Chapter 175: Refusal
When this news, which was hard to say whether it was bad or good, reached Holy Cross Castle, Baldwin was enthusiastically trying on the newly made chainmail with his friends and brother.
They had received God’s blessing at the age of nine and become Chosen by Michael knights, and in just a few short years, they grew as quickly as saplings in spring. By the time they accompanied Amalric I on expedition, their height had already surpassed that of most ordinary men.
At that time, their height had climbed to six feet, a height not uncommon among Crusader knights who had received blessing, but in contrast, their muscles and fat had not yet accumulated, making them appear exceptionally gaunt.
Templar Knights like Walter would kindly offer some suggestions upon seeing them, “Stop fiddling with your cabbage and lovage all the time,” he showed them his broad shoulders, strong chest, and sturdy thighs, “Knights should eat more meat.”
Fortunately, after Baldwin ascended the throne, that terrifying growth spurt finally slowed down, replaced by gains in weight. They still could not be called strong, but at least they no longer looked so worrying.
That bitter potion did indeed have a gratifying effect. The scars and pimples remained, but the ulceration had stopped, most areas felt hard to the touch, without swelling or numbness, and even the left hand, which had deteriorated the most severely, was gradually regaining some sensation.
Baldwin could use this hand to hold a cup or pull the reins.
Caesar’s weakened state disappeared suddenly overnight, as if from the moment the sunlight shone on him, all the strength that had once damaged his body and spirit due to excessive exhaustion was fully restored to him by God.
He leaped lightly from the bed, finding himself never so strong and comfortable before. He went to see Heraclius, who called a priest to examine him and had him try praying to God and the saints—although even now, he did not know which saint Caesar had sensed, but as in every previous time, as soon as Caesar recited the first verse of the scripture, soft white light draped over him once more.
The priests who witnessed this scene were all deeply moved; they made the cross on their chests, knelt down to pray with Caesar, and some even fainted from excitement.
For Baldwin, this was of course the best possible news; he had always been worried about Caesar. But everyone told him that Caesar had received so much favor and goodwill from God and the saints, and it was all for defending the glory and purity of the Crusaders that he had exhausted himself to this point; he would not be abandoned for it.
But though they said so, he knew that some people were gloating, and others were secretly hoping that Caesar would never recover from this.
But none of that happened. Heraclius also observed that the light covering Caesar was becoming clearer and more solid; if it had been somewhat floating and illusory before, now these “scales” were as real as if they truly existed.
“Rest for another month, then go to the training ground to test them.” To see if they were still as indestructible as before.
In fact, what Heraclius wanted to say was that if Sibylla had indeed given birth to a boy, then for the heir to the Kingdom of Ayyarasa, a martial arts tournament would inevitably be held, and even if it was a girl, the celebration would be smaller in scale, but still there would be one.
But none of them expected that Sibylla would give birth to a stillborn, and according to those priests and God’s sisters—the noblewomen with experience in childbirth and delivery—Sibylla had suffered great injury this time, and it would likely be very difficult for her to conceive again in the next few years.
They also suggested that Sibylla temporarily stop cohabiting with Abigail.
In this era when marriage and cohabitation were only for producing offspring, for these noblewomen to say that a husband and wife should best sleep separately indicated that the situation was already very serious. It meant that if this couple shared a bed again and Sibylla became pregnant once more, not only the fetus but the fetus’s mother might face a fatal crisis.
Hearing the priests say this, Baldwin’s expression was not good; he instructed in a low voice, “Call the Countess of Jaffa.”
The Countess of Jaffa arrived quickly. In these past few months, her appearances at the castle could be called frequent, not because she had suddenly developed the notion to vie with Queen Mother Maria for superiority—but as before, it was to clean up the mess her daughter Sibylla had left behind—and to comfort her son who had once again been stabbed in the back by his own blood kin.
As a mother, she was of course gratified that her child was not so heartless and selfish, but the problem was that she had two children, and one of them was too… foolish and vile.
“I think they have already told you—about Sibylla.” Everyone present raised their eyebrows slightly; this was the first time Baldwin had referred to Sibylla not as sister but by her name alone.
“Her condition must not be good now.”
“So, do you want her to return to Holy Cross Castle? Or to any place in Ayyarasa?”
The Countess asked cautiously, but if Sibylla returned to Ayyarasa, how could she possibly live anywhere other than Holy Cross Castle? No matter how disliked Sibylla and Abigail were, their status was indisputable—they were the parents of the future King of Ayyarasa.
In fact, because what Sibylla and Abigail had done was not made public, there were still many people wondering why Baldwin had driven his sister out of Ayyarasa and made her give birth in Nalessa. Officially, it was so she could have a quiet and peaceful environment for delivery; they were not Byzantium’s imperial family, needing to give birth in a fixed room, but there would always be those who thought their new king was somewhat reclusive and eccentric, hard to approach.
Even if Sibylla gave birth to a son, they said, this child would still be handed over to the king for supervision and raising; he would be Baldwin IV’s heir. In any case, he had no need to guard against or be wary of this child—the implication hidden behind these words was that even if Baldwin felt repulsion, he only had a short decade or so left to live.
By the time this infant grew to the point of threatening him, whether he could still stand up and wield a long sword would be uncertain.
“Let her stay in Nalessa.” Baldwin said. Indeed, some had deliberately portrayed him as a king tormented by chronic illness to the point of some madness, but his bloodline, surname, and merits were all there; who could question his decrees?
As for Sibylla, he had to say he had already given this sister many opportunities; he loved her, but he would not allow her to use that love to harm him, or even harm herself.
Sibylla’s thinking was sometimes too simplistic; she had never considered that even if she gave birth to a boy and forced her brother to yield the throne for him, she still could not seize authority over the Holy City amid wolves all around.
Most likely, her husband Abigail would wear the crown of the King of Ayyarasa, while real power was held in Bohemond’s hands. After all, if he fell ill or died, he certainly could not command the Crusaders against the Saracens, but could an infant in swaddling clothes? She was really too hasty.
And after there was an heir to the Kingdom of Ayyarasa, Abigail’s and her importance would further diminish.
If Bohemond, out of caution, prepared for them to have two or three more children, they might live a few more years. But if Bohemond felt it unnecessary—he wouldn’t even need to do anything; Abigail was his son, and Sibylla, she was just a woman; could she possibly lead the Crusaders onto the battlefield?
When Baldwin pulled back his thoughts, he found that when he considered matters from a king’s standpoint, his heart had fewer entanglements and less resulting pain, and observing things became clearer and more objective. “No, don’t let her come back.”
He turned to the Countess of Jaffa, “Mother, I have a task to entrust to you here.”
The Countess of Jaffa immediately stood up from her seat, “Please speak, Your Majesty.”
“Please go immediately to Nalessa and hold a grand Mass for that poor child, so his soul can ascend to heaven. Then find a suitable place nearby in the valley to bury him.” Infants who had not received baptism could not be sent to the church or church-attached graveyard.
“Also, please visit Sibylla and Abigail on my behalf, instruct them to rest quietly and wait for the grief to pass; I cannot visit them, as state affairs are pressing and duties manifold.” He stood up, stepped down from his seat, and grasped the Countess of Jaffa’s hand. “But if they show you any rudeness, please return immediately.”
He had personally seen his sister berate and humiliate their shared mother.
He also knew that Sibylla had deep expectations for the child in her womb, as if giving birth to him would grant her the long-desired, supremely honorable crown. But since this child was dead, and she might not conceive again for years afterward, her mood would surely plummet.
At such a time, whatever she did, Baldwin would not find it strange. If it were before, he would have endured it, even spurred his horse immediately to Nalessa to comfort her. But now he knew that what Sibylla wanted was not warmth and love; she wanted power and status, which he could certainly give, but why hand these precious things to those who loved him, only to satisfy an enemy’s desires?
Not to mention, if he satisfied Sibylla, he would not receive her thanks, only make her covet more while fattening the appetites of those behind her.
The Countess of Jaffa merely nodded slightly; Sibylla was her daughter—did she not know what kind of temper Sibylla had? She could not blame her daughter, it was true—she was also at fault in this regard—but she could not harm her son for her daughter. She accepted the king’s command and then led a long procession toward Nalessa.
This procession included gifts and consolations from the king to Sibylla, as well as several priests Chosen by Raphael. They had ample experience in healing internal and external wounds, and ample favor received.
Afterward, at least on the surface, the calm king continued handling some matters, but both Heraclius and Caesar could see he was absent-minded.
People are not machines; it is impossible to suddenly detach from over a decade of deep accumulated affection, unless like Sibylla—she had never truly taken Baldwin to heart, seeing him only as a rival, and of course not caring about his real feelings.
“Let’s go see Isabella.” After finishing the matters at hand, Caesar suddenly suggested, which was of course a good idea; Heraclius also approved.
Though he knew they just wanted to help him change his mood, Baldwin recalled that he indeed had not seen his little sister for some time.
“Pick a gift; we’ll go together.” He said to Caesar.
They returned to Baldwin’s room, dismissed the attendants, and personally opened the box to select gifts from inside; this had become almost their only recent entertainment.
Baldwin picked up a little horse to show Caesar, who laughed upon seeing it—was this not one of the bronze toys Baldwin had demonstrated to him when he first came to Baldwin’s side?
Not just a little horse; the little horse had a knight on it, and the knight held a sword in his hand. “This shouldn’t be given to a girl,” Baldwin said: “Girls should be flowers, silk, and jewels.”
“Not necessarily; she is your sister, daughter of Amalric I.”
Baldwin smiled, picked up the little horse along with the knight on it, and stuffed them into a small velvet pouch.
The little Princess was born before Amalric I’s expedition to Egypt; she would turn three next year, but already it was clear she would grow into a beauty worth knights fighting duels over. She had a pair of eyes very similar to Baldwin’s, hair a shade darker than at birth, like the color of honey or amber, and a face like a rose.
Upon seeing her brother and the people behind him, she giggled. But this was the first time she did not rush over as before to throw herself into Caesar’s arms; instead, she smilingly hid behind the handmaids, peeking out from their skirts, prompting a chorus of kindly laughter from the handmaids. “Have you learned to be shy?” Baldwin asked in surprise.
“It might be because she saw someone she likes.” Queen Mother Maria reclined on the couch, extending her hand for Baldwin to sit beside her.
Though Baldwin had already ascended the throne and would rule personally next February, Queen Mother Maria’s attitude toward him remained the same as always—in short, like a mother to her son.
Caesar recalled the earlier scene and involuntarily sighed softly in his heart. The Countess of Jaffa’s love for Baldwin was beyond doubt, but precisely because of Sibylla’s existence, Baldwin would subconsciously tense up in the Countess’s presence.
This was not entirely fair to the Countess of Jaffa, but who made her also Sibylla’s mother? The ties of blood could never be severed.
She could scold her daughter, even strike her, but never abandon her, which meant she might have to choose between Sibylla and Baldwin.
Queen Mother smiled warmly as the handmaids lifted little Princess Isabella and placed her on Baldwin’s knee.
Baldwin skillfully supported her little body, clamping her little feet with his knees to prevent her from falling off due to too much movement, one hand naturally and gently encircling her while conversing with Queen Mother; their talk would seem dull to others, revolving almost entirely around little Princess Isabella.
“She grows so fast.” Baldwin sighed: “I still remember her wrapped in silk, all wrinkly and red. I thought she was a skinned monkey back then.”
“Children are almost all like that when born. Even the greatest king or emperor is no exception.” Queen Mother said, laughing uncontrollably, then seemingly casually mentioned Sibylla: “When have you decided to let her return?”
Baldwin pinched Isabella’s little finger: “Let her recuperate in Nalessa for a while. I will have Abigail supervise the repairs of the small chapel there— it is the hometown of Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph; the angel came to Mary there to tell her she would conceive by the Holy Spirit, and the one born would be the Savior.
Jesus grew up in Nalessa after his birth, spending thirty years in the nearby Safouriya village— if Sibylla stays there, praying devoutly, perhaps Virgin Mary will bless her, help her recover faster, and give birth to a healthy child.”
