Barry Unsworth - The Ruby In Her Navel

"And the sorcot," he said. "Another new one? And the chainse?"

Later, when I drew the money, we spoke together again and he wished me god-speed, but I have no recollection of his face on that occasion, or of what we said. What I remember now is the refuge we both took in this habitual topic of my clothes, the look of amusement and guile he wore when he teased me about them, and underlying this the unspoken knowledge of the hurt we had suffered, not something gone, but something spawned by the air we breathed every day, the air that nurtured the shade-loving plant he had spoken of.

These are memories that return now. In the days that followed, while I waited for the order to leave, there was one event only and it filled my mind, eclipsing all else. It was Caspar who brought the message and he came to my lodgings to deliver it, led upstairs by Signora Caterina, who always made her wheezing more audible when there was a visitor, in the hope of a gift either from him or from me. It was a note written on parchment, secured by two strands of cord with a seal of red wax to join them, and on the wax the imprint of the ring I had given her, a circle with a tiny scarab in the centre. Rarely can so few words have given such delight to any mortal man. She would come to Potenza in the King's following, accompanied by some members of her family. We would announce our betrothal before them and before the King himself, and by this act our vows would be made binding. My beloved, I count the hours.

Caspar had waited there while I read it. He was only a servant, however elevated, and I strove to remain impassive under his gaze, with what success I know not. My joy was almost equalled by my wonder. To contrive to be included in the King's retinue at such short notice, and on a visit of state! It was barely three days since I had learned that I myself would be going. Once again it came to me how great must be her family's influence at court, though it could not be her father to exercise this in person, lost as he was in the darkness of his mind…

"Tell your mistress I shall not fail," I said.

He bowed and would have retired, but at the last moment it occurred to me to ask him how he had found me, how he had known it was here that I lived. He looked at me without expression for a moment or two, as if slightly at a loss, taken aback by my simplicity in asking such a question. Then he said, "We made enquiries. My lady thought it better her note should be delivered in private." With this, he bowed again and withdrew, leaving me, as always in my dealings with him, a prey to some wonder as to the nature of his duties and his standing in Alicia's household.

We went by ship from Palermo to Salerno and thence overland to Potenza.

There were eight of us in this advance party, the others all being members of the King's household sent ahead to help in the preparations for the royal arrival: a wardrobe mistress, two serving-women who kept very closely together at all times, two Norman serjeants-at-arms, made attempts to separate them, a Sicilian stable-master and a cellarman of Stephen Fitzherbert's, whom I knew slightly, a Greek named Cristodoulos, rather womanlike in his ways and modes of speech but very strong in the arms and chest from hefting barrels.

A mixed company – in normal circumstances we would not have had much to say to one another. But the arrival of King Louis on our shores had released a flood of gossip in Palermo and it formed the topic of our talk through much of the journey, though I said little myself, content for the most part to listen.

I learned nothing that was new to me, but I was made aware, yet again, how ready the humble are to rejoice at the mischance of the great, and how easily one kind of error is confused with another, as if they all belonged in the same box. Errors of one sort or another there had been in plenty in the calamitous two years that had elapsed since King Louis set out at the head of his Frankish army through Bavaria on the second crusade. He was twenty-six at that time, famous for his piety but not for much else – certainly not for strength of character or military capacity. Travelling with him was his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, the niece of Raymond, Prince of Antioch, the greatest heiress in France and as resolute – some would say wilful and some among the present company did – as her husband was hesitant. Already, according to some in their following, there was strain and ill-humour between these two.

The miserable story of the French king's vacillations and failures of judgement, culminating in the disastrous decision to commit his force to an attack on Damascus, were known to all, as were the terrible losses suffered in the retreat. What interested my travelling companions more were the months prior to this fiasco, in particular the time that the high-spirited and beautiful Eleanor and the devout and lugubrious Louis had spent in Antioch.

"We have to remember the troubles she had been through," the wardrobe mistress said. "We must not judge her too harshly." She was of those who, under the appearance of understanding and pardoning, insinuated strong disapproval for the queen's behaviour. "She had nearly been killed by those heathen Turks," she said. "She had nearly been wrecked at sea. It is no wonder that she was glad to reach Antioch and fall into the arms of her uncle, Prince Raymond."

"It was not only his arms she fell into," the stable master said. "She fell into his bed."

On this issue the company was divided, there being no evidence that Eleonor had slept with her uncle, but the majority thought it probable on the grounds that she had sought his company and made no secret of the fact that she preferred it to her husband's. "

"Incest is incest," one of the serving-women said, "but as men there is no comparison. Prince Raymond is a proper man, he is handsome of face and well made and brave in battle and he knows how to talk to a woman. I like that same type of man myself."

There was general agreement as to these advantages of Raymond's, though none of us had ever set eyes on the prince. "And a great commander in the field," one of the serjeants said, "Which no one can say for King Louis."

"In my opinion, it was his endless praying and prostrating himself that set her against him," the stable master said. "It wore her down."

"She would have stayed there, she would have stayed in Antioch with her uncle," Christodoulos said. "She didn't want to go any farther. Louis had her dragged to the ship by force. She won't forgive him that. I wouldn't, if it was me. Well, would you?"

As I say, I took little part in these discussions, except to put in a few words now and again, so as not to seem to be assuming airs of superiority – otherwise, they would not have talked before me. By virtue of my office I knew some things they did not yet know. I knew that Eleonor was seeking a divorce. I knew that her beloved uncle, abandoned by Louis, had been killed some three weeks before in what many regarded as a suicidal assault on the Turkish host – he had attacked Nureddin's army with four hundred knights and less than a thousand footsoldiers. I knew that his skull had been sent in a silver box to the caliph of Baghdad as a proof that this great enemy of Islam was truly dead. And I knew that Eleanor had recently learned these things and been grief-stricken, and that she laid the blame on her husband, who in his jealousy had denied to her uncle the support of the Franks in defending Antioch.

None of this presaged well for the marriage, and I was privately convinced that the two would not remain much longer together, though it was rumoured that one last bid was to be made: after leaving Potenza they were to journey to Tusculanum, where Pope Eugenius was currently residing, and ask for spiritual guidance. The outcome of the Holy Father's advice was of concern to me insofar as it might affect the prospects of an alliance between France and Sicily, but I did not think it could touch on my personal fortunes, not then.