Ascalon be destroyed, and Richard was not willing to agree to this.
RICHARD HAD DISPATCHED Humphrey back to Jerusalem in one last attempt to reach an accord. Learning that Richard had returned to Jaffa that afternoon, Henri was heading for the castle. It heartened him to see how much progress the city had made in the nine months since they’d ridden into desolate ruins. Once they’d rebuilt the walls, many of the former residents came back; at least the Christians did. It was Henri’s hope that the day would come when Saracens and Franks could once more dwell in the towns and countryside in relative harmony, for the kingdom could not survive without cooperation between the various peoples who laid claim to its hallowed, blood-soaked soil. It had happened before, so why not again? Henri tried to convince himself that eventually they’d have to end the war, if only because both sides were too exhausted to keep fighting. But by then, what would be left of Outremer?
There was a reassuring air of normalcy about the recovering city: women marketing, children playing in the streets, vendors hawking their wares on spread-out rugs. There was also a thriving traffic in sin. The contingent of prostitutes who’d followed the crusaders from Acre to Jaffa had stayed even after the army left, for there were always plenty of soldiers there—men convalescing from wounds and sickness, deserters, those in need of a brief respite from the war. Leaning out of upper-story windows, some of these ladies of ill repute called out to Henri and his escort as they rode by, promising all sorts of carnal delights for the right price. Henri just laughed and called back, “Sorry, sweethearts, I’m a married man now,” but a few of his knights cast wistful looks over their shoulders as they passed.
When they reached the castle, Henri was told Richard was abovestairs in the solar, and he headed in that direction. But as he opened the door to the stairwell, he found himself face-to-face with Humphrey de Toron. They both came to an abrupt halt. Henri had done his best to avoid just such an encounter, and he’d been so successful that he suspected Humphrey had been dodging him, too.
Deciding the least awkward approach would be to ignore the obvious, Henri said, as nonchalantly as he could, “I’d heard you were back from Jerusalem. Is Saladin still demanding that we raze Ascalon to the ground?”
“I regret so. With neither of them willing to compromise on this, the chances for peace do not look good. I did what I could to persuade the sultan, explaining the vast sums King Richard had spent on Ascalon, but to no avail. . . .”
Humphrey sounded as if he were blaming himself for the failure of the negotiations, and Henri wished he could assure him that he’d done the best he could under difficult circumstances, but he feared that Humphrey would take it as condescension. “My uncle has complete faith in you,” he said at last. He would have continued up the stairs then, but Humphrey was still blocking his way.
“Is she . . . well?” he asked, no longer meeting Henri’s gaze.
“Yes, she is.” Henri would have preferred to leave it at that, but he understood Humphrey’s concern. Deciding he owed it to the other man to ease his mind if he could, he said, “She is no longer troubled by early-morning sickness and her midwives have assured her that she is young and healthy and the pregnancy and birth ought to go as expected.”
Humphrey had lashes a woman might have envied, long and thick, veiling his eyes. But he could not control his face. Henri thought, Hellfire and damnation, and suppressed a sigh. “Humphrey . . . ”
Humphrey’s head came up. “No,” he said, “I do not blame you. The man I blame is dead and deservedly so.” He started to squeeze past Henri, but then stopped, the words coming out low and fast, as if escaping of their own will. “I will pray the child is a girl. I would not want to see a son of Conrad of Montferrat rule over Outremer.”
He didn’t wait for Henri’s response, was already gone before Henri said, very softly, “Neither would I.” He stood there for a time, thinking upon the odd turns and twists of fate that had brought him and Humphrey de Toron to this moment, and then took the stairs two at a time, his spurs striking sparks upon the stone grooves