Chapter 50: Encounter
“Leave? Now?” the attendant asked in astonishment.
He shouldn’t have contradicted his master like this, but to know, his master had ignored everyone’s dissuasion and insisted on coming to Ayyarasa Road at this most dangerous moment, just to see Amalric I’s heir Prince Baldwin.
The fickleness of destiny was embodied to the fullest in this child.
A few months ago, he was diagnosed with leprosy. Upon hearing this news, the Caliph’s court was filled with joy, everyone smiling, saying it was Allah’s thunderous wrath upon the Christians, no one optimistic about this child’s future, believing that even if he didn’t die, he could only linger out his remaining days in a monastery.
They were soon disappointed, as Amalric I withstood the Church’s pressure and insisted on holding the Choosing ceremony for his son.
Prince Baldwin did not fail his expectations either; not only did he sense Saint George in the Choosing ceremony—a saint sensed by almost only wise kings—but he also manifested Saint George’s spear for a full three days and nights, witnessed by thousands as this holy relic.
Under the instigation of those with ulterior motives, this holy relic spread like a bird with wings, not only to every Christian country but also to the ears of their enemies.
The Caliph’s court fell silent, the laughter and joy gone, the vibrant tiles and curtains seemingly losing their color, hearts unsettled and anxious—they feared that with such a son who not only received a blessing but manifested a holy relic, Amalric I could summon more knights, raise more funds, and gain more support.
Perhaps in three to five years, he would launch another attack on Egypt.
Several ministers suggested to the Caliph that they should add new taxes or levy them repeatedly, then gather these tax funds and hand them to Amalric I to make up for the previous debts.
If possible, they also suggested that they might ask Amalric I to send troops to drive out the Saracens in Egypt.
They thought this conversation was confidential, little knowing that before the ministers could even leave the Caliph’s palace, the content had been copied verbatim and swiftly delivered into the hands of the Saracens they despised and hostile to.
When Ilghazi, the Kurd sent by Sultan Nur al-Din of Zengi to Cairo, received this secret letter, he was momentarily at a loss for words.
He handed the letter to his nephew, who was this attendant’s willful master, and after reading it, he too was speechless.
What did the Caliph’s court take them for? What did they take Amalric I for? Thinking that with some promise of money they could be dispatched at will? They were Sultan Nur al-Din’s elite and fierce troops, not wandering knights like lost dogs.
However, the “leper prince favored by Saint George” vividly described in this letter did pique his master’s interest.
“Aren’t you going to see that prince?”
“I already have.”
“Ah?” The attendant couldn’t help but exclaim, then quickly shut his mouth, repeatedly recalling the events of this period. They had only been in Ayyarasa Road for a day or two, the people they met were either sturdy knights, fat merchants, ragged and exhausted pilgrims, or Saracen spies placed in this Holy City.
Prince Baldwin was only nine years old; they didn’t seem to have seen such a young child.
“Wait, those three children weren’t Byzantines?”
“I told you early on they weren’t Byzantines.” His master took a silver ring from his leather pouch and put it on, replacing the previous one. He had been to Constantinople, that colossal entity surviving by sucking the remaining blood of the ancient Empire, disguised as a Saracen merchant for several months.
Everyone praised Byzantium’s legacy as Rome’s greatness and glory, but he saw only bloatedness and rigidity.
The Emperor of Byzantium was greedy by nature, always wanting to clutch everything tightly in his hands and demanding the entire Empire to operate and advance according to his will. For this, he appointed countless officials to manage and control every region, but the monarchs’ common paranoia made him distrust them, so he deliberately connived at their mutual strife and framing, while he sat safely on the throne as the sole arbiter dispensing everyone’s destiny.
The consequences of this practice were visible to the naked eye: officials slacking, army exhausted, people in dire straits, religious conflicts incessant, revolts frequent everywhere.
Even if Manuel I could be called a decisive and wise monarch, this carriage already burdened to its limit could not change its fate of plunging into the abyss; it was only a matter of sooner or later. It persisted now only because of its massive shell, like how hunters hesitate when encountering a bird puffing up its feathers—everyone was waiting for someone to rush forward and tear off the first piece of flesh…
Those three children wore Byzantine clothes, such loose garments he often saw in Cairo, also inherited from the Ancient Roman Empire, but people in the Roman Empire era never adorned them with jewels or embroidered them with gold and silver thread; simple pleated lines sufficed to highlight the nation’s and people’s strength and ease.
Yet today’s Byzantines turned the originally clean and soft cloth into a glittering shackle.
Those Byzantine royal family members, whether elders or young children, could only be called prisoners in these shackles: numb and lifeless, eyes full of wariness, hands holding only swords, hearts filled with greed and desire.
But the children he saw were soft, vibrant, full of hope; even knowing they were offspring of the enemy, he couldn’t help but sincerely praise them.
“Was it that child? I said it, he really is a prince.”
“You mean that green-eyed child? No,” his master laughed, “he’s not the prince; the one beside him in the orange-red clothes is. He’s just an attendant of the prince.”
“How is that possible?”
“Why not? From this point alone, Prince Baldwin is at least a broad-minded person.”
How many people would feel jealousy because others surpass them, especially those of high status yet unworthy of it.
Such as their Caliph.
Atid, who was the same age as Prince Baldwin and his attendant.
When those ministers suggested he lure in the tiger Amalric I to drive out the wolf pack entrenched in Egypt, that is, the Saracens, the Caliph did not explicitly agree but still fell silent.
He often saw how the Caliph stared at him, an ominous gaze. Even though he and his uncle were dispatched by Sultan Nur al-Din to Egypt to drive out those Christians for him, the Caliph still felt deep jealousy because people praised him, obeyed him, supported him.
If possible, what the Caliph wanted to do might not just be simple expulsion; he would more gladly strangle a bowstring around his neck to snap it, or personally hold a dagger to stab into his chest and dig out his heart.
“Then why didn’t you talk more with Prince Baldwin?” His attendant hadn’t followed—after all, a Saracen merchant talking to a Byzantine could be for business, or perhaps just because he found his face beautiful and wanted to say a few words up close, but one more person would alert the knights.
Yet his master had left before Prince Baldwin exited the tent. Hadn’t he come for the prince?
“A lion does not walk shoulder-to-shoulder with a hyena. The best way to understand a person is to look at the people around him, not at himself. Because a person can disguise, but his friends cannot; you might say he was deceived by his friends, but if a person is close to another, he cannot know nothing about him, otherwise he’s stupid.
And a person of noble character, if he discovers his friend is a filthy villain, will surely distance himself—after all, only maggots roll together in the cesspit.”
As he said this, the attendant also thought of those ministers in the Caliph’s court, and their Caliph.
“I remember now, they said the attendant by the prince’s side also received a blessing, and it was a shield. They all say this attendant was born for the prince.”
The attendant said, only to see his master smile meaningfully, “Who was born for whom is still hard to say.”
Are there benevolent people? Plenty; cruel ones? Yes, and many; but to retain a cruel clarity while being benevolent is rare; and to maintain a final bottom line of benevolence amid cruel games is as rare as a pearl in the desert.
But compared to Prince Baldwin, this child’s starting point was as low as it could be; no doubt the road ahead would be even harder. No matter how he twisted or degenerated in the future, he wouldn’t be surprised.
But he still harbored a luxurious hope in his heart…
——————
This Saracen from Egypt was quick in both decisions and action; after telling his attendant they were leaving, that very night they boarded an Egyptian merchant ship, where they unexpectedly glimpsed several familiar but unpleasant faces.
They were supervising the slaves carrying goods; one wooden box was especially large, over one man high and two men wide, with constant muffled growling from inside.
This dock used treadwheel cranes; simply put, it was like a giant wooden hamster wheel, about fifteen feet in diameter. Slaves treaded the pedals inside like hamsters, turning the wheel connected to pulleys to hoist heavy goods. It was said such cranes could lift up to twelve thousand pounds; Ancient Egyptians used them to build Pharaohs’ tombs, Ancient Romans to build temples to the gods.
But these cranes had a flaw: they were prone to collapse, and once they did, the slaves inside would be killed or injured, and the goods damaged.
Those people clearly knew this; they were very nervous—of course, nervous about the goods. They shouted and yelled, threatening the slaves that if they damaged the box, everyone would be thrown into the sea.
In this tense atmosphere, the largest wooden box was shakily hoisted up, off the deck, swung into the air; the slaves in the wheel strained their muscles, drenched in sweat, and began slowly walking backward—for compared to hoisting, lowering was the most dangerous: rope snapping, crate slipping, sudden gale—any could unbalance the crane, and then no need for the employer to whip them; they’d die instantly.
When the goods were still fourteen or fifteen feet from the ground, dozens more slaves grabbed the ropes dangling from the crate, pulling with all their might in all directions. Even so, when the crate hit the ground, it made a huge thud, the earth shaking.
“What is that?”
The sudden voice startled the loudest shouter; he immediately drew his scimitar from his waist, warily turning toward the source—a Saracen in a black robe stepped out.
“It’s you.” The guy instinctively stepped back, thought for a moment, then stepped forward again. “This is a wedding gift from Atid Caliph to the King of Ayyarasa Road Amalric I and his bride Byzantine Princess Maria Komnene.”
“What kind of wedding gift carries the smell of beasts?”
“That’s not something you should pursue or know.” The other said impolitely, but under the Saracen’s glance, he subconsciously lowered his head and bowed deeply to him. “Please don’t make it hard for me, Lord. If I told, I and my family would be torn apart by Grand Vizier Shawwar.”
——————
The gift Prince Baldwin brought back indeed delighted the Countess of Jaffa, earning loud exclamations and many hugs.
However, upon seeing this divination result, the Countess was puzzled, because it said she would have two sons. The first son would bring her glory, and the second even more.
She puzzledly touched her belly. Amalric I was only in his thirties this year, and she was younger than Amalric I; at her age, she could bear sons. But her husband had died not long ago. Was this prophecy telling her to quickly find a husband and bear the second son?
But she hesitated again; Amalric I was still strong and vigorous, and his bride only fifteen; once they united, children might come soon.
If that child was a boy, almost everything Baldwin had now would go to him. After all, Baldwin’s condition couldn’t be cured, meaning no long future; who would invest in an asset doomed to lose everything in the short term?
She worried that if she had a little son, she would shift some love from her eldest son Baldwin to him; Baldwin already had so little, and she didn’t want to deprive him of what should be his.
Moreover, the prophecy said the second son would bring more honor; Baldwin would be King of Ayyarasa Road in the future—how could her second son be more glorious? By inheriting Baldwin’s throne… or…
Baldwin, however, didn’t care about what the prophecy said; he had been worrying he might not outlive his mother. When he passed, who would protect her? If his mother had another son who achieved even greater merit than him, he wouldn’t need to worry anymore.
But he could tell the Countess was not in high spirits, so to distract her, he said: “You probably don’t know Damara and Caesar’s divination results yet, do you?”
