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Title: WIth You, I'll Be Only Sibylla (#4048)
Author: Telcontar1187
Chapters: 3

Archive: Kingdom of Heaven
Category: General
Description: Sibylla of Jerusalem was an unpredictable woman. She mingled in the highest political circles. Her hand in marriage meant the throne of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Hardly anyone, or anything, could touch her. However, the turning tides meant that she was tested to her limits. Perhaps she was not so invulnerable after all.
Published: 23 May 2009
Updated: 20 Jul 2009
Warnings:
Type: Drama
Characters: Sibylla;Balian of Ibelin;Guy de Lusignan


Chapter 1 - Meeting the Baron

The hooves of her horse thundered beneath her. She could feel the animal’s powerful muscles bunching up. For a moment, she was free, one with the wind. Jerusalem loomed in the distance. Sibylla was reluctant to return. She had not had enough of her freedom, even if it was fleeting and pretensive. Her thoughts wandered back to the days when she’d been a naive girl; a stranger to the bitterness of this world. Oh, she’d been disappointed when her brother and mother had married her off to William de Montferrat, a man three times her age. Like any maid, she’d dreamed of a romantic marriage with a handsome young man who would love her and cherish her. William had been kind, but she’d viewed him as more of an uncle than a husband. And then, he’d died, leaving her five months pregnant with the potential heir to the throne.

For two years, she’d lived the lonely life of a widow, and she hadn’t even been eighteen. Her son had taken some of her attention, but during those long nights of silent solitude, she had mulled over what could’ve been. Then Guy de Lusignan, that charming nobleman from France, had ridden into her life and bowled her over with his continental manners and his vitality. She’d been smitten with him, and her mother had been more than happy to marry her off to the Poitevin nobleman.

That had been then. She’d seen through the illusion. Guy was no more the charming knight than she was the warrior queen. Sibylla wished she had been wiser, but women in love were easy to fool. Who could’ve blamed her? Fifteen was too young an age for any girl to be widowed, and he had been such a handsome and charming man. Very few women could resist him.

The gates of Jerusalem were open and welcoming, but to her, they seemed like the doors of a prison. She sighed. There was no choice. This was where she had been born, the place where God had placed her. It belonged to her, and she belonged to it.

“My lady,” said her maid. Youmna was a sweet girl. She reminded Sibylla of her younger self. “I’ve heard that the baron of Ibelin has arrived.”

“Godfrey’s son?” said Sibylla. The corners of her mouth rose in a smile. She had been fond of the old baron, and she was curious as to what his son was like. Maybe she could pay him a visit. There was nothing which said she had to return to the palace immediately. At any rate, she did not want to risk the chance of bumping into Guy.

“Yes,” said Youmna. “I’ve heard that his name is Balian.”

“You would know wouldn’t you?” said Sibylla. Youmna had many friends among the households of the noblemen. She made a perfect inconspicuous source of information. No matter how Guy tried, he could not keep her in the dark for long.

“They also say he’s a blacksmith from France, and he’s handsome,” said the maid, barely managing to suppress a giggle. She was pretty enough, and if Sibylla had wanted to, it would not have been hard to find her a husband, given that the princess had already provided her with a dowry.

“Now that is not in your place to say,” said Sibylla, but she was smiling. “A maid cannot comment on her betters.”

“Yes, milady,” said Youmna, composing herself once more.

People parted on the streets to let Sibylla and her entourage through. Some of them dipped their heads in deference to the princess. They came before Godfrey’s old city villa. It was a quaint little place, not rich, but warm. The guards at the door recognized her immediately. They bowed to her and then opened the doors. She rode through, straight into the courtyard. Her dogs ran before her, scattering chickens and geese.

A young man with sunburnt skin looked up from inspecting a horse. He frowned when he saw her, seemingly annoyed by this unexpected intrusion. She could see Godfrey in him immediately. Like father, like son, only the son had the rustic air of a peasant. Godfrey had been a soldier through and through. ‘This will be interesting,’ she thought as she scrutinized him. “Where is your master?” she demanded.

“I have none,” he replied. Rustic though he might be, he had courage, and she found his blunt manner rather endearing. No nobleman had ever spoken to her in that way before. They’d all hidden their feelings beneath flowery nonsensical words. This man’s frankness was a refreshing change. Honesty was something which one cherished, especially if one lived in court.

Sibylla lowered her veil. “Give me some water,” she said. The man went over to one of the buckets of water, and lifted a tarnished silver ladle. He handed it to her. As she drank, she watched him. He stroked her horse’s neck, murmuring words in the Langue d’Oile. The princess became mesmerized by his profile. His voice was husky, soothing. It washed over her like the purest of water, untainted by the corruption of aristocratic ambitions. She returned the ladle to him, and he took it without a word.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said. “If you happen to see Balian the son of Godfrey, tell him that Sibylla called.” Let him think that she didn’t know who he was. She would surprise him later. It was obvious that he didn’t know who she was, and she wanted to keep it that way just for a little longer. Would he still treat her the same way if he knew she was the king’s sister?

“The rumours were right, milady,” Youmna whispered to Sibylla once they were some distance away from the old villa. “The new baron is very handsome, if a bit rude.”

“If he is truly a blacksmith, then he probably does not know the etiquette of noblemen,” said Sibylla. “Now, Youmna, you talk far too much for a serving maid. If I had wanted a chatterbox, I would’ve bought a parrot. They are much more colourful.”

“Forgive me, milady,” said the maid, dipping her head. As she did so, she risked a glance up at Sibylla. The princess seemed to be in a very good mood, and she was sure it had something to do with that rustic baron of Ibelin.

Sibylla was not listening. She was thinking back to the way that young baron had looked at her. “Balian of Ibelin,” she whispered softly. The name felt good on her lips.


Chapter 2 - The Very Best of Wives

Sibylla was in a dream, or so she felt. For the first time in after her marriage to Guy, she found herself dreaming about a man. And it was not her husband.

The reins were loose in her hands, and she let her horse plod on. The animal knew its way back to the royal stables. In the meantime, she was happy to just savour the freedom of being out of the palace. The air was filled with the scent of spices, with the underlying taint of sweat and waste. In a sense, it was like the Kingdom itself. On the surface, everything seemed holy and perfect. They were the bulwark against the Saracens. They were God’s chosen people, dedicating their lives to fighting for Him and defending Christendom. But then, were they really fighting for God?

Sibylla was sure that some of them did believe that they were fighting for Christ, but there were others, namely her husband and his faction, who saw the Holy Land as a place to plunder. That brought her to another question. Why was Godfrey’s son here? To her surprise, she didn’t really care about the answer. What really mattered was that he was here, in Jerusalem.

The princess passed the goldsmith’s shop. Her spirits were high today. She gently pulled on the reins and stopped her horse, and then she jumped off, as nimble as any Saracen horseman, and strode inside. The goldsmith knew her by sight. He rapidly bowed and greeted her, and then hurried to show her his best wares. She was only half listening to him. Her eyes were fixed on a simple ring; a gold band, with a ruby the colour of rich red wine from the vineyards of southern France. Gold and maroon, the colours of Ibelin.

She picked up the ring, and examined it. The work was basic, if a bit rough, but it had its own rustic charm. Her expert eye could see that the ruby was a high quality stone. It was simply not well cut. ‘Just like the young baron,’ she thought. The stone was natural, and she liked it the way it was.

The goldsmith had fallen silent. Why was the princess interested in that ring, of all the pieces he had? Even the Italian merchants had scorned it. Sibylla tried it on, slipping it on each of her fingers. Finally, she put the ring on the ring finger of her left hand, where she wore the ring from her second marriage. It fit perfectly. Smiling, Sibylla took off the wedding band and replaced it with that rustic gold ring. She examined her hand, and looked pleased by what she saw.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

Dumbstruck, the goldsmith hurriedly named a price. As usual, it was far too high, but Sibylla didn’t bother to bargain. She simply handed him the money and then left in a flurry of brightly coloured silks and jewellery with intricate designs.


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When Guy saw Sibylla that evening, he was stunned by how beautiful she was, in her dress of white silk and her turban of bleached muslin. Henna had been expertly applied to her hands, and the kohl accented her large almond shaped eyes. The princess was a true sultry seductress of the east. The Poitevin lord felt his blood rushing to his nether parts. It seemed that she’d taken extra care to make herself beautiful that evening, but for what?

“Is it a special occasion, my lady wife?” he asked.

Sibylla smiled at him. She seemed happier than usual too. “What makes you think that, my lord?” she asked.

“Perhaps it is just me,” said Guy, taking a step towards her and trying to wrap an arm around her waist. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

Sibylla gently but firmly pushed him away. “No, my lord,” she said. ”Come, we must not keep my brother’s subjects waiting.”

As the princess laid her hand on her husband’s arm, she wondered whether the rustic young baron whom she’d met that morning would be there. She hoped that he would. It would be good to see him again. Sibylla had to admit that she hadn’t been at all polite.

“The princess Sibylla of Jerusalem, and her husband, Guy de Lusignan!” announced the herald. Sibylla strode in proudly through the ambulatories. The nobles had all risen to their feet and only sat down again when she had seated herself at the head of the table, with her husband at the left and Raymond of Tiberias at the right.

Beside Tiberias, was Balian of Ibelin, still looking as rustic and out of place as a peasant amongst noblemen, but the look of surprise on his face was endearing. She flashed him a smile. He returned it with the slightest upturning of the corners of his mouth. She noted that there was fathomless sorrow in his brown eyes. Why had she not seen it this morning?

“Have you found any knights in France?” Tiberias asked of Guy as a way of making polite dinner conversation.

“Fifty,” Guy boasted, helping himself to succulent roast pheasant. He downed a mouthful of wine.

“And they’ve sworn allegiance to the King?” asked the marshal.

“Of course, Tiberias,” drawled Guy, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.” The marshal pressed his lips together. God, no one could accuse him of not trying to mend the schism between him and Guy. But the man just refused to be civil.

The Poitevin lord’s gaze fell on the young man sitting beside the marshal. Balian was minding his own business and concentrating on his food. Sibylla noticed that he had not uttered a single sound. Why was Guy so interested in him?

“You sit at my table?” said Guy, his voice dripping with contempt. Sibylla tensed. Guy was lusting for a fight, and this new baron was easy prey, or so he thought.

Balian looked up. He’d schooled his face into a mask. “Is it not the King’s table?” he asked in that beautiful husky voice of his, with its charming northern accent. The young man showed no inclination to fulfil Guy’s wishes for confrontation. Sibylla was very much impressed. Guy usually drove the most patient of men to fury. With that simple words, he’d corrected Guy’s mistake and shown him his arrogance.

“Is it?” said Guy, looking around for support. How dare he, this peasant bastard son of Godfrey? No one spoke up. They all knew who was right and who was not. “I have not seen a king at it for some years.” That did not seem to be the right thing to say, for Sibylla tensed, and her eyes took on a murderous gleam. He abruptly stood. “I cannot eat,” he said. “I am finicky about company. In France, this could not inherit.” The Poitevin lord could not bring himself to acknowledge Godfrey’s spawn as a man. “Here, there are no civilized rules.”

All attention was focused on Guy now. He liked that. He’d seen how Balian had been looking at Sibylla, and the way she’d smiled at him. The princess’ husband didn’t like that at all. “I have business in the east,” he announced as he stepped behind Sibylla and began to stroke her neck in full view of all the noblemen with small suggestive gestures, dangling her in front of Balian like bait. ”My wife does not lament my absence,” he said. “That is either the best of wives, or the very very worst.” Let that be a warning to the bastard blacksmith from France. Sibylla was his wife, and his alone.

He threw his empty cup to one of the attendants, and strode away without looking back. Sibylla watched him go, wondering for the umpteenth time what she had seen in him when she’d agreed to marry him. Awkward silence reigned over the table. The noblemen were glancing at her, and then at Balian. It was Tiberias who broke the tension. “To the very best of wives,” he said, raising his cup. The princess could sense the smile in his eyes.

“God bless Jerusalem,” she said in Arabic, raising her cup in return. Guy hated Arabs. Speaking their language was one way of spiting him, even if it was rather petty and ineffectual.

“Hear!” said Tiberias. “God bless Jerusalem!” This was translated back into the language of the Franks for the benefit of the newcomer. The meal resumed, just as a servant came over to Tiberias and whispered something into his ear. The marshal nodded.

“The King would see Godfrey’s son,” he said, starting to get out of his seat. Sibylla quickly laid a hand on his arm.

“I’ll take him,” she said. Time alone with this intriguing man from France, at last. The skies were beginning to darken. The dying rays from the sun cast a golden glow over the city. Sibylla led Balian through the dark torch-lit corridors of the palace.

“This morning, I spoke without knowing who you were,” said Balian. She supposed that was his way of explaining his rudeness. He needn’t have bothered. She liked him the way he was, blunt and honest.

“I knew who you were,” she admitted with a smile. “It’s unmistakable. I loved your father.” She glanced at him. He seemed so emotionless, but she knew better. Under that mask was a man filled with sorrow. Why did men think that hiding their feelings was a sign of strength? “And now, I shall love you.”

That made him look at her, rather alarmed by this blatant declaration. She simply smiled some more and walked on.

“When did you arrive in Jerusalem?” she asked him, as if nothing had happened.

“Just yesterday,” he replied.

“And your family? Are they here as well?”

Balian looked down at the floor. “My wife is dead,” he said quietly. So that was why he was so sorrowful.

“You must be found another,” said Sibylla. “Every fief needs a woman’s touch.”

The young baron seemed uncomfortable about where this conversation was going. Instead of answering, he gave a small nod and focused on walking again. Sibylla felt herself growing frustrated with him. She just wanted him to talk. Was that so much to ask? She didn’t need the flattering praises which noblemen usually uttered, although it would be interesting to see how this man would give her flattering comments. She just wanted a response from him.

He stayed silent, and Sibylla reached the end of her patience. “Do you fear being with me?” she demanded. That was how it felt. Balian seemed rather tense, as if he was holding something back.

“No,” he said simply, and then stepping in front of her, he turned to face her with a small grin on his lips. “And yes.” Sibylla laughed. So he did have a sense of humour after all. She knew exactly what he was talking about. As a woman, she really wasn’t frightening at all, being rather small and delicate. But as a princess, with the welfare of a kingdom to think of, she could be as ruthless as any tyrannical Roman emperor. She knew that she would not hesitate to kill if that was what it took to protect her family and her kingdom.

“A woman in my place has two faces,” she admitted. “One for the world, and one which she wears in private.” She paused for a while. “With you, I’ll be only Sibylla.” There, she’d said it. It was an open invitation. Let him interpret it any way he would.

He seemed to be about to answer, but a shape in the doorway caught their attention. Sibylla saw a servant who’d been following them quickly step back into the shadows. Dear old Raymond. He loved her like his own daughter, but he didn’t trust her, not at all. She’d been tricking him ever since she had been seven. “Tiberias thinks me unpredictable,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper to Balian. Then she grinned. “I am unpredictable.” It was a jest, but it was also the truth, and a warning. Sibylla was Balian’s ally now, but being her ally wasn’t such a good thing. As princess, she lived in the centre of corrupt courtly intrigues. One wrong step, and blood would be shed. The last thing she wanted was for this innocent young man from France to be hurt.

She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. Perhaps it was his stoic manner in the face of insult and humiliation. Perhaps it was his rustic French charm. She didn’t simply want him. She needed him. For years, she’d lived in darkness and doubt. Had God sent her this angel to lead her into the light?


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Chapter 3 - A Few Yards of Silk

Sibylla opened the door to the inner chamber just a little bit so that she could see her son. The boy had his back to the door. He sat amongst cushions, talking to himself as he moved his pewter soldiers around and fought imaginary battles. Arabic words were scattered through his speech. Love filled her. It hadn’t seemed so long since he’d been a tiny helpless baby in her arms. She stepped in as quietly as possible, so as to not disturb him, but her long silken dress got caught on one of his toys. Little Baldwin looked up when he heard his mother come in. He grinned and ran into her open arms. “Maman!” he said. “I thought you were dining with the lords.”

“Ah, mon petit,” said Sibylla, kissing her child on the forehead. “I did not have much apetite. What have you been doing today?”

“Master William told me about how God opened up the ocean to let the Israelites through,” said the young prince, referring to his tutor, the renowned scholar William of Tyre. “Can you take me to the Red Sea?” He looked up at her with wide innocent blue eyes. There was so much of his father in him, but William de Montferrat had been anything but innocent.

“Perhaps one day, mon cheri,” said Sibylla, “but it is too dangerous right now.”

“I thought Saladin said he wouldn’t fight us anymore,” said the boy solemnly.

‘That was before that idiot Reynald de Chatillon broke the truce,’ thought Sibylla. There were times when she felt as if she couldn’t stand it anymore. Someone needed to put the lord of Outrejordain in his place, and her brother did not have the strength to do it. Tiberias tried his best, but he was Reynald’s equal, and his word did not carry enough authority. She was a woman, and by rights, had no place in politics. That was what the Church had decreed. She hoped that they would not need the sultan to personally punish Reynald himself. That would not be very beneficial to the kingdom at all, although the princess knew she would still smirk at Reynald’s demise. That man was the devil incarnate.

“Maman?” said Baldwin. Why had his mother gone silent? She still hadn’t answered his question.

“Go and play,” she said to him with a smile on her lips. “And don’t leave your toys everywhere to trip up poor unsuspecting people.”

The prince ran off, clutching his pewter mounted knight. Sibylla settled herself on a couch. Her thoughts wandered, drifting back to that handsome young baron. Unconsciously, she played with her new ring. Her eyelids felt heavy. Against her wishes, her eyes slowly closed. Well, maybe one little nap would do no harm…

She was awakened by Baldwin trying to cover her with a blanket. “Oh God,” she mumbled, reluctantly opening her eyes. The sky outside was black. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, mon cheri?” Baldwin had the sense to look sheepish.

“You were asleep, Maman,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” The look that he gave her melted her heart, and try as she might, she could not make herself look stern. “There was a strange man outside, just before,” said the boy. “He kicked over my knight, and broke it, and then he fixed it. Is he one of the lords, Maman? I haven’t seen him before.”

Sibylla frowned. Who could be in the palace at this hour of the night? And a nobleman who fixed toys? “What did he look like?” she asked. Her suspicions were raised. A stranger in the palace could not possibly be a good thing.

“He wore a long robe, and he had dark curly hair,” said Baldwin, concentrating very hard as he tried to describe the man’s face. “His face looked like mine after I’d stayed out in the sun for too long, but he was dark, like a Saracen.”

Sibylla’s suspicion turned to amusement. “And did he look like Lord Godfrey?” she asked. Baldwin’s eyes lit up, and he grinned.

“Oh, yes! Except he was much much much younger.” Sibylla laughed. So it was Balian. Her brother must have spoken with him for a very long time. The more she heard and saw of the man, the more she liked him. Most noblemen wouldn’t have bothered with fixing children’s toys which they’d broken.


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The next day, Sibylla rode to Balian’s house. She desired to speak with him some more. He was different, and that fascinated her. She rode straight into the courtyard. “Where is the master?” she asked one of the servants.

“He is not here, my lady,” replied the servant. “He has gone to Ibelin, on the King’s orders.”

“So soon?” she said with a frown. He’d only just arrived. Was her brother so impressed that he needed Balian to serve immediately? This dashed all her hopes of exchanging small talk with the baron again. Unless…

“Youmna, back to the palace,” she said. “Prepare for a trip.”

“Where are you going, milady?” asked the maid. Sibylla truly was an unpredictable woman. She’d not mentioned a trip previously. Where was it that she needed to get to in such a hurry?

“Where else?” said Sibylla. “Ibelin. And you had better not tell anyone.”

“Your secrets are safe with me, milady,” said the maid.

“I must be the only one whose secrets are safe with you,” said the princess. It was a jest. Youmna might like to talk, but the maid would never betray her mistress.


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The desert sun blazed down on her. Sweat marred the face powder which she used to hide her freckles. Still, Sibylla rode on. She was not the type of helpless princess who needed to ride in a sedan chair. Her ancestor, Baldwin of Boulogne, had ridden into Jerusalem on horseback. There were only a few sparse trees dotting this barren landscape. The hooves of their horses raised clouds of dust. On their way, they’d passed a few oases, but they’d been nothing more than puddle in the sand; certainly not enough to support a settlement. Godfrey had been an important man, so why would his fief be out here in the middle of nowhere?

Youmna was tired. She was hot, she was sweaty. Her hair was limp. She wanted food, and iced sherbet, and shade. However, she knew better than to complain. Sibylla didn’t tolerate people who whined, unless the whiner happened to be Little Prince Baldwin, and the boy was too sweet-natured to whine. The maid wasn’t sure whether it was entirely appropriate to be visiting the Baron of Ibelin. After all, the princess had met him once, perhaps twice, but they hadn’t exchanged more than a few words. And besides, the princess was married.

Ibelin came into sight, a little hamlet in a sea of sand. There were a few palm trees. Children ran before them and waved. They hardly ever got visitors. This lady in bright silks, and her colourful entourage, fascinated them. “Where is the master?” Sibylla called.

Words passed between the children. The princess heard someone mention ’sidi’ (lord) and ‘yalla’ (hurry). A boy ran in the direction of the fields, where there seemed to be a large construction project going on. She urged her horse on, following him.

The boy came up behind a man in a dirty white shirt. He looked just like all the other workers. He spoke to the man in rapid Arabic, indicating that he should do something. The man turned, and Sibylla was surprised to see that this dirt-covered man was in fact the Baron of Ibelin, looking nothing like a baron of any kind. He strode up the dirt track towards her, and she pulled her horse to a stop. The two of them stared at each other for a long awkward moment, and then Sibylla removed her veil.

“I’m going to Cana,” she said. Youmna raised an eyebrow. Cana? That was in the other direction. Couldn’t Sibylla have lied more convincingly? The baron might be ignorant, but his men were not. Sooner or later, the secret would have to come out. Sibylla had come here to see Balian of Ibelin, and all of the kingdom would want to know why. The maid shuddered. If Lord Guy ever found out, there would be hell to pay.

Balian said nothing. “Where Jesus changed water to wine,” the princess elaborated. And then she smiled, unable to resist the chance to tease this fascinating man. “But a better trick would be to change you into a nobleman.” Finally, that got a response from him. He grinned, and even though he was covered in dirt, she felt her heart warm and quicken at the sight of that grin.

“That should be easy,” he responded without a moment’s hesitation. “In France, a few yards of silk can make a nobleman.”

Sibylla chuckled. Did the man had any idea how right he was? Many of the noblemen whom she knew were simply beasts in silk. And here, standing before her, was an angel in dirt. She wanted to tell him what she really thought, but that seemed too bold, even for her. Instead, she changed the subject.

“I expect your hospitality,” she said. He dipped his head.

“It is given.” There, just three words. No flowery language, no meaningless praises or grovelling. A simple knight, and a noble one. His manner robbed her of any witty remark. All she could do was stare at him. And even without his few yards of silk, he was beautiful.


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A/N: There wasn’t much development here, I know. I’ll try and update as soon as possible. Thanks for reading.
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