Chapter 114: Frustration
Baldwin sat alone quietly on the floor of the small chapel.
Caesar slowly walked over and sat with him, their shoulders touching, neither speaking, and only after a long time did Baldwin let out a heavy sigh.
“I may have to move into the main tower,” he said.
Caesar hummed in acknowledgment; before he left Holy Cross Castle, Baldwin had insisted on living in the left tower, keeping his father Amalric I’s room in the main tower, but what happened today made Baldwin and him realize that this idea was still too naive—Baldwin had to abandon this precious but fragile sentiment and quickly face his current status—the King, not the King’s son.
Baldwin turned his head and looked at Caesar; everything Amalric I left behind was rapidly fading—his horse, his room, his weapons and clothes; when speaking of the Lord of the Holy Land, the Grand Master of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Commander of the Crusaders, people no longer meant Amalric I, but Baldwin IV.
Even though his memorial Mass would still be held on the last day of every month until December of the following year, to the generals and ministers of Ayyarasa Road and the people here, he was already a thing of the past.
But they did not seem to expect a new king much either.
Caesar knew Baldwin still needed time to adapt to his new status, or rather to decide the path he would take; he gazed at the altar laid with white linen—the altar held that priceless box, and behind the box stood a fully gilded large Cross inlaid with gemstones, mother-of-pearl, and pearls; it stood nearly two men tall and as wide as a man’s outstretched arms, and even in the dim candlelight, it remained brilliantly radiant and breathtakingly beautiful.
But it was merely a container; the fragment of the True Cross was kept inside that box; when the castle held grand ceremonies or when the Crusaders were about to set out, they would take the fragment of the True Cross from this box, immerse it in holy water, then share it with the crowd or place the fragment into this gilded Cross and carry it onto the battlefield.
The current Baldwin was like a gilded large Cross.
Placed in the most honored position, magnificent and splendid, everyone worshiping it, but they worshiped not him, but his bloodline and surname—descendant of Charlemagne, heir of the Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre, and even another spiritual emblem of Ayyarasa Road.
Even if he had received God’s blessing and demonstrated his abilities, his age and experience would still be seen by those battle-hardened and court-savvy elders as merely a symbol, and a symbol should not have its own thoughts or will.
“Perhaps we were too hasty,” Baldwin said softly.
“They think we were too hasty,” Caesar pointed out sharply.
Even though Caesar had presented evidence proving that Nur al-Din far away in Acre might be nearing death—and the unrest his death would bring might exceed that of Amalric I—this ruler hailed as the “Light of Faith” was like the sole support of a massive structure, and once he fell, all of Syria and even Egypt would follow in massive turmoil.
“Did you see Raymond’s expression?” Baldwin turned his head to gaze at Caesar, his eyes showing little emotion: “He wasn’t looking at a monarch or a commander, but at a willful child; he couldn’t do anything to me because he had already sworn loyalty to me, but that didn’t change his deep-rooted view of me—a child.”
He was somewhat angry, but more helpless, with a touch of contempt; perhaps he thought Baldwin couldn’t even wait a mere year before seizing power and asserting authority—still in the name of ‘holy war,’ truly too frivolous and disregarding the bigger picture.
No one was willing to support them.
They might share Raymond’s thoughts, or perhaps it was just for practical interests—compared to Nur al-Din, they preferred to first deal with Mulai in Tarsus.
He paused: “I remember you told me that when you and Templar Knight Geoffrey went to aid Count Etienne, you encountered Mulai on the way back—I was truly terrified for a while then, even though you had already returned to my side, but you can imagine how dire the situation was.”
If Mulai knew that Count Etienne among them was the Envoy to the Holy Land sent by Louis VII to Ayyarasa Road, and a guest of honor to King of Ayyarasa Road Amalric I and his vassals, he would surely unhesitatingly “invite” the Count to his castle, then demand a ransom from Louis VII and Amalric I respectively with a lion’s mouth.
If so, it would still be fortunate; if Mulai learned that Count Etienne had hastily left Holy Cross Castle and was lured by guides into his territory for what reason—his price might be even higher, because he knew Amalric I absolutely could not let this scandal be made public.
Fortunately, Caesar reacted quickly, impersonating Duke of Antioch Abigail to trick Mulai into giving up this big fish that had jumped right into his lap.
“And fortunately you insisted I wear your cloak and gold cross.”
“I thought, if worst came to worst, they might buy you a life.”
“It did buy lives, and not just mine,” Caesar said with emotion. At that time, he hadn’t been very certain either—what if Mulai had met Abigail—but he had to do it; Count Etienne might still luckily escape with his life, as a valuable hostage, even if not treated as befitting a count, he wouldn’t be killed immediately.
But the Templar Knight and Caesar might not be so lucky.
Mulai had once been a member of the Knights Templar; he had sworn an oath before the Cross, but that oath was as useless as his farts. He joined the Knights only to use their strength to kill his brother, and once they detected his true intent, the Knights unhesitatingly refused his request.
Mulai’s plan failed, and he harbored resentment; during one failed action, he defected without hesitation from the Christian camp to the Saracen camp, becoming a sharp-toothed good dog under the Seljuk Turkish Sultan.
The Knights Templar were furious at his defection and once issued documents requiring every member of the Knights Templar to kill him upon discovery.
Mulai was no pushover; he controlled every road, leading those heathen cavalry to plunder at will the pilgrims, Christians, Isaacites, and even Saracens passing through his territory—none escaped his inescapable net, and among them, if there were Templar Knights as guards, they would be strangled or beheaded after inhuman torture.
Templar Knight Geoffrey would likely suffer the same fate, and for Caesar, merely a young attendant, the best outcome would be being sold to the Caliph’s court.
“What was Mulai like when you saw him then?”
“A very dangerous fellow; he reminded me of those beasts with brilliant fur.”
“My teacher once said he was a terrifying existence, a devil unbound by any law, morality, or faith; he was once a prince of Armenia, but sparked riots vying for the throne with his brother, and after the riots failed, he unhesitatingly fled Armenia for Ayyarasa Road.
He once begged my uncle and my father for a place to stay, and his brother sent envoys requesting this shameless traitor and brutal kinslayer be handed back.
Later, to save his life, he vowed to join the Knights Templar.”
The Knights Templar was an organization of Martial Monks; once joined, all worldly matters became irrelevant—he would lose inheritance rights, territory, and private property.
For this reason, the Armenian side was willing to cease hostilities. But unexpectedly, he rebelled after only a few years in the Knights Templar. Moreover, he fled to the Saracens; of course, no Christian country would accept a Templar Knight who broke his oath.
“I heard he not only once received God’s blessing but also received the Prophet’s revelation among the Saracens.”
Baldwin said very softly: “We all know that whether Caliph or Sultan, their ranks occasionally include Christian knights, and our armies have Turks, but they do not convert. Our knights still receive the saints’ favor, while their soldiers hear only the Prophet’s revelation.
But I heard Mulai truly received both blessing and revelation; no one knows how he did it. Our priests say he is a disciple of the devil, that the blessing he received is false—it’s the devil impersonating a saint.”
“Besides Mulai, are there others in this situation?”
“As far as I know, no,” Baldwin said even more softly, “perhaps there are, but they haven’t spoken of it.” This could indeed shake people’s faith; they would inevitably wonder what “Chosen by Michael” and “Chosen by Raphael” really are.
A guy like Witt, who never underwent ceremony, has vile character, and is a sinner, can receive “Chosen by Raphael”—of course, he is at least a Christian, but if a renegade or heathen could retain that special power, it would truly… raise doubts.
“But they want to expedition against Mulai because he has seriously impacted the Knights’ and cities’ income,” Baldwin said.
Caesar immediately pictured a rough map in his mind—they had followed the route of the Second Crusade when aiding Count Etienne, and Mulai’s territory was right between Byzantium and Armenia, a must-pass for land-traveling pilgrims.
Moreover, he harbored some pirates. They often hid near unknown islands, swarming ships carrying pilgrims like sharks hunting seals.
The importance of pilgrims to the Holy Land goes without saying, not to mention that one of the Knights Templar’s most vital funding sources was escorting pilgrims safely without disturbance.
The Knights Templar was originally founded to rescue pilgrims from perfidious merchants（who promised to take pilgrims to the Holy Land but in fact sold them to heathens）, brutal thieves, and ferocious beasts—that’s how their credit was built; people trusted them, willing to entrust their lives, assets, and land, turning them in mere decades from a poor group needing two knights to share a horse into the behemoth they are now.
Mulai’s actions and threats indeed stuck in their throats, but to say it’s only for this reason, not necessarily.
After all, for savvy ministers and generals like Raymond, even if Nur al-Din truly died suddenly as merchants said, his three sons and the Emir（military generals）would fight over the power and territory he left—Saracen civil war might last years, and even if quelled, remain divided.
This is good for the Crusaders and Holy Land nations; why send troops now to make them unite against a common enemy?
Better seize this golden opportunity to pull out the thorn Mulai, ensure pilgrims’ safety, and maintain prosperity of Holy Land cities and ports like Ayyarasa Road.
If standing here were just two ordinary children, they might truly be persuaded.
But after so many events, and the earnest teachings of Amalric I and Heraclius, Baldwin and Caesar simultaneously thought of a possibility. Though Nur al-Din might die soon, he was still alive, and not long ago he had summoned Ilghazi and Saladin from Egypt in the name of holy war.
But what if this “name” was not merely nominal.
Amalric I stubbornly paved the way for his only son even before departing; would Nur al-Din choose to die quietly?
What if this aging lion, in his life’s final moments, used his remaining strength and prestige?
Everyone knows once Nur al-Din dies, his Zengid dynasty and territory would quickly fall into chaos and weakness, but before that, a place was also struggling in chaos and decline: Ayyarasa Road.
Amalric I’s sudden death, the prior expedition exhausting the Holy City’s money and resources, and the new king merely a fourteen-year-old youth with leprosy; his ministers and generals each had their own agendas, some eyeing his throne covetously…
What they could think of, Nur al-Din could not fail to consider, and what he awaited might be precisely their moment of slack.
