A half-dozen Templars had gathered around them now and were staring at John wide-eyed. Yusuf took his arm. ‘I have finished my prayers. We should go, friend.’
‘Fresh bread!’ a vendor cried. ‘Fresh bread!’ His voice was drowned out by the ring of steel upon steel. John jumped to the side to avoid the sparks flying into the street from where a blacksmith hammered down on a red-hot sword blade. He continued down the steeply sloped street, leading Yusuf through the crowd that had gathered at the shops in the shade of the Temple Mount.
‘John!’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘Here!’
John turned to find himself confronted by a veiled woman flanked by two sergeants in mail. She wore a bulky caftan that revealed nothing of the shape underneath. A single blonde curl had escaped from her headdress. ‘It is I, Agnes.’
John bowed. ‘God grant you joy, Lady de Courtenay.’
Agnes gestured towards Yusuf. ‘And who is your friend?’
‘This is Saladin, Emir of Tell Bashir.’
‘My lady,’ Yusuf said.
‘A Saracen lord in Jerusalem … how intriguing.’
‘He is a guest of King Amalric,’ John explained.
‘The lands beyond the Jordan fascinate me,’ Agnes said. ‘You must tell me all about them, Saladin. Come. I am not allowed at court, but I keep a home in the city not far from here.’ She turned and strode through the crowd without waiting to see if they would follow. Her sergeants walked ahead of her, clearing a path.
John glanced at Yusuf, who shrugged. They followed Agnes back towards the Mount, and down a dim passageway vaulted over with stone. Past it, Agnes turned right into the narrow streets of the Syrian quarter. The people here were mostly Jacobites, who looked to the Patriarch of Antioch rather than the Pope as their authority. They spoke Arabic, and the men wore trimmed beards and skullcaps.
Agnes’s home was a nondescript building on a quiet side street. A tiled entryway opened on to an interior courtyard with a burbling fountain in the centre. ‘Wait here,’ she told them. She pointed to some stools in the shade of the western wall. ‘I will return in a moment.’
John and Yusuf sat, and a servant brought them glasses of orange juice, so sweet that it made John’s teeth ache.
Yusuf leaned close to John and whispered in Arabic. ‘What do you know of this woman?’
‘She is the former wife of King Amalric.’
‘Why did they divorce? Was she unfaithful?’
‘No. The rumour at court is that they divorced because of consanguinity. They share a great-great-grandfather.’
‘Then why were they allowed to marry?’
John shrugged.
‘Speaking of me?’ It was Agnes, who had stepped silently back into the courtyard. She had changed into a green silk caftan, loose at the arms and tight about the waist, a plunging neckline offering a provocative glimpse of shadowy cleavage. She had removed her veil and wore her long blonde hair down around her shoulders. Both John and Yusuf rose as she approached. ‘I see that you have been served refreshments,’ she said and smiled. She had the sort of smile that would make men act the fool. John glanced at Yusuf, who was staring wide-eyed, enraptured.
‘Please, sit,’ Agnes instructed and took a seat on one of the stools. As she did so, she leaned forward, and John could not help but stare down the front of her caftan. Some very unpriestly thoughts flashed through his mind, and he decided it would be best to leave soon. He remained standing while Yusuf sat beside Agnes.
‘Thank you for your courteous invitation to your home, my lady,’ John said. ‘But we must excuse ourselves. We are expected at the palace.’
She waved away his remark as if she were swatting a fly. ‘Nonsense. The King is meeting with Chancellor William. They will be busy for some time.’
‘But William is in Constantinople,’ John countered.
‘He returned this morning with important news. Now sit, John.’
John reluctantly did as she asked. He had heard nothing of William’s return, and he was the chancellor’s secretary. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I make it my business to stay informed. After all, Amalric is the father of my children. Tell me, how is the young prince?’
‘He is well.’
‘And he makes progress in his studies?’
‘He has a gift for languages, and he enjoys history and swordplay. He will make a good king.’ Agnes looked pleased, and John smiled, happy to have pleased her. But this was not what he wanted to discuss. He frowned as he realized how easily she had led the conversation away from William’s return. ‘You said that the Chancellor brings news, my lady?’
‘He does. I will tell you, but first I want to hear from you, Saladin.’ She turned to him and placed a hand on his knee. Yusuf blushed scarlet. ‘You have recently returned from Alexandria?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I understand that you were charged with defending the city?’
‘Yes. My uncle left me with a thousand men, plus volunteers amongst the Alexandrians.’
‘And how many did you face?’
‘The combined Frankish and Egyptian forces numbered well over ten thousand.’
‘You must have been frightened.’
‘No, my lady.’
‘I would have been,’ Agnes said. ‘I am sure of it.’
John was not so sure. The Lady de Courtenay seemed more than capable of looking after herself.
‘Everyone feels fear,’ Yusuf told her, ‘but a warrior learns to rise above it.’
Agnes leaned towards him, revealing another glimpse of the curve of her breasts. ‘And you are a great warrior, are you not?’ Yusuf’s eyes were locked on her bosom. John frowned. Why was she so interested in Yusuf? What could she hope to gain from him?
‘Do not pout, John,’ Agnes said. She winked conspiratorially at Yusuf. ‘He is upset because we have ignored him.’
John forced a smile. ‘I am not upset, my lady.’
‘You are a poor liar. It is an endearing quality. My former husband, Amalric, is also a poor liar.’ She paused, and her mouth tightened for just a moment. But when she spoke again, her tone was light. ‘You must grow accustomed to women ignoring you, John. You are a priest, wedded to the Holy Church. A great loss for the women of Jerusalem. You would have been quite the catch.’
John opened his mouth to reply but could find no words. He could feel his face flushing as red as Yusuf’s.
She laughed at his consternation. ‘Surely you must know that women find you attractive, John. A strong jaw, eyes as blue as the summer sky, broad shoulders. Ah, but you do look ill in your priest’s cloak. I would prefer you in mail, or in a simple caftan, like Saladin here.’ She turned her attention back to Yusuf. ‘Are you married, Emir?’
‘He is not,’ John said, hoping that she would turn her green eyes back towards him.
Agnes ignored him. All her attention was on Yusuf. ‘Ah, but you have your eye on someone, yes?’ Yusuf looked away. ‘You do! What is she like? Blonde? No, of course not; she is a Saracen. Dark hair then, and dark eyes, and golden skin like the desert sands.’ Yusuf was staring speechless at his feet. ‘Forgive me, Emir. I see that it pains you to speak of it. Let us talk of happier things. King Amalric is to be married. That is the news that William brings.’
‘Married? Are you certain?’ John thought back to his conversation with Amalric, the day they had arrived in Cairo. The king had talked of marriage. Had he known then?
‘Yes, I am sure, John. He is to marry Maria Komnena, grandniece of the Emperor Manuel.’ Agnes’s delicate nose wrinkled, as if she had smelled something disagreeable. ‘She is a sad little thing. But she brings a large dowry, and her marriage will seal the alliance between Amalric and Manuel.’