Kingdom of Heaven
Chapter Four
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom of Heaven; they are solely the property of 20th Century Fox and Scott Free Productions. All of the original characters were researched and thought of by Ridley Scott and William Monahan.
Author's Note: I am extremely upset that this film isn't doing so well internationally and domestically!
My hand was swelling beneath the makeshift bandage I had wrapped around it. The wound still stung; the constant reminder of my faults. At the edge of the woods, I was lucky enough to find Godfrey and his comrades setting up camp in the middle of nowhere.
"I have come. I changed my mind. I will join you in the Crusade," I said, so that dimples of a primitive smile showed on Godfrey's face. "Very well, then, Balian," was his simple reply. Seeing my wound, the smile quickly vanished, replaced by a look of concern on his timeless face. "Why does a skillful blacksmith with doubtless deftness suffer from a hand wound?"
I winced for a moment at the thought of my wrongdoing. "I have done…murder." I would have expected anger. Disappointment, maybe. But his expression was solemn understanding. "Haven't we all," he commented.
Is it true that in Jerusalem I can erase my sins?" Godfrey sat there, pondering upon my question. "Is it true?" I repeated.
"After all my years of fighting in the Crusade, the hope of finding forgiveness is what drove me. Did it give me faith? Yes. Do I know if God has forgiven me? No. But I think, Balian, we can find out together.
Godfrey glanced over to my wound. His smile vanished. "Why does a blacksmith with doubtless deftness of the hand suffer from a hand would? Come, show me your hand."
Unwillingly, I stretched my wrist outward with a rag wrapped messily around it. Godfrey unraveled the cloth, ever so gently, putting on the dried blood a thick paste of herbs. The medicine soothed the sting. Godfrey's hands were very large, like a giant's, the hands of a loyal knight who had held the sword uncountable times. Those hands had probably been through blisters, blood, mud, and endless troubles. Those hands had achieved holiness for the King.
My hatred for this man had vanished with the wind. Gone, too, was the bitterness I had toward him only hours ago. A new, calmer emotion filled me- respect and gratitude for Godfrey. Seeing him like this; face weary from war, seeming tired from too many travels, somehow made me feel sorry for him. I imagined him, in the days before I was even on this earth, kissing my mother, loving her.
Those hands had caressed my mother, so many years ago. Had he comforted her? Made her promises? Smiled at the thought of me inside her? Made names for me before he had gone?
Godfrey's healing hands reminded me of my mother so much. So soft and gentle they were. This is the man who my mother kept hidden from me, I thought. I felt a connection with him. The fact that he had known my mother was enough.
His hands were caring for my hands as he might have held my mother's when she was afraid. I felt a sharp pang of nostalgia in my stomach. My mother had died her own peaceful death the past year. Now I felt closer to her. Godfrey, whom I hadn't known for my entire life, seemed closer to me.
There is a corner in every man's mind that can see the unseen. Through closed eyes, one can enter a world of magical wonders of the world. Your world- what you made of it. This time, though, there was no need to close my eyes. For my mother was already there, in the winding road in front of us, strolling in the golden fields of wheat. She was forever young, and beautiful. There, in the fields of gold, I saw my mother, Marie, and Godfrey holding hands in the old days. They were happy in my world, bonded through the strength of love. A strong young man and pretty young woman smiled back at me, and then the vision began to unfurl. The golden fields of autumn changed back to the icy, barren early spring.
He loves me. Godfrey loves me because I am his son.
"There you are, that should heal in no time. Rest now. We have much to do in the morning."
I nodded, took the blanket he handed me, and settled down on the floor to sleep. Before I feel into a deep sleep, I, for the first time in my life, thanked my father. I thanked him for being my father, for being alive all this time.
Godfrey, the Baron of Ibelin, husband of Marie, father of Balian in this town of Provence, in the country of France. My father.
Father.