All Things Are Lights – Day 184 of 200

“Perhaps,” said Roland. His heart twisted in pain as he saw Louis’s face. If they were not in the tent of an enemy lord, Roland would have taken Louis in his arms to try to comfort him.

“My own cousin. Roland, what could I have done to him to make him want to do this to me? To my wife, my child. To his comrades. How have I hurt him, driven him to this. This is worse, so much worse, than anything I have suffered from the Saracens. If Turan Shah had killed me, his crime would have been nothing compared to Amalric’s. My God, my God!”

“Even Jesus had a Judas,” said Roland, trying to think of some way to console Louis.

“Do not compare me with Seigneur Jesus,” said Louis with sudden anger. “That is blasphemy.” In a quieter tone he added, “But this treachery is as foul as Judas’.”

Baibars said, “Your King is very upset.”

“This perfidious lord is his kinsman,” Roland explained. “And a man of great importance in our country. The King has never before experienced such a betrayal.”

“Then life has not prepared him well for kingship. Ask him, does he recognize that the letter comes from the Count Amalric? Does he wish to see more?” Baibars indicated the pile of scrolls in his lap as Roland translated.

“Amalric is one of the few barons who knows how to write,” said Louis. “His mother, my father’s sister, insisted upon it. I do not recognize the writing as his, because I do not know his hand that well. But the seal is his. The three crowns. I have seen that ring on his finger a thousand times.” He covered his face with his hands.

“Sire, I have known for a long time that Count Amalric hated you and wished to do you harm.”

“Then you, too, have betrayed me!” Louis shouted, his big eyes glaring in sudden rage. “Why did you never tell me?”

Roland felt his face burn, just as if the King had slapped him.

“Sire, you spoke of bad blood between Amalric and me. If I had told you what I thought I knew, or suspected, you would have thought I was maligning the count out of my own ill will. If what I say now is not true, punish me as you see fit.”

Louis sighed. “You are right. I remember what Amalric did to you at the tournament, and I heard tales of other things. He suspected you of loving his countess, did he not?”

“I do love his countess, sire,” said Roland quietly. “That was another reason why I could not speak against him to you. Much of what I knew about his intentions I learned from her, and if I spoke of them it would have put her in danger.”

“I did suspect there was something between you two,” said Louis with a sad smile. “The giving of the scarf at my Queen’s song contest was not so innocent after all, was it? How long ago that was! Yes, I would never have believed you if you had accused him without proof. He and I quarreled about many things, but I always thought I could depend upon him.” He looked at Roland with the eyes of a wounded child. “I trusted him.”

“This betrayal shocks you greatly,” said Baibars, who had sat listening to the exchange in French between Roland and Louis.

“We are not so used to treachery in those close to us as apparently you are here,” said Louis sarcastically. Roland flinched within as he translated this. But Baibars laughed. The King’s air of moral superiority seemed to amuse him.

“Turan Shah was as different from you, O King, as a jackal is from an eagle. That is why I am willing to make a treaty with you. But I would add one more condition to the terms you and Turan Shah agreed upon.”

“What is that?”

“Turan Shah did not think of it because he did not expect you to live. I ask you to swear on oath that you will not attack Islam for twenty years. I am convinced that if you take such an oath you will keep it. You are the most powerful monarch in Christendom, and also the only one who insists on continuing these foolish wars against us. If you give me your word, I know we will have twenty years of peace.”

“Why twenty years?” asked Louis. “Why not ten or a hundred?”

“I will tell you in all honesty. It is the real reason why I wish to send you back to your people. I need those twenty years to make Islam safe against the Tartars.”

Roland’s head spun. Saint Michel, what did the Tartars have to do with all this? He knew that Baibars himself was a Tartar, and that the Tartars had briefly invaded Europe nearly ten years ago, annihilated huge armies of Christian knights, then had mysteriously disappeared again. Were they coming back? And had his fate really been decided by a savage nation almost totally unknown to him?

“I see!” Louis exclaimed. “And if we Christians allied ourselves with the Tartars, between us we could destroy the empire of Islam. You are asking me to forswear a great opportunity.”

“It is an opportunity you would be foolish to seize. I myself am a Tartar of the Kipchak nation, O King. Allah willed that I be captured by Turks as a boy, and so I became a civilized man and a Muslim. The Tartars believe it is their destiny to conquer the whole world. If you helped them against us, they would swallow you up next.”

“It was not so long ago we waited in terror for them to invade France,” mused Louis. “Very well, Emir Baibars. Done. Twenty years of peace between us.”

Roland’s heart beat faster. He felt himself smiling.

“It will be twenty years anyway,” Louis continued, “before I can raise another army big enough to liberate Jerusalem.”

Another army in twenty years? God, Roland despaired, how many of us have to die in Outremer before we realize we do not belong here?

Baibars’s wide mouth curled in a grin. “You have saved your life, O King. I could not have let you go free if you had not promised me those twenty years. Let me send for scribes, and we will write all the conditions down and sign them.”

Roland’s heartbeat sounded like thunder in his ears. Thank God! Thank God!

Louis held up a hand. “Wait, emir. What of Damietta?”

Baibars smiled, a little cruelly, Roland thought. “You have promised to give it to me, O King. You must deliver the city to me before you or any of your men can go free.”

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