In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

This story is dedicated to all fans of Baudouin, a true hero whose memory will never die!

pqbdpq

Epilogue

The vast room, with its marble pillars and floor, the burning frankincense, the statues of saints along the windowsill, seemed much like a tomb already, especially since the people leaving it bore expressions of incredible sadness.

The King was clinging on to his last moments in life. He had ordered for his closest friends to visit him one last time.

So it was that Balian, the Baron of Ibelin, crossed the threshold, almost colliding with Anselm, who was hurrying out of the King's chambers, a hand over his mouth, eyes flowing over with tears and barely capable of muttering an apology.

Baudouin's room was quiet and Balian felt like an intruder in a very personal space.

"My Lord of Nablus!"

The King's voice woke him from his reverie and he hurried over to the bed.

The translucent curtains had been pulled back and Baudouin's frail form was visible under the covers.

"I thank you for coming," the dying youth went on, his voice no more than a whisper.

"I'd like to think that it was not only because I commanded it."

Balian hesitated for a moment, then he sat down on the bed's edge.

"My liege, I hope you know, although this perhaps not proper of me to say so, I have always loved you as if you were my own son. No father could have ever been prouder of a child of his blood than I was of you!"

His voice broke, but he was rewarded with a faint chuckle from behind the mask, a sound like the whisper of dry leaves or the rustle of parchment.

"I thank you, Balian. Know that this means very much to me, and although my position as King meant that I could not always agree with you… Do you remember the battles we fought together, friend? Do you remember how I was thrown off my horse?"

Balian nodded, although he knew the King could not see.

"Yes, I recall. I thought my heart would cease beating. I could not see you for a few minutes and then…"

"…then some brave knight carried me off the battlefield on his back. I remember. Strange, I did not feel as close to death then as I do know, perhaps because I was younger. I felt invincible, as though no foe's weapon could ever be a threat…"

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, until Baudouin took a deep, wheezing breath and said, "My friend, I bid you farewell, not only as your King, but as the son I would have liked to be for you. You have my thanks for your loyalty and for some of the happiest moments in my life. If you could send in the Lord of Tripoli now?"

Balian would have liked to answer him, to say some heartfelt words in response, but his voice failed him. He could bring forth nothing but a few choked sobs, but he knew that Baudouin understood him…

pqbdpq

Raymond de Tripoli had promised himself to be strong. He had always had a weak spot for his young cousin, whom God had chosen to suffer so much, yet who had never lost his faith.

When Balian exited the King's room, a desperate sadness on his face, Raymond felt his heart clench.

He drew strength from the fact that Eschive, the wife he loved so much, was waiting for him outside as he approached the bed to say his last farewell.

"My dear cousin… how are you?"

The Lord of Tripoli was taken aback by that question, not having expected it from a youth on his deathbed.

"I am…" he was going to say 'fine', but his throat closed up and out came, "…afraid! There are so many things I want to say to you… but… I'm afraid I will not be find the words and they will be left unsaid for eternity."

He closed his eyes to fight back the tears, when he suddenly felt a clumsy fist gently touching his hand.

It was impossible that Baudouin should see his hand or feel where it was, and yet he was able to reach for Raymond's hand in a gesture of comfort.

"Do not worry, my friend. Whatever you wish to say, I know. Or at least, I will know!"

Baudouin's speech was halting, slow and so quiet that Raymond could not make out every word.

"Do not tire yourself!" he advised. "I want you to know that, as my friend and as King, you were… the best and…"

"I know! I thank you… for your loyalty and friendship… and… continue to serve… my… my nephew…"

Raymond sensed Baudouin's fading strength, so he brushed his fingers over his cousin's hair once and said softly, "I promise! I will never forget you, Baudouin… ever!"

The King made an affirmative sound and Raymond left the room hastily, before the tears spilt out of his eyes.

Outside, he collapsed into a chair and leaned against Eschive's warm and comforting body. She held him while he cried, the middle-aged, battle-scared Count who, in that moment, felt more helpless than ever before.

They all looked up as they saw Joana approach. Her feet were dragging behind her and her face was a mask of grief, disbelief and fear.

She made no gesture toward them, she spoke no word.

As she stepped over the threshold, a shiver went through her body and she swayed for a moment.

Then she approached the bed, sat down on the edge and ordered a servant tonelessly, "Draw the curtains!"

The last thing visible was her taking King Baudouin's bandaged, clawed and distorted hand in both of hers.

Then, as if that act had given her strength, she removed the mask from his face and whispered, "I am here, my love!"

The King's mouth curled upwards. His features were severely distorted, but she knew that he was smiling.

"I know," he replied, "And I promise you, in this moment, we are only man and wife… I am sorry I could never make you a mother, my love!"

She smiled sadly.

"But we had a child, my love! Jerusalem! We both loved it and sought to protect it, though it took me a time to realise, just how much it needed you!"

He sighed. "I could not have been the King I was without you, Joana. For you were always there when I needed you. I know I could not always show it, but you were a source of great strength for me. It was not always fair of me… around you, I did not need to pretend. I could be weak or angry or sad… I did not always have to feign strength. Your love… was the greatest gift I ever received, and for that I thank you!"

This little speech had tired him and his breath came in shorter, shallower gasps. Joana trembled, silent weeping shaking her body.

Finally, it had come from his lips. She had tormented herself over the years with the thought of being nothing but a nuisance to him. Now that she knew the truth, how could she bear to lose him?

"I love you…" was all she could whisper, "I love you!"

The silence outside the King's chambers was weighing on everybody's hearts and minds like a millstone.

When it was finally shattered, they all jerked as if woken from deep slumbers.

They could hear Joana's voice, crying and pleading with Baudouin, telling him not to leave her alone, as if she wanted to talk the spark of life back into his motionless body…

pqbdpq

The King was dead. Although the event had not come as a surprise, a wave of sadness swept the city regardless.

His frail body, dressed for the last time in ornate robes of blue silk with golden embroidery, had been settled in bed, his ravaged features once more covered by the silver mask.

His closest friends and family were allowed to see him one last time, to pay their last respects.

Balian and Raymond were there, talking in hushed voices, both showing outward signs of exhaustion and sadness, Raymond even reaching up occasionally to wipe away a stray tear.

The Princess Sybille had approached the bed and was casting a nervous look around before reaching for the mask on her brother's face. Her fingers tensed and she made to pull it away…

"NO!"

Joana's voice broke the silence in the tomblike room like the crack of a whip.

"He asked you not to look," Baudouin's widow said accusingly, "You should respect his request… and remember him like he used to be!"

Sybille blushed and retreated from the bed, a hand pressed to her lips. Her head hurt and she left the room without turning back once.

Joana took her place, and, after making sure her body covered him from view, removed the mask herself to press a last kiss onto his scarred cheek. Had he still had lips, she would have kissed those as well.

With a shuddering sigh, she replaced the mask on his face and rose.

The heavy black fabrics of her dress weighed her down, the black veil that covered her hair pulled her face downward.

Her pale, bony fingers brushed his frail shoulder in a last loving caress and suddenly, a flash of excruciating pain shot up her left arm and into her chest.

With a cry, she fell forwards onto the bed, her head coming to rest on her husband's shoulder. Darkness claimed her.

The others had gathered around her quickly and Balian himself carried her to her bed, where her friends Maria Comnena and Eschive waited by her bedside for her to wake.

She never did.

pqbdpq

Three days after his death, King Baudouin's wife Joana stopped breathing, without ever having regained consciousness.

Balian d'Ibelin said later, that it was perhaps best for them to be reunited in heaven, so neither of them had to witness Jerusalem's downfall.

Servants claimed that before she died, Queen Joana had opened her eyes, smiled and whispered her husband's name before following him on the path to heaven.

THE END