Chapter 166: The Isaacites’ New Year
Caesar, who was always quick to react, almost failed to understand the meaning of this sentence.
Sibylla was pregnant, which was of course a good thing, but what did it have to do with Baldwin? He had not yet connected Baldwin’s sudden visit to Bethlehem with Sibylla’s pregnancy, while his sister Nathia beside him let out a soft gasp.
When Caesar turned to look at her, he found Nathia gazing at them worriedly. What was she pitying, and what was she indignant about? Caesar understood.
Baldwin watched as red flames rose on Caesar’s cheeks, not from fever, but from anger. He hurriedly grabbed his hands, forcing him to stay by his side. “It was Abigail. Perhaps he values this hard-won child too much.”
Although for ordinary couples, it would take years, even more than a decade without children to say such things, people had already assumed Baldwin would have no children of his own. Sibylla and Abigail’s child would be his heir, the future King of the Kingdom of Ayyarasa. Just a few months after their wedding with no news, some people were already tossing and turning, praying through the night.
Now this good news had finally come, and of course they did not want anyone to ruin it, including the King.
“You are the King.” You are the master of Holy Cross Castle.
Although as a doctor, he knew that whether it was the fetus still in the mother’s womb or a newborn infant, both were extremely fragile. Baldwin’s current condition had been contained and alleviated, but the poison still lingered in his body. No one could be sure whether it would affect this important child.
But if that were the case, Sibylla and Abigail could simply leave Holy Cross Castle. If they did so, even Caesar would thank them, and even feel a little guilty.
Their current behavior of acting as if they owned the place could only be described as taking advantage of favor. Of course, this favor was merely their imagination, or rather, it only existed on their lips.
Not to mention others, when Baldwin was still just the heir, Queen Maria, wife of Amalric I, was pregnant and giving birth, and no one said Baldwin should be moved out of Holy Cross Castle. During that time, Baldwin simply reduced the frequency of his visits to her. Even when they gathered in the small chapel for Mass and to receive the Eucharist, they merely kept their distance and did not use the same cup.
Why had no one stood up back then to accuse him, thinking he should make way for that unformed child?
The joy of seeing Baldwin had vanished completely. Caesar had previously thought this was just a naughty and joyful visit, but the truth hidden beneath it was so ugly.
“I also very much want a healthy heir.”
Baldwin could only desperately hold onto the angry Caesar—not too tightly, since Caesar’s body was still weak. It was like trying to grasp an enraged big cat, loosely holding his companion, fearing to hurt him, yet inevitably moved by his preciousness.
“Come on, come on,” this time it was he comforting Caesar, a truly novel feeling. “I’m not a pitiful person with nowhere to go. I am the King of Ayyarasa. I can go to any place in the Holy Land, including here with you—a king being warmly hosted on the territory of a friend and relative for a few months is no big deal.”
Not good, not good at all. Although Baldwin could hold Caesar’s hands and grasp his shoulders, he could not stretch out a third hand to control Caesar’s mouth.
Without the slightest hesitation, Caesar turned his head and shouted. Longinus immediately responded from outside the door and entered. His little master stared coldly at him and ordered: “Please bring back Bishop Andrew.”
This was Bishop Andrew’s third time crossing the lord’s threshold that evening. He did not quite understand why Caesar had suddenly summoned him back again. Had something happened between these two young men that required him to act as an impartial judge? Was it playing chess, gambling, or some ideas and measures?
He had even thought of the Isaacites’ New Year, but not of Holy Cross Castle—upon seeing Bishop Andrew step through the door, Baldwin helplessly let go of his hand.
Bishop Andrew bowed to the King, then nodded in greeting to Caesar. Longinus brought over a chair. He sat down and asked with a smile what had happened between the two young men.
His eyes continued to scan the room, searching for the chess board and dice.
When Caesar said Sibylla was already pregnant, Bishop Andrew’s first reaction was the same as his: “This is a good thing.”
After Sibylla and Abigail cohabited, everyone was expecting this joyful event. If she could give birth to a son, they would no longer have to worry about the Kingdom of Ayyarasa falling into turmoil again due to another succession crisis.
Moreover, the previous kings and Baldwin IV had proven that this bloodline was qualified to continue in this most sacred place of the Holy Land. But he then looked at Baldwin in astonishment and found that his face held not only the joy of reuniting with a close friend.
The King’s sudden arrival at a subject’s home was somewhat reckless, but not unprecedented. Kings leaving their castles to tour various places was commonplace. The Kings of Francia often did so, both to observe whether the lords and nobles harbored any ill intentions and suppress them in time, and to understand the state of their entire nation, rather than staying in their castle and becoming a figurehead puppet.
As for taking the opportunity to make those disobedient fellows pay the hefty costs of hosting the King, that was just a minor matter not worth mentioning.
So when Baldwin previously toured the defenses of Ayyarasa under Caesar’s serving, no one raised any objections. Now that he wanted to stay in Bethlehem, the officials and people of Bethlehem might even welcome him warmly—after all, he had not brought his army and court, but had come lightly, like a friend.
But in any case, the greatest premise was that it must stem from the King’s own will, not coercion.
Bishop Andrew was a member of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. He held not only an elder’s expectations for the young man toward Baldwin, but also a subject’s loyalty to the King, and even a knight’s obedience and admiration for the Grand Master of the Knights.
Caesar’s choice was right; Bishop Andrew could not tolerate this at all. “Have you told others?” he immediately asked.
Baldwin hesitated for a moment. Abigail had come on Sibylla’s behalf to greet him. The room was empty then, and when Abigail knelt on the ground and made his rude request, Baldwin felt no great anger, just a wave of irritation. And since he was thinking of Caesar at the time, without a second thought, he took two escorts, donned a cloak, and left Holy Cross Castle as a Knight of the Holy Sepulchre.
“So most people in Holy Cross Castle still do not know you have left.”
“It was Bohemond.” Bishop Andrew immediately seized hold of this old fox’s tail. He had no evidence, but some things did not require evidence.
“It was… Abigail’s suggestion.”
“But Bohemond must have instigated it. Perhaps Raymond and some other ministers as well.” Bishop Andrew mused: “They are forcing you—they know you love your sister… so they use this as an excuse—ha, make a king leave his castle? Make way for an unborn infant?
Do they think that will be for whom? Hercules? （The demigod from Ancient Greek myth, son of Zeus, who strangled two venomous snakes） in his cradle?”
“Perhaps because of that previous time… it made them a bit…”
Baldwin said, drawing a disapproving glance from Bishop Andrew. Then he glared at Caesar. Caesar sighed helplessly; he knew why Bishop Andrew glared at him. He must think Caesar had led Baldwin astray, making him still reflect on his own faults at a time like this.
A young man who had just become King stood up to turn the tide when his seasoned generals and subjects committed an irredeemable great mistake—the Holy Land was truly on the brink of collapse then. If he had not defeated an army of tens of thousands in the first battle and captured their old rival Sultan Nur al-Din, by the time Raymond and Bohemond led their armies back, the Holy Land might have already fallen.
And the cost of this great victory was merely the casualties of a few dozen people. This outcome was so unbelievable that people even said God had sent angels to help the King and Ayyarasa achieve victory.
Baldwin IV thus transformed from the heir of Amalric I into the heir of Saint George. Every pair of eyes was on him. People believed not only could he fulfill the duties of King and Crusader commander, but also accomplish what previous Kings of Ayyarasa had not—leading the Crusaders to march on Syria or Egypt, conquering more land and cities for Christians.
Now it seemed Baldwin was overly calm, like a naturally kind child who, after slightly crossing a line, would immediately realize his mistake and feel endless guilt. But what right or face did those people have to accuse him?
When Baldwin IV resolved the crisis of Ayyarasa and returned in great victory, they were still fleeing through cold mud with Turks chasing at their heels.
The losses they caused to the Knights and Crusaders were almost too much for Bishop Andrew to bear recounting or recalling seriously. This was also why he was full of gratitude toward Caesar—at the time, he had not approved of Baldwin’s actions. The Knights had already suffered heavy losses, yet he still drew thirty to serve as Caesar’s guards.
Even though this mission would not pose great danger, if the Knights suffered another blow, they might truly fall into dire straits. So when he saw these thirty knights return to him intact, back to Ayyarasa, his joy was imaginable.
And before he could hold those culprits accountable, they had the audacity to blame the one who cleaned up their mess…
It was a pity they were not in front of him now, or he would definitely remove his glove and throw it at their feet— the Bishop stood and walked to the window. The room held few luxuries. Only essentials like the water clock, ink, and parchment, plus the glass embedded in the wooden windows, which always kept his room bright and warm, making anyone who saw it feel comfortable and not oppressed.
And now through the glass, Bishop Andrew saw only dark and gloomy skies. All scenery seemed charred by charcoal fire, blackened with no other colors visible.
“It seems you can only rest here tonight. Tomorrow, I and the knights will escort you back to Holy Cross Castle.”
Baldwin wanted to refuse, but he heard Caesar let out a sigh of relief beside him.
Bishop Andrew’s strong reaction and the rare persistence on Caesar’s face made him hesitate. Perhaps he had done something stupid again, Baldwin thought to himself.
The Bishop was also a straightforward man. After bidding farewell to the King, he immediately left the room. Before the door even closed, Baldwin and Caesar heard him loudly instructing his attendant to summon the knights. It seemed this old man would not sleep tonight. A trace of guilt passed through Caesar’s heart.
But this was clearly a test, or rather a counterattack. “You know—how long has this child probably existed?” When he left, Abigail was still being driven nearly mad by his father.
“Perhaps… a bit less than two months.” Baldwin said softly: “Sibylla’s condition is not good. The first month she was still bleeding, but the second month she was not… uh, then the priests examined her. They used methods of Christians, Isaacites, and Saracens, even Egyptians, and all confirmed she was pregnant, and this child is very likely a boy—the barley sprouted.”
After news came that Caesar was trapped in Damascus, Sibylla publicly announced it. While he anxiously awaited Caesar’s return to his side, Abigail repeatedly hinted vaguely in front of him that he should stay away for the health of Sibylla and the fetus.
Just not long ago, he had made this suggestion openly.
Although he knelt at Baldwin’s feet, using tears and appeals to persuade him, the blame and impatience nearly overflowed from his eyes. Baldwin could understand his anxiety; this was the most important gamble of his life. If he won, his future was limitless. If he lost—Sibylla did not give birth to a boy, or bore a stillborn, or the child died shortly after birth—he would have to endure the previous torment again.
If he failed again and again, even his father would propose dissolving his marriage to Sibylla. To allow Sibylla to find another husband, the fault of this marriage would all fall on him. He would become a ridiculed eunuch.
He would lose his last use. Unable to gallop on the battlefield or scheme in court was one thing, but failing to satisfy a woman in bed as well. One could imagine that in the future, aside from a monastery, he would have nowhere to go. His father might even prefer handing Antioch to a stranger rather than to him, a son worse off for having one than not.
But would Baldwin not feel anger? Of course he would; he nearly whipped Abigail and told him to get out of his room.
But he also thought of Sibylla. She was ultimately his blood sister, one of the few relatives he had left in the world after Amalric I’s death, still enduring the pain of pregnancy just to bear an heir for him and for Ayyarasa. Perhaps he should not be so selfish.
So he disguised himself as a knight, took two escorts, and left Holy Cross Castle overnight.
His thinking was simple, and not entirely forced. He truly wanted to be with his blood kin and companion at this time, rather than facing those hypocritical and detestable faces. Caesar’s weakness was in body; his was in soul.
When he heard Caesar was trapped in Damascus, he nearly thought he would lose him.
Fortunately not; those Saracens had kept their previous promise. But as a price, Caesar’s body became extremely weak. For them, however, this was a good thing. He could stay by Caesar’s side, the two spending these difficult days together. Once Sibylla gave birth to a son, he would return to Holy Cross Castle, perhaps even bringing Caesar—would that not be even better?
Unfortunately, neither Caesar nor Bishop Andrew thought so. “No need to prepare other rooms, Sister. Just let Baldwin sleep with me.” Caesar said.
His mansion in Bethlehem was not newly built; it originally belonged to a merchant. He had willingly offered it, though Caesar insisted on paying market price. In return, the merchant left the furniture in the mansion.
This bedroom needed only glass embedded in the wooden windows; otherwise, almost nothing had changed. Some furniture and decorations had even been removed, but the couch by the window and the bed in the depth of the room were kept. This bed was exceptionally large, nearly taking up half the room.
Nathia had once asked Caesar whether to dismantle this bed.
Noble people at this time did not favor overly large beds, perhaps because such big beds easily reminded them of the furniture used by poor peasants—if a few wooden boards could be called furniture.
To save materials and retain heat, these beds, barely insulating against ground chill, were always made large. Then everyone—parents, brothers, sisters, even sheep and pigs—might squeeze together on this so-called bed, huddling for warmth through the entire winter.
Moreover, by Church law, man and woman united only for procreation, not pleasure. Thus noble couples even slept in separate rooms, or if not, separate beds, each with their own small bed.
Moreover, people at this time mostly slept half-upright. They believed this deceived death, making it think they were resting, not sleeping—eternal slumber. But the more practical reason was that rooms were sealed, charcoal burned in fireplaces, lighting from candles and torches, so respiratory and lung health was poor. Half-sitting allowed easier breathing.
Someone like Caesar, who had received a blessing, of course need not consider this. But moving this huge bed out of the room had become impossible. The original owner likely had carpenters bring in the parts and assemble it inside, using plenty of sturdy glue and tree gum.
If they wanted to remove it now, they would have to chop it apart, which would be a pity. It was made of good oak, with bedposts and fine carvings.
So Caesar simply left it. Well, anyway, he would not sleep with pigs and sheep. What harm in a larger bed? Now it conveniently accommodated him and Baldwin.
When Baldwin bathed, he refused his service: “You are now Count of Edessa. These things are not befitting your status.”
Such strange customs as later “morning rites” or “bedtime rites” had not yet appeared. Caesar could only let Longinus serve inside.
Since it was already late at night, Baldwin finished quickly. When he emerged from the bathroom adjacent to Caesar’s bedroom, Caesar took out the ointment. Baldwin glanced at it and hurriedly turned away. “I’ve already applied it.”
“Did not the teacher say to wait until the body is completely dry before applying the ointment?”
Caesar sat on the bed’s edge holding the ointment, quietly watching him, not urging but motionless.
Baldwin took a deep breath, knowing he could not hide it: “I did not want you to know about this.” He undid a whole row of buttons on his long undergarment, drew his arm out, exposing half his back. Caesar’s face changed upon seeing it.
He stood, hurriedly lit a few more candles to see more clearly.
Indeed, Baldwin’s condition had worsened. What were once just red spots and small rashes had now become eroded and hardened. “The teacher said… it’s not very serious.” Baldwin swallowed dryly. This was also why he had not insisted on going to Damascus.
The previously suppressed condition seemed to erupt all at once in those few days. Heraclius had gravely warned him that if he persisted, he might fall ill on the road. Then not only could he not support Caesar, but might even become a burden.
If he died on the road, Caesar would be held accountable, worst case executed for treason.
He had forcibly suppressed his inner anxiety, but the flames unable to vent outward could only erupt inward.
He thought Caesar would blame and complain about him. He knew how much Caesar valued his health, even more than his own. But when he turned back, he saw only a pair of sad eyes.
He tugged at his mouth, trying to smile, but tears fell in the next moment. Then he could no longer care about anything else and lunged toward Caesar. They embraced tightly, the ointment falling under the bed, unnoticed.
All sorrow, anxiety, indignation, apprehension, sadness thoroughly erupted at this moment.
He had once thought he had only Caesar, but Amalric I told him that as King, he would have countless people willing to offer him loyalty, flesh, and glory. But the King was wrong; to this day, by his side there was still only Caesar.
Perhaps in the future as well.
Early next morning, Bishop Andrew led the knights to eagerly fetch him. He joyfully discovered that after the young King stayed one night here, not only had his complexion not worsened, but improved.
He was spirited, as if freed from past gloom. He did not refuse the Knight of Bethlehem’s service and escort. Bishop Andrew felt it should be so; upon return, the King might face thorny issues. Having the new Count of Edessa stand by his side in support was best.
Not to mention how the people of Holy Cross Castle gaped in astonishment and disbelief upon seeing their group.
Even Queen Mother Maria and Patriarch Heraclius felt thunderstruck and dizzy. Only then did they learn the King had gone overnight to Bethlehem to see his close friend and blood kin. But such a thing happening between Baldwin and Caesar was not strange; it could even be seen as a fine tale.
But the problem was, if the King stayed several days in Bethlehem, even forgetting to return home, they would feel nothing unusual beyond writing letters to reprove and urge him. But returning swiftly after just one night was somewhat off.
Queen Mother Maria had previously lived in the main tower with Amalric I. But when Baldwin finally emerged from grief and was willing to leave his left tower, Queen Mother Maria yielded her room with the King without hesitation and moved to the left tower.
She did not mind that the left tower had once housed a leper. She had heard the castle steward’s complaints—how strictly Caesar required the servants. One could say the left tower was now much cleaner and more comfortable than her current main tower.
Similarly, after marriage, Sibylla and Abigail had moved here. Mainly because the right tower no longer had many rooms available for them.
This gave Queen Mother Maria some minor troubles. Almost every night she could hear this newlywed couple quarreling noisily, smashing things about. Sibylla even repeatedly moved back to her own room, unwilling to share a bed with Abigail.
But last night she had slept an unprecedentedly good sleep, thinking this couple, now with a child, had finally settled down.
Unexpectedly— Queen Mother Maria’s face turned ashen as she looked at Abigail and Sibylla emerging from the main tower. “How did you come out from there?”
“I just wanted to stay with my brother. Is that not allowed?” Of course, it was Sibylla who answered her.
But as Sibylla said, she was the mistress of the castle. Queen Mother Maria had the right to discipline any child in the castle, even if she was now married and soon to be a mother.
But to her surprise, before she could say or do anything, Abigail rushed over ferociously, viciously blocking in front of Sibylla. The Queen Mother nearly laughed in anger, with little actual anger. What was there to be angry about?
Abigail did not even realize that once Sibylla bore a son or more sons, his significance would diminish greatly. Like Fulk I once, a knight who had galloped on battlefields for years actually fell from a horse during a hunt, breaking his neck—an already laughable event.
Now someone had failed to learn from it. Being King of Ayyarasa was no easy task, let alone when he was not even as good as Fulk I. He was useless on the battlefield and in court, and Sibylla had little love for him. The one Sibylla always wanted to emulate was none other than her grandmother Melisende（Fulk I’s wife）.
Abigail could not perceive this. His face flushed with excitement, thinking he finally had a chance to show his ability to the Princess and make her look at him anew. He charged at the handmaids and attendants, punching them while loudly cursing and damning them—for disturbing his wife and unborn child.
The knights nearby, stunned almost into inaction, hurried to intervene. How chaotic the scene was goes without saying. Queen Mother Maria quickly discerned the clues; with such noise outside, the usually early-rising Baldwin had neither come out to see nor sent a servant to inquire…
This former Byzantine Princess had seen plenty of conspiracies hidden behind curtains and immediately sensed something wrong. “Where is His Majesty the King?”
“I do not know.” Sibylla answered swiftly. “He is already King, no longer my brother. He need not report his every move to me, and I have no right.”
Her words were full of resentment, but the Queen Mother merely sneered slightly, making her see. Perhaps because she was the only sister, the young King had already treated Sibylla with utmost benevolence and righteousness. After all, this Sibylla had practically carved “Only I can bear your heir” on her face, treating it as her greatest merit and glory. Even Baldwin IV’s great victory at the Sea of Galilee could not compare.
People’s flattery had made her lose a princess’s due composure and caution. Although after the Count Etienne affair, she learned to pretend, in Queen Mother Maria’s eyes, Sibylla’s acting was glaringly clumsy. She seemed to forget she was not only a sister, but had a younger sister too. And a girl from infancy to adulthood was merely a dozen years.
Perhaps she thought Baldwin could not wait those dozen years.
Compared to such a fool, the Queen Mother of course preferred cooperating with Baldwin IV. After these years together, one could say Baldwin was not only a fine King, but also a fine son and brother—if Baldwin IV truly died early and Sibylla and Abigail took power, Maria truly feared they would ascend today and she and her daughter would die tomorrow.
Soon after, Patriarch Heraclius also hurried over. Only then did he learn this foolish woman had incited her husband to say some specious nonsense in front of the King, making him leave Holy Cross Castle in anger.
“What do you think the King of Ayyarasa is?”
He threw down these words and went with the others to welcome the King. Fortunately, the King still had a dear brother and friend; he was not homeless. And Caesar’s reaction was swift. Upon hearing the King had come in disguise with few attendants, he found it odd, quickly got the truth in a few words, and immediately sent Baldwin IV back.
In the welcoming crowd, Count Raymond of Tripoli’s surprise seemed somewhat insincere. David was genuinely stunned, but he avoided Sibylla’s gaze. Bohemond’s face held a half-smile—now it seemed the plan had failed, but for him, it was no big deal. More important was still the child in Sibylla’s belly.
The Queen Mother also saw him. She turned away full of hatred, as if seeing a venomous snake. She could not yet confront a great noble like Bohemond, but she was not without any means to strike back.
