With You, I’ll be Only Sibylla (Part 7)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that you recognize. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history.

 

Warning: Implications of adult material

 

Chapter 7: A Princess’ Decision

The sight of Jerusalem greeted her; the open gates were like the jaws of an ancient monstrosity. She had no desire to go in, to be embroiled in that seething cauldron of politics again, but what choice did she have. Her blood had doomed her from her birth. She was a princess. She was a political pawn. Sibylla glanced at the still form of her brother on his litter. He had always been her shield, trying to protect her from all the dangerous intricacies of court life, but now he was dying. To whom would he pass this mantle of protector? In her mind, there was only one candidate. She risked looking backwards, past Guy, and at the unimposing figure of Balian. He gave her a small smile and then resumed his conversation with Tiberias.

 

His presence made Sibylla feel a bit safer in her own city. If she could have her way, then he would be her Champion. The noises and smells of Jerusalem washed over her, bringing her back to reality. The lords and knights began to disperse to go to their houses in the city. Balian and his men broke off relatively early to ride back to Balian’s house. The servants no doubt would be unprepared for their master’s arrival.

 

The palace was dark, even though the servants had lit all the torches. The king was quickly carried to his own chambers. The Saracen physicians, sent by Saladin himself, followed, along with Bishop Heraclius, the patriarch of Jerusalem. Sibylla was left alone to find her own way back to her apartments, not that she actually needed an escort. Guy brushed past her and disappeared into the dimness of the corridors. They had not spoken during the entire journey back to Jerusalem. She cared not. There was nothing to say. He had his way of life; she had hers.

 

The princess’ soft footsteps echoed in the empty darkness as she strode to her apartments. The door was opened for her with a soft creak, and the maidservant who’d opened it dipped a curtsey when she saw that her mistress had returned.

 

“The little prince sleeps,” she whispered. “Shall I…”

 

“No, do not wake him,” said Sibylla. She slid her dusty cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Youmna without sparing the girl a glance. The princess could see her sleeping son from behind sheer curtains. His pewter knight was on his bedside table. The warm glow of the candlelight bathed him in a golden glow. He looked so peaceful, with his thumb in his mouth. The resemblance to a sleeping Balian was almost uncanny. She felt love well up inside her for these two men in her life. Both were angels, sent by God to bring her to salvation. Pushing aside the curtains, she went to her son’s bedside and sat there. Baldwin shifted but did not wake. She brushed his hair away from his face and placed a kiss on his forehead. The boy’s eyes fluttered open.

 

“Maman?” he murmured. His mind was still muddled with sleep. “Where have you been? I missed you.”

 

“I know, mon cheri,” she said. “I’m back now.” She gathered the sleepy boy in her arms and held him close, rocking him.

 

“I had a dream,” he told her as he snuggled up to her. “I dreamed that I was a knight, and I won many many battles.”

 

“Did you now?” said Sibylla with a sad smile. She wished that her little boy would never know the ugly reality of battle, and that he would stay her little boy forever, but she knew that was not to be. Baldwin was to be king, just like his uncle, his father and his grandfather. Kings were warriors. They had to be. She wished there was someone who could guide him, and teach him to be a man. As it was, she could only rely on William of Tyre, who, being a churchman, was unused to the ways of war and politics. Guy was definitely out of question. She would not let him within ten feet of her son.

 

And Balian. He would have been the perfect choice, if only she hadn’t married Guy. Balian would be able to care for her and her son, and he would remain true; their protector. She began to rock Baldwin back and forth, singing softly to make him go back to sleep. He was a comforting warm weight in her arms. As she coaxed her son back to sleep, a plan began to in her mind. Was she not the princess of Jerusalem? She was not just any other woman. An ordinary woman would have no say in the choice of her husband, but she was Sibylla, and she always had a say.

 

***

 

Balian’s house was quiet; an oasis of peace in the bustling city of Jerusalem. There was light coming from the windows. The master was still awake, and busy at work, designing the plans for the new fortifications which the king had commissioned. He wondered if his walls would ever be built; with the king dying, there would no doubt be a struggle for power as the factions strived to dominate the court. Was that not why Tiberias had asked him to come to Jerusalem?

 

He heard the sound of horse’s hooves in his courtyard. Who could be riding at this hour of the night? He set down his charcoal. Shooing an inquisitive mouse out of his shoes, he slipped them on and went out to investigate. The night breeze was cool and pleasant, brushing his face like the breath of a lover.

 

“Sibylla?” he said when he saw who’d arrived. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I had to come,” she said, almost running up to him. Strands of hair escaped from under her turban. ”I felt trapped within the palace.”

 

Balian smiled. Of all the places she could’ve gone to, she’d come to him. And yet, he wasn’t surprised. “You are always welcome here,” he said.

 

“I know,” said Sibylla. She leaned against him, and she felt his arms around her. She felt safe, at peace, just listening to his strong steady heartbeat. Her knight was here. For a while, she could forget her worries. With one move, he’d swept her into his arms and carried her into the house. She did not protest. In fact, she was enjoying every moment of it. The princess stroked Balian’s cheek. His beard was rough beneath her soft hands. She traced the outline of his jaw, letting her finger run lightly down his neck. He shivered, and she smiled to herself.

 

By the time he reached the master suite, his desire was almost overwhelming him. No words passed between him and Sibylla. They didn’t need words; their bodies said enough. He kissed her, putting all his passion and desire into that kiss. She responded with the same fervour, entangling her slender fingers in his thick curls.

 

Hungrily, she almost tore off his shirt. He broke off the kiss, wincing. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

“Nothing,” he said, although his face said that he was not telling her the truth.

 

“Balian, tell me,” she said.

 

“Really, it’s nothing,” he insisted, “only a couple of bruises.”

 

Sibylla released him and looked him up and down. His skin was mottled with dark blotches, and there was a linen bandage wrapped about his torso. “A couple of bruises,” she said, running her hands over his skin, examining him. “I think not. Why would a couple of bruises need a bandage like this?”

 

“I didn’t wear a quilted gambeson,” he admitted sheepishly. Sibylla grimaced. That had to be painful. “Honestly, Sibylla, you don’t need to worry. I’ve been injured before, and I don’t break that easily.”

 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t–” she began, but she never got to finish her sentence. Balian had taken her into his arms and pressed his lips firmly against hers, signalling the end of the discussion about his wounds and telling her that he was completely capable of doing what he wanted to do most at the moment. She wrapped her legs around his torso, careful to avoid the place where he’d had chainmail removed from his flesh. He was hard, solid, so real. Jesus had chosen Peter as the rock on which He had built his Church. If Sibylla had to choose a rock, she would choose Balian.

 

For a moment, a jolt of fear shot through Sibylla. What if they were discovered? Men were executed for adultery. In Ibelin, it hadn’t matter; Balian’s people would not have betrayed him, but this was Jerusalem. Guy had spies everywhere. God, what had she done in coming here? Soon, those thoughts were driven from her mind. Balian was proving to be very distracting. And he did not seem to be afraid; not one little bit.

 

***

 

Sibylla watched Balian sleep. She loved how he looked when he was asleep; No lines of worry marred his beautiful face then. He looked so innocent, so naive. Unlike her, he seemed to leave his worries behind when he entered the land of dreams. She wondered what he dreamed about. Did his late wife visit him in his dreams? Did he dream of a life which could never be?

The princess glanced outside. Through the sheer curtains, she could see that it was almost dawn. The sky was beginning to turn purple. She got up and put on her robe, and then went to light the lamp on the bedside table. Balian did not stir. She was not surprised. He was exhausted, firstly from the battle, and then from the long ride back to Jerusalem. She’d seen the bruises and cuts on his body. How he’d actually managed to stay on his feet was a complete mystery.

 

“Balian,” she whispered, bending down over him. Her hair tickled his face. His eyes slowly opened. “I must go.” The ecstasy of last night had worn off, and once again, she was aware of how dangerous this was. “We can’t meet in the city.”

 

Balian gave a little sigh. “Then we will leave it,” he said. Sibylla smiled. His world was so simple, and he was so free. How she wished she was like him. He had no fear; neither of death, nor of God. She feared everything. How could she not? She could see the dangers which surrounded her and those whom she loved. Death was never far away, waiting to strike at the least expected moment. She had to be wary.

 

“And live how?” she asked. “Live where?” Sibylla did not know where they could run to, and she had no desire to run. Jerusalem might be her prison, but it was hers, and it was all that she knew. Her son was the heir to the throne, and she was not about to relinquish her inheritance so easily. “Balian, my brother’s dying,” she said. “My son will be king, and I, his regent. I must rule for him, and not just in Jerusalem, but in Acre, Ashkelon, Beirut.” She stared into his eyes, hoping he would understand why she had declined to accept his invitation.

 

He stayed silent for a while, as if he was thinking about it. “And Guy?” he finally said. Sibylla had no answer for him.

What of Guy?

Her brother had no love for him, and the barons absolutely loathed him, with the exception of Reynald de Chatillon. Guy was only powerful because he was her husband, and he had the support of Reynald and the Templars. It would only take some persuasion on her part to change the situation. Reynald was gone, imprisoned. The Templars had their match in the Hospitallers, who were just as powerful, and they supported Raymond, and Raymond favoured Godfrey’s son. She would only have to suggest it to Raymond.

 

As for Balian. Well, he loved her, did he not?

 

***

 

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that. Sibylla’s a difficult woman to guage, but she’s interesting to write.

 

 

~ by telcontarrulz on June 14, 2008.