"There will be no end to his suffering, Sybilla. One day, he will die. And then, should not a successor be found, you must crown one in marriage. Jerusalem…must live under God."

"…yes, Mother."

Baldwin IV was a wise and able king. He was loyal to his God and faithful to his people. Great were the words spoken of his rule, but greater still were the words spoken of his appearance. The mask which shielded their prying eyes became a double-edged sword, for it augmented their imaginations of what may exist behind it. As a result, Baldwin had yet to court a prospective wife. Jerusalem, as holy as it was, remained a dangerous place for women of noble blood. Noble Christian blood was even scarcer in the shadow of the Jerusalem's aristocratic corruption.

Their mother had forseen the handicap of Baldwin's condition long ago, when the boy first began his struggle with leprosy. "His line shall end with him. Grow to be a worthy wife, Sybilla, to uphold his legacy when he is overcome."

Mother had spoken thus to her in Baldwin's presence when she was 12, to instill in them the acceptance of what was destined; death and fate. Baldwin had looked up at Mother with his eyes filled with determination. She was cold with her logic but she would have faith in her son. Baldwin would prove himself. He would be a good king, upright and strong. He would not fear death—rather, it would be the road towards death that would trouble him the most, and he had short time to become acquainted with his new challenge. Sybilla stood close to him as Mother lectured; this way, she would not see her reach for his hand and hold it tightly behind them.

Eight years later, neither had married. At age 20, Sybilla sat in her private chamber overlooking the garden below. In her thoughts, she tensed her grip on the armrest of her chair. Her choosing of a husband was no different than preparing her brother's deathbed before his very eyes. Each day was precious.

I beg Thee, God, grant him time. Grant him strength. Do not let his body break him.

Her choked voice was barely a whisper. "Please."

A knock at her door broke the silence. Sybilla grabbed her scarf and dabbed her eyes. The knock came again. "Lady Sybilla."

"Enter."

A guard with five servants carrying bundles entered and bowed. "Your Ladyship, I am here to announce the arrive of one Dreu de Ricaud, of France, who humbly requests your audience below." With a gesture, the servants bestowed their loads of exotic flowers, silks, and perfumes upon her lacquered tables. "He sends tokens of his admiration and prays that they may please you."

Sybilla let out a breath and rose. Her brother would most likely be occupied with his affairs until the later hours. "Thank you. I shall see to him shortly. Please have a private banquet prepared for our guest."

Outside the palace walls, the gates opened for a gentlemen and his train waiting quietly on horseback. He urged his steed forward as the guards gestured for his entry. The heavy doors closed behind them, and he was greeted by Jerusalem's marshal, Tiberias, who stood before them in the common. The young man and his followers dismounted. "I am Dreu de Ricaud of France," he bowed, "and have business with the Lady Sybilla, from whom I have arrived with permission. I must fulfill the courtesy of making myself known to the court."

Tiberias scratched his chin and looked over the lad. "You have traveled far from your native land to this place. Have you heard much of our King Baldwin IV?"

Dreu nodded in reply. "Yes sir. I have heard from my family's court of his reign over his holy place, his safe keeping of its grounds from the hordes without. They say that few have seen him, but the breadth of his mind is great."

The old advisor smiled. "Well, then, on your business you may be excused. I ask your forgiveness, but the king is a very busy man." He took hold of the horse's reins and began to lead it away. "He already knows you're here."

A great, elegantly carved table was set within one of atriums, far from the noise of the palace gates. It was laden with pitchers of wine, roasted meats, and sweet ripened fruits. At on end Dreu de Ricaud took his chair, escorted by a palace servant. He was a strong young man in his twenties, but the desert heat was not something he was accustomed to. Had it not been necessary for impression, his fine velvet tunic and robe would have long been exchanged for the much cooler native silks. The sparkling wine in the pitchers tempted the strength of his thirst. He had only heard of the Lady Sybilla from emissaries on their return from Jerusalem, and had dreams of meeting her. He greatly hoped that such a woman would be worth his efforts. The high lords themselves have married those with whom they have but met once. I should not complain that I need not have her if she is not to my liking.

Behind the empty chair positioned across from him, there stood a great door through which the princess would appear. Dreu picked up his wine goblet and examined its fine metalwork. He had seen such goods upon the backs of many a merchant, laden with other goods unavilable to those of his country. What wonders these barren lands yield. The holy oasis of God surrounded by a fiery sea. Where sin is cleansed and souls reborn. The riches of this city are indeed fit for a Christian king-- a leper king, at that. But how elusive this king is!

Just then a servant opened the door. "Announcing Lady Sybilla, Princess of Jerusalem."

Dreu quickly replaced the goblet and stood up from his chair. Oh, there she was, a beauty in the woven fineries of God's kingdom. Her many scarves fluttered around her as she approached, glittering with gold. Her dark eyes filled him with questions and their gaze pierced his heart.

He stepped up to meet her, bowing as he kissed her soft perfumed hand. "I am Dreu di Ricaud of Dordogne Comte, France; first son of Baron Marquis II. The stories of your beauty have run far in my country. I hope you have received my gifts well."

Sybilla bowed in return. Despite the heat, her guest's attire was immaculate. Not a hair out of place. "I have, and you shall receive my thanks."

They sat and the servants took their cue to pour them wine. As quickly as it was served, Dreu swiftly emptied his portion with a most refreshed approval. "As sweet as that of my own vineyards!"

She smiled and took her drink silently. "I am glad that you have had a safe journey. It is a dangerous path to Jerusalem."

Dreu grimaced. "Indeed. Several times my men and I have encountered bandits. But the holy land is enough reward for accomplishing the journey alone. The sun is no man's friend, much less the horses'."

"The sun has had a history of keeping some men in, and some men out. Have you come to seek your fortune or your future?" She delicately plucked a small bunch of grapes for her plate.

Eager to make his intentions known, the young man answered with conviction. "Both. The stories that I've been told hold true. You are a very beautiful woman, Sybilla, fit for any court in France. Or better. I am in line to receive my father's title. The land of our province is plentiful and prosperous, and we have done business with your city's merchants many a time. I am certain that any of your prospective travels to my homeland would not be disappointing"

Sybilla was well versed in the art of conversation, and bestowed upon him gracious smiles and praise for his accomplishments, though whether or not they interested her was irrelevant. They continued their meal as they ventured into more approachable issues of discussion; fashion, culture, and namely, Dreu's courtship. But some aspects were inevitable. The young man was simply captured by the look in Sybilla's eyes when she spoke to him. There was something about them that was utterly fascinating. What she offered in words was only a hint in what she kept within them. At times he couldn't tell what she was thinking even if she were spelling it out for him. If this were always her effect on men, he would be luckiest on in France if he could garner her affection. The nobles would still their hearts in envy.

Sybilla rested her chin on the back of her hand. "I am flattered by your constant admiration. Your eyes move yet your lips say nothing."

"I entreat you, Sybilla, do consider for yourself a stay in Dordogne Comte in the near future. The hospitality of my house will be memorable."

The woman laughed good naturedly. "Ah, anxious Dreu. I am tempted. But currently I have duties to attend, and I must stay in Jerusalem for the time being."

"Well, will not your king brother permit your leave? I have not seen him, but I am sure he is a well and just man. Such beauty! It would be a waste if not seen by the world." He laughed and drank.

And his mirth was met with silence.

In an unperceived instance, Sybilla's gaze hardened into ice. However, she kept her tone smooth and cordial. "Be wary of your words, Dreu di Ricaud. You may find all that you seek in Jerusalem, but you may not necessarily leave with it--especially if you must request a king's pardon…or his sister's."

The dangerously casual emphasis on her last words was something to be reckoned with. The young man instantly paled at the realization of his folly. He was unused to courting women so spoken. In fact, she now carried herself with the sharp wit and dignity of a man. He recovered himself quickly. "Your forgiveness please! A thousand apologies. I have greatly overstepped myself."

With their goblets refilled, their conversation resumed back to the good-natured sort. At last, Drue raised his in toast and smiled. "A fine meal, Sybilla, in a fine city that the western countries have never seen. To the health of Jerusalem! Long may it live!"

This time, his words were innocent, but they froze Sybilla's heart. She breathed in sharply. In that moment, the weight of her mother's words rushed back to her. Marriage. Legacy. Death. With an aching heart, she felt guilt in her merriment. Baldwin...

Noticing her sudden change in mood, Dreu looked at her carefully. "Sybilla?" .

"Oh--I was--caught in thought." Uneasily, she raised her wine. "To the health of Jerusalem…long may it live!"

As Dreu tilted his head to drink, something briefly caught his attention. Behind Sybilla, in the shadows of the terrace above them, he could have sworn he saw something move. It was white and flowing, and gone as quickly as his initial notice.