6: “Lo tems vai e ven e vire” (Time comes and goes and runs)

“I’m sorry!” Juliet sobbed, still crouching on the carpet. She was back in Trish’s room, crammed into the narrow space between the bed-foot and the sink. “I’m sorry!”

Trish was standing above her, hands on hips and eyes ablaze. “If you’ve hurt him in any way, I swear I’ll send you back gift-wrapped for the Lord of Kerak’s pleasure!”

Juliet pulled off the ring and held it out in her hand: “Take it! Take it! It was wrong of me! But I haven’t hurt anyone! I swear!”

“I was worried sick! About him, not you!” She put the ring back on her finger.

“I haven’t hurt anyone...” Juliet slowly stood up, and groped for words. “I got it all wrong, I know…”

“Did you get your hands on what you were after, then?”

Juliet shook her head. “No,” she sniffed. “But… your bel senhor… I found him. Oh, Trish, you should’ve said! You should’ve said!”

“Why?” she snapped back. “So you’d think I was some kind of pervert? Because that’s what most folk would think! A leper-fancier? They only see the outside! They don’t see -”

“But I do see, now,” Juliet said quietly. “I mean, he’s… so sweet. Brave. Beautiful. And I don’t know how you can bear it! I’ve only met him the once, but…”

Trish saw that something had altered in her expression, her whole demeanour. She was lost for words: no biting riposte or bitter sarcasm. She smiled wearily - and a little warily. “You look as if you need another coffee. Instant, this time. Will that do?”

Juliet nodded, and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

“And toast?”

“Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“You do know you’ve got bird-shit on your skirt?”

“Yes. That prat Guy’s falcon did it. Still, it’s not as if it’s a very nice dress to start with... A bit tacky and tarty.” She forced a smile. “I’ll probably bin it.”

Trish’s eyes widened. “You have changed!”

She went through to the kitchen to make coffee and hot buttered toast.

Juliet seated herself in the armchair by the bookshelves, and tried to pull herself together. She picked out the Yeats again, and read over the bookmarked poem, What Was Lost: “My king a lost king…” And the bilingual edition of MacLean, in which some of the most tormented poems of the Broken Image sequence were marked (“You are too late, fool!”), and a yellow highlighter had run through line after line of Remorse:

Why, God, did I not get the chance…
before your beauty was made a thing of pity,
before the golden banner was laid to the ground.

So this is how she loves him - through poems, through songs, she thought. It’s all done with words and thoughts, not bodies. Fin amors.

When Trish returned with the tray, they settled down quietly to supper. Juliet at first seemed too shaken to say much.

“No,” said the older girl, after a silence, “I don’t know how I can bear it sometimes, either. But since he does, I can’t complain, can I?”

“How did it start?”

“Well, when I first travelled, I wanted to find out about his brother-in-law… I asked questions, claimed to be one of the family. I realised I’d missed Guilhem by a matter of months. Baudouin was still in his teens then; not so ill.”

“Handsome?”

Trish smiled. “Yes - but not really my type, funnily enough! Not looks-wise. Too hunky, too blond. Made me feel self-conscious. But he grew on me.”

“The worse he looked?”

“The more I saw his real beauty - his goodness and courage - and the less he could see me.

Ar es anatz so gens cors amoros,
Don es dolors e desconotz et ira…

(Now departed is his noble, lovely body,
For whom is grief, sorrow and rage…)”

It was from Bertran de Born’s lament for ‘the Young English King’, Henry, the heir of Baudouin’s cousin Henry II. “It was meant to be a game - a literary game. That’s what it’s all about, fin amors. Play-acting. But it’s impossible to know him and feel nothing. The worst part’s knowing that these days he could be cured. Hansen’s Disease, they call it now.”

“There’s no danger of us having caught, it is there?”

“Were you immunised against TB?”

“At school.”

“Me, too. TB protects against Hansen’s - same family of bacteria - and most people are immune anyway. He was just really unlucky…”

And they talked a while longer about the courtiers Juliet had dismayed. Trish laughed at the confusion about the real Balian, and admitted she was rather glad Guy had been annoyed.

“Guy-baiting’s dead easy. But that doesn’t stop it being fun! You should hear the Count of Tripoli when he gets going!” she grinned. "Early on, I was really stupid, too… Wearing my MA gown as a coat - hot as it is - the sleeves make great pockets! I took my phone to take a few pictures. I thought better of it later - although I suppose I could have passed it off as a musical instrument!"

"You mean you have pictures?"

She nodded, and turned on her laptop, which sat on the leaf of the bureau. Soon she had summoned up a small album, discreetly labelled 'Jerusalem Photos'.

"I had to be careful. Mind, once Baudouin’s sight started to go… When we were alone I was able to take quite a few of him, without him realising."

And as the slide-show began, Juliet smiled to see him on the couch where she herself had sat, looking much as she had seen him - masked, like a painted doll. There were one or two pictures of him unmasked, which previously would have repelled her - but now she saw the courage and charm shining through his disfigurements.

"He has such a wicked smile sometimes!" Trish said, chuckling. Juliet realised she was used to reading every nuance of her bel senhor's damaged features.

There were less sharp, but still recognisable pictures, taken from the gallery, of Raymond and Eschive, Balian and Maria and their children in the gardens, and some other people Juliet did not know.

"Who's the blonde?"

"Sibylle. And there's Patriarch Heraclius and his girlfriend: she used to be a draper’s wife. And there’s Agnès!" Trish paused on a glamorous middle-aged woman.

"Agnès?"

"The Countess of Sidon, Baudouin and Sibylle's mum. The Archbishop of Tyre says she helped the Patriarch get his post because of his looks, but that’s sour grapes: he was passed over for it! She loves Baudouin in her way, though they never saw each other much when he was wee, because of the divorce. Sometimes she tries to use him - they all do - but he’s clever..."

Then she saw Baudouin again, unmasked, looking even frailer than ever, leaning on pillows in bed, his ulcerated arms and chest swathed in gauze.

"Ah. He was dying then... Just a week or two before... I don’t always visit chronologically, you see, and... I wanted to face the worst sooner. Before I cared too much."

"And you want to remember him like that?"

"He was so brave, so valiant... We all could only love him more."

Juliet’s gaze wandered to the antique Arab lute on the bed. “He told me he wanted you to have that after he died.”

“Yes,” Trish said distantly, “he did. I still feel like a thief, though. I should take it back…”

“How was it?”

Trish shrugged. “He’d been to Kerak - second siege - and got shaken up badly on the roads in that horse-litter again: bruised his back, cracked a couple of ribs.”

“He told me he’d been there a few months before - something about his little sister’s wedding,” Juliet interjected.

“Ah! That was the first siege, late ’83. There was another siege after that in ‘84. By the start of ‘85 he was exhausted. When one of his bouts of fever came on - lepers can’t sweat through the affected areas, and that was most of him by then - he couldn’t fight it any more… Pneumonia: the kind they call ‘the old man’s friend’. He wasn’t even twenty-four!”

“Poor lad!”

“At least it was peaceful enough - so I’m told. I wasn’t there, but the Count was, and Balian and most of the other barons. Still - I do what I can to tend him in small ways: I sometimes take Savlon and ointment and lavender oil, but I have to put it into earthenware jars. Just to be careful. The stuff his Syrian doctor uses has mercury in it…” She pulled a disapproving face.

“But is there nothing more you could do? No way you can save him? Bring him here for treatment?”

Trish laughed bitterly: “And change the course of history? He has to die in 1185, or the whole history of the kingdom - maybe the world - might be different!”

“But you love him!”

“Yes! But I can’t - It would be wrong!” She could see from Juliet’s expression that the younger girl was having difficulty accepting this. “You’ve watched Doctor Who, haven’t you? It’s basic time-travel ethics!”

“Surely there’s something! If you waited till just before he died, who’d notice? You could swap some other leper’s body, and bring him here -”

“An illegal immigrant, with an infectious disease? He’d end up in Dungavel or a mental home - no-one would believe him if he said who he was!”

“Yes, but…”

“And the disease was so advanced by then, it would take years to fix him: drugs, a lot of surgery, physio... So much pain… And all the time, he’d be breaking his heart - knowing his home, his kingdom, everyone he knew and loved in his life was just - dust, and didn’t exist any more! So much has changed, he’d feel as if he’d landed on another planet!”

“He’d still have you!”

“That’s not enough! I’m not his whole world - I can’t be!” She sighed. “Think about it, Jules. With your head, as well as your heart. In his own time, he’s a king. He’s crippled, and blind, and dying, but he’s a king. People respect him, admire him. He has a place in life: duties, responsibilities. He lives for that! It’s what keeps him going! Here, he’d just be a foreigner with no real identity and huge health problems. He’d be on the scrapheap! I couldn’t put him through that!”

“But you’ve thought about it?”

“Of course I thought about it… But I love him, and I wouldn’t want to see him change one prison for another. Besides,” she added with a snort, “can you honestly see me having the patience to be anyone’s full-time carer? The thesis would go down the tubes, for a start!”

Juliet sighed. She knew that Trish was right, on one level; but if he had been hers, she might have risked it, however foolishly. She thought of the mutilated face amid the soft golden hair; the clawed, decaying hands; the chivalrous heart… Was it selfless or selfish to leave him to his fate?

“I’m glad I know,” she said. “I promise I won’t tell anyone else, but perhaps… you should say something.”

Trish laughed bitterly: “A cover-story? So folk know why I’m such a crabbit bitch?”

“They will understand. And you should sing again, in public. He’ll hear you, you know - wherever he is!”

At the next meeting of the Early Music Society, the disappearance of the tension between the two girls was noticed by most of the other members. Juliet accepted criticism of her vocal technique with good grace, and her singing began to sound more heartfelt, less straining after a purely technical perfection. Trish even managed the odd smile that did not have a sardonic twist - and she agreed to sing some Rudel solos in the concert later in the term. She was quite keen that it should be for charity, though, and brought in a few leaflets about LEPRA.

“What’s come over you two?” Kate asked in the pub afterwards.

“We had a good talk last week,” Juliet replied. “We’ve both been a bit silly. I took a lot of things way too personally. And I know Trish has a lot to put up with in private, so she takes it out on other people.”

“How do you mean?”

“Boyfriend trouble.”

“Her? What, here?”

“No: someone she met him on a research trip.”

“Really? Steve thought she was a closet case!”

“He can speak for himself! No, she has a boyfriend… but he’s… ill, and she worries about him when she’s away.”

“Something serious, then?”

“Yeah, kind of like MS. Or…more like TB, but in the nerves. He’s disabled.”

“Shit…! And she’s never said a word about it!”

“She’s a bit touchy, that’s all.”

Kate shrugged. “Eh, well… That is sad… Still doesn’t give her the right to be such a bossy cow, though! - Hey! But - something happier! Have you forgotten?”

“What?”

“The DVD of Kingdom’s out next week! Only the theatrical cut so far - but what d’you say we make a party of it? In my flat?”

“Sure! Who’s invited?”

“All of us, I reckon! Even you, Trish!” Kate called over to her, as she perched on a bar-stool, quietly sipping a glass of wine.

“‘Even me’ what?”

“Party at my place, to watch Kingdom of Heaven next week! So long as you behave yourself!”

“Thanks! I’d be delighted!”

Kate grinned at Juliet: “What’s the betting she’s really a secret Orli fan?”

“I don’t think so, somehow…”

“What happened about your Lady Juliana fanfic, anyway? I went to look for it online and you’d taken it down! It sounded really good!”

“Nah! It was rubbish!” Juliet replied, shaking her head.

And so the gang assembled, with her flatmates, in Kate’s living room on Argyle Street, to watch the DVD, with popcorn, chocolates, wine. Trish brought a bottle of Asti Spumante, and narrowly avoided smashing the lightbulb opening it. They had a wonderful evening: Trish kept her historian’s carpings down to the level of sly whispers, although Juliet let fly a few squawks of derision at the romance.

“Come on, Jules!” Kate said. “Even if it didn’t quite happen that way, you said yourself that Orli’s a hottie!”

“Maybe I did,” she said. “But frankly, he’s nowhere near as hot - or cool - as the King! Now, he’s the real ‘perfect knight’! Who needs a face when you’ve got a personality like that?”

Kate stared at her as if she were quite mad; and Trish smiled wryly to herself…

Envol:
(by Bernart de Ventadorn)

Messatgers vai e cor,
E di.m a la gensor
La pena e la dolor
Que.n trac, e.l martire.

(Messenger, go and run,
And tell my noble one
The pain and the grief
I bear for her, and the martyrdom.)

Meanwhile in Outremer:

In spring 1185, Baudouin the Leper, the true ‘lion-heart’ of the Angevins, died before reaching his 24th birthday. He was succeeded by his nephew Baudouin V ('Baudouinet'), but the sickly child soon died. Sibylle succeeded as Queen regnant, having agreed to an annulment, but then double-crossed everyone by crowning Guy herself with the crown matrimonial. Disaster followed, with the battle of Hattin in 1187. Guy was sent to Damascus as a prisoner. Balian d’Ibelin, Lord of Nablus, also taken prisoner, was released by Saladin when he said that his wife Queen Maria was ill, and that she and his children needed him. He took command of the defence of Jerusalem, as did Queen Sibylle, and did indeed secure the safety of its citizens on its surrender. He and his family then headed for Tyre on the coast. Raymond of Tripoli, who also survived the battle of Hattin, died of pleurisy and a broken heart, still in his 40s.

Trish’s words to the King about her countrymen not letting Lusignan triumph were based on her foreknowledge as a historian. In July 1187,a merchant-vessel arrived in Tyre from Constantinople. Aboard was Conrad, younger brother of Sibylle’s first husband, Guilhem de Monferrat. He saved the city from the besieging Saracens, and enabled what was left of the kingdom to survive until help could arrive from the west. After Sibylle and her daughters, Alys and Marie, died of fever in Acre in 1190, Guy (now a free man) lost his right to the throne, and found himself in competition with Conrad, who married Queen Isabelle - Balian’s stepdaughter. After a bitter dispute, in 1192 Conrad was elected King - with Guy getting no votes at all. Guy was sold Cyprus as a consolation prize - but Conrad was never crowned. He was murdered by Assassins within the week, but the heiresses of the kingdom who followed were his descendants.

Guy died around 1193-94, probably in his early 40s. Balian, who had supported Conrad, died about the same time, aged 60. His widow Maria Comnena survived until 1217 - having outlived her eldest daughter Queen Isabelle and grand-daughter Marie, and lived to see her native city sacked by the so-called Fourth Crusade, under the Venetians and Bonifaz de Monferrat, who became King of Thessalonica.