Widow of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery (8 page)

He paused, looking at each of them.

“It is easy to kill, that’s the truth of it,” he said, “hou’ve seen it all of your young lives. Some of you have seen it happen to your own families while you hid in cellars or in bushes, You can treat your enemies as animals and slaughter them in the name of whatever cause you are fighting for. And then you drown the horrors in as much wine as you can, like Brother Droignon here, because otherwise you would go mad.

“The difficult task is not killing, especially when it seems like there is no other course, that it is his life or yours. I have been on this earth as long as Droignon. I have seen as much danger and been in as many precarious predicaments, and I have managed to get myself out alive every time. And I have not killed a single person doing it. Now, I have shown you ways of fighting that allow you to disarm your opponents and render them helpless. Use them when you have to, but the best way to avoid killing someone is to make sure the fight never happens in the first place.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

“I never said it was easy,” said Scarlet. “But it can be done. Brother Droignon, switch to repertoire for a while. Teach them some new routines.”

Well, I was chagrined and shamed by it all, but he was the chief, so I took it like a fool and moved on.

Y
ou still see
them at night, don’t you? asked Claudia.

Sometimes. Much less since we’ve been together. But it’s a lot more than Jive now.

She looked out toward the mountains looming before us.

I see the ones I’ve killed, too, she said. I thought I would forget in time. But you never do, do you?

I don’t know, I said.

W
hen our tutoring
for the day had ended, we walked back through the tent city. The sun was beginning to set, and cooking fires were springing up all around us.

A pair of men stood as we passed their tent and followed us. We stopped to let them catch up. I made sure my dagger was loose in my sleeve, Scarlet or no Scarlet. I still feared the wrath of the Lionhearted.

They were Syrians as far as I could tell, the wooden crosses dangling from their necks and the woolen girdles with their belted tunics being the traditional garb of the Syrian church. Both appeared to be in their late twenties and boasted fine black beards that were trimmed about two inches below their chins. I thought at first that they might be brothers, but closer examination belied that. The first man had a broad face, his eyes set unusually far apart. One of them bulged slightly. The second one was leaner, with a large, long nose that wouldn’t have been out of place on a hawk.

“Good afternoon, friends,” said Scarlet, nodding courteously.

“Christ be with you,’’ said the first one. “We wish to ask a favor of f
t y
ou.

“Ask if you wish, but be prepared to be disappointed by the answer,” laughed Scarlet. “I am but a lowly fool.”

“They say that you are King Conrad’s dwarf,” said the second man. “Then they are wrong on two counts,” said Scarlet. “Conrad is not a king, and I am not his dwarf.”

They looked at each other in confusion.

“But do you not perform for him?” asked the first man.

“For him, for the Queen, for whoever happens to be in the room at the time,” replied Scarlet. “Also for the people in the streets, the soldiers on the walls, and the children here. Toss me a coin and I’ll sing for you right now.”

“Do you have the ear of Conrad?” persisted the first.

“When I sing, he listens,” said Scarlet. “That’s all we do. Get to the point. What is it that you seek, gentlemen?”

“We have families,” said the second man. “They are not safe in these tents. I have a daughter. She is twelve. The men are looking at her in ways that I do not like. Our wives live in fear, and we cannot be constantly protecting them. We seek work.”

“We wish to live in Tyre,” added the first. “Even the humblest hovel inside the walls is better than the most gracious tent here.”

“I sympathize,” said Scarlet. “But I do not have the power to help you. I suggest that you petition either the Marquis directly, or perhaps one of his advisors. Balian d’lbelin is a good, sympathetic man, and he frequently visits these tents.”

“Thank you,” said the first. He hesitated, then spoke again. “Would it help if we were to convert to your church? We were brought up with the Greek rites, and it seems that the Franks favor their own.”

“It matters not to me,” said Scarlet. “But you may be correct. If your safety means more to you than your religion, then by all means, convert. Good luck to you and your families. What are your names, friends?”

“I am Balthazar,” said the first man. “My friend is named Leo. We used to farm near Margat.”

“Maybe you will again someday,” said Scarlet. “Good day.”

“Is that unusual?” I asked as we walked back to Tyre.

“Not at all,” said Scarlet. “I wish I could bring everyone inside, but it’s impossible. I would have to judge who is worthy and who isn’t, and who am I to make those decisions?”

We passed through the last gate.

“I’m sorry I came down on you so hard,” he said.

“Could you kill someone if you had to?” I asked suddenly.

“I cannot think of a situation where that would be the only way,” he said.

“But what if there was?” I said. “What if—“

“What ifs don’t interest me,” he said. “I’ve already said that I am not worthy of judging who comes into the city. How could I judge who should live and who should die?”

“Sometimes they judge themselves first,” I said.

“And you become their executioner,” said Scarlet. “No offense, Theo. I prefer my way, and I have no trouble sleeping.”

“You rarely sleep,” I pointed out.

T
he month
of August passed without further incident. We continued with our classes, and the novitiates took quite well to my particular style of pratfall. I noticed as we returned one time that Balian d’lbelin was deep in conversation with Balthazar and Leo. I hoped for their families’ sakes that they would prevail. I worried about their fates if they continued outside the walls. The economy of the tent city included a lively section devoted to prostitution, I discovered.

H
ow did you discover it
?

Just by passing through it, my dove.

T
here was also
music out there. A friendly discussion about instruments led to an invitation by a pair of guitarists to join them for dinner. Scarlet had to pay attention to the Queen, so I made the journey alone. There was a clearing in the middle of a group of tents, and many precious logs were piled into a good-sized bonfire. The meagerness of the food was made up for by the after-dinner entertainment. I contributed my share of fooling, but kept it to a minimum as the main event was the music.

Here, where Greeks, Italians, Franks, and all manner of Saracens had collided and intermingled, the music had done the same. None of our sedate tunes from the same modes handed down unchanged from the ancient Greeks. The rhythms here were complex, sent galloping around the bonfire before being reined in at the last second, while men and women sang from within their throats and improvised ornamentations that I could never imitate. I gave up trying to use my lute, fell behind with the flute, and was reduced to beating on my tabor. When I did pick up the rhythms at last, I felt the music surge through me, transporting me into an ecstatic state. Women were picking up tambourines and dancing barefoot about the clearing, whirling until their skirts were almost parallel to the ground, in constant danger of catching fire.

I lost track of time, but was brought back to earth when I heard a pair of horses gallop up. It was Hugh and William Falconberg, their empty wineskins bearing witness to their revels of the evening. They watched the women with undisguised desire, then they leapt from their steeds and started capering about in crude imitation of the dancers.

The men of the tents watched them with hostility, but feared to challenge them. William grabbed one woman, a striking beauty with strange designs in henna on her face as well as her otherwise bare arms and legs, and writhed against her, pawing at her tunic. I looked to see if anyone dared to intervene, and wondered whether I should do something about it myself.

But the evening was interrupted before I could decide. There was a tumult in the distance, which grew louder and louder. From its midst, a single rider crashed through the tents, screaming at the top of his lungs, waving his sword around his head until it whistled.

“My brothers, our armies are victorious!” cried Ralph Falconberg as he reached the clearing. “Saladin has been defeated on the plains of Arsuf!”

He jumped from his horse in midgallop, the leap carrying him over the fire while the horse rampaged unguided through the tents. He was met by Hugh and William, and the three of them grappled each other, roaring into the night skies. Without letting go, they capered clumsily around the fire, sending up howls that echoed into the distant hills, while the refugees watched them warily. The brothers Falconberg danced into the night, though the music had stopped long before.

T
he news
of the victory at Arsuf reached Tyre in the middle of September, and it energized the refugees like nothing else could. Many were ready to head back to their homes in the interior without even waiting to hear whether it was safe or not. Fortunately, wiser heads prevailed, and most settled for waiting until the spring. Still, having lived for so long with the invincible procession of the Saracens, it was miraculous to learn that Saladin could actually be defeated. The stories of the battle spread and multiplied without depending on any actual basis in fact, and many purported witnesses dined out on their accounts of what happened, dwelling in particular on the heroism of King Richard.

A week after Ralph returned to Tyre, I was shaken awake by Scarlet. “Grab your gear,” he said. “Somethings up.”

I slapped my makeup on quickly and grabbed my bag and weapons. He was waiting for me outside his rooftop cottage, staring out to the east.

“Look out there,” he said, pointing to them. “Do you see that bit of scarlet cloth fluttering on a pole in the rear of the tent city?”

I squinted, shading my eyes from the midmorning sun with my hands until I saw it.

“hou have sharper eyes than mine, my master,’’ I said.

“That’s because I know where to look,” he replied. “Check that location every morning. The scarlet cloth is a signal from the novitiates that there is some emergency.”

“Lets find out what it is,” I said, and we rushed down the steps and out of the city.

Ibrahim was waiting for us by the pole, leaning against it casually. He was a promising pupil—one would never have known from his demeanor that anything was amiss. He snatched the cloth from the pole when he saw us approach, and walked away from the tents. We followed him at a distance.

The novitiates were waiting for us at the clearing where we held our classes. Instead of exercising, however, they were fanned out around the perimeter, keeping watch.

“This way,” said Ibrahim. He led us to the far end of the clearing, where a path curved into the woods. He kept to the side of the path and pointed down.

Something had been dragged along, though the dead leaves covering the ground kept the marks from being distinct enough to figure out what. About fifty paces in, the trail left the path and went right. Another ten steps brought us to a slight declivity. At the bottom of it was the body of a woman.

She was young and of Bedouin stock. At least, that was my guess. A convert, however, for she had a cross on a cord around her neck. The neck may have been a pretty one before her throat was slit.

We squatted by her and looked at the body for a while. There was no purse, no pockets with belongings or coins, nothing that told us anything about her. The blood that had drenched the shoulders of her blouse was dry to the touch. Black flies swarmed busily over it.

“Did everyone see her?” asked Scarlet quietly, as if he feared waking her.

“Yes,” said Ibrahim. “No one knew her. Magdalena thinks she saw her once recently. She may have been newly arrived.”

“Poor creature,” said Scarlet. He straightened up. “Well, it is good that you alerted me, but unfortunately I don’t think that this is any of our concern. She must have been accosted by someone who then did away with her afterward and dumped the body here.”

“That’s not what happened,” I said.

“Why do you think that?” asked Scarlet.

“As you pointed out, I have a lot more experience with killing than you do,” I said. “There are no signs that she struggled. Her nails aren’t broken, nor is there any blood under them. And the cut to the throat was done with a single, swift motion. If she had been killed during a struggle, then there would be more cuts, or more of a jagged one. It came from behind, and went left to right, so our man is right-handed and knows what he’s doing with a knife. He dragged her while she still bled, which is why the blood is mostly on her shoulders, and not down the front of her blouse.”

Scarlet looked at me, then back at the woman.

“Well, experience counts for something,” he said. “Still, it’s not our business. We’ll report it to the captain of the guard. Who found her?”

“I did,” said Ibrahim. “I was looking for mushrooms at dawn before exercises started. When I found her, I waited in the clearing for the rest of the novitiates and organized everything.”

“Well done,” I said.

“All right, send them back,” said Scarlet. “Let’s find that captain, Droignon.”

Ibrahim ran ahead, and by the time we reached the clearing, it was deserted.

“Good lad,” I said. “We should get him back to the Guildhall.”

“We should get them all there,” he said. “Or at least away from here.”

We found the captain of the squadron responsible for the safety of the refugees eating inside a large tent. He was oblivious to our entrance, looking up only when Scarlet sat next to him on the bench.

“What do you want?” the captain barked.

“There’s a dead woman,” said Scarlet. “One of the children found her in the woods with her throat slit.”

“Which child?” demanded the captain.

Scarlet shrugged.

“A small one,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly remember which. There are so many.”

The captain groaned and stood, wiping his hands on his thighs.

“Show me,” he said.

A couple of his men fell into line behind him as we led him past the tents.

“Don’t know what I’m expected to do,” said the captain as we walked. “We can’t be watching everyone at once. They’re a bad lot. Animals, most of them. We get a body turning up every week or so.”

“It must be very difficult for you,” I commented.

“You have no idea,” he said.

We took them into the woods. The soldiers drew their weapons, possibly fearing the trees. When we came to the spot, they stood around the woman, staring for a while.

“Any idea who she is?” asked Scarlet.

“Probably some whore,” said the captain. “Picked the wrong client this time, got her throat slit for her trouble.” He looked at her for a while. “Too bad. I wouldn’t have minded a romp with her myself. You two, pick her up and take her to the cemetery. I’ll roust that Greek priest to do the praying. She doesn’t look like she belonged to Rome.”

One of the soldiers threw a blanket over her, and then a second helped him pick her up and lug her away. The captain left without saying anything, leaving the two of us standing there.

“At least she’ll be buried,” commented Scarlet.

“And the man who killed her?” I asked.

“He’ll die someday,” said Scarlet.

T
he next day
, the Bishop of Beauvais returned with the news that Jaffa had been captured. Conrad called his council in. Once again, he decided to have musical accompaniment.

“What are their plans?” he demanded. “Will they go straight to Jerusalem?”

“The King wants to,” said the Bishop. “The French are less eager. They caught the brunt of the losses during this last campaign, and they would be just as happy to go back to Tyre. But I think they will be equally happy in Jaffa.”

“Why is that?” asked Conrad.

“Because when I rode from Jaffa to Tyre, I was passed by a contingent of loose women going in the other direction,” laughed the Bishop. “None of the Franks will want to trade the comforts of the coast for the dangers of the interior.”

“Jaffa,” muttered Conrad. “That’s a pilgrim’s port. The city’s worthless if the pilgrims can’t get to Jerusalem. We’ll never get a single bezant from them. What about Ascalon?”

“It’s a concern,” said the Bishop. “The scouts report that Saladin is destroying the walls. Richard is thinking of trying to take the city before they’re finished, just so he doesn’t have to rebuild them. But many of his men would rather head straight for Jerusalem.”

“If they take Jerusalem now, it could be disastrous,” commented Balian.

“Why?” asked Conrad.

“Because, according to the oaths taken by the Crusaders, once they retake Jerusalem, they are freed of their obligations to the Crusade,” said Balian.

“And they can all go home,” finished Conrad. “Leaving us stranded with Saladin and no truce. I don’t like that idea one bit.”

He stood and strode about the room while we watched.

“We need a truce,” he said. “But we need more to bargain with. Ascalon would give us most of the coast, and Saladin has virtually no navy left. The winter approaches, which means no one will be marching anywhere for a while.”

“Another season here, and Richard will be running low on money to pay the mercenaries,” commented Balian.

“He’s running low now,” said Conrad. “He sent to me for funds.”

“A man must be desperate indeed if he thinks he can get money out of you,” called out Scarlet, provoking a bark of laughter from the Marquis and knowing grins from the rest of the room.

“So, if he loses the mercenaries and the French don’t want to leave the coast, he won’t be able to control the interior,” said Hugh Falconberg.

“And he’ll want to be getting back to his own kingdom before King Philip starts moving on it,” added Ralph.

“Not to mention he left his brother Prince John in charge, and John cannot be trusted,” finished William.

“No younger brother can be trusted,” laughed Hugh, cuffing William affectionately. The youngest Falconberg gave him a goofy smile.

“Then we are agreed,” said Conrad. “We’re better off if they stay on the coast. It makes it more likely that he’ll negotiate a truce instead of trying to conquer everything.” He turned to Beauvais. “My lord Bishop, may I prevail upon you to return to your flock and give them guidance? Suggest to the King that Ascalon is the key to the coastal defenses and must be secured before any attempt is made on Jerusalem.”

“I will do so, milord,” said the Bishop.

“It occurs to me that that would put their armies even further away from us,” mused Conrad. “Perhaps we should extend our help to Acre while Richard is so engaged. Well, something to be considered. End of meeting, my friends. Let’s eat.”

Food was brought in.

“Milord, if we are done with the present business, there is a small matter I wish to bring up,” said Balian.

“There are no small matters with you,” laughed Conrad. “Speak, old friend.”

“It amounts to a request,” said Balian. “An appeal was made to my sense of Christian charity.”

“Money?” asked Conrad irritably.

“No, milord,” replied Balian. “Shelter. There were two men from the tents, Balthazar and Leo. They are concerned about the safety, indeed the very honor, of their families. They were also concerned about their souls. They wish to convert to the Roman rite, and find safety somewhere in the city.”

“It’s crowded enough,” muttered Conrad.

“Yet people come and go even now,” urged Balian. “Surely, the addition of two small families in a corner of a room somewhere would not overburden the resources of the city.”

“Everyone inside these walls works,” said Conrad. “The people outside in the tents are useless. They only sit around complaining about how things used to be, and how they are going to get back at everyone who put them there as soon as they get back on their feet.”

“Which is why they are harmless,” I said. “Revenge and indolence are an ineffective combination.”

“True enough,” agreed Conrad, a bit surprised that I spoke. But not displeased.

“If it’s a concern, milord, I’m certain that I can find them employment,” said Balian.

“Milord, let me join in your good father-in-law’s suit.”

The table collectively turned and stared at William, who had spoken up.

“Well, friend William, what have you to say about these fine fellows?” asked Conrad.

“I met them,” said William. “They seemed decent folks. And one of them has a very pretty wife.”

The table burst into laughter, the other Falconberg brothers pounding him on the back.

“No higher recommendation is needed,” roared Conrad, wiping tears from his eyes. “Very well, my friends. Let them come to Tyre, the men for the Church, and the women for the Falconbergs.”

As had happened before, all the advisors left after the meal, leaving Conrad alone with us. He motioned us to keep playing, so we did while he sagged back in his chair, idly scratching himself.

“It was good of you to let them into the city,” commented Scarlet. “Seems like they should manage to cram in somewhere,” said Conrad. “And I cannot deny Balian anything. He has done so much for me already. He’s like the father I never ransomed.”

“And William?” I asked.

“I have to throw the boys a bone every now and then,” replied Conrad. “That’s what leadership does. If I become king, my charity will know no bounds.”

“Remember the little people,” chirped Scarlet.

We left him to visit Queen Isabelle. Scarlet saw her on a daily basis, but it had been a week or so since I had had the pleasure. She was dining in a room with a large window overlooking the city. I had a feeling that she had been given rooms facing away from the tent city to shield her from any possible hint of unpleasantness.

Or,
suggested Claudia, to shield her from any possible missile in case of siege. I don’t see any problem in keeping the women on the safe side of the castellum.

“Monsieur Droignon, it is so nice to see you,” she said graciously as we entered. I bowed in reply.

“And me, milady?” asked Scarlet, looking wounded. “Isn’t it nice to see me?”

“But I saw you only this morning,” she said, smiling.

“And you had enough of me,” he sighed. “Familiarity breeds contempt. I’ve lost my charm after all these years.”

“Nonsense, my own little one,” she said. “My day is incomplete until I have seen you. Is it true that the Lionhearted has retaken Jaffa?”

“It is, milady,” he replied. “And Ascalon may be next.”

“Ascalon,” she mused. “We used to visit there when I was little. Mother would take us to the shore and let us splash in the sea. I missed the sea when we were in Jerusalem. And now that we’re in Tyre, there is almost nothing but the sea, yet I cannot bathe in it.”