Chapter 135: Words Of The Countess Of Jaffa
Queen Mother Maria even felt a pang of sympathy.
“Moreover, Joscelin III was captured by Zengi at the age of five, and then by Nur al-Din. We don’t know how he fared in the enemy’s fortress—though according to the Saracens, he was treated the same as Nur al-Din’s sons. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have risked incurring the Sultan’s displeasure by sending his two children away… He must have done it for only one reason: he didn’t want his children to endure the same torment and humiliation as he did.”
And when he returned to Holy Cross Castle, back to Ayyarasa Road. When he saw Caesar standing beside you, wouldn’t jealousy and resentment well up in his heart? He had been separated from Caesar for over a decade. There was no affection between this father and son, they were merely strangers. The man was not like a woman; their child had not spent ten months in their womb, and the initial joy had gradually lost its original color and shape with time.
He may have loved Caesar, but he could also retract or change that affection… and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Maria spread her hands and shook her head slightly.
In fact, in Byzantium, there was a simple solution for such situations: a bottle of poison.
But just as Baldwin could not order Caesar to turn against his father, Maria would not mention anything about poison.
“But this conflict is not irreconcilable—for example, by having him welcome his father.
When a person is saved from the enemy’s blade, the swift hooves of horses, and the falling stones, they will fall to their knees before their rescuer, weeping tears of blood, and see them as an angel sent by God to save them. Even if they later learn that this person is their own son, they will still instinctively see them as a support—this period might not be long.
But if, during this time, you can persuade Joscelin III to make some concessions for his son and savior, for instance, by sending him to a monastery. Then what we were worried about might not happen.
But if you continue to insist on keeping Caesar by your side and send someone else to welcome Joscelin III, do you have such a trustworthy person? Even if you do, are you sure they won’t say something to Joscelin III at someone else’s instigation during this time?”
Baldwin was speechless; he truly did not have such a trustworthy person.
Maria smiled, not with much sarcasm. Baldwin was too young. Before his illness, he had not suffered any setbacks. By God’s grace, he was the master of Saint George’s Spear, and at less than sixteen years old, he had achieved a great victory, capturing the Saracen Sultan Nur al-Din. This was a feat his own father had never accomplished—his elation was understandable.
But this young king had not yet realized that he was facing not just bees and ants, but also hyenas and lions. If they united, they might not be able to achieve much, but they could certainly prevent him from achieving anything—this is a challenge every new king must face.
They are as sharp and keen as newly forged swords, yet they must retreat in countless political struggles. Each retreat makes them rounder and milder—even if only on the surface. He must learn moderation, evasion, patience, and appeasement of various factions, ensuring everyone is in their proper place, including himself.
One foot can never bear the weight of the entire throne, whether it is made of brass, black iron, or even gold.
“Abigail is an idiot,” Queen Mother Maria stated frankly. “But when Caesar leaves, you can promote David to your side. David is a good child, he is straightforward by nature and simple-minded. His father is your Regent. Even when you turn sixteen and he hands over power to you, he will still be a significant figure in your court. You must support him and let him contend with Bohemond, regardless of who you eventually determine to be your heir—”
These were words of wisdom.
Baldwin listened quietly, and the boiling emotions within him gradually subsided. He had been thinking.
The Countess of Jaffa arrived the next morning.
Although some suggested that as the king’s birth mother, she should reside at Holy Cross Castle, she declined. She did not wish to become the castle’s second mistress and contend for power with Queen Mother Maria.
After all, the Queen Mother had sided with her son, fighting with allies while leaving the true enemy to develop was foolish.
She had originally been informed about Caesar—he was supposed to come immediately after being confirmed as Joscelin III’s only son. However, after the battle of the Sea of Galilee, in gratitude for God’s protection of Baldwin, she had vowed to undertake a month of asceticism. Her asceticism had not yet ended when the news arrived.
As soon as her asceticism ended, she rode into Ayyarasa Road. Upon entering the Jaffa Gate, she heard from her knights stationed at Holy Cross Castle that the young king and the Patriarch had quarreled over Caesar’s matter. She was shocked and immediately went to see the Patriarch, only to learn that her foolish son had recently done many foolish things.
Compared to Queen Mother Maria, the Countess of Jaffa’s attitude towards Baldwin was more direct and intense. When only he and Caesar were left in the room, she even lightly slapped the King of Ayyarasa Road, “This is to wake you up,” she scolded.
Then she turned to Caesar, her face filled with a mix of emotions, but then she gave him a slap, treating them equally. It was a light slap, but the reprimand was still very clear: “Even if you are not my nephew, nor Baldwin’s blood relative, as his friend, you should have reminded him, stopped him. If you couldn’t, you should have sent someone to find me.
“But, Madam…” Caesar still found it difficult to call her Aunt: “Baldwin is only fifteen.”
He didn’t finish, but the Countess of Jaffa understood his meaning: “You are his brother, not his grandfather.” This tone of indulgence, almost doting—where did such strange things come from?
“He will assume direct rule next year. These times will become fewer and fewer,” Caesar had to add.
“This sounds like a curse,” Baldwin muttered from the side.
The Countess of Jaffa could only sigh. The way these two children interacted was simply… She leaned forward slightly, cupped Caesar’s face, and carefully examined the spot she had just slapped. “I used to think you looked very alike, but back then I never imagined that there was indeed an inseparable connection between you.”
She carefully stroked Caesar’s eyebrows and eyes. He was truly God’s most proud creation. She wanted to find parts that resembled her brother—there were some indeed, but compared to Caesar, Joscelin III was merely a rough draft. Or perhaps she was mistaken; when she left Edessa, her brother was still a child hiding behind their mother’s skirt. She had little memory of him, only recalling that many people said he resembled a shy young girl.
That shy young girl probably never imagined that just a year later, she would suffer such a disaster. And the Countess of Jaffa could hardly imagine that a smile from the goddess of destiny would send his child back to her.
She had once hated her husband because he refused to help her mother country, Edessa, and refused to pay the ransom for her brother, Joscelin II.
Now she was at peace. No matter how cold and unfeeling Amaury I had been towards her, he had inadvertently saved her nephew, her brother’s sole heir.
Suddenly, she pulled Caesar into a tight embrace. Caesar was taken aback; it was the first time a mature woman had treated him so intimately.
In another world, both his father and mother were emotionally reserved people. They never spoke of love, though he knew they loved him. But from his memories, he couldn’t recall any memorable hugs or displays of affection—and now, he could feel a warm body almost engulfing him. She was trembling slightly, or perhaps it was the vibration caused by her intensely beating heart.
He placed his hands on the Countess of Jaffa’s firm back. “I’m fine,” he murmured, not knowing to whom he was speaking. “I’m fine,” he repeated.
He was held for a while before being released.
The Countess of Jaffa agreed with Patriarch Heraclius’s suggestion and Queen Mother Maria’s teachings. She even openly expressed her disdain for her own son.
“What makes you think Abigail is a role model?” A cruel smile appeared on the Countess’s lips. “Why is Bohemond always so gloomy and unlikable? Isn’t it because he knows that the Principality of Antioch might not last long after his death? In the future, it will either become part of Ayyarasa Road or part of Damascus. Everything he does will be in vain.
It’s just that some people will become disheartened and give up because of it. Bohemond is still struggling, as he is in his prime. If Princess Sibylla could have a child with Abigail soon, he might have a chance to raise that child until adulthood.
By then, even if Antioch were to merge with Ayyarasa Road, he would have no regrets.
But what do you think Abigail is in this process? Calling him a clown is a generous description; people might just see him as a stud, his responsibility being to produce a son or more sons.” She snorted. “Do you think Caesar should become such a person?
When people mention him, they won’t talk about how intelligent, wise, or noble he is, but only that he achieved his current position purely due to his blood ties with the king, or perhaps—he looks quite good as a decoration when he stands in the hall.
Do you want them to say that?”
“But, Mother, he will go to battle with me.”
“It makes no difference; people will only remember the invincible Saint George’s Spear,” the Countess said decisively. “Even if you are willing to share your achievements with Caesar, you will find that in people’s discussions, mockery will always outweigh praise.”
“Many people like Caesar.”
“They used to, but that may not be the case now,” the Countess replied. “He is already the heir of Joscelin III of Edessa and the brother of the King of Ayyarasa Road.”
“You don’t seem very happy either,” Baldwin said, confused. The Countess had also said that Caesar’s only flaw was his background.
“Of course, I would be happy. I even thought my brother was dead, like my father, dead in a Saracen fortress. You and your sister were the only relatives I had left in this world, and now I know my brother is alive and has left me two children, my nephew and my niece.
But you also need to know that people are always wary of things that are too perfect. At first, they could genuinely praise and support Caesar because he always had a significant flaw, a flaw that might accompany him until the end of his life.
But now he doesn’t. Do you understand? His only flaw has disappeared, but his enemies are still here. They will not stop because of this; they will continue to attack him, looking for weaknesses and mistakes. And beyond his unknown identity, which we already knew about, we don’t know where they will attack from.
So, from this perspective, I must say that this matter is actually not very good.”
She said helplessly, seeing Baldwin finally show a hint of regret. “It seems you understand now. During this time, you’ve been flaunting him like an Isaacite merchant carrying a jewel box—giving him all sorts of honor and privileges, letting him sit by your side, even arguing with your teacher, Patriarch Heraclius—some people are already displeased with him.
The Patriarch proposed this suggestion because he hoped you would calm down during this period and carefully consider how you and Caesar would interact in the future. You can trust him, and you can become closer to him. You are indeed brothers, but you cannot show it. He is not the King of Ayyarasa Road; you are. And the moment you assume direct rule, countless people will flock to serve you.
But if you show that you only trust Caesar, he will become the sole obstacle between them and you. Guess what they will do?
If you remain stubborn, they might even turn into enemies of Caesar and you. This is very dangerous.”
Baldwin lowered his head. Now he finally looked like a child of his age, not a king. “I… I know I was wrong… Mother, I will apologize to my teacher.”
The Countess of Jaffa sighed and extended her hands, stroking the hair of both children. Baldwin’s hair looked very soft but was actually coarse and stiff, with unruly curls. Caesar’s hair, though as dark as night, was very fluffy, fine, and smooth.
“There’s one more person you should apologize to,” the Countess said. Baldwin only paused for a moment before understanding. He turned to Caesar: “I’m sorry, Caesar.”
He said dejectedly, looking utterly pitiful.
Caesar was a little touched, but this touch of emotion disappeared by the day of their departure.
Baldwin assigned him thirty knights each from the three knightly orders—the Temple, the Hospice, and the Holy Sepulchre—a total of ninety.
“Well, well, isn’t this our Count?”
Geoffrey called out, then let out a loud whistle.
