Chapter 221: Banquet
“Ah, I know about this matter.” Geoffrey raised his wine cup, covering his lips, and leaned close to Walter, whispering, “They did give me some small gifts. Did you receive any too?”
Walter nodded and grunted, “They hope the Knights Templar will support that girl they want to use in place of Damara.” The Templar Knight sneered, “Of course, I also received good hospitality from that noble lady’s brother.”
But these guys truly underestimated them. Like Geoffrey, whether it was bribery or bribes, or even just the ‘small gifts’ as they called them, they accepted them all without refusal, but to expect such things to move them and make them speak up for the Gerard family girl was simply wishful thinking.
If it had been the Gerard family patriarch coming to request they speak for his daughter Damara, seeking the possibility of concluding this marriage, they might actually have tried.
In any case, they had fought side by side countless times with Damara’s father—despite the Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller often clashing sharply on Ayyarasa Road, on the battlefield they were inseparable comrades-in-arms; when one left the battlefield, the other could not stand idly by.
Moreover, the Gerard family patriarch truly lived up to people’s expectations of him. Saint Joseph had granted him loyalty and steadiness like a craftsman, and compared to other noble ladies, Damara was often kept by her father’s side. They had seen this petite, strong girl more than once and felt some affection for her.
As for that marriage candidate inexplicably pushed forward by the other members of the Gerard family, they had absolutely no impression of her at all. Why would they be willing to expend their own favor to speak for her?
“Besides, I’ve heard some very bad rumors.”
Geoffrey said, “That girl has a pair of brothers who are very good at causing trouble. Back on Ayyarasa Road, I heard they had done quite a few vicious things, to the point that even the Knights Hospitaller refused their joining.”
“Not the eldest son?”
“The second and youngest sons. I admit that in a family, the second and youngest sons do have it pretty tough, but that’s no reason for them to act recklessly.
Regardless of others, our wandering knight Longinus isn’t he now the acting lord of Bethlehem? If they had any redeeming qualities, with their surname and the Gerard family’s ties to the Knights Hospitaller, they should long ago have secured a place for themselves in Holy Cross Castle.”
“Have they ever been selected?”
“The second son was selected, the youngest wasn’t, but I see they don’t seem to have any intention of going to the battlefield either. They want to go to the king’s side, enjoy flattery in the court, rather than fight the Saracens to the death.”
“That makes them seem not even as good as Abigail.”
Geoffrey nodded. Indeed, after taking personal rule, the most urgent matter Baldwin IV had prepared was the next expedition.
Abigail and the princess had not yet welcomed a second child, but he had said he hoped to campaign alongside the king.
“He should know better by now,” Walter said contemptuously. “His father has been extremely busy lately and hasn’t had time to deal with him. But if he frees up a hand, he certainly won’t mind giving that boy another good lesson. Besides wanting to go to the battlefield, what else has he done?”
“How would I know?” Geoffrey glared at Walter. He was the inspector of the Knights Templar, not the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. Besides, Abigail and Princess Sibylla were far away in Nalessa, quite a distance from Ayyarasa Road.
“By the way, you said earlier the Gerard family seems to have some issue?”
Walter responded, “A family like that is bound to have troubles.”
Geoffrey looked at him suspiciously. Caesar was a grateful good child, but those people had half-forced and half-persuaded Abbot John to write that letter—this favor should have been used for something more important.
“You don’t know something, do you?”
“What could I know?” Walter turned his gaze with interest to the group sitting in the back—they were exactly the group that Cypriot noble had mentioned earlier, the ones in the worst and best position.
They were the informed ones, but in the end they stood in a neutral and watchful position, neither informing nor fanning the flames. For that, they had already paid a heavy price, but after most were exiled or arrested, the members who luckily received mercy still decided to stay.
And their dining table, though near the great hall door—the worst spot—was still better than those who couldn’t get in. Their table was likewise laid with shiny olives, emerald-green lettuce, fluffy pita bread—stuffed full of minced meat.
But no one touched these things; even the sauces remained intact.
These people’s clothing was also dull black and gray, almost able to rival their lord Caesar’s. Among them, the eldest one kept looking toward the main table, his face anxious, teeth clenched, the tensed muscles clear even to Geoffrey at a distance.
“I think you’d better not let things get too big.”
Walter stuffed a bulging pita bread into his mouth. “In my view, this matter isn’t that big. I’m just curious what decision he’ll ultimately make—on this, he might not be able to satisfy everyone.”
He looked toward Caesar, who was leaning over speaking to his sister. “He should learn what it means to make trade-offs.”
Geoffrey wanted to say more, but Walter was already focused on attacking the newly served dishes—creamy goat cheese, smoked pork loin, pepper sausage, lamb skewers, stewed rabbit…
And at this point, Geoffrey could no longer see that group of Cypriots—a ship had entered the great hall.
This was of course not a real ship, but a model of a galley, not small either, about big enough for two or three people, ten feet or so from bow to stern.
At the bow sat a clown dressed as a minstrel. The ship held barrel after barrel of fine wine, and at the stern sat two sailors forcefully pushing this wooden boat with wooden oars—the wooden boat couldn’t of course move on the stone slabs; its movement relied on the rows of wheels beneath it.
This wooden boat weaved in and out among the dining tables. The fine brews in the barrels ranged from wine and mead to distilled spirits. Just as people extended their cups, the clown at the bow hung from the raised prow, performing all sorts of comical actions that made people laugh at first sight.
When the ship reached the main table, the clown agilely leaped down from the bow, ducked into the cabin, stuck out his rear in a showy search, then with the sailors’ help hauled out a large box. They opened the box, and on a velvet base was a real golden ship, about as long as an adult man’s outstretched arm.
As the two sailors held up this new ship, the clown jumped onto a wine barrel and nimbly raised the originally folded-down mast. As the mast rose, it revealed a dazzle of gems; the sail was made of deep purple woven silk hung with countless gemstones and pearls.
Not only that, the ship was piled with precious spices, and at the very top was a small cup carved from ivory—this was a gift from the Venetians to Caesar.
Caesar took the small wine cup and drained the wine inside. Only then did people raise cheers and laughter, looking enviously as the sailors placed the golden ship on the main table.
The Byzantine envoy’s face changed slightly. Clearly, they hadn’t expected Venice to present their gift at this moment. They had brought gifts too, but out of the monarch’s dignity, they didn’t want to bow and scrape before this once low-status knight in front of everyone. But now the arrow was on the string and had to be loosed.
After a brief discussion, they glanced at the Byzantine Princess at the main table, and she nodded slightly.
Soon, the great hall doors were pushed open again, but this time four black-skinned Ethiopian slaves entered, each tall and muscular, carrying on their shoulders a silver-plated tray nearly the size of a bed, covered with purple silk piled high with flowers and all sorts of fresh fruits—pomegranates, grapes, peaches, pears, apricots…
People kept exclaiming—was it because of these sweet, rare fruits?
Of course not.
Amid the flowers and fruits, a huge relief sculpture appeared before everyone’s eyes. Its frame was pure gold, inlaid with rubies and sapphires, the gem settings shaped like eight-pointed stars spaced with small birds.
Within the golden frame was a massive agate relief, and due to its special content, it was immediately recognized.
“This is Constantine I’s triumphal commemorative relief!”
A scholar cried out in surprise, and those around immediately asked him—naturally, they could see this agate relief was extremely valuable. Did it have some other significance?
Of course. This was specially commissioned by the Roman senate in AD 350 to celebrate Constantine the Great’s great victory. The relief depicted Emperor Constantine the Great with his mother, wife, and eldest son seated in a two-wheeled carriage pulled by two centaurs, the centaurs trampling his enemies underfoot.
The goddess of victory flew in the air, placing a laurel wreath on this great monarch.
This gift could no longer be called merely precious; it was extremely symbolic.
Every person here, whether Frankish knights or Byzantine nobles—who didn’t want to be the next Constantine the Great? This omen couldn’t be better, instantly overshadowing the golden ship from the Venetians.
The Venetians’ faces darkened as expected, but there were people even more anxious than them.
The Gerard family group—they hadn’t expected these two envoy teams to show such undignified respect to this new lord. Though they too hoped Caesar’s second wife would be a Gerard family girl, they hadn’t thought to prepare a gift matching Caesar’s current status and position.
“Perhaps they still think Abbot John’s favor can be used again,” Walter said mockingly. “When I return to Ayyarasa Road, I’ll definitely go see how thick Abbot John’s skin is—peel off one layer, and there’s another.”
He sarcastically remarked without hiding it, then tilted his head slightly. “Look, the show is starting.”
After the fried and grilled fish arrived, most guests had fallen into the comfort of satiety and slight inebriation. The Cypriots by the great hall door seemed finally to have made a decision.
The eldest among them stepped out. People at first thought he would go to other dining tables to toast familiar friends or Crusader knights, but his steps didn’t stop, passing over a dozen dining tables from one end of the great hall to the other.
When he was only about ten feet from the main table, the Gerard family members facing it changed color abruptly. Clearly, they had recognized this Cypriot’s identity. A knight agilely jumped over a dining table, seemingly to grab him, but the other just swayed slightly and passed by. The knight reached out but could only withdraw helplessly.
Because Caesar had already seen him.
Caesar saw this Cypriot; he remembered this face and nodded. “Do you have some matter?”
The Cypriot bowed deeply to him. Just as Caesar leaned forward to hear what he would say, the Cypriot decisively turned toward the Gerard family dining table.
Because Caesar remembered Abbot John and the Gerard family’s help to him, he had seated them at the main guest table, right below the main table facing the hall, so the Gerard family couldn’t even cover or evade. They were thus nakedly exposed under everyone’s gaze.
The Cypriot threw open his cloak. At such banquets, knights were allowed weapons; heavy ones like war hammers or long swords had to be left outside the great hall, but everyone could carry a short sword and dagger.
What he drew out was not a weapon, but a pair of chainmail gloves. He gripped them tightly as if clutching an enemy’s throat, then raised them high for all to see, before hurling them forcefully.
The heavy chainmail gloves crashed into the large silver platter holding the fish, splashing oil everywhere, covering those few in filth from head to face. They stood up in shock and anger.
But to Geoffrey, their reaction seemed more shock than anger.
“I thought we had settled this!” a Gerard family member shouted.
The Gerard family patriarch whipped his head to look at that kinsman, with such force it seemed his neck might snap. His eyes bulged, realizing these relatives had done things behind his back beyond what he knew.
When he learned these kinsmen wanted another Gerard girl to enter the Governor’s Palace, he hesitated but didn’t stop them.
His refusal of Caesar’s marriage to Damara was partly selfish; he never thought someone like Caesar was a suitable match and didn’t want Damara to stay in this crisis-ridden holy land.
On the other hand, as Damara had said, how could an elder knight not see what a girl could?
He knew his family wasn’t satisfied with what Caesar had given them now; they wanted more. But now it seemed they weren’t about to get more—they might already have gotten more.
The battle-hardened old knight instantly lost all color from his face and lips. He knew the most important thing now was to quash this storm invisibly, but they were under the lord’s gaze, and the other had thrown down the gauntlet by shouting his cousin’s name and swearing a duel.
“I know our lord does not wish to see duels over a word, a laugh, or an empty promise, spilling life and blood needlessly in vain glory,” the Cypriot said. “But I come today to make the villains who harmed the innocent pay the price.”
The crowd reacted variously. When the Crusaders took Ayyarasa Road, almost no heathen residents of the Holy City escaped.
Some said the blood flowing in the Holy City those days was swifter than the Euphrates River, churches, holy images, crosses shrouded in deathly filth, no longer holy as before.
In the subsequent sieges and plunders, the Crusaders showed they had little mercy for those of different faith.
This was why Caesar was devilishly feared among Cypriot nobles, yet commoners on Cyprus held some goodwill toward him. He yielded his spoils of war to the Crusaders to satisfy their thirst for money and impulses of desire, sparing the Cypriot commoners heavy harm and disturbance.
Even those families—after paying the due price, as long as they didn’t plot further rebellion, even harboring hatred, their lives wouldn’t be affected.
“I ask you for that,” the Cypriot turned to earnestly plead with Caesar. “Please allow me to fight these detestable jackals. I swear to you, my hatred for them is not built on undermining your rightful claims to Cyprus. On the contrary, it is precisely because their actions violate your law and stain your reputation that I must duel them.”
Caesar slowly set down his wine cup and stood. “State your reason.”
“Just seven days ago, these men abducted my daughter on the street and inhumanely took turns ravaging her. They locked her in their room for their pleasure. When my son learned of it, he angrily went to find them and demand my daughter back. They pretended to agree but led my son and his friends into the courtyard, then called soldiers to kill them while off guard.”
His voice echoed in the suddenly silent hall. The musicians playing music had stilled their strings and drums. The clown tiptoed quietly into the crowd. Even the dogs shuttling under the dining tables stopped sleeping and lay quietly. Everyone could feel a massive anger bursting from the lord.
Caesar’s anger rarely erupted like surging lava; it was more like a hidden undersea current, subtle and fine-seeming, yet chilling you to the bone upon contact, stiffening your whole body.
This current was sweeping the entire great hall. The Gerard family, first in its path, instinctively shrank behind their patriarch, as if using the old man’s suddenly hunched frame to dodge the lord’s gaze.
“Do you have witnesses or evidence?”
“Yes.” The Cypriot answered straightforwardly. “They didn’t conceal their crime and don’t care about our accusations. He loaded my son’s and his friends’ corpses onto a carriage, delivered to our mansion, dumped before me—along with my daughter, bound and sent back on a sedan chair. She was barely breathing and died that very night at home.”
Why could these people act so brazenly? Everyone present knew full well. Some couldn’t help glancing at the lord, wondering what judgment this Crusader knight would give—would he grant this grieving father’s duel request?
Or dismiss his evidence, exhibits, and witnesses as a sinner’s slander? Like past Crusaders, sheltering their own under their wings?
Caesar said nothing, just extended his hand pointing to the Gerard family dining table. The Gerard family patriarch stepped out, bowed deeply to his lord, then stepped aside, exposing the named sinners to the crowd.
They were exactly the brothers of that girl who had replaced Damara in seeking to become Caesar’s wife. They were somewhat panicked, but more outraged, with little fear.
They thought like most there: even if not unscathed, they’d face some punishment—for disrupting island order. But such punishment could be redeemed with confession and gold coins. Their worst imagined outcome was a reprimand followed by expulsion.
“Is it them?”
“Yes.” The Cypriot instantly recognized those swaggering knights. They had dumped his son’s corpse before him—even in hell, he wouldn’t forget these faces.
As for the others, he believed that if he killed this pair of brothers in the duel, those who followed them wouldn’t fare well either.
Caesar summoned the witnesses. They weren’t just the noble’s family or friends; some were mere street residents who, out of justice or mercy, were willing to testify for the poor girl and her brothers. But nearly all were Cypriots.
They carefully described that day’s events. These two beasts had scarcely concealed their evil deeds.
How they spotted the beautiful girl, pestered her relentlessly, and after her stern rebuke called her a sinner’s daughter and treated her like a prostitute. They beat her attendant to the ground, then took her away.
They watched her dragged into that house, then hurried to notify her father and brothers. The father was at the docks and didn’t return home in time.
So only the girl’s brothers gathered friends to rescue their sister, but not only failed, they all lost their lives.
Though they hadn’t seen the whole process, they saw how the girl’s brothers entered that house and were dragged out bloodied.
They brought evidence: the girl’s and her brothers’ bloodied clothes, ornaments the killers carelessly dropped on the street during the struggle, even a fragment of Gerard family surcoat clutched in a fist, discovered while preparing the dead.
These items reeked not just of death but had rotted and stunk in the hot weather. Yet Caesar showed no disgust, even personally examining all the evidence carefully, eyes downcast, face calm.
The Cypriot clenched his fists involuntarily; they awaited his judgment.
“No, I cannot grant you this. This matter cannot be grounds for a duel.”
