Kingdom of Heaven
Chapter Three
I stared long and hard, eyes hardened to stone. He studied me with his cool, benign eyes, the matching color of the clouds. His look was of polite friendliness. He made my heart of ice melt little by little. On his face, I sensed slight fear, but it was quickly overridden by curiosity. Maybe even hope. What was it that he was searching for?
"I am sorry you lost your wife and child," he began, sounding sympathetic. "I know that you are wondering about me, where it is that I came from and what I came here for. The truth is, Balian, I knew your mother. I loved her, with a great passion. Balian, please look at me."
There was a pause. His words rolled once more in my head. I knew your mother. I loved her, with a great passion. Almost beyond my will, I remembered. I remembered the days of my childhood. I see my mother, her young face fatigued by labor, telling me stories of long ago.
It was a chilly spring day, very much like this one. I ask my mother the one question that has never been answered, the one thing she never speaks about. I know this. I know how her face turns cold, how she makes up excuses all the time. Yet, this time I have an urge to know the truth. Some of my naiveté has passed. This time, made up lies simply aren't enough.
I had been playing with the village children that day. I came home feeling unaccepted. An alien, they called me.
Why must we be peasants? Why can't we live like everyone else in France? They don't need to work. They don't have a king to serve.
My mother's face is stern.
We were born to be servants. What can we do?
But I don't want you to work. I want to go with you to faraway places.
Mother only smirks. Oh, Balian, sometimes your imagination soars to the heavens!
The humor lingers for a while longer. As peasants, we need all the humor we can get by. Otherwise our minds would be empty and our spirits low. The past remark made by the village children angered me. Where is your father, Balian? People say that he was a bad man.
Close to tears, I would answer, That is not true! But then, I would have no proof to prove them all wrong, which sent all the children running away roaring with laughter.
Who is my father? At this, my mother doesn't seem to hear. The corner of her mouth tightens slightly, but that is all.
How many times do I have to tell you, Balian, that your father is dead? He died when he went out to battle. This was before you were born. His name was Godfrey.
That was probably the most she ever talked about my father. Either she didn't want me to know about him, or she didn't know who he was.
Who was he? My endless rants do not get me anywhere closer to the answer, although I do finally learn what he did.
Your father was a soldier. A knight.
Knight. My father was a knight. Everything, all the pieces of the puzzle I have been trying to fit together ever since I can remember, all made sense to me.
Silence. "Balian, I am your father. You are my only son. Say something. Anything. All I ask is your forgiveness. I have committed terrible sins. I have spent the last twenty years trying to rid myself of them in the Holy Land."
I snorted. "My father? Do you speak verity, man, for my father has been dead since I was born? If you really are my father, prove it to me by telling me the truth behind his disappearance. If not, then I must be sensing a dead man's soul. I have lost my sanity since my family has left me."
He looked at me gravely, all of my burdens thrust onto his shoulders a thousand times over. "I left for the Crusade, many years ago. I left your mother to do so. Since then, she has hated me. I am sorry, son. Some wounds can never be mended. I am Godfrey, the Baron of Ibelin. I offer you a chance of redemption, if you choose to join the Crusade. We are headed for the Holy Land; Jerusalem, where even the deadliest of sins can be forgiven. It is a place of hope, Balian."
My feelings were left unchanged. I would never forgive him. Ever. After the pain he caused my mother, after all those years that made me feel empty and lonely, being the only one in the village who didn't have a father, I couldn't forgive him. I had received more pity than a child should.
I turned slowly, walking out of Godfrey's way.
"If you don't come with us now, we will never return again. I am leaving the decision up to you."
"No," I said sternly. "My home is here. I will not leave. I pray that you will have a safe journey to the Holy Land. Farewell."
"I understand, Balian. Her passing is hard to accept. And your son was too young to die. But death is always occurring, Balian. One day, you are going to have to let go."
I wanted to scream at him then. How can I forget them! They were my world, Godfrey, they were the reason I lived. My family was the reason I laughed, the reason I breathed in this world! They are dead now! Gone from me for all eternity! And you expect me to let go! You do not know what it is like to know that everything you need is there, and then losing everything that you have ever known. Everything. I am a dead man now, Godfrey. What you are speaking to is a ghost image. A man called Balian is no more!
"You have my final word. I will stay. I have no business traveling to foreign lands. I am a blacksmith. And I shall stay a blacksmith."
Godfrey gave a nod, bid farewell, and mounted on his horse. "It's too bad you didn't decide to come with us, son. You may perhaps never see me again. It was good to see you." With a smile that signaled our parting of the ways, the band of knights rode off into the far, uncharted land.
Night fell. I worked extremely late that night. For a while I must have fallen asleep. Sleep was not the answer to my troubles. I would awake, drenched in a cold sweat, in a state of delirium. A thick haze would clog my mind. In my dreams, I heard the distant, unreal sound of a baby in the middle of the night… Anne's eyes red from lack of sleep, her singing lullabies in her desperate attempt to quiet the baby.
The road is long, but it always ends. The river flows, but always to the great ocean. Winter will pass and spring will come again.
Luc. And then, when at long last, the baby fell asleep, we slept in each other's arms.
The blisters on my hands split and bled again. The sudden sound of footsteps made me jump.
"Who goes there?" I asked, alarmingly.
"It is I, the priest," A voice came in the dark. Good. The priest had come to preach me about the importance of my faith.
"I am sorry for your loss." The words, fresh from the day of the funeral when I first heard them not three days ago, stirred nothing in me. I was immune to sympathy.
"Your wife was a pitiful case of suicide. She has gone to hell, don't you see? I know that the pain you are feeling now is the very flames that are burning Anne in hell. I can hear her, Balian, screaming for mercy. Save the poor child. There is a way, Balian. Listen to me, the words of the Holy Father, to go to the Holy Land. There you will find mercy. Perhaps even rebirth…"
I was not listening. I saw my wife, clinging to ember, and I burned. The fire spread throughout my entire body until I felt like I was being burned alive. I roared in despair. I had to get rid of the flame that was destroying me. The word of the priest was destroying me. This man of god, patron of our village, believed to know the Word of God Himself, was speaking filthy words that contained the fires of Hell within them…and it drove me insane. Out of my mind. Before I could stop myself, I picked up the iron rod still hot from the fire, piercing the priest in the heart. He burned. My body was beginning to cool down already.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" The priest finally felt the fire that had consumed me. Now, my wife was to be avenged. Her conscience cleared of all sin. For our love transcended all of Heaven and Earth to something greater… something that couldn't be put into words. Glory and triumph do not last long. Guilt came to me. I had murdered the priest. A sin punishable by death. Trepidation came over me, and I mounted the horse tied up outside and rode to the forest. Godfrey wouldn't be too far. I would still be able to catch him.