The Falcons of Montabard (12 page)

He thought about what Fergus had told him while he was swilling his hot face and changing into a lighter, more comfortable tunic. Here was a huge opportunity if he wanted to reach for it... if he could set aside the caution that maturity had laid upon him, and leap to the challenge with a young man's eagerness. After all, it was why he had returned to Outremer.

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Chapter 7

Anew king, a new palace,' said Fergus as he led Strongfist, Annais and Sabin among the labyrinth of buildings and corridors that made up the royal residence. The complex stood beside the Jaffa Gate and building was vigorously in progress. Scaffolding fenced the walls and the constant, musical chink of a stone-mason's chisel punctuated the morning air. 'The King used to occupy Solomon's palace on the north side,' Fergus said over his shoulder for Annais's and Sabin's benefit, 'but Baldwin's given it to the Knights Templar now and moved here. More room, especially with apartments needed for Queen Morphia and the Princesses.'

Vigilant guards were everywhere, some with fair Frankish colouring; others tinted with the warmer tones of the East. Most wore European or Turkish ring-mail, but a few sported the lamellar armour of Byzantium, the overlapping scales of steel almost as thin as shaved wood and shot with gold. Sabin admired these Greek hauberks, but thought that they must cook the wearer in summer heat.

'King Baldwin's not a man to be afraid,' Fergus said as they were halted by yet another set of crossed lances before being permitted to enter the great hall, 'but the danger of assassination stalks him as close as a shadow.' There was humour and irritation in his eyes. 'His advisors would create a cage of swords around him, but he baulks them when he can.'

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Sabin gazed around the hall. In many ways, it resembled the great residences of Normandy and England, but on a grander scale. There was the same sense of purpose and bustle, the same officials and etiquette. The familiarity was like the background to a tapestry on which the foreground had been changed. Instead of the deep and sombre colours of King Henry's winter court, the people wore bright silks that displayed rather than concealed the body. Here, Annais did not look out of place in her revealing russet gown, but fitted seamlessly into the surroundings. The atmosphere was vibrant but with a sensual undertone that hinted at languor.

As in the halls of home, the walls were white, but since the fires were less often lit, there was little blackening. Instead of clay and rushes, the floors were tiled with ornate scroll and leaf patterns. Rich Turkish rugs adorned the walls and covered the dais at the far end where stood a table of white marble arches, striated with gold. Glass hanging lamps burning perfumed oil were suspended above the table on brass chains. Sabin's eyes were wide to the hinges yet he was still unable to take everything in.

Aye,' said Fergus with pride. 'It's gey fine. Ye'll not have seen anything like this before.' He looked fiercely at Sabin, daring him to contradict his words.

'No,' Sabin said truthfully. 'Never.' He lifted an enquiring brow. 'Is it like King Henry's court where the King deals with business before dining and the entertainment comes after?'

Fergus eyed him curiously. 'You know your way around the court, do you then, laddie?'

Sabin's smile was rueful. 'You could say that.'

Fergus grunted. 'For all the finery that you see, King Baldwin's a soldier first and he doesna suffer fools or flatterers gladly. Remember that and ye'll do well enough.'

Sabin nodded. 'I know the rules,' he said. And forbore to mention how often he had broken them.

Drinking snow-chilled sherbet from a cup of exquisite rock crystal, Sabin decided that he could rapidly grow accustomed

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to this. The wines of Jerusalem were also excellent, but it was too easy to over-indulge in this heat and then have to pay for it in misery. Sherbet carried no such hazards and was more refreshing. Besides, while he was still such a newcomer, it was prudent to keep his wits about him.

'So, what think you of the Holy Land?' asked the Baron to whom he had recently been introduced. Gerbert de Montabard was a northern neighbour of Fergus's and in Jerusalem on business with the King. He was perhaps thirty years old with curly brown hair and light grey-blue eyes.

'I have not had time to truly judge,' Sabin said, 'but if you pressed me, I would say that everything is more eye-catching and intense than at home. The heat is stronger; so are the colours and the textures. It is as if I have to walk on the balls of my feet with my hand to my sword all the time . . . but it spurs me on rather than making me afraid.'

'Ah.' Gerbert gave a knowing smile that set two deep creases in his cheeks. 'You are of the kind that likes to dance with scorpions.'

'I was hoping to put that aspect behind me,' Sabin said wryly.

Gerbert did not pursue the subject and held out his cup to a passing servant for replenishment. 'Will you offer your sword to the King of Jerusalem like your companion?' he asked instead with a nod at Strongfist who was deep in conversation with Fergus and two other barons. Sabin turned to look. Annais was standing with her father, her posture demure, her manner gently attentive. Sabin was coming to suspect that it was mostly from training and had very little to do with the thoughts in her head. Remembering the knife stuck through her belt on the galley, he almost smiled.

'In all likelihood, yes. I doubt that my family will be pleased to see me return home — without at least doing my part for Christendom.'

'Your family sent you away?'

'Couldn't wait to be rid of me,' Sabin said flippantly.

Gerbert took his full cup from the servant and gave Sabin a questioning look.

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Sabin shrugged and tried for nonchalance. 'I'm the bastard of an earl and my family has royal connections. Unfortunately, I have been a disappointment to them - you sow wild oats and you reap tares . . . There was some worse than usual trouble, so they gave me into the custody of Edmund Strongfist and packed me off to the Holy Land. I am to pray for my father's soul and seek redemption for my own. If I do not return, I will be mourned, but more out of a sense of relief and duty than genuine grief— except perhaps by my half-brother Simon.' He looked down into his cup.

'So you have no reason to go back?'

'That depends on what I find here.' Sabin's eyes narrowed with grim humour. 'I am told that finding a wife with lands and wealth will not be particularly difficult.'

Gerbert's smile displayed teeth that were crooked but white. 'Likely not,' he agreed. 'You could have the pick of several in this very room. I can introduce you if you wish.'

Sabin laughed and shook his head. 'Ask me again when I have silver in my beard and I might reconsider,' he said. 'I have no plans to saddle myself with a wife. It makes scorpion-dancing difficult.'

'I was thinking more of the silver in your pouch, but if you have good weapons, and you know how to fight, you can almost name your own price.'

Sabin considered that. The King of Jerusalem had a core of barons and knights upon whom he could call, but it was a small force and he relied heavily on mercenaries to keep his troops at strength. Given good fortune and a couple of years, Sabin knew he could probably make himself indispensable and thus be offered rich lands in payment. But did he want that kind of burden? 'Likely I will follow Edmund Strongfist when he takes up his new duties,' he said.

'What duties? Gerbert looked at him in surprise. 'I thought you were but recently arrived?'

"We are but, as you said, there are several widows in this room, and Edmund has the necessary silver in his beard. He

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has come here in search of lands and titles. It is almost certain that, with Fergus' endorsement, King Baldwin will grant them to him along with the hand of a worthy woman.' Judging by the discussions between Strongfist and Fergus, Sabin knew which 'worthy woman' would be giving her hand. Whether the woman herself was amenable had only been discussed in the most superficial terms.

Gerbert looked thoughtfully towards the group containing Strongfist. 'I do not suppose your desire to stay with him is in any way concerned with the daughter?'

'Dear Christ, no!' Sabin said with horrified amusement. 'If I so much as look in her direction, her father starts fondling his sword and glaring. I would not abuse his trust.' His expression sobered. 'One of the reasons I got into trouble at home was women . . . one woman in particular. She died because of my folly and my lust. It is a mistake that I never want to repeat.' He lifted his gaze to Gerbert. 'Annais has been educated by nuns. She plays the harp like an angel, she has a warrior's courage; do not let those meek looks make you think she is without spirit. She would make someone a fine wife and mother of his children . . . but not me . . . never me.' He looked at Gerbert and saw that the man's eyes were clinging to Annais almost as closely as that russet silk dress. 'Perhaps you though?'

De Montabard dragged his gaze from Annais and, pushing his hands through his cropped brown curls, shook his head. 'I have a wife,' he said. 'But if I did not . . .'

A fanfare ended the conversation as everyone in the room bent their knees and bowed their heads for the entry to the great hall of the King and Queen of Jerusalem.

King Baldwin, the second of that name, had held the throne of Jerusalem for three years. Prior to that he had been Count of Edessa and had dwelt to the north of the kingdom with his Armenian wife, Morphia, daughter of Gabriel of Melitene. And before that, he had been one of the bulwarks of the crusade. Sabin had been unsure what to expect. Squat and dour,

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Henry of England had looked nothing like a king, but knew how to act like one, and the power that emanated from him had been as tangible as a cold wind. In appearance, the tall, angular Baldwin was much more suited to his royal role. He had bright blue eyes, thrusting cheekbones and a thin, firm mouth surrounded by a wheat-fair beard. He wore a tunic of gold silk, stitched with so many pearls and gems that it must have weighed almost as much as a hauberk. His Queen matched him in opulence. She was as dark as he was fair, with smooth, olive skin and the liquid eyes of an icon.

While the trestles were arranged in the well of the hall for the main meal of the day, petitioners were summoned to the white and gold table on the dais. Fergus introduced Strongfist, Annais and Sabin to the royal couple, emphasising the fact that Strongfist had been a knight in the service of a Scottish prince, and that Sabin was the son of an English earl and had received much of his education at the court of King Henry of England. Annais was portrayed as an educated young woman with admirable skills of needlecraft and music.

King Baldwin listened to the eulogies with a polite half-smile on his face and an interested but shrewd expression in his blue eyes. Sabin judged that pulling the wool over them would be difficult.

'You are well commended, messires,' Baldwin said, 'and I have faith in Fergus's judgement. I need every fighting man I can lay my hands upon.' He looked particularly at Strongfist. 'So it is your intention to live out the rest of your days in our service?'

'It is indeed, sire,' Strongfist confirmed. 'If I can find a suitable place to settle down and call home.'

'I am certain that something can be arranged,' Baldwin said smoothly.                                                      •

'Thank you, sire.' Strongfist's colour heightened but his voice remained firm, and although he displayed the necessary deference, he still held himself proudly. Sabin was impressed. Strongfist was not a natural courtier, but he was managing the

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interview well. It probably helped that he had blue eyes and a fair beard. It was not just a matter of mirroring expression and gesture, the physical appearance was an immediate bond between him and King Baldwin too.

'And what of you, Sabin FitzSimon?' Stroking his chin, Baldwin turned. 'Do you intend to serve out your days in Outremer, or is your pilgrimage but a passing fancy?'

Sabin faced Baldwin squarely. 'In all honesty, sire, I cannot say. For the nonce, I am willing to give my sword in your service by seconding myself to Sir Edmund.'

'That is, of course, if Sir Edmund will have you.' Baldwin's thin lips curved. He looked at the older knight.

Strongfist smiled gravely at Sabin. 'I was not sure when we set out together,' he said, 'but now I would as leif have him beside me in a fight than any other man. He has already saved my life in battle and he has kept his word to me concerning other matters. Of course I would welcome him beneath my roof.'

Sabin felt a surge of warmth at his core. He had received praise before for his swift reactions and physical abilities, but this went deeper, and there had been genuine affection in Strongfist's voice as he answered the King's question.

'The King likes you well,' Fergus said to Strongfist as they reassembled in the well of the hall following the audience. He purloined a fig from a bowl on one of the tables being prepared, and bit into it, exposing the fleshy red interior. 'It won't surprise me to see you set up in your new estates before the heat of midsummer parches the land.'

'Think you so?' Strongfist looked pleased and rubbed his hands together nervously. Then, catching himself at the habit, he quickly folded his arms.

'Of a certainty. Once the King makes up his mind, he is decisive.' Fergus's smile was knowing. 'You need have no fears on that score.' He slapped Strongfist's shoulder. 'Lord Edmund of Tel Namir.'

Strongfist gave an embarrassed laugh and shook his head.

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Annais looked at him with startled brown eyes. 'Tel Namir?' she asked. 'Is that not the estate belonging to Mariamne FitzPeter?'

Fergus and Strongfist exchanged glances and the latter coughed. 'Her husband held it in trust for the King, sweetheart,' he said. 'Baldwin needs to find a replacement.'

'But what about the lady Mariamne? What happens—'