Chapter 3: The Count of Beirut
March 1212
It was a beautiful spring day when the party approached Castle Melfi. The castle itself was quite formidable. Located in the scenic and defensible hills of southern Italy, it was the gateway between Campania and Apulia. Arrayed outside was an army that seemed to comprise all of Sicily. Young King Friederich Houenstaufen had decided to take advantage of the usurper Otto Welf’s excommunication to retake his birthright, the throne of the Holy Roman Empire, joined in the war by the French King Phillipe Augustus.
Above the walls flew the banners of the Count of Melfi and his wife, the Countess of Leece, and above them the banner of Sicily, side by side with the Imperial Regalia of the German Empire.
Sicily hasn’t been this united since the days of the de Hautevilles.
It was a surprise to be greeted by the King himself at the entrance to the castle. Ahorse with the Count of Melfi on his left, and his marshal, Count Pietro of Marisica on his right.
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“My Lord of Ibelin you’ve come a long way from the Holy Land.”
“Indeed I have your grace. And have farther still to go.”
“Indeed?”
“First to Rome, then on to France for my grand niece’s wedding.” Of course Jean left out the two messages he carried. The regent had made clear that he was to maintain the utmost of secrecy, and far more importantly to Jean, the High Court had approved his decision.
“Ah yes, the sweet Princess Phillipa. The rider my wife sent ahead told us of the sweet Princess, though he neglected to mention her ravishing beauty.” He turned to her. “I do hope you enjoyed my sweet Queen’s company.”
Phillipa’s cheeks were bright red. “Your wife was most gracious and kind. She and the Count showed us around, Palermo. You are blessed to have such a beautiful kingdom.”
Ibelin had found the Queen standoffish, but maybe that was because her marriage to Frederick had reminded him too much of his own failed union. Constance of Aragon was almost twice as old as her husband and had been Queen of Hungary before remarrying to Frederick. Still, it could not be said she did not do her duty, for she had already born the king a son and heir, whom she doted on with the obsession of one who had already lost a child.
And maybe having left everything behind not once, but twice, had allowed her to be a comfort to young Phillipa, nervous as she was about marrying so far from home.
“You have good taste, Princess. Palermo is the jewel of Sicily. I spent time there when I was young. I would have loved to have made it my capital, as it was in the days of the Norman kings, but alas I am bound to honor the distribution of tittles that occurred in my minority.”
That was something the Count of Melfi, would no doubt be glad to hear.
The king turned to his vassal. “I would hope the castle has food and drink enough to feast this party?”
“Of course your grace. Castle Melfi is able and honored to host such an important delegation. With that, they were led inside.
He took a bath and got dressed for dinner. His servant, Khalida picked out his clothes for him. She did not have a beautiful face. Yet she was also curious, quick, and eager to please. Jean of Ibelin had kept many native bedwarmers over the years, most of them far more attractive than Khalida. But he had never had one who could keep up with his conversations. It was an altogether enthralling experience.
He tried to kiss her but she pushed him away.
“I’m sorry my Lord but if we are to share a bed again you must give me what you promised.”
“Dear God Khalida this again?”
“You promised. After your horrid wife died you swore to me that we’d be married.”
He had been very drunk that night. Jean and his first wife had hated each other, but he’d still known her for so many years. The feelings her death brought about, he needed a drink to clear his head.
“Khalida. I love you. But I am a lord. I must do my duty and wed for the benefit of my family.”
“Oh don’t give me that. You’re letting your daughter be courted by the regent’s lowborn companions. ”
Jean scowled at the memory. It had been the most odious of the terms his mother had agreed to with the regent. He had only agreed to it because he knew his sweet Cecile was too good to fall for any of them. Even Alphonse, who had proved to be a model knight. Sharing a hunt was one thing, giving your daughter to the man was quite another.
“Even that was for the interests of my house.” The Kingdom needed stability, his mother had reminded him. This odious arrangement would keep the peace between himself and the regent
“You’re the greatest lord of the realm. You shouldn’t have to take orders from your mother anymore.”
“You go beyond your place. I make my own decisions.”
“What good is it to be master of Jerusalem if you cannot marry who you want?”
If I were master of Jerusalem I wouldn’t be here. You’re free to enjoy the feast. You should go on and make merry and forget about the conversation we’ve just had.
“As you wish, my lord”, she spat the last word.
At the dinner, Jean and Phillipa were seated to the King’s left, the Count and his family on the right. The meal commenced after the usual perfunctory gestures towards the valor of various lords and knights. The King spoke first to the Count of Melfi.
“Your home has been a wonderful treat, just marvelous. It’s true what my tutors said, Castle Melfi is the most strategically located castle in the land. Yet they never told me of the wonderful hospitality of its lord.”
“I am honored your grace, but the credit must go to my lady wife, the beautiful Countess Albina.” The count spoke in between attacking a chicken leg.
“Ah yes my cousin, I have so many of those. It is always a pleasure to be amongst family.”
The Countess was a thin woman with Sicilian features. She didn’t seem to notice, her husband’s compliments, busy as she was with her fidgeting children.
“Garunthier stop hitting your brother.”
“But he stole my knight!”
“He’s three. He’s too young to know any better.”
The Count looked like he was ready to hit someone.
“It’s no bother. Really it’s my fault for insisting you bring a six-year-old to the table, but I just had to meet little lord Garunthier", said the King.
The Countess finally understood that the King was paying her attention. “Little Garunthier”
“Yes mama”
“The King has need of you.”
He looks so much like his mother.
“Yes your gwace.”
“Are you enjoying yourself.”
“Yes your gwace. Even if my little brother is being a stupid thief.”
The King laughed. “Thiefs truly are horrid. Why when I was little some of them even tried to steal my crown.”
“No. That’s horrible.” The little boy said dramatically.
The King nodded. “Indeed it is. They suffered as they must, and I hope none will do anything again so treacherous again. You know what kings do to traitors don’t you?’
“They chop off their heads!” The boy exclaimed with a little too much eagerness.
His mother had a pale look on her face. Had she really not told her son of her heritage? Of how his father died?
“Your grace, we are both loyal. Our forces ride beside yours to fight for your claim to the Holy Roman Empire", said the Count of Melfi.
“Oh, I was never questioning your loyalty or that of the Countess. I was just reminding the little Baron of what a king does to…”
The king was interrupted by the cry of a small shrill voice. “Mommy’s not a Countess, she’s a princess!”
The Countess tittered nervously, while the Count looked like he wanted to strangle little Simon.
Frederick though seemed to find the whole thing amusing. “Well, there goes subtlety. My lady of Hauteville it has been a pleasure to be a guest at your husband’s castle. You must know, I had no involvement in your first husband’s death. How could I, I was a child. I just hope that any biterness between us is a thing of the past. And that you and yours will take up an honored place at court.”
“I remain loyal to you my King, and to my husband Giacomo, my one true love.” She sounded convincing, but Jean felt he could see her eyes downcast. The King didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
“Marvelous, simply marvelous. I hear it that you yourself are quite the scholar. You are always welcome to any book in my collection. Why I might even send one to you if you ask nicely.”
“It would be an honor to receive any gift from you, your grace.”
For the rest of the banquet, Jean couldn’t help but notice that every time the table was presented with a new dish, the Countess would sample both food and drink before giving it over to her children. Her husband teased her incessantly about her gluttony, but Jean suspected something else was at play.
He himself stayed temperate. The chancellor could drink eat and wench as well as the next man, but he was acting as the Queen’s ambassador. Though he cared not a whit for her proud fool of a father, indeed he secretly hoped the Holy Father could be swayed to confirm him as regent, in spite of the pact he had made, the babe was still his grandniece and it behooved him to do his best in her service.
As the dinner dragged on and the men grew more drunk and rowdy, the Countess of Leece announced that it was time for her children to be put to bed and that she would do so herself. Her husband brooked no objection to this breach of social protocol, nor did the King. The Princess also decided to retire for the night, or more accurately, Jean commanded that she be sent to her chambers, with Khadiva accompanying her.
The king bid them farewell, wishing Phillipa a pleasant journey and a happy marriage, and promising that the boys would be raised high in the realm as loyal vassals of the new Kaiser of a united Empire and Sicily, words no doubt also meant for his parents
Count Giacomo waited until his wife had cleared the room, before scoping the nearest servant girl up in his arms, depositing her in his lap, and kissing her, to the uproarious laughter of the attendant lords and Knights.
“Do...Do you have any hunting birds?” The King said in between spasms of laughter.
The Count lifted his face up from between the red-faced, squealing girl’s breasts. “Your grace we have some of the finest in Italy.”
‘Then alas my count of Melfi, it appears young Heinrich will have to continue this war in my name. For it appears I have died and gone to heaven.”
A loud cheer went up from the benches. Soon almost every man amongst them had a wench in arms.
“You wouldn’t join in the fun my Count of Beirut?”
Jean was tempted, but the recent fight with Khalida weighed on him. What kind of lord let the word of an ugly sixteen-year-old low bornLevantine girl, affect him so. And thinking that brought her words back to him. If I had to choose, I would choose her.
“I wish I could your grace. Alas, a lover’s quarrel weighs on me.”
He expected the king to call him an idiot, or something worse. Instead, he nodded his head sideways, as by this point in the night the young King had consumed copious amounts of wine. “I understand you. I too once had a woman I loved above all others. But alas fate is a cruel mistress. I was torn up about it for weeks. I still feel for her. We all move on in our own due time.”
“Aww, my poor King. Here let me give you a kiss for comfort”, said the very drunk servant girl who was wrapped around her monarch’s arms.
“I must be in heaven. For here I have an angel.”
“Your Grace, I assure you, that one is a real devil where it counts”, the Count said with the slurred speech of a drunkard.
“Indeed, then alas let me take her to my chambers and see if I might exorcise whatever accursed spirit ails this fairest of creatures.” The King leaped from his seat and carried the girl off to his chambers. No doubt whatever exorcism he would attempt would not be the kind the Church approved of.
The Count arose, relatively, early in the morning. He quickly got dressed and slipped out of his chambers.
At the main hall, he found who he was looking for. The Countess had awakened early to supervise whatever servants weren’t nursing hangovers, abed with the guests, or both, in tidying up the place.
The two exchanged pleasantries.
“I was wondering my lady if you were not aware that your former brother in law remains as regent of Jerulsum?”
“I assumed as much my Count of Beirut, after all, it is his child who is now Queen.” Jean felt half tempted to launch into a lecture on the ancient rights of the Kingdom of Jerusalem’s nobility, those rights included choosing the regent, but decided against it.
“I admit, though we have served on the council together, I know little of what Jean of Brienne is like as a man.”
“And you would want me to tell you? In exchange for what, exactly?”
“Simple courtesy to a guest? If that doesn’t suit, a guarantee that I will protect your son’s interests in the Holy Land.”
“My son’s interests in the Holy Land? My Lord, my husband and I left for Italy the year of our marriage. Jean war courteous and chivalrous to me throughout my family’s stay in France. My husband left him to manage the barony. After he died, he managed it in the name of my son. Beyond that, we had no connection. He made no effort to back me or my son while he was regent. So far as I am concerned his interests and mine are severed. My husband may not be the kindest or most faithful man, but he keeps me and my sons safer than any knight on the far side of the Mediterranean ever could.”
That was a good thing to hear. “I wish you and your husband good luck in this war.”
“And I wish you good luck on your mission ahead, Count Jean of Beirut.”
He wished he could talk to her more. A woman as knowledgeable as she was wasted on a man like Giacomo. But alas such conversation was in neither his interest nor that of Jerusalem. Intelectual conversation with the King on the other hand, that would serve both his interests as Count of Beirut and that of the larger realm.
By midday the army departed, followed up the road to Rome by Princess Philipa and her party. The King and some of the Lords rode up ahead to hawk, the King’s favorite sport.
The King would go on and on about the various breeds of falcons and the nobles would nod along and pretend to understand what he was talking about. But the King’s mind moved a mile a minute. As soon as they spied ruins the King stopped the whole hunting party to wax poetic about the glory of the ancients. “He almost seems to wish we still lived in such pagan times, the marshall muttered, thankfully where the King couldn’t hear him.
The Count didn’t know much about Falcons, but he knew a lot about Rome and art and architecture in general. They wandered around the ruins, Jean pointing out various features that caught his eye to the Emperor. Jean was particularly drawn to the mosaics and weathered paintings that clung to the cracked marble of the old buildings.
“I’ll have to have someone build a replica of this for myself in Beirut.”
“You and me both”, said the King.
Jean decided to stay with a small retinue and sketch out the ruins while the rest of the party moved up the road to Rome. Khalida silently drew and committed art to memory.
What a wife she would be.
The party parted at a fork in the road. The King would continue on to his war, and Phillipa’s traveling party would go on to Rome, and then to France.
“Give my regards to Pope Innocent. He may be much more of a stickler for religious doctrine than you or I, but he is a strong Prince nonetheless and did his best to protect me when I was young. The enemies of the faith tremble before a man like him.” Jean had heard stories of what Innocent did to “enemies of the faith.” Most of those enemies had been Christians, the Cathars of Languedoc, and his mother’s people, the Greeks of Constantinople.
“I will give the Pope your regards.”
“Oh and Count”, the King called after him.
“Yes your Grace.”
“I have it on good word that the Pope will soon give Jeruslum everything it might require.”
Is what I think he’s saying really true?
“Thank you, your Grace. I will pray that your words prove true and that you are victorious in this war.”
It occurred to Jean that if things went the right way, the Emperor of the Romans might, for the first time in centuries, be held by a man resembling the Romans of old.
