Chapter 251: Second Visit To Eagle’s Nest
William Marshal saw the little Princess Isabella of Ayyarasa Road for the first time.
Isabella was born before Amalric I’s expedition to Egypt, and now she was just over four years old, but she already had distinct personality traits—in this regard, she was very much like her brother Baldwin, with clear loves and hates and a decisiveness that was somewhat cruel.
Because shortly after her birth, her father Amalric I passed away, her brother Baldwin had no immediate plans for marriage, and Princess Sibylla had been exiled to Nalessa for angering her brother.
Therefore, the only mistress in the castle became Queen Mother Maria. She was no longer just a simple wife or stepmother; she also bore the heavy responsibility of being the backing for the king and the Crusaders. Not only did she have to keep order inside and outside Holy Cross Castle in an orderly manner, but she also had to look after guests, care for children, and, with the assistance of the castle steward, meet with merchants, negotiate trade, and hire priests and servants.
And as the Queen Mother of Ayyarasa Road, she also had to frequently summon the wives of ministers and generals, judging through chit-chat and observation whether their husbands and brothers harbored disloyalty, soothing them or deceiving them.
For those handmaids sent to her and Isabella’s side—she had to ensure that these youthful girls had a good match（girls at this time were easily tempted by minstrels or knights）, while also making sure this marriage would not touch the interests and authority of the King of Ayyarasa Road.
Her free time thus became as scarce as gold in sand, and the time she could spend with her daughter was even less, especially after Isabella finally escaped the confines of the cradle and could happily run around on her own two little feet.
At this time, the importance of the wet nurse and handmaids became prominent, but the problem was that people without blood ties, no matter how diligently they cared, would always have some oversights—some occasional and unintentional, others deliberate out of jealousy and hatred.
They probably didn’t expect that little Princess Isabella would not, like ordinary children, just cry and fuss at the slightest discomfort—that would actually give them time to cover up traces of their negligence.
She not only remembered all the mistakes they made but could also identify each person and call out their names. When she was alone with Queen Mother Maria or the king, she would clearly list out their offenses.
Although these offenses were important to a child, to adults, they were just trivial matters. Like a wet nurse once dropping her on the ground by accident, a handmaid secretly eating her cake, or someone promising to do something for her but just perfunctorily brushing it off.
“Hmm, I’m listening.” The little princess accused angrily: “Right after she went out, I jumped off the bed immediately, leaned against the door and listened—there were no footsteps in the corridor at all. She didn’t go get milk for me as I asked; she just stood outside for a bit, then opened the door and came in, saying there was no milk in the kitchen. She was being lazy.”
The childish complaint made people laugh, but they had no way to punish this handmaid—surely they couldn’t whip or expel her just for occasional laziness. They could only transfer her away from the little princess’s side, but the little princess was already satisfied.
When Baldwin teasingly asked about it, the little princess said, “She didn’t do anything malicious, just lazy. For a lazy servant, we can simply send her away without needing to beat her or let her lose her life.”
Baldwin laughed heartily upon hearing this.
And when he mentioned this matter, William Marshal felt that little Princess Isabella was far better than that Princess Sibylla. He hadn’t been in Ayyarasa Road long, but this princess, even after Baldwin had come of age and taken personal rule, had repeatedly mentioned more than once that the child in her belly would become the new king of Ayyarasa Road, simply because he hadn’t yet brought up marriage.
The young king’s silence was the best annotation at this moment.
What a pity this little princess was born too late; otherwise, her child might have been more suitable for this holy city.
When William Marshal first met Princess Sibylla, he had been puzzled by that unlucky Count Etienne’s choice. He didn’t understand why, even someone like him who wasn’t very pious would yearn to fight for God, let alone that this marriage came with a regent’s crown.
Princess Sibylla was a woman in the prime of youth, of outstanding beauty and high status. Yet Count Etienne not only refused but showed extreme panic—he practically fled Holy Cross Castle.
But after interacting with this princess once or twice and hearing some verified rumors about her, William Marshal suddenly understood; if it were him, he would do the same, perhaps even run faster.
Men at this time rarely held women in regard; their respect was more a way to display their valor, tolerance, and piety. Even so, William Marshal could see at a glance that Princess Sibylla was not at all as humble and gentle as her appearance suggested. If that were all, it would be fine—Edessa（though it no longer existed）, Tripoli, Antioch, and Ayyarasa Road, these four Christian kingdoms stood at the forefront against the heathens; a strong-willed wife wasn’t a bad thing.
The key was that she also lacked long-term vision and sufficient reason, her will was not firm enough, yet she had an extraordinary craving for power.
A woman like this, if just a princess in one of Europe’s many small states, would be fine; whether in a monastery or a small territory, she couldn’t stir up much trouble. But fatally, she was a princess of Ayyarasa Road—Count Etienne made a decisive choice; marrying this princess couldn’t even be called a return on his part, only the price he paid.
“William?”
Caesar’s call brought William Marshal out of his reverie.
He took the cup Caesar handed him. The weather was fine today, with a gentle warm breeze and bright sunshine. Queen Mother Maria had the steward set up a canopy in the courtyard, and little Princess Isabella, Baldwin, Caesar, and the distinguished guest William Marshal from afar became her invited guests.
They enjoyed lunch together surrounded by greenery and birds. In Amalric I’s time, Holy Cross Castle had two meals, but since Princess Maria married here, she brought the already prevalent three-meal system of the Byzantine Empire.
Her authority was of course much greater than Caesar’s; the former extra meal became a formal one, though due to deep-rooted previous habits, the most formal banquets were still held in the evening.
For William Marshal, a splendid banquet with gold and jewels certainly made him feel valued, but it couldn’t compare to this leisurely style, like the Romans, reclining on soft thick cushions and pillows, casually enjoying delicacies on silver platters—it was far more comfortable and relaxing.
Though just an unregarded lunch, Maria prepared it very lavishly, as there were young people growing from children and a William Marshal at his peak who never felt satisfied no matter how much he ate. The food she arranged was simple but in large portions: plump stewed chicken, roast suckling pig, roast beef, braised pork, and saffron stewed lamb, all served in large platters. White bread—that is, bread sifted several times to appear milky white or pale yellow—was not served as the main food but as a post-meal dessert.
William Marshal dipped them in honey until the holes were completely filled, then took them out, chewed and swallowed heartily, after which he happily enjoyed a serving of nuts and olives pickled with rock sugar.
He had seen rock sugar in the English court; occasionally taking one from a small leather pouch carried on his person and chewing it had become a new fashion. Noble ladies thanking their knights often chose rock sugar first, and knights even competed over how many they got from noble ladies’ hands—these precious foods might have been grabbed from their husbands’ sugar jars.
Now, high-footed wide-rimmed trays had become indispensable vessels at every banquet, their main purpose to hold rock sugar—those crystal-like sugar lumps gleaming under torch and candlelight.
Not only that, adding rock sugar to wine had also become a common practice. But here he drank neither ordinary wine but coffee and tea.
William Marshal had heard of coffee, but tea was somewhat unfamiliar to him.
“You can try both.” Baldwin recommended, watching William Marshal first try unsweetened tea and coffee, then grimace at the bitterness, grab a handful of rock sugar to add, and after a few minutes try again, his brows relaxing as he drank a bit more coffee.
To him, since rock sugar was added, it shouldn’t be wasted, but it was clear that between the two drinks, he preferred tea. He even made a comparison: “This coffee is richer and cleaner than what I’ve tasted before, but I still detect the scorched char smell. Did the cook not pay enough attention and burn it?”
He raised the cup of tea again: “This one doesn’t have that, and I don’t know if it’s my illusion, but it tastes more comfortable to me.”
For a knight rather than a poet to describe new things this way was already quite good. And the reason William Marshal said the coffee’s flavor was different was because Caesar had taught Baldwin the method of making coffee.
Coffee was quite popular among Saracens and Christians in the Mediterranean region, but they hadn’t realized coffee’s greatest efficacy came from the seeds. Initially, they chewed the fruit like berries; then in the tenth century, Saracens began mashing, cooking, and grinding it to drink like murky mud, with effects far inferior to true coffee beans—the kernels.
Achieving this was simple: Caesar taught Baldwin the preparation method, and Baldwin then sent people to experiment—removing the fruit skin and flesh by boiling or sun-drying, leaving only the coffee seeds, slowly roasting them until fragrant, collecting the seeds, grinding them in a millstone, then steeping and boiling the peculiar powder to obtain a purer and more durable drink than before.
Coffee could invigorate the spirit and relieve fatigue, but for alleviating discomfort from heavy oil, it couldn’t compare to tea. William Marshal, born to a noble family, could tell at first taste which was the good stuff.
But evidently, in the current situation, tea might take many years, while coffee reprocessing could be implemented immediately.
Baldwin and Caesar exchanged smiles. Baldwin’s rejection of the tax farming system faced little opposition at court because Ayyarasa Road—even Tripoli and Antioch’s tax revenue mainly came from triple taxes on heathens, believers’ donations, merchants’ trade taxes, city residents’ poll tax, and some temporary miscellaneous taxes, etc., without needing Isaacites to roam the countryside, using the king’s authority to collect taxes.
The Crusaders originally didn’t trust these Saracen dogs much—in their first assault on Ayyarasa Road, they mercilessly killed all Isaacites, and their attitude toward them remained very cold. But after rejecting the large donation proposed by the Isaacites, there would inevitably be private grumbling, as the gaps from the expedition couldn’t be filled quickly, let alone some always wanting more.
Coffee was already being planted and harvested; just changing the processing method would push it out faster and bring back more funds—at least it wouldn’t let people keep harping on the Isaacites issue.
Just as Caesar rejected the Isaacites on Cyprus and returned their gifts, many found it incomprehensible. To them, Isaacites were roadside stray dogs; when the dogs wagged tails, rolled over, and exposed bellies, you could pat their heads or kick their stomachs as you pleased.
Why reason with these heretics who could never be part of Christendom?
But William Marshal could feel that after these matters spread, the knights around him became more cautious toward Caesar and the King of Ayyarasa Road. They all said he wasn’t someone to be swayed by a golden crown.
He believed merchants’ innate special sense of smell would be even keener than knights’. Crudely put, this was also a way to raise one’s own price. If a king showed he wouldn’t be easily moved by petty gains, anyone seeking privileges, pardons, or aid from him would be more cautious.
You couldn’t deny that when a king was deemed “cheap,” this sentiment would quickly spread through all levels of society.
In the long term, the changes in this young king—or rather the influence from his closest friends—were still good.
William thought this way not without reason. Though Henry II tried hard to retain him, he resolutely left London from thousands of miles away, and there was another reason: England was now becoming utterly chaotic.
Eleanor of Aquitaine brought Henry II five sons and two daughters; her belly had been Henry II’s weapon to mock his old rival Louis VII, not to mention Aquitaine falling to another house was like a sharp thorn in the heart of Louis VII and subsequent Frankish kings.
But Henry II’s youthful triumph turned to fear in old age.
He and Eleanor might have had a sweet time once. But Eleanor wasn’t a flawless woman. As Duchess of Aquitaine, she never harbored fantasies about any man and never abided by the shackles society and faith imposed on her.
When she abandoned Louis VII to marry Henry II, this ruthlessness and decisiveness were commendable.
But as the sons grew up and Henry II grew weary of Eleanor’s stubbornness, madness, and power-hunger, war erupted between the royal couple.
War between king and queen was never some petty slapping match.
Unlike queens without territory and armies, Eleanor could command three grown sons against Henry II.
Though after years of fighting, realizing neither could prevail—Henry II had made peace with his sons.
Now, his second son Young Henry—the eldest died at three, so he was now the eldest—had become Prince of England, while Aquitaine was given by Eleanor to Richard.
What kind of person was Richard? Though William’s oath was to Henry II and he should be closer to Young Henry, inevitably, in his knightly career, he owed most to his mistress Eleanor, whose favorite son was Richard. Richard was both mentor and friend to him, and William greatly liked the boy’s frank good temper.
Moreover, viewing him not as a prince but as a knight, Richard was almost flawless. Just as William was nearly undefeated in tournaments, Richard was a general often favored by the goddess of victory on the battlefield—Young Henry, Geoffrey, John, one brother and two younger brothers were almost overshadowed by Richard’s brilliance, making relations in the family tense and oppressive.
Compared to Henry II often calling William to stand before him to intimidate and provoke his second son Richard, what William Marshal found hardest to bear was Richard yielding to him time and again, which saddened him deeply. He had to admit that his request to join this expedition was more to escape that viscous swamp-like situation.
Henry II wanted him to stay, but William managed to persuade him.
Henry II’s relations with the Church were not harmonious; he sought divorce from Eleanor, applying to the Church but was refused by Alexander III. Besides his overly aggressive attitude—even the Pope’s envoy was rebuked—it was also because Henry II had once sent four knights to kill the Archbishop of Canterbury, who firmly sided with the Church over the king…
This happened in the first year Caesar came to Holy Cross Castle. Alexander III was so angry he wanted to excommunicate him. Henry II had to confess naked to the Pope and promise to join a future expedition to redeem his sins to God.
But he stayed in Francia and England these years without moving.
This expedition, though not Church-initiated, was also to fight Saracens and reclaim God-given lands. Though Damascus wasn’t as holy as Ayyarasa Road, its wealth, splendor, and antiquity would surely satisfy the Church. Only when William said this did Henry II reluctantly let go.
Most notably this time, Richard even remembered to bring a gift for the young Isabella.
God knows, he had paid little attention to his two full sisters before—he didn’t like them.
The gift was a toy bow and arrow that could shoot—William guessed it might be a gift once given to young Richard. He specially asked Queen Eleanor to avoid accidentally sending something meaningful.
Luckily, Queen Eleanor told him it was just from a merchant to Richard, a drop in the ocean among many gifts, never displayed or remembered by people.
Even so, William had Baldwin deliver the gift, mainly because Richard and Isabella’s statuses were too sensitive.
Not to mention the seventeen-year age gap, by status they matched perfectly, a perfect pair. Given Richard’s piety to God and love of battle, it was hard to say if Ayyarasa Road’s people might fancifully propose him as little Princess Isabella’s husband.
Regardless, William Marshal’s greatest worry was—Richard might really abandon Aquitaine and England to rush here.
“Sesa, Sesa…” Don’t doubt it; this wasn’t little Princess Isabella calling someone else—she was calling Caesar. Though as a clever child she could already speak fluently, Caesar’s name pronunciation was tricky; children not yet proficient with their tongues struggled to articulate the syllables clearly.
So when she called Caesar, it sounded like calling some small animal. At such times, the Queen Mother and king couldn’t help laughing, their attendants and handmaids all smiling, while Caesar helplessly took the toy the little princess knocked on his knee—that was the toy bow and arrow Richard had William bring for the little princess.
This bow and arrow was almost a miniature of the Welsh longbow（first used on a large scale in the Battle of Cardigan, 1136, defeating Norman heavy cavalry）, with the bow body, bowstring, and materials identical to the longbow; the arrowhead blunted, but still painful on impact.
Caesar tried pulling it and found it required some strength to draw; the four-year-old little princess surely couldn’t. He looked at Isabella, who pushed him.
Evidently, though the little princess hadn’t drawn a bow herself, she had seen others do it. She kept pushing Caesar, pointing at small birds drinking and pecking not far away.
Caesar just glanced at the small birds and shook his head. Before little Princess Isabella showed displeasure, he said: “No.”
“Isabella,” he patiently advised, not brushing her off because she was a child: “We’re not hungry now. Are you? If you’re hungry, I can shoot them down, but you must promise to eat them all.”
William awaited the little princess’s tantrum. Like those noble children he’d seen at court, unexpectedly, Isabella stood there really pondering, touching her belly, then looking up at the small birds.
She knew small birds weren’t tasty—unless raised for eating, little meat, many broken bones, lacking oil, incomparable to pheasant, goose, or swan. She sneaked a peek at Caesar’s face—this was someone she always liked, but she knew he was strict with her.
Don’t think young children, unworldly, are stupid. On the contrary, as young ones, they are extremely sensitive to feedback. If a tactic works, they’ll keep using it, even escalate; if not, they’ll discard it immediately. They also know to use different methods for different people.
And Caesar was the type who wouldn’t yield no matter if she cried, screamed, punched the table or floor with little fists, tore clothes, or rolled on the ground. If he were an ordinary attendant, Isabella might even ask her mother to dismiss him, but she really liked Caesar, and she knew her brother and mother did too.
Finally she gave up asking Caesar to shoot the birds, watching as he called an attendant who quickly brought wooden blocks. William watched with interest as they were deliberately painted various colors, with dents and worn spots showing frequent use—likely from the little princess’s toy pile. Once ready, they were set up about twenty paces away.
Caesar had the attendant clear bystanders, then under the little princess’s eager gaze, drew the bow and shot one block flying with a whoosh. The little princess immediately shouted joyfully, clapping, jumping, and watching expectantly as Caesar nocked another small arrow.
William watched the scene with a smile, but soon his expression turned odd.
Queen Mother Maria and the king could barely be called stepmother and son, Isabella the king’s half-sister, Caesar their cousin and subject—but where did this serene, joyful, intimate, and effortlessly relaxed atmosphere between them come from?
It was like seeing a mutually loving, harmonious, happy family. This strange atmosphere even made William feel slightly uncomfortable—mainly because he felt out of place, like an intruder who shouldn’t be there.
He was about to speak and take leave when an attendant hurried in, bending to whisper to the king. Baldwin’s face changed instantly; he glanced at the Queen Mother.
The Queen Mother nodded knowingly—if it were ordinary, no one would disturb their rare leisure.
Baldwin stood, calling out: “Caesar.”
Little Princess Isabella’s face fell immediately. She knew when her brother called Caesar in that tone, it meant they had serious business and couldn’t play with her anymore.
Sure enough, Caesar immediately handed the bow and arrow to the little princess’s handmaid—no unsupervised handling of dangerous things.
He followed Baldwin hurriedly back to the main tower. Moments later, a man was ushered into the king’s receiving room. He was tall, hood covering half his face, the hair emerging from the shadow unusually pale.
But he wasn’t an old man; the exposed skin said otherwise.
“You?” Caesar said in surprise.
