Holy War (16 page)

‘By his wounds,’ Raymond whispered. He crumpled the paper in his hand. ‘Now it begins.’

‘What—’ Baldwin was stopped short by a fit of coughing. He clenched the sheets in his fists as his chest shook. The coughing subsided, and Baldwin spit bloody phlegm on to a cloth. ‘What begins, Uncle?’

‘Izz ad-Din, the emir of Mosul, has bent the knee to Saladin. The Saracen kingdoms are united.’

And we are not
. Guy and Sibylla were gathering an army in Ascalon to seize the throne when Baldwin died. Balian of Ibelin and Reginald of Sidon were marshalling their own troops in order to press the claim of Sibylla’s sister Isabella and her
husband Humphrey. Civil war was on the horizon.

Young Baldwin was wide-eyed. ‘What will we do, Uncle?’

‘I will deal with this, Your Grace. You must rest. You will need your strength in the days to come.’ Raymond rose and drew the curtains.

‘If Saladin invades, can I fight?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Will I have my own suit of armour?’

‘Of course, Your Grace. And your own sword, too. Sleep now.’

John followed Raymond into the receiving room and closed the door behind him. Raymond went to a side table and poured himself a cup of wine. ‘This is evil news, John. We must put our house in order before the truce with Saladin expires.’ He took a long drink. ‘I must pull Guy’s teeth, and Humphrey’s too.’

‘Publish Baldwin’s decree.’

Before his death, the elder Baldwin had drawn up a decree declaring that if the younger Baldwin died without an heir, Raymond was to rule as regent until the Pope and the kings of France and England decided between the claims of Sibylla and Isabella.

Raymond shook his head. ‘I can think of no better way to start a civil war. If I make the decree public, the barons will think I mean to seize the throne.’

‘Something must be done. The boy will not live long. You know it as well as I.’

‘I will call the Haute Cour and let the barons decide. They will choose Humphrey and Isabella.’

‘It is not their decision to make. Baldwin’s will is clear.’

‘Baldwin is dead, John. If he were alive now, he might think differently.’

‘We will never know. Humphrey is not yet twenty, and lost the one battle he fought. If we are to face Saladin, the Kingdom needs a strong hand. Baldwin knew this. He wrote the decree to buy us time. While the kings of England and France decide, Humphrey can learn to rule and you will protect the Kingdom.’

Raymond grimaced. He drained his cup. ‘I never wished to rule, but damn it, you are right, John. The Kingdom needs me. It’s all the more reason not to make the decree public. Now is not the time to show our hand. We must bide our time, and when the moment comes, move against Sibylla and Isabella before they can strike at us.’

August 1186: Acre

‘Hellfire,’ Raymond muttered. He and John were riding along a tree-lined stream at the head of five hundred sergeants. ‘Hellfire! God damn it!’ His outburst startled a host of sparrows from a nearby tree.

‘Easy, Raymond. It is a grave sin to take the Lord’s name in vain.’

‘What more can God do, John? Saladin in control of Mosul. Two kings dead in little more than a year.’ He shook his head. ‘These are dark times.’

It was not the first time during the journey from Jerusalem to Acre that Raymond had given voice to his sombre thoughts. John made no reply. There was nothing he could say to cheer his companion. Young King Baldwin had died three days earlier. Raymond and John had set out at once for Acre. They rode to pay their respects and to retrieve the body for burial at the Holy Sepulchre. More importantly, they would also secure the city and retrieve the crown and the royal seal. Without them, Sibylla or Isabella would have difficulty pressing her claim to the throne.

Raymond gestured to the valley that stretched to either side of the stream they were following. Canals channelled water away from the stream into green fields, where native Christian and Muslim peasants worked bare backed under the hot summer sun. Beyond the fields rose hills covered with olive trees.
‘Sometimes I fear we are not meant to hold these lands,’ the regent said. ‘Perhaps the Saracens have the right of it. Why else would God visit these afflictions upon us?’

‘Enough, friend,’ John told him with mock severity. ‘Soon enough you’ll be talking of fire and brimstone and shouting at your men to repent. You will leave us priests with nothing to do.’

The corner of Raymond’s mouth twitched, and he smiled. ‘You are right, John. Forgive me.’

They rode on in silence. The sun had sunk to hover huge and red before them when they finally left the hills and rode on to the coastal plain. They could already see Acre’s massive walls, which divided the promontory on which the city sat from the mainland. As they rode closer, John could make out flags on the towers that dotted the wall. There was the black cross of the Hospitallers and the red cross of the Templars. They headed for the Gate of Saint Anthony, over which flew the Jerusalem cross. There was no sign of Guy’s lions rampant or of Humphrey’s golden bull. That was good.

Raymond paused in the shadow of the gate and called to the captain of his men. ‘Ernault! Take three hundred of our men and take charge of the walls. Put another hundred on patrol around the city. The rest will come with me.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

The brief ride to the palace stirred up old memories for John. It was his first time in Acre since he had arrived in the Holy Land thirty-eight years ago as a boy of sixteen. They passed the fountain where he had nearly come to blows with a native Christian that he had mistaken for a Saracen. They passed the bathhouse where he and Rabbit had bathed. Rabbit. John had not thought of the boy with the large ears and twitching nose in years. What had his real name been? He could not remember.

John followed Raymond into the palace courtyard. Their men trooped in after them. Ten took charge of the gate and the rest took up positions around the courtyard. As John and Raymond dismounted, Joscelin of Courtenay strode out to meet them. The seneschal’s wavy blond hair had been cut short, and there were dark circles under his sky-blue eyes. ‘Welcome to Acre, Lord Regent, Father Abbot,’ he greeted them.

‘Show us to the King,’ Raymond told him.

They passed through the palace entryway and down a dim hallway. ‘You will want to see his doctors as well,’ Joscelin said as he led them up a broad stairway. The implication was clear.

‘The boy was sickly, Jos,’ Raymond replied. ‘No one believes you had a hand in his death.’

‘They may not believe it, but some will find profit in spreading lies.’ They reached a door framed by two guards in mail. ‘Fetch the doctors,’ Joscelin told the men, and then pulled the door open.

Inside the room, the soft light of the setting sun shone through the open windows and illuminated the dead boy king. He was laid out on his bed. Raymond knelt at the bedside. ‘If only he had lived a few years longer,’ he said in a low voice, as if the king were sleeping and he feared to wake him.

‘The doctors say his heart stopped,’ Joscelin said. ‘I believe the crown was too heavy a burden for the boy.’

Raymond kissed Baldwin’s hand and rose. ‘Now it is my burden.’ He took a sheet of vellum from his vest and handed it to Joscelin. At the bottom, the document bore the king’s seal showing the Tower of David, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the dome of the Templum Domini, all surrounded by the words
Civitas Regis regnum omnium
– City of the King of Kings. ‘This decree is by the hand of the elder Baldwin, made before his death. I am to rule until a decision is made between his sisters Sibylla and Isabella. The Pope and the kings of France and England are to decide our next ruler.’

‘
Hmm
.’ Joscelin sucked at his lower lip. ‘That will take months, maybe years.’

‘I will write to England, France and Rome and urge them to quickly select Isabella,’ John said. ‘In the meantime, Raymond will summon Sibylla and Isabella to Jerusalem, where they will be kept under guard until a queen is chosen. We have sent the chamberlain Balian to Ascalon to fetch Sibylla, and the constable Amalric to retrieve Isabella from Nablus.’

Joscelin was sucking at his lip again. ‘Do you think that wise, Raymond?’

‘I must act firmly or risk civil war between Guy and Humphrey.’

‘Yes, but if you proceed as John suggests, then you will bring war as surely as night follows day. You know that there are those amongst the barons who believe you seek the throne. If you seize Jerusalem and Acre and put the rightful heirs under lock and key, then their suspicions will seem justified. The barons will turn against you. There will be war.’

‘I am no usurper, Jos.’

‘Then you should bend your knee before your rightful queen.’ Joscelin gestured to the window.

John could hear the clatter of hooves. He looked out to see fifty knights ride into the courtyard, followed by over two hundred sergeants on foot. The lions rampant and silver crosses of Guy flew above them. A knight shouted for Raymond’s men to lay down their arms. One of Raymond’s men drew his blade and there was a brief struggle. When it was over, four men lay dead, their blood staining the stones red. The rest of Raymond’s men had been herded into a corner.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Raymond hissed.

Joscelin only nodded to the courtyard below. The knights dismounted and knelt. A moment later, Sibylla rode into the courtyard with Guy at her side.

John grabbed Joscelin by the collar and slammed him against the wall. ‘What have you done?’ he growled. ‘What did she promise you?’

Raymond pulled John away from Joscelin, who spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘Why, John! You wound me.
I seek no more benefit than the health of the Kingdom. I know as well as you the threat Saladin poses. Now is no time for civil war. We must unite behind our queen. Come, let us go and meet her.’ Joscelin went to the door, but neither John nor Raymond moved. ‘Or shall I have the guards bring you?’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Raymond muttered.

The guards at the door fell in behind the men as they left the room. They met Sibylla and Guy in the palace entryway. Joscelin went to one knee. ‘My queen.’

‘Kneel before your queen,’ the guard behind Raymond growled.

‘I see no queen here.’

The guard swung the shaft of his spear and struck Raymond in the back of the legs, dropping him to his knees. The other guard did the same to John.

‘Enough!’ Sibylla snapped. She went to Raymond and offered him her hand. Raymond ignored it as he got to his feet. ‘I apologize,’ Sibylla said sweetly. ‘That was not necessary.’

John also stood. ‘Save your false courtesies. We know your true nature. You are a murdering bitch. You have no right to the throne.’

Sibylla turned her icy blue eyes on him. Her tone was now decidedly less friendly. ‘Silence, priest. I have not forgotten your part in having me exiled to Ascalon. Were it not for Jos, I would have your head on a pike already. But he believes you may be useful. I warn you, though: if you do not cooperate, then I will be only too happy to see you killed.’

‘Poisoned? As you poisoned your mother?’

‘No. A hangman’s noose should do for the likes of you.’ She returned her attention to Raymond. ‘The priest is wrong. As Amalric’s eldest child, I have every right to the throne. The Patriarch agrees. Heraclius has returned from France and will crown me queen in one week’s time.’

‘The barons will not stand for it,’ John protested.

Sibylla nodded ever so slightly, and guards grabbed John’s arms and dragged him into the corner. He began to struggle, but Raymond shook his head.

‘The barons have already agreed,’ Sibylla continued. ‘Reynald, Reginald of Sidon, my husband Guy and Humphrey have given their assent, as has Joscelin, the new Lord of Toron.’

So that was why Joscelin had betrayed Raymond. John shot him a hard look. Joscelin shrugged. ‘Do not act so indignant, John. The Queen has seen fit to reward me for my years of good service, nothing more.’

‘You, Raymond, are the only great lord who has yet to swear loyalty,’ Sibylla concluded.

‘And I never will.’ Raymond gestured to Guy. ‘I will die before I see this fool on the throne.’

Guy’s face turned crimson. He reached for his sword, but Sibylla touched his arm. ‘I am not unreasonable, Raymond,’ she said. ‘Many of the barons feel as you do. I have agreed to divorce Guy, if they acknowledge my right to rule.’

Raymond looked to Guy. He nodded curtly. ‘It is for the good of the Kingdom.’

‘And what of Baldwin’s will?’ John asked.

‘Baldwin was a fool,’ Joscelin cut in. ‘The kings of England and France are always at one another’s throats. If Henry claimed a glass was half full, Philip would go to war to prove that it was half empty. They will never agree on a ruler for the Kingdom.’

‘Nor should they,’ Guy added. ‘Why should men who know nothing of the Kingdom choose our queen? Sibylla is the elder. That should be an end to the matter.’

‘And after you take the throne?’ Raymond asked Sibylla. ‘A woman cannot rule alone. You will need a husband to lead our armies in war. Who will rule beside you?’

It was Joscelin who answered. ‘The other barons have agreed that Sibylla will choose her new husband.’