Holy War (17 page)

‘I see.’ Raymond drew his sword and a dozen other blades hissed from the scabbard as Sibylla’s men also drew. Sibylla had not moved. Her eyes were locked with Raymond’s. After a moment, he knelt and laid his sword at her feet. ‘My sword and the arm that wields it are yours, my queen. I will serve you.’

All eyes turned to John. His heart was pounding and his palm itched for the feel of his mace. He wanted to fight, but that would only get him killed. He dropped to one knee. ‘As will I.’

‘Good.’ Sibylla’s features softened. She smiled, and for a moment, John saw her mother in her. The thought both encouraged and frightened him. ‘Now come. We have a coronation to plan.’

September 1186: Jerusalem

John sat in his stall in the choir of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and watched as Heraclius held the crown of the kingdom over Sibylla’s head. The patriarch was dressed in spectacular white robes that glittered with gold and jewels. A jewel-encrusted mitre sat atop his head. John could smell his heavy perfume from a dozen feet away. In contrast, Sibylla’s royal robes of red silk seemed plain. She stood straight-backed looking out on the audience of nobles and great merchants. Her long auburn hair had been plaited to form a wreath around her head, where the gold crown would sit.

‘
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti
,’ Heraclius declared in nasal tones that echoed off the limestone walls and vaulted ceiling. ‘I pronounce you Sibylla, first of her name, Queen of Jerusalem.’ He lowered the crown on to her brow. John knelt in his stall, and the canons followed his example. The crowd beyond the colonnade that separated off the sanctuary had also knelt. John spotted Guy in the front ranks. He was dressed like Sibylla in robes of red silk and wore a smug smile on his face. Sibylla had made Heraclius annul their marriage, as promised, but Guy had been allowed to keep his lands in Ascalon and Jaffa. Reynald was beside him, while only a few feet further along the colonnade Raymond knelt. The Count of Tripoli’s brow was furrowed and his mouth stretched in a thin line. He had worn the same pained expression ever since he had sworn fealty to Sibylla.

The sound of booted feet on the marble floor brought John’s attention back to the sanctuary. Balian, the royal chamberlain, strode to the edge of the sanctuary and raised his voice. ‘Long live the Queen!’

‘Long live the Queen!’ the crowd echoed, and John with them. It was the third monarch he had seen crowned. The elder Baldwin had reigned only eleven years. His nephew had sat on the throne for scarcely more than a year. John wondered how long Sibylla’s rule would last.

The queen strode forward to stand beside Balian. Heraclius followed. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘Her Highness wishes to address her people.’

John tensed. This was unusual. Customarily, the patriarch would now pray over the new monarch and deliver a sermon urging her to rule righteously. Those in the crowd who had started to leave early for the coronation feast stopped and turned back towards the sanctuary.

‘My people!’ Sibylla began. ‘By the grace of God, I have been crowned. I did not seek the throne, but God called me, and I am not one to turn aside from my duty.’ There were sniggers amongst the people. Sibylla glared at them and continued. ‘Now, I am your queen, and I must choose the man who shall rule beside me, who will offer his wisdom in council and his steel to defend our kingdom.’

Sibylla paused to allow the suspense to build. There were murmurs in the crowd. No doubt they were as surprised as John. He had thought Sibylla would take her time, maybe choosing a French or English husband who could bring desperately needed money and men to the Kingdom. John noticed some of the single barons in the crowd leaning forward in anticipation, hoping she might choose them.

‘I choose –’ a smile played at the corner of the Queen’s mouth
– ‘the lord of Ascalon and Jaffa!’

‘No,’ John murmured under his breath. There were gasps in the crowd.

‘Rise, Guy of Lusignan!’ Sibylla continued as if oblivious to the consternation she had caused. ‘Join me.’

A broad smile on his face, Guy stood and strode through the colonnade that separated the crowd from the altar and the choir. There were scattered cries from the barons of ‘No!’ and ‘This cannot be!’ Guy stopped before Sibylla, and she signalled brusquely to Heraclius. The patriarch brought forth a second crown. Sibylla took it and held it over Guy’s head.

‘Stop!’ Raymond shouted. He stepped forward and gripped one of the thin, ornate columns of the colonnade. ‘You cannot, Sibylla! You swore an oath!’

‘I swore to divorce my husband, and I did. I did not swear not to remarry him.’ She lowered the crown on to Guy’s brow. ‘Guy of Lusignan, I pronounce you King of Jerusalem!’

Raymond’s face had gone purple with rage. He started towards Sibylla, but two of his liegemen held him back. ‘This will not stand!’ he shouted before turning and storming from the church. John took careful note of those who followed: Balian of Ibelin, Reginald of Sidon and, after a moment’s hesitation, Humphrey of Toron. If John were to undo Sibylla’s scheme, he would need those men. He rose and headed for the night stair at the back of the sanctuary.

‘Archdeacon!’ the precentor hissed. ‘The service is not yet complete.’

John did not stop. He had more important business to attend to.

The cross hanging from John’s neck glinted in the light shed by the crescent moon as he waited outside the gate of the Abbey of Mount Sion. John had one hand on the cross; in the other he held his mace. It was just past midnight. From inside the abbey, he could hear the brothers chanting nocturnes.

A form emerged from the darkness – a man in a black cloak with a hood over his head. He was framed by two soldiers in mail. John’s grip on the mace tightened. ‘Who goes there?’ he asked, speaking as loudly as he dared.

‘It is I.’ The voice belonged to Raymond.

‘Were you seen leaving the palace?’

‘I think not.’

‘Good.’ John rapped softly at the gate – two knocks, then another, then three more. The gate opened a crack. ‘The Queen is in Nablus,’ John whispered, and Aestan pulled the gate open. The sergeant wore mail and had a sword in his hand. ‘Aestan will show you to the crypt,’ John told Raymond. ‘Your men can wait in the courtyard. The others will join you soon, God willing.’

Balian came next. He greeted John with a smile and slipped through the gate. Then came Reginald. ‘I am too old for this skulking about,’ he grumbled in greeting. The few hairs Agnes’s former husband had left had greyed long ago.

‘I am glad you came,’ John told him.

‘
Hmph
. Is Humphrey here?’

‘He will arrive soon.’

‘I pray he does, or you are risking our necks for nothing.’ Reginald went inside, leaving John to wait.

The brothers finished chanting nocturnes, and still Humphrey did not come. John began to pace. Finally, he heard footsteps. A lone figure strode towards the gate. He stepped into a pool of moonlight, which illuminated fleshy cheeks and a weak chin. Humphrey. He looked more a prosperous merchant than a king, yet all their hopes rested on him.

‘Thank God you have come,’ John greeted him.

‘John, I must—’

‘Best to talk inside.’

Once they were inside the gate, John turned to Aestan. ‘Keep a careful watch. No one is to enter. No one.’

‘Yes, domne.’

John led Humphrey across the courtyard and into the church. Dark shadows shifted in the flickering light shed by a candle on the altar. John took the candle and led them down narrow steps beneath the apse. At the bottom, they found themselves in a tunnel cut into the rock on which the church was built. John moved forward, stooping to avoid bumping his head. A door appeared after a few feet. The man guarding it nodded to John and pulled it open. John and Humphrey stepped into the church’s crypt. It was a small room with burial niches cut into the walls. Half of them were occupied with stone sarcophagi holding the remains of former abbots. One day, John would be buried with them.

But tonight his business was with the living. Raymond, Balian and Reginald waited around a stone table. As the guard shut the door, all eyes turned to John. He had summoned them. It was for him to speak first. He took a deep breath.

‘Thank you all for coming. You know why I have asked you here. We agreed to make Sibylla queen on the condition that Guy would not take the throne beside her. She has betrayed her promise to us. We cannot allow this outrage to stand. The Kingdom is in greater danger than ever before, and Guy is not the man to defend it from Saladin.’

Everyone but Humphrey nodded. ‘Fit or not, Guy has been crowned,’ he said.

‘An empty gesture,’ John replied. ‘Until he remarries Sibylla, he is no king. We must not let that marriage happen.’

Reginald rubbed his bald head. ‘She is queen now. That ceremony was valid enough. And we promised she could pick her husband. I do not like it any more than you, John, but if we move against her, we are committing treason.’

‘No,’ Raymond said. ‘We are protecting the Kingdom. John is right; Guy is no leader of men. He changes his mind each time the wind blows. If we allow him to remain on the throne, then we betray our oaths to defend the people.’

Reginald looked from Raymond to John. ‘What would you have us do? Rebel? We dare not. Saladin controls Mosul now.’

‘All the more reason to act now,’ John countered swiftly. ‘Saladin is coming for Jerusalem. Do you want Guy in command when he arrives?’

‘The truce still has two years to run,’ Humphrey noted.

‘When Guy was regent, he did not rule two months before he set Reynald to violate our treaty with Saladin. Do you want to risk it happening again?’

‘What is our alternative?’ Balian spoke now. ‘Raymond as regent again?’

Raymond shook his head. ‘I have no wish to rule, nor do I have a claim.’

‘Humphrey does.’ John turned to the young man. ‘You are married to Sibylla’s sister Isabella. Your forefathers have served the Kingdom faithfully since the beginning. It should be you on the throne.’

John’s pronouncement was met with silence. He stepped back from the table. He has said his part. Now it was up to them.

Reginald rubbed his head again. He turned to Humphrey. ‘I knew your grandfather, the constable Humphrey. He was a great warrior and an honest man. If you are half the man he was, then you will be a worthy king. If you make a bid for the throne, I will support you, Humphrey.’

‘As would I,’ Balian echoed. Raymond nodded his assent. All eyes turned to Humphrey.

‘I – I do not know,’ he ventured. ‘It is Sibylla who has been crowned, not Isabella.’

‘And what sort of queen will Sibylla be?’ Raymond demanded. ‘She has stripped your ancestral lands from you and given them to Joscelin. Will you allow her to disgrace your family?’

‘I was compensated for Toron.’

Reginald snorted. ‘With gold. Is your honour for sale, then?’

Humphrey bristled. ‘Do not speak to me of honour, old man.
Reynald is my father-in-law, and he supports the Queen. Would you have me turn against my own kin? Is that the honour of which you speak?’

‘And what of your wife, my stepdaughter?’ Balian asked. ‘She is your kin, too. Would you deny her the throne that is rightfully hers?’

Humphrey said nothing. He began to fidget with the clasp of his cloak.

‘Speak, man!’ Reginald urged.

‘I tried to tell you earlier, John. I – I cannot. Sibylla and Guy have been crowned before the eyes of man and God. It is not for me to undo what God has done.’ He took a candle from the table and left the room. John could hear his footsteps echoing on the steps up from the crypt.

Reginald cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps it is for the best. The boy is not his grandfather. He has no backbone.’ Reginald raised the hood of his cloak. ‘I am off to bed, sirs. I must rise early tomorrow to lick Guy’s royal arse.’

‘Reginald speaks true,’ Balian said. ‘We must all make peace with the King.’ He followed Reginald out.

Raymond placed a hand on John’s shoulder. ‘You tried, John.’

‘I failed. What will you do?’

‘I will not swear loyalty to Guy, no matter what threats he levels.’

‘There will be more than just threats. He will come for you.’

‘My castle at Tiberias is strong.’

‘Not strong enough to hold against the army of the Kingdom. You need allies.’ John took a deep breath, for what he was about to say was treason. Yet he saw no other way. ‘Saladin would support you.’

Raymond looked as if he had been slapped. ‘No, John. I will not betray the Kingdom.’

‘Nor would I ask you to. Ally with Saladin to protect your lands, nothing more.’

Raymond rubbed his beard. ‘I will think on it. What of you, John?’

‘There is no future for me in Jerusalem. Sibylla wishes me dead. She has made no secret of that. I will come with you, if you will have me.’

‘You are always welcome in my hall.’ Raymond forced a smile. ‘Perhaps fortune will smile on us yet. As Humphrey said, the truce with Saladin still has two years to run. Much can happen in two years.’

C
hapter 9

January 1187: Damascus