Chapter 24: The Unlucky Count Etienne
“It’s snowing.”
Count Etienne’s expression immediately turned grim.
In fact, even without him saying anything, the people gathered around could feel it—even though the dim light made it hard to see small things clearly, what else could those rustling things constantly falling on their hair, eyebrows, and beards be?
Not to mention, the chilling cold peculiar to snowy weather was continuously surging toward them, like Turks’ daggers, clearly and swiftly piercing into the knights’ joints, cutting their lips, thrusting into their throats, making them feel their blood draining even with a slight movement.
Count Etienne deeply felt that he must have been cursed by the devil to end up in this situation.
Envoys, even those who come before the enemy with flags and declarations of war during battles between two armies, are not all guaranteed to suffer humiliation or lose their lives; he was an Envoy to the Holy Land—Francia, Britain, and the Holy Roman Empire’s communications with the Holy Land never ceased, especially before and after each expedition, when every king, every lord, every Grand Master of the Knights had to maintain frequent and close contact to ensure mutual coordination, avoiding mobilization failures or message cutoffs.
Envoys carrying letters and charters might face some dangers, but undoubtedly, they received the most respect.
When Louis VII summoned him and handed him the commission as Envoy to the Holy Land, Count Etienne was full of confidence that this would be a good deed for God, for the king, for Christians, though the journey was distant, rugged, full of beasts and heathens… he still proudly believed he could complete this work perfectly and return home safely, just like every envoy before him.
But he hadn’t expected that not all dangers came from beasts and heathens; a young and beautiful princess could also trap him in trouble. Facing those unkind gazes, Count Etienne didn’t even dare stay until the next day—heaven knows, that night he spent armored in chainmail, helmet on his head, eyes open gripping his sword, staring at the door, enduring it like years, even though Amalric I, realizing his mistake, assured him no one would challenge him to a duel or commit vile acts…
But when Etienne rushed into the church to snatch his beloved girl Adelaide, he was twenty years old; how could he not know what reckless things twenty-year-olds could do?
He had to abandon his original plan—to know, no one coming to the Holy Land could skip pilgrimage—leading his knights, attendants, and monk to leave early, only able to gaze back from afar at that sacred hill in the pale golden morning light.
The people around him were also sighing; they all thought this was a rare opportunity, using every means to join the group—who wouldn’t want to see the silk workshops on Andros Island, tour the Colossus ruins on Rhodes, sing loudly in the semicircular theater of Myra, stroll the ports of Phoenicia, enjoying the warm sea breeze amid seagull cries?
They also planned to pray at Saint Nicholas’s tomb, seek Saint Peter’s miracles in Cyprus; they would pass through David’s Gate, gazing long at the famous domed golden roof under Temple Mount, once a heathen temple, now belonging to Christ’s knights; they would go to Gethsemane, where Jesus once prayed with his disciples and suffered Judas’s betrayal.
They would go to the holiest place, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, crawling forward, kissing every inch of ground, whether the cell where Jesus was held after betrayal, or the pit left where the Cross was planted after he was hung up, or the pillar to which he was bound when scourged, even the stone block where he bled when forced to wear the crown of thorns, and the stone tomb where he finally rested and resurrected…
And the chapels built around this holy place: Mary Magdalene, Saint John, Virgin Mary, Saint James, Saint Peter…
They came full of hope, even prepaid much remuneration; now all gone to nothing, naturally drawing many complaints to Count Etienne. He could only promise them on the ship that upon returning to France, he would give each a gift worth a hundred gold coins; hearing this, their anger subsided at once, and they beamed with joy.
Of course, this expensive debt couldn’t be borne by Count Etienne alone; fundamentally, it was the arrogance and recklessness of Louis VII and Amalric I that caused this absurdity, which he shouldn’t have to handle—Amalric I had promised him decent compensation, and Louis VII surely wouldn’t be too stingy; using that money to ensure safety on the return journey was the best deal.
But Count Etienne hadn’t expected his ship to run aground shortly after passing the strait between Cyprus and Tarsus.
We have carefully described the routes of the First and Second Crusades to you; if you, like the King of Ayyarasa Road and Prince, have a related map, you would discover something interesting.
That is, on the map, the Crusaders could clearly board ships in Sicily or Athens, cross the Mediterranean straight to Ayyarasa Road, yet they insisted on taking the hard way, crossing half of Europe, West Asia, and Central Asia, through part of Seljuk Turks’ territory, over Armenia to reach Antioch…
Did they find God’s trials too easy and want to increase the difficulty?
Of course not. This was due to the overly backward shipbuilding and navigation technology at the time; almost all vessels, large or small, were single-masted, single-decked, relying only on wind and manpower, unable to withstand deep-sea gales and giant waves; and the resulting insufficient cargo capacity forced constant dilemmas—either ensure passengers and goods, or provisions…
Another thorny checkpoint came from direction and routes—later generations often see captains and lookouts of this era scanning around with telescopes; what were they looking for?
Land.
They needed landmarks on land or islands to confirm they weren’t off course… no choice, it was still a century before Saracens introduced Eastern compasses or south-pointers to Europe…
In short, ships of this time had to hug the coastline to avoid getting lost, evade hard-to-fight storms, and conveniently replenish provisions, but this created a problem: ships easily ran aground on nearshore reefs.
At this point, Count Etienne still didn’t realize this wasn’t an accident, but the captain was decisive; upon discovering the grounding, he ordered the sailors to beach the ship regardless, the vessel groaning under the strain, using its last strength to strand instead of sink.
They couldn’t be sure where this was—perhaps Christian territory, or Seljuk territory; in any case, staying here wasn’t good. Given the notorious law of wreck rights—regardless of faith, anything from a wrecked ship ashore belonged to the local lord.
A heathen lord might take even the survivors, as slaves counted as assets.
You might think Christian lords would be better? No, to avoid later trouble, they’d simply kill all survivors and witnesses…
Count Etienne and his attendants acted swiftly; not only did they escape with their lives, they led their horses from the hold—some horses had broken legs or necks, which they had to leave—and took as much food and wine as possible.
After walking some distance, they found the scenery unfamiliar, no human traces; a knight climbed a broken dead tree, scanned afar, but saw no smoke or lights from villages or castles.
Count Etienne tried asking their guide, but the man seemed to have hit his head in the impact, moaning incoherently, unable to speak or even open his eyes, let alone point out a correct path; he couldn’t even walk straight if set down.
They had to carry him on horseback.
Everyone’s clothes were soaked; as daylight faded, offering no more light or warmth—Pilgrimage Road in December was already frosting ominously—wind made them shiver, barely able to stand. Seeing this, Count Etienne had the knights dismount, horses on the outside, knights in the middle.
Fortunately, they soon encountered a Pine Forest.
This Pine Forest had existed who knows how long; the ground was thickly covered in pine needles, only the surface damp, underneath thick and dry. The knights cheered, raking and digging a big pile, clearing a small spot amid the edge shrubs, and lit a fire there.
Horses stayed outside; attendants tied horse blankets and cloaks together over them, propping with long swords and spears, making a roofless tent—enough to block wind. They shared some food from the ship, cracked pine cones, drank wine, and warmed up.
With the immediate crisis resolved, the knights livened up; a bold attendant—the illegitimate son of the Count of Champagne, by blood Count Etienne’s nephew—half-jokingly complained that Count Etienne didn’t need to be so heartless.
Ayyarasa Road is the Church’s cradle, the world’s center, the “holiest” place for every Christian; being king elsewhere grants worldly power, but king of Ayyarasa Road brings worldly power plus God’s blessing, health, glory, and inevitable ascent to heaven amid saints.
To the young man’s doubt, Count Etienne just shook his head, “I can answer you with a Saracen poem: ‘Ayyarasa Road is a gold basin full of scorpions.'”
Whoever covets it, reaches in, gets bitten.
Though Count Etienne stayed only three days in Jaffa, one night in Ayyarasa Road, he saw it clearly: Amalric I was indeed a great lord, but no longer had his former energy and vigor; like a lightning-struck tree, rotten inside, barely intact outside; his persistence might stem from his promise to Christ—not to yield easily before choosing a suitable heir.
But who was that person?
Prince Baldwin? A leper who wouldn’t live past thirty?
Or Count Raymond of Tripoli? Duke of Antioch Bohemond? Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller Oger de Balben, Grand Master of the Knights Templar Philip de Milly? Or he himself, a French noble come from afar?
Count Etienne didn’t believe these men were as noble as they appeared, willing to place Ayyarasa Road’s crown on an outsider; if he fell for their scheme, blinded by immediate interests, truly stayed to become Princess Sibylla’s husband, the likeliest end was being drained dry, used up, then “killed in battle,” “died of illness,” or “disappeared”…
But he couldn’t say these things to anyone.
“But Princess Sibylla is truly a beauty; I can’t believe you could be so hard-hearted.”
This time Count Etienne really laughed, “Precisely because I saw her, I resolved to flee.”
“Do you doubt her love?”
“Love? Though Princess Sibylla is only thirteen, I see none of that in her eyes,” Count Etienne looked around; the young escorts and knights wore curious expressions, while the older ones smiled in knowing accord with the count, “Didn’t you feel the danger?”
“A beauty like Princess Sibylla always has ways to make these young lads drop helm and armor,” an older knight than Count Etienne quipped humorously: “Forget danger; even if Satan dropped a basket at their feet, they’d jump in without hesitation.”
“Then I can teach you something here,” Count Etienne raised a finger, “At any time, any place, facing anyone, put yourself in her or his position: if you were them, would you give benefits to a stranger for no reason?”
“Odysseus’s sailors reached a deserted island, greeted by a beautiful woman preparing a feast; they ate, drank, and turned into pigs for the witch Circe;
Then fierce Medea, who to help her golden fleece thief lover escape even dismembered and strewed her own brother on the road, but when Jason took a new love, she wove a splendid robe, crafted an exquisite crown for his new beloved, causing the poor princess to die of poison;
And our well-known Delilah: Samson knew she was the enemy’s daughter, yet held her close, revealed his secret, and ended blinded by the Philistines, chained in Gaza, grinding like livestock…”
“Gentlemen,” he scoffed: “Princess Sibylla is only thirteen, while I am thirty-seven, older than her father; no matter how others flatter, I know I’m nearing the grave. Doesn’t she have peers her age, suitable status, handsome looks?
Her yielding to me would be the most losing deal; I can’t imagine how much I’d have to repay to satisfy her if I signed the contract.”
He finished in one breath; the atmosphere grew tense. The knight who spoke pitied the youths bewitched by beauty and suggested, while daylight lingered, going into the Pine Forest—there might be a covey of pine chickens, even rabbits, a deer; though they had some food now, it would be gone by tomorrow.
The knights’ suggestion won everyone’s approval.
