‘Then you can put your Latin to good use. Guilhem is fluent.’
‘He is old, Mother.’
‘Hardly. He is thirty-six. And you need an older man to take charge of you. Besides, it is not your decision to make.’ Agnes looked to Baldwin. ‘What do you say?’
‘Sibylla will marry Guilhem.’
‘I shan’t!’ Sibylla pouted. She threw down the rose and almost ran into John as she stormed from the room.
Baldwin frowned, and Agnes placed a hand on his knee. ‘It is what is best for her,’ she said.
Baldwin nodded and then straightened in his chair as he noticed John. ‘John, you have a message for me?’
John stepped forward so that he could see both Baldwin and Agnes. ‘I must speak with you, sire. Alone.’
Agnes laughed. ‘You must speak with him? You forget your place, John.’
John ignored her light tone. ‘It is about Amalric. I know who killed him.’
‘He died of the flux,’ Baldwin protested.
‘He did not.’ John’s eyes were locked on Agnes.
‘Tell us what you have to say, John,’ she said. ‘My son has no secrets from me.’
Baldwin nodded.
‘Very well.’ John spoke to the king, but he kept his eyes on Agnes. ‘Your mother is a liar and a traitor, sire. She murdered your father.’
Agnes did not so much as blink. ‘Careful, John. A baseless accusation like that could cost you your head.’
‘It is not baseless. I have just come from speaking with Archbishop Heraclius. He admitted to purchasing the poison that was used to kill Amalric. He delivered it into your hands, Agnes. You murdered the King.’
‘You are mistaken, John.’
‘I am not!’ John shouted, his anger mounting in the face of her calm denial. ‘You had Reynald kill the poison dealer. He was made lord of Kerak as a reward. Did you also have him send the men who tried to murder me?’
‘I am only the mother of the King, John. I have no power over Reynald.’
‘You lie!’
‘Please, John!’ Baldwin intervened. ‘I am certain my mother had nothing to do with Amalric’s death.’
‘Do not trust her word, sire. She is a liar. She should be cast in irons and thrown in the dungeon.’
‘How dare you!’ Agnes rose and looked down her nose at John. ‘You call me a liar? You are a priest who has betrayed his vow of chastity. You were a crusader who joined the Saracen army. You are the liar, John. If anyone here should be suspected of killing Amalric, it is you.’
‘You duplicitous bitch!’ John stormed from the room. He crossed the palace to the chancellery, hoping to find William there, but the room was empty. John locked the door and sat at the broad desk, his head in his hands. There was a knock at the door. No doubt guards had come for him. He had assaulted an archbishop and accused the king’s mother of murder, and he could only guess at what his punishment would be. The knock repeated, louder. John went to the door and opened it.
It was Agnes. Her eyes were moist, as if John’s accusations had actually hurt her. As if she could be hurt. She touched his arm. ‘Do not be angry with me, John.’
He shrugged her hand off. ‘How could you do it, Agnes?’
‘I did not kill him. You must believe me.’ Her green eyes met his. ‘I miss you, John.’
‘What of Amalric de Lusignan? I hear he warms your bed now.’
‘He is an oaf, disagreeable but useful,’ Agnes said, and John turned away in disgust. ‘I am a woman, John. I need men to act for me in the world. But I have nothing to gain by loving you. Think on that.’
John hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I will not fall for your lies. Not again. I will see you punished for what you have done.’
‘You have no proof.’
‘I do not need it. I will undergo ordeal by fire to prove that what I say is true.’
‘You will not pass the trial, John. You will be executed for daring to accuse me publically.’
‘It does not matter. All the world will know the truth.’
Agnes shook her head sadly. ‘Stop this madness before it is too late, John. You do not want to know the truth.’
The bells of Saint Sepulchre were tolling the call to None — the afternoon prayer — when John left the palace. The king had gone to the baths in the Hospitaller quarter, and John was headed there to tell Baldwin of his decision to undergo ordeal by fire. He would be forced to carry a red-hot iron rod for nine paces. Afterwards, his hand would be bandaged, and three days later a priest would examine it. If God had miraculously healed his hand, then that would prove that he had right on his side. If his hand were still red and blistered, then John would be killed.
John entered the baths and strode through the warm and cold rooms. Four guards stood outside the hot room. John began to push past, but one of them grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ John demanded. ‘Let me pass.’
‘Sorry, Father. You are to be arrested. King’s orders.’
John raised his voice so that Baldwin could hear him in the room beyond. ‘Tell the King that I must speak to him about his father. Tell him I can prove how he died.’
The guards exchanged a glance, and one of them stepped into the room. He returned a moment later. ‘The King will see you.’
Inside the hot room steam hissed through cracks in the tiled floor. A blazing torch near the door barely illuminated a series of shadowy alcoves built into the far wall. In one of them sat Baldwin, naked. His torso and arms were covered with sores and patches of thick, white skin. He studied John for a long time. Sweat began to bead on John’s forehead. More sweat ran down his spine and his priest’s tunic began to cling. The door swung closed behind him.
‘What do you want, John?’ Baldwin asked. ‘To make more baseless accusations against my mother? I spoke with Heraclius. He denies knowing anything about Amalric’s murder.’
‘He lies. He told me himself about the poison.’
‘When you tortured him, you mean?’
‘I barely touched him.’
‘He has a bump the size of an egg on his head. He demands that you hang like a common criminal. I have convinced the Patriarch to spare your life, but you will lose your monthly prebend. I ordered my men to arrest you for your own good. If the Patriarch’s men catch you on the street, nothing I say will spare you a beating, or worse.’ The king sighed. ‘You are making yourself powerful enemies, John. And to what end?’
‘What I say is true, sire. I am willing to undergo ordeal by fire to prove it.’
‘I cannot allow that.’
‘You cannot prevent me. Our laws-’
‘Damn our laws! I am your king, John! You will do as I say!’
‘Amalric was also my king. I have a duty to him, too. If you will not hear me, then I will go to Raymond. He is the regent. He can oversee the ordeal.’ John turned to go.
‘Wait!’
He turned back to see that Baldwin’s eyes were shining in the torchlight. The king blinked back tears. ‘My mother did not kill Amalric.’ When he spoke again, his voice was so low that John barely heard him. ‘I did.’
John felt suddenly short of breath. The heat in the room was suffocating. John shook his head. He could not believe it. He had known Baldwin since he was a child. ‘Why?’
‘Because he would never have let me become king.’ Baldwin took a deep breath. ‘I spent every waking moment trying to prove to him that I was worthy of the crown, yet he could never see me as anything but a monster.’
John recalled the conversation where Agnes had said just that. ‘You heard her, the day Agnes told me you would never succeed your father?’
Baldwin nodded. ‘I was furious. I confronted my mother. She told me what I must do. You know the rest.’
John turned and headed for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘I am leaving your service. I am a man of honour, sire, and though you are my king, justice must be done. I will undergo the ordeal to prove your guilt. Your father deserves as much.’