/I don't own anything you recognize in this story. /
Chapter One
"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" Matthew 16:26
The sun beat down relentlessly, its rays stretching to every corner trying to warm everything on the Earth. Sweat trickled down Balian's face, but that didn't stop him from going on about his business in the smithy. His life wasn't going to get any better than this, so why should he stop and complain about it?
In the distance, Balian caught several horses pounding down the trail. No doubt traveling to Jerusalem, or somewhere close to there. Pity they still had to fight to for Jerusalem; it was such a beautiful city. If he would have it, both religions would share it peacefully, but somehow, he knew that wouldn't happen.
As the horses came closer, the riders halted and climbed down. Balian sighed and stopped working and walked outside onto the steps. He was sure they were looking for him, why else would they stop here?
"We are looking for Balian d'Ibelin," one man called out to Balian, "do you know where he resides?"
Balian walked slowly toward the man and halted in front of him. This was going to be fun conversation, he was sure.
"You are looking at him," Balian stated confidently. "Do have anything you wish to say to me? I have work to do that needs tending to."
"Aye, and I'll make it quick at that," the man said. "I have a message from Sibylla of Jerusalem."
Balian gripped his hand into a fist. He hadn't heard from her in a long time, not since he left Jerusalem to come back to France.
"What news from her, kind sir?" Balian asked in a low voice.
The man glanced uneasily to his fellow men before looking back at Balian. Balian's eyes narrowed. This couldn't be good, but then again most people sending messages didn't really want to be doing the task.
"She wishes you to come back to Jerusalem, back to your estate that you have inherited from your father last year. She would like to see you again…sir," the man added.
"I have no business to be there. My business is here, in this town, to be a blacksmith. Nothing can amount to my life right here, where I grew up," Balian told the man.
"Aye, but she had also given us orders to take you against your will if you do not wish to come with us," another man still on his horse said to Balian.
"Is that so?" Balian fingered his moustache thoughtfully. She was determined at that to get him back to Jerusalem. He looked back at the riders. "How long will you allow me to gather my belongings and get my thoughts in order? I wish at least until morning to leave."
With a glance at his buddies, the man answered, "Fine, but no later than tomorrow morning at dawn. Are we clear, man?"
Balian nodded. "Sir." He turned and went back inside. He had a lot of things to accomplish before dawn tomorrow and visiting his late wife's grave was one of them.
After making sure his travel bags were set and his sword at his hip, Balian headed for the hill overlooking the sea. Finally reaching the huge monument, he knelt next to the grave and folded his hands as if in prayer.
To the passerby, it would have looked as if he were mourning, but in fact, he was doing more than just mourning for his wife. He was thinking about his father, with whom he had known only a brief time. He was also thinking about Sibylla, her brother, and the fight for Jerusalem. All of this happened in such a short time that now, looking back at it, it all seemed like one huge blur went past Balian like a whirlwind. And now, in just a short as tomorrow morning, he was going to revisit his past as quick as it had gone.
Looking at the cross on top of the monument, Balian murmured a quick prayer; only his lips were moving in swift motion with no noise coming out. Balian didn't seem to realize that there was a man watching him from behind.
"Did you know this woman?" the man asked.
Balian turned to look up at the man. He was disgusted that this man, one of the riders, had the nerve to come follow Balian up here and watch him in his personal time and space. Balian turned back to face the monument, his hands still folded and head bent slightly. His eyes looked up to the grave, no expression on his face.
"Yes, she was my wife." Balian slowly stood after several moments of silence and turned to the man. "She killed herself with poison several days after our first child turned out to be a stillborn."
The man crossed himself in sympathy. "I am sorry, I had no idea, really."
Balian clenched the man's arm suddenly and tightly. "Are you sorry, truly? You don't look it, not really. You look like all the other men who buried her and wouldn't allow me to watch her. They had no mercy and they chopped her head off before they buried her here. Don't preach to me about sorry."
Balian let go of the man and walked passed him, back toward the smithy. His time here was over—at least for the moment. He had to see what Sibylla wanted this time and he couldn't make her wait another moment longer.