Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Kingdom of Heaven; the film is solely the property of Twentieth Century Fox and Scott Free Productions. All original characters, plot, and dialogue were thought of, researched, and written by Ridley Scott and William Monahan based on history.

Balian reached Jerusalem…guess who he encounters?

The Holy City at last. For twenty years it is as if I were blind. Having never lived beyond my small village in Provence, I was totally unfamiliar with such a big city as Jerusalem. I recall grand castles, buildings that resembled thresholds of ancient myth, holy places built to honor Allah. Sand dunes replaced my idea of land-soil and green plants. The weather was hotter. The trees were of tropical origin.

I was a foreigner indeed.

I got lost in the allure of the marketplace. There were more people there than I had seen in my entire life, yet I felt calm here. I was strangely attracted to the noise and chaos. Wandering, I searched for aid from whoever was willing to give it. I came across an old man who obviously possessed wisdom beyond his years. He had quite an approachable, benign face. He examined my visage with innocent curiosity, nothing more.

"Old man, where is the hill that Christ was crucified?"

He pointed with certainty to a majestic hill, which, in the distance, looked like Heaven itself.

I nodded my thanks and began my climb up that hill. No matter what the circumstances, I needed answers…this was the only way to be closest to my wife, and hopefully God.

Step by step, I carefully made it up the hill. By the time my journey of a thousand steps had ended, soreness shot through my legs. The hill I was standing on was my reward. The cross seemed to mark Christ's presence forever. In his death, there had been new life. So why was there nothing but death around me?

My cross in hand, the very cross that had once been Anne's, I knelt down on my knees and began my prayers.

Please, God…I know that you do not tolerate suicides, but my wife does not deserve to spend eternity in hell. She has always been the light of my life. I wish for her to shine in her afterlife. She loved me truly, and her sin was an act of desperation. To protect her cross, I have also committed a deadly sin, which I hope will be forgiven if I fight for you in the Holy Land. I want her to rest in peace. I ask for your forgiveness above all else. I beg of you to end this living hell for me, help me live without her. Amen.

I stayed there for hours, until the daylight waned and the world turned dark. I traced the outline of her cross, with a slight hope that it'll bring me closer to her. If only, if only…

Lovingly, I placed a deep kiss on the necklace. Anne, I don't know if you can hear me, but I hope I can still kiss you through this cross. I don't know what's real anymore, only my undying love for you stays true. How can you be in hell, when you're in my heart? I love you, Anne. Come back to me.

Empty words, they were, but I still believed. Tears streaming down my face, I buried the priceless jewel in the earth. Her spirit would be here always. This was her proper resting place. Here she would be safe, no longer in my arms but protected by this sacred ground, bound in holiness.

Goodbye, my beloved. For you my heart still beats.

I was then led to the king's castle. As the new Baron of Ibelin, I was to look after the land and serve the king of Jerusalem, the King Baldwin. I know that my father served him in the past in the Crusade Wars, it was now my time.

First, I explored the courtyard of his dwelling. I was interrupted by and abrupt intrusion. If I wasn't mistaken, it was a native woman on horseback. A wealthy one, no doubt. She wore a bright orange tunic around her head and an elaborate robe that expressed her social status.

She sped through the entrance like the wind, a bold entrance. At first glance I knew that she was strong, independent. I admired her mutually.

"Give me some water," she demanded. I, being the one to stand beneath her feet, and being the first one she laid eyes on, handed her a bowl of water from the well, all the time entranced by her beauty. As I handed her the water, my hands turned cold and prickly all over.

"Thank you for the drink," she said courteously. "If you see Balian, son of Godfrey, tell him that Sibylla called." With that, she sped off again, strong as a man, as delicate as any woman.

The name stayed in my mind. Sibylla. Sibylla. She was looking for me? Who would she want with a man like me? I was poor, my occupation was a blacksmith.

Still, I couldn't wash that face; that name out of my head. Her eyes had reflected the dancing light from the sun, shining. She was a dark, unique beauty.

Absolutely beautiful. For a moment, I was in an aura of light, the first light since my wife's death.