Chapter 15: Longinus’s Windfall
This boy personally brought by Priest Thomas of the Gerard family, although he impressed Longinus deeply, this impression was not yet enough to affect his life. He was still worrying about his own future, enduring the priests’ orders on one hand, while constantly wandering through the streets and inns looking for opportunities to get rich on the other. It was not that he ignored Caesar, but because no matter how beautiful or clever Caesar was, he was just a child. He might get some money from Caesar, but he could not pin his hopes on such a little guy who could almost be his son.
But matters concerning Caesar still inevitably reached his ears. After all, Caesar’s appearance was too striking; even pilgrims thought they had seen an angel. He was also so diligent—on the first day, people saw him when the sky was still dark and Venus had not yet risen, and they did not find it strange. On the second day he came again, and on the third day as well. By the fifth day and sixth day, the news spread like wildfire that a handsome, pious and admirable boy had vowed to clean the Church of the Holy Sepulchre single-handedly. In front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there were not only pilgrims, but also people who wanted to see this child.
Unfortunately, by then Caesar had finished his work between the stairs and the square, and had moved into the hall where the Holy Cross had once stood. Thus, Longinus took on more commissions from inside the church, escorting noble persons who came for pilgrimage to watch Caesar work. Among these people, noble ladies were the majority. It was from them that Longinus learned that this boy was not from the Gerard family, but an attendant with a mysterious background. When he heard that the person he served was Baldwin, the son of the King of Ayyarasa Road, Longinus’s heart fluttered slightly, then quickly settled down.
As long as one was in Ayyarasa Road, no one would not know that their prince was a leper.
Caesar was also not the son of a count or duke; before being brought back to the castle by the king, he was just a slave.
At noon this day, Longinus was again looking for opportunities in an inn opened by a monastery. All sorts of people gathered here; nobles and knights always occupied the best spots, with their servants and escorts around them. Wanderers like Longinus, who had lost their family name, could only huddle in dark corners. But Longinus never cared about such false fame. As the seventh son in a large family, his status was no better than that of an illegitimate son. Moreover, when he was born, his eldest brother’s son was almost old enough to be an escort. The things and attention he could get were pitifully few; he had long been accustomed to cold treatment.
The pickled herring in the dish emitted its usual faint fishy stench, still because they were not far from the sea. The beer in the leather cup was murky, mixed with the smell of bitumen used to seal it. For Longinus, rather than enjoying food with emotion, it was more like sustaining life with reason. He absentmindedly listened to the incessant chatter and grand talks, without much hope—he had tried, and either ended up mocked in vain or met swindlers—until he heard the name “Caesar” and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
He picked up the leather cup and walked over.
“I heard,” he said to a man dressed as a servant: “You’re talking about the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, right? What happened? Tell me.”
The servant and the few people around the table exchanged a glance imperceptible to most: “We’re talking about the bet. Don’t you know?” He said with a grin: “Someone is betting on that child’s vow. Good people, the stakes are not small; after all, many noble ladies are willing to bet on that pretty angel.”
“I don’t know,” Longinus said: “What do they want to do?”
“Some have sworn—I mean, probably those noble ladies’ knights—that the boy is just making empty vows or bluffing. Such arduous work might be possible for a pious knight or a devout monk, but a child? He’ll only be novel for a few days, then abandon the work to sleep or play.”
A person next to the servant clicked his tongue: “I also think it’s unlikely. It’s said that dozens of monk masters do this work every day. I was fortunate to accompany my lord to worship the Holy Sepulchre and relics; just walking through it, good lord, takes a full day.”
As he said this, the people around showed some envy.
“So he really can’t complete it,” another said: “It seems those poor noble ladies will lose some money. How much did they bet?”
The servant swallowed: “You wouldn’t believe it—one hundred and fifty gold coins, maybe more.”
The surroundings fell into dead silence at once; even Longinus felt something stuck in his throat. The gold coins the servant mentioned were the Roman gold coins commonly used in Ayyarasa Road. Scholars had calculated that in Arabia or in Francia, the average income per person（ excluding serfs） was just one gold coin. A fine suit of chainmail was ten gold coins, a sturdy packhorse five gold coins, and the rent for a small house two gold coins a year—these gold coins were not necessarily literal, as people here mostly regarded gold coins as fixed property. The noble ladies’ stakes were more likely jewels, relics, or silk, but their value remained the same.
“Did they bet that he could… fulfill his vow?” After a long time, someone asked.
“Women are always very impulsive and gullible,” the servant said.
Thus, the crowd fell into even deeper silence. Longinus could not help calculating what one hundred and fifty gold coins could buy. He bitterly realized that just a tenth of it would allow him to dress up brand new, seeking more opportunities with an appearance fitting his status—like now, with stinking cowhide, tattered boots and hat, and a long sword carefully maintained but inevitably scarred from combat. Forget nobles; even merchants would not hire someone like him.
“But what does this have to do with us?” A guy who might be a groom said this, then turned and walked away.
When only the servant and Longinus remained at this small table, the servant also wanted to leave, but was stopped by Longinus: “What do you want me to do?”
“What? Knight Master, we wouldn’t dare command someone like you.” The servant waved his hand with a smile.
“Who doesn’t know I’m Longinus of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre?” Longinus said: “Speak plainly, why beat around the bush?”
“Same as before, but Knight Master, don’t you want in?”
“What?”
“Will you bet?” the servant said.
————————
When Longinus returned to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there was already a deed in his leather armor. This was inevitable; unless he sold himself as a slave, all his property together was not worth one gold coin. This deed stated that he had borrowed three gold coins from an Isaacites merchant in the name of his honor and status as a free man to participate in this bet. If he won, besides repaying the merchant’s three gold coins plus two gold coins’ interest, he would get ten gold coins or equivalent items.
The servant also guaranteed that his master did not care about money; it did not matter if all the winnings went to him. It was just to teach that arrogant boy a lesson. And for that child, failing to fulfill the vow was no big deal—just some mockery or a light beating. But for Longinus, he could not only escape his current embarrassing straits but also possibly attach himself to a noble person.
The choice seemed not hard to make. Was he blaspheming God? No, cultivation inevitably involved all sorts of difficulties and trials. Was he going to kill an innocent person? No, he did not even need to harm the child; just take him away and hide him for a while. Would he incur the anger and enmity of superiors for this? No, even if Baldwin were a healthy heir, an attendant who made a vow but could not fulfill the oath, disappointing them, was not worth them punishing a knight.
Longinus did not need to search; he passed through the three sacred halls every day. The child was pious and trustworthy, meticulous in his work; he could guess which stone brick those delicate deerskin boots were stepping on right now.
——————
Caesar had finished cleaning the small hall of the Holy Cross, wiped the cedarwood door. The monk guarding here cast a gentle gaze; they had seen all sorts of pilgrims, from the poorest to the richest. You could not say the poor were not pious, nor the rich not steadfast. But Caesar was too young, not yet capable of independent thought and will, and he had made such a vow—it really made them worry he could not fulfill his oath.
But he had indeed done what he promised, which could not but make them feel fondness for him.
Caesar passed through the cedarwood door and sighed lightly. Although with Baldwin’s connivance, completing such work alone was still easily fatiguing. The problem was he must do it, because besides Heraclius’s request, he also had to make up for a very crucial deficiency.
He was neither David nor Abigail, nor Baldwin. In Ayyarasa Road, he was a complete outsider; he knew nothing about here—Amalric I’s vassals, the children of ministers and knights; the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was the most familiar place to them besides the castle. But to Caesar, it was a vast, unfamiliar building.
If it were elsewhere, Caesar could familiarize himself slowly later, but the impending Choosing ceremony probably would not give him much leeway. He must get to know it quickly. Of course, you could say, what about Baldwin?
Baldwin was the master, and Caesar the attendant. Attendants serve masters, but masters do not look after attendants.
As always, Caesar quickly circled around once, carefully observing the walls, alcoves, square pillars, and curtains, finally the great altar and the holy stone in front of the altar that seemed stained with blood. The red in the stone, even large patches, was not rare—red seaweed in fossils, iron, minerals could form reds of different shapes and sizes. Though the red on the holy stone did indeed look like a trace left by an adult man.
“This is the second holiest.” A voice suddenly sounded behind him.
“Second holiest?”
“Yes, the Holy Sepulchre is the first holiest,” a monk said: “But you have already paid homage.”
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you.”
“Is it strange that you haven’t seen me? There are over a hundred monks here,” the monk said amiably: “But say a name and you’ll know. Brother Thomas sent me, child. He wants me to take you to the reliquary; he has something to tell you.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“No, but he didn’t seem very urgent,” the monk said: “Maybe he hopes you can help him wipe and clean some holy vessels. They are all very sacred items.” He puffed out his chest proudly: “Though vain, I must say, unless you see those radiant and glorious holy vessels, you cannot comprehend God’s strength and power.”
Longinus could not hear what they were saying, but he saw the child nodding frequently, as if in full agreement. Soon, carrying a bucket and holding a mop, he went with the monk toward the reliquary. He quietly followed behind. Perhaps to hold the prey’s attention, the monk did not notice someone following, endlessly listing the treasures in the reliquary—like the ivory-armed statue of Jesus, the ebony cross inlaid with pearls, the golden two-handled cup… and so on.
Then they turned the corner, entered the corridor connecting to the Great Hall of the Holy Sepulchre. Longinus saw the boy, always humbly lagging a step behind, silently swing the wooden pole that suddenly turned from tool to weapon, striking the monk’s neck with all his strength—only one blow, the crisp snap making even Longinus feel neck pain.
The unprepared monk did not even hum, collapsing like a leather pouch full of wine.
The boy looked up and saw Longinus.
“I thought you would need my help.” Longinus said: “Looks like I overthought it. You stay vigilant enough; that’s good.”
“I heard,” Caesar said: “About those bets.”
“One hundred and fifty gold coins?”
“Two hundred and fifty now.” Caesar said: “This sum of money is enough to make some people willingly go to hell.”
“But this is a monk,” Longinus said: “You are so pious, yet you don’t trust God’s servant?” The other had not yet bared his fangs.
“If I’m wrong,” Caesar said: “Then surely God is testing him through my hand.”
If not for this place and moment, Longinus would almost laugh out loud, but he restrained himself: “So you won’t ask why I’m here?” This was usually his time for making money; he should have one or two penniless pilgrims around him.
“There’s something I’ve never understood,” Caesar said: “How do adults get pleasure from scaring children?”
Longinus’s lip corner curved: “Saying that, don’t you feel guilty, sir? You ‘without reason’ knocked down a strong and robust monk.” He glanced at the fool: “Alright, indeed someone tried to bribe and instigate me to stop you.”
“Your decision?”
Longinus drew his long sword.
