The Dragon and the Jewel (42 page)

S
imon de Montfort received the disquieting news that his brother Amauri, who had gone on Crusade the previous year, had been taken prisoner by the Sultan of Egypt. He immediately joined Frederick and Richard’s Crusade, and together with his wife, they set sail for Acre. At first Eleanor had great fears about going halfway around the world to live and fight among barbarians. Simon laughed at her ignorance. “In the first place, it isn’t halfway around the world, love. Come and look at this map.” With one great arm about her protectively, he pointed to the parchment with a finger of his other hand. “Here is Brindisi, right on the heel of the boot of Italy. We are almost on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. We simply sail to the far end of the Mediterranean, and there’s Acre and Jerusalem and Palestine. We’ll be there in a few short days. Look, here is the River Jordan, which empties into the Dead Sea. Everything on this side of the river is lush and fertile. The Syrian desert doesn’t begin until the far side of the Jordan. There is a vast English and European settlement in the city of Jerusalem. It is crawling with barons and knights, and hardly a one of them is as civilized or educated as a Saracen knight. To our shame they can all read and write.”

She had been thinking of her condition, even though her pregnancy was in its early months. Who knew how long they would remain in the Holy Land? “We won’t have to live in a mud hut or a tent, will we?” she asked, only half jesting.

“The residences of the simplest baron or knight will dazzle your eyes. The floors are exquisitely patterned with mosaic tile. They have gardens with bathing pools and fountains. Why do you think such great numbers never returned to Germany or France or England? Our drafty castles and dearth of sunshine leave something to be desired.”

Sailing the Mediterranean was one of the most pleasurable experiences Eleanor had ever enjoyed. The sun and the brilliant blue sky reflected across the sea, which night and day remained as calm as a millpond. The breeze was always like a warm caress and the sea teemed with dolphins and iridescent flying fish. The nights were conducive to romance for the large moon seemed to hang on the edge of the sea and the stars were like diamonds scattered over black velvet.

Eleanor heaved a sigh of relief when they sailed into the harbor at Acre and she saw for herself how civilized it appeared. Acre was a square city surrounded by a double wall with a deep, wide moat between. It was a most secure city, open only to its enclosed port. Both within and without the city were orchards and poplar trees as far as the eye could see.

Frederick, who was known in the East as the Holy Roman Emperor, was received with much pomp and ceremony, as was Richard, the King of England’s brother. The Order of the Knights Templars had grown into a vast and wealthy organization and had made their headquarters in Acre. They had built a massive fortress called Castle Pilgrim on high land jutting into the Mediterranean. Here they were housed in one of the finest buildings Christendom had to offer.

Fetes and sumptuous dinner invitations began immediately. The moment that word reached the city of Jerusalem that the war lord, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, had traveled to the East, delegations representing barons, knights, and citizens arrived in Acre begging his services.

Eleanor hid her tears and fears and bid farewell to her fierce giant. Though his surcoat bore the plain white cross of the
crusader, he stood out from other men as a supreme leader. She knew it would not take him long to cover himself with distinction for he had never lost a brush with the enemy and had never besieged a castle or a city in vain.

Simon led the fighting while Frederick promised to negotiate with the Sultan of Egypt for the release of Amauri. At one time the Holy Roman Emperor had had a truce with the sultan, but it had been broken over a year past and was what had prompted Frederick and Richard to plan the Crusade.

Although Eleanor dearly loved her brother Richard, he had character flaws that offended her. He left with Simon but returned to Acre almost immediately. When she questioned him, he excused his lack of support on the fighting front by telling her he was acting as liaison between the emperor and his crusaders. Eleanor was not a green girl any more and she realized Richard was there for the sole purpose of increasing his wealth. These days he made a better businessman than fighter. He dealt with wily Oriental traders and other nationalities. By the looks of some of the men with whom he did business, she would not be surprised if they were the enemy. Eleanor resented the fact that while Simon risked his life every day, Richard spent his time advancing no cause but his own. When she took him to task for it in her usual forthright manner, he had his answers ready.

“Fighting is what Simon does … it is his business, Eleanor. Crusades and wars cost money. I just happen to be talented in the art of making money, so I serve where I am the most useful.”

She replied cynically, “Strange how your own purse is filled to overflowing at the same time. Oh, and by the way, while we are private I might as well tell you plainly that I am shocked at your faithlessness to Isabella. Your dalliance with the maids and serving women is the talk of Acre. Rumor also has it you sleep with native women and that you keep a slave girl.”

He looked at her with pitying condescension. “Eleanor, surely you know women throw themselves at men in positions of power. It is expected of a man in my position, and I confess I have a weakness for beautiful women.”

“You are disgusting. You don’t even pay lip service to chastity. Do your marriage vows to Isabella mean nothing to you?”

“Vows, is it? I think it the height of hypocrisy for you to throw vows at me. What of your own?”

Eleanor’s temper flared. “Damn you to hellfire, Richard. You know how long I was a widow before I lay with Simon.”

“Ah yes, quite the little nun. Well, let me tell you men are made differently than women. One of the rewards that lures men to the East is a chance to have their own seraglio. De Montfort will be no exception. He’ll have his own private harem once he has established himself here, if he doesn’t have one already!”

She wanted to scream her denial, but inside she was unsure of her husband’s fidelity. It was true that women threw themselves at powerful men; she had seen with her own eyes how the maids twittered about Simon, casting out their lures. Eleanor bit her hp and changed the subject. “Has Frederick done anything about Simon’s brother yet?”

Richard shrugged. “Frederick is a realist. The Sultan of Egypt wants to renew the truce. Amauri de Montfort is of secondary import.”

Eleanor was thunderstruck. “A truce? Simon will run mad! He risks his life each hour of every day gaining territory that Frederick will give back if a truce is signed!”

“It is no longer a case of ’if the truce is signed, but ‘when.’ Negotiations have been underway for two weeks. It will just be a matter of how much gold Frederick can squeeze out of him and he’ll sign on the dotted line. Of course that’s where I come in. Tomorrow we leave for Jaffa, which is closer to Ascalon where the sultan maintains a summer palace.”

Eleanor made her decision between one heartbeat and the next. She would go herself to negotiate the release of her husband’s brother with this Sultan of Egypt. William Marshal had taught her how to negotiate. She had sat at his right hand at all his courts, and he had encouraged her to use her intelligence and her education. He had taught her how to be shrewd yet fair, and above all he had taught her to trust her own instincts. After all, she was royalty. She was a Plantagenet, the daughter and sister of kings. Since no else seemed to have the de Montfort
interests foremost in their minds, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Where there was a will, there was a way, and Eleanor found it the simplest thing in the world to persuade her brother-in-law Frederick to include her as a member of his party when he sailed to Jaffa.

With her face veiled and covered from nose to toes by a loose djellaba, she moved about unnoticed. She quickly learned that both male and female servants were amenable to bribes. She secured a room for herself in a quiet wing of the palatial house that had been set aside for the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and his scores of servants, which again was owned by the Templars.

Eleanor grew impatient as her plans to communicate with the sultan did not come to fruition. Frederick certainly did not bother to keep her informed of his dealings with Selim of Egypt, so it was most fortunate that her servants were a fountain of information.

It seemed that no mutually acceptable meeting ground could be agreed upon between the two venerable leaders. The emperor wanted the sultan to come to Jaffa, but of course he was far too shrewd to leave Egyptian territory and invited Frederick to accept his hospitality at his Byzantine palace in Ascalon. Frederick was much too fearful to set foot upon Egyptian territory, even though Ascalon was actually only on the border, and so it became an impasse.

Eleanor threw up her hands in exasperation, thinking men the most useless creatures in the world. It did not take the impulsive Countess of Leicester long to act on her own. A distance of less than thirty miles could be bridged easily, she decided. She dispatched a secret messenger to Ascalon with a letter to the sultan. She addressed it to His Supreme Highness, Selim, Sultan of Egypt. Its tone was imperious, from one royal personage to another. She set out her purpose plainly, to negotiate the release of Amauri de Montfort, and she signed it with a flourish, Eleanor Plantagenet, Princess Royal of England.

Within a week she had received her own invitation to enjoy the hospitality of the Sultan of Egypt at his Byzantine palace on the Mediterranean. Eleanor enjoyed the challenge of packing
and arranging her journey in total secrecy. Frederick and Richard were too involved in their own affairs to inquire into Eleanor’s whereabouts each day, and that was exactly the way she wanted it. God’s blood, men were easy to gull!

Not quite so easy, however, was Simon de Montfort. He was a man of honor, yet being practical he was ever aware that other men were often less than honorable. Anyone who dismissed him as all brawn and no brains made the serious mistake of underestimating him. He knew every detail of Frederick’s negotiations to renew the truce between Palestine and Egypt. He tried not to be too judgmental of Frederick, for his practical side told him they could never completely defeat the Sultan of Egypt. They could regain lost territory and conquer new, but they could not wipe out an enemy that succeeded by sheer force of numbers. If his knights wiped out a thousand today, tomorrow two thousand would replace them, and wholesale slaughter was abhorrent to Simon de Montfort.

He had also learned to depend on himself in this life and sent his own man to negotiate with the Sultan of Egypt for the release of Amauri. He had men in his pay at the Templars’ headquarters to guard over his wife, and he knew almost immediately that Eleanor had sailed with the emperor’s party to Jaffa. He was not unduly alarmed, for Jaffa was a hundred miles closer to his own position than Acre had been.

As Selim continued to politely but firmly avoid journeying to Jaffa, Frederick knew that a truce would never be signed unless someone gave in. He dispatched a courier for the war lord. Simon de Montfort would have to risk the journey to Ascalon to beard the lion in his den.

E
leanor stood outside the gates of the most sumptuous palace she had ever seen. It was heavily guarded and she was glad that she had brought a dozen servants with her. The palace guards certainly did not speak English, but her head man seemed to have no difficulty communicating and the gates were opened wide to admit them.

They were taken through both an outer and an inner court-yard before they entered the labyrinth that resembled a honeycomb with one chamber seemingly opening into another. Inside the marble halls of the palace it was relatively cool compared to the streets of Ascalon, where the fierce sun burned down without mercy. The tiled corridors had many archways that gave glimpses of the azure ocean, dotted with the colorful sails of ships.

Eleanor tried not to stare at the black-skinned guards who wore nothing but loincloths or the palace servants who wore white robes and headcloths. Two of her attendants walked ahead of her, the rest trailed behind, but when she missed the sound of footsteps behind her, she was shocked to find that her twelve servants had diminished to two. It was clear to her they had been spirited away. Though she became outraged and demanded
an explanation instantly, she received only smiles and incomprehensible words.

Eleanor was led into a long, narrow room whose far end was open to a garden with a long, rectangular bathing pool. A tall, slim attendant in a white robe and turban approached her and spoke to her in heavily accented English. “My name is Fayid. I will provide whatever you desire.” Fayid was black-skinned, and had a high singsong voice, but for the life of her Eleanor could not detect Fayid’s gender. It looked and sounded like a woman and yet there was not one curve or indeed one extra ounce of flesh to cover Fayid’s long bones.

“I
desire
to see Sultan Selim immediately,” Eleanor said regally.

Fayid half smiled. “All things come at their appointed time, Princess. People from the West hurry their lives away.”

“I am glad you realize who I am,” Eleanor replied crisply. “I
desire
my attendants; tell me where they are.”

“They have been accommodated as you have, Princess. This half of the palace is the women’s quarters. Men are forbidden here.”

“There are male guards on every door,” Eleanor protested.

“They are no longer men, Princess, they are eunuchs.” Fayid turned to the two female attendants. “This way, ladies.”

“Just one moment,” Eleanor demanded. “Where do you think you are taking my servants?”

Fayid spread long, slim hands. “I realize your customs differ from ours, Princess, but even you I think will not wish to share your bedchamber with your servants.”

“I do not intend to sleep here!” Eleanor cried indignantly.

Fayid’s hands spread wider and the gesture was accompanied by a slight shrug. “Then you will not see Sultan Selim, for he cannot see you until tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“He has many commitments, Princess. In the meantime my master invites you to enjoy the hospitality of his humble palace. You may rest or enjoy the bathing pool while I attend to refreshments.” Fayid bowed and ushered Eleanor’s attendants from the room.

Eleanor grasped one of her women by the sleeve. Lena was a
maid who had accompanied her from Brindisi. “Under no circumstances must you leave me alone here, Lena. When Fayid returns I shall demand that he … she ask Selim to make an effort to meet with me today. If it is impossible, I think we should leave and return tomorrow.”

Fayid did not return, however, but many female attendants arrived. Some carried in large bowls of rosewater to keep the air cooled as it evaporated. Others brought towels, honey drinks, fruit, and something Eleanor had never before seen or even heard of. It resembled snow, flavored with fruit. She tasted it out of sheer curiosity and found its delicious icy texture was coolly refreshing in such a hot, dry climate. The female servitors could not speak her language, and Eleanor gave up trying to communicate for the moment as she helped herself to fruit and sweetmeats.

The pink marble floor was strewn with large cushions exquisitely embroidered in a black and gold Egyptian motif. Eleanor was not about to sit upon the floor and chose instead to rest upon a low divan that was enclosed by filmy pink hangings. She pushed the gauze aside impatiently and sat down to wait, tapping a slippered foot on the pink marble.

Time dragged its heels; each minute felt like an hour. Lena made herself comfortable on the floor among the cushions and was soon dozing in the heat. Eleanor reclined upon the divan, but when she felt her eyelids growing heavy she sat up, shook herself, and wandered out into the garden. It was a delightful oasis filled with exotic blooms, fig trees, and date palms all surrounding the pale-green marble bathing pool where lotuslike flowers floated and drifted with the perfumed breeze. The water was most inviting and Eleanor bent to trail her fingers in the cool depths, then sat down, removed her slippers and stockings, and let her feet dangle in the water.

She gazed up above her chamber at the palace walls, which were made of intricately patterned mosaic tiles. She thought it curious the walls were solid with no windows to let in the breeze, then she was thankful that no one could look down into the garden from above and see her. Her mind flew off to another garden, in another time, and the memories it evoked of Simon were so tangible she could feel his damnably attractive
hands upon her breasts, his breath upon her throat, and the kisses that had left their imprint upon her lips forever. The pale-green water beckoned and her resistance melted in the warm afternoon.

Her gown, which had seemed so cool when she chose it this morning, was now far too tight and constricting. Her silk shift beneath it was sticking to her skin, and she fought a losing battle with herself until she finally succumbed and removed the offending garments. She slid naked into the cool green depths and closed her eyes in bliss. The water came just to her breasts and as she leaned back against the edge of the pool they bobbed up and down prettily, floating on the water’s surface like two pale lotus blooms. The ends of her black curls dipped into the water and swirled about her naked shoulders. Eleanor closed her eyes and gave herself up to sheer physical pleasure.

Above her a pair of dark, intense eyes watched every gesture, every expression upon her lovely face. The mosaic tile wall with its grillwork pattern was designed to view the garden and pool without the observer being detected. Selim watched the beautiful female from above; the pale green water in no way impeded his vision of her naked form. He did not believe he had ever seen such a petite female in his life. The women in his harem, whether they were fair or dark, tended to voluptuous proportions. Some were even fat, but all were generously plump. This female was no bigger than one of his slave boys of ten or twelve years, yet with her slim legs and high round breasts her proportions seemed perfect and more than tempting. He had been aroused from the moment she lifted her skirt to remove her stockings. He imagined how tight her sheath would be, and his hand caressed his erection, noting with pleasure the length she had helped him achieve.

He was delighted with this turn of events. He had thought all the advantage was with Frederick, Holy Roman Emperor, and his horde of crusaders. He had assumed it would cost him dearly to renew the truce, but it was a price that must be paid for he was assailed on all sides by the Syrians, the Jews, and the mad Turks. If the crusaders would return home or at least be contained within the boundaries of Palestine, he could breathe easier. Now it seemed he would be able to use his hostage
Amauri de Montfort as a bargaining tool since the emperor was sending Simon de Montfort to renew the truce. His smile turned into a leer as he thought of the delectable princess who was fast in his lair. She was an unexpected gift, yet it was a common enough practice for men to offer their wives’ bodies in exchange for favors rendered.

Eleanor reluctantly climbed from the pool and wrapped herself in a thirsty Turkish towel. She picked up her clothes and wrinkled her nose at the thought of putting them back on. She padded in bare feet back inside where the pink marble floor felt deliciously cool. She gasped with apprehension, for Lena was no longer in the chamber. She rushed to the door, unmindful of her déshabillé, and tried to fling it wide. Two fleshy black eunuchs stood in her path blocking her way. She was so angry she contemplated snatching one of their weapons and sticking it into a fat belly, but just as that moment the tall, slim Fayid glided into view carrying an armful of exotic silken garments.

“I am leaving at once,” cried Eleanor. “Where is my maid?”

Fayid bowed. “As you will, Princess. However, Sultan Selim is awaiting you.”

“Oh,” said Eleanor, feeling as if she had been tugging on the end of a rope that had come unfastened. She backed into the room clutching the towel to her breasts and murmured, “I must get dressed.”

Fayid spread the lovely silks upon the divan. “Perhaps you would wish to wear one of these, Princess.”

Eleanor looked from the exotic garments to the small heap of clothing she had discarded earlier. Her chin went up. “Absolutely not! I refuse to dress as a heathen.”

Fayid bowed her head. “It shall be as you wish, Princess.”

“You can be very sure of that!” retorted Eleanor.

She took courage from the colors she had chosen that morning when she had carefully dressed for her meeting with the sultan. However, the brave green and white, the King of England’s favorite colors, lay wrinkled. She disdained help from Fayid as she donned her shift and pulled on her stockings— garments that women of the East did not wear. Her underdress was pale leaf green, as finely spun as a veil. Over it she slid her dark-green silk tunic, decorated with small white swans wearing
golden crowns upon their proud, graceful heads. She wished she had a golden crown for her own head at this moment as her hands tried to smooth out her long black tresses, which were curling profusely from the pool.

She knew, however, that she had more important things to concentrate upon. Her mind darted about like quicksilver rehearsing the things she would say to Selim. She knew she must not act like a supplicant, appealing for him to release her husband’s brother. She must not appear to be a weak female asking the strong male for favors. She would deal with him as an equal, as one royal personage to another. She would subtly hint that she had great influence with the King of England and had power to open up trade routes between the two countries. William Marshal had taught her that sometimes promises were sufficient to achieve a goal and that those promises were not necessarily carved in stone. The important thing to keep in mind was to deal from a position of strength.

As Fayid led her along a myriad of corridors, Eleanor wondered how many people she would have to face. The Sultan of Egypt most likely surrounded himself with ministers, advisors, sycophants, and body servants, so Eleanor was surprised when Fayid ushered her into an empty chamber save for one figure who sat motionless upon a raised dais. Brilliant sunshine came through a multicolored glass window behind him, making it difficult to see the face of the man with whom she found herself alone.

He sat not in a high-backed chair of state but upon an enormous backless throne. It looked as if it was made of solid gold. The room was silent, echoing the whisper of her garments and her quickened breathing. Then suddenly the figure stood up and descended lithely from the dais. He was only about five-and-a-half-feet tall with skin and eyes the color of old teak. He wore cloth-of-gold pantaloons and a curious headpiece decorated by a coiled serpent. His entire body was devoid of hair, Eleanor noticed, as her curious eyes swept up him, coming to rest on his face. It was thin, his nose hooked, but he had beautiful teeth that flashed whitely in his dark face.

Eleanor extended her fingers for a handshake, but Selim captured her hand and held on to it. His eyes were so frankly
assessing she felt a blush stain her cheeks. Then, still holding her fingers, he walked around her in a wide circle as if he was appraising the fine points of a mare. Eleanor felt her blood rise, yet she knew she must maintain a cool and aloof demeanor to keep her dignity. “Allow me to introduce myself, Sultan Selim. I am Princess …”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted. “Your name is Precious Jewel.”

Eleanor was stunned. How on earth did this man know her father had called her his precious jewel? “No! That is not my name. I am Princess Eleanor Plantagenet,” she stated firmly.

He smiled lazily. “To me you shall be Precious Jewel,” he insisted, “my Precious Jewel.”

“Nay, that is impossible, your Highness, I am a married woman.” She wondered wildly if he had heard gossip about her. She had been accused of everything from killing her husband with her insatiable sexual demands, to adultery and producing a bastard. God, don’t let me faint, she prayed, as she felt herself go dizzy and sway. Instantly his arms were about her. He lifted her and carried her to an alcove where a draped divan was partially hidden from the rest of the room.