Chapter 199: White Linen Will Bloom Red Flowers
When the bouncing clown led the monk forward, Baldwin and Caesar both involuntarily let out a sound of surprise.
They were sitting beside Manuel I, and Manuel I was a naturally sensitive man. He immediately turned his head, asking with a kind smile, “What is it? Do you know him?”
At these words, the ministers and eunuchs around Manuel I were drenched in cold sweat, especially the Chief Eunuch beside Manuel I, and the little eunuch he had sent to find such a diviner for Manuel I.
In that instant, their faces were all numb. Manuel I was so suspicious that if he suspected them of colluding inside and out, no matter why the monk they found knew the King of Ayyarasa Road and Caesar, as long as Manuel I thought his appearance was deliberately planned, no one present could escape.
Baldwin, however, was utterly unconcerned. He had received a Frankish court education and had little understanding of the Byzantine Empire’s intrigues.
Hearing the Emperor ask this, he naturally replied, “When Caesar and I were very young, we saw him at the market outside the Golden Gate. He used geomancy to divine our future destinies. By the way,” he glanced at Caesar, “we, and Damara, right?”
Caesar nodded. “Yes, and Damara.”
At this, Manuel I immediately took interest. He shifted his gaze to appraise this unfamiliar monk, finding nothing praiseworthy in his appearance, figure, or attire—he looked like an utterly ordinary mortal. “Do you wear a penitential girdle? Or penitential garments?” The Emperor meant to ask if he was an ascetic.
Many monks, upon hearing they were to meet some high official, would carefully groom themselves, but not in the glamorous way people might imagine—clothing in the Byzantine Empire had stark class distinctions, from color to material to the type of jewels; anyone daring to overstep faced harsh punishment.
But to show Manuel I how pious they were, there were many methods. Generally, they would dress plainly and tie a penitential girdle close to the body—a leather strap embedded with iron thorns. Thus, with every step or bow, the thorns would pierce their skin, letting blood flow down their thighs.
Another method was penitential garments, coarse linen that, unlike iron thorns, did not immediately leave deep wounds but could harm delicate skin through prolonged friction.
To go further, they might even whip their own backs the night before and deliberately avoid treatment, letting blood soak their robes.
Manuel I had seen all these tricks, but when this monk simply shook his head and said, “No, I am just an ordinary monk,” the Emperor was even more disappointed. Though he knew most ascetics he encountered were artificially created, as an old man, he could not help yearning to meet a virtuous person, to ensure he would surely ascend to heaven and sit on the holy stairs beside the saints, bathed in God’s glory.
“You divined for them. What was the result?”
This direct question was rather aggressive and disrespectful, but Manuel I did not care about such details. The monk glanced at the two young men, especially that detestable green-eyed little rascal—his expression was quite peculiar: “I divined for the little girl first, and the result was that she would gain glory, and this glory would accompany her until her life’s final moment.”
Manuel I waved his hand boredly; he did not care about a little girl’s fate. “And then…” The monk paused. He saw the purple silk robes on Baldwin and Caesar and already knew that the boy who had once sought guidance for his mother had become the Guardian of Ayyarasa Road.
“What result?” the Emperor urged.
“At the time, I did not divine for the King of Ayyarasa Road; he was seeking a result for his mother. And the result I obtained was that his mother would have two sons: one son would bring her glory, and the other son would bring her even more.
“You mean the Countess of Jaffa?” the Emperor said, as if to himself. He knew of the Countess of Jaffa; after all, to marry his niece, Amalric I had gone to great lengths to dissolve his marriage to this lady first. How old was she now? Forty or fifty? And she could still bear a child?
Manuel I did not voice these thoughts aloud; after all, critiquing a noble woman, even for an Emperor, was somewhat too flippant. Instead, he pointed to Caesar: “Do you see? This child beside me is like a gemstone, like gold, like the sun itself. He is a brave knight who saved my life without regard for danger.
To repay this favor, I will marry my daughter to him. Now, look at his face. Has his destiny undergone a more profound change since last time? What kind of person will he become—illustrious? Noble? Will his life be long? How many children will he have?”
At this, whether the people of the Byzantine Empire or the Crusaders, all instinctively grew tense.
Especially those around the Emperor—no one knew better than they the conspiracies and struggles for inheritance rights in the Byzantine court, where fathers could harm sons, brothers could turn against each other, and sisters could slaughter one another.
Caesar had no blood relation to the Komnenos family, but was he not about to become Manuel I’s son-in-law?
Tiberius II had once passed the throne to his son-in-law Maurice; Anna had been stripped of her status as a legitimate child, but that status was just a word from the Emperor—if this monk, to curry favor with Manuel I, rashly uttered some vague prophecy, not only this marriage but even this Christian knight’s life could become a thorn in Manuel I’s heart.
The monk merely glanced over and revealed a smug expression. “It is you, green-eyed little rascal. How did that year go for you?”
Caesar gave a wry smile. “Very badly.”
“Then it was verified.” The monk said, then turned to the Emperor: “I made a prophecy for him, but to punish his disrespect toward a monk, I only divined what would happen to him in that one year—eggs rotting, fine wine turning sour, bedsheets crawling with fleas, hair full of lice, stumbling when mounting a horse, spraining an ankle while dancing, returning from the hunt empty-handed…”
People were greatly intrigued and asked for the reason—after hearing the monk’s grievance, even Manuel I showed a speechless expression. Baldwin and Caesar had been only nine then; though Caesar ordering the knights to tie up the monk, leaving only his mouth free to bob and poke on a wooden pole while dragged on the ground was indeed excessive, it was understandable.
“So did these prophecies come true?” the Emperor asked.
“In the following year, my father elevated Caesar and me to the position of escorts.” Baldwin said.
Everyone, especially the knights, grinned in understanding. Making boys of ten or so serve as escorts—even if princes or sons of dukes—adults would deliberately drive them to toil endlessly, exhaust them utterly, and skimp on food, clothing, housing, and travel—to temper their will, transforming carefree children into warriors as quickly as possible.
That year, Caesar had indeed suffered greatly.
Manuel I chuckled along with the crowd, but he did not forget his purpose: “Then today, you can properly divine for him,” he said with seeming kindness, “but do not hold a grudge against a child, and he has already been punished—use your exquisite calculations, sharp eyes, and wise mind to tell me if this star is steadily rising?”
The monk sat down. This time, he again used the somewhat cumbersome but precise hydromancy, silently calculating in his mind, observing the reflections on the water’s surface, then scattering them to observe anew.
No one spoke or laughed anymore; all waited. Moments later, the monk raised his head. He first looked at Caesar, then at Baldwin, and finally fixed his gaze on Manuel I. Such behavior, under normal circumstances, would suffice for Manuel I to have him dragged away and severely whipped.
But now Manuel I only hoped he would quickly state the result.
The Emperor believed his words credible, especially since the previous prophecy had been verified.
“You will encounter misfortune.”
The monk stood and strode straight toward Caesar. No one stopped him—perhaps because his appearance and demeanor now differed utterly from the affable figure before. He raised his gray eyes, his thin lips as if pronouncing a judgment from heaven: “I see, child, you will face a trial, an exceedingly harsh trial. And this trial will not come only once; like tree rings, they will span your entire life.
Your friends will weep for you, and your enemies will rejoice; you will face betrayal, much betrayal…”
He wanted to continue, but was stopped by Baldwin, who abruptly stood. “I do not believe it.” Baldwin said firmly, even stepping in front of Caesar to shield him from this malicious gaze: “I will bear all the open and covert arrows for him. I will protect him, give him power. I will not believe any accusations against him, nor issue any decree unfavorable to him.
I am the King of Ayyarasa Road, the Guardian of the Holy Sepulchre. No one shall trample my close friend and blood kin before my eyes.”
The monk was not angry but showed some approval. “Your courage and steadfastness are praiseworthy, but child, what is destiny? Destiny is that which cannot be defied, cannot be escaped, cannot be changed.
You are now a king—but you are ultimately a mortal. The time left to you is short, Your Majesty, truly short.”
Hearing this, the Crusaders present could no longer hold back and rose one after another. Regardless, Baldwin was their king and commander, and such an ominous prophecy should not fall upon this young monarch.
“Enough, all of you withdraw.”
Manuel I had witnessed a fine show, and the prophecies for both satisfied him greatly.
“Just the ravings of a monk.”
He instructed his eunuch: “Take this fool to the women, let him see Anna and cheer her up.”
The eunuch was as if granted amnesty; it was clear Manuel I’s mood had fully shifted from uncertain to good. He no longer feared execution by Manuel I.
He hurriedly summoned two other eunuchs and told them to take the monk to the women in the harem.
The monk remained silent along the way.
But he did not refuse Theodora’s request. The monk’s gaze swept over those faces—some pretty, some coquettish, some refined—and saw their futures: every one, without exception, would sink into the mire, as if entering hell ahead of time.
Amid this filth, the unfortunate Princess seemed shrouded in holy light, so beautiful and so pure—he softly spoke her future.
“White linen will bloom a red flower.”
Theodora had been smiling; she did not believe this monk could say anything earth-shattering. In the eyes of court nobles, monks peddling prophecies were little different from clowns.
They had little true learning, were unwilling to suffer, and said vague words to amuse nobles—never pinpointing when something would happen, mostly ambiguous phrases like the sun rising or moon setting, interpretable any way as correct.
She saw it only as light entertainment and had even decided how much money to give the monk.
When the monk said this, the image immediately leaped into everyone’s minds.
As the most favored by Manuel I, Theodora’s face changed; the girls around her immediately restrained their smiles and fell silent, while the eunuchs frowned at the monk. In such a scene, a mere charlatan would tremble in fear.
But the monk merely glanced casually at Theodora. “You will first be unfortunate, then fortunate.”
He said this simply, then turned to today’s protagonist: “White linen will bloom a red flower,” he repeated. “You will entwine passionately with your husband on the wedding bed.”
No sooner had the words fallen than Theodora laughed, and the others relaxed. Indeed, the words sounded inauspicious, but interpreted this way, it was merely a tale of romance.
While inwardly chiding the monk for his loose tongue, Theodora made a gesture; the eunuch beside her immediately understood the favored consort’s intent.
Though all knew the Princess still preserved her precious virginity, untouched by others, they also knew the scandals of the Byzantine court were already common dinner gossip.
As for whether a wife was chaste and its impact on her husband—Cyprus as dowry meant that even if she had married three husbands or been a prostitute, no one would refuse the marriage for that reason.
But from a woman’s standpoint, Theodora saw clearly: if Anna could give herself intact to this Crusader knight, at least in her final years, he could retain respect for her.
She turned to scold the giggling girls, missing the indifference in the monk’s eyes.
He was led out of the court by the clown, murmuring scripture softly as he passed the sumptuous palaces and fragrant flowerbeds.
