Chapter 2
Worrying News From the Holy City
Marius had felt horses fall out from under him before due to exhaustion, but for the last few miles he had felt sure the filly would make it. She had stumbled for a step or two, but after trotting her for a spell she appeared fine and they resumed their distance-eating gallop. Marius had slept for a few hours the night before at an abbey near Cremona after darkness fell, but he had been up again at first light. The Margrave was a benefactor of the monks so when it came time to exchange mounts he had his choice. This filly was all the brother who kept the stables had promised - small but of terrific endurance. Together they raced up the well traveled roads and tracks which followed the River Po as it flowed from the west and completed the final leg of what had been a long journey. The horse’s hooves clattered a drum beat on the planks as they crossed the final bridge spanning the river. At the nearby church he spied some men training. Among them were the first familiar faces he had seen in a long time - Margrave Guilhem’s master at arms, Pons, and Lord Conrad’s sergeant of crossbowmen, Cyn. At long last - home to Monferrato.
The thump-thump drum-beat thudding of horses' hooves as he crossed the bridge ended his journey.
The pealing of wedding bells had been the start. Clang clang. Clang clang. The church bells had rung in the Holy City of Jerusalem to announce the wedding of William Longsword’s widow.
The Princess Sybilla was getting married again. This was of huge importance to William Longsword’s father, the Margrave. He needed to be informed - by Marius in person - as soon as possible - that William’s son and Margrave Guilhem’s grandson, the child Baldwin - heir to the Kingdom of Jerusalem - was in danger.
This was the entire purpose and reason for Marius being so far from home. Watch after the child. Should any change in his fortune or circumstance arise - report back to me at once. For the nonce, use my name to secure a position with The King or Count Raymond. That had been his message of instruction - written on parchment and delivered to his hand via no less a personage than a bishop. It came from his liege and arrived after the baby had been born and after the child’s father, the Longsword, had died.
Marius had traveled to the Holy City in the entourage of William Longsword over six years earlier when he had set out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The pilgrimage was not due to any overwhelming sense of piety on the Longsword’s part, but rather it was at the invitation of Count Raymond of Tripoli. Raymond was the advisor and vassal of King Baldwin of Jerusalem, and Baldwin was looking for an heir. King Baldwin - the fourth of that name - was only fifteen years old but it was obvious he would never marry, or father children, or even live much longer for that matter. Sadly, Baldwin was afflicted with leprosy.
Why had the Almighty Lord stricken down so pious a sovereign - King of the Holy City itself? Something was terribly wrong in the Holy Land. The Kingdom of Jerusalem was only a few generations old and it was troubled. The grandchildren and great grandchildren of the lords, who carved the kingdom out of the violence of the First Crusade, were bickering among themselves. They also bickered with lords and pilgrims more recently arrived from Europe. They bickered with the church in Rome and with the Byzantine Emperor. The Knights of the Temple bickered with the Knights of the Hospital. And everybody bickered with the Saracens.
The putrification of the young king’s body reflected the decay in his realm. He was obviously not long for this world. He did, however, have sisters - the eldest of whom, Sibylla, was being raised at a convent. Sybilla was fourteen and in need of a husband. Inevitably, when Baldwin went the way of all flesh and his soul ascended into Heaven, the crown would pass to her. The lucky man who was married to this girl would gain the crown matrimonial and become king. There were many nobles who aspired to the position, but with the Holy Land in an almost constant state of warfare, the next king would have to be someone quite remarkable. King Baldwin and his advisor Count Raymond put their heads together to discuss suitable bridegrooms. Many names came up: John Lackland, youngest son of the English King, was one. Another was Stephen of Sancerre, a French count. That worthy even came to Jerusalem on pilgrimage, but declined both bride and kingdom for reasons of his own.
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In all of their discussions, however, there was one name which they kept coming back to - William “Longsword” of Montferrat. He was of impeccable family and fabulously well connected. His father was the wealthiest lord in northern Italy. He was cousin to the Holy Roman Emperor, cousin to the King of France, and kin to many other noble houses throughout Europe. He was a handsome man in the prime of his life, well educated, honorable, a skilled warrior, renowned in the jousting lists, and a commander of men. Fortunately, William had also managed to remain unmarried for thirty-three years. The drawback of being connected to most of the noble houses of Europe meant the daughters of those noble houses were also his blood relatives. It was quite difficult for him to find a bride of suitable birth who was not also a cousin in a prohibited degree of consanguinity. He had been in England unsuccessfully seeking a bride when word of Count Raymonds offer of betrothal reached him. Forced to choose between being King of Jerusalem or heading north to Scotland to seek an unrelated princess was no choice at all.
William arrived in the Holy Land in 1176 and married King Baldwin the Leper’s sister and became next in line for the throne of Jerusalem. But, like so many pilgrims who traveled from their homelands to Outremer, within a year he fell ill of a mal-aria, the bad air fever, and died, leaving Sybilla pregnant with their son.
After his lord’s death, Marius had lingered at court until the Margrave’s letter arrived. When he had asked Count Raymond for an appointment, the King’s savvy counselor had known at once what Margrave Guilhem’s unsaid intent was. I want my man to keep an eye on the boy as he grows. Use him, but do not use him up. And was the role Marius had played for over five years. Loyal servant of house Montferrat. The Margrave’s eyes and ears in the East - watching out for his grandson. Everyone knew of Maruis’s affinity for horses and abilities as a messenger. He acted as a scout in times of conflict - proving of great value to Baldwin both before and during the battle of Montgisard. In times of peace his duty was to carry dispatches, serve in the King’s stables as a trainer, and instruct the prince, also called Baldwin, in riding as he grew. The little prince was now five years old and heir to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but his mother’s new marriage to Guy de Lusignan, a disreputable French bandit lord, meant his life was at risk. Should she give birth to a son… perhaps Guy de Lusignan would prefer the child of his own loins to become heir rather than an unwanted stepchild. King Baldwin was gravely ill. Support for de Lusignan was growing.
The chimes of their nuptials had barely stopped ringing in Marius’ ears when he made his way out of the gates of Jerusalem towards the harbor at Azotus. The King had granted him a berth on the first ship which was leaving. The ship was heading to Constantinople bearing his new ambassador - which was good news for Marius. The Great City was roughly half the distance to Montferrat, and there he would find Renier - William Longsword’s youngest brother. Renier had recently wedded the Byzantine Emperor’s sister and was now fabulously wealthy and titled in his own right and would be able to speed Marius along his way.
Of course, Marius would rather have been riding a horse over the land than a ship over the sea, but the land route would have taken longer. Risky as a sea journey always was due to pirates and storms, the land road was even more treacherous - crossed too many rivers, meandered through too many mountain ranges, and traversed the realms of too many lords of questionable integrity and even worse faith. Half of the journey led through the lands of the Turk.
The sea route it would have to be - and the “berth” was barely worthy of the name - a space on the planking to sleep beside the snoring rowers and no more. The ambassador and the captain shared the tiny aft cabin. Marius bunked on the deck next to the crew and the ambassador's servants. Unlike the ambassador’s entourage - who served only him, Marius would - due to boredom and his general good nature - help out on the Faith: filling in for an oarsman who needed to shit over the side, or plucking a chicken for the cook.
The galley rowed north with the coast of Palestine eastward off the right bow for several days until they hooked westward around the island of Cyprus. Then the rocky coast of Anatolia with its hidden coves and inlets lay off the right bow to the north for stroke upon stroke of the oars. Days passed to the creaking of the oarlocks. In the mornings the rhythmic call and response songs of the rowers ferried them along while they had energy. In the heat of the afternoon the beating of the drum carried them when they fagged. Sometimes the lanteen sails would pick up a breeze to help them along, and provide a rest.