Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (5 page)

I spotted the ship about ten minutes later. A Pisan merchantman, anchored about fifty feet out. We rode up to the shore and hailed them. A boat was lowered over the side, and the sailing master came to us, his crew heavily armed. The rest stood in the bow, bows at the ready.

“It’s about time you got here,” he said in heavily accented langue d’oc.

“We met up with a little trouble,” I replied. “A Saracen patrol. We killed two and spent some time chasing the others. Why haven’t you started unloading the supplies?”

“How do I know you’re the right man?” he asked.

I pulled the scroll from my pouch and handed it to him. He examined the seal, then broke it and handed it to another man who read it to him. They looked again at the second seal inside.

“Tyre?” said the sailing master. “We could have gone straight there.”

“The decision was made only last night,” I said. “Start unloading.”

“I don’t like it,” he said.

I shrugged. “It does not concern me what your likes and dislikes are”.

“But my orders were—”

“Do you see that little fellow?” I interrupted him, pointing to Scarlet. The sailing master looked over at the dwarf, who was reclining in his saddle and thumbing his nose at the crew.

“What about him?” said the sailing master.

“His job is to make me laugh,” I said, shifting to Pisan dialect to drive the point home. “Laughing keeps me from flying into murderous rages at a moment’s notice. But right now I am talking to you, and I don’t find you the least bit amusing.”

Scarlet’s fake soldiers maintained a properly menacing mien behind me. I sat on the horse, drumming my fingers on my sword’s hilt. The sound drew his glance toward the sword, then he looked up at my face. I smiled. He turned and waved a yellow handkerchief at the boat. The crew scrambled to hoist the anchor, and the oars came out to bring the ship in closer.

They were a good crew and had the supplies unloaded in less than an hour, including two more wagons and a quartet of donkeys to draw them. The two extra boys on the warns took over the wagons, and we were soon ready to leave.

“What about my payment?” said the sailing master.

I whirled, sword in hand.

“Do you take me for a fool?” I shouted. “You were paid before you ever left Pisa. Now, get out of here before I add your swindling head to my trophies.”

The small boat took off so fast that it nearly rammed the merchantman, and the sails were raised in a trice.

“North, men,” I ordered, and our group trundled forward, the horsemen falling into place neatly beside the wagons. Soon, we were beyond the sight of the Pisans, and I couldn’t say which group was happier to see the back of the other.

“What made you so sure he had been paid in advance?” asked Scarlet.

“He was no gambler,” I said. “Some of these suppliers may bespeculating that there will be a market when they arrive, but this fellow wasn’t the sort to be taking any chances.”

“Unlike us,” said Scarlet. “Brother Theophilos, you and Blondel have exceeded my expectations. Although the blond one needs some practice lowering strongboxes from towers without hitting the sides.”

“The next time the situation comes up, I’m certain he’ll do better,” I said. “That was a most timely intervention on your part, by the way.”

“I heard the guard react after the box hit the tower going back up. I figured a distraction was in order. Well, Captain, since I am to amuse you during this journey, how about a little music while we ride?”

“It would be a pleasure,” I said. “Especially since I can’t play my lute with these gauntlets on.”

He pulled an instrument from a case shoved into his saddlebag. It was a guitar, one of those Arab instruments, only scaled down to a child’s size.

“I haven’t heard one of those in years,” I said as he tuned it. “Do you prefer it to the lute?”

“Definitely,” he said. “It has more character. It’s louder, and you can bend the tones more readily. Listen.”

His fingers danced along the strings, and some melody that might have come from a mullah’s throat sang out.

“It suits this world,” he said, looking out at the harsh landscape, the small patches of green fighting for existence in the sandy soil. “A lute is for artificial prettiness inside walls, but a guitar sounds a man’s soul in the wilderness.”

He leaned back in his saddle and played and sang. His singing voice was sweeter than his speaking voice, and at an unearthly high range. He sang in langue d’oc, Greek, Syrian, and Arabic, covering the range of nationalities among the apprentices behind him. But everyone knew some of the songs, and some of us knew all of them, so it was quite the talented armed choir traveling up the searoad.

It was a two-day journey. We broke for camp at a deserted stone chapel that was fairly defensible. Scarlet organized the watches and had a fire going in no time. I hauled water with one of the boys. I say boys, because with their helms off, it was clear that none of them was more than sixteen.

It was another clear night, and we sat outside as the fire died down, looking up at the stars. Scarlet and I talked about many things, and his fingers on the guitar strings never rested, providing a soft, subtle counterpoint to the conversation.

“What do you know about Tyre?” he asked me at one point.

“I’ve never been there,” I said. “I know what everyone knows, I guess. It’s on an island connected by a causeway. It’s an old city, mentioned in the Bible a few times.”

“Humph, the Bible,” he said.

“What have you got against the Good Book?” I asked.

“Do you know how many times dwarves are mentioned in it?” he asked indignantly. “Once! And we’re lumped together with crookbacks, blind men, and the generally blemished, as if we were something to be passed over.”

“Being passed over isn’t always a bad thing. I think the Old Testament mentions that at some point. And I’ve known a crookback or two who was quite decent. What was the question again?”

“Tyre, ‘’tour knowledge thereof.’’

“Um, conquered and reconquered over the years. Last bastion of Outremer remaining after Saladin went on his little rampage. And I gather that the succession is in dispute?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said Scarlet, the guitar twanging a discordant agreement. “I’ll give you the brief version. No, that’s impossible, there is no brief version. All right, the last undisputed king of Jerusalem was Baldwin the Fourth, who was a leper without issue. His sister,

Sybil, married Guy de Lusignan. She had a son and, lacking much in the way of imagination, named him Baldwin. The Fourth named his nephew as his successor and stepped down. The boy was only five, so Raymond of Tripoli became regent.”

“What number was he?”

“Raymond? He was Raymond the Third.”

“So, the Fourth abdicates, leaving the Fifth with the Third.”

“hhu’ve got it,” smiled Scarlet. “Now, in 1185, six years ago, the Fourth dies, and the Fifth dies a month later. There is no named heir, but by all rights the kingdom should go to Sybil. Guy claimed it as her husband, but Raymond claimed it as the regent. The dispute goes on for a couple of years, then is rendered somewhat moot by Saladin s victory at the Horns of Hattin. Raymond fled, Guy was captured, Jerusalem fell, as did Acre, Ascalon, and everywhere else. Everywhere but Tyre.

“Tyre held because one day Conrad of Montferrat showed up. There was a rumor that he was fleeing from Constantinople, but his arrival was opportune nevertheless. The defenses were disorganized, the city was flooded with refugees, and the plains were filled with infidels. Conrad took charge but insisted he be given absolute power in Tyre. The people went along with that. He made his first point by not just banishing Saladin’s envoys but having them thrown into the fosse at the base of the landwalls. He then organized the army and rebuilt the fortifications.

“Saladin showed up with his armies and one person he thought would be useful: Conrad’s father, William the Old, who had been taken at Hattin. Saladin paraded the old man before the walls of Tyre and promised to trade him for the city.”

“How did Conrad react to this challenge to his filial piety?”

“He picked up a crossbow and took a shot at his father. Barely missed him. He shouted that he’d rather kill the old man himself than surrender a single stone of the city. I think he impressed Tyre more than he frightened Saladin, but the Turks withdrew rather than attempt the walls. Conrad became the peoples champion.”

“But how did that play into the succession?”

“Because Sybil had no surviving children,” replied Scarlet. “Saladin let Guy de Lusignan go, either because of a ransom paid, or because Saladin thought Guy and Sybil would cause more havoc inside the walls of Tyre than he could outside. But when they showed up, Conrad refused to let them in.”

“A fine way to treat a putative king.”

“Putative, but not crowned. And then Sybil died, and with her any claim Guy had to the throne of Jerusalem. Not that that’s stopping him, but lacking support and legality, it’s a long shot at best. The next in line in succession was little sister Isabelle of Jerusalem. She was married to a decent enough man named Humphrey of Toron.”

“I’ve seen him about. He speaks fluent Arabic, so Richard uses him as an envoy a lot. He struck me as being rather effeminate. Never thought he’d be the marrying type.”

“It was a political match. He was of influence. She was eleven.”

“Poor girl.”

“Actually, she adored him. He was uncommonly beautiful, immaculately groomed, well-mannered, every girl’s dream of what a husband should look like. And, fortunately and unfortunately, he had no interest in women.”

“Fortunately and unfortunately?”

“Fortunately, because she was eleven, and did not have to be subjected to any indecencies. Unfortunately, because when she was old enough…”

He trailed off, and the music gave a dying fall.

He was silent for a while, watching the embers burn down.

“It’s hard enough to learn about love from a husband in an arranged marriage,” he continued finally. “Her mother, Maria Comnena, was a Byzantine, and knew all too well the fine art of gaining power through alliances. Mama saw the future in Conrad and sought an annulment on the grounds of Humphrey’s effeminacy and Isabelle’s age at marriage. Since everyone knew about that when the marriage was first arranged, it didn’t carry much weight. But the Archbishop died, and Maria seduced the Papal Legate, who then approved the annulment. They gave this beautiful young woman to this ambitious, battle-scarred old man, and all of Tyre cheered. Humphrey was bought off with the promise of some land, and Conrad reigns in Tyre. But he hasn’t been coronated yet. Richard still favors Guy, Philip favors Conrad, the Pisans favor Guy, the Genoans favor Conrad, the Venetians just want their piece of the city, and it’s an ungodly mess in the Holy Land.”

He started playing again.

“Whose fool are you in all of this?” I asked, starting to drift off.

A mournful, romantic melody rose into the night sky.

“I belong to the Queen of Jerusalem,” he said. “I was a wedding gift.”

W
e met
the first patrol out of Tyre at the springs at Ras el-‘Ain, a few miles south of the city. Aqueducts carried the water north. We were watering our horses for the final push when the riders hailed us.

I walked up to meet them, but their captain ignored me and proceeded straight to Scarlet.

“We’ve been waiting for you for two days,” he said.

“It was a complicated matter,” replied the dwarf. “But successful, as you can see.”

“Good,” said the captain. “We’ll take them from here. ‘’lour lord wants to see you.”

“In good time, Captain. We will refresh ourselves and see him when we are ready.”

The captain scowled but did not argue.

“Oh, Captain?” called Scarlet as the latter turned to take over the supply train.

“What, Fool?”

“I know the contents of those wains down to the last speck of flour. Make sure they travel these last three miles without loss.”

We passed through fields of sugar cane, then spotted the tents outside the city a mile later. The road took us through the middle of them as thousands of refugees went about the daily business of survival, waiting patiently at cisterns with buckets, stripping the countryside of anything they could burn for cooking fires, and carrying on lively debates in several languages.

“And these are the lucky ones,” pointed out Scarlet. “Saladin made a fortune ransoming them. Ten bezants a man, five per woman, one per child, all for the privilege of abandoning everything they ever owned to him. There are over twenty thousand people living in these tents, and Tyre’s been feeding them as well as it can for years.”

“The city is that wealthy?” I asked.

“The city depends on sugar, glass, and a mollusk the size of your thumb,” he said. “They supply purple dye made from it to Constantinople and beyond. If purple ever falls out of fashion, that will be the end of Tyre.”

“Thank Christ for royal vanity,” I said. “I’m surprised Saladin didn’t make more of an effort to take the city.”

“The effort would be extreme,” he said. “Take a look and tell me how it would be done.”

Ahead of us, a broad causeway jutted out from the coastline. The aqueduct ran down one side of it, plunging through a hole in a massive curtain wall that traversed the end of the causeway. The fosse lay before it, dry at the moment but with locks at both ends that would allow it to be flooded at a moment’s notice. A single drawbridge crossed the center of the fosse. The ramparts of the wall were heavily patrolled.

Beyond the wall was a higher wall. Beyond that was an even higher one.

“How would you press the attack?” asked Scarlet. “Each wall can be defended by the one behind it, and all of them give the archers a clear shot at the causeway.”

By sea? I suggested. He simply pointed in reply.

The harbor was enclosed by towers built on small artificial islands. A pair of walls stretched into the water, curving toward each other to form a Seagate for the inner harbor.

“At dusk, they close the inner harbor and raise heavy chains from tower to tower,” said Scarlet. “If you get close enough to a chain to try and ram it, you’ll also be close enough to catch a cauldron of Greek fire.”

“Impressive,” I said.

“When an army comes by, usually Tyre will wave a flag of truce and invite the commander in for a tour of the defenses, just so he knows what lies in store if he attacks. Most of them will see that it’s a waste of men and move on. As I said, Saladin tried the hostage approach, but he had the wrong opponent for that tactic. Oh, you had better take this.”

He handed me a document with the seal of Richard the Lionhearted on it.

“That will get a Norman captain into the city,” he said.

“But once I revert to foolery, won’t I need something else?”

“I’ll take care of that.”

We rode up the causeway, over the drawbridge, and through three sets of gates. The latter were staggered to prevent an easier line of assault, so the process took a bit of time, but finally, we emerged.

“Welcome to the play,” said Scarlet.

The layout was haphazard, as though people had tossed pebbles into the air and set up shop where they fell. Then they built, and when they needed more room, there was none around them. So, they built up, and up again. Everything was six or seven stories high, and sometimes the higher stories matched the architecture of the lower ones, and sometimes it was as if an entirely different building had been plopped down on the top of an older one. Stones had been taken from whatever structures had collapsed or been torn down before, so there wasa mixture of materials—sandstone, granite, marble, and what have you.

“It’s like a motley in rock,” I marveled. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is a place that a fool could call his natural environs, certainly,” laughed Scarlet. “I’ve only been here a few years, but I’ve grown quite fond of it. I think the height of the buildings has the same effect on normal people that normal people have on me: at first, you become dizzy and overwhelmed by the madness of your surroundings, a Tower of Babel at every step. But gradually you get used to it, and soon you take everything you see in stride. I prefer it to Jerusalem. Everything there is so sacred that you have to walk on tiptoe to avoid offending anyone, and God forbid you disturb a single stone trying to improve things. Here’s where I live. We’ll take the horses around back and you can ditch the armor in the stables for now.”

I cannot say how happy I was to be back in motley. The aches and pains of the journey dissipated with each clunk of a piece of armor falling to the floor. I stretched in every direction, then did a standing back flip, just to make sure that I still could.

“I was always grateful that no one ever expected me to do one of those,” commented Scarlet as I landed. “Another advantage to being a dwarf: one’s appearance is sometimes all that is needed.”

“Do you juggle?” I asked as I collected my gear.

“Of course,” he said. “Brother Timothy didn’t slack off on anyone at the Guild. He always said if I didn’t master juggling, he would start juggling me along with a couple of axes. He was a great one for incentive.”

“We’ll have to work on some two-man routines,” I said. “Now that I’m staying for a while.”

“Let’s go,” said Scarlet. “It’s a bit of a climb.”

It was seven flights of stairs. No, it was six flights of stairs, and just when my legs were starting to scream, we arrived at a rickety ladder on the seventh floor leading to a hole in the roof. Scarlet scampered up with no sign of weariness. I sucked in my complaints and followed him.

On the roof of this large building, he had a small one of his own, a two-room cottage that had been slapped together by an untalented mason. But it was just high enough to give us a panoramic view, the sea to the west, the plains to the east, and the coastline stretching out to either side.

“Spectacular,” I said.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “It’s not necessarily the most convenient location, but only a truly determined thief would bother with the climb. I also keep a coop for my carrier pigeons on top. And at night I can draw the ladder up for safety. But I think it’s worth it for the vista alone. I’ve spent so much of my life with my view of the world blocked that I find it truly liberates the spirit to have it all on display.”

We unloaded our gear. I put together my working kit and, with a sigh, followed my leader back down to the street.

“A question, my liege,” I said.

“Speak, minion,” he replied.

“How much does Conrad know about the Guild?”

“He knows nothing,” he said. “He’s an untrustworthy, deceitful, scheming, and occasionally vicious despot. At least, until you get to know him better.”

“Oh,” I said. “Then how did you end up running errands for him?”

“It suited my purposes,” he said. “In his eyes, I’m not only a fool but a truly talented thief.”

“Can’t understand where he got that idea,” I said, laughing. “So, am I to be your brother in larceny as well as motley?”

“As far as he is concerned, yes,” he said. “I’m also going to be using you as my eyes, ears, and much longer legs in town and in the tents.

Conrad is everything I said he is, but he’s also smart enough to know that the only way he’ll maintain control of Tyre is to make peace with Saladin. That makes him the best candidate for the throne as far as the Guild is concerned. So, I want to make sure he stays on top, no matter how much I distrust the bastard. Guy de Lusignan still has supporters here, and there are plenty of other sources of trouble. We’ll keep busy.”

“What about when my crusading patron returns?”

“We’ll worry about that when it happens.”

If it happens, was the unstated thought in both of our minds.

The castellum was back near the northern end of the innermost wall, allowing it to defend both the wall as well as the approach from the north by sea. Towers of recent construction stretched above everything, and the guards swarmed about the entrances. Yet Scarlet passed through unchallenged, greeting many of the soldiers by name and introducing me to the various captains and sergeants.

“Well?” he said as we entered through the kitchens, where an array of cooks boiled fish into stew.

I rattled off the names and descriptions of every man we had met.

“Good,” he said.

We entered the great hall and marched past a line of petitioners. At the far end, a grizzled, bearded man in his late fifties sat on the throne, scribbling with a small quill on documents as they were handed to him.

It was not the first time that I had seen Conrad of Montferrat, but it was the first time I had seen him close up and sans armor. He had made periodic appearances at Acre, mostly staying by the side of the King of France, murmuring advice and occasionally directing the distribution of supplies. In retrospect, I imagine that he had directed some of them north to Tyre. He was lean but powerfully built, a scrapper’s body with immense forearms. They said he could wield a sword proficiently with either hand, and he favored a hauberk made of many folds of linen stiffened with brine instead of a coat of mail, preferring the lighter weight and mobility.

“Not possible,” he was saying to a priest as we approached.

“But the church,” protested the priest, a walking corpse of a man whose bony hands emerged from his robes to clasp in skeletal supplication.

“The church will be a mosque inside of a year if I shift even one repair crew away from the defenses,” interrupted Conrad of Montferrat. “Put some of those fat deacons to work. It will be good for them. They can get into shape and ennoble their spirits at the same time.”

“That’s Philip, Bishop of Beauvais,” muttered Scarlet. “A righteous man in the ways of greed and ambition. I’ll tell you more about him later.”

Conrad shoved the document back into the priest’s hands, and the latter slunk away.

“Next!” shouted Conrad.

“If it please you, sir,” said Scarlet. “I wish to rule in your place.”

A broad grin split the almost-monarch’s face as he beheld the dwarf.

“Be careful what you wish for, little friend,” he chortled, stepping down. He picked up Scarlet and set him on the throne, then looked at him critically. “It suits you,” he said.

“Well, of course it does,” replied the dwarf regally. Then he looked up and gasped. “No,” he cried. “The weight of responsibility! The burdens of rulership! Aiieee!” He shoved his arms into the air as if he were Atlas trying to support the world and slowly collapsed. “Take it back, Conrad,” he said, his voice muffled. “It’s too much for me.”

Conrad threw his head back and roared.

“Come here, you scamp,” he shouted, and the little fellow jumped into his arms.

“Greetings, liege,” said Scarlet. “I return heavily laden.”

“So I hear, so I hear,” replied Conrad. “Well done. You’ve made good on your boasts, and then some. And I see you’ve brought a companion.”

“This is Droignon, a fellow fool,” said Scarlet by way of introduction.

D
roignon
? exclaimed my wife. You called yourself Droignon then? How many names have you had in your life?

So many that even I cannot remember all of them.

She looked at Portia. Forget about Theophilos, she said to our daughter. You had better stick to Mama and Papa until you’re old enough to make sense of all of this.

“
S
o
, Droignon, you’ve come to seek your fortune here?” asked Conrad.

“Mine, or someone else’s,” I said, winking at him.

He looked at Scarlet knowingly.

“I take it that this fool shares some of your talents,” he said.

“He does,” replied Scarlet. “We were quite the entertaining team in Acre, although I cannot say that we left them laughing.”

“As it turned out, the joke was on Richard,” I added.

“Then, Monsieur Droignon, I am in your debt as well,” pronounced Conrad.

“Twenty bezants,” I said.

“What?”

“’tour debt to me. Twenty bezants. That’s what I was promised for risking my neck. And there were expenses.”

Conrad looked at Scarlet, who shrugged.

“The price of leadership,” sighed Conrad, handing me some coins. I bowed.

“And I’ll be needing papers for the city,” I said. “I burned quite a few bridges behind me. If Richard finds out that we were involved, he’s likely to send someone to seek recompense, and not necessarily the monetary kind.”

“Why should he find out?” inquired Conrad. “Didn’t you conceal your identity?”

“I did,” I said. “But the captain of your patrol who met us knew what we were up to. So, I should guess, do many others around here. I’m sure that Richard will have word from his spies within the week. So, I need papers. I plan to lie low here for a while.”

Conrad snapped his fingers, and a clerk drew up the document. The marquis added his signature and seal. He held it toward me, then snatched it back as I reached for it.