Chapter 105: The Princesses
Baldwin’s Coronation Ceremony was held in the third week after Sibylla’s wedding.
This ceremony was simpler than any previous Coronation Ceremony, yet unusually solemn and dignified; rather than a coronation, it was more like Baldwin holding a second funeral for his father. Throughout the ceremony, neither Patriarch Heraclius, who blessed and anointed him, nor Raymond, who placed the crown on him, found any trace of joy or delight on the young man.
As he said, what was there to value in this ceremony? Every step reminded him that he had lost his monarch and father.
Although this led some to often grumble that Ayyarasa Road’s new king was too indecisive and sentimental, others said that a king with emotion and righteousness was far better than those callous villains.
“Callous villains” undoubtedly referred to Abigail. For someone like him, who had already been knighted and become Sibylla’s husband, entering Ayyarasa Road’s decision-making circle was a very simple matter. After all, according to Ayyarasa Road’s tradition, the combination of queen and foreign husband meant the queen bore responsibility for politics and legacy, while the husband bore responsibility for military affairs, expeditions abroad, and expansion.
But before long, Abigail began to be mocked by others as a coward hiding in a woman’s skirts—even though the concept of honeymoon existed by then, his behavior of constantly clinging to Sibylla was truly contemptible, not to mention that young knights were already complaining that Sibylla’s husband interfered too much in the princess’s life.
Although since Amalric I concluded the new marriage pact, the castle’s mistress had changed to the Byzantine princess Maria. But the king’s eldest daughter was also one of the objects of knights’ admiration—and this admiration did not involve the flesh, more akin to a spiritual compliment and worship; rather than toward a woman, it was like knights displaying loyalty and talent to their monarch—knights would not duel over a tavern handmaid or farm woman.
As a husband, Abigail should not interfere but should instead show approval, yet he did not.
He not only forbade Sibylla from accepting gifts, flower crowns, or any items showing affection from other knights, but even when minstrels hired by knights came to sing a song for Sibylla, they would be rudely driven away or even whipped by him.
At first, there were knights who challenged him. If he could defeat his opponent in mounted duels or melee, he might have earned some respect; after all, among knights, the strongman’s voice was always the loudest. But the problem was, in any duel, he was utterly defeated.
After his last fall in melee broke his leg, Sibylla finally lost all patience with him completely; she moved back to her original room（originally the couple’s two rooms were adjacent）, refusing to share a bed with her husband again.
This matter soon drew the attention of Baldwin, as well as the Queen and Duke of Antioch Bohemond.
Curiously, neither side of the newlywed couple wished to comment on the current situation; Abigail insisted on staying by Sibylla’s side, while Sibylla remained silent.
What embarrassed Bohemond the most was that after recovering, Abigail actually challenged that knight again. And that knight refused; normally, the one refusing a challenge would be seen as a coward and craven, but no one thought that knight was a coart（in French folk satirical story poem《Reynard the Fox》, there was a little wild rabbit named coart, whose greatest trait was cowardice）.
He had once gone on expedition to Egypt with the king and earned enviable merit in the siege warfare—he was one of those who followed Richard, Caesar, and Baldwin in first scaling the city wall of Fustat.
In mounted combat, he even unhorsed Abigail with a single lance thrust, and his reason for refusal made anyone who heard it burst into laughter: “I can’t keep making you lie in bed!”
This remark was truly sarcastic, with a touch of color. The joke quickly became every knight’s witty line for teasing beggars and whores; they wouldn’t even use it on other knights—no knight could outdo Abigail in bluster and empty bravado, and his repeated provocations only made the knights weary.
Abigail dared to do this because he knew full well that while his marriage pact with the princess lasted, for the sake of the kingdom’s future heir, no one would dare kill him.
“Indeed,” the Queen smiled after hearing a knight’s complaint: “This is indeed their most pressing work right now.”
They must have a child; this child was not just for the marriage’s continuation—he was born for Ayyarasa Road, for the Crusaders to have a healthy, strong commander in the future, and for the cause of the faithful, the Church, and God.
This was not a responsibility two young people could lightly discard over a spat.
She summoned Bohemond, told him about the matter, and asked him to urge his son—after all, in matters of childbearing, the man was more crucial.
Bohemond went to see his son; they had a conversation, not long, but when they emerged, both looked unhappy. Sibylla’s side was handled by the Queen counseling her.
Sibylla could put on an arrogant air toward her birth mother. In terms of status, she was higher than the Countess of Jaffa, but facing the Queen, her arrogance waned; the other was a direct female relative of the Byzantine Emperor, the widow of Ayyarasa Road’s king, and her “mother.”
Though their age difference was not even three years, the Queen was the castle’s mistress.
The Queen did not care much about Sibylla’s attitude; she still clearly remembered how ecstatic Sibylla had been when she gave birth to Isabella—and how she treated her birth mother. If a person could be so callous to the one who bore her, others could not expect her true heart.
She was merely fulfilling a mistress’s duty.
Truth be told, though she spent more time with Sibylla in the castle, in terms of affection, Sibylla was not even as close as Baldwin, whom she had seen only a few times. When she married in, Baldwin should have been raised by her, but at that time Amalric I was eager for her to conceive, and Baldwin had been promoted early to escort and novice knight, serving more at his father’s side, so they did not meet often.
It was only after Amalric I’s death that Baldwin visited her, and Isabella, three to four times a week.
Today was a visiting day; before the Queen entered the room, she saw the knights outside the door; they bowed their heads in salute, she nodded slightly, and entered with the handmaids.
Baldwin was standing by the window, the farthest spot from Isabella, wearing a veil and gloves; the Queen curtsied to him, and he nodded in return.
“Why stand so far away?” the Queen asked with a smile. “Won’t you hold her? Children always grow fast—she feels good to hold, fat and soft, like a little pig.”
“You shouldn’t say that about a girl,” Baldwin said. “Seeing her in Caesar’s arms is enough. And Isabella seems to like him more.”
The Queen’s response was to firmly take Isabella from Caesar’s arms and thrust her into Baldwin’s.
No mother could fail to love her child, but as a Byzantine princess, no one understood better than her what awaited a princess who could not win the king’s or emperor’s favor.
Affection was never cultivated overnight, nor by distant, cold greetings; love was embraces, kisses, and listening—without real touch, all descriptions and memories were false, shallow, and could not withstand any trial.
Baldwin was already Ayyarasa Road’s new king.
This meant that everything in this castle now could become weights on his scales in the future—who was light, who heavy? Perhaps in his single thought. And as Manuel I’s grandniece, did she have no ambitions?
Who said only Sibylla’s child could be Baldwin’s heir—could not the child born of her Isabella?
Even in noble status and prominent birth, her Isabella completely surpassed her sister. Of course, the final decision lay in the hands of the young man before her. When he rarely showed a look of anxiety and lowered his head to gaze at his little sister, the Queen’s mood was exceptionally calm.
However, Isabella clearly did not grasp her mother’s intentions.
A child of only one or two years old naturally did not understand leprosy, inheritance rights, or the king’s intentions; she just found being in Baldwin’s arms very boring. To ensure his little sister’s safety, Baldwin had put on gloves, veiled his face, and worn a headscarf before entering, ensuring no inch of skin was exposed and his breath would not touch the infant’s tender face.
But to a child, she saw only a pair of blue eyes; though pretty, they could not compare to her previous “big cradle.” She struggled to return to Caesar’s arms until Baldwin stood, lifted her into the air: “Will you be afraid?” he teased the child.
Clearly, the little princess was not afraid. She looked around in the air, propping her little arms, kicking her little legs—this height she had never reached before. No matter what, Baldwin and Caesar’s heights far exceeded their peers’, rare even among knights; from this utterly novel vantage, she overlooked everything, almost seeing her mother’s crown, the handmaids’ towering coronets and wreaths.
She giggled, utterly thrilled; suddenly, she was spinning.
The scenery before her kept changing; she let out a shrill cry, but not from fear— from ecstasy; her face flushed red, Baldwin could feel the little body between his hands rapidly heating up; he quickly set her down, fearing she was frightened, but saw only a brilliantly radiant smile.
An infant’s smile is always so pure, flawless, care-free. He looked at those blue eyes; the little princess did not much resemble her mother or father—or rather, she blended Amalric I and Maria’s merits. With deep features and soft facial contours, her eyes were blue too, but different from Amalric I and Sibylla’s—more like Baldwin’s, but lighter in color.
If Baldwin’s eyes were blue as a great lake, hers were green as the firmament, with tiny sparkles like the moon and stars in the high sky.
When she was still an infant, the Queen had worried the little princess would inherit her own plain features; though she would surely have a good marriage, whether a husband’s heart stayed by her side was vital for a woman—Sibylla was the best example.
Isabella would grow into a beauty, no less than her sister, and she was clever too.
When she realized Baldwin would lift her high, she stayed obediently in his arms; when he set her down, she pleaded with those round big eyes, but when he only wiped the thin sweat from her forehead without further action, she mercilessly abandoned her brother and ran back to Caesar.
People thought she would ask Caesar to lift her high too, but unexpectedly she just looked around and knew her wish could not be fulfilled. If she asked, Caesar might well hand her to another handmaid, so she wisely quieted down, nestling obediently in Caesar’s arms without a sound, drawing another round of irrepressible light laughter from the Queen and handmaids.
Such an atmosphere did stir involuntary fondness. Baldwin had originally just wanted to see his little sister and leave after a short stay, but amid the laughter, they lingered from dusk until the moon rose, even sharing a sumptuous dinner with the Queen.
When they returned to the left tower—Baldwin kept the king’s original room, hoping he could occasionally go see it as if his father were still by his side.
He knew the king had once seen him as a stopgap, but before him, the king never showed a hint; let him be vulnerable for a while—at least before Amalric I, he still hoped to be a beloved son.
And now he too had someone to love; all the way back, he chattered nonstop to Caesar—Baldwin rarely did this; after falling ill, he was always taciturn.
Today, however, he was completely immersed in this rare happiness, so happy that Caesar could not bear to interrupt.
Unfortunately, their teacher Heraclius would not consider Baldwin’s mood.
To him, Baldwin’s status had changed; he was Ayyarasa Road’s king, so he should become a man like Amalric I.
Amalric I was perhaps not perfect in every way, but in fulfilling a king’s duties and obligations, he was impeccable.
And his other student.
“You should go see Bethlehem, Caesar.”
Heraclius said.
