Not all of them were pleased with Ansaldo’s interference. They would have preferred that the case be made by their urbane, eloquent archbishop. They looked to him now to repair any damage done by the other man’s brash candor, and Joscius was quick to step into the breach.
“I’ll not deny that your kinship to the kings of France and England is important to us. But we’d not seek you out if we did not think you’d make a good king, for we cannot afford another Guy de Lusignan. In you, my lord count, we are confident we will have a ruler able to meet the great challenges that lie ahead. I understand that you did not expect this. None of us did. But God’s Will is not always comprehensible to mortal men. ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face.’ We can only do our best, and for now that means arranging a marriage between you and the Lady Isabella, our queen.” He smiled then, giving Henri a look that was both avuncular and earnest. “In truth, you are being offered a remarkable gift—the Kingdom of Jerusalem and a wife who is highborn, beautiful, and biddable.”
Henry could not deny there was truth in what the archbishop had just said. But at the moment he felt more like a fox run to earth by baying hounds than a man who’d had a “remarkable gift” bestowed upon him. “I will need time to think upon it,” he said, and then he saw a glimmer of light in this dark tunnel. “I could not accept the crown without my uncle’s consent, so I must talk to Richard ere I can give you an answer.”
There was murmuring from some of the men, but the archbishop was wise enough to know Henri could not be coerced or pressured into cooperating. “We can send a message to the English king within the hour.”
“No, I must tell him myself,” Henri insisted, “and I ought to leave straightaway so no time will be lost.”
This was not well received. The jut of Henri’s chin and the taut line of his mouth did not encourage argument, though, and they reluctantly acquiesced, even more reluctantly departed the chamber. Joscius, Balian, and Ansaldo lingered after the others had gone so that each man could deliver one last appeal. The chancellor reminded Henri that most men would thank God fasting for such an opportunity. Balian sought to assure Henri that Isabella was indeed willing to wed him. But it was Joscius’s final comment that would stay with Henri, haunting his peace in the days to come.
“What you decide, my lord count, will matter far beyond the borders of our kingdom. It will affect all of Christendom, for the loss of the Holy Land would inflict a grievous wound upon Christians everywhere. I know you feel overwhelmed at the moment. But if you entreat the Almighty, I am sure He will give you the answers you seek and make His Will known to you.”
CHAPTER 32
MAY 1192
Plains of Ramla , Outremer
On May 2, Richard had another of his celebrated narrow escapes. He’d been camped with a small force at La Forbie south of Ascalon and they awoke to find themselves under a surprise dawn assault. Snatching up his sword and shield, Richard charged out of his tent, and he and his knights were able to beat back the attack. Later that day, he sent the Templars to reconnoiter around Dārūm, where they came upon a number of Saracens reaping barley. They took over twenty prisoners and escorted them to Ascalon to assist in the repair of the city walls; both the Templars and Hospitallers relied upon slave labor for building projects. Meanwhile, Richard rode north into the plains of Ramla, where he spent the day chasing off Saracens and fretting why he’d not heard anything yet from Tyre. Common sense told him that Conrad would cooperate now that the kingdom was his. He could not utterly banish a few lingering qualms, though, fearing that the French would try to persuade the marquis to hold aloof, for he was convinced that Burgundy and Beauvais would rather sabotage him than defeat Saladin. He had no doubts whatsoever that Philippe, taking his ease back in Paris, was praying fervently that the war would end in a spectacular failure.
They were only about ten miles from Jaffa, but he decided to pass the night on the plains, and they were setting up camp when telltale puffs of dust were sighted on the horizon. Shading his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, Richard watched as the riders came into view, hoping that this might be the word he’d been awaiting. But the new arrival was even more welcome than a messenger from Tyre. As André dismounted, Richard smiled, more relieved than he’d ever admit that his cousin had safely completed that long and arduous journey to Rome.
A few of his knights had brought down a gazelle, and as the men gathered around their campfires to eat, André shared with Richard what he’d learned at the papal court. The news was not good. On his way back to France, the French king had been spreading stories that Richard was hand in glove with Saladin. In January, he’d met with the Holy Roman Emperor, and from what André had heard, they’d passed much of that meeting maligning Richard. Philippe had also attempted to get the Pope to absolve him of the oath he’d sworn not to attack Richard’s domains while he was in the Holy Land.
“The Pope refused,” André said, “for that was a bit too blatant even for him.”
“‘Even for him’? You think he favors the French?”
“It is not that. He is very elderly, almost as old as God, and has neither the backbone nor the desire to offend powerful rulers like Philippe or Heinrich. But some of his cardinals were outraged that Philippe would even contemplate warring upon a man who’d taken the cross, so Celestine was emboldened to deny Philippe’s petition.” André paused to stab a piece of meat with his knife. “We made for Jaffa since I did not want to chance the harbor at Ascalon, and that’s where I was told you were roaming around out here, adding to your collection of Saracen heads. I also heard that Guy is out and Conrad is in.” Dropping his facetious tone then, he gave Richard a searching look. “The word from England must be truly terrible if you’ve embraced that whoreson in Tyre.”
“It was and is,” Richard admitted. “They probably told you in Jaffa about the prior of Hereford’s news. And two more letters came last week, this time from Will Marshal and the Archbishop of Rouen, both warning me that it may cost me dearly if I tarry in Outremer. . . .” Richard paused, having heard a guard’s shout that riders were coming in. Handing André his plate, he got to his feet. “Mayhap this is Henri’s messenger. If Conrad still balks at joining the army, so help me Christ—” He got no further, having recognized the man on a lathered bay stallion.
Well aware that he was bringing Richard shocking news, Henri had not wanted to hit him with it all at once, and had been mentally rehearsing his account all the way from Tyre. But at sight of his uncle, it was forgotten. Sliding from the saddle, he ran toward Richard, breathlessly blurting out, “Conrad is dead, they are blaming you, and they want me to marry his widow!”
THE TENTS USED on scouting missions were much smaller and Spartan than the spacious pavilions set up back at Ascalon. Richard and Henri sat cross-legged on the blankets that served as the king’s bed, shadows encroaching upon the feeble light cast by a single oil lamp. Richard had been stunned to hear of Conrad’s murder, although at first he’d seen it only in terms of his own need to depart Outremer as soon as possible. He’d taken the news that the French were blaming him much better than Henri had expected, saying dismissively that no one who knew him would believe so outrageous a falsehood. Henri was not as sanguine, for he feared those who did not know Richard could be susceptible to lurid tales of this sort, and his uncle had as many enemies as the Caliph of Baghdad had concubines. But that was a worry for another time; now he could only focus upon his own crisis of conscience, for that was how he saw the Draconian choice being forced upon him.
They’d brought wine and plates of roast venison into the tent; the food remained untouched but they’d not been neglecting the wine. Reaching for his cup, Richard said, “That would be a sight to behold, though—Philippe skulking around Paris, as jumpy as a stray cat, sure Assassins were lurking around every corner. He is just fool enough to believe it.” He regretted indulging in that bit of black humor, though, when he glanced over at Henri’s unhappy face. He?
??d never seen his nephew, usually so high-spirited and carefree, as distraught as this.
“Well, that is neither here nor there. Obviously we need to talk about this offer of a crown. Do you want to tell me what you think of it, Henri?”
“I’d rather hear what you think first, Uncle.”
“Fair enough. You’d be a good king, Henri, most likely a better one than Conrad. So yes, I would like to see you accept it. But I’d advise against the marriage. Unfortunately, that is not an option open to you, is it? The lady comes with the crown. Even if the poulain lords were desperate enough to agree, any man she later married would be eager to advance a claim to your throne, following in Conrad’s footsteps.” Richard shook his head before saying dryly, “A pity she could not be reconciled with Humphrey de Toron, surely the only soul in all of Outremer who has no interest whatsoever in becoming king.”
Henri knew why he had such misgivings about wedding Isabella. Curious to learn why his uncle harbored misgivings, too, he said, “I confess it surprises me to hear you say this, for Isabella is your cousin.”
“I do not blame the girl for her predicament; none of it is her doing. And how can I not admire her for standing up to Burgundy and Beauvais like that? But my greater loyalty is to you, lad, and I fear such a marriage would be invalid under canon law. The aforementioned Humphrey is alive and well and still her husband in God’s eyes, for that so-called annulment was a farce from first to last. If you wed her, Henri, you risk having your children declared illegitimate, for your marriage to Isabella would be no more valid than Conrad’s.”
“Truthfully, that is not a worry of mine, Uncle, for who would challenge the marriage? The bishops of Outremer supported the annulment and are the ones urging me now to wed Isabella. They are a pragmatic lot, the poulains. But it is more complicated than even you know. Isabella is pregnant.”
“Ah . . . I see. No wonder you are so uncertain. If she gives birth to a son, he’ll inherit the throne. Of course she may have a daughter, in which case any son of yours would take precedence.”
“Are you suggesting I go ahead and roll the dice?” Henri asked, with such a sad smile that Richard felt a stab of pity.
“It is understandable that you might be reluctant to marry the girl under the circumstances. But leave that for now. Let’s talk about the crown. I do not sense any great enthusiasm for that, either. Why not?”
“It would mean lifelong exile, Uncle. Most likely I’d never see my mother again, or my brother and sisters.” Henri gnawed on his lower lip, not sure how candid he could be. But his uncle ought to understand if any man could, for all knew the close bond he had with Eleanor. “I was not yet fifteen when my father died. I assume you know the story? He was seized by the Turks on his way back from the Holy Land, held for ransom, and finally freed after my mother persuaded the emperor of the Greeks to pay it. We were so overjoyed when he finally came home.... But his health had been ravaged by his stay in prison and he died soon afterward. My mother took it very hard, and she said she’d have to rely upon me to be the man in the family, to help her protect my little brother and sisters. If I were not to come back to Champagne, I think it would break her heart. . . .”
Richard was not at his best in discussions like this; he preferred to deal with emotions by ignoring them. He was very fond of his sister, though, and he suspected Henri was right, for Marie was fiercely devoted to the welfare of her children. A thought occurring to him then, he brightened. “Might it not console her to know you now ruled a kingdom?”
Henri gave him another sad smile. “The Counts of Champagne consider themselves the equal of kings, so she’d not see that as much of an elevation.”
No son of the Duchess of Aquitaine could argue with that, but Richard tried. “You may just need some time. My sisters were all sent away when they were very young to wed foreign princes, but they’d been taught that would be their fate and so did not think to question it. For you, it is different, of course. You expected to rule Champagne till the end of your earthly days. But once you’ve come to terms with it, it might be easier . . . ?”
Henri took no comfort in that possibility. Never see his beloved Champagne again? Trade its lush greenwoods and river valleys for this arid, inhospitable land with its searing summers and noxious maladies? Trade the family he loved for a life with an unwilling wife and another man’s child? “I must sound like such a fool,” he mumbled, “whining about having a crown and a beautiful woman forced upon me. Thank you, Uncle, for hearing me out without laughing in my face.”
With that, he started to rise. Richard waved him down again. “We are not done yet, lad. I understand now why the prospect of a kingship brings you so little joy. So let’s talk about Isabella. Why are you so loath to wed her? Is it because of the baby? Do you fear you might not be able to care for another man’s son?”
Henri was grateful for Richard’s blunt speaking. “That is part of it, yes. But it is not just that. Conrad did not care that he had an unhappy, unwilling wife. I do. Mayhap it would not matter so much if we were back in Champagne, but here . . .”
“I thought you said you’d been assured she was willing to wed you?”
“What else are they going to say, Uncle? Tell me she has taken to her bed, weeping, cursing her lot in life? How can she be willing? Christ, this is the second time she’d be wed against her will! For all I know, she still loves Humphrey de Toron.”
“I find that highly unlikely,” Richard said, with unkind candor. “I take it, then, that you have not talked to Isabella yet?”
Henri looked somewhat embarrassed. “No, I insisted upon leaving straightaway, saying I could make no decision until I’d consulted with you. I suppose I should have gone to see her ere I left, but in truth, I did not want to face her. I did not know what to say. . . .”
Neither did Richard. “It seems to me,” he said after a long pause, “that she might well see you as a considerable improvement over Conrad. So . . . you’ve told me why you are reluctant. Tell me now why you would consent.”
“For the same reason you are still here in Outremer, Uncle, even though you now know your own kingdom is at great risk.”
After that, they lapsed into silence, each man preoccupied with thoughts that were none too pleasant. “I have not been much help, have I?” Richard said at last, and Henri gave him his first real smile.
“No, not much,” he agreed. “I do not suppose you’d be willing to forbid me . . . ?” It was a joke, but not entirely. “I am sorry, Henri,” Richard said, with a rueful smile of his own. “No one can make that decision for you.”
“I know. . . .” Henri leaned back so that he was cloaked in shadows. “But you do think I ought to accept it.”
“Yes,” Richard said, “I do.”
TWILIGHT IN THE HOLY LAND never lingered, offering a brief interlude between the dramatic acts put on by daylight and darkness. On this Monday in early May, it unobtrusively slipped onstage after a sunset that had been magnificent even by Outremer standards, spangling the cresting waves in crimson and gilding the occasional cloud in a crown of gold. Dusk soon muted those garish, resplendent colors, a soft lilac haze blurring the outlines of the shore. But by the time Henri’s galley was within sight of Tyre, the sky was shading from dark blue to ebony and he could hear the city’s churches ringing in Compline.
The iron chain had already been stretched across the harbor, but it was lowered with record haste as soon as the ship’s master identified his passengers. Some of Henri’s knights nudged one another and grinned, already anticipating the royal privileges that their lord would soon be enjoying. Others were subdued and silent, those already in mourning for their lost homeland. Henri meant to offer them all a choice, just as Richard had done, but he knew a strong sense of duty would compel many of them to stay with him. It was a two-edged sword, able to cut both ways—duty.
Morgan had joined him in the bow, and they watched together as a star streaked toward the distant horizon. “If you died tomorrow,”
Morgan said in a low voice, “they would still find a husband for the Lady Isabella.”
“And I should be happy about that because . . . ?”
“I was just reminding you that being the ‘ideal choice’ and being the ‘only choice’ are not one and the same.”
“I know . . . but I cannot disappoint Richard and God, too. Mayhap one of them, but both?” Henri glanced at the Welshman, a smile coming and going as fast as that shooting star, and his wan attempt at humor brought an unexpected lump to Morgan’s throat.
Henri sent a messenger to the archbishop to request horses, for he hoped to avoid a repetition of that earlier mob scene. Curfew had not yet rung and as word spread of his arrival, crowds began to gather. But he was not kept waiting long. Many torchbearing riders soon came into view, and Henri resigned himself to a royal procession through streets thronged with cheering citizens. As they approached the archbishop’s palace, Henri could not help looking toward a nearby narrow lane, deep in shadows now, for it was there that Conrad had met the untimely death that would change the lives of so many.
Archbishop Joscius was waiting to welcome him, as were Balian, Renaud of Sidon, and the chancellor, Ansaldo. Henri had expected as much, sure the archbishop would send word to them even before he dispatched an escort to the harbor. At first Joscius was preoccupied with playing the host, offering to have a meal prepared for Henri and his men. Henri politely declined for himself, but accepted on behalf of his travel companions. When Joscius began to make the usual courteous queries about Henri’s voyage, Ansaldo could contain himself no longer and demanded eagerly, “Well? Did you see the English king?”