Envoy of Jerusalem by Helena P Schrader

Author:Helena P Schrader [Schrader, Helena P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC014000
ISBN: 9781627873970
Publisher: Wheatmark, Inc.
Published: 2016-07-27T04:00:00+00:00

Tyre, April 20, 1191

The French fleet dwarfed everything Eschiva had ever seen before. They could not all fit in the harbor, so they lay at anchor offshore. From here they looked like an untidy orchard of masts stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see. Eschiva and Isabella stood on the rooftop of the archiepiscopal palace, where they’d come to get a better view of the French fleet than was possible from the windows. The sight was overwhelming. There had to be tens of thousands of troops and thousands of horses aboard those ships. For the first time since Hattin, Eschiva started to seriously hope that Salah ad-Din might be defeated and driven out of her homeland.

Isabella stood beside her, the wind fluttering the ends of her veils, and she was biting her lower lip nervously in a gesture Eschiva had known (and admonished) since childhood. “Bella, stop biting your lower lip. It makes you look very common,” Eschiva advised in her elder-sister voice.

Usually that annoyed Isabella, but today she only cast Eschiva an imploring look. “But I’m so nervous, Eschiva! Conrad says we have nothing to worry about. King Philip is his nephew and apparently they met several times, but look at that!” She pointed to the French fleet riding at anchor, with hundreds of brilliant pennants fluttering from the mastheads and tiny men walking the decks. “The King of France commands all that!” she continued. “All that and more, because he has castles and cities, men and knights and nobles, at home in France as well. And all we have is this one city.”

Eschiva thought it did Isabella credit that she was acutely aware of how little, indeed insignificant, her “kingdom” was. Eschiva also recognized, however, that at the moment Isabella needed encouragement. Isabella had learned courage in adversity from her childhood imprisonment at Kerak, from her husband’s captivity, and most recently from the necessity of leaving Humphrey for Montferrat. She was determined and brave when she set her heart on something, but she had not learned confidence. So Eschiva answered firmly: “Isabella, it’s not about what you possess, it’s about what you represent. You represent Jerusalem.”

Isabella turned to look her oldest, best, and arguably only friend in the eye. “You think I can do that? Think what it means!”

Eschiva hesitated, conscious of just how great the burden was, but then she nodded solemnly. “Jerusalem is the birthplace of Christianity, and as such it is the homeland of all Christians. You are the guardian of the hearth of Christendom.”

“Me?” Isabella found herself saying, torn between awe and a sense of unreality. “I’m nineteen years old. Surely the guardian of the hearth of Christendom ought to be a venerable old crone.”

Eschiva had to laugh at that, relieved that despite her nervousness Isabella had not lost her sense of humor. Indeed, ever since her marriage to Montferrat, the moody teenager had been replaced by a young woman full of joie de vivre. That came, Eschiva knew, from

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