Work Text:
Sibylla tore open the drapes of Baldwin’s apartments, shrieking. ”Brother! Brother!”
Baldwin rose from his desk with some difficulty and came over to his weak and sobbing sister, gently taking her by the arm. ”Sibylla? What—”
Sibylla seized her brother’s arm, wheezing. ”Baldwin, Baldwin, oh my God, get over here, you must—” She dissolved into incoherent shuddering, barks of laughter echoing up from deep in her belly. Unable to remember herself in her mirth, she leaned her weight upon her brother and he offered a sincere prayer of thanks that he was able to withstand it.
"Sibylla, you’re hysterical. What’s going on?"
Sibylla wiped kohl-black tears from her eyes and dragged her brother to the small balcony attached to his quarters. He nearly never used it, except on occasion to have coffee and watch the sun set over Jerusalem, but now he allowed himself to be tugged along, curious to see what could render his stately and elegant sister to tears and bellows of ungraceful laughter.
She pulled him to the railing and clasped her hands around the bannister, snorting softly before calling down to a quintet of men below. ”All right, if you please—play that again, for my brother,” she said, quivering with repressed glee.
Baldwin tilted his head, curious.
The men below consulted with each other and Baldwin could see from above how some of their knees knocked together in nervous quivers, but the man with the large horn wrapped around his belly straightened his spine and began to blow, cheeks puffed, into his instrument. It produced an entertaining “oomp, oomp,” sound, and as he went to it with considerable gusto, the others found their way in.
Baldwin was smiling slightly, bemused by Sibylla’s uncharacteristic exaggeration, when a slim young man began to sing in a high voice. A castrato, perhaps? It was not so high as the boys that sang in a choir, but it clashed against the deep horn in such a way as to make him snort.
The lyrics were nothing short of ridiculous, something about rocking someone and calling each other ‘buddy’ in a derogatory fashion. The singer warbled up and down his range and surprised Baldwin into a few bright laughs of his own. Sibylla, meanwhile, was bent over with her forehead resting against the bannister, trembling with mirth.
The musicians finished their song and looked expectantly up at the balcony. Baldwin clapped softly and Sibylla reached into her garments, wheezing, and pulled out some golden coins. She dropped them off of the side of the balcony, crying, “bravo!”
"What in the name of God was that?" Baldwin asked wonderingly.
"I don’t know," Sibylla said, "but I’m hiring them as court musicians and they are going to play for all our guests. Lucilla and Salah ad-Din are going to shit."