am sure many of them do cling to the old ways. My husband and his father and grandfather before him believed that this is a matter between a man and his God. People ought not to be converted by force, for that renders their conversion meaningless. I’ve heard men accuse us of turning a blind eye, and I suppose we do, but it is for the best. Judge the results for yourself, child. Where else in Christendom do members of differing faiths live in relative peace?”
“But . . . but my brother said that nothing was more important than recovering the Holy City from the infidels,” Alicia whispered, relieved when Joanna nodded vigorously.
“Your brother was right. The Saracens in Outremer are our enemies. But that does not mean the Saracens in Sicily must be our enemies, too. Think of old Hamid, who tends to the royal kennels. Remember how patiently he talks to you about the dogs, promising to help you teach your puppy. Do you think of him as an enemy?”
“No,” Alicia said slowly, after a long pause. “I suppose I do not. . . .”
“Exactly,” Joanna said, pleased that Alicia was such a quick study. “Let me tell you a story, lass, one that was told to me by my husband. Twenty years ago, a dreadful earthquake struck our island. Thousands died at Catania, but Palermo was luckier and the damage was less here. The people were still very fearful and William heard nothing but cries and prayers to Allah and His Prophet from those who had supposedly embraced the Christian faith. He did not rebuke them, though, instead told them that each one should invoke the God he worships, for those who have faith would be comforted.”
Alicia was still bewildered, but if Joanna and William did not believe all Saracens were the spawn of the Devil, she would try to believe it, too, she decided. “And Lady Mariam . . . she is a true Christian, not a pretend one?”
Joanna laughed, assured her that Mariam was indeed a “worshipper of the Cross,” as the Muslims called those of the Christian faith, and then rose to her feet, brushing off her skirts, for she saw one of the palace servants hastening up the pathway toward them.
“Madame.” He prostrated himself at her feet in the eastern fashion, waiting for her permission to rise. When he did, she caught her breath, for his eyes were filled with fear. “You must return to the palace, my lady. It is most urgent. Your lord husband the king has been stricken with great pain and is asking for you.”
“Of course. Alicia, fetch the others.” Joanna studied the man’s face intently. “What do his doctors say, Pietro?”
He looked down, veiling his eyes. “They say that you must hurry, my lady.”
CHAPTER 3
NOVEMBER 1189
Palermo, Sicily
As the Lady Mariam approached the king’s private quarters in the Joharia, she saw the vice chancellor, Matthew of Ajello, hobbling toward her. For more than thirty years, he’d been a powerful force in Sicilian politics. Ambitious, ruthless, shrewd, and farseeing, he’d been an effective ally and a dangerous foe, but he was now in the winter of his life, suffering from the relentless ailments of age, and some of his enemies believed his influence was waning. Mariam thought they were fools, for those heavy-lidded dark eyes still blazed with intelligence and vitality. She smiled at the sight of that stooped, wizened figure, for she had a fondness for the old man, rogue though he may be.
He greeted her with a courtly flourish, but when she asked if there had been any change in the king’s condition, he slowly shook his head. “My poor William,” he said sadly, “my poor Sicily . . . ”
Mariam felt a chill, for he seemed to be offering an epitaph both for her brother and his kingdom. Seeing how his words had affected her, Matthew sought to sound more cheerful, saying with a surprisingly youthful grin, “A pity you were not here at noon, my dear, for that pompous ass, the Archbishop of Palermo, made a ridiculous spectacle of himself—again. He actually began to argue with the Archbishop of Monreale about where the king ought to be buried, insisting that his cathedral was the proper site even though we all know the king founded Monreale as his family’s mausoleum. The Archbishop of Monreale was understandably horrified that he’d bring up such a subject at such a time and tried to silence him ere the queen overheard.