Chapter 136: On The Road To Acre
“I didn’t expect you could still make this.” Geoffrey said enthusiastically.
Caesar also involuntarily showed a nostalgic expression. “When I first arrived at Holy Cross Castle, I often made it for Baldwin.” In fact, during this period, except for some places favored by God—such as the “Land of Milk and Honey”—people’s powerlessness against nature, their dread and fear of technology, plus the strict control by the Church and the royal family, meant that yields from the land were always unsatisfactory.
Except for festivals, grand gatherings, or to welcome distinguished guests, when some Crusader knights were at home, their daily meals were just bread, cheese, and vegetable soup in endless rotation. Meat mostly came from semi-feral pigs, sheep, and aging cattle, chickens and ducks, and hunting yields. Fish during fasting periods depended on whether their territory had a river; otherwise, only salted fish was available.
Even these “masters” mainly focused on ensuring their bodies could endure heavy training and frequent expeditions, rather than the taste, color, or texture of the food. Commoners need not be mentioned.
Even in the castles of great nobles, the cook was most valued not for culinary skills, but for how quickly and well he could process prey, smoke, salt, and air-dry meat, and accurately identify and store grain and vegetables.
For the wealthier great lords and kings, what they ate was still limited to the preciousness of ingredients—from elegant swans to unicorn whales, from onions to saffron. When attending a banquet, judging its quality usually depended only on whether there were luxurious sugar sculptures or saffron soup dyed golden yellow.
Even one or two hundred years later, the crude habit of passing food downward persisted. Simply put, food was first served to the master and distinguished guests（ without being cut into chunks）. They would cut off what they needed with a dagger, then pass it to lower-ranking guests. After those guests had taken their share, the remaining scraps would be given to attendants and servants.
Only after the attendants and servants had meticulously gnawed the last bit of meat from the bone might the bone be tossed to the hunting dogs darting under the dining table—some servants ate so thoroughly they would break the bone to suck the marrow, and if any didn’t, they would be mocked for having a master’s airs.
Caesar was fortunate that upon entering Holy Cross Castle, he became Baldwin’s servant, and Baldwin seemed to have no intention of giving bread crumbs, soup dregs, or meat scraps to servants—possibly because by then he was already ill and accustomed to leaving no “rewards for others.”
When Caesar carried the pot, boiled a thick broth, then took out two bowls and fairly served one to each, Baldwin raised no objection. Thus, they naturally formed a habit unique to them.
Later, when he and Baldwin became escorts, needing to stand behind nobles at banquets to serve dishes and pour wine, neither the king nor Queen Maria at the time forced them to eat the leftovers—if Baldwin weren’t a prince, someone might have mocked them for not knowing better, as the remnants from the king and queen’s plates were surely the most delicious and tender.
Uh, how to put it? The queen at the time, Princess Maria, at least ate neatly and cleanly（ without making too much of a mess）. But King Amalric I, as the Countess of Jaffa had complained, would wipe the hand that had possibly just picked his nose on a tablecloth or his outer robe before pinching food from the dish, leaving behind things that would make Caesar recoil in horror, stepping back three paces.
That period was probably when they stole food most frequently. The grace of God and the saints was making them grow rapidly, and the energy needed for growth didn’t come from nowhere. Their stomachs always seemed to be rumbling—dry bread was barely better than nothing, and the pot over the fireplace in Baldwin’s room was never empty, either stewing salted meat vegetable soup or heating wine and fruit.
At some point, when plump Abbot John came to visit, the things he brought gradually shifted from books and relics to food. Truth be told, several secret recipes from the Gerard family were quite effective. After devouring a large earthenware pot of lamb or a large box of candied fruit, they always slept soundly.
But for Baldwin, he preferred Caesar’s cooking. Caesar wouldn’t add spices excessively like the castle cooks to flaunt the dish’s preciousness—sometimes the soup served at banquets was more like a bowl of perfumed pigment, its taste imaginable.
The food in the castle back then wasn’t so abundant either; even with Caesar frequently scouring the market for ingredients, his repertoire was limited to just a few dishes.
“Is it ready to drink? It looks about done. What did you add, saffron?”
Geoffrey’s barrage of questions pulled Caesar back from his memories. He looked down at the large pot; the liquid inside was bubbling, large and small milky-white bubbles bursting and rising from the bottom, the meat chunks and vegetables tumbling up and down like fish schooling beneath the surface.
Taking a sharp sniff, the initial blast of scalding steam singed the nose, but what followed was aroma—not the pungent smell of spices, but a rich, sweet fragrance embedded in the steam, as if it had to break free to be smelled, each strand lingering and distinct（ Geoffrey could even clearly discern the scents of lamb, wild onions, and cabbage）, penetrating to the lungs and making the mouth water.
“No,” Caesar said, “I just added some beets and ginger.”
“That’s precious too.” Geoffrey said sincerely, straining to widen his eyes to look cuter. Caesar watched helplessly as he circled around, refusing to leave—”Want to taste it?”
Geoffrey’s face lit up with joy. The nearby cook immediately fetched a wooden bowl the size of a horse’s head—almost a small bucket. Caesar ladled a full bowl of lamb and cabbage for him. The Templar Knight took it and bolted out of the kitchen, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
He always found a suitable spot, perhaps a quiet, comfortable corner—to hurriedly finish this special extra dish before mealtime. In his words, he was just tasting it on behalf of the knights to avoid Caesar erring due to unfamiliarity with their tastes. This excuse naturally drew sneers from the knights—every knight, whether Templar, Knights Hospitaller, or Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, would unite in indignation at such a time.
“This is bewitching.” Geoffrey sighed while gulping down the delicious broth. “If they served this soup back home, I might not have come to Ayyarasa Road.” He said somewhat irreverently, but he truly hadn’t expected Caesar to use this method to ease the stiff and tense atmosphere in the group.
Baldwin’s intentions were of course good, but he overlooked his status as King of Ayyarasa Road, and the prior Battle of the Sea of Galilee—it was the Crusaders’ only victory in recent years, one that could almost be deemed a miracle. Before it, who could have imagined Nur al-Din’s tens of thousands routed overnight by a few hundred knights, with Nur al-Din himself unhorsed and killed, becoming a cornerstone under this young king’s feet.
Or rather, he had blind faith in Caesar, believing he could handle everything well, including these ninety knights and their escorts, armed attendants, and servants.
Among these knights, some had followed King Amalric I on the expedition to Egypt, and a few had even received favors from Caesar on the battlefield; they undoubtedly stood with Caesar.
But after the Crusader main force’s disastrous defeat north against Mulai, to replenish losses, the three great knight orders simultaneously transferred some members from remote frontlines and recruited newcomers. Even if these heard of Caesar’s tales, the miracle-like absurdity sounding more like priestly fabrications left them bewildered.
What? He was originally just a slave, saved only by fleeing to King Amalric I’s horse? What? He became Baldwin’s servant in days, making the prince obey him? What? He even joined the prince in the Choosing ceremony—one they were supposed to complete in the Temple Church, yet the next morning people found them asleep before the Holy Sepulchre?
What? The prince obtained Saint George’s Spear—rare but not surprising—but his attendant also received favor no less than that for any count’s or duke’s son? What? Before turning fourteen, they became escorts, then novice knights, and on the expedition battlefield, the dying king held the Sword Conferral Ceremony for them, making them knights at an age when some were still feeding pigs in castles?
What? The new king treats him as a brother, swearing equal oaths—no, he really is the new king’s brother? He’s the only son of Jocelin III, imprisoned in Nur al-Din’s castle? And palm prints on a birth certificate, a fortune worth two hundred thousand gold coins, and so on—they suspected at least some was lies fabricated by the new king to elevate this servant to a position not his own.
They were full of doubts and speculation toward him; though not directly provoking, most kept an observing and distant attitude. Not to mention how Baldwin IV had the brainstorm to draw personnel from the three great knight orders.
The Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller had always had poor relations, despising each other. The Knights Templar mocked the Knights Hospitaller as weak hypocrites; the Knights Hospitaller retorted that the Knights Templar had degenerated into money-grubbing misers.
As for the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, they had always been independent of the major knight orders from the start. Their first Grand Master was the Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre—Godfrey the original, an indisputable saint. Subsequent Grand Masters were also Kings of Jerusalem, and their duty was to guard the Holy Sepulchre and Holy Cross; except for the king’s personal campaigns, they rarely joined others’ wars.
These hot-blooded young knights gathered together—strange if no sparks flew.
Methods that could quickly warm them up elsewhere were hard to use here. Templars, Hospitallers, and Holy Sepulchre Knights were all martial monk orders. Except for the Holy Sepulchre Grand Master as King of the Holy Land, obligated by “Godfrey’s oath” to take up the legacy, knights had to forsake worldly desires and devote themselves to God’s cause.
They could not own private property, nor have inheritance rights or be heirs. They abstained from women—unable to pursue noble ladies or visit brothels. Fortunately, to maintain combat ability, they could eat meat and drink a little wine, but getting dead drunk drew rebuke. Spare time was for training or prayer, but except for a few zealots, no one found joy in either.
To win their sincere allegiance, you couldn’t reward them like a king, nor invite them to brothels like wastrels, nor spar privately, gamble, or dance. Hunting was the only option, but these knights had seen battle and were chosen ones; unless facing something like Count Etienne’s special case, ordinary beasts posed no threat.
So what remained was one of humanity’s most basic desires—eating and drinking.
In Caesar’s world, eating and drinking was indeed one of the most effective social tools. He could now afford the expenditure.
He originally had several hundred gold coins saved; after being knighted, he received a reward from King Amalric I. After Baldwin ascended, he generously gave him three thousand gold coins. Queen Mother Maria and the Countess of Jaffa also gave gifts, as did various ministers seeking to curry favor—he was, after all, a close aide to the new king.
Thus, Caesar’s private property quickly multiplied tenfold, and he held a fortune of two hundred thousand gold coins—though just managing it, he wouldn’t be short of funds for years.
Adding meals for the knights was a natural good deed, but his willingness to cook for them personally exceeded expectations. What shocked them more was how delicious it was—exquisitely so. With the same fish, ducks, chickens, pigs, he made them tender and melt-in-the-mouth, richly flavored, without any fishy, gamey, or foul smells.
Not surprising—in this era, aside from spices, people had no or limited ways to eliminate those fishy, gamey smells. Wild game aside, even domesticated pigs, chickens and ducks weren’t castrated, and even after smoking, salting, and air-drying, long-stored meat inevitably carried a hint of rot.
Caesar of course used only the freshest; with their thousand-strong force, it would all be eaten anyway.
But as their vast column passed, villagers in surrounding villages fled in terror—this was their innate survival wisdom. No matter what flags these Knight Masters flew, they could instantly turn into beasts of plunder, rape, and slaughter, until they knocked on a nearby castle gate, stated their purpose, and the castle lord intervened to procure sufficient supplies from the residents.
Of course, such consumption far exceeded just dry bread and water daily for the knights, but the heavy burden had returns: the knights were all big eaters, and fortunately their taste buds weren’t irredeemably dulled. The three daily meals became their most anticipated event—though the delegation’s priests hesitated slightly, they soon shut their mouths.
Though priests, they were knight order priests too—mounting for battle, dismounting for accounts, with physical and mental labor overlapping daily.
Starving was certainly a fine form of asceticism—but if they could wake comfortably from sleep and enjoy a hearty meal, they wouldn’t refuse.
Geoffrey was the only knight who could daily claim the first or an extra portion with justification.
That he hadn’t been killed yet— all conflicts paling before “Geoffrey’s extra meal”—was thanks to Caesar’s favoritism.
This old knight had favored the young attendant Caesar immensely, cherishing him greatly. Even though he once did something almost unacceptable to Caesar, he was undoubtedly one of Caesar’s benefactors.
To this day, he still stood by Caesar. On departure day, his “Count Master” was both teasing and a reminder—though the knights harbored doubts, one fact remained unchangeable: Caesar was indeed the sole heir to the County of Edessa. Until his father Jocelin III returned to Ayyarasa Road, he was the only one who could speak on Edessa’s affairs, and moreover, he was the King of Ayyarasa Road’s cousin.
They might not believe it, but they had to respect it, or Caesar had the authority to punish or even hang them.
This let Caesar pass the following days calmly. Now, “never offend the cook” held true everywhere.
He handed off the rest to the Christian cook who had been watching his every move intently, pondering closely. Stepping out of the crude kitchen, he breathed deeply of the brilliant morning light and cool air as the knights emerged from their tents or rooms.
They had rested the night before in this small village belonging to Saracens, but with a delegation from Acre nearby, a brief explanation secured some rooms. The other knights naturally camped outside, but even with enough village rooms, they might not sleep soundly under enemy eyes.
Fortunately, no incidents last night; everyone was fine. They eagerly gathered in the open space. No castle great hall here for sharing meals seated together, but since it was fine food, no need for such formality.
Following their habits, some shared a steaming pot of lamb, others divided it into wooden bowls to eat alone nearby.
Geoffrey had returned, nonchalantly demanding another large bowl of broth as if he hadn’t eaten. He devoured it heartily, then tossed the wooden bowl to his escort. The little fellow promptly ate the remaining vegetables, drained the dregs, licked the bottom and rim reluctantly, then went to the well to wash it.
“What do we eat at noon?” Geoffrey wiped his mouth—something he hadn’t bothered with before, but greasy folks approaching would send Caesar fleeing three miles away. “We’ll reach Bosra by noon,” a city hugging Damascus, small but prosperous. “We might be invited to a banquet.”
Of course, formal banquets were usually evenings, but the administrator would surely provide midday food.
Geoffrey grunted reluctantly and left.
“Once in Bosra, we’ll procure spices and ingredients.” Caesar said helplessly. Geoffrey didn’t turn, but raised a hand in a heaven-bless-us gesture.
As Caesar said, Bosra’s administrator, upon the delegation’s message, hurriedly prepared. Learning they needed spices and food, he sent cartloads of wheat, barley, beef, and lamb—even some pork.
Saracens didn’t eat pork, yet providing fresh pork showed their sincerity.
“See what this is?” Caesar showed Geoffrey a small box. Geoffrey opened it to find it neatly packed with saffron—this precious spice should go to a king or governor. Geoffrey lazily sniffed; the intense scent made him turn away sneezing.
“He wants something from you, or us,” the old knight said.
