CHAPTER 170: CHAPTER 170 - THE DEPARTURE OF CONSTANCE

Palermo, August 1181

The treaty had been signed, and the halls of Palermo no longer rang with debate over its clauses but with the feverish activity of preparation. Sicily had agreed to give Constance not merely in name but in dignity, with all the retinue befitting a woman who would soon be queen beside Baldwin IV of Jerusalem. The task of assembling her household, her guards, and her escort fell upon the king’s ministers, and William II demanded no expense spared.

"Let the world see," he told Chancellor Stephen du Perche, "that Constance does not go to Jerusalem as a pawn but as the heir of Sicily, riding with the splendor of her lineage."

And so, throughout the late summer, the palaces, shipyards, and markets of Palermo became a hive of activity.

At the center of preparations stood Constance herself. Though cloistered for much of her youth in the convent of Santissimo Salvatore, she now emerged into a new role, a woman of commanding presence in her mid-twenties, with an aura of dignity that impressed even the seasoned barons. She moved through the palace halls with calm authority, selecting her ladies-in-waiting, chaplains, and servants for the long journey.

She insisted that her household not be meager. "I go not as a cloistered maiden," she told her attendants, "but as the consort of a king. Let the women of Jerusalem see that Sicily honors me with splendor, and let the lords of Outremer know I am not unguarded."

Her entourage took shape:

Eight noble ladies, daughters of leading Sicilian houses, chosen to accompany her for ceremony and companionship.

A corps of chaplains and clerics, led by Abbot Martin of Monreale, to oversee her devotions and give her counsel.

A staff of servants, cooks, and stewards to provide for daily needs.

Dozens of knights and sergeants, commanded by Count Roger of Aversa, to serve as her personal guard.

The Sicilian crown provided each with arms, surcoats embroidered with the royal leopard, and mounts or places aboard the ships.

The Fleet

The port of Palermo thundered with industry. Shipwrights labored to outfit a fleet of twelve galleys and three great transports, each to bear Constance’s entourage eastward. The holds were stocked with barrels of grain, salted fish, and wine, enough for weeks at sea.

Special compartments were constructed in the largest vessel for Constance herself: a richly furnished cabin with carved cedar walls, hung with silks from Amalfi and cushions embroidered in gold thread. Even at sea, she was to be honored as a royal bride.

The admiral charged with the voyage was Matthew of Aiello, an experienced commander who had ferried Sicilian fleets to Greece and North Africa. He assured William, "My lord, I shall see her safely across the sea, even if every Saracen corsair and Greek warship rises against us."

William clasped his hand. "See that you do, for she is the future of Sicily."

Even as preparations unfolded, the Sicilian court remained a cauldron of whispers. In the great hall, nobles debated the wisdom of sending Constance east.

Count Richard of Molise voiced doubt: "It is one thing to marry her to Baldwin, but another to send our very lifeline of succession across the sea. What if she never returns? What if she dies in Jerusalem, far from us?"

Archbishop Walter countered, "Then she shall die as a queen of Christendom, her name bound forever to the Holy Sepulchre. But while she lives, she strengthens our realm with allies in the East. Would you rather leave her here, vulnerable to plots and quarrels?"

Their words carried weight, for the undercurrent of Tancred’s ambition was known to all.

Tancred himself moved carefully, attending court when summoned but more often cloistered with his supporters in the gardens and side chambers of Palermo. He masked his ambitions beneath smiles, but his thoughts churned.

"She goes to Jerusalem with ships, knights, and wealth," he said quietly to his cousin, Count Ranulf. "She will return, perhaps, as the crowned heir of Sicily, backed by an entire kingdom and the blessings of Rome. What chance have I then, bastard though I am?"

Ranulf offered a cautious reply: "The chance lies in patience. Baldwin is sickly; his kingdom is ever at war. Should Constance fail to produce an heir, or should Jerusalem falter, then Sicily may not welcome her return with open arms. Your blood still runs with the line of Roger II. Do not despair."

Tancred nodded, though his eyes darkened. "Then I must wait, watch, and seize the moment when fortune falters. For now, let her go in splendor. But the throne is not yet lost to me."

Constance, though aware of Tancred’s lurking shadow, seemed undaunted. She met often with William, speaking frankly of her duty.

"Brother," she said, "you place a great trust in me. I shall not squander it. If God wills, I will be queen in Jerusalem and heir in Sicily. None shall say I shrank from the burden laid upon me."

William embraced her. "You are my blood, Constance. Do not fear the whispers of men like Tancred. This marriage is my will, and my will shall prevail."

Her composure reassured even those who doubted. In her carriage and words, she bore the weight of destiny.

On the eve of departure, the great cathedral of Palermo filled with light and incense. Constance, veiled in gold, knelt before the altar as Archbishop Walter intoned blessings over her voyage. The clergy sang hymns for safe passage, while nobles and commoners alike crowded the nave to witness the moment.

"May God guide this daughter of Sicily," Walter proclaimed, "across the seas to her new home, and may her union with Baldwin bring strength to the faithful and glory to this realm."

The people cheered as Constance rose, her hand steady upon the golden reliquary cross.

At dawn, the fleet awaited in the harbor. Galleys rocked gently against the piers, their banners snapping in the sea breeze. Constance’s escort, armored and mounted, formed a glittering column that wound down the streets of Palermo to the port. Crowds thronged to see her pass: some wept, others cheered, all aware that history was unfolding before their eyes.

William himself rode at the head of the column, escorting his sister to the water’s edge. He lifted her hand as she boarded the flagship, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "Go with God, Constance. Rule well, and remember always the land of your birth."

Constance bowed her head, then ascended the gangplank.

With a blast of horns, the fleet slipped its moorings. Oars churned the water, sails filled with wind, and the ships glided eastward into the glittering horizon. The people of Palermo stood long at the shore, watching until the sails were but specks against the morning sun.

When the fleet vanished from sight, silence hung heavy over the court. The nobles dispersed, some to their villas, others to their councils, each carrying private thoughts. Archbishop Walter prayed for the success of the venture. Count Richard grumbled still of risks. And Tancred, watching from a balcony, muttered to himself:

"Go, Constance. Go to your fate. You may return crowned, but fate is a fickle ally, and I am a patient man."

William, however, retired to his chapel, kneeling before the altar. His prayer was simple, unadorned:

"Lord, keep her safe. Make this union strong. And if I die without son, grant that Constance may rule justly, for Sicily’s peace."

Thus the fleet carried Sicily’s future eastward, and Palermo settled into uneasy waiting, knowing that the voyage of a single woman now carried the weight of two kingdoms upon its sails.