And don’t tell me that you don’t know the exact number.”

I folded my arms in front of me and looked down at him. “Five,” I said.

“And when you close your eyes at night, how many of them do you see?” he asked softly.

I didn’t respond.

“How many?” he repeated.

“All of them,” I answered reluctantly.

He turned to the students, who were watching us wide-eyed.

“There may come a time in your lives when you think it is necessary to kill,” he said, “You may think it is justified, even holy. And if you don’t think about it any further, you will think that you can struggle through it.”