Kingdom (26 page)

‘I told her I would not return,’ John replied.

William snorted dismissively. ‘You swore to remain chaste as well.’ He waited a moment for a reply, but John said nothing, his eyes fixed on the playing children. ‘It is not just that you broke your vow, John. Take a lover, if you must. Visit whores. God knows the Patriarch sees enough of them. But stay away from Agnes. She is only using you to gain access to Baldwin.’

‘I am not a fool, William. But why shouldn’t she see him? She is the boy’s mother.’

‘She is dangerous, John. It is not just her lack of lands that worried the High Court. She has had three husbands. Two died under mysterious circumstances.’

‘Her last husband died in Spain while on pilgrimage. There is nothing mysterious about that.’

‘Hugh of Ibelin was one of the healthiest men I have known—until one morning when he simply did not wake up.’

‘You think she murdered him? That is preposterous!’

‘I think she is a woman to be wary of.’

‘I told you I would not see her again,’ John grumbled. He looked back to Baldwin. The young prince had won again and raised his arms in triumph. He seemed to hardly notice the red welts that covered his forearms. John’s forehead creased. ‘Baldwin always wins at this game,’ he noted.

‘Do not change the subject, John.’

‘Look. The other boy is on the verge of tears, but Baldwin hardly seems to feel the pain.’

‘He is the son of a king. Royal blood flows in his veins.’

‘Kings feel pain, William.’

The priest thought about this for a moment and then his tanned face paled. ‘What are you saying?’

John lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he were afraid to utter the next words. ‘Lepers sometimes lose feeling in their arms and legs.’

William shook his head. ‘No. It is not possible.’ He raised his voice. ‘Baldwin! Come here!’ The boy jogged over. ‘Let me see your arm.’

Baldwin held out his forearm proudly. Some of the boys had dug their nails in so deep that they had broken the skin, leaving bloody, moon-shaped cuts.

‘Does it hurt?’ William asked.

‘I am the son of a king,’ the boy replied. ‘I do not feel pain.’

John exchanged glances with William, and called to a guard who stood in the corner of the courtyard. ‘You! Come here!’ The man strode over, and John held out his hand. ‘Give me your dagger.’

The guard’s eyes widened in alarm. He looked to William.

‘Give it to him,’ the priest ordered.

John took the dagger, then grasped Baldwin’s arm by the wrist, turning his palm upwards. ‘Hold still,’ he told the prince.
Baldwin
looked on indifferently as John slowly lowered the dagger, pressing the sharp point into the boy’s palm. Baldwin did not even wince as crimson blood welled up around the dagger’s point.

‘Enough!’ William shouted.

John handed the dagger to the guard. The man crossed himself and hurried back to his post.

‘May I play with the other boys now?’ Baldwin asked.

‘See that your cut is tended to, then you may play.’ As the boy ran off towards the infirmary, William looked to John. ‘The child has been cursed by God.’

‘Leprosy,’ Agnes repeated softly.

John was holding her hand, afraid that she might collapse. Her face was ghostly white, and she stared ahead as if not seeing him. Finally she pulled her hand away and left the room. John looked at the cushions where they had made love only three days past. It seemed so long ago now. John had come straight from the palace after discovering the horrible truth about Baldwin. Agnes was the boy’s mother. She had a right to know.

‘Forgive me, John,’ Agnes said as she re-entered the room. Her eyes were red from crying, but she smiled brightly. ‘It was rude of me to leave you standing there all alone.’

‘Are you well?’

She waved aside his concern and sat amidst the cushions. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

John sat beside her. ‘It is terrible news.’

‘It changes nothing. Baldwin will still be king. I am still his mother.’ Her forehead wrinkled, and for a moment John thought she might cry.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ he asked.

She took a deep breath, and her forehead smoothed. ‘No. Truly, John, I am well.’ She tilted her head as if she had had a thought. ‘There is one thing. You tutor Baldwin. You are often alone with him. Could you bring him here?’

‘My lady, Amalric has decreed that you are not to see the boy.’

‘He is my son, John, and he is sick.’

John hesitated. William had told him she would use him to see the boy. Was he right about her? He met her green eyes and saw that they were moist with tears.

‘I am asking you as a mother,’ Agnes said. ‘Let me see my boy.’

‘You ask me to go against my king.’

‘You have loved before, John. You still love her, I think. Yes, I can see it in your eyes. What would you do if the woman you loved were ill? Would you not want to go to her?’ John looked away, and she gripped his arm, turning him back towards her. ‘If I want to see my son, I will find a way, John. This way, you can keep an eye on me. What harm can I do with you here to watch?’

‘Very well,’ John said. ‘I will bring him to you.’

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Thank you.’

John sat with his eyes closed, submerged to his chin in the steaming waters of the Hospitaller bath house. He had just come from taking Baldwin to see Agnes; it was the second such trip in the past week. The child had been shy on the first visit, but Agnes had won him over. Just before he left, Agnes had presented Baldwin with a gold bezant. The prince’s eyes were wide as he held the coin. She placed it in a chest for keeping, then told him he would receive another bezant each time he came, so long as he told no one of his visits. Today, Baldwin had been eager to go and collect his coin. Agnes was certain he would continue to hold his tongue, and John prayed that she was right. There would be a price to pay if they were discovered.

But perhaps it was a price worth paying. John thought of Agnes’s lithe body, the feel of her under him that morning. He knew that William would say she was only rewarding him for
bringing
the boy. He was probably right. John knew that he should stop seeing Agnes, yet he could not wait to be with her again. She was like a drug he could not do without.

The deep toll of bells told John that it was almost time for the noon prayer service. He dressed and hurried back to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Usually, he would allow his vicar to attend in his place, but today’s was a Penny Mass. The canons’ stipends would be distributed during prayers, and if John were not there in person, he would not be paid.

He let his mind drift during the Mass, thinking more of Agnes than of God. The service ended, and John had just received his ten gold bezants when a messenger boy arrived from the palace. ‘Pardon me, Father,’ he told John. ‘King Amalric has asked for you.’

John paled. Had Baldwin spoken of his visits with his mother? ‘What does the King want?’

The boy shrugged. ‘I only know that it is urgent.’

John followed the messenger down Patriarch Street towards the slender towers and wide halls of the new palace. Amalric and his court had resided there for two years, but the royal audience chamber to which the messenger led John had been completed only a few months previously. It was a long, barrel-vaulted hall with bright light slanting in through windows set high on the walls. The king’s throne had been set on a dais at the far end. Amalric sat surrounded by half a dozen courtiers.

‘I told you it would be money well spent!’ Heraclius was exclaiming.

‘Money spent on murder is never well spent,’ muttered Philippe de Milly, the new head of the Templars.

‘Spare me your self-righteous prattle, Philippe,’ replied the Master of the Hospital, Gilbert. ‘Another Saracen is dead, and Egypt is ours for the taking. The Hospital would have paid ten times as much for that.’

John slipped in beside William. ‘What is happening?’

‘Shirkuh is dead,’ William replied in a low voice. ‘Saladin has
been
made vizier of Egypt. He has sent an ambassador seeking peace.’

‘How did Shirkuh die?’

‘Poison. Bought with our gold.’

John’s jaw tightened. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Easy, John. I knew nothing of this.’

‘Ah, John,’ Amalric called, noticing his arrival. ‘You know Saladin better than any of us. Tell us: what sort of ruler will he be?’

All eyes turned towards John. ‘He is a great warrior and leader of men, sire. He will be a capable ruler.’

‘He is a nobody!’ Heraclius replied scornfully. ‘Our spies say that the Caliph only made him vizier because he can be controlled.’

‘Then the Caliph underestimates him.’ John looked to Amalric. ‘We should not do the same, sire. Remember, it was Saladin we faced at the siege of Alexandria. A thousand men against our ten thousand, and he held the city.’

‘Then you would accept his offer of peace?’

‘I would, sire.’

‘Do not listen to him, my lord,’ Gilbert snapped. ‘He was Saladin’s man. He is half Saracen himself! We cannot let Nur ad-Din’s man hold Egypt. If we do, the Kingdom will be in a vice. The Saracens will squeeze us until we break. We must attack now, while they are weak!’

‘Saladin is not weak,’ John countered.

‘No matter,’ Heraclius said. ‘Saladin will not concern us for much longer.’

‘What does he mean?’ William asked, looking to Amalric.

‘Saladin’s ambassador is not the only messenger to have come from the Saracens,’ the king explained. ‘We received another message from Gumushtagin.’

‘The same man who helped us to eliminate Shirkuh,’ Heraclius explained. ‘He promises that with another payment from us, the Egyptian Al-Khlata can remove Saladin before the
year
is out. Cairo will be ours for the taking. Gumushtagin asks only that we support him in his bid to control Aleppo.’

John felt the blood begin to pound in his temples. So Heraclius had conspired to kill Shirkuh. And now he was going to kill Yusuf, too. John opened his mouth to speak, but William placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a shake of his head.

The Hospitaller Gilbert stepped forward. ‘We must take this opportunity, sire. It will not come again.’

‘And yet murder does not sit well with me,’ the king muttered. He pulled at his beard and then looked to the constable. ‘What say you, Humphrey?’

‘Gilbert is right,’ Humphrey replied in his gravelly voice. ‘We must drive Nur ad-Din’s men from Egypt, whatever the means.’

Amalric turned to the Master of the Templars. ‘And you, Philippe?’

‘Listen to the priest,’ he said, nodding towards John. ‘This is a fool’s errand. We cannot overcome the combined might of Nur ad-Din’s army and the Egyptians. They will outnumber us two to one.’

‘Not after Saladin dies,’ Heraclius countered. ‘The Egyptians already resent his rule. When he falls, they will rise up against the remaining emirs of Nur ad-Din. Egypt will be in chaos. We need only deliver the finishing blow.’

‘After Saladin is assassinated, you mean,’ Philippe said. ‘I want no part in murder.’ He looked to Amalric. ‘My commanders will not risk another adventure in Egypt. If you go, sire, you go without the Templars.’

Amalric frowned. He turned to Miles de Plancy last of all. The portly new seneschal had stood silently beside the throne throughout the audience. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. ‘The Emperor Manuel has offered to send his fleet, but they will leave once again when the winter storms arrive. That does not leave us much time.’ He rubbed his closely shaven chin. ‘Still, I believe it is a risk worth taking.’

Every man was looking at the king in expectation. Amalric sat unmoving, his chin resting on his palm.

‘Sire?’ Heraclius said at last. ‘What is your decision?’

‘Tell Gumushtagin that we accept his offer, and pay Al-Khlata whatever is necessary. William, you write to Constantinople and ask them to send their fleet. They should arrive by October, in time for the campaign season. We will sail to Damietta and wait for news of Saladin’s death. When he falls, we will strike.’

Chapter 11

AUGUST 1169: CAIRO

‘I
have made my decision,’ Yusuf declared to the courtroom. Even after learning that the Franks had invaded and besieged Damietta, he continued to hold his bi-weekly audience. It helped him gauge the mood of the people, and it gave the Egyptians a chance to witness his impartiality.

The two litigants looked at him expectantly. They were brothers, each with the same long face and hooded eyes. They had come to blows, then to court, over who was the rightful owner of a prized stallion named Barq. They had spent most of their time in court insulting one another, but Yusuf had finally pieced together their story. One of the brothers had won Barq at dice several years ago. He had not had the means to stable and feed the horse, so the other brother had raised it. Recently, Barq had won several races, and the brothers had fallen into bitter disagreement over how to split the winnings. Yusuf had watched the horse run. It was a magnificent beast.

‘I will buy the horse for one hundred dinars,’ he told the brothers. ‘And you shall split the proceeds.’

The two brothers looked at one another and then embraced. It was a generous sum, twice what the horse would have fetched at market. ‘Thank you, Malik,’ the older brother said.

Yusuf frowned. ‘I am no king. I serve at the pleasure of the Caliph.’

‘Yes, Vizier.’

The younger brother was at a loss for words. He bowed repeatedly as he backed from the room.

Yusuf looked to his secretary, Al-Fadil. ‘What is next?’

‘Only one more case, Vizier. A woman named Shamsa.’

‘What is her complaint?’

Al-Fadil examined the piece of paper before him and frowned. ‘She will not say.’

Yusuf looked to the guard at the chamber entrance. ‘Show her in.’

A moment later, Yusuf noticed the guards framing the doorway suck in their bellies and stand tall. He saw why when Shamsa strode into the room. She was dressed in a black caftan that revealed only her delicate hands, and a niqab that veiled all but her eyes. Still, those eyes were enough to make the scribes to either side of Yusuf sit straighter and smooth back their hair. Or perhaps it was not her eyes, but the way she moved. She did not walk so much as prowl, like a panther on the hunt. She stopped in the centre of the chamber and met Yusuf’s gaze boldly. He saw both an invitation and a challenge in her dark eyes.