Chapter 25: The Unlucky Count Etienne
“It’s snowing.”
Geoffrey.Fouché said. This Templar Knight with snow-white temples reached out experiencedly to touch the branches, the ground, and the stones. “But even so, we still have to set out, otherwise we won’t be able to reach Azaz by evening. In this weather, spending the night outside is deadly. Even if God protects us and we don’t get killed by the darkness and cold, the dampness will turn our legs into wooden sticks.”
He pushed himself up from his knees, spat on the ground, and drew a cross on his chest. “Let the devil and the heathens go to hell. Let’s go!”
With his words, the few people who had received the Grand Master’s orders with him also walked out of the “Hive House” together.
This crude conical adobe house had a diameter including the base of only three royal feet（French measurement units—a royal foot is about two meters）, a height of about two royal feet. The main materials of the walls and floor were mud, wood shavings, and dead branches and fallen leaves. Apart from the small door that the knights had to stoop to enter, there was only a small skylight opened at the highest point—called a skylight, but in fact just a small hole.
Caesar was the last to leave the house. He tried hard not to look at the corpses piled up like firewood behind the house… These corpses belonged to the master of this Hive House. From their gender and age, they should be a father and two sons, and their wives—perhaps because there were three men in this family, they were able to build such an adobe house—this was their precious asset, and also the root of the disaster…
The first people Caesar’s group encountered were the youngest son and his mother. They were standing in front of a pine tree struck down by lightning, scraping the bark above with stone flakes to eat. The bark here was not the outermost layer that was rough and hard, but the white cambium layer. Scrape a thin layer off with a sharp stone or small knife; the fresh cambium was crisp and tender to eat, with a bit of sweetness.
As for how Caesar knew, it was of course Baldwin. Ever since he had this like-minded little companion who was willing to leave the room, he couldn’t wait to share all the joys with him.
And when he saw that pair of mother and son, Caesar smiled—the pleasure of sharing the cambium with Baldwin still lingered in his heart, but immediately he heard Geoffrey let out a loud roar: “Heathens who do not believe in Christ!” And at the same time, the two sergeants in the group, one of Geoffrey’s attendants, also shouted: “Enemies of the Son of the Virgin Mary!”
They spurred their horses toward those two pitiful people, but did not immediately bring down the axe and club on them. Was it mercy? No, they deliberately let them go. Later Geoffrey said that the mother and son were dressed neatly—although those things were hard to understand as clothes, they were at least not naked, and they wore bark shoes on their feet, which showed that they definitely had a nest.
And they had disembarked from Tripoli and galloped all the way, already exhausted. To spend the night in such wilderness without a shelter was impossible.
This pair of mother and son might not have encountered such a thing before, or had lost the ability to think like pursued beasts. As the Templar Knights expected, they ran toward their “nest.” A man immediately rushed out of the house—that was the woman’s husband, the child’s father. As soon as he saw this scene, he knew it was bad and immediately knelt down, arms spread out, hands clasped in front of his chest, making a praying posture.
Geoffrey felled him with one axe blow. A young man and his wife rushed out of the house. The young man tightly gripped a stone knife and let out a grief-stricken shout, but he was only one person. How could he pose a threat to these knights with rich combat experience?
The whole thing happened in a few breaths. By the time Caesar caught up, all the original owners of this house had fallen in pools of blood. He was shocked beyond control until Geoffrey’s attendant rudely woke him up and told him to help collect the corpses. In such cold weather, the blood congealed quickly, and the corpses stiffened in the blink of an eye. They moved them to the back of the house. When they left, the hungry beasts in the woods would follow the blood scent and devour them clean.
By the time Caesar entered the house, they had lit the fire stove—just a pit dug in the ground. The sergeants found an earthenware pot, probably the most valuable thing this family had besides the house. They put it over the fire, scooped snow to melt, and put the grain, beans, and salted meat they carried into it to boil.
The barley porridge was ready quickly. Because the Templar Knights were equivalent to armored monks, they could not speak while eating, so someone had to recite the Bible. This task soon fell to Caesar, who knew the most letters among them, had the best voice, and the shallowest seniority.
Only after they finished eating was it Caesar’s turn. He tried hard to forget what had just happened, but helplessly every mouthful of barley porridge he ate carried a strong bloody smell.
The sergeants exchanged meaningful glances. “He’s still a child.” Geoffrey watched him finish eating before asking, “Are you pitying those heathens?”
Caesar was silent for a while: “No… Lord, I’m just wondering how you identified them.”
No matter which god they believed in, the commoners here dressed similarly: a robe, barefoot, or wearing bark shoes and wooden shoes. The belt was either a nearly rotten rope or twisted scraps of hide. In winter, they wrapped themselves as tightly as possible with everything they could cover themselves with.
Geoffrey laughed. He stroked his chin. Templar Knights had to shave regularly, and brothers called “robe officers” would supervise them, but his beard grew exceptionally fast. Not many days after leaving Ayyarasa Road, it had already poked out a thick patch of stiff bristles: “I would like to tell you that it was my patron saint Elijah who wiped my eyes bright with his robe sleeve, allowing me to spot at a glance the scorpion hidden among the bees, the venomous snake in the shrubs, but…”
He glanced at Caesar.
People had an illusion that all the military forces of Ayyarasa Road should belong to the King and his vassals. In fact, it was not so. The root of every Crusader knight lay in “fighting for Christ,” not for the King or lords. They were “under the protection and supervision of the church, steadfast forever.”
And the Knights Templar, because they had firmly stood by Innocent II in a papal election, gained more honors and privileges than other knight orders: they could elect their own Grand Master, build private chapels, not only exempt from tithes but able to collect tithes, grant holy offices to others, and anyone harassing them would be excommunicated… and so on.
As the King, of course it was hard to tolerate such unconstrained forces, even several, in his territory. Amalric I was on good terms with the Knights Hospitaller, but not so much with the Knights Templar—just a few years ago, Amalric I quarreled with the Knights Templar over a piece of land in Oultrejourdain. Oultrejourdain was an important territory on the edge of Egypt. Amalric I was fighting Nur al-Din for it and naturally wanted to bring this land under Ayyarasa Road, but was refused by the Knights Templar.
Amalric I had to settle for the second best, demanding that the Templar Knights hold one of the positions there at all costs. But he did not expect that a few days later, this position was taken by the Saracens. Amalric I went mad with rage and, ignoring advice, resolutely executed twelve Templar Knights responsible for this failure…
With such an incident, although the Knights Templar were still willing to support Amalric I, their relationship could not be called harmonious—so when Heraclius brought this child—who everyone knew had been a slave, only gaining favor with the King’s son to become the Prince’s attendant… Geoffrey was not very willing, only reluctantly accepting this new member.
But like many people, Geoffrey had not been with this child for long before liking him, so much so that when Caesar asked this question, he did not slap him like he would to the attendants in the knight order, or draw a whip to beat him. He first gave an answer within people’s cognition, then met those green eyes and said mildly.
“The real situation is that our messenger is dead. This is the first household we encountered. We don’t know if there are more ahead, how long it will take if there are, whether the snow will get heavier, whether we will encounter a wolf pack, bears, or Seljuks.
We need to rest and recuperate, sleep well, eat well—and these people… I can tell you they did not have a cross in the house, nor did they recite the name of Jesus Christ when they saw us—but these are trivial matters. Their greatest sin is appearing here.
Not to mention we could negotiate with them or request to stay one night. This place is too small, only enough for us or them—if they were really Christians, they would surely abandon the house and go outside for us, the hands extended by God. What awaited them would be either freezing to death or being torn apart by beasts. Better to perish under holy blows and go to heaven faster… Of course, if they were not…” He did not continue, nor was there need.
What could Caesar say? Unless he stood up now and went outside to freeze to death, he had to accept this blood-drenched favor. But this was—wrong, he said in his heart.
The next morning, when Geoffrey reached out to touch those branches, mud, and stones to sense the temperature and humidity, sparse snowflakes fell again from the lead-gray clouds. Geoffrey had traveled back and forth between the Holy Land and the European continent many times（this was also why he was sent here）and was very familiar with this irritating weather.
Low-hanging clouds, howling gales, and swirling heavy snow were fearsome, but weather like this—a light snow, a sunny day, a cloudy day, another light snow—was more deadly. When the snow melted, it would be exceptionally cold. If the next day remained piercingly icy, the melted snow water would soon freeze into ice that was not hard but very slippery—their messenger had kicked his horse in too much haste. The horse reared in pain and bolted, slipped on crushed ice and fell, breaking his neck instantly.
People who have not lived in this era will never know how important a messenger is.
In this world today, humans are far from masters of nature. Between villages and cities, cities and cities, the dominant positions are still wilderness, desert, cliffs, rivers, swamps, beasts, and birds. It is not uncommon for a person or a group to walk continuously for days, months, without seeing people. This is why, whether going to the market, to work, or on pilgrimage, people must go in groups and must have a messenger.
Messengers, correctly speaking, should be called guides. They are true craftsmen, not only with good memory but also bold, brave, and sufficiently loyal（so as not to lead enemies to villages or castles）. They must know where to go, how to go, the speed and rhythm of walking, what tools are needed, what clothes to wear, where to scout, where to rest and drink.
Such skills and secrets, a father would only pass to his Eldest Son, the Eldest Son to his own Eldest Son; even the second son could not touch them slightly—just passed down generation after generation… If unfortunately broken, it would truly be a major matter enough to attract the attention of the steward or even the lord.
When they left Tripoli, they had such a messenger to lead them to Azaz. But unluckily, the messenger broke his neck and left them in an unfamiliar place. If not for Geoffrey often traveling this route, they wouldn’t even know where Azaz was… let alone other villages and settlements.
——————
“What are you looking at? At the snow?”
Baldwin turned around. Heraclius was standing behind him. The lean-faced monk looked at the Prince and asked softly: “Thinking of Caesar?”
“Yes…” Baldwin said: “I’m even a bit regretful, teacher. The snow has not stopped, and they have gone so far.” If he had made his request at the beginning, Caesar might only need to search Jaffa or Caesarea, at most Acre. But by the third day, the knight order’s manpower had spread across all of Ayyarasa Road, going toward Tripoli and Antioch. They could only place Caesar in the direction of Tarsus, and the group was left only with Knights Templar knights—if possible, Baldwin of course hoped Caesar could be in the ranks of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre.
“You must believe in him,” Heraclius said: “He is working for you.”
At the same time, he couldn’t help sighing inwardly. It was no wonder Amalric I would feel wary of such a young child. They originally guessed he was a count’s son. Now it seemed that even a prince in the court might not have eyes, courage, and resolve like Caesar’s.
Simply put, Witt back then was just a knight’s son. As soon as he was sent to the Prince’s side, he impatiently gave up on himself. Those rat-like small eyes could only see a few silver coins, a few roasts, a few barrels of beer, and a few pretty women. He never thought that if he could gain the favor of the Prince and the King, his future prospects would be boundless!
Caesar? To put it in Heraclius’s words, no one could have been in a worse situation than his original one. Yet such a child without even a surname could make the people of a place like him as soon as he arrived—and if it were someone else, they would immediately become complacent and arrogant. But he remained steady in conduct and clear-headed.
He even knew very clearly where his greatest weakness lay and immediately set about remedying it.
When he returned from Golgotha, even Heraclius thought that was enough. Perhaps Prince Baldwin thought so too. He happily took Caesar’s arm, saw him as another brother, and brought him before everyone—indeed, with this asceticism and good deeds, he already qualified as the Prince’s attendant. But what if Amalric I unfortunately died, and Prince Baldwin became King of Ayyarasa Road as the former promised?
King of Ayyarasa Road, Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, leader of the Crusaders—these were completely different concepts from a prince whose tomorrow was uncertain. The difference was enough to make people forget the fear of leprosy.
By then, counts, grand dukes, princes would flock in. Where would there be a position for an attendant!
So Caesar had to go. He had no backing. His only capital was the relationship between him and Baldwin.
