Alamut Part 7

Aidan pulled them apart with appalling ease. He did not even try to stifle his laughter. Thibaut was embarra.s.sed.

Joanna, he was delighted to see, was mortified. She beat a rapid, and seething, retreat.

There was in fact time for a bath, and Aidan took it. It was shocking decadence, good westerners declared, to bathe in hot water, all over, every week. He could happily have done it every day; and did, here where he found indulgence in his madness.

like his cousin the cat, he was fastidious.

Court dress was at least as complicated here as in Francia, and in the latest fas.h.i.+on besides. But even a prince there might not boast garments of silk so costly as these. Margaret's gift, and she would not be gainsaid. Black, he was swom to, and black it was, but black on black in brocade that would not have shamed an emperor. And under a cotte cut brief as all the dandies were wearing it in Paris, a s.h.i.+rt as fine as a spider's weaving, as white as his own skin; and hose cut exactly to his measure; and shoes of-doeskin?

"Gazelle," said Thibaut.

The cloak was the best of all: watered silk, black and glossy as his hair, but its lining was his own beloved scarlet, and its brooch was ruby and gold. "I can't-" he began, with tearing reluctance.

"You shall," said Margaret.

He turned to face her. She granted herself no such dispensa- tion as her will forced upon him. She was all severity, swathed and coifed as relentlessly as a nun. She had trammeled all that was left of her beauty. But for a moment, as she looked at him, it glimmered in her eyes.

It was that to which he yielded, and not her soft command.

It gave her joy to see him: a pure joy, as in a fine horse or a rare jewel. And yet to her he was neither beast nor oddity, but simply himself.

He bowed low and kissed her hand. "As my lady wishes."ALAMUT 57 Joanna did not, after all, come with them. She pleaded wca- - rincss after her morning in the city. True enough; but Aidan knew that it was more than that. She was no more healed of her wounds than he, and less practiced in ignoring them.

later, he told his memory of her, hardly knowing what he promised.

It was a very little distance to the palace, but they rode it, because they were what they were. A lady of the High Court must show her pride, even in mourning. She led her men-at- anns, her ladies, her son and her guest, as she had led them from Aqua Bella. Under the stark grey wall, in the shadow of Ac carven gate, Aidan lifted her down from the saddle. She was calm, unruffled by the clamor of the courtyard, where ev- ery lord's retainer in Outremer seemed to jostle for precedence.

On Aidan's arm, with Thibaut a respectful step behind, she found her path cleared, the clamor muted. People whispered, as they must. A widow in this kingdom, ruler by right other own demesne, was a valuable commodity. A widow on the arm of a handsome young stranger was fascinating, and more than faintly scandalous.

Aidan was not precisely born to courts: he had not even known what a city was until he was old enough to be a page.

let it was in his blood, and in a lifetime of being son and brother to kings. As he entered tfee wide glittering halls, strange with their eastern carpets and thejr scents of musk and sandalwood, he felt as if he had come-not home. But to a world which was, at its center, his own. These sun-stained peo- ple s.h.i.+mmering in silk, these dark-eyed women, these men with their air of mingled languor and ferocity, were courtiers; and courtiers, he knew. The dart of eyes, the whispers, the eddy- ings about power that was or power that wished to be, woke senses which the months of pilgrimage had lulled to sleep. It was like battle, but subtle. And, though his reputation would have died the death had he admitted it, in its way it exhilarated him.

Lady Margaret drew an eddy other own, of a size to raise his brows. She was not, in strength of arms or in size of holding, by any means one of the great ones of the kingdom. Yet she had power: the power of her presence, and the power of her empire of trade. The Constable of the Kingdom himself bowed over her hand, and the Marshal had condolences which seemed sincere. More to the point, the ladies accorded her respect, %, without open sneers at her breeding. Others were not so fortu- 58 Judith TmT nate. They kept to themselves; veiled, some of them, in Sara- cen fas.h.i.+on, with dark eyes and plump ivory fingers fretting jewels as rich as any there.

Thibaut was as tense as a hound in a new kennel, and carried himself the haughtier for it. There was, Aidan noticed, a cer- tain division among the young as among their elders: tall and fair by tall and fair, and dark and small lingering side by languidsilken side.

The pullani were hardly infidels. Most were Syrian-bred, or Armenian: Christian on both sides. Thibaut was the odd one.

His blood was true Saracen, and they all knew it. His mother they did not touch. But in quiet places away from elders, in the courtyards among the oranges and the pomegranates, he was fair prey.

Aidan laid a hand on his shoulder, saying something, it did not matter what, and bared a gleam of teeth. Let them touch him now. It would be a pleasure to teach them tolerance.

Thibaut's wits were quick: he knew what Aidan was up to.

He scowled. "Here, my lord. Don't. It's not fair."

"Are they?"

"They're beneath you. Look, you've better quarry waiting, like those knights in Acre."

That was true, and the boy wanted to fly on his own wings.

Aidan was a falconer: he pulled him briefly close, and let him go- Names and faces blurred past. Later, when Aidan needed them, they would come clear. Today he was the lady's shadow.

That was accepted. They had had his name and his t.i.tles at his entrance, in the herald's strong voice; they could see in his face that he had been kin to the lord who was gone. It was a little disappointing that he was not, after all, a scandal; but worse that though he was a royal prince and thus a rarity, he was a prince without an army. He could at least, he heard someone mutter, have brought a man-at-arms or two.

Thibaut's sentiments, almost to a word. Aidan smiled and glanced about. The boy had wandered, freed, and found a companion or three who seemed disinclined to tan his infidel hide for him. The eddies had altered again. Margaret seemed quite content to discuss needlework with a duster of ladies, matrons all and not remarkably interested in her pretty shadow.

He was not unduly dismayed. The glamour was its own de- 59.

fense. He leaned back against a wall hung with a carpet like a field of jeweled flowers, and watched the currents of the court.

There were, he took note, a goodly number of women both handsome and more than handsome. These had their atten- dants: young, most of those, and much given to the fas.h.i.+on for silken indolence. And, his nose told him, for perfumed curls. Henna seemed much the rage for the darker gentlemen; the fairer, perhaps, a.s.sisted nature in their quest for perfect gold.

He was a fine peac.o.c.k for Rhiyana, but scent was past hislimit. Curls ... He shook a not-quite-straight, most un- abashedly black lock out of his eyes, and smoothed his new beard. Very new, alas, and grievously out of fas.h.i.+on.

His eye crossed another. Dark, that one, and buried deep in admirers. The lady well deserved them: she was young, slender and tall, and very beautiful. And, from the set other full and lovely mouth, very discontented. Something about her made him think of Joanna.

Joanna would not have looked well in the cloth of gold that so splendidly adorned this lady, but the cut of the gown would suit her. Aidan smiled, thinking of it. The lady returned his smile.

That had not been wise. Aidan shrugged under his mantle.

What was wisdom, in a court? He sketched a bow. The lady's eyes began to dance. Without her edge of discontent, she was breathtaking.

And bold. Her lips pursed, miming a kiss. Her finger crooked, which was brazen. If no one yet had seen what pa.s.sed, and with whom, he soon would.

Aidan left the wall, wandering with apparent aimlessness, keeping his quarry at the edge of his eye. She knew what he did, and was amused. It gave her time to watch him.

An elegant personage in an archdeacon's gown gave him her name. "Sybilla," the man said. "Princess Sybilla. The king's sister." The elegant personage had a disconcertingly keen eye and a ready tongue. "Poor child, it's not an easy life she has, with her brother so grievously afflicted, and no heir possible but through her. She must many, and marry supremely well, for the kingdom's sake- But the first man chosen for her proved a fool and a libertine, and shamed her beyond swift healing.

Now the envoys quest through Francia, seeking another fit, if G.o.d ordains, to be our king."

"But your king lives," Aidan said.

60 Jwlsth TOFT "And for how long?" Grief shadowed the archdeacon's eyes, deep and lasting. "He has been a leper since he was nine years old. It worsens as he grows out of boyhood. If he lives to he a man, h.e.l.l not live much longer than that. And our kingdom needs a king to follow him without delay, a strong one, or surely it wilffaU."

"It's fragile, this realm of yours."

The archdeacon nodded. "This is the sword's edge. All Islam waits beyond us, crouched to spring. Saladin has sworn to drive us into the sea; to hound us to our lairs in the west, and scour us from the earth. Let him settle his differences with his own kind, and let us lose the strength of our crown, and surely he will keep his vow."

Aidan drew a breath. It was sweet, that rang of danger, thatbright edge of fear. He smiled. "I think he may have to wait a while. It's not so weak, this blade you've forged."

"G.o.d willing," said the archdeacon. "I come from Tyre, which held even against Alexander. Our king is not remarkably less than he. Maybe h.e.l.l live as long."

"You know him well," said Aidan.

The archdeacon shrugged. "I've been his tutor. I was the first to know that he was ill, and how. He played, you see, with the boys of his age, and you know how they are. They'll test one another. One day they tested courage, pinching to see who would howl first with the pain. Our Baldwin had his arm pinched till the blood sprang, and he never made a sound, nor even flinched. That was rare fort.i.tude, I thought, and fittingly royal.

"But," the archdeacon said, his eyes filling though he must have told this tale a thousand times in the years since it began, "he denied that it was courage. 'I don't feel anything,' he said with perfect innocence. 'Truly, I don't.' And truly he did not.

His arm and hand were dead to any torment I dared inflict.

"Of course I knew. We all knew. We tried to prove it false.

We summoned every doctor east of the sea. We subjected him to tortures, to make him whole. Useless, all of them. G.o.d has made him what he is; G.o.d has no intention of letting him go."

And Sybilla, sulking amid her sycophants for that her new admirer had let himself be waylaid by her brother's tutor, was G.o.d's instrument for the continuance of the dynasty. "G.o.d's ways are a mystery," Aidan said. "I understand you've found a candidate for the lady."

The archdeacon was taken aback; then he eased. "Ah. Of 61.

course. You're new from the west. Was he on your s.h.i.+p, our messenger?"

"On one that came in just after it: and joyous he was, too.

Not that he breathed a word," Aidan said, but rumors flew, as they will. He didn't deny them."

The archdeacon shrugged slightly. "What can a messenger do?"

"Lie," said Aidan.

The other laughed. Suddenly he looked much younger.

"No, there's no doubting it: you are a prince."

"You weren't convinced?"

"There are princes," said that most worldly churchman, "and there are princes. You'll do well here."

Aidan bowed an ironic degree. "You flatter me.""I give you your due." The archdeacon paused. His voice changed subtly. "Since your knowledge is so complete and your wisdom so evident, I forbear to ask your indulgence in the matter of the lady. She is young; she has been raised, if I dare say it, somewhat less than wisely- She-"

"She is headstrong, and willful, and not excessively inclined to reflection." Aidan smiled at the archdeacon, who could not in propriety do other than look affronted- "I had a mare like that. She'd been let run wild, except when she was bred. Her foals were splendid, but they needed a strong hand. Vfe were always most careful which stallion'we chose for her."

It was hard for the poor man, to hear the truth so, and to be unable to rebuke the one who uttered it. Aidan was almost abashed. It was his tongue: it ran on if he let it, and its edge was cruel. He spoke a little softer, with rather more care.

"There, I overstep my bounds. She's a fair lady; I pray her new lord is good to her. Under a wise hand, she'll grow into wis- dom."

The archdeacon accepted the apology for what it was. For that, Aidan not only liked him; he admired him.

They understood one another- Aidan moved a little, away from the lady. The archdeacon cast eyes on a man with whom he needed to speak. But paused, first, as if at last he had made up his mind to it, and said, "I heard you sing in Carca.s.sonne, twenty years agone. I saw your temper then. I see it now."

"Headstrong, and willful, and not excessively inclined to re- flection."

"So you would have us think. Be gentle with the child, prince. She's no match for you."

62 "May I sing for her?"

"At her wedding," said the archdeacon, "with my blessing.v "Then, if I can, I shall."

The archdeacon bowed and sketched a sign of the cross.

Aidan bent his head. Their eyes met briefly, before the archdea- con turned away.

Aidan s.h.i.+vered a little. It was not so terrible, to be known here. This one neither hated nor, unduly, feared him. And in that last glance had been a bargain. For the princess' safety, the archdeacon's silence. Not from Archdeacon William of Tyre would Outremer discover that the prince had been a trouba- dour in Carca.s.sonne, somewhat before he could, from the evi- dence of his face, have been old enough to sing.

A thread of melody wound through his head. Domna, p.a.w.ns nemeno- us chat. . . "Lady, since you care not for me, and cast me away . . ." His own, that one. Someone else wasclaiming it of late; he was welcome to it, Aidan did not cling to his mind's children, once they had grown and gone away.

The lady was unhappy, now that he seemed to have forgot- ten her. The faithful would suffer for her pique. But Aidan had struck a bargain. He let himself be drawn toward the safer harbor of a circle of young knights. One had been at Acre, and one or two were new in Outremer. Those looked rough and raw and sun-scorched, and slightly stunned by the wonder of it all. "Here," they greeted him, eyeing his elegance. "How do you do it? You look like a pullani born."

If it was an insult, he did not intend to notice. "First," he replied, "a bath." They looked appalled. "Do you know what they have here? Soap! Scented, by Our Lady's sweet white breast, and soft as her kiss. With a dusky maiden to administer it, and another to wield the sponge, and . . ."

"His Majesty, Baldwin, fourth of that exalted name, King of Jerusalem, Heir to the Throne of David, Defender of the Holy Sepulcher!"

The herald's voice had gone rough with crying the name of every lord and lady and lordly scion of the High Court. But now it rang forth with its fullest vigor, in spreading silence.

Aidan, taller than many and somewhat nearer the door than most, saw clearly the one who stood framed there- He did not like it, to be singled out so: that was as clear to Aidan's senses as if he had uttered it aloud. To human senses . . .

He was a little older than Thibaut, just at his majority. He 63.

was tall already, but slender, reed-frail in his richness of silk, robes that seemed less Prankish than Saracen. He wore the long cotte of the older fas.h.i.+on, and jeweled gloves such as a king might choose to wear; but it was the headdress which gave him that air of foreignness. Aidan had seen it on tribesmen in the desert east of Jaffa: the kaffiyah, the headcloth with the coronet binding it about the brows, drawn like a veil over the face, baring only a glitter of eyes. This one was silk, and royal purple; its circlet was gold. The eyes were dark within it, yet clear, with a shadow on them, of weariness, of long suffering.

Only the rawest newcomers stared. The rest went down in obeisance.

The king gestured without speaking. They straightened; they began again, slowly, their dance of power and favor. He paused, scanning their faces. Aidan felt the touch of his eyes as if a flame had pa.s.sed, too swifr to b.u.m.

The king stirred, descending. His walk was stow, not lame, not quite, but careful, as if he did not trust his feet. The sick- ness was in them, as in his hands: the left that seemed strong enough in its glove, the right that was withered, held or boundclose against his side. And his face, veiled, that no one had seen in a year and more. It had been handsome, the whispers said, like his father's, with a fine arch of nose, and a strong clean line of brow and cheek and chin. What it was now, only rumor knew.

And yet he did not invite pity. He held himself erect, his head at a high and kingly angle. His voice was soft and low, with a hint of a stammer; he did not use it overmuch as he circled the hall, but listened to those who approached him, his clear eyes fixed on their faces. Most of them, Aidan noticed, found ways to avoid kissing his hand. Some were rather inge- nious. The king was aware of it: Aidan saw it in the flicker of his glance. The wound was an old one. He had taught himself to be amused by it, and to admire the more clever expedients, ranking them like knights in a joust.

Margaret neither shrank nor evaded. The king's eyes smiled at her, but saddened quickly, filling with tears. "I ... re- gret . . ."he said, his stammer deepening for a little, until he mastered it. "I'm sony. He was a good man."

"Yes, highness," said Margaret steadily. "My thanks to you."

The king shook his head, a quick gesture, almost sharp. "If there is anything-if you need aid, comfort-"

64 "I shall remember, majesty," Margaret said.

"Do that," said the king. "I order it. Now, or later, after the court has met on the matter-ask, and you shall have whatever you need."

She bowed low.

There was a silence. She was not inclined to fiU it. The king was reluctant to go, although others waited with veiled impa- tience: in that much, he betrayed his youth. His glance found Aidan, who had come up while they spoke, cat-quiet as he could be when he wanted to be. The fair brows went up under the kaffiyah. "Why-why, sir! You look just like him."

Aidan bowed over the gloved hand: the leather dyed crim- son, the jewels sewn with gold wire, the foul-sweet scent of sickness beneath. He was being ranked high, for setting lips to it, for neither trembling nor radiating saintliness. But it was nothing to be proud of He was not a mortal man. He could not fall prey to mortal sickness.

"My lord's kinsman," Margaret was saying. "Aidan, Prince Royal ofRhiyana, new come from the west."

Baldwin knew him, as Thibaut knew, as Gereint had known: in wonder and in high delight. His eyes shone. "My lord! Well met. Oh, well met!"