horses, they decided to walk, glad to be on firm ground after so many hours aboard ship. The city was beginning to stir, people opening their shops, street vendors preparing to start their rounds, windows being flung open and voices echoing on the early-morning air. But there was none of the usual bustle and cheer, and the subdued atmosphere reminded Henri of a town under siege.
The archbishop’s palace was unusual in that it was not situated near the Cathedral of the Holy Cross; instead it was next to the hall of the Genoese commune, so after passing the church of St Mark, they turned west. By now the streets were not as deserted and they soon attracted attention. Suddenly people were flocking around them, bursting out of their shops and houses, cheering and laughing. Henri was not surprised that the despairing citizens of Tyre would embrace Balian as their savior. All knew he’d saved the inhabitants of Jerusalem from Saladin’s wrath after the battle of Ḥaṭṭīn, so it made sense that they’d feel more secure if he was in the city. Their emotional welcome showed Henri just how raw their nerves were, how badly they’d been shaken by Conrad’s murder.
There were so many in the street now that they were unable to make much progress. Glancing at the other man, Henri essayed a small joke. “Since you’re Tyre’s new patron saint, you might try parting the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea.”
Balian turned to stare at him. “They are not cheering for me, Henri. If Tyre has a new patron saint, it is obviously you.”
Henri started to scoff, but then he listened more closely and, to his astonishment, they were indeed shouting his name. Before he could ponder this unexpected development, a priest broke through the throng, seized his hand, and kissed it fervently. “You are our salvation, my lord count, the answer to our prayers! Tell us you’ll save our city and our kingdom!”
Henri was rarely flustered, but he was now, and he extricated his hand with difficulty from the priest’s frantic grip. As he studied the eager faces of the men and women surrounding them, a memory stirred—Dārūm and the freed prisoners mobbing Richard, acclaiming him as their savior. An alarming suspicion was taking form in the back of his brain even before he heard a man cry out in a loud, booming voice, “Promise us, my lord, promise you’ll wed our queen and be our next king!”
It took them almost an hour to reach the archbishop’s dwelling, fighting their way through crowds every step of the way. Archbishop Joscius hastened out into the courtyard to bid them welcome, and it was only when they’d been ushered inside that Henri could draw an unconstricted breath. His heart twisted with pity for these poor, despairing souls, but he was aware, too, of an instinctive unease, and he told the archbishop that he needed to rest for a few hours ere he went to make his condolence call upon the Lady Isabella. The archbishop was a gracious host even in the face of calamity, and Henri and his squire were soon escorted to one of the best bedchambers in the palace. His need had been for solitude, not sleep, but he’d been awake for fully a day and night, and once Lucas had helped him remove his boots, he stretched out on the bed.
While he hadn’t meant to sleep, he soon slipped into that shadow state between the borders of slumber and wakefulness, and although he would remember none of his dreams, he knew they’d not been pleasant. He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to find Lucas bending over him, reporting that the archbishop needed to speak with him as soon as possible.
Henri was still groggy and stumbled to the table, where a basin and towel had been laid out for his use. Splashing his face with cold water, he shrugged when Lucas announced dolefully that he could not find a brush. Henri prided himself upon lacking vanity, although Joanna had once pointed out that only the good-looking could afford to be indifferent to appearance. Remembering his aunt’s astute observation now, he smiled, for she’d been right, of course; he’d been blessed with his share of his grandmother Eleanor’s beauty, and since childhood, he’d known there were almost as many advantages in being pleasing to the eye as there were in being highborn. But he did want to look presentable when