Chapter 3: The King’s Three Choices
Amalric I’s question made everyone in the room—except the person being asked—tense up.
The king’s doubt was not unfounded; at this time, people’s concept of labor was in a wondrous turning point, because initially, the Church interpreted labor as a punishment for humanity. Adam and Eve had lived carefree in Eden, but due to defying God’s will, they were expelled, and thus men had to endure the toil of work, women the pain of childbirth.
But such thinking underwent significant change after the monastery reforms; labor began to be encouraged. Monks relied on planting, brewing, weaving, and copying to meet their own needs and those of the monastery, viewing it as a form of cultivation. The apostle Paul’s proverb, “If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat,” was increasingly mentioned by people.
But for nobles and knights, labor was still undesirable. Many young monks—originally second or third sons of nobles, raised in luxury—upon entering the monastery, first complained about “farming like serfs, spinning like women, blacksmithing like craftsmen.”
Just as when monks speculated about Caesar’s status, the first thing they checked was his hands and feet; for some, labor was still humiliation, pain, and fruitless.
Caesar had to treat this question cautiously. Abbot John of the monastery was undoubtedly a reformer; so which kind was His Majesty the King of Ayyarasa Road? What kind of answer did he want?
“No one forced me, Your Majesty,” Caesar said steadily. “When I was still unable to move, many people came to care for me. Now that I’m better, of course I hope to repay them.” He paused slightly: “Moreover, was it not God who labored for six days to create heaven and earth and all things? Only his work is grand, ours small. But smallness is no reason for laziness or indifference.”
“Aren’t you afraid people will look down on you for it, see you as a servant?” Amalric I asked gently.
“How can a person’s future be defined by others’ views?” Caesar replied softly, smiling briefly: “When you and your knights passed that hill, what did you see? Thirty-one Isaac slave merchants’ goods, right?”
“I didn’t count that clearly at the time,” Amalric I did not mind his boldness: “But you’re right; even destined fate can be reversed.” He gestured: “Heraclius, John, I want to speak with this child alone.”
Once only the two of them remained in the room, “I give you three choices,” Amalric I said.
“First choice: go be attendant to Abbot John of St. John the Baptist Monastery. He likes you very much; you will become a monk, receive holy office, and then… perhaps you can find a position in my court, or return to Francia or the Apennines. Second choice: leave the monastery. You can freely choose to become a craftsman, farmer, or hunter, living off your skills and God’s grace.”
“And the third?”
“The third… child,” Amalric I said: “Perhaps you already know, I have one son, only this one, about your age. But not long before I met you, he was confirmed to have leprosy.” He raised his eyes, staring intently at Caesar: “You know what leprosy is, right?”
“I know,” Caesar said: “It’s a contagious disease.”
“It brings many terrible consequences, though not death,” Amalric I said: “For this reason, I had to dismiss the attendants around Baldwin. Their fathers or guardians are either my vassals, my knights, or the ministers and monks around me. Whether from the king’s standpoint or a friend’s, I cannot let their heirs bear such great risk.”
He turned his gaze to the window: “Though not all of them are cowards—but I cannot.
The problem is, Baldwin needs friends, companions to study, do falconry, and train with him. Caesar, we all know you are of noble birth; unfortunately, you lost your original surname and cannot recover it—so, will you go to Baldwin’s side and be his attendant?”
The king’s gaze turned back.
Amalric I had a pair of gray-blue eyes, intimidating like the gloom before rain: “I cannot guarantee you won’t catch the disease; I can only guarantee, if you agree to go to my son, whether healthy or whole, your treatment will equal that of a duke’s son. No one can question your origins or humiliate your parents. When Baldwin becomes a knight, you will be his escort; when he becomes king, you will be his knight.”
Caesar’s eyes widened slightly. To be sure, living day and night with a leper was very dangerous, but the return offered by Amalric I was equally generous—unbelievably so, especially for someone who was recently a slave without a surname…
“Me?”
“Before you, there were others,” Amalric I said: “Unfortunately, they all disappointed me.” He raised one hand, placing it on Caesar’s shoulder: “You will be the only one. Now, tell me your decision.”
What is leprosy? Perhaps others are unclear, but Caesar knew too well.
It is indeed a fearsome, highly contagious malignant disease that people dread, but the panic it causes is not due to high lethality or high contagiousness. On the contrary, it causes skin damage, deformity, and disability but does not easily take the patient’s life. With treatment and care, patients can survive a long time; it is also not easily transmitted to others—not that it lacks contagiousness, but 95% of people have natural immunity to it.
So who is susceptible to leprosy? Those with weakened immunity due to malnutrition; thus, this contagious disease is very common among the poor.
But to say the son of the King of Ayyarasa Road lacks sufficient resistance due to food scarcity would be an outright joke. He is not even an escort, has hardly left Holy Cross Castle and his father’s wings—how did he contract leprosy?
Thus, if he chose to go to Amalric I’s only son Baldwin, besides leprosy, he might face countless conspiracies and traps.
But he could only make one decision.
“I am willing to serve your son,” he said.
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“Raymond will surely fly into a rage,” Heraclius said: “Think of his father Raymond IV.”
Raymond IV was a wondrous figure: brave and skilled in battle, pious and persistent. In the First Crusade, he arrived with Godfrey of Bouillon and Bohemond of the Apennines beneath the holy City of Ayyarasa Road; he had illustrious war achievements.
But strangely, the first Crusader state established was the County of Edessa, then the Principality of Antioch, and finally Ayyarasa Road. Throughout, Raymond for various reasons failed to secure a foothold, and only by exhausting all efforts to capture the last Saracen territory on the Mediterranean coast—Tripoli—did he finally join the ranks of the Crusader states.
Heraclius said this because the Count of Tripoli was a staunch supporter of bloodline theory. After recapturing Ayyarasa Road, there was dispute over who would be King of Ayyarasa Road, to be decided between Raymond and Godfrey of Bouillon. But Raymond insisted on yielding the throne to Godfrey, only because Godfrey’s blood relation to King Louis II of Francia was closer to the direct line.
And the Raymond by Amalric I’s side clearly fully inherited his father’s valor and stubbornness. He was already dissatisfied that the king dismissed noble sons and reselected the prince’s attendants from exiled knights and children of low officials. Only when others stayed silent could he not openly oppose. Now Amalric I actually wanted a former slave to be Baldwin’s attendant… Raymond would surely go mad with anger.
“Yes,” Amalric I smiled: “He always says—a king’s son should be served by a duke’s or count’s son.” He gathered his cloak. It was early September; in Francia’s Jardine it might be cold, but in the cities and kingdoms along the Mediterranean coast, sea water and winds brought warm currents. His cold came from within.
He recalled when little Baldwin was pronounced—declared—to have leprosy, this affliction seen as “God’s punishment,” the various expressions and faces around him. Except for Raymond and his son David, everyone showed fear, disgust, scheming, and schadenfreude.
Those children once intimate with Baldwin vanished instantly—not suddenly twisting an ankle or dislocating an arm, or suddenly feverish; anyway, unable to fulfill attendant duties.
As a king, he should be tolerant, and he was. But as a father, he still could not avoid rising resentment and unwillingness. Baldwin was his only son, only nine years old; life was like an inverted hourglass, each day bringing little Baldwin a step closer to the grave.
This poor child was already unfortunate enough, yet some still kicked him when down—they petitioned the king, as in Francia, he should issue and abide by laws on lepers, strip Baldwin of inheritance rights, and relocate him to a monastery outside the city.
Right, if Baldwin remained heir of Ayyarasa Road, their actions would be betrayal of the present and future king; but as long as Baldwin was not, they were innocent good people both morally and legally.
“They are wrong; an attendant’s glory and status come from the master, not vice versa,” Amalric I said coldly: “Without their service, Baldwin remains my only son, future master of Ayyarasa Road, guardian of the Holy Sepulchre; and as long as he is Baldwin’s attendant, he is a count’s son, or a duke’s son.”
Heraclius sighed upon hearing this; normally he would continue persuading, but yesterday Rome formally rejected Amalric I’s request. The Church’s reason was mortals cannot interfere with God’s will; Heraclius suspected if it related to Amalric I’s attitude toward the Church—Ayyarasa Road was built on divine right, but Amalric I was clearly not the kind to bow subserviently to ecclesiastical authority.
The Church had long coveted the Holy City of Ayyarasa Road; as early as when the first King of Ayyarasa Road, Godfrey, died, priests asked if he would dedicate Ayyarasa Road to the Church. If not for Godfrey’s close attendant present and willing to testify, today’s Ayyarasa Road would already be the Church’s possession.
The only son of the King of Ayyarasa Road having leprosy was a rare opportunity for the Church; how could these red-robed leeches easily relent?
But Amalric I would not yield, handing Ayyarasa Road to that bunch of incompetent maggots. For this reason, he felt profound guilt toward Baldwin; this guilt turned to blazing fury against those schemers. Now he was merely using a slave to slap their faces—quite restrained.
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At this time, the king’s son, future King of Ayyarasa Road, guardian of the Holy Sepulchre Baldwin, was wholly unaware he would soon meet the closest friend of his life.
He was sorting some of his items. Unlike what Amalric I worried, this precocious child stayed in his room as much as possible not from sudden huge blow causing dejection, cowardice, constant self-pity… He accepted the fact faster than others imagined. After repeatedly asking the monks and confirming his condition unlikely to heal without God’s mercy, Baldwin began considering his future life.
Baldwin’s grammar teacher was the resident priest Heraclius, a learned historian and theologian. This meant when teaching Baldwin, he often cited historical allusions. For leprosy, traceable to over a thousand years before Christ, he had long heard and knew related laws—if as the Church said, it was a crime or harsh trial… he was willing to atone and accept the test.
He also wondered, what would his father do? He would surely lose inheritance rights; how could a leper become king? His father might remarry, say a Byzantine princess, and have a new heir with her, or select a suitable husband for sister Sibylla, handing the Holy City and crown to him or their child.
If he were still alive then, he would pray for the new king in the monastery.
Taking out his favorite Damascus dagger, instead putting the Bible on vellum his sister Sibylla previously gave him into the chest, Baldwin stood, stretched his limbs. Almost instinctively, he touched his arm again; that strange numbness was like touching a branch with thick cowhide gloves, making him show a bitter smile.
It was during playing “endurance game”—common among knights’ children, where they scratched each other to see who couldn’t endure the pain and yelled—a game he kept winning, that his swordsmanship teacher noticed something wrong: lepers’ early stage is limb numbness, loss of sensation.
“How brave, Your Highness,” he murmured, repeating his swordsmanship teacher’s words: “But didn’t you feel pain?”
Baldwin shook his head; urgent knocking interrupted his thoughts. “Your Highness!” a rough, muffled voice shouted outside the door. “Bath time!”
This was the herbal bath arranged by Heraclius, once daily to delay the disease’s progress, though more consolation than effective. Baldwin accepted his kindness; he went out, the small hall outside his bedroom empty—no one there. Those new servants were terrified, would not appear before him without orders.
Baldwin immersed in the water; a bit cold. He sighed at their neglect of duty; St. John’s Wort’s fragrance faint—surely just tossed in a handful after pouring the water, not as Heraclius required: no less than a pound of dried herbs in boiling water.
