Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (11 page)

“Is he that loyal to the Lionhearted?”

“No. He just realizes that Saladin is trying to play him off against Richard. So, we wait. If Conrad is recognized as the king, then Saladin will know where he has to go if he wants to end the war.”

He stretched and looked out to the east, where the sunrise was obscured by a thick bank of clouds.

“Meanwhile, the rains are coming,” he said. “The Fools’ Guild cannot stop the Crusaders. Maybe the mud will.”

“I have always suspected that we were lower than mud,” I said. “Tell me what’s been happening here,” he said.

“I’ve been looking into that woman’s death,” I said.

“Why?” he asked in surprise. “I told you that it was none of our business.”

“None of your business, perhaps, but since I have a meddlesome nature and too much free time, I thought I would poke around a bit.”

I told him what I had learned, and of Isabelles involvement.

“Let me get this straight,” said Scarlet in mounting fury. “There is a woman we know nothing about, who might be a thief, a spy, or possibly involved in the brutal murder of her own sister, and you have gotten her placed inside the castellum next to the Queen?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a bad idea,” I said.

“Unbelievable,” he said, fuming. “I leave you alone for less than a month, and this happens. Thank Christ you didn’t get the novitiates involved.”

“Actually, they were a tremendous help,” I said, and Scarlet howled into the morning air, sending the pigeons into a frantic flurry of beating wings. I heard dogs respond from around the city.

“I think the neighbors might complain now,” I said.

He sighed.

“All right, what’s done is done,” he said. “I want to check this woman out thoroughly. Not because of anything you suspect, mind you. I just want to make sure the Queen is safe.”

S
carlet reported
the results of his journey to Conrad later that morning.

“Richard was in Lydda?” Montferrat asked. “But that’s inland, isn’t it?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Could he be trying for Jerusalem before the spring?” wondered Conrad. “That would be the height of vainglory.”

“I don’t know,” said Scarlet. “They say he’s worried about the King of France being home while he’s here and unable to defend his own kingdom. He may want to try and wrap things up quickly so that he may go back.”

“He couldn’t go home without resolving the question of who is king around here,” said Conrad. “How do we stand with the Crusaders now?

“The French favor you,” said Scarlet. “Richard still wants Guy de Lusignan. The French are getting restless and homesick.”

“Maybe Richard will concede the crown to me to appease the French,” said Conrad. “Well, let’s wait and see.”

W
hen we were admitted
to the Queen’s chambers afterward, we found her in conference with the Bishop of Beauvais. She smiled at Scarlet and waved us to our usual seats. The Bishop scowled in our direction, then turned back to Isabelle.

“Will you not try, ‘’tour Highness?” he pleaded with her.

“I will try, Your Holiness,” she replied. “But you know that he rarely listens to me. You would have more success approaching him directly.”

“My Queen, he cares for you more than you think,” said the Bishop, patting her on the hand. “’You must go to him. If he delivers the funds that we need, you will find me to be a most valuable ally.”

“One would hope that you were an ally to all good Christians,” smiled the Queen.

“Some good Christians are better than others,” replied the Bishop, rising from his seat. “I take my leave of you, Your Highness.”

He bowed and swept out.

“Scarlet,” she said, holding out her arms. He stepped into her embrace, and she kissed him fondly on the top of his head.

“It is good to see you, Isabelle,” he said. “I hope that Monsieur Droignon entertained you sufficiently in my absence.”

“He did his best, but he’s no Scarlet,” she said. “An unfair comparison, I know.”

“I hear he’s brought you a new maid,” said Scarlet.

“One with a mystery,” she whispered. “A dead sister.”

“Yet she does not mourn and she does not talk,” said Scarlet. “Don’t you think that odd?”

“But she does mourn,” said Isabelle. “Twice I have come upon her when she thought she was alone and unobserved, and I discovered her weeping uncontrollably. I have sought to sound her out, to offer her sisterly comfort, but she just wipes her face and goes back to work. I think that she fears someone.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “Maybe her sister knew something and had to be silenced. Maybe Mary knows it as well. Or maybe her sister was killed as a warning to Mary.”

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” sighed Scarlet. “Well, I want to know more about her before I feel comfortable about having her inside the palace. Their sponsor was Balian?”

“At first,” I said. “But Conrad stood up for Balthazar.”

“Probably just to make a point,” muttered Scarlet. “What about before? Any connection between her and Balian?”

“Not that I can tell,” said Isabelle. “She was from near Tortosa, which is north, while Ibelin is below Jaffa.”

“There’s always -the tents,” I said. “Everyone comes together at the tents. We have some good gossips in training out there. Shall we put them on the scent?”

“You’ve gone this far, you might as well follow it further,” grumbled Scarlet. “All right. Isabelle, I want you to be careful around her.”

“You’re being silly,” said Isabelle. “I have nothing to fear from her.”

“Fear her anyway,” commanded the dwarf. “To please me, if nothing else.”

“You’re the only person who can bully me like this,” she teased him. “Don’t forget your mother,” he said.

“I am trying my best,” she said, sighing a bit.

The children took their next gossiping assignment with alacrity, but turned up no word of contact between Balian and Mary, Balthazar, or Leo prior to the night we saw them speaking together.

“Not that they couldn’t have done it unobserved,” I said to Scarlet as we supervised tumbling exercises.

“Well, I really don’t suspect Balian of being anything other than what he is,” said Scarlet. “Probably he just responded to their appeal out of the goodness of his heart. That’s the problem with these good-hearted people.”

D
ecember brought the rains
, the cold, and the news that Richard had brought the Crusaders to Ramleh, even further inland. Conrad just shook his head at the news and went on with the business of managing Tyre. But even that was to take an eventful turn.

One afternoon, the alarum was raised from the watchtowers at the harbor. A small group of ships, several of them of Arab design, had appeared on the horizon. They were bearing straight for Tyre.

Conrad was out in minutes, ordering the raising of the chains barricading the harbor. His ships were manned and in position to take the battle to the opposing fleet, and Conrad himself took the command of the leader.

Those in the city not directly involved in its defense fled to the safety of their homes and barred the doors. Scarlet and I walked through the deserted streets to the seawalls and mounted them for a better look.

The ships drew near. Suddenly, an ensign was raised on the lead ship, followed by another. The first was the colors of Montferrat, the second of Tyre. A huge, red-faced man stood at the prow and waved his sword.

“Hallo, Conrad!” he bellowed. “I’ve brought you a present!”

“Oh, no,” muttered Scarlet. “It’s Bernard du Temple. What mischief has he brought?”

Cheers erupted from the walls and the ships in the harbor, and the chain was lowered. We went down to watch. The mystery flotilla came in peacefully and anchored, and Bernard jumped on the wharf to be met by Conrad in a bear hug.

“You bastard,” roared Conrad. “What do you mean by scaring us like that?”

“Your pardon, milord,” said Bernard, kneeling in mock humility. “Look in the holds. Enough provisions to keep you going for months, and goods and spices to trade for more! Five ships have I captured on your behalf.”

“What about the crews?” asked Conrad.

“Alas, they could not swim this far,” said Bernard.

Conrad looked at him.

“How many?” he asked quietly.

“Altogether?” laughed Bernard. “Maybe two hundred. I’d say God have mercy upon their souls, but they were infidels, weren’t they?”

“Then God have mercy upon yours,” said Conrad. “Well, what’s done is done. We’ll sort things out and give you your share. Come, Bernard.”

They left, and Conrad’s men began unloading the ships.

“Makes our little act of larceny petty in comparison,” I said as we walked up to examine the ships.

“We didn’t kill anyone,” said Scarlet somberly. He looked at the prow of the first boat and read the Arabic lettering. “Damn, damn, and damn.”

“What is it?” I asked.

He looked at me bleakly.

“He could have unloaded the ships and sunk them quietly in the middle of the night. But no, he had to come parading them in where everyone could see what they had done.”

“What are you talking about?”

“These aren’t just any Saracen ships,” he said. “These belonged to Sinan.”

“Who is he?”

“The Old Man of the Mountain,” he replied. “The chief of the Cult of the Assassins. That’s one person you don’t want to be stealing from.”

T
hey never made
it to Jerusalem. They sat at Ramleh for six weeks while the weather grew ever worse. Saladin’s raiders harassed the perimeter and carried off the herds of cattle that had been driven along with the army. Soon, the winter became so miserable that Saladin withdrew his raiders and sent half his army home, choosing to let the sleet and hail accomplish his work instead.

With the Crusaders growing more miserable and restless day by day, Richard finally made the decision to forge ahead to the Holy City. They slogged through the miles of mud and winds so fierce that all of the soldiers” energy was funneled into the normally simple act of setting up tent poles every night. They came within twelve miles of Jerusalem to learn that an Egyptian army had arrived before them to reinforce Saladin. The Templars and the Hospitalers scouted the muddy plains and informed Richard that if he attempted the city walls, his men would be caught with no footing between two armies, and even if they were fortunate enough to prove victorious, they could not hold the city against further attack, isolated as it was.

They sat for five days as the wet got into the provisions and destroyed them and the fever and chills made martyrs out of men and horses, then they gave up and returned to Ramleh.

I have often thought that if they had waited for spring, for good weather and good footing, and seen the Holy City illuminated by the unclouded sun, then things would have been different. But patience and religious fervor rarely go together.

“Richard will have to make peace with Saladin now,” said Scarlet when we heard the news. “His men will be deserting by the day.”

“He really did pick the worst possible time to go inland,” I said. “I wonder if Blondel and Ambroise helped that decision along.”

“They’ll take credit for it even if they didn’t,” said Scarlet. “But this will be the most dangerous time for both sides, what with a frustrated army and no truce yet.”

Tyre, being on the coast, did not suffer as much from the weather. The city and the tents made it through the Christmas holidays with a semblance of good cheer, especially when Scarlet and I led the novitiates through their first ever Feast of Fools. Peter, the boy who boasted of his sneakery, was selected as the Bishop of Fools, and rode an ass through the tents as we danced and tumbled about, with every musician we could find recruited to provide the appropriate raucous ruckus.

The one sour note was sounded by Sinan, to the surprise of no one once the provenance of the pirated vessels became generally known. One morning in December, the sun rose to reveal a grand pavilion erected in the middle of the tent city, its gay colors making the weatherworn tents surrounding it even more drab in comparison. No one had seen it set up. No one had even seen it brought in, yet there it stood, proudly flying the colors of the Assassins.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” sighed Scarlet when we saw it from his rooftop. “Let’s go watch the fun.”

We assembled in the great hall to await the envoys. Conrad was deep in consultation with Balian, the Falconberg brothers were practically wrestling each other for seats close to the Marquis, and assorted nobles, servants, and soldiers muddled about, trying to look useful. I spotted Balthazar with some of the other messengers, watching the whole thing with awe. At the last second, the Bishop of Beauvais dashed in, blessing the assemblage as he darted by to take his seat at Conrads left.

Scarlet and I set up in our usual corner and began playing softly. Conrad and Balian glanced briefly in our direction, then went back to their discussion.

“I wonder what he’ll do,” I whispered.

“”What can he do?” replied Scarlet. “The deed has been done by one loyal to him, and he will suffer the consequences whether or not it was done at his behest.”

A captain appeared at the entrance to the hall. Conrad waved him forward impatiently.

“They are at the gate, milord,” said the captain. “What is your desire?”

“Bring them in with full honors,” commanded Conrad.

“Yes, milord,” said the captain. “Shall we search them for weapons?”

Conrad stepped down from his seat and shoved the captain so hard that he lost his balance and hit the ground.

“How dare you?” thundered the Marquis. “Do you think that I fear these men?”

“No, milord,” protested the captain. “I just thought that for your safety…”

“They will be treated with all courtesy, do you understand?” said Conrad. “Not a hint of distrust, even if you have to throttle yourself to keep from speaking. Bring them here directly.”

“Yes, milord,” said the captain, scrambling to his feet and racing out of the room.

Conrad turned to face the rest of the room.

“The first man to show any sign of fear will be stripped of his arms and turned out into the tents,” he said. “That applies to me as well. These people can smell weakness all the way from the top of their accursed mountain. Make them know that we are their match.”

He scanned the faces of his men, then nodded, satisfied. He took his seat and waited.

The envoys were admitted. There were three of them, each somewhere in his thirties, boasting neatly trimmed beards and well-muscled forearms poking through their sleeves. In a display of bravado equal to that of the Marquis, they were unarmed, at least to the naked eye. Who knew what weapons were concealed beneath their flowing robes? Or if they needed weapons at all?

The leader stepped forward and nodded briefly, causing a brief murmur of anger from the knights in the room which was quelled by a sharp glance from Balian.

“Conrad of Montferrat, I bring you greetings from our lord Rashid ad-Din Sinan,” said the envoy in fluent langue d’oc. “Peace be unto you from him, and from us.”

“Peace be unto him, and to you,” replied Conrad.

“Praised be Our Lord, Jesus Christ,” added the Bishop, making the Sign of the Cross.

“How does your noble master?” asked Conrad.

“He grieves,” said the envoy. “He sits in our castle at al-Kahf and mourns the loss of so many brave men who now lie unavenged on the sea’s floor.”

“Doesn’t beat around the bush much, does he?” I whispered to Scarlet.

“Wonder what Conrad will say,” said Scarlet.

But Conrad said nothing. He merely leaned back in his chair and waited, his hands folded on his stomach.

The envoys stood in silence as well, watching his face.

“Well?” said the leader after several minutes.

“Well what?” asked Conrad. “I am sorry that he mourns. Is there anything else?”

The envoys looked at him, puzzled.

“Are you not going to offer reparations?” asked the leader.

“No,” said Conrad. “Why should I?”

“There has been peace between our two peoples,” said the envoy. “Lord Sinan wishes it to continue, but he cannot let this go by.”

“I know very well that he is too great a man to let a simple payment of gold appease his honor,” said Conrad. “I will not insult him in that fashion. If he insists upon war to avenge the loss of his ships and men, then we are prepared. He knows where Tyre is. Let him come to us if that is his desire.”

The envoys conferred briefly, then turned back.

“If that is your answer, so be it,” said the leader. “Peace be unto you from him, and from us.”

“Our blessing and thanks for your pains,” said Conrad. “May you have a safe journey home.”

They nodded and left.

Conrad signaled to Balthazar, who stepped forward and knelt before him.

“You know the territory near al-Kahfl” said Conrad.

“Aye, milord,” said Balthazar.

“Good. Follow them,” commanded Conrad. “See who they speak with so that we may know who they are sending to Tyre. William?”

“Yes, Conrad,” replied William Falconberg.

“Go with him. Anyone who speaks to them and heads in our direction, you are to waylay and kill.”

“With pleasure, Conrad,” said William, grinning wolfishly, and he and Balthazar left.

“
S
omething bothers me about this
,” I said to Scarlet as we walked to the clearing later.

“What is it?” inquired Scarlet.

“Al-Kahf is maybe a week’s ride from here. Those envoys got here too quickly if the news traveled just as normal gossip. They must have spies already in Tyre or the tents.”

“Very likely,” said Scarlet.

“And I was thinking about that dead woman,” I continued.

“Her again?”

“The way her throat was slit—that deadly efficiency could have been the work of an Assassin.”

“But why her?”

“Maybe because she recognized him for what he was.”

We reached the clearing while he thought. The novitiates were running through several different foolish arts simultaneously, somehow managing not to collide with each other or bonk their colleagues on the heads with juggling clubs. Sara was up on the tree limb, begging one of the boys to serenade her. He ignored her.

Scarlet clapped his hands, and they quickly assembled, looking eager and ready to do anything. He looked at me, then turned back to them.

“We may have an Assassin somewhere in the tents,” he said. “Maybe more than one. These are people of the Isma’ilite sect of the Saracen religion. They are fiercely loyal to their lord and quite happy to become martyrs for their faith. They are based in the Nosairi mountains, so if there is one here, he is likely to be in the guise of a Syrian Christian or a Frank from north of here.”

“Will it definitely be a man?” asked Peter.

“The Guild has no record of any woman ever fulfilling a mission for the Assassins,” said Scarlet. “That doesn’t mean it’s impossible, but I think it unlikely.”

“What about a man disguised as a woman?” asked Ibrahim.

“I am not sure what the point would be, but that’s possible,” said Scarlet. “I understand friend Droignon has preached the values of gossip. Go ahead, but be circumspect. If there is an Assassin here, he will not hesitate to kill any one of you, even the children, and none of you is ready to take on one of them yet. hou come straight to Droignon or me. We’ll be checking for the signal several times each day.”

We sat and watched while they did their stretches and tumbles, occasionally calling out a suggestion.

“What did you think of Conrad’s strategy today?” I asked.

“He put up a strong front,” said Scarlet. “I might have counseled some reparations, but he also has to keep the respect of the men here. The fault was in making Tyre a place that his thieving friends could think a haven.”

“fou mean thieves like us?”

“Well, I did that more to hamstring Richard than to help Tyre,” said Scarlet. “I didn’t think that I was setting an example for anyone. Conrad had those companions long before he came here. They all think he’s stealing a kingdom now, and they are just along for the pickings. If Bernard du Temple had merely taken the crews as hostages, things probably could have been worked out peaceably. If, if, if. It was a done deed when he sailed into the harbor. We will just have to wait this one out.”

“Would it help if we sought out the Assassins ourselves?”

He shuddered.

“The Guild has tried to place someone there a couple of times,” he said. “They never came back.”

“Maybe William and Balthazar will have some luck,” I said. “Why do you suppose he chose William for this assignment?”

“I should think it would be obvious,” said Scarlet. “First, because William excels at the sneaky and underhanded, which makes him just the person to intercept an Assassin.”

“And second?”

“So that Balthazar won’t have to worry about William going after his wife while he’s away.”

T
he novitiates turned
up several potential candidates in the tents. Scarlet and I spent several days investigating them, but ended up ruling each one out for one reason or another.

One morning, while we were visiting Isabelle, she beckoned us to her window and leaned forward to whisper.

“I was talking to Mary yesterday about the rumors going around about the Assassins,” she said. “I said that they would probably be living in the tents if they were here at all. She laughed and said, “There’s no one in the tents who could harm us. Not anymore.” Then she shut up and would not speak further on it. What do you think about that?”

“I think that you should drop her from your service at once,” said Scarlet. “I have a feeling she’s dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Isabelle. “She’s frightened of mice. How could she be dangerous?”

“Please, Isabelle,” said Scarlet.

“And if I get rid of her, then I’ll never find out what her story is,” continued the Queen, ignoring him. “Frankly, I want to satisfy my curiosity more than anything else. It’s not as if I have anything else to do besides get huger by the month.”

“You’re not even showing yet,” scoffed Scarlet. “All that’s happened is that you’ve become even more beautiful.”

“That’s excessively flattering even for you,” said Isabelle, smiling nonetheless.