Chapter 165: The Isaacites’ New Year
“You must be careful of these Isaacites. The Savior was sold by them for only thirty silver coins. For their personal desires, they care nothing for any idea, morality, or law, and will even cover up their own crimes by slandering and vilifying others.
I cannot say there is not one trustworthy person among them, but whether in Ayyarasa Road or Bethlehem, there are plenty of Christians willing to serve you, so you need not pay them any mind.”
Bishop Andrew said this gravely, then thought again that he was facing only a young man of about ten years old, and young men are fond of vanity and weak in temperament, easily deceived by the frailty and pain feigned by those Isaacites.
Just as in recent times, the Isaacites in the city of Bethlehem have been discussing how they were forced by the Saracens to pay ten thousand gold coins to redeem their master.
This number would startle anyone who heard it; it could almost blackmail a king. But Bishop Andrew knew at once there was much exaggeration in it. As for the tricks the Isaacites played in coin exchange, he knew far too many, after all, they had to pay taxes to him in Bethlehem too.
In the first few years after he arrived in Bethlehem, not to mention hoarding and speculation, smuggling and reselling, lending and plundering, just the matter of clipping, counterfeiting, recasting, and circulating impure coins had forced him to hang batch after batch of Isaacites to stamp out that evil practice.
Only when they realized Bishop Andrew was not one of those former place-holders who were mediocre and incompetent did they grudgingly stop.
Then the Isaacites’ bribes arrived at his door: money, treasures, and women. What amused him most was that the Isaacites’ bribes were completely different from those of other merchants.
Other merchants offered goods or money to lords or officials to beg for merciful and tolerant treatment, hoping at most that they would not be too greedy, reduce some taxes, at least not raise them arbitrarily, and not ruin their families over these clinking trifles.
One must know that nobles at this time often seized merchants’ goods under various pretexts, like landing tax—whether mule or cart, once the goods touched the ground, they belonged to the local lord.
Or when they wanted something but had no money, they would detain passing merchants on charges of damaging the lord’s property—such a charge was easy to establish, after all, woods, lake water, even bridges counted as the lord’s property—and blackmail them.
But generally speaking, as long as the merchants were not too foolish and the lord not too harsh, both sides could go back and forth politely—though the merchants mostly dealt only with the lord’s steward or guards.
Another case was when merchants wanted the lord to grant some privilege—like exclusive sale of certain wine, olive oil, or indispensable commodities—they would offer lavish gifts to monopolize that business and earn more profit.
But the Isaacites were different.
They had a very peculiar idea: if you accepted their bribes of money or goods, then in some sense, you became one of them, nominally still a Christian but in reality one of the Isaacites.
They bought you off, putting you on the same side as them, but unlike other merchants’ groveling, they naturally assumed they could now stand shoulder to shoulder with you, as equals.
This might be the delusion left to them by the ancient Egyptians and Romans.
In any case, when those two ancient empires still stood here, some Isaacites did become their officials and governors, turning to exploit and oppress the empire’s commoners.
Unfortunately, in the Christian world, they had no such convenience.
One test after another was both laughable and repulsive.
“I hear you like an Isaacite craftsman. I’ve seen his work too; it is indeed exquisite. But be careful—never let him be your attendant, let alone keep him near you at your side. Show disdain, not just to let him know, but to let others know too.
I hear many Isaacites often go talk to him. You haven’t made him any promises, have you?”
“No.”
Bishop Andrew nodded slightly, then said, “This is advice from an elder. If you are willing to heed it, then in your first year here, be severe with them. Those fellows only yield to strong authority, violence, and humiliation; they will not be grateful for your tolerance.
You are a kind person, but benevolence should have its limits.”
Perhaps feeling this too harsh, Bishop Andrew then added mildly that he, along with the thirty knights of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre still stationed in Bethlehem, were available if needed at any time.
He even joked that he repaired the wooden frames outside Bethlehem’s walls every year; they were neither rotten nor collapsed, ready anytime to hang a batch of people and dogs.
Caesar had no choice but to thank him for his kindness.
He still could not get used to people’s overly intense emotional expressions here; among them there were not many grays, only black and white.
Things later generations deemed unimportant were here decisive factors in life and death.
On the hypocrisy, cunning, and fickleness of the Isaacites: Baldwin had warned him, Geoffrey had warned him, Saladin had warned him, and now Bishop Andrew too. If he were not a soul from elsewhere but a child raised here from swaddling clothes, he might long have been convinced by them.
No, not convinced—he would likely have such deep-rooted stereotypes already, needing no one’s reminder.
After Bishop Andrew left, he sat at the table with crossed index fingers, pondering for a good while: should he follow the current people’s view of the Isaacites and treat them with rough, cold cruelty?
He was not sure, but matters should be judged objectively. “Tomorrow, summon the Isaacites’ sage in Bethlehem. If he asks why, tell him I want to know how the Isaacites plan to spend their New Year.”
Longinus heard this and withdrew. But minutes later, he knocked on Caesar’s door again, and Caesar saw Bishop Andrew returning, followed by a group of people in cloaks with hoods up.
Bishop Andrew was holding a candle for the man leading them.
“Baldwin!” Caesar called.
Given Bishop Andrew’s status, few could make him serve thus. Since Rome’s Pope and Ayyarasa Road’s Patriarch could not visit now, it could only be the King of Ayyarasa Road.
The man threw back his hood, revealing a smug face.
After this shocking turn of events, Baldwin IV had not insisted on keeping Caesar at Holy Cross Castle in Ayyarasa Road but allowed him to return to Bethlehem after Jocelin III and his wife’s funeral to rest and acclimate—surprising those who knew them.
They thought that even if Baldwin could restrain himself from personally going to Damascus to ransom his friend, he would at least warmly welcome him in Ayyarasa Road and house him in the room next door.
But in just a few months, Baldwin seemed to have escaped the desperate urge to grasp at something after losing his father and monarch. Rather than forcibly keeping Caesar by his side regardless of his health, he preferred letting him rest quietly in Bethlehem first.
In any case, Bethlehem was Caesar’s territory; there, even the king was not master—Caesar was. Moreover, he vaguely sensed his subjects’ wariness of Caesar; his own trust and fondness for Caesar did not extend to them.
Even though Jocelin III and his wife’s deaths were proven unrelated to Caesar, with no responsibility on him—though some in Ayyarasa Road city still questioned it occasionally—the timing of the couple’s death was too convenient.
Of course, for Caesar, regarding his parentage, nothing would be better than Jocelin III himself appearing before people to acknowledge him as his only son and heir—but the current Jocelin III could not rise to speak, so Heraclius, Baldwin, and those who cared for Caesar had to find another way.
Jocelin III and his wife’s remains were received into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, like Amalric I; they too would rest here alongside God’s beloved Son. Moreover, like Amalric I, they could be said to have died as martyrs, and Jocelin III’s deeds never dishonored his name or bloodline.
He had effectively grown up in a heathen’s castle, yet he neither converted nor desecrated holy images or the Cross. Even his wife was a Christian; he never abandoned his faith or convictions—resisting as much as he could.
More importantly, he was dead and could add no further stains to his record. His “proposal for sainthood” was submitted alongside Amalric I’s.
Of course, this too required vast favors and money. But compared to Amalric I, Jocelin III’s chances were even slightly better.
In any case, if Amalric I were confirmed as “Saint Amalric,” his offspring’s continued hold on Ayyarasa Road would be a matter of course; the Roman Church would hardly intervene again.
But in Ayyarasa Road, massive publicity and propaganda had begun. Within a year, priests would hold Mass for them unceasingly, monks pray day and night in shifts, and pilgrims willing to light a candle for them would receive a silver coin as reward.
At their funeral, besides their child Nathia and Caesar, King Baldwin IV attended, bringing his entire court; all Ayyarasa Road city’s notables followed behind in black mourning garb, faces somber, quelling some malicious rumors.
They said Baldwin had not even let Caesar enter Holy Cross Castle out of weariness with him, and this close aide would soon be discarded.
But to their disappointment, the young king behaved at Jocelin III’s funeral like a nephew. No one would think he did so for the stranger Jocelin III; it could only be for Caesar.
They had sworn to be brothers and friends to each other.
Thus, after the funeral, Caesar’s hasty return to Bethlehem drew no further gossip. But how could Baldwin be one to stay quietly in place?
After rewarding and consoling the ninety knights who had escorted Caesar to Acre and guarded him back from Damascus, he stayed only one day at Holy Cross Castle. That night, disguised as an ordinary knight with just two escorts, he hurried to Bethlehem.
Not to mention Bishop Andrew, who had just left Caesar’s mansion and was stunned to see the king—even Caesar’s sister Nathia clutched her chest in shock.
Back in Acre, she had heard that the King of Ayyarasa Road’s sole heir was a leper, with a black-haired, green-eyed attendant by his side, like brothers in affection.
The Saracens scornfully said this attendant had been merely a slave; only because Baldwin had leprosy and his attendants and servants fled in panic did his father have to send such a one to him.
Nathia had then felt a faint hope, for her brother too was fair-faced with black hair and green eyes—but even she thought it unlikely.
Though she had always prayed to reunite with her brother, she knew that, compared to her as a woman, her brother as a male heir was in the most danger. If that hidden hand truly meant to cut off the roots, how could it spare Caesar?
He had not ordered soldiers to kill them outright. Perhaps because of some oath he had sworn, preventing such direct action.
But for a nine-year-old child, bringing about death was so simple.
Moreover, she remembered what kind of child her brother was: handsome as an angel, yet with a boy’s ordinary temperament. They had always been destitute and unsettled; though better cared for than a craftsman’s or farmer’s son and needing no work, they gained little in worldly knowledge or learning.
When Nathia first arrived in Sultan Nur al-Din’s harem, she nearly died from the harsh conditions and heavy labor. How could her brother stoop to such menial tasks? Even if forced, how could he win Baldwin’s and others’ favor?
Only when she reached Holy Cross Castle and saw the attendant by the young king’s side did she recognize him at once.
Unlike other boys who are delicate and cute as children but grow coarse and ugly, her brother was the same: those emerald eyes, black hair, fair skin. If changed at all, he was gentler and more approachable than in youth.
Even when he mistook Nathia for an assassin, he acted without rudeness, though firm and cold as a shield.
She saw Baldwin even leap onto his brother; she was glad their bond was so close—but still startled, the young king joyful as if inheriting another kingdom.
In the days after, Queen Mother Maria kept her close—without much contact with Caesar. Nathia could guess why.
She had been a woman of Sultan Nur al-Din’s harem; even proving her identity, could one say she had not converted or betrayed?
Queen Mother Maria sent an elderly handmaid to live with her. From her, Nathia eagerly learned of Caesar’s deeds in Ayyarasa Road after arriving: how he won Baldwin’s favor, endured long harsh asceticism, tamed unruly young men in combat, and with Baldwin saved the then-Byzantine Princess—now Queen Mother—during the entry ceremony; how they were both prematurely promoted to escorts, trained, studied, played, and banqueted together.
They had once shared a room intimately, lain wrapped in bear skin before the king’s chamber; they campaigned together in Egypt and were knighted by Amalric I on the battlefield, showing fearless bravery, perfect coordination, earning much respect and envy—not just for their merits but their friendship.
She took it all to heart but never imagined a monarch like Baldwin IV would disguise himself to secretly visit Caesar’s residence.
Caesar too was surprised; he had been back in Bethlehem only a day and night—in fact, the sweet taste of honeyed water from dining with Baldwin the night before was still fresh, and Baldwin was here before he could even miss him.
“What’s this?” Baldwin spread his arms. “Come welcome me.”
Caesar could only smile wryly and step forward into a tight embrace with Baldwin. “Do Heraclius, the Queen Mother, and Count Raymond know you’ve come to me?”
“Of course not. But for now, they have no time for me.” Baldwin said this, then like Nathia pushed Caesar back onto the couch, shed his cloak and outer coat, and sat beside him in loose shirt.
“I’ll talk with you,” he said, “then have them prepare a room for me next door.” He instructed calmly. “I’ll stay here a few days.”
“Wait…”
“Nothing to wait for, Caesar. Rest assured, they won’t press me to return so soon. For Raymond and Bohemond… and perhaps others, they might even want me staying in Bethlehem, at least for this time.”
Caesar’s face cooled slightly; he grasped Baldwin’s hand.
“What happened?”
“Sibylla is pregnant.”
