‘And what of Nur ad-Din? The rumour in the streets has it that he is marching on Egypt, and he means to have your head.’
‘If he wants me dead, then so be it. I merit death for what I have done.’
Ibn Jumay’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘You taught me that there are more important things than power, than life even. If I die, Nur ad-Din will unify Egypt and Syria. The Franks will be forced to make peace, and if they do not, he will defeat them and drive them from Jerusalem. If I fight, then I will bring nothing but suffering to my own people. Peace will be impossible.’ Yusuf took a deep breath. ‘I will present myself to Nur ad-Din and submit to his judgement.
‘He will have you killed.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘I fear I will not have need of your services for long. What do you say, old friend? Will you stand by me in my last days?’
Ibn Jumay bowed. ‘It would be my honour.’
Chapter 15
MARCH 1174: JERUSALEM
John pulled his cloak tight about him as he stepped into the chill air atop one of the towers of the palace of Jerusalem. Winter had passed but the mornings were still cold. John could see the breath of Cephas — a stooped Syrian Christian with a curly grey beard — as he pottered about the cages of the royal dovecote. He had explained to John that the pigeons could cover more than five hundred miles in a single day and find their way home from as far off as Constantinople.
‘Twelve today,’ Cephas said as handed John a box filled with capsules, each of which John knew held a tiny scroll of paper.
‘Thank you, Cephas.’ John carried the box to the palace chancellery. Baldwin was already seated at the table. Ever since John had returned from Kerak last July, Baldwin had been helping him sift through the correspondence that came to the palace. William felt that it was a good way for him to learn statecraft. John handed him six of the capsules and then sat on the opposite side of the table and unrolled a scroll. He squinted as he read the minuscule Arabic script.
It was a detailed report from one of the Kingdom’s spies in Damascus. The spy provided the exact number of pack animals the army had gathered; the most accurate predictor of the size of an army. ‘Nur ad-Din has raised an army of ten thousand,’ John said to Baldwin.
Baldwin looked up from the report he was reading. The young prince’s disease had advanced. He now had small red lesions on his forehead, and his eyelashes and eyebrows had fallen out, giving him a strange appearance. Other than that, he looked like a thinner version of his blond, square-jawed father. ‘Such a force could threaten Jerusalem,’ the prince noted.
‘Jerusalem is not its target. Our source says that Nur ad-Din is headed for Egypt.’
Baldwin frowned. ‘That is odd.’ The prince held up a scroll. ‘I have a report from Cairo here. The Egyptians are making no preparations for war. Indeed, Saladin has recently sent five thousand of his best men out of the country.’ He glanced at the parchment he had been reading. ‘They appear to be headed to Yemen under the command of his brother, Turan.’
It was John’s turn to frown. He took the paper from Baldwin’s hand. The prince had not misread it. ‘Why would Saladin do such a thing?’
‘It is disappointing indeed. My father had hoped that the war between Nur ad-Din and Saladin would be long and bloody. While they battled both Egypt and Syria would have been ours for the taking.’ The prince bit at his thumbnail while he thought. ‘Perhaps we can still take Damascus while Nur ad-Din is on campaign in Egypt.’ He made a note on one of the papers before him and then cursed as he mishandled the quill and a blob of ink marred the page. The numbness in his hands made writing difficult. In anger, he snapped the quill in two. John handed him another, but the prince waved it away. ‘It is not the quill that troubles me,’ he said peevishly. ‘I cannot concentrate today.’
‘Why?’ John asked, although he could guess the reason well enough.
‘She is here.’
John did not need to ask who ‘she’ was. Baldwin’s mother, Agnes de Courtenay, had arrived in Jerusalem the previous day. It was her first visit to the city since John’s return from Egypt.
‘I wish to see her,’ Baldwin said.
John shook his head. ‘Your father would not approve.’
‘That did not stop you before.’
‘You were a child then, and disobedience in a child is easily forgiven. You are thirteen now, Baldwin. I can no longer allow you to flout your father’s commands.’ That was only part of the truth. He had departed Jerusalem without a word to Agnes, and she was not the sort of woman to suffer such a slight lightly.
Baldwin rose. ‘I am a prince, John. I do not need your permission.’
John watched the prince leave and then turned back to the report he had been reading. The curving Arabic letters swam before his eyes. He could not help but think of Agnes, of her green eyes and her high musical laugh. While in Egypt, he had missed her more than he cared to admit. He rose and hurried after Baldwin, catching up with the prince as he exited the palace grounds.
Baldwin grinned. ‘I knew you would want to see her.’
‘It is my duty to look after you, my lord.’
Baldwin continued grinning, but said nothing. They walked in companionable silence to the Syrian quarter. The door to Agnes’s home opened before John even knocked. The same sallow, thin manservant stood in the doorway. He bowed when he saw Baldwin. ‘My lord.’ He nodded to John. ‘Father.’
The servant led them through the tiled entryway and into the courtyard. Agnes met them there. She was nearly forty now, but she had lost none of her beauty. Her tight-fitting blue silk caftan displayed her slim figure to advantage, and the golden hair that fell down below her shoulders showed not a trace of grey.
‘My son!’ she cried as she embraced Baldwin. Then she held him at arm’s length. ‘You are so tall! Like your father. And John!’
Agnes approached as if to embrace him, but John bowed and kissed her hand. ‘My lady.’
The corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that John knew meant she was amused. ‘So good to see you again, Father,’ she said. ‘You must tell me all about your adventures in Egypt.’
‘There is little to tell, my lady.’
‘I am sure that is not true.’ Agnes went back to Baldwin and put her arm around him. ‘You are a man now, my son.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘And strong. You must be a fierce warrior.’
Baldwin blushed. ‘I am adequate.’
‘I am sure you are more than that.’
‘My hands-’
Agnes pressed her lips together in a thin line. ‘I’ll hear none of that. The battlefield is no place for excuses.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
She smiled, all good cheer again. ‘Perhaps you can show me later. I have kept your practice swords. Now come inside. I wish to hear of your studies, your training, and-’ she winked ‘-your loves.’
Baldwin flushed scarlet. ‘Mother!’
‘Ah, I see that you do have something to tell.’
John followed them inside and sat quietly while Agnes talked with her son, plying him with questions, flattering him, offering advice. The boy had not seen her in three years, yet he fell under her spell immediately. She had that power over men. Her attention was like the sun, and they longed to bask in its warmth.
Finally, Agnes sent Baldwin away to retrieve the wooden practice swords and turned her green eyes on John. ‘You have been very quiet, John.’
‘I have little to say, my lady.’
She pouted playfully. ‘You could say that you have missed me, that you are overjoyed to see me again.’
‘I have, and I am.’
‘You do not look it. You look as if you are frightened of me.’
‘I am that, too.’
She gently touched his arm. ‘There is no need to be frightened.’
John could feel the hairs on his arm stand up as she ran her fingers lightly from his elbow to his hand. ‘What brings you to Jerusalem, my lady?’