Chapter 20: Sibylla’s Humiliation
According to Amalric I’s plan, before Epiphany on January sixth, aside from the necessary celebrations, Holy Cross Castle would no longer hold any banquets, and everyone should devote their energy to the upcoming “Selection Ceremony.”
The castle was noticeably desolate, with dust flying in the square; in contrast, the increasingly frequent meditation, training, greatly increased quantities and quality of food, and the monks… they came incessantly before Baldwin and Caesar, praying for them, stroking their heads; some monks whispered encouragement, while others looked on with mercy.
From the robes they wore, it was clear they did not all come from churches or monasteries; a large portion were “priests” from the Knights, including Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, Knights Templar, and Knights Hospitaller, or from smaller knightly orders in the Holy Land, like the Knights of Saint Lazarus and the Knights of Domus.
They had only one thing in common—they were all “chosen people”; their prayers and touches possessed divine power, able to make Baldwin and Caesar stronger, more agile, and focused, especially the last one; each time they received the monks’ soothing, Heraclius would bring out an image of a saint, requiring them to stare at it intently while also pricking up their ears and listening with all their might.
He said: “Prayer during the ceremony is of course the most important, but daily accumulation cannot be overlooked; just as a frightened lamb will run toward the familiar shepherd in panic, the shepherd will also reach out to his own lamb amid hundreds and thousands of indistinguishable white fleeces.”
At this point, he looked toward Caesar; this was the greatest difficulty the child faced—he had forgotten everything of his past, and they could not glimpse his former life… they could not discern which saint he was more likely to attract, and what made Heraclius both laugh and cry was that this child was not so “pious” either; he only hoped that his previous asceticism, even if it could not move the saints, could at least convince mortals—if he was not chosen, people would only say that perhaps this was God’s trial and tempering for him, rather than the gemstone having an irreparable flaw.
Caesar was also hesitating; he was still uncertain, after all, in his previous world, there were no forces beyond science; Baldwin showed a worried expression—as the son of Amalric I, he had no reason to hesitate; his room always had an image of Saint George; usually, whatever saint the father sensed, the son also had a strong tendency to become a follower of that saint.
Heraclius sighed and placed three holy images before Caesar—Saint Blaise, Saint Mark, Saint Ambrose; these three were also carefully selected by the monks; after what had happened before, the more humble the saint Caesar sensed, the better; saints like Saint George, often chosen by kings, were definitely not suitable, and ones like the Pope or the Twelve Apostles were best avoided as well.
Saint Blaise was the bishop of Sebaste in Armenia; due to persecution, he had to flee into the mountains, where he tamed beasts as if tending a flock of sheep, singing hymns to them, grooming their fur, living with them like family—a woman’s pig was taken by a wolf, and the saint commanded the wolf to return the pig; a child’s throat was stuck with a fishbone, and he commanded the fishbone to come out on its own; all these miracles had been proven.
Saint Mark was one of the seventy disciples sent by Jesus to preach in Judea; it is said he once betrayed Jesus but later repented, becoming the assistant of Saint Peter and writing the famous 《Gospel of Mark》.
Saint Ambrose was the governor of Milan in the fourth century AD; it is said that before he took office, an angel disguised as a man said to him: “Manage the people as a bishop would, not as an ordinary governor.” The words proved prophetic; at the time, the people of Milan were quarreling fiercely over electing a bishop, and Saint Ambrose had to intervene to mediate, resulting in someone shouting, why not elect Ambrose as bishop?
The people thought about it, and this upright and gentle young man was indeed the perfect choice, so they elected him bishop.
This was not the reason Heraclius chose him—after this young governor underwent consecration and became bishop of Milan, he immediately gave all his furniture and money to the poor, donated his land and property to the Church, left only a small portion of money for his sister, and yielded his title to his younger brother.
This selfless act subtly matched Caesar’s previous good deeds; if he sensed Saint Ambrose, it was hard to say whether people might in the future regard Caesar as a disciple of this saint, which was far more reliable than guarantees from kings or bishops.
Heraclius was just about to give Caesar a hint when there was a knock at the door; outside stood an attendant saying the king needed to see him immediately; the monk had no choice but to leave the two children hurriedly, but soon another servant ran over and told Baldwin that there was no major issue at the king’s side—it was just that Sancerre Count Etienne, the envoy to the Holy Land from King of France Louis VII, had arrived at Jaffa and was preparing to enter the city; Duke of Antioch Bohemond had already gone to greet him on the orders of Amalric I.
“Hurry!” Baldwin grabbed Caesar’s hand. “Let’s go to the city wall!”
They ran out quickly, leaving the tower, crossing the bailey, passing through the inner city wall, to the twin towers on either side of the city gate… while waiting for the soldiers to open the tower gate for them, David was rushing over with another group of children—all people Baldwin knew well, his former companions and attendants—clearly they were also there to watch the spectacle.
In the 12th Century, when entertainment was generally restricted and despised, people had pitifully few outlets for fun, so asceticism, executions, and Mass could all be seen as rare performances, and a king, lord, or envoy on procession was likewise regarded as a rare encounter; if fortunate enough to witness it, an ordinary farmer could talk about it continuously for thirty or forty years, relishing every detail.
David and Baldwin only exchanged a brief glance before retreating as if they had touched hot coals; he lowered his eyes, breathing rapidly, not knowing what to say; fortunately, Baldwin raised his hand and pointed to the bridgehead on the other side. “You go there.”
Of course, there was no reason for a prince to yield to a minister’s son.
“I used to come here often with them—sometimes to greet my father, sometimes to enjoy the evening breeze.”
Baldwin held Caesar’s hand; he always wore gloves, so even gripping someone’s hand tightly lacked that intimate skin-to-skin contact and warmth transfer; yet Caesar could feel that hand trembling slightly—from the confirmed diagnosis of leprosy to today, only two or three months had passed… Baldwin could not possibly not miss his friends…
He pulled his hand away and, in Baldwin’s somewhat incredulous gaze, put his arm around his shoulders.
“Look, they’re coming.”
The envoy to the Holy Land’s procession was indeed impressive.
Along the way, there were about several hundred people in a grand procession. At the very front, and following along both sides of the procession, were ragged pilgrims; upon seeing such nobles, they would immediately come forward to beg; the pilgrims at the front cleared the path and swept the ground, while those on the sides shouted, boasted, and praised—this practice dated back to Ancient Rome, only then it was clients and slaves following the litters, not pilgrims.
Walking around these pilgrims were some mercenaries; the mercenaries held clubs, ready to drive away rogues and ill-intentioned people who approached the procession too closely, whether intentionally or not; further in were this envoy’s and the Duke of Antioch’s escorts and servants, as well as monks; they held their heads high proudly, raising crosses, relics, and flags—you could see Charlemagne’s golden flame banner here, the Capetian dynasty’s blue-ground golden fleur-de-lis crown flag, Blois’s wall banner, and the matching great coat of arms—these shield-sized coats of arms were carried on the attendants’ arms, their vivid pigments clear at a glance in the sunset light.
Between the coats of arms and flags was a band of about seven or eight musicians; the musicians beat drums, blew flutes and horns, while clowns in colorful clothes ran about among them.
The knights wore armor and splendid robes; their horses were no less magnificent, like four-legged peacocks; surrounded by them in the center were, of course, the familiar Duke of Antioch Bohemond, and today’s most important guest, the envoy of King of France Louis VII, Sancerre Count Etienne.
From afar, Sancerre Count Etienne’s figure resembled Bohemond’s—tall and lean; when speaking with Bohemond, he leaned slightly forward, occasionally making deferential gestures, looking more like a scholar than a knight, but if you thought he was truly that gentle and refined good person, you would be greatly mistaken.
This count sir was not only bold but also quite valiant.
“You say he stole someone else’s wife?!”
“Can’t put it that way; this marriage didn’t go through to the end.” Baldwin was a bit embarrassed talking about it, but he really wanted to share the gossip with his little friend—he had also been dumbfounded and incredulous when he first heard about it.
How to put it: this sir was the third son of the Count of Blois; we all know that under Salic law, the eldest son gets everything, the second son is just a spare, and the third son… even if Blois was an ancient great family, after his father Theobald IV died, Etienne as the youngest only got the worst and smallest territory, Sancerre.
But at the time he was in love with the daughter of a neighboring lord, Adelaide, yet Adelaide had long been betrothed to another lord, Anslo II—if it were anyone else, they could only sigh and give up quietly, but not our Sir Etienne!
He burst into the church where the wedding was being held, forcibly took away the bride, brought her back to his territory, married her immediately, and announced it publicly.
Anslo II was furious, but since they were both subjects of the King of France and could not wage private war at will, he appealed to Louis VII; Louis VII summoned the patriarch of the Blois family, Etienne’s eldest brother the Count of Champagne… the Count of Champagne had no way to deal with this younger brother either, so he joined Louis VII and Anslo II in attacking Sancerre.
If they had won, people would surely mock Sancerre Count Etienne’s foolishness, but the problem was… they actually failed to take it!
In the end, the Papacy mediated: “Since the marriage has already been consummated,” why waste the knights’ blood and the king’s gold coins here in vain; Louis VII was of course delighted, the Count of Champagne was not too willing to attack his own brother, and Anslo II was of course unwilling, but if it were just him, he could not bear such heavy expenditure; the matter was thus left unsettled.
This happened when he was twenty; now this sir was thirty-seven, but he still looked very young; though lean, it was clear he had never slackened in pursuing martial arts.
By now Baldwin and Caesar could clearly see his face; Sancerre Count had a somewhat unhealthily grayish-white complexion, but red lips, bright eyes, thick and fluffy hair; he wore a deep red velvet doublet, a gemstone-blue cloak, and a silver belt; though not much different from current noble attire, he looked exceptionally relaxed and elegant, debonair.
At the same time, Sancerre Count also sensed the gaze from above; he looked up and saw Baldwin in white robes, immediately guessing he was the only son of the King of Ayyarasa Road, said to have unfortunately contracted leprosy; the count was slightly taken aback—after all, in his impression, even if not driven out of the city, lepers would hide themselves in their rooms, as people’s fearful and disgusted gazes were as piercing as knives.
But he was only stunned for that brief moment, then lowered his head and saluted from horseback with hand to chest.
Caesar heard Baldwin sigh softly; there was not much sorrow in it, but rather a sense of relief—in the time before being found to have leprosy, Baldwin had been as naughty and energetic as any boy; climbing to the crenellations in the evening breeze to gaze into the distance should have been something they did every few days, but since… then, Baldwin seemed to prefer staying alone in his room; Caesar could understand, but seeing Baldwin no longer isolating himself and not facing setback on his first try…
It was truly wonderful.
_______
“He saluted Baldwin?”
“Yes,” the handmaid said while gently combing Princess Sibylla’s long hair with a gold comb. “He seems like a humble good person.”
“And very generous; he tossed several pounds of Francia copper coins to those pilgrims.” Another handmaid brought a hennin; this hennin was even more exquisite than the one Caesar first saw the princess in, with not one but several layers of white veils hanging from the top, cascading down like snowfalls on mountains, but Sibylla only glanced at it. “No, not this today; bring the headscarf.”
The headscarf she meant was a wimple; simply put, it was white linen cloth covering the hair and neck, exposing only the face; unmarried girls could wear a flower crown, while a king’s daughter like Sibylla could wear a crown; Sibylla’s crown was simple in style, with sapphires only at the top of the cross.
The handmaids exchanged glances behind Sibylla; they had heard of his “reputation” before this envoy to the Holy Land arrived at Jaffa, and that his wife had died, making him a widower now—his age was just right, and his status suitable; Louis VII had sent him to the Holy City for no reason, perhaps intending him to become Sibylla’s husband.
