remarked, white and even, with no gaps, no obvious spaces, and no visible rot. He kept his dark hair and beard clean and neatly trimmed, too, she said, which was sufficiently uncommon to be noteworthy, and his skin was deeply tanned and pleasant to behold, the backs of his fingers, hands, and wrists covered in a noticeable scattering of fine dark curling hair that she and many of her sex found attractive and even alluring.
He had undergone severe hardship in the past few years, she told Andre, but even so his clothing, while faded and threadbare, had been well maintained and kept clean. Richard had, of course, provided him with new clothing, raiment befitting his regal status, but even so, the condition of the old garments spoke for itself. This was a man who was fastidious and painstaking over appearances. But all of that being said, she continued, her attraction to him, woman to man, had been purely superficial.
“Had he struck me as being more than surface-deep, had he really appealed to me, underneath, as a man, I would never have taken the time to examine him as closely as I did. But the more closely I observed him, the less I saw to like. He is weak. Having been raised with Richard as my brother and then spending years as wife to my dear husband William, I understand and recognize strength. I also recognize its absence, the lack of it, with great ease. Our noble King Guy is not reliable, at depth. Which is, of course, why he has earned the reputation that the German Montferrat, and now Philip Augustus, seek to use against him—” She broke off and inhaled a deep, sibilant breath. “But he is the rightful King, for the time being, and that is … inconvenient, to say the least, for my dear brother.”
She had been gazing into the fire as she talked, but now she turned her head to look Andre directly in the eye. “Do you understand why I say that? Have you spoken with anyone of the politics surrounding this entire affair?”
“The religious politics, you mean? Yes I have. But I cannot convince myself that it is as important as everyone else seems to think.”
“You—?” Joanna stared at him in amazement. “I cannot believe I heard you say that. You do not think it is important? Do you not, then, believe in God?”
St. Clair laughed, easily. “Of course I do, but what is at stake here, in this squabble between de Lusignan and de Montferrat, has nothing to do with God. It is a struggle between two groups of men—very large groups, be it said—all of whom purport to worship the same God. But one group calls itself the Eastern Orthodox Church and is ruled by a patriarch archbishop, while the other calls itself the Roman Catholic Church and is ruled by a pope. Each swears, calling upon the full authority of Heaven to attest to its righteousness, that it holds the one, correct, and inarguable means to achieve salvation. And both desire to govern the land where Jesus lived, because both believe it to be sacred, and both believe there is worldly treasure to be amassed by controlling it. Think you I am being cynical, my lady?”
She had been looking at him through narrowed eyes but now she laughed and shook her head in what looked like admiration. “No,” she drawled, “not cynical, not really. But I think you are a very dangerous man.”
“How so, my lady? I am but a simple knight.” “Aye, but a simple knight with his own ideas and his own way of looking at things most people never become aware of. That, sir knight, makes you highly dangerous, to people who would wish you to behave as they think fit. What do you think my brother should do in this instance?”
“I believe he is already committed, my lady. He has recognized Guy and given him sustenance and support. I cannot say he would have done so quite as willingly had Philip not thrown his support behind de Montferrat, but the die is cast now. Before that, I know the King was under ever-increasing pressure from Rome—he is surrounded by a plague of archbishops and bishops as you know—to safeguard its papal interests in Outremer, and most particularly in Jerusalem, should we ever win it back. But this turnabout by Philip, in support of Montferrat and the Orthodox camp, would seem to fly deliberately in the face of the Pope, and that mystifies me, for I would not have thought Philip brave enough or defiant enough to go directly counter to the Pope’s wishes and authority.”
Joanna merely nodded. “You may be right, or close to it. Perhaps he has reached an agreement of some kind with the Eastern Church in Constantinople. It would surprise me greatly were I to discover that there was less scheming among the followers of Orthodoxy than there is among the followers of Rome.” She sat silent for a moment, then added, “What are you smiling at? Did I say something amusing?”
St. Clair’s smile widened. “No, my lady, you said nothing amusing. What amuses me is that I have yet to hear a man say what you just said. They are all, by and large, far too afraid of the Church and its power ever to dare say such things. I agree with you completely, but hearing you express your opinion surprised me, that is all. I could not help but smile.”
“Hmm. Spend more time around me, Sir Andre. I will soon have you wheezing on the floor, clutching your ribs in pain from laughing. One of the saddest things about being a woman is that you are not supposed to think, or even to be capable of thought. Even my brother Richard subscribes to that belief— one of the few masculine perceptions of women he shares wholeheartedly with every other man. But the Churches, both of them, Eastern and Western, are run by and for men, so what can a mere woman do, other than hold her own opinions and express them when she can?”
Andre nodded in agreement. “Aye, well, whatever has caused Philip to side with Conrad, it has drawn a strong dividing line between the factions, so that Richard now stands squarely in Guy’s camp. Although I dare say he would declare that Guy stands in his …” Before Joanna could reply to that, they were interrupted by an explosive snort from the bed behind them, and both of them turned to see Berengaria, eyes tightly closed and her mouth making sleepy, sucking noises, turn over to face them and then subside back into sleep, her unbound hair obscuring much of her upper face and her bare neck clearly visible in the scoop beneath the edge of her blanket.
“Think you those lines will remain drawn once we arrive in Outremer?” Joanna was looking at him again, and St. Clair shrugged.
“I think, my lady, that much of that will depend on Saladin and on the situation that we find in force when we arrive there. If the Saracens come against us hard and fast, then they may achieve the effect of fusing our forces into one effective whole. But should Saladin even begin to suspect the kind of strife that besets us now— and the man did not become the Sultan of all Islam by being a blind, unseeing fool—he will hold back his armies and allow us to destroy ourselves. And we would do that, left to ourselves, Christian against Christian, Orthodox against Roman, through petty bickering and venal jealousies and greedy politicking. Pray he never does find out.”
“I will, because I will be there myself, so you need have no doubt of that. I might even pray for you, too. Not that I am much of a prayer. I am too much like you, I suppose, for I have a mind of my own and I prefer to think for myself, and that displeases a surprisingly large number of people.” She hesitated, then added, with a tiny smile, “For all I know, it might even displease God. In any case, I might pray for you.”
St. Clair smiled faintly. “I would be grateful for that, my lady.”
“Oh, do not say that, Sir Andre. For a while there, I was considering seducing you … and for that you truly would have been grateful to me. But I decided instead that I like you, and so chose to leave you to your destiny, which may be sufficiently complicated to confound you already, without any contributions to your debauchery from me.”
“I—” His mouth remained open and his eyes grew wide, and she smiled lazily at him, enjoying the play of emotions and reactions that he could neither control nor begin to understand. He became convinced for a few moments that he had misheard her, until his eyes on her face told him otherwise. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, and when he appeared to have mastered himself and overcome the urge to say anything, for fear of sounding stupid, she spoke again, her voice quiet and gentle.
“Will you not ask me then what I meant about leaving you to your complicated destiny?”
He was frowning at her now, and shook his head in a gesture that was almost unnoticeable. “No, my lady, I think not.”
“Are you aware, then, of having a destiny?”
“All men have destinies, my lady.”
“No, Sir Andre, that is not so. Emphatically not so. All men—most men—may have fates awaiting them, but very, very few have destinies. Destinies change the paths of peoples and of empires, Andre. I believe you have such a destiny. And so, I believe, does my beloved brother, in his own twisted way.”
“Forgive me, my lady, but I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I know that. That is why I find you so attractive.”
