Kingdom (45 page)

‘
Strewth
!’ Heraclius spluttered as he started awake. He looked about at the bare-walled room, then to John. ‘John? Where am I?’ He tried to rise, only to find that he was tied down. ‘Release me at once!’

John turned his back on Heraclius and went to the chest. He rooted about inside, pulling out a series of horrifying torture implements – knotted whips, spikes, hooks – before tossing them back in the chest.

‘Do you hear me?’ Heraclius screamed. ‘Release me!
Guards
!
Guards
!
Help
!’

‘No one will hear you,’ John told him. ‘They are all at Mass.’ He found what he was looking for: a pear of anguish. He took the device out and turned to face Heraclius.

The archbishop blanched. ‘What are you doing?’ There was panic in his voice. ‘If you dare touch me, I’ll have you burned. Release me at once. Release me!’

‘I have a few questions first.’

‘Who are you to question me?’ Heraclius demanded, but his voice shook. ‘I am an archbishop. I answer only to the Patriarch and to God.’

John brought the pear closer. He had taken the wicked device from the palace dungeon. It was the same one the priest had once used on him. ‘You will answer to me, Heraclius. I am sure of it. If you answer truthfully, you shall go free. If not—’ John twisted the wing nut on top of the pear so that it expanded slightly. ‘Did you kill King Amalric?’

‘That is preposterous!’

‘Reynald told me that he killed the poison dealer Jalal at your bidding. The poison Jalal prepared was used to murder Amalric. The King was not dead a year before you were made archbishop of Caesarea.’ John leaned close, so that his face was only inches from Heraclius’s. ‘It all points to you as the murderer.’

‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

‘Wrong answer.’

John grabbed Heraclius’s chin and tried to force his mouth open, but the archbishop clenched his jaw shut. John pinched his nose closed. Heraclius’s face shaded red, and finally he opened his mouth to breath. John tried to shove the pear inside, but failed as Heraclius jerked his head to the side. John dropped the pear and drew his dagger. He held it close to Heraclius’s face. The archbishop went still.

‘If you continue to struggle, I will have your nose, Heraclius. And if you do not answer true, you will suffer the pear of anguish. If you will not take it in your mouth, then there are other places I can introduce it. Do you understand?’

Heraclius nodded. He was wide-eyed with fear.

‘Good. We shall begin again. Did you kill Amalric?’

‘No.’

John pressed the flat of his dagger against the side of Heraclius’s nose. ‘I told you the price of lying, Heraclius.’

‘No! Please! I speak the truth!’

‘You had Reynald kill the poison merchant. Why?’

‘Because—’ Heraclius swallowed. ‘Because I purchased the poison. But I did not use it! I swear it!’

‘Who did? Who did you give it to?’

‘Agnes.’

John stepped back as if he had been struck. Agnes. She had lied to him. John felt the blood begin to pound in his temples. He stepped back and sheathed his dagger. He placed the pear of anguish back in the small trunk, which he shut and placed under his arm. He went to the door.

‘Wait!’ Heraclius screamed. ‘You said you would free me.’

‘Mass will be over soon. If you yell loudly enough, I am sure one of the canons will find you before the day is through.’

John deposited the trunk in his cell and went straight to the palace. Once Heraclius was found, there would be a price to pay. He had to speak with the king first. The guards posted at the door to the king’s apartments barred his way. ‘The King is occupied.’

John pulled an old scrap of paper from his pocket. It was a list of things William had asked him to purchase at market last week. ‘I have important news from our spies in Damascus,’ he lied. ‘I must see the King.’

The guards made a show of examining the scrap of paper, but John knew that neither of them could read. After a moment they waved him inside. The curtains were drawn, and the king’s receiving room was dim but for the light cast by a low fire in the hearth. John closed the door quietly and stopped in the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust. The king sat in a chair close to the fire. His malady left him cold, even in the heat of summer. Agnes sat across from him, her back to the door. Baldwin’s sister Sibylla stood by the curtained window. She was sixteen, and John had heard that since leaving the convent of Saint Lazarus to live in the palace, she had been caught in bed with
no
less than three men. It was said she was now forced to wear a chastity belt, and that only Agnes held the key. Sibylla was plucking the petals from a pink rose. No one had noticed John’s presence.

‘He is a good match,’ Agnes was saying. ‘The son of the Marquis of Montferrat. He will bring us powerful allies.’

‘He is a Provençal who cannot speak French properly,’ Sibylla protested. ‘I will not understand a word he is saying.’

‘Then you can put your Latin to good use. Guilhem is fluent.’

‘He is
old
, Mother.’

‘Hardly. He is thirty-six. And you need an older man to take charge of you. Besides, it is not your decision to make.’ Agnes looked to Baldwin. ‘What do you say?’

‘Sibylla will marry Guilhem.’

‘I shan’t!’ Sibylla pouted. She threw down the rose and almost ran into John as she stormed from the room.

Baldwin frowned, and Agnes placed a hand on his knee. ‘It is what is best for her,’ she said.

Baldwin nodded and then straightened in his chair as he noticed John. ‘John, you have a message for me?’

John stepped forward so that he could see both Baldwin and Agnes. ‘I must speak with you, sire. Alone.’

Agnes laughed. ‘You
must
speak with him? You forget your place, John.’

John ignored her light tone. ‘It is about Amalric. I know who killed him.’

‘He died of the flux,’ Baldwin protested.

‘He did not.’ John’s eyes were locked on Agnes.

‘Tell us what you have to say, John,’ she said. ‘My son has no secrets from me.’

Baldwin nodded.

‘Very well.’ John spoke to the king, but he kept his eyes on Agnes. ‘Your mother is a liar and a traitor, sire. She murdered your father.’

Agnes did not so much as blink. ‘Careful, John. A baseless accusation like that could cost you your head.’

‘It is not baseless. I have just come from speaking with Archbishop Heraclius. He admitted to purchasing the poison that was used to kill Amalric. He delivered it into your hands, Agnes. You murdered the King.’

‘You are mistaken, John.’

‘I am not!’ John shouted, his anger mounting in the face of her calm denial. ‘You had Reynald kill the poison dealer. He was made lord of Kerak as a reward. Did you also have him send the men who tried to murder me?’

‘I am only the mother of the King, John. I have no power over Reynald.’

‘You lie!’

‘Please, John!’ Baldwin intervened. ‘I am certain my mother had nothing to do with Amalric’s death.’

‘Do not trust her word, sire. She is a liar. She should be cast in irons and thrown in the dungeon.’

‘How dare you!’ Agnes rose and looked down her nose at John. ‘You call me a liar? You are a priest who has betrayed his vow of chastity. You were a crusader who joined the Saracen army. You are the liar, John. If anyone here should be suspected of killing Amalric, it is you.’

‘You duplicitous bitch!’ John stormed from the room. He crossed the palace to the chancellery, hoping to find William there, but the room was empty. John locked the door and sat at the broad desk, his head in his hands. There was a knock at the door. No doubt guards had come for him. He had assaulted an archbishop and accused the king’s mother of murder, and he could only guess at what his punishment would be. The knock repeated, louder. John went to the door and opened it.

It was Agnes. Her eyes were moist, as if John’s accusations had actually hurt her. As if she could be hurt. She touched his arm. ‘Do not be angry with me, John.’

He shrugged her hand off. ‘How could you do it, Agnes?’

‘I did not kill him. You must believe me.’ Her green eyes met his. ‘I miss you, John.’

‘What of Amalric de Lusignan? I hear he warms your bed now.’

‘He is an oaf, disagreeable but useful,’ Agnes said, and John turned away in disgust. ‘I am a woman, John. I need men to act for me in the world. But I have nothing to gain by loving you. Think on that.’

John hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I will not fall for your lies. Not again. I will see you punished for what you have done.’

‘You have no proof.’

‘I do not need it. I will undergo ordeal by fire to prove that what I say is true.’

‘You will not pass the trial, John. You will be executed for daring to accuse me publically.’

‘It does not matter. All the world will know the truth.’

Agnes shook her head sadly. ‘Stop this madness before it is too late, John. You do not want to know the truth.’

The bells of Saint Sepulchre were tolling the call to None – the afternoon prayer – when John left the palace. The king had gone to the baths in the Hospitaller quarter, and John was headed there to tell Baldwin of his decision to undergo ordeal by fire. He would be forced to carry a red-hot iron rod for nine paces. Afterwards, his hand would be bandaged, and three days later a priest would examine it. If God had miraculously healed his hand, then that would prove that he had right on his side. If his hand were still red and blistered, then John would be killed.

John entered the baths and strode through the warm and cold rooms. Four guards stood outside the hot room. John began to push past, but one of them grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ John demanded. ‘Let me pass.’

‘Sorry, Father. You are to be arrested. King’s orders.’

John raised his voice so that Baldwin could hear him in the room beyond. ‘Tell the King that I must speak to him about his father. Tell him I can prove how he died.’

The guards exchanged a glance, and one of them stepped into the room. He returned a moment later. ‘The King will see you.’

Inside the hot room steam hissed through cracks in the tiled floor. A blazing torch near the door barely illuminated a series of shadowy alcoves built into the far wall. In one of them sat Baldwin, naked. His torso and arms were covered with sores and patches of thick, white skin. He studied John for a long time. Sweat began to bead on John’s forehead. More sweat ran down his spine and his priest’s tunic began to cling. The door swung closed behind him.

‘What do you want, John?’ Baldwin asked. ‘To make more baseless accusations against my mother? I spoke with Heraclius. He denies knowing anything about Amalric’s murder.’

‘He lies. He told me himself about the poison.’

‘When you tortured him, you mean?’

‘I barely touched him.’

‘He has a bump the size of an egg on his head. He demands that you hang like a common criminal. I have convinced the Patriarch to spare your life, but you will lose your monthly prebend. I ordered my men to arrest you for your own good. If the Patriarch’s men catch you on the street, nothing I say will spare you a beating, or worse.’ The king sighed. ‘You are making yourself powerful enemies, John. And to what end?’

‘What I say is true, sire. I am willing to undergo ordeal by fire to prove it.’

‘I cannot allow that.’

‘You cannot prevent me. Our laws—’

‘Damn our laws! I am your king, John! You will do as I say!’

‘Amalric was also my king. I have a duty to him, too. If you
will
not hear me, then I will go to Raymond. He is the regent. He can oversee the ordeal.’ John turned to go.

‘Wait!’

He turned back to see that Baldwin’s eyes were shining in the torchlight. The king blinked back tears. ‘My mother did not kill Amalric.’ When he spoke again, his voice was so low that John barely heard him. ‘I did.’

John felt suddenly short of breath. The heat in the room was suffocating. John shook his head. He could not believe it. He had known Baldwin since he was a child. ‘Why?’

‘Because he would never have let me become king.’ Baldwin took a deep breath. ‘I spent every waking moment trying to prove to him that I was worthy of the crown, yet he could never see me as anything but a monster.’

John recalled the conversation where Agnes had said just that. ‘You heard her, the day Agnes told me you would never succeed your father?’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I was furious. I confronted my mother. She told me what I must do. You know the rest.’

John turned and headed for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘I am leaving your service. I am a man of honour, sire, and though you are my king, justice must be done. I will undergo the ordeal to prove your guilt. Your father deserves as much.’

John pulled the door open and strode from the room, pushing past the guards at the door. He had not gone far when he heard Baldwin calling for his guards. They caught up with John in the cold room and dragged him back to face the king.

‘I cannot let you go,’ Baldwin told him when the guards had left. ‘No one must know the truth.’

‘What then? Will you kill me like you killed your father?’

Baldwin winced. ‘I pray not. Sit, John.’ The king patted the bench beside him. John did not move. ‘
Sit
!’ Baldwin said more forcefully, and John reluctantly crossed the chamber to sit beside
the
king. ‘I know what I did was wrong, John. I do not expect you to forgive me. But you of all people should understand. You, too, committed a crime against your family.’

John flinched. How did Baldwin know that John had killed his brother?

‘It is not our past that defines us, John,’ Baldwin continued, ‘but what we do in the present. My father was a mighty warrior, but he was also a drunkard and a womanizer. His judgement was often clouded by passion. And he feared and despised the Saracens. He was willing to make peace with them, but only because he had to. Thanks to you, I know our enemy as he never did. I speak their tongue. I respect their faith. I believe we can live in peace with them. But I need your help, John. There are few at court who share my vision, and even fewer who I can trust. Agnes knows my secret, and she will reveal it if I do not do as she demands. That is why I rely on her counsel, why I have distanced myself from Raymond and William.’