Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,279

he called upon the Lady Isabella and he was attempting to smooth his curly, fair hair with the palm of his hand when another knock sounded on the door.

“Tell them I’ll be down straightaway, Lucas.” A soft cry of surprise from his squire spun him around, his scabbard not yet buckled. The boy stepped aside, hastily making an obeisance as the Archbishop of Tyre moved into the chamber, followed by Balian and at least a dozen others. Henri instantly recognized the undeniably ugly visage and intelligent dark eyes of Renaud Garnier, Lord of Sidon, one of the kingdom’s most powerful barons. Beside him stood two men Henri had met on his prior visit, Aymar de Lairon, whose recent marriage had made him Lord of Caesarea, and Rohard, son of the newly deceased Pagan, Lord of Haifa. Behind them were Ansaldo Bonvicino, Conrad’s chancellor; Atho de Valentia, the citadel’s castellan; and Guglielmo Burone and Bonifacio de Flessio, the most influential members of the local Genoese commune, as well as several bishops and a few men unfamiliar to Henri.

After greeting them, Henri asked warily, “What is so urgent that it could not wait until I came down to the great hall?”

“Our need is more than urgent, my lord count.” Archbishop Joscius had apparently been chosen as their spokesman. Coming forward, he put a hand on Henri’s arm and then said, in the grave, sonorous tones reserved for the pulpit, “We have come to offer you a crown, a bride, and a kingdom.”

Henri took a quick backward step, his eyes narrowing. But it was Balian he addressed. “Is this why you wanted me to come to Tyre? Did you know this would happen?”

Balian was neither disturbed nor defensive. “I did not lie to you, Henri, when I told you why you were needed here. But yes, I did hope you would be acclaimed by the people, and I make no apologies for that. We do not have the luxury of mourning Conrad and I make no apologies for that, either, not when the very survival of our kingdom is at stake.”

“And Isabella does not get to mourn, either? Does she know that you are planning to marry her off within days of her husband’s funeral?”

Balian gave Henri an odd smile, one that managed to convey sadness, sympathy, and an implacable resolve. “She knows,” he said, and Henri shook his head angrily, for anger was the safest of the emotions he was struggling with.

“Why could you not be honest with me, Balian? Why could you not tell me that the lot of you had decided I’d make a satisfactory suitor for Isabella’s hand?”

“Would you have come back if he had?” the archbishop asked. “We needed a chance to talk with you, to make you see that you are not just a ‘satisfactory suitor.’ You are the only one whom we can rally around, the only one deemed worthy by us all. You are a man of courage and common sense, a man of good birth and—”

The archbishop was not often interrupted, but Conrad’s chancellor was growing impatient that they’d not yet gotten to the heart of the matter. “That is all well and good,” Ansaldo Bonvicino said brusquely. “Yes, men respect you, Count Henri, and you’ve proven yourself in battle, so you can be trusted to lead an army. But none of that makes you indispensable. What does is the blood flowing in your veins. You are the nephew of two kings, the one man able to command the support of both the English and the French. You are known to stand high in Richard’s favor, but you’d also be acceptable to the Duke of Burgundy, for you are the son of Philippe’s sister. Even after peace is made with Saladin, we will need the continued support of the other Christian kingdoms, need money and men. And we are much more likely to get it if you are the one ruling over us.”

Not all of them were pleased with Ansaldo’s interference. They would have preferred that the case be made by their urbane, eloquent archbishop. They looked to him now to repair any damage done by the other man’s brash candor, and Joscius was quick to step into the breach.

“I’ll not deny that your kinship to the kings of France and England is important to us. But we’d not seek you out if we did not think you’d make a good king, for we cannot afford another Guy de Lusignan. In you, my lord