Chapter 11: Princess Sibylla
The first to stride in confidently was of course Princess Sibylla.
Like Baldwin, she inherited Amalric I’s blue eyes and their late mother’s deep brown hair color; her elegant, wavy hair like seaweed in the waves was neatly braided, coiled up, and hidden under a hennin—a conical hat that was tall and pointed, shaped with wire inside.
The princess’s hat was covered with a layer of white satin matching the long-sleeved underdress inside, with layered fine gauze hanging from the top; when she moved, it was like clouds or feathers surrounding her.
Her eyes were indeed blue, but unlike Amalric I’s gray-blue eyes, cold as steel, and not like Baldwin’s, the prince’s eyes pure like a lake unstained by dust; her blue eyes were like the deepest part of the sea, with a ring of vivid golden fissure around the black pupils, as if bright magma surged from the eye of the sea, shaking the soul at first sight, unforgettable.
Her skin was like accumulated snow, like bottomless thick snow. This extreme whiteness even gave the vermilion velvet cloak on her a touch of bleakness, and lent her a dignity completely transcending gender and age.
Unlike the solitude beside Baldwin, at least twelve handmaids followed the princess, with attendants and servants behind the handmaids, but only four handmaids most trusted by the princess and boldest entered the room; they were all young, with exquisite makeup, wearing either hennins or flower crowns, holding bouquets, and two had small hand drums at their waists and lutes in hand.
They had of course long heard of Caesar’s name, but when he was still an attendant of unknown status, any extra attention or favor would tarnish a noble lady’s reputation; now that the princess allowed them to see him, they had no such qualms and could openly look him over thoroughly.
The handmaids surrounded the black-haired, blue-eyed boy, all smiling brightly, relaxed in demeanor; though they couldn’t touch his face, pull his hand, or kiss his lips, they were still content.
Sibylla and Baldwin smiled as they watched them, like watching a group of kittens circling a new puppy; then Sibylla called over a handmaid who was perhaps only seven or eight, with a round face and round eyes, “This is Damara,” she said: “Damara of the Gerard family; from now on, if you have anything, you can come directly to her.”
“Is this Damara’s knight?” The handmaids’ laughter grew louder, teasing the flushed-cheeked Damara.
“He is not a knight yet.” Damara, though blushing, said composedly and seriously: “Only when he cuts off the swallow-tailed banner（one of the markers of promotion to knight） can he come to offer me his loyalty—I wouldn’t mind then.”
She shyly removed her gloves, small white satin gloves, and gave them to Caesar, saying: “You are not a knight yet, so you cannot wear them on your helmet, but you can put it over your heart.”
Caesar had already learned from Baldwin that in this era, once a young man became a knight, he should have a beloved, or when a noble lady reached marriageable age, she should have a knight willing to be forever faithful to her; this love did not involve physical reality or marriage; they would marry others, but this feeling, especially for the knight, was worth defending with his life.
Though Caesar completely did not understand this behavior people saw as extremely noble and wonderful—he had never thought that to claim a lady was the most virtuous, most beautiful, and wisest, one had to challenge dissenters to duels, the kind where one side must surrender as captive or die.
But Damara was a Gerard family girl; the only one he knew from the Gerard family before was the plump Abbot John, whose care for him was beyond doubt, so he thought for a moment, stepped forward, and following the custom of the time, knelt on one knee before Princess Sibylla（because she was Damara’s master）, and said: “Though I am not a knight yet, and this noble lady is not yet of age, I promise that if I become a knight in the future, I will come to swear to her.”
The handmaids cheered, but except for Damara’s heartfelt joy, the others inevitably felt a slight sourness, even Sibylla could not help saying: “Are you sure, child? Oaths are not to be taken lightly!”
“I am sure.”
“All right, all right,” Sibylla clapped her hands: “It’s decided then; I will be the witness here; when you become a knight, you must repeat this oath before God and the Cross to the priest.”
These words were like flipping the switch for celebration; everyone present immediately burst into joyful excitement; Damara handed the small hand drum to another handmaid, who with the one holding the lute began to play, and so everyone happily started dancing.
Gentlemen, no need to question if the space is too narrow; the dances of this time, especially in court, were quite formal, with men’s and women’s hands hanging at their sides, a arm’s length apart, elegantly rotating around themselves or each other, the only contact being their gazes.
If you wanted to hold hands with someone, that would be the dance of hell severely condemned by the Church, so as long as there was space for everyone to raise their arms and stand, it was fine for dancing.
Soon, servants brought large platters of delicacies, from roasted venison to dried figs, to nuts like walnuts and almonds; as an attendant, Caesar should stand behind Baldwin, but everyone thought he should sit beside Damara and eat from the same plate, “Though you are not a knight yet,” Sibylla said: “you might as well start learning now.”
Damara, though still a child, was as sweet and lovely as her name（Damara means date）, not very spoiled, and quite bold; she ate everything Caesar brought to her mouth; Sibylla watched them, smiling, “They look compatible, don’t they, Baldwin?”
Baldwin glanced over, truly unwilling to be too insincere; Damara was very cute, but Caesar’s biggest difference from peers was his steadiness and reserve; when with Damara, he was completely like an older one caring for a toddler, without any hint of romance: “Perhaps.” he said, though without much opposition.
Sibylla withdrew her gaze, as if it had just been casual; she looked at Baldwin’s plate: “Why not eat the venison?” she said: “Today’s venison is very tender.”
“I am fasting.”
“But today is not a fast day.”
“I made a vow.” Baldwin said.
Sibylla did not press further; after the meal, they danced some more, this time with Sibylla and Baldwin joining; Baldwin always wore his veil and gloves.
After this day, Caesar was like suddenly shedding the identity of an invisible man. Just like those noble ladies, though everyone knew Baldwin had long had a new attendant by his side, they had to wait until Amalric I brought him to the altar’s edge like a grand duke’s or count’s son, and Princess Sibylla allowed him to become the knight of Damara, ward of Gerard under her protection, before they woke as from a dream and realized there was such a handsome attendant.
Before this, Caesar’s social circle besides Baldwin and priests like Heraclius consisted only of castle servants; now when he went outside the room, attendants bowed respectfully to him, saying “Master attendant.”
And the tolerance and warmth they once gave Caesar now went to higher-ranking pages or escorts; they smiled or nodded, and though they dared not invite Caesar to drink and play, they sent him many toys.
Yes, toys.
This was a surprising thing; children of this time, regardless of wealth or status, rarely received tender special treatment; they were either seen as animals or defective humans; later people thought they might not have had a childhood at all.
But human nature can never be changed or suppressed; toys appeared in the form of tools or teaching aids; among those Caesar now had were spinning tops, stilts, bubble pipes, small drums, and dolls with rotating joints and heads.
Seeing the gifts Caesar brought back, Baldwin also enthusiastically took out his toys stored in a box—the ones he had packed away thinking he was going to the monastery; the prince’s toys were indeed a cut above; besides those mentioned, Baldwin had a bronze knight figurine—man and horse, with separable helmet and sword, a pure gold infant saint with His silk cradle, and a Shatranj set made of walrus ivory.
Caesar only picked up the bronze knight and pure gold infant saint to look at and put down; Baldwin noticed his gaze fixed on the Shatranj board.
“Do you play chess?” Baldwin asked; though playing chess was one of the seven knightly arts—horsemanship, swimming, archery, fencing, hunting, poetry, and playing chess—like most knights who would rather wield heavy two-handed swords than pick up a light quill pen, the last two were often ignored or only superficially learned by knights.
“I don’t know if the rules I remember are the same as here.” Caesar picked up a chess piece and spun it between his fingers.
“Let’s play a game, and talk as we go.” Baldwin was intrigued; he and Caesar set up the pieces together.
The Shatranj of this time differed from chess centuries later in three major ways: first, not capturing the king for victory, but total annihilation of one side’s army, which fit current habits very well; second, no empress, the king had a vizier instead, matching women’s status now; third, not only turns decided by dice roll size, but moves per turn also by dice points.
At first, unfamiliar with the rules, Caesar lost; later Baldwin lost several due to carelessness; finally they were evenly matched—Caesar steady and cautious, thorough in thought, able to turn the tables unexpectedly even at disadvantage; Baldwin’s play was sharper and more aggressive, often risky, resulting in either great victory or defeat.
Unnoticed, the light had fully faded; Caesar could no longer see the pieces; only then did they realize it was time for vespers; after sunset, per doctrine, no more eating was allowed. Baldwin was unconcerned, “Some dates will do.”
But Caesar disagreed: “Your body needs proper nutrition.” he said: “The kitchen has prepared food for you.” This was one of his requests to Amalric I.
Baldwin regretfully set down the chess board and went to light candles, “Then I’ll wait for you; come back quickly.”
When Caesar returned from the kitchen, even the open ground held only faint sunset glow; a few attendants on ponies, holding long wooden sticks, circled a quintain in the fading light; this was an activity both game and training.
The quintain could be seen as a large weather vane standing on the ground, with a horizontal bar fixed atop the stake that could rotate 360 degrees; one end held a shield, the other suspended a sandbag.
When someone on horseback charged the shield and hit it, the bar would spin from the force, swinging the sandbag to heavily strike him, perfectly replicating battlefield conditions, good for training lance use and avoiding enemy weapons.
The quintain used by the attendants differed slightly from common styles: lower height, smaller sandbag, bar from one to two crossed ones; from above, like an equilateral cross, with shields and sandbags spaced evenly.
An attendant stopped Caesar here.
“I am David of Tripoli,” the attendant, on the cusp of boy to youth, said arrogantly: “My father is Count Raymond of Tripoli; I now challenge you—I say that on Ayyarasa Road, the Arabian Peninsula, and the whole world, the most beautiful, most virtuous, and wisest lady is only one: the daughter of the King of Ayyarasa Road, Princess Sibylla; no other ladies compare.”
Caesar set down the food basket, “Have you sworn to her?” He was not a knight, nor was David; both would only possibly be knighted at eighteen to twenty.
“No.” David said: “Nor have you formally, but that doesn’t hinder our loyalty to ladies.”
Caesar looked around; a few knights watched, with no intent to stop; indeed, people of this time delighted in boys showing thirst for honor and victory from young, fearless of pain and death.
Though he saw no meaning in this, just as he had not forgiven those servants plotting against him, if he retreated or refused, he would be seen as a cowardly weakling, earning more contempt and bullying; if Amalric I and Baldwin felt deceived, his fate might not surpass Witt’s.
“I accept.” Caesar said.
David nodded reassuringly: “Then you choose the weapon and method.” He strictly followed knights’ rules.
“God has chosen for us,” Caesar pointed to the quintain nearby: “We take turns hitting the shield with wooden sticks; first hit by sandbag loses.”
“What if neither is hit?”
“Time until sun fully sets and it’s too dark to see the shield; most shield hits wins.”
“Sounds very fair, but knights say you are not good at mounted combat.”
“That was before,” Caesar said: “I have a good teacher.” Baldwin, after martial arts resumed, found Caesar could ride but not wield weapons on horseback, so became his second teacher, training him while reviewing his own skills.
Baldwin’s martial arts teacher before illness was Count Raymond of Tripoli; his patron saint was the valiant Joshua, a warrior on the battlefield like the one who aided and succeeded saint Moses as leader of the Isaacites, loyal to Amalric I, invincible.
With such a martial arts teacher, Baldwin at only nine mastered more techniques than other children; he held nothing back from Caesar in this. Caesar’s words softened David’s expression further: “Then it’s not just fair in sound,” he turned to his companions: “Who will lend his horse?”
