Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (15 page)

“He’s gone,” she said without turning toward us. “He’s gone, and I remain, with his child nearly ready to be born. That’s all I have from him—his child. What else do I have?”

“The Kingdom of Jerusalem, for a start,” I said.

“And us, Isabelle,” added Scarlet. “I told you before that you had power. It’s time for you to assert it.”

She turned and looked at him for a long time, then nodded slowly.

“Mary!” she called. “Mary… no, she’s gone. Cynthia!”

A maid ran in.

“Tell the Falconbergs and the rest of Conrad’s men that I will speak with them here.”

The maid flew out of the room, and Isabelle turned back to us. “How do I rule?” she asked bitterly. “I’ve been Queen for two years and haven’t had to do that yet.”

“Treat the men as you just treated Cynthia,” said Scarlet. “They’ll jump just as quickly.”

“What happened to Mary?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she said. “She never came back from some errand she had to run.”

Scarlet shot me a glance, and I slipped out of the room.

There were doubled patrols throughout the city, and torches at every window as people woke to find out what was going on. Rumors were shouted across from building to building, transforming with each gust of wind into something more frightening or outlandish.

Knife drawn, fearing the worst, I burst into the room that Mary had shared with Balthazar. What I found was emptiness—all their possessions gone, a single kerchief left on the floor apparently in hasty flight. I checked the apartment next door, where Leo’s wife and daughter should have been, but they had vanished as well.

I ran to the city gate but was stopped by the guards.

“No one’s going in or out,” said a captain.

“Earlier, did you see any women leave? One of them was Mary, one of the Queen’s servants.”

One of the guards nodded. “Around sunset, I think. They were taking some food out to friends in the tent city, they said.”

“Have they returned?”

“No, and they’ll be stuck there tonight until the all clears been given.”

I had a feeling that they were nowhere near the tent city by now. They probably had a six-hour head start, and who knows in what direction?

I trudged back to the castellum and whispered my news to Scarlet. The Duke of Burgundy, the brothers Falconberg, Balian d’lbelin, and others of Conrads disreputable crew were filing in somberly to kneel before the Queen.

“Please, stand,” she commanded them. “Tell me what is happening outside.”

Hugh Falconberg stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“The city gates have been barred as a precaution,” he said. “We have doubled patrols and have the towers and ramparts at full alert until daybreak. The garrison protecting the tent city is out in force, and the French have been notified.”

“The French also stand ready to defend Your Highness,” added Burgundy.

“As soon as they sober up,” muttered Scarlet.

“And the captured murderer?” said Isabelle, almost choking on the word. “What information did he give?”

Ralph Falconberg stood beside his brother.

“I was the captor of the Assassin,” he said, puffing up his chest. “I took charge of the interrogation personally, milady. He finally confessed, before he died, to being of the Cult of the Assassins, he and his confederate. They acted upon orders of Sinan to take revenge upon your husband for the taking of his ships and the slaughter of their crews, all of which were righteous trophies of war. I assure you that this traitors corpse will be dragged through the streets for all to see what happens to our enemies.”

“Which will do nothing to bring my husband back,” said Isabelle, deflating Ralph a bit.

“I just thought..he stammered.

“No, go ahead, drag the corpse around Tyre,” she said. “It’s what the people want to see. We shall give it to them.”

There was a shocked murmur among the men.

“Well?” she said, looking around the room. “Did you expect me to behave any differently? You feel no shame at boasting before me of torturing a man to death and desecrating his corpse. If I am to lead you, then I must do what a ruler is expected to do. Balian, what of Saladin?”

“He will see this as an opportunity,” said Balian. “We must keep the armies on constant vigil.”

“And Richard?”

“He will also see this as an opportunity,” said Balian. “With all due respect, my Queen, you are too young and… and…”

“Too female,” finished the Queen drily. “I am aware of my apparent shortcomings, to which you might also add too grief-stricken, too weary, and too pregnant. Nevertheless, I am still the Queen, and I carry the heir to the throne within me. I demand your respect and your obedience. My Lord Duke of Burgundy, I ask you, as a friend, to order your armies on alert and to share command with Hugh Falconberg.”

“I will, milady,” answered Burgundy.

“Let the castellum be barred to all but ourselves,” she said. “Give out the news of the Assassins, and let all others know that the Queen of Jerusalem still lives and will turn the keys of the kingdom over to nobody but the true representatives of the Kings of France and England. That should buy us some time.”

“Very good, milady,” said Balian, and they all bowed and left. When the doors closed, Isabelle collapsed onto her seat, sobbing hysterically. We rushed over to comfort her.

“Yau were magnificent, Isabelle,” said Scarlet.

“How can I do this?” she cried. “They’re already scheming. I could see it on their faces. That pig Ralph won’t even wait until my husband is buried to press his suit, I can tell.”

“”feu are twenty-one and the Queen, Isabelle,” said Scarlet. “You don’t have to do what you’re told anymore.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” she said, blowing her nose. “But it’s so hard, and I am so tired.”

“Y>u should sleep,” I said, pulling Scarlet away from her. “There is nothing more that you can do tonight. We shall guard your door ourselves.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Droignon,” she said. “Thank you, my sweet Scarlet.”

We closed the door behind us and sat against it.

“So, the official story is that Balthazar and Leo are of the Cult of the Assassins,” I said.

“A plausible story,” said Scarlet. “The Cult trains its members to insinuate themselves into a community and wait until they are ordered to strike. They can live for months or years before they take action. The only problem is, I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I,” I said. “Why don’t you?”

“Before they took Conrad away, I took a quick look at Leo’s corpse,” said Scarlet. “I sniffed around his mouth and nose for a moment.”

“Ugh,” I said. “What on earth for?”

“In the Cult of the Assassins, the warriors and killers use a substance called hashish before they act. It is a potent drug with a distinct sickly sweet scent. I could not detect it on Leo. I doubt that we would find it on Balthazar, either. And the two of them were in the city long before Bernard du Temple captured Sinan’s ships. Sinan has never bothered with petty spying. He only sends his men in when he wants someone killed. How about your reasons?”

“When he fled, Balthazar went to the cathedral,” I said. “I found him kneeling before the Cross, praying with all his heart. He was a murderer, no question. But no Isma’ilite would have done that in his final moments.”

“True,” he sighed. “I guess the conversion took, didn’t it? Maybe Leo was of the Cult, and he had some hold over Balthazar to force him to join the plot. Too bad we can’t ask the Assassins about them.”

I took a deep breath. “I could go, if you want,” I said.

There was a long pause. “I have no problem with sending a man to his death,” he said. “But there has to be some point to it. All we could get is information, and I don’t know how much good it would do us now.”

“You know my Arabic’s good,” I said. “I can pass for Egyptian or Syrian. I can get away with this.”

“No,” he said. “Thanks for offering, but no. I don’t want your blood on my hands. I feel bad enough thinking we could have stopped this somehow.”

“If not Sinan, then who?” I asked. “Saladin? He could have paid Sinan to do it.”

“Not his style,” he said. “He prefers killing people in battle. This is too sneaky and underhanded for him. And why Conrad? If anything, Saladin respects him more than Richard.”

“Maybe that’s his reason for killing him,” I said. “Too strong a king to remain here.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I doubt it. There is one person we haven’t mentioned, speaking of sneaky and underhanded.”

I looked at him. “You mean Richard,” I said.

“I do. After all the trouble Conrad has caused him, to see him become king of everything Richard recaptured would be the ultimate slap in the face. I wouldn’t put it past him to get in his parting shot before he goes back to England.”

“Neither would I,” I said. “But unless we turn his operatives, we’ll have no way of proving it.”

“And maybe we shouldn’t try,” said Scarlet. “It won’t bring back Conrad, and it will just fragment the Christians here. If those remaining aren’t united, and if they don’t receive support from home, then they’ll be ripe for the plucking. What’s done is done.”

“Then Richard has won,” I said. “Conrad goes unavenged. But that’s not our problem. Is it?”

“No,” he sighed. “More’s the pity. We were so damn close. Now, it’s back to uncertainty.”

He picked up his guitar and began playing softly, disconsolately. I didn’t join him in the music. I had thought of one more person who may have wanted to see Conrad dead and who had ample access to at least one of the murderers. She had begged off accompanying her husband to dinner, choosing to stay home and bathe instead while he was cut down by the husband of her maid. But to bring the Queen up as a suspect to Scarlet while he mourned the death of his master and the hopes that hung upon him would have been cruelty indeed.

Scarlet plinked on into the night. Below us, a man who wasn’t king was being prepared for a burial that would not be royal. Behind us, in a room I once thought was Paradise, the Queen of Jerusalem cried herself to sleep.

W
e took
turns sleeping outside Isabelles door. When the first rays of the sun came through the window at the end of the hallway, I got up stiffly and began my stretches. Get limber in the morning, Theo.

Scarlet woke when Cynthia arrived with two trays of food. Wordlessly, she handed one to us and went inside with the other.

“Thoughtful girl,” said Scarlet as we dug in. “Times like these, you forget to eat.”

There was a sudden tumult from without. We went to the window and saw a crowd gathering, calling for the heads of Balthazar and Leo. Then there was a clatter of hooves, and a pair of horses came out, dragging the brutalized corpses behind them.

The crowd erupted, pelting the bodies with stones and screaming, “Assassins!” The riders pulled their grotesque cargo away from the castellum, and the mob followed them.

“They seem satisfied that it was the Cult of the Assassins behind this,” I said.

“Why shouldn’t they be?” said Scarlet.

“What about Ralph Falconberg?” I asked.

“What about him?

“I’ve been thinking while you were asleep, Ym snore, by the way.”

“Yes. Do you really think that Balthazar admitted being an Assassin during Ralph’s tender ministrations?”

“He might have, just to get him to put an end to it,” said Scarlet. “Men being tortured can confess to anything.”

“Let’s say that Balthazar was not an Assassin. Let’s say that he would not have confessed to anything like that because above all else, he was trying to protect his wife from further persecution. Do you think that Ralph would have given out that story to cover up the truth?”

Scarlet thought for a moment.

“Ralph might also have done it just to cover the fact that he managed to kill the only person who had any information without finding out what it was,” he said.

“There’s that,” I said. “I also wonder how Ralph knew to look in the cathedral for Balthazar. And I am remembering how Mary met with Ralph. I had thought she was being a go-between for Isabelle, but maybe it had something to do with her husband.”

“Maybe,” said Scarlet. “But she’s gone, her husband is dead, and we have no way of leaning on Ralph. He’s too powerful. And what would be his incentive?” He stopped abruptly and pounded his fist on the windowsill. “Isabelle,” he growled. “Could he murder his lord just to get at the wife?”

“Not just a wife,” I said. “The Queen of Jerusalem.”

“Well, he won’t have her,” he said. “Not if I can prevent it.”

C
onrad was laid
out in the apse of the cathedral with his head toward Jerusalem as if he was a Church dignitary. The Bishop presided over the funeral mass with as much grandiosity as he could muster, all of the subsidiary holy men flanking him in a show of ecclesiastic force. I was back with the servants, as usual, but Isabelle took Scarlet with her to the front row, clutching his tiny hand while weeping under her veil. An assortment of local nobility sat behind her. I noticed that the Duke of Burgundy was not present. I supposed that he was persuading his troops that they were still an army under his command.

When all was said and done, they took the Marquis of Montferrat to the vaults below. I don’t know which noble Tyrean family had been evicted from their eternal rest to make room for Conrad. Maybe there was an extra vault available. The city hadn’t been in Christian hands that long.

My mind wandered idly during the mass. I wondered about Isabelle. Every public occasion was a stage for her, it seemed to me. Now, she played the grieving widow for all to observe and sympathize. If she had shown this much feeling for her husband while he was alive, maybe…

Maybe he would still be alive.

D
id
you really suspect her so much?

I did, Duchess. Especially with what was to follow.

A
s we emerged
from the cathedral, those who could not squeeze inside started cheering, “The Queen! All hail Queen Isabelle!” Women wept upon seeing the brave expectant widow face her public. Ralph Falconberg gallantly stepped forward to take her arm as she approached the front steps, but she froze him with a glare and signaled Balian d’lbelin to help her.

Then a different roar reached us from outside the city walls. Soon the cry was picked up from the soldiers on the ramparts and towers: “Champagne! Henry of Champagne approaches!”

W
e hurried to the castellum
. The Queen took the throne, Scarlet sitting at her feet, d’lbelin standing at her side. A herald came into the great hall.

“Henry, Count of Champagne, has arrived and seeks an audience with “four Majesty,” he said.

“I will only speak with the representatives of the Kings of England and France,” she informed him.

“And I am both,” proclaimed Henry as he strode into the hall without permission.

“How do you claim both?” demanded d’lbelin.

“I am by the designation of my uncle, Richard of England, his representative to Jerusalem,” said Henry.

“And France?”

“Through me,” said the Duke of Burgundy, who had come up behind Henry. “Although I am sure his other uncle would do the same. And I am certain that both uncles would happily assent to what I am about to propose.”

“Propose, my lord Duke?” responded Balian. “This is hardly the time for proposals.”

“But that is the very thing that I am proposing,” said Burgundy. “And as for the time—there is little to waste.”

“I am tired, my lord Burgundy,” said Isabelle. “I buried my husband just now while you were somewhere else concocting schemes, and I lack the patience for riddles. Speak plainly.”

“Very well,” said Burgundy, “”four kingdom needs a king. Any delay in finding one will lead Saladin to attack. We all know that. The ten thousand Frenchmen under my command are here because they are tired of fighting and want to go home. Without them, you will be under siege within a fortnight. But they will stay if there is a king to whom they would show loyalty without hesitation.”

“Does such a paragon exist?” asked the Queen.

“He stands before you,” replied Burgundy.

She looked at him quizzically. “But are you not married, milord?” Henry stepped forward.

“He means me, my Queen,” he said, and he knelt before her. “I have been asked to be your husband by the men who have fought in

Gods name and for yours, and I ask on behalf of the ones who have died doing so.”

“But what of your own desires, good Count?” she asked softly.

He took her hand and kissed it. “I could think of no better fate than to be your husband,” he said. “It is impossible for me not to love a creature as fair and gentle as you. And I swear that I will be as loving a father to your unborn babe as if it had been my own.”

She looked at him, then around the room. Many of the men were nodding and smiling to each other. She looked at Balian, who was expressionless in the face of this performance, then back at Henry.

“Give me leave to think about your kind offer,” she said. “I will pray to God tonight for guidance, and give you my answer on the morrow.”

“We need—“ started Burgundy, but Henry cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I would expect no less, my Queen,” he said, rising and bowing. “I place my fate and happiness in your hands. Until tomorrow, then.”

He left with the Duke of Burgundy.

Isabelle followed them with her eyes, lingering a bit too long for decorum, then turned back to the room.

“I pray that you leave us to our thoughts,” she said. “Good Balian, tarry with me. There is no better mind in Tyre than yours.”

“I will, my Queen,” he replied.

The other men in the room filed out. Scarlet stayed by her feet but nodded at me to play quietly where I was. Soon, the hall was empty but for the four of us, and the servants closed the doors.

“Balian, speak openly,” she commanded him.

“It’s a smart move by Burgundy,” he said. “Henry on the throne will keep the army complacent for a while. They’ve been running wild since they came here. Well have a whole generation of bastards with French features within a year. More importantly, it guarantees support from both kings, even after they leave. Frankly, I could not think of a better choice politically.”

“Scarlet?” she said, holding her hand down. He took it, and she pulled him up to a seat beside her.

“I agree with Balian,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise.

“I thought that you disapproved of Henry,” she said.

“I don’t like how he romanced you under the nose of your husband,” said Scarlet. “But that situation, sad to say, is over. Burgundy’s right about the need to act quickly. If there’s a king on the throne, Saladin will stay on course for peace. And you could do a lot worse than Henry.”

“Meaning Ralph,” she said.

“I meant in general, Isabelle,” said Scarlet.

“Monsieur Droignon?” she said, looking over at me.

“It is not my place to say, milady,” I said, strumming away.

“I command you to answer,” she said.

“Put aside the questions of truces and armies,” I said. “As a woman to a man, how do you feel about him?”

“I feel that I could love him,” she said simply. “I was too young for my first husband. My second was too old for me, which is something altogether different. Here is a man not much older than myself who swore his love to me before any of this happened. I have never had a marriage where love came before politics.”

“Don’t be fooled, Isabelle,” said Scarlet. “This is nothing but politics.

“But love may come,” she said. “And that was never a possibility before.”

“Conrad loved you,” said Balian.

“Conrad loved this,” she said, slapping her hand on the throne.

She stood, and we rose around her.

“I wish to be alone in my chambers tonight,” she said, and we bowed.

“I was surprised that you went along with the choice of Henry so easily,” I said to Scarlet as we walked back to his place.

“I thought that the Guild would prefer it,” he replied.

“Lie to yourself, my friend, but never to me,” I said. “You just didn’t want Ralph to be the one married to her. You struck while the iron was hot, just like everybody else. She hasn’t even had a chance to mourn decently.”

“Henry is the lesser of two evils,” he said.

“But still evil?” I asked. “Or was that just jealousy speaking?”

“I am not jealous,” he protested, but his heart wasn’t in it.

As I settled in for the night, I heard his guitar. I don’t think he stopped playing until the sun rose.

We hurried to take our places in the great hall. Those who had followed Conrad assembled quickly, exchanging knowing looks as Henry entered with the Duke of Burgundy.

The heralds announced the Queen, and all knelt as she walked into the room, Balian at her side. She settled herself onto the throne as comfortably as her pregnancy would allow and motioned the room to relax.

“Is the Bishop of Beauvais present?” she asked.

“I am here, my Queen,” he said, stepping forward.

“What is the policy of the Church toward remarriage after the death of one’s husband?” she asked.

“Normally, to wait one year before remarrying,” he said. “But that is more advisory than compulsory in nature and may be waived during extenuating circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Such as war or pregnancy, milady.”

“But the war will be ending soon,” she protested mildly.

“In God’s name, I hope so,” he said, pressing his hands together fervently. “Yet until the truce is signed, we are in a state of war.”

“And we are certainly in a state of pregnancy,” she said. “Well, that settles one question. Good Count Henry, I have thought and prayed about your gallant proposal. I ask that you accept certain conditions before I give my answer.”

“Name them, milady,” he said.

“First, that I designate my unborn child as the heir to the throne of Jerusalem,” she said. “No matter how many children follow of my new husband’s getting, the first shall be first.”

“I accept,” he said. “The child of Montferrat will be the next king of Jerusalem at such time it pleases God.”

“And that goes for the rest of you,” she said, looking about the room. She stood and walked about the room, holding her swollen stomach with both hands. “Do you swear to this unborn child that you will be his loyal subjects?”

“We swear,” chorused the room, many placing their hands on her belly as they did.

“Good,” she said. “Second: That Balian d’lbelin will be the regent if I should die before the child is of age.”

“There is no better man for the job,” said Henry. “I accept.”

“Third,” she said. “That Scarlet remains with the household staff for as long as either I or the baby shall live.”

“The dwarf?” exclaimed Henry.

“The same,” she said.

“But…” he began, then he thought better of it. “Very well. I ac-

. » cept.

She stepped down and faced him, holding out both hands. He took them in his.

“I accept as well,” she said. “I will marry you and make you the King of Jerusalem.”

He kissed her, holding her gently so as not to bump up against her belly, and the room burst into cheers.

Excepting Ralph Falconberg, who looked furious. And myself.

“Did you ask her to do that for you?” I asked Scarlet afterward. “No,” he said, looking pleased. “She thought of it on her own. Between Balian and myself, she should have plenty of good advice.”

“Yes,” I said. “Nothing like good advice when your husband is the one running the kingdom. I hope she enjoyed her little taste of power. She’s going right back where she was.”

T
he wedding
and coronation were held a week later. Two lines formed outside the cathedral, one of men and one of women. The trumpets blared, and the happy couple emerged and posed for the people.

The banquet was held outside at a square from which the normal market stalls had been removed. All of the preparations for Conrad’s coronation were still in place, so the festivities proceeded as originally scheduled, with just the occasional name change inserted into the script.