Chapter 163: A Brief Meeting
As he stepped into the room, Longinus even froze for a moment.
In that instant, he even had the illusion that he was still at Holy Cross Castle or Bethlehem, rather than having already arrived in Damascus, and that everything that had happened before was just a dream he had because he was overly worried about Caesar.
As Caesar’s servant, he had of course stepped into Caesar’s room no less than a hundred times.
Caesar’s room was completely different from what people nowadays admire, and some even thought after seeing his room that it was a place for an elderly and pious ascetic.
Whether at Holy Cross Castle or Bethlehem, Caesar’s room was very spacious, with only the necessary bed, desk, chest, corner cabinet, and a brass water clock, which could be considered a piece of expensive furniture.
The ceiling and walls were only coated with chalk, hung with adjustable lamp stands, the floor was empty, exposing stone slabs or wooden boards, with no carpet, nor thickly scattered lavender, rush, or dried roses.
The bed also only had wool or cotton mattresses, linen and cotton bedsheets, no mink fur or silk; the cup he used for drinking water was just a wooden cup, not a silver cup or golden cup; there were no heavy tapestries on the walls or in front of the windows, only shutters.
Except for the coldest few days, these shutters were always open, sunlight, wind, even rainwater could enter the room through the window, and the air in the room was always fresh and humid as a result.
Sometimes when the weather was too dry, Caesar would even instruct the servants to sprinkle water on the floor.
But only Longinus and a few servants knew that in terms of luxury, Caesar’s room was no less than that of a prince or the current King Baldwin IV.
He had very high requirements for cleanliness, not allowing dust to accumulate, nor grease to remain, and even less allowing rats and snakes to appear in the room; even the fleas and bedbugs that previous kings and queens could hardly avoid had to be completely eradicated here.
Killing these insects was not a simple matter—even nobles had long grown accustomed to the bites of these little creatures, and they migrated, a clean, fluffy mattress emitting the fragrance of cotton or wool might breed large clusters of insects in just a few months.
The only way to eliminate them was constant airing and washing.
When conditions allowed, Baldwin and Caesar’s bedding and clothes even required a team of twelve washerwomen to handle; every few days, people could see those women carrying out large bundles of fabrics from their rooms and then bringing in clean ones.
Not to mention how much water and soap it wasted, just the wear and tear on these fabrics, even ordinary cotton and linen, cost a large sum of money; of course, a knight could afford it, but why care about those little bugs? They couldn’t cause any harm, wouldn’t it be better to spend this money on a good drink?
But the result of doing so was also obvious, how to put it?
His room was always bright, spacious, clean, without the slightest unpleasant smell.
Everyone who stepped in there for the first time would subconsciously take a deep breath—they didn’t know what this smell was—comforting, but not like a church, not myrrh or frankincense, only air as clear as glass, the fresh scent of distant plants and the slight bitterness from nearby ink and parchment—this room’s master greatly loved reading and writing.
And the room that Saladin had prepared for Caesar, though completely different from Christians’ in furnishings, decorations, and furniture style, for some reason Longinus always felt they were very similar.
This room was also empty, with a blackened bronze lamp stand hanging from the center of the round dome, the ceiling and walls a soft creamy yellow, only with intricate and gorgeous herb patterns on the frames of the windows and doors.
The floor was gray stone bricks, likewise no carpet or fur, only a few exquisite small kneeling cushions neatly placed to one side, presumably prepared for the servants here; they had to serve Caesar and couldn’t leave, but the seven daily prayers definitely had to be done.
Then Longinus looked forward and could see behind the slender archway a wide low couch, on the couch likewise no fabric that could be called luxurious, no velvet, no silk, only white and light yellow wool and cotton.
About ten pillows were stacked very neatly, forming a small nest shape, with plain gauze curtains draping around—Longinus quickly walked over and saw the face that had made him anxious for these ten days or so; he was breathing rapidly, reached out to touch Caesar’s neck, and felt a strong pulse.
He was still alive, God bless, indeed still alive, not killed by those Saracens.
Longinus didn’t know what he would do if Caesar really died here…
As early as when Amalric I was on expedition to Egypt, he had already killed three Saracens on the battlefield, fulfilling the oath he made to God, and could take back his family name, but when the king summoned him and asked about his background and name, he hesitated.
He had no feelings for his family, whether his father, mother, brothers or sisters; he knew that nephew who was a year older than him looked down on him at all, the latter even said at a banquet that he would at most leave a watchman’s position for his little uncle.
When he came to Ayyarasa Road with no way out, he did harbor the idea of relying on his martial skills and talent to win a title here and then return home in glory, but when he could really achieve this goal, he hesitated; he even wanted to laugh—what would he do after getting these?
Go compete with that child? He might become a guest at some lord or king’s table, perhaps have a small fief; he could see the end of this road at a glance: sleep, train, gamble, eat and drink heavily, have a few children with his wife, teach them, go to Mass, then beat the tenants’ soles to force them to hand over most of the grain, compete with other knights for a seat at banquets, participate in martial arts tournaments, kill others, or be killed by others.
Just like his father, brother, and nephew.
When he said, “You can still call me Longinus,” Amalric I laughed; it seemed he had seen many like him; he ultimately stayed in Ayyarasa Road, stayed by his little master’s side.
He stood at the bedside, head bowed looking at Caesar’s face. That beautiful face had lost all color, his hair slightly longer, scattered on the fluffy cotton pillow, lips grayish-white, eyes tightly closed.
He discovered for the first time that his little master’s eyelashes were actually so thick and long; he had only seen such eyelashes on infants before.
Fortunately, he didn’t see the flush representing high fever; high fever was a quite terrifying thing for both Christians and Saracens. Even the chosen ones might die from high fever, and they would suffer even more torment than ordinary people.
He checked Caesar’s hands and feet again; they were washed very clean, no sticky sweat residue, fingernails trimmed very round and neat.
He pulled the blanket over Caesar, was about to get up and leave, but heard a long sigh.
Longinus immediately turned around, knelt by the couch; he saw those eyes open, at first the pupils couldn’t focus, but slowly those emerald-green eyes like gems regained vitality.
He slowly turned toward Longinus, then smiled: “It’s you, Longinus.”
Longinus simply sat cross-legged; he held Caesar’s hand; the servants and doctor in the room, seeing Caesar awake, immediately busied themselves.
When Caesar was still in a coma, they couldn’t disturb him.
Because according to their experience, those selected to receive the Prophet’s revelation, while in a coma, might be listening to Allah’s will at the Prophet’s feet, receiving comfort and guidance; arbitrarily waking them would instead make them feel great pain, even affecting their later ascent to heaven.
But once awake, they would race against time, giving him potions to drink every chance they got, and honey pastries added with cinnamon, nutmeg, musk, cassia, saffron, costus, cloves—this was a precious medicinal meal, usually only for sultans and caliphs.
Caesar only had time, while they were busy propping him up on the pillows, to ask, “How is Ayyarasa Road?”
Longinus of course knew he most wanted to ask about Baldwin IV; he immediately told him that although the king had always been anxious and restless, with Queen Mother Maria and Patriarch Heraclius there, he temporarily couldn’t leave Holy Cross Castle.
He perhaps also knew that if he rashly came to Damascus, it wouldn’t help Caesar’s current situation much, but would only add to the chaos.
If he really came to Damascus, and Saladin decided to keep him, Caesar might really have to sacrifice his life here, perhaps even his reputation.
After all, when future people talk about King Baldwin IV of Ayyarasa Road’s foolish act, they would surely say it was all Caesar’s fault.
As for the others, no need to say more. The Grand Masters of the Knights Hospitaller and Knights Templar, upon hearing that Caesar had brought back ninety knights intact, were both astonished and delighted.
Although before they also thought this mission shouldn’t have any big problems—and even mocked Baldwin IV’s groundless worries.
But as the saying goes, the bad person’s elaborate schemes can’t match the fool’s sudden impulse; who could predict that right after Nur al-Din’s burial here, his three sons couldn’t wait to start killing each other, and even more laughably, the final victor was a nine-year-old boy.
This nine-year-old boy clearly didn’t have the wisdom of Baldwin or Caesar at nine, to the point that he still needed a guardian.
The guardian was precisely Sultan Nur al-Din’s former Chief Eunuch and his First Lady, a woman and a eunuch; they could almost imagine what a mess Acre was in at this time.
In such chaos, all promises might not count, and the situation could change dramatically at any moment; fortunately, Caesar was decisive and not greedy.
And on the way to Acre, he had already subdued those unruly knights; they were willing to obey his orders, so the group could withdraw intact from Acre, though they encountered several interceptions. The last battle before Damascus even exhausted their strength and nearly turned Caesar into a cripple, but the result was still gratifying.
They convinced Saladin with their own fearlessness and bravery, making this Saracen general willing to release them; the three Knights saved a huge expenditure.
Of course, among other lords and ministers, there were inevitably some dissenting voices. For example, the deaths of Count Joscelin III of Edessa and his wife the Armenian Princess, but pinning this blame on Caesar and the others was quite forced.
First, they had already died before the delegation arrived at Acre, and the killers were also Saracens. Although they didn’t know why the Saracens broke the agreement, in that chaos anything could be understood, especially since their current ruler was still a woman.
“Expecting a woman to have reason is better off hoping a lion eats grass.”
Count Raymond of Tripoli commented without any disguise.
“It might also be that they were involved in some conspiracy—those Saracens scheming against each other are no less than the Byzantines.” Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch said thus; his son Abigail unusually said nothing strange, perhaps because his father had already slapped him enough.
David, upon hearing Caesar was trapped in Damascus, insisted to the king that he wanted to go in the king’s place to receive Caesar.
“Did Baldwin agree?”
Longinus nodded, “He will arrive a few days after me.” Because he had to bring the gifts that King Baldwin IV of Ayyarasa Road gave to Saladin and others.
Although Saladin said he wouldn’t demand even a single gold coin of ransom. But Caesar was Baldwin IV’s close friend and brother; he certainly couldn’t pretend to know nothing—moreover, he was indeed full of gratitude; whatever Saladin’s purpose, he had effectively saved Caesar.
“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.” Longinus said, “When I entered Damascus, I saw Lego.”
“Lego? That merchant?” Caesar asked.
Back then, they realized Nur al-Din might not have long to live, and deduced that in his last moments he might launch an expedition against Ayyarasa Road, precisely because Lego had a not-small conflict with a group of Acre soap merchants.
Of course, thinking back now it was very likely just a little trick they played, pretending to inadvertently sell him the intelligence.
But after the great victory in the Battle of the Sea of Galilee, Baldwin IV did give them corresponding return, and the matter was over.
“How did they get here?”
“When I was in Bethlehem, I heard some…” Longinus hesitated a bit, but continued, “heard some not-so-good news.
Lego seems to have gathered all the Isaacites in Bethlehem city and some associated merchants to raise nearly a hundred thousand gold coins.”
“They want to…”
“Yes, they want to ransom you; it’s a quite rude and presumptuous act.” Longinus said in a low voice.
If a lord was captured, and his son or wife collected taxes from the territory’s subjects to pay the lord’s ransom, no one would question it.
But if merchants from his territory did so, the intent was worth scrutinizing repeatedly, and would displease superiors.
After all, collecting taxes was demanding they fulfill obligations, while them raising funds on their own carried a bit of favor and mockery—as if the lord were just a pitiful slave.
Caesar leaned on the pillow, thought for a bit: “Saladin drove them out, right?”
“Yes,” Longinus’s face showed a smile. “When I saw them, they were only wearing a long undergarment, barefoot, no mules, no servants; looks like this time they made a rare loss-making deal.
Whether Saracens or Christians, no lord would want to see these lowly fellows acting freely.”
Caesar nodded slightly, but from Longinus’s observation of his expression, he didn’t seem to take this matter too much to heart, “Will you punish them?”
“They have already been punished,” Caesar said, “A hundred thousand gold coins, even the small coins of Tripoli or Antioch. For these penny-pinching Isaacites, it’s a huge loss; who knows how much regret and pain they are in?”
But to follow Longinus’s suggestion, and after returning to Bethlehem reopen this old matter to punish these Isaacites, Caesar felt there was no need; they were smart people, a slight reminder should make them realize what mistake they made.
Moreover, at root, he had little sense of belonging to Bethlehem; his anchor was still in Ayyarasa Road, at Holy Cross Castle.
Longinus wanted to say more, but Caesar had closed his eyes again; the Saracen doctor nearby gestured for silence.
Longinus sighed, exited the room, letting his little master rest well.
Anyway, there was plenty of time ahead.
