WIth You, I'll Be Only Sibylla

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.