Chapter 256: Baldwin’s Day
Baldwin still thought that after being disturbed by Abigail like this, he would inevitably have trouble sleeping next. But in fact, after mercilessly telling Abigail to get lost, he threw himself onto the bed and fell asleep in no time.
When he woke up, he couldn’t be sure how long he had slept; he could only say that this period of undisturbed sleep outside the usual schedule was exceptionally comfortable and pleasant.
He jumped out of bed, barefoot, walked to the corner of the room to check the water clock nearby. By the faint light leaking from behind the window, he could see that the little scribe figure holding a pen was pointing to the Mass before noon（ around eight or nine in the morning）, which was already quite late for the usual king, but today no one came to disturb him; they must have known about his all-night prayer yesterday.
Baldwin stretched his arms, straightened his back, and rose onto his toes, fully extending his body like a mischievous big kitten. Only then did he walk to the window, roll up the tapestry, and in an instant, the scorching sunlight streamed through the small panes of glass into his eyes and room.
It had only been two or three hours since Abigail had been kicked out from here, but it was already very fuzzy in his memory; on the other hand, the scenes from last night with Caesar were still vivid, and the sweetness of the rock sugar seemed to linger in his mouth.
But he knew this was an illusion. Caesar placed great importance on personal hygiene for himself and others; he had long ago made toothbrushes with pig bristles and ivory handles for him to use, and he personally mixed tooth powder with spices. Every night and every morning, they needed to brush their teeth before going to bed or eating.
After years of this, Baldwin had long grown accustomed; if he didn’t brush his teeth, he always felt there was a bad taste in his mouth.
He turned toward the door, yanked it open, and the servant who had been sleeping in front of his door scrambled to his feet. “Your Majesty, good morning,” he said, bowing respectfully.
“Go get water.”
The servant soon brought water. While washing up and wiping his body with the warm and clean water, Baldwin suddenly thought of the incident that happened when Caesar first came to his side.
At that time, he was disheartened, thinking he would lose his status as heir and become a monk. But his despair did not elicit pity from others; instead, it brought contempt and humiliation. Although those servants had long received their due punishment—thinking back to how, as Crown Prince, he still had to pay them extra for water, Baldwin found it somewhat amusing.
But after going through so many things, he had learned that not everyone can see far ahead. Many people, especially those unfortunate ones who had never received education or guidance, could only see what was right in front of them and took pride in their shallow knowledge.
They had their own ideological barriers forged by their thoughts and needs, trapping themselves within, unable to move an inch. They even tried to pull others into their theories, like that servant—what was his name? Baldwin had long forgotten, but the feeling of seeing a maggot or a rat was still very vivid.
Only now, that feeling had transferred to Abigail.
He pondered aimlessly, not even noticing when the servant removed the remaining water. Then he handled some personal matters—to put it elegantly, he went to pray alone; slightly less elegantly, he cleared his bowels; of course, there were even cruder ways to say it, but those wouldn’t appear in a king’s bedroom.
After finishing these, Baldwin carefully washed his hands again, then put on his long shirt and shorts. It was worth noting here that previously at Holy Cross Castle or among the Franks, there were no shorts—or rather, from Ayyarasa Road to Cyprus to Francia, men and women almost only wore long undergarments, leaving the area from thigh to knee completely bare, with socks below, and the socks needed to be tied to the calves with straps.
But did shorts exist at this time?
Yes, in fact, shorts had taken shape in Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome, but for some reason, people only regarded them as a special garment or as underliners needed by cavalry—after all, they had to sit on horseback for long periods, but cavalry often had only one pair of trousers, which weren’t washed every day.
Caesar probably hadn’t expected that the first thing he urgently needed as an attendant was underwear, even earlier than his little mop—after all, having grown accustomed to changing undergarments daily, he couldn’t tolerate the chance to wash himself and his clothing only every few days.
But just like any era of material scarcity, clothing in this age was property worth passing down as legacy, and every washing would reduce the fabric’s durability.
It was also because he gained Baldwin’s favor not long after arriving at Holy Cross Castle that he obtained rolls of linen and cotton. At first, he made them only for himself; later, he made them for Baldwin—after all, as a leper whose earliest symptoms appeared on the skin, these areas needed to stay clean to reduce friction.
Baldwin had to admit that this was indeed more comfortable than going without, even feeling safer.
Then he continued putting on the rest of his clothes: over the laced long undergarment, he put on a sleeveless robe, fastened his belt, pulled on his socks, and stepped into his shoes. During this process, he didn’t call the attendants outside to dress him as others might—this had nothing to do with Caesar, but rather that after contracting leprosy, Baldwin had grown tired of those fearful faces and evasive glances. He even refused to follow tradition by keeping two attendants in the room at all times to wait on him.
Now, only two people could see his body—Heraclius and Caesar. They were not only his teacher, friend, brother, but also his doctor; he could fully expose his weaknesses and flaws in front of them.
“Go see if Caesar is awake. If he is, tell him to come have breakfast with me.”
Unlike with Amalric I, where a simple meal of bread, cheese, and a glass of wine counted as done, Baldwin’s breakfast was also simple but ample in portions: large pieces of meat, large cups of milk, large pieces of cheese, and a whole tray full of berries or nuts.
But both Caesar and Baldwin were at the age when their appetites were at their best; in no time, they had devoured all the food in front of them.
“Do you still have to hear appeals and complaints this morning?”
Caesar leaned back in his chair, watching Baldwin heartily enjoy large pieces of roast meat and steaming milk. Baldwin’s temperament was actually quite impatient, not as calm as his appearance suggested. Even though he was an adult, knighted, and a king, he still got milk stuck on his upper lip when drinking.
Nowadays, fuzzy fine whiskers had grown on Baldwin’s upper lip. He occasionally forgot to shave them off, and when drinking milk or light wine, tiny glistening droplets would hang on those delicate hairs, creating an amusing sight.
Baldwin didn’t notice Caesar secretly comparing him to a baby in his mind. He drained the last of the milk, then took a pomegranate from the dish. He didn’t need tools; he easily broke it open, simply peeled off the rind, and popped the whole thing—thin membrane and all—into his mouth.
He chewed the bright red seeds with a crunch, the sweet juice flowing down his throat. “The time might be short, but it still has to happen.”
According to customary law and Roman law, as King of Ayyarasa Road, his mornings were reserved for the commoners. If the commoners needed the king’s judgment, they had to file appeals during this morning time slot.
Normally, he might hold court every three days or every five days, and those who could reach the king wouldn’t be the “commoners” people imagined—because by law, they had to submit written documents for the king to understand their disputes.
But in this era when education was not yet widespread, how could a farmer or craftsman produce such documents? Even if they could hire lawyers or scholars, they couldn’t afford it, so it was mostly disputes between nobles.
During this period, the royal court presided over personally by Baldwin had to convene almost every day. Now the knights crowding Ayyarasa Road and outside the city, along with several other cities like Jaffa, Acre, Bethlehem, and Nalessa, were far too many.
They came from all over, with different customs and temperaments, not to mention their respective loyal bishops, lords, and noble ladies.
Generally, if they quarreled or even dueled over verbal or behavioral conflicts, it was their own business. But sometimes things escalated uncontrollably, like a single joust turning into a multi-person melee; at that point, the nobles behind the knights would step in to seek the king’s judgment.
It then depended on the mood of the king they encountered. A good-tempered monarch would try hard to persuade them to reconcile, even paying out of pocket to appease both sides. But if they met a stern or straightforward king, or one annoyed by their excessive quarreling, he might order them to duel and let swords settle it—which was undoubtedly the best way to resolve disputes.
Of course, this was because they were in Ayyarasa Road; if it were in Francia, the king in making judgments would certainly consider which subject’s side would better consolidate his rule.
Fortunately, Baldwin mostly encountered the former.
There were three major Knights orders in the Holy City: the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre—undoubtedly, the king was always their Grand Master, the true spiritual and political leader; the Knights Templar—they might be greedy by nature, but one good point was that when facing the Saracens, their stance was always aligned with the king’s.
And the Knights Hospitaller—because of the wrongs committed by the Gerard family in Cyprus, they always felt somewhat guilty in front of Caesar and naturally wouldn’t vie with the king for a voice.
Therefore, the atmosphere within Ayyarasa Road was actually much more peaceful.
Today’s royal court ended quickly as well. Batches of people came forward, batches left; perhaps not everyone was satisfied with the results, but at least they had no grounds to argue or publicly complain—the young King of Ayyarasa Road was no fool.
Today, he had an extra helper by his side who was meticulous and quick-thinking.
Under the gaze of those icy blue eyes as cold as steel, whether plaintiff or defendant, it was hard to lie or quibble; any accumulated cunning thoughts would melt away and dissipate like ice and snow under the blazing sun.
Thus, today’s royal court ended even earlier than usual, giving them ample time for lunch. Because of the fine weather, Baldwin had the same idea as Queen Mother Maria—to dine in the courtyard—though Princess Sibylla might have had the same thought.
Sibylla arrived even earlier than her brother. She sat under a dense fig tree, enjoying almond cakes soaked in honey while listening to the musician’s performance. This musician wasn’t a castle minstrel but a visiting minstrel, wrapped in a headscarf, dressed splendidly in black-and-red trousers, with shoes featuring long pointed toes like a devil’s tail, the ends of which needed to be tied to rings at the knee to allow normal walking.
This attire would undoubtedly draw ruthless rebuke from the priests. But in the eyes of a noble lady, it was indescribably dashing.
Sibylla spotted Baldwin and Caesar from afar.
They were no longer a prince on shaky ground and an ordinary attendant; they were always surrounded by a large crowd. Seeing them, Sibylla wasn’t pleased but immediately darkened her expression.
She stood up, seemingly hesitating whether to approach them or turn and leave right away. In the end, she chose a middle path: she curtsied to Baldwin from afar, then withdrew from the courtyard with her people.
“When did Your Highness the Princess return?”
“A week ago.” With a major battle imminent, if it were just a simple expedition, he might have let Sibylla stay in Nalessa, but since this campaign had gone beyond an expedition, they couldn’t leave the king’s only blood relative in Nalessa, closer to the battlefield.
As if aware she no longer had her brother’s trust, Sibylla had been unusually well-behaved since returning—no quarrels with Queen Mother Maria, no embarrassing her husband Abigail.
If it was just hiring a few minstrels to sing and dance, it wasn’t too excessive—or rather, quite satisfying.
“She still doesn’t know…”
“Mm.” But Baldwin had no intention of hiding this matter—truth be told, if he really softened toward Abigail and granted his request, Bohemond and Sibylla might even think he intended to humiliate Abigail.
Moreover, unless Abigail was willing to annul his marriage with Sibylla, Baldwin would have to keep him close even if by force. Ten years might seem long, but in fact it passed like a white steed in a flash, in an instant.
Baldwin couldn’t indulge Abigail hiding behind others just because of his fear; he had to console himself that perhaps it was because Abigail had never been to battle. Once he experienced the glory and pride of brave combat on the battlefield, he might change his mind.
