During Lothar's two-week absence, the Holy City had changed. The coming war was no longer a whisper. Its pulse beat through every street.

Templar sergeants marched through the city in squads, red crosses stark against white surcoats. Jerusalem's idlers—the kingdom's greatest reservoir of troublemakers—were being rounded up for the peasant levies. Makeshift smithies spilled from workshops into the streets, forge fires roaring as hammers rang against iron without pause.

Teutonic Knights, rarely seen in the city, had appeared as well: black surcoats with white crosses, escorting some high lord toward the palace.

"Brother — do you know who currently leads the Teutonic Order?"

"Brother" was the common address among Christians: "brother in Christ." Any believer could use it to signal fellowship. Provided, of course, that the two parties were of roughly equal station. A peasant who called a knight "brother" could expect a beating for his presumption.

"The Teutonic Order?" The Royal Knight looked puzzled. "Ah, you mean those German knights quartered at Acre. They have no Grand Master yet. A council, on the old imperial model, manages their daily affairs. Though I've heard they've been busy preparing for an election."

The Teutonic Order did not even have a Grand Master yet. The revelation set Lothar's thoughts racing. If he built enough renown, could his birth as a German noble make him a candidate?

No. That path led away from everything he wanted. He meant to become a secular lord, not a knight chained to the Church—a tower built upon clouds, imposing but without a foundation of its own.

Hans might try for it, though. But Hans was young, still unformed. He wouldn't stand out anytime soon.

"What else has happened in Jerusalem? I heard Balian of Ibelin, Baron Godfrey's heir, is to duel Guy of Lusignan. What brought this on?"

The Royal Knight's face clouded. "It's complicated. The story goes that Guy saw Lord Balian enter Princess Sibylla's chambers with his own eyes. So he issued the challenge. By custom, the loser must abandon all pursuit of the princess."

Lothar frowned.

Did this have something to do with the veil I had Hans pass to him?

Inside the palace, Lothar waited briefly in a side chamber. Attendants draped in thin silk filed through the door and, before he could object, stripped away his travel-stained clothes with practiced hands.

"Lord Lothar — please come with us to bathe."

---

A quarter-hour later, Lothar, clean, refreshed, dressed in a silk shirt, stepped into Baldwin IV's great hall.

Candles as thick as a man's arm burned in their sconces. Sunlight slanted through narrow windows, turning the smoke to gold. Baldwin sat behind his desk with quill in hand, exactly where Lothar had left him two weeks earlier, as though he had never moved.

"You killed Kawkab," the King said without looking up.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Baldwin's eyes showed quiet satisfaction. He set down his quill and gestured for Lothar to sit. "I was right about you. To ride deep into enemy territory, to storm a governor's fortress and take it. You are a fine commander, just like your father."

Lothar kept his voice modest. "By the Heavenly Father's grace. And the Kurdish cavalry Godfrey lent me were an elite force."

"Do not diminish your part. You were the heart of the operation." Baldwin braced both hands on the desk and forced himself upright. "If this fails to drive a wedge between the Sassanid Shah and Saladin, the fault lies in my strategy, not your execution. You accomplished everything I asked."

"How should I reward your deeds, Lothar?"

Lothar shook his head. "Whatever Your Majesty grants me, I will accept. And I will be grateful for your generosity."

Baldwin sighed. A note of cold anger crept into his voice. "You risked your life for the kingdom's future. And while you were gone, the kingdom's lords spent their days clawing at one another for scraps of power."

He slammed his palm on the desk. "How can a king govern a realm with worms for nobles?"

Lothar kept his mouth shut and lowered his head.

Once begun, the game of power had no natural end. If either the Baron's party or the Queen's party triumphed, the loser would be gutted. Neither side could afford to yield, and so the struggle fed itself.

Baldwin's anger ebbed. He grew still. "Sir Lothar — to whom should I betroth Sibylla?"

"The decision is entirely yours, Your Majesty."

Lothar still would not venture an opinion. Whether in the courts of the East or the West, a monarch was always sensitive, always suspicious, on the question of succession.

"Lothar — are you truly loyal to me?"

Lothar answered quickly. "Of course, Your Majesty. I swore it before the Heavenly Father."

"They swore before Him too." Baldwin let out a long breath. "Lothar, I know you are not like them. I want you to speak plainly to me."

Lothar was silent for a moment. Then he spoke.

"Your Majesty, I don't know who the right man is. But Guy is clearly the wrong one. He is rash, proud, a knight of the old mold who thinks with his sword-arm. Put Jerusalem in his hands, and the kingdom will eventually die there."

He spoke of Guy, but his judgment encompassed the entire Queen's party. Though Saladin outmatched them, they dreamed of one decisive battle that would restore Antioch and deliver fertile Egypt into Crusader hands.

Their confidence was not born from nothing. Crusader knights were superb fighters, and in recent skirmishes with the Ayyubids they had won far more often than they lost. Victory had hardened confidence into blindness, while the late King Henry's war chest was rapidly transforming into soldiers.

"Guy…" Baldwin let out a measured breath. "I understand what you are telling me. To give the kingdom to my mother, my sister, it is legal. But it is foolish. Yet a king is not all-powerful."

The realm's balance of power had already broken. The King's faction, trapped between the Baron's party and the Queen's party, was too weak to enforce his will. If Baldwin openly confronted the great lords himself, events could spiral beyond anyone's control.

"In truth, I would have preferred you, Lothar. You are young and capable. Your talent for war is not less than Regent Raymond's. Your political instincts are as sharp as Godfrey's."

Lothar shook his head without hesitation. "Your Majesty, you must have heard from Baron Godfrey. I have two witches in my service. I truly cannot marry Princess Sibylla."

"A pity. My sister, for all that she hungers too much for power, would have made a good wife."

Baldwin was silent. Then: "Then it falls to Balian. But he is still too young. I don't know when he'll grow into the man he needs to be. And I don't know when I'll suddenly pass and return to the Heavenly Father's embrace."

Lothar nearly told the King that a cure might one day be possible. But hope without substance would be cruel. Even after gaining a fief, summoning a high-quality medical Retainer could take years.

"What do you make of this duel between Balian and Guy this afternoon?"

Lothar answered the question with a question: "Does Your Majesty want me to predict the winner?"

"The winner is not in doubt. Balian is a young knight, no match for Guy. What I want you to consider is this: after the duel, how do we refuse Guy's suit for Sibylla?"

Lothar was quiet. Then: "It will be difficult. The Queen's party has too much strength. If Balian loses in a trial of knightly combat, sacred, fair, pushing the princess toward him will face enormous resistance."

"Then you will fight in his place."

Baldwin's voice was firm. "Guy threw down his gauntlet. Balian did not pick it up. He only gave his verbal acceptance. By the rules, he can name a champion."

Lothar shook his head. "Balian is a knight with a strong sense of honor. He didn't take up the gauntlet because he was once a blacksmith. He didn't know the custom. Not because he wanted to deceive from the start."

"You believe he won't accept."

"Yes."

"Then let the Heavenly Father decide."

Baldwin drew his sword, the steel gleaming cold, and laid it once more upon Lothar's shoulder.

"Sir Lothar — by the blood of House Baldwin and the authority of the Crown of Jerusalem, I raise you to the rank of Baron of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. I bestow upon you the royal domain of Jogelsburg as your fief."

Lothar dropped to his knee at once, his heart pounding. "You are too generous, Your Majesty."

Baldwin shook his head. "Don't expect too much. Jogelsburg is a barren place. It has been in the Crown's hands for years, and no one has ever wanted it."

"I am sorry, Lothar. I had hoped to grant you Bethlehem. But the situation in the kingdom is what it is. I cannot stand against my courtiers and hand a wealthy, holy fief like Bethlehem to a new-made baron."

"It is more than enough, Your Majesty. I will earn greater honors."

Many knights served their entire lives without rising to baron. The title might stand near the bottom of the noble hierarchy, but in Jerusalem it admitted a man into the hall of power. Lothar now had a seat at the table.

"Rise, Lothar. Would you care for a game of chess?"

Lothar shook his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty — I don't know how."

Baldwin smiled. "No, it's I who should ask forgiveness. This sickness keeps me indoors most days."

"My one pastime is chess. It's simple enough. Let me teach you."

Lothar took the seat opposite the King at the chess table.

"The way of the ruler, the way of the commander. It's all here, in these squares. King, queen, bishop, knight, rook, and pawn. Each has its place. Each its duties."