Chapter 227: Followers
The old knight smiled as he looked at his old comrade. He was old, and his escort was not much younger.
The escort’s background was not prominent; he was not even the son of a knight. His father was merely a blacksmith in the castle who unexpectedly captured a Knight Master during a territory battle. When he handed the Knight Master over to his own master, the master asked what kind of reward he wanted—a wooden house, or a field?
After much deliberation, the blacksmith sought a servant’s job for his eldest son. Thus, he came to the old knight’s side. Of course, the old knight was very young at that time—they hunted together, fought in wars together, married and had children together. Then, when the Pope called for the formation of the Crusaders, the old knight threw himself into it without hesitation, and his most loyal servant immediately decided to follow him all the way to the Holy Land.
“I remember your son wrote last time saying you already have a great-grandson.” The knight said, “If possible, I’ll give you some money, and when the next ship comes, you can go back with it.”
These words were spoken with deep sincerity, yet they left the old escort dumbfounded. He nearly wailed, “What are you saying, master! I’m sticking with you. We’ve been to so many battlefields together, with the scythe of Death swinging fiercely over our heads—and I never left you then. Now you’re just casually sending me away?”
“You should know I mean it sincerely.” The old knight said, but the escort, upon hearing this, felt not reassured but humiliated: “Do you mean that I’m advising you not to serve that young man for my own sake? I admit, if you were willing to put away your sword, mount your horse, board a sailing ship, and head back to our castle all the way.
Of course I’d be delighted. We’d return to the castle together and spend the last years of our lives by the fireplace.
But if you only want to stay here and exhaust your last bit of strength and blood for God, my lord, when your stone coffin is sent into the tomb, I swear your old Brown will certainly follow closely by your side, to heaven or to hell together.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“My lord, I’ve heard about that one—we’ve seen many such young men in the castles of counts, grand dukes, even kings. They are naive, pure, full of vigor, always thinking there’s no problem in this world they can’t solve, no conspiracy they can’t see through. Such temperament is certainly admirable, but it always makes them take some hard falls in real life.” He glanced at his master, “Just like you.”
In fact, with the grace bestowed upon the old knight by the saint, his performance on the battlefield, and his loyalty to his lord, he should long ago have had a place in some court. Yet he remained obscure—why?
It was precisely because his master had a stubborn streak that worried people.
The favor he remembered was nothing more than being captured after his horse stumbled in a war against the Saracens. Joscelin II ransomed him back with a hundred gold coins. From then on, he swore to fight for Joscelin II until his last breath. But at that time, how many knights had Joscelin II ransomed back besides him? Hundreds had made oaths, but their vows vanished without a trace after Joscelin II himself became a Saracen captive.
Knights who had once sparred with him in martial arts tournaments, even those defeated by him, had become hot favorites in courts, while this old knight was still just a knight.
But low status has its advantages（ Compared to those prominent big shots）, he certainly had no close friends, but also no vicious enemies. Though he couldn’t return with gold and silver and power like others, he could still live out his old age peacefully in his own castle.
But that Young Count was different. His greatest weakness was that he was too young, and—what was unclear whether it was God’s grace or the devil’s prank—he had risen to a position unimaginable for ordinary people in just a few short years. For those who had to look up to him, his current position was certainly enviable. But likewise, if he fell from that height, the suffering would absolutely not be comparable to those who only suffered minor setbacks.
He worried that if his master stubbornly insisted on becoming the Young Count’s subject, he would suffer along with him. And also… if that young man had the common flaw of people their age—arrogance and autocracy—a knight who was older and had once followed his grandfather Joscelin II might not be a good choice for a subject. He guaranteed the old knight would constantly give the young man guidance and admonitions…
So he persistently begged his master to leave Cyprus, leave the Holy Land, and return to their castle. Though their territory was small and poor, it was more than enough to support an aging knight and his escort.
“But don’t you want to see it?” The old knight countered, “If he were a figure like Joscelin II, I might leave. After all, a knight who has lost his edge and can no longer establish feats on the battlefield is not what such a lord needs.
But even the former Joscelin II—no, even Godfrey of Bouillon, hailed as ‘the most pious’—never insisted so much. He would still show tolerance to knights who committed crimes.
Judging by our little heir’s past behavior, he is not a foolish, ascetic-like figure. He knows what he is doing and knows he will lose the support of many knights because of his stubbornness.”
“I really can’t see any benefit in this.” The escort said.
The old knight laughed. “He reminds me of those martyrs—not for money, not for titles, not for territory. They gain nothing, yet they do extremely difficult work. Many give up after realizing this, but if it succeeds…”
He paused, then posed a seemingly unrelated question to his escort: “We’ve fought many battles together, so let me ask you: among the people we faced on the battlefield—refugees, bandits turned from refugees, jackal-like mercenaries, tiger-like other lords and their knights from other territories, and after we came to the Holy Land, the devil-like Saracens—which were the most ferocious, the most chilling to you?”
The escort thought seriously for a moment and answered, “Of course, those heathens.”
“And our knights. Though our faiths differ, the power of faith is the strongest and purest; it is almost uninfluenced by any external conditions.” The old knight said, “People say that child is not pious. I think he is extremely pious—no one is more pious than him. It’s just that his piety is not the superficial kind promoted by priests, but the purest kind from hundreds of years ago, a belief as bright as snow-white lightning.
Humility, honor, sacrifice, bravery, mercy, holiness, honesty, and justice.” He recited them, “How many knights today can still abide by the oaths they swore to God? Too few. But you have to admit that those who can are welcome guests at every lord’s table.
Even if they displease the king or go against his will, in the end, it is not they who admit error, but those lofty monarchs. They are the true embodiments of the grace of saints and even God in the world, far surpassing those hypocritical Cardinals.
Look at the people of Ayyarasa Road; they call our Young Count the Little Saint. If he were only doing it for himself or his king, that honor would suffice.
But his purpose goes beyond that. He wants to gather knights who share his ideals, beliefs, and persistence by his side.” He looked at the escort, now speechless, and let out a low, hearty laugh. “My poor old comrade, don’t you understand yet? I want to stay here precisely because I’m old, have lost my youth and ambition, but I still have my faith. No one who still loves God and the world He created would abandon the opportunity to witness this holy relic firsthand.”
“But… my lord, what if he ultimately perishes young?”
“Even if he perishes young. As long as I live, I will record his story and bring it back to our castle. I will make our children and grandchildren recite his story, planting new seeds in people’s hearts. Perhaps one day, a Little Saint will emerge among them.”
“What a beautiful expectation.” The escort said softly, making the sign of the cross on his chest.
————
This day was quite busy for Caesar. Those three parties who openly dueled and fought in the square had all been detained in his prison.
The priests from Rome were still protesting—claiming they should not be tried by a secular court. But soon, several high-ranking clergy arrived from Ayyarasa Road, bringing a personal letter and authorization from Patriarch Heraclius of Ayyarasa Road. He authorized one of the senior clergy to act as judge in the religious court to try this band of lawless thugs.
The priests fell silent at once. They really shouldn’t have forgotten that though the Lord of Cyprus was a secular man, he was a student of Patriarch Heraclius of Ayyarasa Road—a fact publicized even before his identity was confirmed. Indeed, if he had not been chosen by Michael to become a knight and been recognized as the legitimate son of Count Jocelin III of Edessa, inheriting his title, he might now be in the Church and eventually inherit the patriarch’s mantle.
The priests of the Roman Church could certainly scorn the people of the Byzantine Empire and their so-called princess, and refuse to recognize the Byzantine Empire’s grant of the title “autocratic monarch” to Caesar. But before Patriarch Heraclius of Ayyarasa Road, they were merely insignificant small fry.
In the prison, they exchanged uneasy glances with those officials of the Byzantine Empire, days dragging like years. They trembled, chilled to the bone, fearing this young lord would hang them one by one on the wooden frame to assert his authority. At this moment, these arrogant little men began to regret and fear. Yes, this lord could hang priests of the Byzantine Empire—could he not hang priests of the Roman Church?
And even if the Pope far away in Rome were to rage and punish for it, so what? By then, they would already be dead.
As for those Venetians, the place they were held was not far from that group of officials and priests.
But compared to those fools, the leading Venetian had calmed down. He was, after all, a man valued by the Governor and did not believe such a coincidence could exist in the world. Just on this day, a merchant arrived with exactly the goods they most wanted, and the meeting was set for such an early time, at the noisiest market outside the Governor’s Palace.
And they so coincidentally ran into the conflict between those two groups.
He recalled the young man who had urged him to try to quell the disturbance, noting he was not among their group. He carefully recalled the young man’s face and family name—that young man’s family did indeed lean toward the Doge of Venice.
But likewise, he was quite close to that cunning old Dandolo.
He immediately guessed they had been used and framed by others. But saying so now was useless. He didn’t even tell his companions this suspicion. When some couldn’t help crying, he even scolded them, then softly reassured: “Don’t worry, we are Venetians after all.”
If Dandolo didn’t want to completely fall out with the Governor, their lives should be safe.
He guessed correctly.
Caesar hadn’t expected that the gift Boccia spoke of giving him was this matter.
Though he had chosen Boccia, the niece of the Doge of Venice, how to respond to the other two suitor parties was still a dilemma.
The Byzantine Empire side was manageable; no matter what, the Emperor wouldn’t press too hard. Though Anna was dead, he still held the title of Caesar’s father-in-law. Unfortunately, Anna and Caesar had no children, so he couldn’t kill Caesar and then regain Cyprus under the pretext of regency for his grandson.
He and his heirs would inevitably try every means to reclaim Cyprus into the Byzantine Empire’s fold, but the distance between the Byzantine Empire and Cyprus meant they didn’t need to be so urgent.
In contrast, the distance between Rome and Cyprus was truly too far. Even the Pope couldn’t extend his tentacles that long. And for Alexander III, letting his “niece”—that is, illegitimate daughter—marry Caesar was already quite a condescension.
Illegitimate children in this era and the entire Christian world had no inheritance rights, but status levels were comparative. They were certainly below their father’s or mother’s legitimate children, but absolutely above people of lower status than their father or mother.
Like a king’s illegitimate son, who could very well become a duke or prince, even a regent while the legitimate sons were still young. Their illegitimate daughters could likewise receive titles and marry people favored by kings or the Pope—usually dukes or marquises, or even grand dukes from other countries.
The Pope’s niece had once scornfully called Caesar a landless count, which seemed reasonable to Christians. Thus, to refuse this marriage, Caesar would inevitably face the Pope’s wrath directly. And if those priests were shameless enough, he could hardly brush it off with an ordinary excuse.
Boccia’s maneuver made this matter much simpler.
In any case, Caesar was now the master of this Cyprus. These suitors were all outsiders. Outsiders enjoyed the rights of guests here, but also had to fulfill guests’ duties. The most important of which was not to touch the host’s reverse scale. If these were Cypriots, Caesar would sentence them to imprisonment or whipping. Now, he exceptionally showed mercy by simply expelling them all.
If the Emperor of the Byzantine Empire and the Pope of Rome still wished to pursue the marriage, they would send new envoy teams, but that would certainly take time—at least longer than a third suitor team.
Boccia had already told Caesar he could drive all these Venetians away. The other team led by her grandfather Dandolo was waiting on Crete（an island between Italy and Cyprus）. Once her pigeon flew back to her grandfather, he would immediately lead people over. Boccia specially reminded that the dowry her grandfather prepared for her would only be more, not less.
That afternoon, as an attendant by Caesar’s side worriedly told him some knights were dissatisfied because he imprisoned the priests, another group arrived at his Governor’s Palace.
Leading them was that old knight who had once followed Joscelin II. He brought fifteen knights, along with their escorts and armed attendants—a total of nearly one hundred fifty men. This completely surprised Caesar.
This old knight could not actually be called obscure. Though he never boasted of his feats before kings nor displayed his piety before bishops, he had always enjoyed great renown among knights.
In 1144, when Edessa fell to the Saracens, Count Joscelin II was fighting outside. During that time, the old knight stuck closely to him. After Joscelin II became a Saracen prisoner in 1150, this loyal man never gave up hope of rescuing and ransoming his master. Even after Joscelin II’s widow sold Edessa to the Emperor of the Byzantine Empire at a very low price, though he refused the Emperor’s recruitment, he still led the surviving knights of Edessa to continue fighting the Saracens.
For this, he sold all his property, keeping only horses and armor. Every knight who had fought in Edessa knew him. Some even suggested he found a Knights order, like the former Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller, but the old knight ultimately rejected the proposal.
He thought that if he founded a Knights order, it would be an awkward situation when his master Joscelin II returned. But in the end, he never waited for Joscelin II, nor for Joscelin II’s son Jocelin III…
He now came before Caesar, knelt to him, and once again swore eternal loyalty.
Then, he introduced the group of knights behind him one by one. They looked unremarkable—armor not shiny enough, robes tattered—but in loyalty, no one surpassed them. They were the same as the old knight: after the fall of the County of Edessa, they persisted in fighting the Saracens. They too had sold all their worldly possessions to fulfill the oaths sworn before God.
They were no longer young, bearing incurable chronic ailments and disabilities, but undoubtedly, they were the subjects Caesar needed most now.
These knights also brought some worry and doubt. They had previously been recruited by some lords and kings, but people in those courts whispered and sneered at their appearance upon seeing them. High-ranking people who knew their name but had never met them also showed disappointment upon seeing them.
Knights orders had recruited them too, but no Knights order anymore had the purity and resolve of a century ago. After a short time, they found it unbearable and left.
It could be said that without Caesar, they might have quietly vanished into the endless sands like those who refused to yield to temptation, ultimately lost to unknown history.
They didn’t put much stock in Caesar’s promises to newly equip them with armor, swords, horses, and grant fiefs. What surprised these knights was that after settling in the Governor’s Palace, Caesar held a small welcome banquet for them.
It was called small because it was only them and Caesar.
At first, they thought their Young Count had some ulterior motive, only to realize it was because their new lord could only cook for that many people.
The old knight and the other fifteen knights all received Caesar’s personal hospitality—truly personal. Caesar made them marinated olives, roasted lamb, stir-fried shrimp, grilled octopus, abalone soup, and honey balls（similar to cream puffs）. These knights had long tasted the ups and downs of life and thought no dish or two could move them.
But in fact, they accepted everything brought before them—fruits, vegetables, meat, desserts—they devoured it all clean and kept urging the servants for more. Some knights even gave up further drinking wine—Caesar’s wine was fine vintage, of course—but at this point, if they drank too much, they wouldn’t have stomach room for these delicious foods.
Finally, they returned to their rooms in a drowsy haze, a rare drowsiness not from alcohol but from food—a fresh and rare experience.
The old knight fell into a deep sleep with a smile. Caesar, busy for a good while, still hadn’t gotten a chance to rest, for at this time, some Cypriots requested an audience.
The visitor was none other than that Cypriot noble whose daughter had been humiliated by a disciple of the Gerard family and whose son had been killed. He had a Greek surname, Georgiou, and like all Cypriots, his given name was that of a saint: Joseph.
Joseph Georgiou did not come alone; he brought ten young Family Disciples.
These young men had all received God’s blessing to become knights. Each brought two or three escorts and four or five armed attendants. Georgiou’s patriarch had clearly stated that all their needs for armor, horses, craftsmen, and priests would be borne by the Giorgiu family, without Caesar expending any effort.
They would swear loyalty to Caesar, become his subjects and knights—even if Caesar required them to convert to the Roman Church, they would obey.
Then, before Caesar, he displayed three boxes large enough to fit an adult woman.
Caesar had never seen such large boxes before. With permission, Joseph Georgiou had the young men open them personally. The first box was filled with vibrant, fine silk cloths—roughly enough to make a hundred silk robes.
Then they opened the second box, filled with coins of mixed gold and silver. Georgiou’s patriarch personally lifted a handful and presented it to Caesar—all solid Roman gold coins and silver coins, the most accepted currency in the Holy Land and surrounding areas, full weight and pure quality, not the defective coins minted by grand dukes and kings of Christian countries.
Caesar looked; the gold was a third of the silver, yet still considerable—nearly equivalent to the dowry promised by the Pope of Rome’s envoy.
But that was not the end. When the third box opened, even Caesar’s expression changed slightly.
What he saw was a box of gold and silver vessels and countless jewels—not neatly packed in cases, but haphazardly tossed among the vessels, looking less like collected treasures and more like plunder.
Georgiou’s patriarch saw Caesar’s doubt and hurriedly explained: “We only got the news this afternoon, so it was a bit rushed.” Pointing to the precious jewelry—men’s brooches and rings, women’s coronets, bracelets, and necklaces—”Time was so tight that I could only have the young men carry the boxes through the rooms, tossing vessels in, then removing jewels and throwing them inside.”
Though Caesar was short on money—a common affliction of every ruler—he wouldn’t easily accept these things; it hadn’t reached that point, nor was it necessary.
But Georgiou’s patriarch shook his head at once. “I know you’re not the greedy type.” In fact, some had advised him not to bet so quickly—who knew how long these Crusaders would stay?
But Georgiou’s patriarch had decided: no matter what, Caesar had avenged his son and daughter. Elsewhere, forget whether a lord would make such just and swift judgment to let innocent victims rest in peace—even if he still favored his own people and then fabricated charges for deliberate blackmail, the Giorgiu family couldn’t keep these things anyway.
“Moreover,” Georgiou’s patriarch said, “there’s another reason. You refused the marriage proposed by the Pope of Rome and expelled his priests, along with his niece—he will inevitably be furious. After this, even allied with the Venetians, you’ll face no small troubles.
The Holy Father will surely do everything to create problems and obstacles for you.
So please take these things and give them to a trustworthy person to go to Rome and bribe those Cardinals. The Pope’s power is great, but if the Cardinals are willing to turn a blind eye for this bribe, procrastinate and evade…”
He trailed off, but everyone present understood. Then Georgiou’s patriarch continued, “I’ve heard the Holy Father’s health has greatly declined. Though his lust for power remains as strong, perhaps just delaying two or three years, the master we serve will change.
By then, you’ll be married with an heir, and the new Holy Father may not have such a big appetite.”
